“How many openings does a man have? Not a lot. He used those.”
“And is he still…?”
“He was stabbed one night; I have no idea why… I mourned him.”
Theo related that he was living in Pompeii. It was an attractive, wealthy town; he built and decorated villas there, had no intentions of moving away; he was highly regarded, despite his youth, being handed on from one customer to the next.
“I soon picked up substantial wealth, and was able to buy my release,” he said. “The ear tag has already grown over. Look here! I would have sent you money if I had known where to find you…”
“Is it quite certain that you can have no child?” Uri asked.
“Yes, quite sure,” Theo tinkled a laugh in his high falsetto. “But I’ve got a family: boys, girls, men, women… My household… I have bought them all and obtained their release from servitude but they all chose to stay at my place, every single one… There are dogs and cats as well… I have often pondered why blood-relationship is so important. People go to war and kill on account of it, but why? I have considered what I’d do if I found you, if I could join you… But it’s far from certain that you’d be pleased, seeing what’s become of me…”
Uri did not speak.
“Marcellus and the girls will make you grandchildren,” said Theo.
Uri remained silent.
“There was a time,” said Theo, laughing, “when I calculated your precise angle of inclination in Alexandria… I noted it down somewhere…”
Theo then went on to recount disconnectedly about all sorts of things, Uri listening mutely.
Men were amazed that he had no foreskin on his sexual organ, women too, who would return oral favors, though without any effect. As he had not celebrated his bar mitzvah, and now was not permitted to, being a eunuch, he ate all the things which were forbidden to Jews; thus, the various types of seafood were delicious, and he had developed a great liking for pork, being himself in the habit of roasting seasoned pork chops, and also organizing big dinner parties for sittings of one hundred heads in his garden. He was loud in his praise of Pompeii for its location, its climate, the marvelous gardens and buildings. He was in the habit of coming up to Rome for materials, doing the purchasing himself but leaving others to see to transporting them. He did painting, not just construction work, his illustrations of plants being particularly well known.
“I also tailor dresses!” he boasted, “from silk and muslin… I make more doing that than I do from building work!”
By way of reassurance, he added that he had played no part in the gladiatorial display that a certain Livincius Regulus had organized in the amphitheater at Pompeii, news of which had gotten back to Rome. The day had ended in a general brawl between the inhabitants of Nuceria and Pompeii, who had backed different gladiators, and frightful bloodshed had ensued. That sort of thing would not happen again, however: the inhabitants of Pompeii had been forbidden to hold any public games for ten years, thanks be to the Eternal One.
Uri held his peace, thinking to himself that at least this one way of livin was better than being killed.
Theo showed no interest in his siblings or his mother, yet there had been a time when he loved them; Uri said nothing about them. Theo repeated that he would be glad to see them in Pompeii but had no intention of moving away from there; he wanted to grow old and eventually die there.
“I’m easily found. Everyone knows me and is fond of me,” he said contentedly. “Theophilus the eunuch!”
Theo paid and then beckoned his four servants, who ran over with a litter.
With some effort he wedged in his ample body and blew a kiss to his father.
Uri felt that something had definitely broken inside himself.
He said nothing at home about having met Theo.
Some time after that Irene broke the news that she was pregnant.
“And who is the happy father of my grandchild?” Uri asked cordially.
He snorted when he heard that it was a water-carrying slave.
“My dear, sweet daughter!” he cried out in alarm.
Irene bit her lower lip under her protruding incisors, looking determinedly yet fearfully and dumbly at her father.
Water carriers were well known for taking advantage of any widow and virgin they could lay hands on. Uri knew that he was going to have to pay the price to obtain the manumission of this slave. He was a puny, pint-sized fellow, swarthy-skinned and with a sneaky look — Heaven knows where she had found him.
Uri informed him with a certain glee:
“You’ll have to get circumcised, my dear boy, which will be pretty painful. A fair chunk may be cut out of your prick, at least I hope so. That’s the price for my paying up.”
The prospective son-in-law slyly held his tongue in assent.
I had a water-carrier as a lover, Uri reflected, and my daughter’s husband will be a water-carrier. Pure poetic justice on the part of the Eternal One.
What had to be done came to pass, and the former slave took the name Isaac. Hagar pretended to be happy, baking and cooking for the wedding feast though there were not many present.
Irene had imagined a more glittering affair and upbraided her father for being stingy even though obtaining her husband’s release had not cost all that much.
“Maybe not,” Uri agreed, “but obtaining Roman citizenship for my grandson will cost an arm and a leg.”
Irene did not understand: if the father was a freedman, and he himself had been born free, why would their son not be free?
Uri sighed before launching into an explanation that he wouldn’t be because Pallas — Claudius’s slave, the younger brother of Marcus Antonius Felix, who was prefect of Judaea and Samaria — had deviously conceived an amendment to the law whereby if a free woman married a slave she too would acquire the status of a slave. That had been ratified during Claudius’s reign and was still in force.
“But Isaac is a freedman now!” Irene protested.
“And so you too only have freedman status, and your child too! Only his or her child, your grandchild, will be able to gain citizenship rights and a tessera.”
Irene burst out sobbing; she had not been aware of that; if she had known beforehand, if anyone had drawn her attention to that, if her father had told her in advance, if her father had instructed her — no way would she have gotten mixed up with someone like that…
Uri got tired of this.
“He’ll be a citizen, don’t get so upset! It’s just that it will cost a fortune!” he shouted. “The law was passed so that exceptions could be made to its provisions — at a price! It was driven through the Senate, and Pallas received a reward of five million sesterces from Claudius for doing it. The bastard knew very well that it would be very remunerative! That is why it has remained in force under Nero — because they also get a cut! The exceptions are the essence of any law — that’s where the money is to be made! That’s the only reason any law gets passed!”
Irene kept on sobbing; she could not follow this basic principle of political science. Uri left her and set off to find out exactly who had to be paid because even though Pallas had not been put to death like Narcissus, and had even been left with his many hundreds of millions, he had nevertheless been booted out of office.
Uri could not stand the sight of the shifty look on Isaac’s face, once he had moved in with them, and the man’s body odor made him ill, so he purchased for them a shanty on the edge of Far Side, where it was unlikely any tenement buildings would be envisaged, and that was where Uri’s first grandchild was born, a boy of unprepossessing appearance but healthy. It cost a lot to get him the rights of citizenship, but that was arranged.
Uri looked now to Eulogia, the younger of his two daughters, who was no more attractive; she was barely past twelve when she made her own catch, a numbskull lunk of a Jewish boy from Far Side. It turned out that this ordinary boy was related to Siculus Sabinus, that wealthy imbecile of a smith who had also traveled to Jerusalem, in fact he was a nephew of his, and was employed in his uncle’s workshop. Once the wedding had been solemnized, Eulogia moved to Far Side, wanting to be rid of her unbearable parents just as soon as she could. Uri bestowed a decent dowry, glad that they were not going to leech off of him.