“Because it’s my birthday, and I intend to spend a bit of money.” I hefted the coin purse I carried in a fold of my tunic.
“Here, Master?” Bethesda wrinkled her brow, for we stood before a shop that sold nothing but women’s garments. Hung on pegs outside the storefront, linen gowns fluttered in the breeze. Some were so simple and sheer they looked hardly more substantial than bits of gossamer. Others were cut in a variety of styles, dyed in brilliant shades, and decorated with embroidery along the hems and necklines. Several days ago, as we passed this shop, I had noticed Bethesda slow her stride and steal a lingering glance at a particular gown. It was dark green with yellow embroidery, and longer than most, with pleated, fan-shaped sleeves.
I studied the garments hung on display, then smiled when I spotted what I was looking for. As I stepped toward the shop, a brawny servant crossed his arms and glowered at me, then relented when I hefted my moneybag and made the coins jingle.
The shop owner appeared. She was a stooped old woman who gazed up at me from a wizened face. “Do you see something you like, young man?”
“Perhaps.” I dared to touch the green gown with my fingertips. The linen was of a much higher quality than I was used to. Even on the hottest day, such a fabric would feel soft and cool against the wearer’s skin.
Bethesda whispered in my ear. “Master, what are you thinking of?”
I turned to her and smiled. “I’m thinking it’s my birthday, and I should buy something that pleases me.”
“But-”
“And what could please me more than the sight of you wearing this gown?”
A little later, I stepped out of the shop with a coin purse that was considerably lighter.
Bethesda followed me. The green linen shimmered in the sunlight. The yellow embroidery had an almost metallic sheen, like the luster of gold. The dress transformed her, elegantly clinging to the supple lines of her arms and legs and accentuating rather than hiding the fullness of her hips and breasts. When she raised a hand to shield her eyes from the bright sun, the long, pleated sleeve opened like a fan and undulated in the breeze. With her face obscured, I might not have recognized her. She could have been the privileged daughter of a fine Alexandrian household, the sort of young woman who shopped in such a place on a regular basis, buying whatever she desired.
Even the wizened old shopkeeper had been impressed. When Bethesda withdrew to the dressing room, I tried to wrangle a lower price, but the woman had refused to budge-until Bethesda emerged. At the sight of her, the old woman softened. Her eyes glimmered. She clapped her hands and sighed, and named a price that was half of what she might have demanded.
Even Bethesda’s posture was transformed. She seemed to stand taller than before, with her shoulders back. Staring at her, I decided that the green gown was the best purchase I had made in a long time.
A flash of movement caught my eye. Someone was running toward us, shouting and laughing.
As the figure drew closer, I noticed several things in quick succession.
It was a young woman.
She was not exactly running, but rather skipping, whirling, and dancing as she hurtled forward, giggling and crying out.
Also, she appeared to be completely naked.
And, if Bethesda had not been standing next to me, I would have sworn that the naked, laughing woman was-Bethesda!
III
“Follow me! Follow me!” shouted the girl.
As she passed the dress shop, she looked me in the eye and gave me a playful tap on the chin, then performed a somersault right in front of me, never breaking stride, and continued on her way, waving her hands in the air. Had she truly been naked, the somersault would have given me quite an eyeful, but instead I perceived that she was wrapped in some sort of close-fitting, very sheer garment that matched the shade of her tawny skin. Exactly where the girl ended and the garment began was a mystery, which could be solved only by taking a closer look.
I began to follow her up the street.
“Master!”
I turned to see that Bethesda remained where she was. She gave me a blank, catlike stare.
“Come on,” I said. “You heard the girl. She wants us to follow her!”
“She wants everyone to follow her,” muttered Bethesda-and to be sure, a considerable crowd was coming up the street. “She must be rounding up a crowd to watch a mime show.”
“A mime show? Wonderful! A mime show would be just the thing.” I laughed and waved to Bethesda to follow. When she continued to hesitate, I hurried back, took her by the hand, and pulled her after me.
“Besides,” I said, “did you not notice her face?”
“Was it her face you were looking at, Master?” Bethesda sounded skeptical.
“Among other things! But seriously, did you not notice whom she looked like?”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
“She looks like you, Bethesda. The resemblance is uncanny.”
“I hardly think so.”
“Nonsense. You’re alike enough to be sisters. Twins, even.”
“I do not have a sister,” she said, rather firmly. Though she had been born a slave, and though both her parents died young-her father first and then her mother-Bethesda had known them both, or so she had told me. She would have known if she had any siblings.
“I don’t mean to suggest that she’s literally your sister,” I said, then shrugged and gave up the argument. Nothing made me feel more absurd than to realize I was struggling to explain myself to Bethesda, who was, after all, my possession, and by every law and custom was supposed to accept everything I said without question.
Not far from the street of luxury shops, but closer to the harbor, we came to a small public square decorated with splashing fountains, flowering shrubs, and towering palm trees. In the center of the square a mime troupe had set up a small tent and was getting ready to put on a performance. A considerable crowd had already gathered. A muscular juggler wearing a nemes headdress and not much else was cracking jokes and warming up the spectators, who seemed to be in a boisterous mood.
“A rather elegant part of town for a mime show,” I commented. “You can even see a bit of the royal palace from here, above those rooftops. Most of the mime shows I’ve seen are in shabbier neighborhoods, where the officials don’t seem to care what goes on.”
Bethesda made no reply, but I could see that she had relaxed and was getting into the spirit of things. I think she was enjoying the chance to show off her new gown. A number of spectators, especially the men, gave her second glances. Who could blame them?
Mime shows were peculiar to Alexandria; in my travels, I had seen nothing like them elsewhere. Plays are different; plays are put on everywhere in the Greek and Roman world, because scripted dramas and comedies are part of religious and civic festivals, paid for by the authorities and featuring professional actors, all of whom are men. Alexandrian mime shows are very different. Women as well as men perform-what a scandal that would cause in Rome! — and the performances can hardly be called plays. A typical mime show is a ragbag of topical skits, naughty songs, and indecent dances, with jokes, strongman acts, and acrobatics to fill the intervals. No civics authority controls or regulates the mimes, and while the targets of their satirical skits are often stock types-the nosy housewife next door, the sadistic tutor, the fast-talking lawyer, the lying businessman-the mimes are also known to make targets of those in power, though the names and circumstances are changed to sidestep charges of slander or sedition.
We Romans like to think we are freer than other people, since we elect our leaders, but it would be hard to imagine the authorities permitting anything like a mime show in the streets of Rome. People would object to the indecency, for one thing, and powerful Romans do not like to be made fun of, especially in public. If a Roman magistrate did not ban such a performance, the gang of some riled politician would surely break it up, and crack a few heads in the process. So, while they may be ruled by a king, it seems to me that the Alexandrians are freer than the Romans at least in this regard, because virtually anything can be said about anyone, even including the king, so long as the ridicule takes place in a mime show and no one is identified by his real name.