Neither Shemayah nor anyone from his house came to the assembly.
The next day, Shemayah went out to his fields at dawn. No one answered when the women knocked. Then Silent Hannah came out quietly in the afternoon.
She came into our house and told the women in gestures that Avigail lay on the floor. That Avigail took nothing to eat. That Avigail took nothing to drink. In a little while, she hurried back, fearful that Shemayah might have returned and found her gone, and she disappeared into the house and the bolt was again in place.
I didn't find these things out until I'd returned from work in Sepphoris. My mother told me what Silent Hannah had let them know.
The house was miserable.
Joseph and Bruria went together and knocked. They were truly our eldest, the ones no one should refuse. But Shemayah didn't answer them. And slowly Bruria helped Joseph back into the house.
Chapter Ten
THE NEXT MORNING we went to the Rabbi, all of us together, the women who'd been there at the creek, the children who'd been there, and James and I and others who'd seen it. Old Bruria came with us, and so did Joseph though it seemed harder than ever for him to make the journey up the hill. We asked for a meeting with the Rabbi and we all went to the synagogue together, and we closed the doors.
It was clean and quiet there. The morning sun had even made it a little warm. Joseph was seated on the bench. The Rabbi took his usual place in his chair to Joseph's right.
"It comes to this," I said, standing before the Rabbi. "Avigail, our kinswoman, was not harmed by this man. All here saw what happened; they saw her fight; they saw her relinquished. They saw her taken home. Now days have passed. Silent Hannah comes and goes but only Silent Hannah, and Silent Hannah says, as best she can, that Avigail neither eats nor drinks."
The Rabbi nodded. His shoulders were hunched under his robes. His eyes were filled with pity.
"Now we ask only this," I said, "that her cousins here, these women, be allowed to attend to her, to the cuts and scrapes she received when she was thrown to the ground. We ask that they be allowed to go in to her. To see that she takes what food and drink she should. Her father won't allow it. The servants are doddering old women. It was Avigail who cared for these servants. How can these servants now care for Avigail? Surely Avigail is frightened and crying, and suffering alone."
"I know all this," said the Rabbi sadly. "You know I know. And her father went off after the evildoers. He went riding out to soak his rusty sword in blood. And he wasn't the only one. They struck Cana, those bandits. No, they didn't steal a woman, just everything else they could grab. The King's soldiers will catch them. They've sent a cohort into the hills."
"Be that as it may," I said. "Our concern is for our kinswoman Avigail."
"Rabbi, you must make him let us in," said Old Bruria. "The girl needs tending. She might be losing her wits."
"And worse, there's talk in the village," said Aunt Esther.
"What talk?" James asked. "What are you saying?"
My aunts were exasperated at James, but my mother was merely shocked.
"If I didn't have to go to the market again, I wouldn't," said Aunt Esther. Mara, James' wife, nodded, and said that she would not either were it her choice.
"What are they saying?" asked the Rabbi wearily. "What talk?"
"Everything imaginable," said Aunt Esther, "and what on earth do you expect? They're saying that she was dawdling, that she was singing to the children, that she was dancing as she likes to do. That she was drawing attention to herself. Beautiful Avigail, Avigail the one with the lovely voice. That she was away from the others. That she had taken off her veil to show off her hair. On and on and on. Have I forgotten anything? None of it, not a word of it, not a single word, is true! We were there and we saw it. She is the youngest, the prettiest, of that she's guilty, and whose fault is that?"
I walked over to the bench and sat down, not far from Joseph. And I put my elbows on my knees. I had suspected as much but I hated to hear it. I was tempted to put my hands over my ears.
My mother spoke up softly. "Shemaya invites shame on himself with this way of behaving," she said. "Rabbi, please, go with Old Bruria and talk to him, and let the girl have company, and let her come to us as before."
"To you?" asked the Rabbi. "You think he will let her come to you?"
All stared at him in silence. I sat up and looked at him.
He was as sad as before, with a faraway look in his eye as he pondered.
"And why not to us?" asked Aunt Esther.
"Yeshua," said the Rabbi. He pulled himself up and looked at me, but his eyes were gentle. "What did you do at the creek? What was it that you did?"
"Why, what are you asking him!" James said. "He did nothing. He went to help her as a brother would help her!"
Aunt Esther broke in, "She was lying on the rough ground where the cutthroat had thrown her. She was bleeding. She was terrified. He went to her to help her to her feet. He gave her his mantle."