Chapter Fifteen
IT WAS A RAIN SO DENSE and swift it brought the twilight with it, closing up the world in front of men's eyes. James and Esther picked up Avigail, off her feet, that I could see, and James slung her up high over his shoulder, the better to carry her, and all ran for the village or what shelter perhaps that they could find.
With my brothers, I took hold of Joseph, and we hoisted him to our shoulders and rushed down the hill.
We were soaked to the skin before we reached the street, and the street was a running river. Now we had the faintest lanterns to guide us through the shadows, the tramp of feet all around us, people uttering fearful cries now and bits of prayer.
But nothing could prevent us from gaining our courtyard, throwing open the doors of the house, and rushing one and all inside.
Joseph was set down gently and at once, his white hair plastered to his pink scalp. Lamp after lamp was lighted.
The women in a flock carried Avigail deep into the house, her sobs echoing off the walls, and up the stairs into the small rooms of the second floor which belonged to the women alone.
The men fell down exhausted on all sides.
Old Bruria and my mother came with dry robes for us, and together with Little Mary and Mara, who had been with them all the while, went to drying us off, taking our wet clothes, patting down our hair.
James lay back, out of breath, staring at the ceiling. I slumped against the wall.
Old Uncle Alphaeus came in, bewildered and amazed. Then Uncle Cleopas appeared from the outside, dripping and out of breath. The last of the children came in with him. It was he, along with Menachim, who bolted the door.
The rain slammed onto the tile roofs. It rushed in the gutters and down the pipes to the cisterns, and to the mikvah, and to the many jugs beneath the downspouts all round and about the house. It clattered against the wooden shutters. It crashed in gust after gust against the rattling doors.
No one spoke as we rubbed ourselves dry and put on the fresh robes given us. My mother tended to Joseph, gently peeling off the soaked garments. The children heaped up the coals, and went this way and that in their excitement, searching for even more lamps to be lighted in this dense and snug and safe place.
Suddenly there was a crashing fist against the door.
"If he dares," said James, rising to his feet with his hand out. "If he dares come here, I'll kill him."
"Hush, stop it," cried his wife, Mara.
The knock came again, measured, insistent.
A voice came from beyond the paneled wood.
I went to the door and lifted the latch and opened it.
There stood Reuben in his fine linen robes as wet through and through as anyone, and his father, bent beneath a covering of soaked wool, and behind them their horses and their hired men.
James immediately welcomed them into the house.
I went with the hired men and the animals to the stables. The door hadn't been shut. The place was wet, but we soon had the horses unharnessed, and a fresh layer of hay on the ground. The men gestured in thanks. They had their wine, they held up the skins, and told me to go on.
I edged back to the main door, under the overhang, but I was still wet when I came into the house.
Again, my mother greeted me with a dry mantle and I stood against the door, breathing deeply, and catching my breath.
Hananel and his grandson, dressed in fresh dry wool, sat beside the low brazier, opposite Joseph. All had cups of wine in their hands. Joseph gave the blessing now in a hushed voice and bid the guests drink.
The old scholar looked up at me and then to Joseph. Then he tasted the wine and set it down before his crossed ankles.
"Who speaks for the girl now?" he asked.
"Grandfather, please . . ." Reuben said. "I thank you all for your kindness, thank you."
"Who speaks for her?" demanded Hananel. "I won't stay in this miserable town one moment longer than is necessary. For this I came, and on this I now speak."
Joseph gestured to James.