But this wasn't finished.
Joseph quickly gestured to the Heavens again, and made the signs for rest and peace under Heaven.
"Help me with her," said Avigail, because Silent Hannah wouldn't be moved.
My mother and my aunts came forward. Slowly Silent Hannah yielded. She walked as one in a dream. Out of the house they went, the group of them.
She must have stopped in the street. We heard a sound like an ox bellowing, a huge and awful sound. It was Silent Hannah.
By the time I reached her, she'd gone wild, thrashing at everyone around her, kicking, pushing, and out of her came this shapeless bellowing louder and louder, echoing off the walls. She pushed at Avigail and flung Avigail against the wall, and Avigail suddenly broke into sobs and began screaming.
Shemayah, Avigail's father, opened the door.
But Avigail flung herself on Silent Hannah, sobbing and crying and letting the tears run, and pleading with Silent Hannah to please please Come. "Come with me!" Avigail sobbed.
Silent Hannah had stopped her moans. She stood still staring at Avigail. Avigail let herself convulse with her sobs. She threw up her arms and then went down on her knees.
Silent Hannah ran to her and lifted her. Silent Hannah began to comfort her.
All the women gathered around. They stroked the hair of the two young women; they stroked their arms and their shoulders. Silent Hannah kept wiping at Avigail's tears as if she really could wipe them completely away. She clutched Avigail's face and wiped hard at her tears. Avigail nodded. Silent Hannah patted Avigail over and over.
Shemayah held the door open for his daughter, and finally the two young women went into the house together.
We went back into our house. The coals were glowing in the darkness, and someone put a cup of water in my hand, and said, "Sit down."
I saw Joseph against the wall, his ankles crossed, his head bowed.
"Father, you don't come with us today," said James. "You stay here, please, and watch the little ones. They need you here today."
Joseph looked up. For a moment he looked as if he didn't know what James was saying to him. The usual argument did not come. Not even a sound of protest. Then he nodded and closed his eyes.
In the courtyard, James clapped his hands to make the boys hurry. "We mourn in our hearts," he reminded them. "Now we're late. And those of you who work here today, I want this yard swept, do you understand? Look at it." He turned around and around, pointing at the dead dried vines that clung to the lattices, to the leaves heaped in every corner, to the fig tree that was no more now than a tangle of bones.
Once we were on the road, crowded into the usual slow grind of wagons and teams of workers, he drew me close to him and said,
"Did you see what happened to Father? Did you see it? He tried to speak and - ."
"James, this day would have wearied any man, but after this . . . he should stay home."
"How can we persuade him of that, that I can run things now? Look at Cleopas. He's dreaming, talking to the fields."
"He knows."
"Everything falls on me."
"It's the way you want it," I said.
Cleopas was my mother's brother. It didn't fall to him to be the head of the family. It was the sons of Cleopas, and his daughter Little Salome, whom I called my brothers and sister. The wives of these brothers were my sisters. The wife of James was my sister.
"That's true," James said with a little surprise. "I do want it all to fall on me. I don't complain. I want things done as they should be done."
I nodded. I said, "You're good at it."
Joseph never went into Sepphoris to work again.
Chapter Six
TWO DAYS PASSED before I got away to the grove, my grove.