for the Therapeutae. We have need of you here. Some of our members are old and sick and there’s no one to tend them. You’re accomplished in the art of healing. If you remain with us, we would benefit from your care.”
“You wish me to live among you?” Diodora said.
“Only if you wish a quiet, contemplative life. Only if you wish to study and keep God’s memory alive.” These were the same words she’d spoken to Yaltha and me the night we’d arrived.
“But yours is the God of the Jews,” Diodora said. “I know nothing of him. It’s Isis I serve.”
“We will teach you about our God and you will teach us about yours, and together we’ll find the God that exists behind them.”
Diodora gave no answer, but I watched a light come into her face.
“Does Yaltha know you’re here?” I asked.
“Not yet. I only just arrived and Skepsis wished you to accompany us.”
“I would not have you miss Yaltha’s face when she sees who has come,” Skepsis said. Her eyes pored over my neat, methodical stacks of scrolls. “I pray we shall soon have a healer and a librarian.”
* * *
? ? ?
YALTHA HAD FALLEN ASLEEP sitting on the bench in the courtyard beside our hut with her head leaning against the wall. Her arms were crossed over her thin breasts, her lower lip fluttering with each puff of breath. Seeing her at rest, Skepsis, Diodora, and I paused.
“Should we wake her?” Diodora whispered.
Skepsis strode over and shook her shoulder. “Yaltha . . . Yaltha, someone is here.”
My aunt opened one eye. “Leave me be.”
“What do you think, Diodora?” Skepsis said. “Should we leave her alone?”
Yaltha started, looking past Skepsis to where Diodora stood near the entrance.
“I think we should leave her alone,” I said. “Go back to sleep, Aunt.”
Yaltha smiled, motioning for Diodora to come and sit next to her. When they’d said their greetings, she summoned me, as well. As I sank down on the other side of her, she looked at Skepsis. “My daughters,” she said.
xxii.
Diodora and I followed a zigzagging footpath to the top of the limestone cliffs that rose behind the Therapeutae community. Sunlight lay across the summit and the rocks were shining white as milk. Scampering through the few remaining poppies, I was possessed by the ebullient feeling of being set free. I didn’t like to think I could be happy with Jesus so far away and his circumstances unknown to me, yet I felt it—happiness. The realization brought a twist of guilt.
“Your countenance has fallen,” said Diodora. She’d been trained to observe the body and little escaped her notice.
“I was thinking of my husband,” I said. I told her then about the circumstances of our separation and how much it grieved me to be away from him. “I’m awaiting a letter telling me it’s safe for us to return.”
She came to a standstill. “Us? Do you believe Yaltha will leave and go back?”
I stared at her, silence gnawing around us. The night she’d come to Haran’s house, she’d become distressed when Yaltha had spoken of returning to Galilee, and she’d made it plain she had no wish to go there with us. Why had I said anything about leaving?
“I don’t know if Yaltha will leave or stay,” I told her, realizing it was true. I didn’t know.
She nodded, accepting my honesty, and we continued on more subdued. Reaching the crest ahead of me, she took in the vista and swept her arms open. “Oh, Ana. Look!”
I hastened the last few steps and there before me was the sea. The water stretched all the way to Greece and Rome, glittering striations of blue and green, ripples of white. Our Sea, the Romans called it. Galilee was a million fathoms away.
Finding a cranny protected from the winds, we sat, squeezed together between the rocks. Since Diodora’s arrival she’d been effusive, telling us about her days growing up at Isis Medica. She’d asked questions as well, eager for stories about us. Our whispered talks on our sleeping