The Dovekeepers

“They’re burying their scrolls because they’re leaving.” She was quite sure of this, for she had studied the Essenes’ ways when they first came to us. Their scrolls were everything to them, the documents of their faith. “They want to make certain their word remains should they perish, and they trust none among us to keep them safe. It’s their way of packing up before they depart.”

“We have to stop her,” I cried, thinking only of my sister. The matter was urgent; we had to rescue her now. I would take a rope to bind her and a scarf to cover her mouth so she couldn’t call out as she had when we ran away from her father. I would ask Yael for the cloak of invisibility, the one she’d used to lead the Man from the North away, so that I might cover my sister from head to toe. If Nahara’s husband came to search for her, he would see only the dew in the grass.

My mother sadly shook her head when I suggested we take action. “It cannot be done. Do you think I didn’t see her fate as well as yours?”

My mother’s damp hair shone in the dark. Lately, she could not drink enough water and was parched throughout the day. She had taken to wearing a black shawl. Her hands and legs were swollen, and her skin was dull, yet still she was beautiful. Some men said the sky paled before her and that in the World-to-Come the angels would be hesitant to call her to their side for fear her beauty would blind them.

“The moment I met the Essene I knew he was the one who would tempt her with the path she must not travel. I saw her destruction as I saw yours. Why do you think I sent him from the dovecote?”

“I don’t understand.”

I felt a sort of fury inside me. All along my mother had told me that I was the one to be unwound by love, not Nahara. I had changed the direction of my life not once but twice, simply because she had told me to do so. I had done her bidding without question, without doubt. I thought of how we had burned my garments on the shore of the Salt Sea, how I had denied who I was, willing to do anything to please her. I had turned away from Amram. Unable to reveal my true nature, I now felt little for him.

“You told me I was the one who must stay away from love. Now you’re saying it’s also Nahara’s fate? And what of Adir? Has that been written as well?”

My mother glanced away, but I grabbed her arm. She winced and turned back to me. I realized I was stronger. I was no longer afraid of her powers. I wasn’t duty-bound to keep promises to a woman who had told me only lies.

“Tell me God’s truth, not yours. Is this the fate of all your children?”

“It was me,” my mother admitted. Her voice was hoarse; she seemed fragile and distracted. “It was my fate. Whomever I loved would be doomed.” The air was murky inside our chamber, as though we were underwater. “I tried not to love you.”

There were tears streaming down my mother’s face as she said this, yet I had no pity. She had destroyed the person I might have been had she not interfered with my destiny. My entire life had been based on her lies.

“You succeeded,” I said coldly.

“I wanted to protect you. From love and, also, from me.”

I thought she might be crying, but I didn’t care. “And did you try not to love Ben Ya’ir?” I remarked rudely.

“Oh, no,” she said. “In that matter I had no choice.” She lifted her eyes to me. For once she presented me with the truth. “I loved him too well.”

*

THE GOAT HOUSE was empty when I arrived. The field there was little more than rocks; the grass had dried into shreds, worthless yellow tufts. Unlike the day of Nahara’s marriage, when she’d held her body against the door to bar our way, the door now swung open easily. These people had not believed in locks, for the only key that mattered to them was the one Moses had used to unlock the many truths of Adonai.

They had so little to take with them, a few goats, the garments they wore, their writing utensils so that they might continue to praise God as the world around them broke apart. Inside, the floor had been swept. I wondered if the broom leaning against the wall had been in Nahara’s hands. I took it in my own hands for that reason, but the wood was cold. There was not a crumb to be seen; even the rats that had lately come upon us would have little reason to search in the corners of this chamber or beneath the neat beds of straw. In the yard, the clothesline was still strung between two date trees, a thick rope made of goat hair I might have used to tie my sister, binding her to us had I been quick enough to save her a second time.

From the corner of my eye, I spied a boy behind the tree. Tamar’s son, Yehuda, was weeping on the ground.