After Abel and Other Stories by Michal Lemberger

Author:Michal Lemberger [Lemberger, Michal; Kirsch, Jonathan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781938849480
Publisher: Prospect Park Books

That was what she wondered as she sat in her garden as Artakama, her sister’s favorite—and only—eunuch, directed the servants who would no longer be in her service after today, though she could see the pity in their eyes when she lifted her head. The same question went round her head ceaselessly. How could I have predicted this?

Mostly, she stared at the soil. Only yesterday, her sons’ feet had pounded it, one after another, chasing each other through the gardens. Now, the only sound was of the dampened whisper of servants moving around. Every so often, a maid sobbed and then ran into a far courtyard so she wouldn’t disturb her mistress.

Zeresh felt the activity around her. She heard as if from a distance as Artakama directed her headman what to dispose of before the new owner took possession and told her women to pack for Zeresh. “Just clothes and linens. Leave the fine silks behind.”

“Madam, we must go,” he said to her after the work had been done. She could hear the kindness in his voice. He has grown used to being kind to broken women, she thought, but she didn’t thank him for it. Her throat had closed around all words. She doubted it would ever open again.

“I have sent your things ahead,” he continued. “But we must go.”

She didn’t look up. She didn’t acknowledge where she was or that he was standing beside her. He looked to the servants for guidance, but they had never seen her immobilized like this before, either.

Eventually, she knew, she would have to stand up. She would have to take a few steps, and then a few steps more, but she didn’t know how to tell him that.

Instead, he cupped her elbow, his touch gentle but sure. So this is what my sister meant about the eunuchs’ hands, she thought. Not pleasure, but safety. She had never, she realized, been touched like this, not by her father or her husband. Not even her sons’ soft hands, since she passed them along to wet nurses as soon as they were born. She regretted everything, but maybe that most of all, the line of nurses and tutors who had known her boys better than she had. She had been so focused on their father, on what she could make of him, thinking she was setting them up well for a good future, each in his turn.

Artakama’s hand stayed on her elbow, the other guided her back.

“Mordechai’s men will be here to claim the house soon, Madam.”

“They’ve taken everything from me,” she finally said.

“You have me now.”

And he led her, slowly, as tender as ever, to the gate, where a litter more magnificent than she had ever ridden in stood waiting, curtains open, inviting as the womb. He helped her in and then pulled the curtains shut. It was dark and warm. She thought she would like to stay in there forever, her cheek against the silk, her finger tracing the threads in the fabric. It would take a lifetime to move over the entire expanse, one silken thread at a time.

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