Flow Down Like Silver: Hypatia of Alexandria by Ki Longfellow

Author:Ki, Longfellow [Ki, Longfellow]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical Fiction
ISBN: 9780975925560
Publisher: Eio Books
Published: 2011-06-24T00:00:00+00:00

He calls me Jone. He calls me “my dear Jone”!

When I was only a child, I felt myself in love with a priest called Isidore. But what does a child know of love? I am no longer a child.

But that Minkah has the acquaintance of our beloved bishop and that he, so exalted, knows Minkah! That he also knows Peter is a lesser pleasure, yet still a pleasure. I do not like Peter. I know no one who does. But neither I nor anyone else questions his faith.

When did I first pray that Minkah would find God? I have not missed a day since. At night in my bed I imagine him a priest and I his diakonos. I would so gladly act his servant! I imagine he becomes a saint and I his patroness. I do not imagine him as husband, yet there are dreams that come…oh, but of those, I cannot speak, not even to myself.

But what am I thinking? Without meaning to, I find my chin has risen, that my eyes widen as if I might brazenly stare around me, that an upward curve threatens my mouth. I rid myself of such posturing. The Patriarch awaits me.

As is right, I am offered no chair. As is right, the bishop does not stand in my presence. I am a woman. He is a man. Is there anything else to say? As is right, a second woman of faith is present for decency, standing near the door with her hands folded and her eyes lowered, and as is right, both she and I are silent. Bishop Theophilus will speak when he is moved to speak. As is right, whatever it is he says, I shall agree to.

He has his back to me. In the bright light of the window, he shines as our Lord must have shone in sun or shade. He speaks before he turns. “As you came in, Jone of The House of Women, did you see a young man, an Egyptian?”

“I did, father.”

“You know him, do you not?”

“For many years, father.”

“What do you think of him?”

“He is a good man. He honors my father, he protects my sister. I have heard nothing ill of him.”

The bishop turns. Would it be blasphemous to say his face causes me fear? I remind myself that many are called to the Lord. Who am I to question who is called and who is not, or that their faces are filled with the marks of pox, that their jowls sag like the jowls of caged apes, that their noses are purple and smell of vats in vineyards?

“Do you see him often?”

“No father.”

“Why not?”

“I live now with Christian women. I have so much to do each day: distributing alms to the poor, tending the ill, finding ways into the homes of pagans so I might speak to a woman there who is said to be seeking us—”

“All, of course, worthy. But I wish something more of you.”

“Yes, father?”

“You will visit your home again.

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