As a driven leaf by Steinberg Milton

Author:Steinberg, Milton [Steinberg, Milton]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Heretics, ca. 70-ca. 135 -- Fiction, Jews -- History -- 168 B.C.-135 A.D. -- Fiction, Jewish -- Fiction, Elisha ben Avuyah
Publisher: J. Aronson
Published: 1987-06-15T04:00:00+00:00

“Take the Hebrew books out,” he ordered glumly. “I shall not need them.”

Then he sat down at his writing table, picked up his quill pen and tried to write a bill of divorcement. He knew the formula well but his fingers slipped and his mind played queer tricks on him. Only on the fifth attempt did he finally have it done and even then he was not certain that it was accurate. Next he drew up a writ of settlement.

“Tobias, Uriel,” he called. “You will attest these documents.”

The steward picked up the sheets, read them, and turned pale.

“I do not like to do this,” he began nervously.

“Please sign,” Elisha insisted.

Reluctantly the servants affixed their names.

“And now come with me. You will serve as witnesses of their delivery.”

He led the way into the next room. Deborah had remained standing. Elisha handed her the document attesting to the financial agreement. Then he held forth the bill of divorcement. But it was a moment before he could find the voice to say, “With this I send thee forth from being my wife.

[256]

Thou art henceforth free to marry whomsoever thou choos-est.”

The sheet slipped from her nerveless fingers and fluttered to the floor. Yet it was enough. She had made no gesture of refusal. Therefore, in accordance with the law, they were no longer man and wife. But in the interval between the delivery of the two writs a turmoil had broken loose within her. For, once the guarantee of security was in her hand and her anxiety as to her future allayed, the other hurt made itself felt, filling her with bitterness. At the touch of the second document her seething resentment exploded into hysteria.

“I hate you,” she spat at him. “I am glad they have found you out. You deserve to be excommunicated. If they ask me, I will stand up before the whole Sanhedrin and tell them how you, a rabbi, have treated me.”

He attempted to calm her.

“Deborah,” he reasoned, “it is better so. In time, when you are more composed . . .”

“Stop,” she shrieked, “stop trying to make it easier.”

“But we do not love each other. We never have. . . .”

“You mean,” she screamed, “you have never loved me.”

At the memory of old humiliations she leaped forward and clawed at his face. He raised his arm to ward her off, but not quickly enough. For the second time that day his cheek was streaked with blood.

With one final glance around the room he turned and left the house. Deborah followed to the door, hurling curses after him. They pursued him into the open. He picked up the reins of the pack mule, got onto his horse and rode off. His last impression of the woman who was no longer his wife, as the first, was of her voice. But now it was shrill and unlovely. In his eagerness to escape its stridency he neither took leave of his servants nor looked back to the house that had been his home since birth.

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