19

The next afternoon, Belo would have fallen off his horse if a guard hadn’t been riding near him, where I’d have been if he hadn’t waved me away.

Another spasm.

We stopped. I thought of brigands. Our guards wouldn’t be enough against a large band. How to get him to safety? None of the villages on our way had Jews.

Belo sagged against the guard. His face drooped, but not as badly as the last time. And now the left side rather than the right looked slack.

Should we put him on the ground? Would he feel better if he could lie flat? Would food help?

He said, speaking clearly, “It’s nothing, though the horse has two heads.” He looked at me. “I see two granddaughters, both traitors. We should go.” He tried to kick his horse, but managed only with his right foot. The beast shied sideways, and Belo almost toppled.

Hamdun lifted a protesting Belo gently off his horse and onto the sparse grass on the side of the road.

I dismounted and pulled my flask of watery wine out of the pouch tied to my saddle. Maybe a drink would make him feel better.

Or it might be the worst thing for him.

Belo wouldn’t let me near him, but he rolled on his side and drank when Hamdun gave him the flask. “I’m much better now.” He tried to stand, teetered, and collapsed back. “Give me a minute.”

We had to give him half an hour while I wondered: if we should pitch our tents, where to pitch them, whether anywhere was safe. Then the spell seemed to pass, and he managed to mount his horse without help.

As we set out again, he said, “You did this to me, Loma.”

I wondered if the guards and Hamdun pitied me or thought me a terrible girl. I considered galloping back to Málaga and telling the queen I was ready to convert. Then Belo would be sorry. Then he’d understand how much he’d hurt me, who had only made a mistake.

But the idea of being a Christian had become loathsome, even if Belo never thought well of me again.

In the tent that night, after we’d each bedded down a yard apart on the rug, he said, “I miss my Loma. Your bela has been angry at me all day. She tells me you are a child, and I should remember that. Come.”

I snuggled under his arm, where he’d made a place for me. “I don’t want to be a Christian, Belo. The princess didn’t understand me.”

“Ah. She heard what she wanted to hear.”

Exactly.

As I drifted off to sleep, he added, “The Almighty thinks I can do more for the Jews, but I don’t know what. When He punishes me by making me sick, I can’t do anything.”

At the judería in Guadalupe on our way home, Belo told the rabbi about the ransom and was greeted with dismay. The rabbi agreed the sum would have to be raised, but the aljama was poor. They wouldn’t be able to give much.

Belo shook his head. I feared he’d get sick again, but he stayed healthy. At home, I told no one about his latest spasm.

With my twelfth birthday approaching, I treasured my rare opportunities to observe the aljama’s older boys and the young men who hadn’t yet been betrothed. My chances came on holidays when women and girls went to the synagogue with their families, and during celebrations, like engagement parties and weddings.

After services, for example, the congregation would linger in the street outside the synagogue. Grown-ups would chat. Small children would dash about, and boys and young men would play together. Girls had to stay with their parents, but no one could keep us from watching.

The comeliest boy was Benahe, whose entire face seemed to glow whenever he smiled. My eyes always looked for him first, and my breath always tightened when they found him. If a game of tag broke out, he was as graceful as a gazelle in the Bible.

Eventually, I’d drag my eyes to the others. Toui, who laughed often, seemed happiest. Saul, usually leaning toward the others, was the most intent. Esdras, the hazan’s son, constantly tripped, as if his feet belonged to someone else. Papá would love to have a hazan for a son-in-law, and Belo might be pleased, too.

I wanted Belo to be pleased!

How could I tell which of them was clever, kind, generous, gentle?

And what about Don Solomon’s great-grandson?

On one of these occasions, Yuda oozed next to me. “A sorry crop of swains, Lizard. I see you watching Benahe. Have you caught him at his hobby, picking his pretty nose?”

Go away, Ugly Camel Head!

“Saul, who seems so interested in everyone, comes close just to hear. You’ll have a deaf husband if Papá gives you to him. Esdras will be on crutches in two years if he keeps his legs at all.”

Yuda ran through them all. This one was a miser; this one couldn’t say a truthful sentence; this one was so foolish he could barely speak sensibly. All the vices and weaknesses of humanity fell from my brother’s tongue, as if the aljama were a modern Sodom and Gomorrah. “If I still gambled, I wouldn’t wager on your happiness with any of them.”

I thanked him for worrying about me. I’d developed a knack for sarcasm.

But he was better at it. “It’s what brothers are for.”

Samuel, the brother who truly wanted me to be happy, joined me next. “If I were Papá, I’d choose Yose Serrano for you.”

“Yose?” Yuda had just told me how bland he was. “Why?”

“We’re friends. He’s thoughtful. Watch him with his brothers.”

I did. He stood out because he was the tallest, and gangling, as if he hadn’t yet gotten used to the length of his legs and arms. He wasn’t as handsome as Benahe, but his face pleased me: long, narrow nose; thin lips, but a wide mouth; greenish-brown eyes.

Though Yose’s long legs made him fast, he was often tagged because half his attention was always on his two younger brothers. If one stumbled, Yose caught him. If the brother managed to fall, Yose comforted him. Sometimes he played with a brother riding his shoulders.

A promising future papá. Nothing mattered more than that.

But I made other discoveries. When the boys chatted, he listened more often than he spoke, but when he did speak, the others paid attention. When someone made a joke, he had a habit of shaking his head while laughing. When he made a joke, he blushed.

His papá was the physician Don Israel, and his abuelo sat with Belo on the board that governed the aljama. No one could object to his family.

Then, two weeks before my birthday, he smiled at me. I looked around, sure the smile was for someone else, but no one was looking his way. The smile was for me.

I smiled back. His smile widened, almost cracking his face in half.

On July 7, 1488, a Monday, I turned twelve and became a woman. When I woke up, I stayed in bed, assessing myself.

I felt exactly as I had the day before! Had I really become a woman months or even a year ago and failed to notice? Or was I still a child, and would I have to masquerade as an adult until the change actually came, if it ever did?

If I had to pretend to be grown-up, I would. My husband and children would never know.

Husband! Today it would begin. I imagined Yose Serrano’s smiling lips coming close, kissing me. His lips were soft!

My birthday was noticed.

At dinner, Papá beamed at me. “Another young woman in the family. It’s an occasion.”

The littles sat by me, as usual. The youngest—my nieces Clara and Jamila and my brother Jento—sat closest so I could help them with their food. Flanking them were my five-year-old nephew, Todros, and my seven-year-old niece, Beatriz.

Sunny Todros said, “I like Occasion. Where is it?”

“Ignoramus!” said Beatriz, trotting out her latest favorite word.

Papá said, holding up a platter, “A young man should be the beneficiary of these eggs, but I don’t know who’s worthy of them.” He touched his forehead. “I’m thinking, Loma.”

I blushed. I had made the eggs, which were baked with carrots.

Had Belo mentioned Don Solomon’s great-grandson to Papá? Could I? I wished Belo would say something—wish me joy, acknowledge the day. He had said the blessing and nothing after that.

“She’s a beauty,” Ledicia said. “Look at those eyes and those thick eyelashes.”

My kind sister. Yuda was at his own home or at Dueyna’s parents’, or he’d have found a way to remind me that I was an unblinking lizard.

I had reminded myself.

Samuel helped himself to more eggs. “Loma’s outer beauty will draw in her betrothed, but her inner beauty will hold him.”

Oh my.

Vellida laughed. “Don’t make the poor boy always lose at backgammon. I let Jacob win most of the time.”

Belo pushed back his chair at the head of the table. “The eggs are cooked to death, and Loma is too undercooked to be ready to marry anyone. I’m going to the synagogue.” He left the table, and I heard him stump down the stairs.

Mamá put down her spoon. “I blame her horoscope.”