5

Yuda waved me to the bench where he sat with his breakfast. I went because I had to, or he’d make my punishment worse. No one had come yet to sit shiva with us.

“The stars made Bela die, Lizard.”

Ugly Camel Head, she died because I had the amulet.

“I remember when you were born.”

He’d been five.

“Papá and Mamá had your chart done.”

My horoscope. They’d had charts made for all of us, including the girls, but they never told us what the stars predicted.

“Mamá was angry when they came home.”

As always.

“Do you want to know what she said?”

“No.” But I did.

“She told Bela the stars predicted you wouldn’t have children. I heard her. She said, ‘Cursed! Just a baby, and Paloma is cursed.’”

I wouldn’t cry. “You’re lying.” Bela said I’d have many children.

“Ask Mamá or Papá.”

I’d never caught Yuda in a lie. He sought out terrible truths and squirreled them away. He’d held this one for seven years.

I wanted a husband and children more than anything, just as Vellida did. Samuel wanted a wife and children most. Family was paramount. Because of Mamá’s bad example, a happy future family was everything to me.

As soon as I’d eaten my breakfast, swallowing tears with my bread and cheese, Fatima came for me and delivered me to Belo’s study.

My heart galloped. Belo sat in his folding leather armchair, facing away from his desk, which was piled with books. His elbows rested on the chair’s arms; his hands supported his chin, making a sharp triangle above which he peered at me.

Papá and Mamá stood next to him, on the other side of the desk from the door. Fatima left.

Papá came to me and crouched to my level. “Little bug, we’ve wondered where you went when we couldn’t find you.”

A corner of me was confused by being called an insect. I didn’t answer.

Mamá broke out. “We spent hours looking for you!”

Papá interpreted. “Your mamá was very worried.”

Belo said, “Loma, Señor Rodrigo needs to know what happened, so he can protect you.”

The chief constable of the hermandad—the police! A Christian! I started to cry.

“She won’t tell us anything.” Mamá circled around me and stalked out of the room.

I sniffled. No one spoke.

After a few moments, Papá took my hand and led me out, too. I hoped that was the end of it, but he went downstairs with me to our courtyard and lifted me onto a wooden bench, though I could have sat on it without aid. A decorative nailhead pressed into my thigh.

A parrot squawked in the myrtle bush. The parrot is Mamá, I thought. More melodious birds lilted in the lemon tree. Both bush and tree grew out of big stone tubs.

Papá sat next to me. “When I was your age, my belo fell off a ladder. I was afraid he’d die, so I hid. As long as I didn’t know, I reasoned he could still be alive.” He grinned. “I hid really well.”

“Where?”

“You know the chest in Mamá’s and my bedroom? In there!” He sounded triumphant. “It was your belo’s and bela’s before your bela gave it to me. Nobody looked in it, because it was kept full of linens, which I artfully stowed elsewhere.”

“Had your belo died?”

“No. He broke his ankle, which I learned a day later when I came out.”

A whole day!

“I would have stayed longer if I hadn’t been hungry. Your belo snores. I counted eighty-five snores before I fell asleep.”

“I do that, too,” I said.

“Do what?”

“Count.”

“Ah.” Papá proved his cleverness with his next question. “Did you count anything last night when you were outside?”

“Steps.”

“In a staircase?”

I shook my head.

“Footsteps, little bug?”

I gathered my courage for a bit of discord. “Loma.”

Papá frowned. “Yes, I asked you, Loma.”

“A bug can’t talk.”

“You’re right. Footsteps, Loma?”

“Yes.”

He kneeled in front of me. “Li— Loma, please tell me about last night. No one will be angry.”

Belo would be.

“Not even Belo. I’ll talk to him. Tell me your adventure.”

Adventure was a good word. I began. He returned to the bench. I watched his face to make sure he wasn’t angry. He didn’t seem to be until I mentioned the Christian man, and I knew he wasn’t mad at me. When I said the man wanted to take me to the church, I feared he was going to explode.

At the part when Señora María said they couldn’t keep me, he said, “At least someone could think.”

I started crying again, and finally the worst came out: that they’d taken the amulet, that I shouldn’t have had it in the first place, that Bela would still be alive if she’d kept it. Or Haim or Soli or Rica, if she’d given it to one of them.

Papá lifted me onto his lap and murmured over and over into my hair, “Not your fault. You aren’t to blame.” He held me until I’d cried myself out.

“Better?” He wiped away his own tears.

I nodded.

“Loma, I’ll never stop missing my mamá, but the amulet didn’t save you. It doesn’t have that power. Your abuelo says it was your stubbornness that made you get well.” He put me back on the bench. “I have one more question: How did you find your way back to the judería?”

I told him about counting steps and keeping track of turns. “I knew my steps weren’t as big as Señor Mateo’s even though I made mine as long as I could.” I wondered why Papá’s eyebrows were climbing up his forehead. “I decided three of my steps made two of his.”

“Do you like numbers, little— one?”

I smiled. “I love them.” I paused. “Papá, last night, why were Christians running down the street? Why were they angry?”

“They think we poison their wells and that’s why they get the plague worse than we do.”

“Why do they?”

Papá shrugged. “We’re not even sure they do. Who counts?”

I would count!

He went on. “The Almighty may protect us, or the air may be better in our juderías.”

“Did the Christians hurt anyone? Are Señor Osua and the butcher all right?”

“They are. Just a few bruises. Your abuelo ran to the hermandad, and the constables came before any real harm was done.”

“Why did they help the Jews?”

“Your abuelo and I donate to the hermandad, so they like us and protect the judería.”

Oh.

Papá added, “And the king and queen don’t want anything bad to happen to us.”

That was good, and surprising. “Does the amulet protect anyone, really?”

“I don’t think so, but your bela believed in its power. She could list a hundred disasters it had averted, which may not have happened anyway.”

I had to think about that.

“Would you be able to show me the house of Señor Mateo and Señora María?”

“Yes.” I took a deep breath. “What would have happened if they took me to church?”

He hesitated. “A priest would have baptized you and made you a Christian. Once a Christian, a Christian forever, even if you were forced.”

A peep of fear erupted out of me.

He put his arm around my shoulder. “This is a lesson for you: You’re safer at home. Don’t run away again, if you please.”

Safer but not safe, since the mob had come to our door. Jews weren’t safe anywhere. A ceiling made of eggshells could fall down, even if it hadn’t so far.