HANNAH WAS IN such a state of anxiety that she felt like a mother in labour. Rabbi Yakov ben Asher had the power to make binding orders on all issues, both civil and criminal. The Ottoman government cared little about the Jews as long as peace prevailed in the mahalle and everyone paid their taxes. But the Rabbi was ill with influenza. There was nothing to do but wait for his recovery, which was taking too long. Meanwhile, during the nearly two months since Grazia had arrived, the two women moved warily through the house, neither of them wanting to discuss what was so present in both their minds. Hannah went about her daily chores and watched helplessly as both her son and her husband seemed to fall deeper and deeper in thrall with Grazia. Her influence in the household grew stronger with each passing day. She sought Isaac’s opinion on a variety of matters, from whether it would rain, to what he would like for his supper. She cooked Matteo special dishes, singing him to sleep at night. She helped Möishe set up the warp and weft on the looms. Her nimble fingers rapidly unravelled silk cocoons, a tedious task.
Isaac had begun consulting Grazia in business matters, as she had a clever head for figures. She was keeping his ledgers for him, something Hannah had once tried without success. She had no knowledge of how the long columns of figures were supposed to be arranged on the page; her addition and subtraction was neither rapid nor accurate. When she added more than ten numbers together, she got several different answers. When Hannah asked Isaac why he encouraged Grazia to sit poring over his books night after night, he said, “So she could see for herself the workshop is not prospering and that we have no money to pay her.”
It was not necessary to strain one’s eyes over ledgers. Any fool could see Isaac’s many bolts of printed silk—the entire output of his shop for the past six months—were gathering dust in a backroom just beyond the workshop. Exquisite material that shimmered like the wings of a butterfly. Fabric that would fetch a fortune in Venice languished for buyers here in Constantinople where the price was so low that Isaac could not sell it without sustaining a loss.
As for Leah, all Hannah knew—from the Valide’s messenger who had arrived out of breath on her doorstep yesterday—was that the couching would take place in three days. The Imperial carriage would fetch her. As to how the girl was adjusting to life in the harem, even Ezster, with her consummate gift for ferreting out palace gossip, had no news of her.
Hannah had not told Isaac that she was soon to go to the palace. Once, she would have confided in him. Now, he was so worried about money she did not want to add to his burden.
The couching would proceed unless Hannah could think of a means to prevent it. The thought of Leah, no more than a child, coupling with the Sultan filled her with distress even if it meant Hannah would receive the Valide’s gratitude as well as a rich reward. If only she had had an opportunity to counsel the girl, explain what was ahead of her, perhaps give her an opium pill to make the experience less disturbing.
A knock at the front door interrupted her gloomy thoughts. It was Myriam, the Rabbi’s wife, to say the Rabbi had recovered and would see them. They were to go to his study immediately. The three of them hastily donned their best clothes and left the house, walking in silence the short distance.
First Isaac, then Grazia, and finally Hannah filed into the Rabbi’s cramped study, which looked as though it had not been dusted since the destruction of the temple of Jerusalem. The Rabbi was hunched behind a table piled with books. Distracted, thin from his illness, more filled with tremors than ever, he nodded as they entered the stuffy room.
Rabbi Yakov ben Asher, rabbi of the Poli Yashan shul with a congregation of a hundred Ashkenazi and Romaniote Jews, husband of Myriam, father of five daughters, three living, stroked a beard so long and sparse that it looked like a dusty cobweb tossed over the front of his black robe. He was old, at least sixty, and his hair was more grey than black. His shoulders were rounded as a soup tureen, his skin so dry his face appeared powdered with chalk. In short, he looked like a rabbi.
Isaac had once remarked to Hannah that Rabbi Yakov was so spindly it was a miracle he could stagger with the scrolls of the Torah from the Holy Ark to the bimah, the pulpit. Myriam, the rebbetzin, had told Hannah that when she and the Rabbi joined together, they did so through a hole in the coarse blanket he threw over her first. “It is as though he is forcing himself to couple with something foul,” she said through her tears. “No matter how often I go to the mikvah, I am never pure enough for him.” Rabbi Yakov was not a man who cared for women.
The Rabbi rose and hugged Isaac. He concealed the tremor in his hands by patting Isaac’s back. He looked at Hannah and Grazia, not moving to touch them. This was to be expected. He shoved some books and papers from the bench in front of his writing table.
“Sit,” he ordered, as though to a group of Yeshiva students. His suit smelled of rosemary and peppermint leaves, to repel moths. Underlying this pleasant smell was the even stronger odour of smoked herring.
Hannah sat first, her mouth so dry she would have been grateful for a sip from the water jug on the Rabbi’s desk, but he did not offer it to her. Isaac sat next to her, looking as stern as Moses. Grazia sat to Hannah’s left. She must have been apprehensive too, judging from the way her hands twisted in her lap.
From behind his desk the Rabbi fixed them with his sharp, black eyes. “Well, what can I do for you?”
Books teetered on his table—some opened, some closed, all well-thumbed and stacked in jagged towers that threatened to crash to the floor. Hannah had not known there were so many books in the universe and wondered if there was sufficient knowledge in the world to fill them.
The Rabbi rocked back and forth in his chair. He studied Grazia, taking in her smooth blond hair and perfect skin. If he was puzzled to see a woman dressed as a Jewess who did not appear in the least to be Jewish, he gave no sign of it. Isaac must have explained that Grazia was a convert.
When no one spoke, he cleared his throat and said, “Let me see if I can guess what has brought you here. Difficulties can come in many forms but mostly there are two varieties—those that can be solved by great lashings of money and those that cannot. I would say that from everyone’s grave expressions, you three have money trouble. Am I right?”
“We welcomed Grazia, our sister-in-law, into our house a month ago,” began Isaac. “We have been happy for her company. But now we have a dilemma.” At the Rabbi’s prodding, Isaac explained—Leon’s death, Grazia’s arrival in Constantinople, the marriage contract, and the debt owing to Leon and now to his widow …
After a few moments, the Rabbi made an impatient circle in the air with his finger urging Isaac to get to the point.
“I find myself at a loss,” said Isaac. “Grazia insists on immediate and full payment.”
The Rabbi stroked his beard. “The amount owing?”
“A hundred ducats.”
The Rabbi whistled. “An impressive sum. Enough to buy golden Kaddish cups and feed all the poor Jews in the city for a year.” He looked at Grazia, “Let me see this fancy marriage contract of yours.”
“Leon and I signed it a few weeks before our wedding,” Grazia said. She took the document from her bag and placed it on the desk, smoothing open the heavy parchment to reveal a border of peacocks, their tails draping the sides of the page.
The Rabbi rubbed his hands on his jacket and then took the parchment. “These are Hebrew characters, as you know.” He pointed to the outer border of letters. “The rest of the contract is written in Aramaic.” He pointed to a scrawl. “That is your signature at the bottom?”
“Yes,” replied Grazia.
The Rabbi squinted. “And who is this witness?” he asked, pointing to another signature.
“I do not remember,” said Grazia, shaking her head.
“You do not remember your own witness?”
Grazia rubbed the bridge of her nose. “It might have been, let me see, my father or one of my uncles or …” Her voice trailed off.
The Rabbi gave an impatient wave of his hand to silence her, then, muttering to himself, read aloud, moving his finger from right to left along the Aramaic script. He translated as he read, beginning with the preamble, “In the Creator’s name may they build their house and prosper …” He paused at a line in the middle and looked up at Grazia. “You brought a considerable dowry to the marriage. And, yes, the contract stipulates that the money be returned to you upon Leon’s death.” He raised an eyebrow. “Did you and Leon have children?”
Grazia shook her head.
The Rabbi looked at Isaac. “You have been to the moneylenders?”
“Yes, and I have been turned down by everyone,” said Isaac.
Grazia opened her mouth as though she wished to add something to Isaac’s remark, but the Rabbi motioned for her to be quiet. He leaned back in his chair.
“And you, Hannah, what do you think about this situation?”
Hannah was startled. Since when did a Rabbi ask a woman’s opinion on anything? “It is just as Isaac says,” she replied. “We do not have her money, but she can live with us until the money can be found. Grazia and I get along like sisters.” Did not sisters squabble at times, feel jealousy and suspicion of each other? “I would be happy for her to stay with us as our honoured guest until Isaac is able to raise her money.”
“And you?” He nodded at Grazia.
“Alas, I cannot wait for Isaac to pay me. I must return to Rome.”
“And what is so important in Rome?”
Grazia blushed. “I wish to remarry.”
This was the first Hannah had heard of such a plan. True, life was for the living, and Jewish law frowned on a long period of mourning, but still, wasn’t it too soon? Had Isaac known of a remarriage? She looked at him but could tell nothing from the stern expression on his face.
The Rabbi rose to his feet, extracted a book from a pile on the table. “All of you think this is a simple matter of debt and repayment? That all you need do is keep Grazia as a guest until her debt is satisfied? There is something of which you are ignorant.” He leafed through the book until he found the page he wanted.
“Yes,” he said, “this is from Deuteronomy. I will simplify for the sake of the women.” He cleared his throat. “When a man dies, leaving a widow, it is the duty of the deceased man’s brother to ‘go into the widow,’ and perform the duty of a husband. And if a son is born to her, then the child shall be named after the deceased brother.” The Rabbi took a deep breath. “You have heard the Latin word ‘levir’?”
Hannah tried to concentrate on the Rabbi’s words but they made no sense.
“Meaning brother-in-law?” Isaac asked.
The Rabbi nodded. “The law of levirate marriage states that a brother-in-law is married to his brother’s widow, if the brother dies without heirs.” He turned to Grazia. “Since you and Leon had no children, this means, Isaac, in the eyes of the law, you and Grazia are husband and wife.”
Hannah felt as shocked as she had felt when years ago a rabbi in Venice had told her Isaac had been taken as a slave in Malta.
“But that is an ancient tradition from biblical times. Jews no longer practise this custom,” said Isaac.
“All that remains to legitimize this union is consummation.” The Rabbi spoke as matter-of-factly as if he were telling them the price of a barrel of pickled herring or a measure of lamb suet. “You may, of course, choose to have a wedding ceremony, but it is not required by law.”
Hannah tried to speak but it took her a few moments to form the words. “But Isaac is married to me!”
The Rabbi ignored her and said to Isaac, “The law is for the protection of the widow.”
“So I am married to both Hannah and Grazia?” Isaac asked, incredulous.
Hannah glanced at Grazia. At first the woman wore a look of shock, and then another unreadable expression came over her face.
The Rabbi asked, “Is there anything in your marriage contract with Hannah to prevent you from taking another wife?”
Isaac shook his head. “I married Hannah without a dowry, so there was no need for a ketubah.”
Isaac had taken her without so much as a feather bed to her name. If only he had not been forced to mention it now in front of the Rabbi.
The Rabbi raised an eyebrow. “You must have loved her very much.”
Isaac smiled for the first time since they had set foot in the Rabbi’s study. “I still do.”
How relieved Hannah felt, at least for the moment. Perhaps when all of this was sorted out they could be as close as they once had been.
Grazia spoke. “This law is for my protection?”
“Can’t you see?” Hannah said. “With this law, you go from one husband to the next, passed from hand to hand like a platter of lamb around the Seder table at Passover.”
“Hannah,” said Isaac, a note of warning in his voice.
“I will not agree to this,” Hannah said, ignoring him. “I am Isaac’s rightful wife. How can Isaac have two wives? Muslims—yes, their religion permits four wives if they are rich enough to support them. But Jews—no.” She should not speak so. It was not a woman’s place, but she no longer cared.
The Rabbi should have been offended by her outburst, but when she looked up, there was a look of bemusement on his face. “Here in Constantinople, we follow the teachings of Rabbi Eliyahu Mizrahi of Saintly Seed, who allowed such unions, especially as in your case, Isaac”—the Rabbi looked pointedly at Hannah—“when the marriage is without children.” He stroked his beard. “In Constantinople a Jew can have more than one wife. Hannah, God has closed your womb. Because of you, Isaac has not been able to fulfill his obligation to go forth and multiply.”
“But that is—” Not my fault, Hannah was about to say. I have gone to the hocas in the market, swallowed their potions and elixirs, rubbed strange mixtures on my stomach, and slept with magic amulets under my pillow. She said none of this aloud.
“As I have explained, if Isaac has a son with Grazia, he will honour his dead brother’s memory by naming the boy after his deceased brother.”
The Rabbi talked in a kindly tone, as though speaking to a simpleton. To bear a son was the crowning achievement of every woman’s life. The thought of Grazia bearing Isaac’s son made Hannah feel angry and ill.
“What kind of a law marries a man and a woman without their knowledge and then keeps them married against their will? Do the first wife’s wishes count for nothing?” Hannah rose to her feet.
Isaac put a hand on her arm and tugged her back into her chair.
“I apologize for my wife’s behaviour, Rabbi,” he said.
“Do not dare to apologize for me,” said Hannah. “I can tell an unfair law even if you and the Rabbi cannot. This is wickedness! If this is the law, then I spit on it!”
“Hannah, please control yourself,” Isaac said.
“My dowry is all I have in the world,” said Grazia. “I came in good faith, to meet with my brother- and sister-in-law, the only family I have except my stepson, Yehuda.” She wiped the corner of her eye with the back of her hand. “If the law says I am to become Isaac’s wife, I will obey.” Grazia spoke with a calm deliberation that Hannah admired and at the same time hated. “If I lay with Isaac and become his wife, will Hannah and I be equal before the law?” Grazia asked. “By which I mean, will we share his estate equally if he dies?”
“Yes, of course,” said the Rabbi.
This was happening too fast for Hannah to comprehend. Isaac’s lips on Grazia’s? His arms around her? Laying together? And how could this woman, this virtual stranger, this convert, even mention, even contemplate the death of her beloved Isaac?
If this travesty of a marriage could occur, then so too could the coupling of Leah and the Sultan.
“It is up to Isaac to decide whether to accept his marriage to Grazia,” the Rabbi said. “If he repudiates her, then the law in its wisdom provides a remedy—the halizah, the ritual divorce. A distressing ceremony but a solution.”
Hannah had spoken too soon. She had let her anger get the better of her. Now she regretted it.
Everything was in Isaac’s hands.
Beads of sweat had formed on Isaac’s forehead. “Grazia, your money will be repaid. I have no intention of depriving you of your dowry. But I need time.”
The Rabbi turned to Grazia. “When did Leon die?”
“Four months ago.”
“The law provides that a levirate marriage takes effect three months from the date of death. However, I can, if you wish, order that the marriage be held in abeyance for another month. That will give you a month to pay back the dowry money. In the meantime—”
Isaac cut him off. “Rabbi, arrange the tribunal for the divorce. I will find her money.”
The Rabbi held up a finger. “Isaac,” he said, “do not be too hasty. Lay with this beautiful widow. Keep your silk business, keep her dowry.”
“No,” said Isaac.
A single word but said with such conviction. Hannah’s hands began to loosen their grip on each other.
“As you wish,” said the Rabbi. “If you cannot raise the money in a month, then there is nothing further I can do.”
Grazia looked both confident and resigned. Hannah had seen this look on the faces of men, never on the face of a woman.
“If I am to be cheated of my dowry, then at least I deserve a proper wedding ceremony.” Grazia took a handkerchief from her skirt pocket and wiped her brow with it. “If you cannot repay me, Isaac, then I shall have a wedding dinner with baked fish and potatoes and a bridal dress of white peau de soie, with full sleeves and gussets of satin.” Her voice seemed to override the noise from the street outside: the cries of Igde! from the sherbet sellers, the birds overhead, and even the blows of hammer on stone from a stonecutter’s workshop next door.
Hannah willed some air into her lungs.
“And you,” said Grazia as she turned to Hannah, “perhaps you shall sew my wedding dress for me.”