The Dovekeepers
Page 160

Now, after all this time, she came to my door on the day the Roman ramp was completed. The ramp had fallen short, and for this we were grateful. But we shuddered to think of how the Romans might amend this, and how intent they were on reaching us, even if that meant they must float through the air.
The dog who watched over my son howled when Channa approached, as he might have had the Angel of Death knocked upon our door. Dogs are said to know of such visitations. In Alexandria I had witnessed a priest’s dog howl at the moment of his owner’s death; the grieving creature was then put to death himself so that his body might be buried beside his master’s. I held our watchdog by the neck and opened the door so that I might gaze upon my caller with loathing. I had already faced her once on this mountain, and she had no more power over me.
At least she knew well enough not to cross my threshold. I took in my rival, her pinched face, her sorrowful eyes, and in return she stared at me. By then there was no disguising I would soon bring another child into this world. But it was a world torn asunder. To me, birth seemed less like a gift to the soul I carried than it did a curse.
The dog pulled back his lips and showed his teeth to my visitor.
“I only want a minute,” Channa said hastily.
I loosened my hold on the dog, and he snapped his jaws. Perhaps Eleazar had once mentioned she was afraid of dogs. Perhaps that pleased me.
“I thought you wanted my life,” I remarked.
“No.” She shook her head. “I wanted my husband.”
“Then go to him,” I suggested.
She was hesitant. Not until I began to close the door did she speak out, her words flowing.
“Only you can grant me the protection of his life.”
We gazed at each other over the threshold. I wondered if it was possible that, even now, as Rome was besieging us, Channa might be trying to ensnare me, hoping to have me brought before the council and tried as a witch. Still I listened, for this woman and I had been tied together as the night is tied to the day, never knowing each other yet never eluding one another.
Perhaps I wanted to see her beg for something. The idea of her bleak pleas and her remorse was compelling. I sent the dog inside, then stepped into the yard. In any other year, this season would have meant the start of planting, but our fields lay fallow. There were no seeds and no men to work the plows and no beasts to assist them.
“I am not a magician,” I told my rival. “I can’t grant you anything.”
The almond trees were in full flower, and the hyssop bloomed. Channa had finished the cure I had sent to her and was once more prone to difficulty when she drew in deep breaths. I did not mention that hyssop grew nearby, along my wall. I let her puff and pant.
“Tonight the warriors are going out to try to stop the building of the ramp. They will not all return.”
I was resolved not to let her see how this news affected me. If she thought I was indifferent, she would not have the power to break my heart.
Channa went on when I was silent. “I dreamed he would return only with the help of a black bird.”
“I’m not a bird,” I said, though I was alarmed by this news, for I, too, had dreamed of a black bird, a raven, such as the one that had visited Elijah and fed him when he was lost in the wilderness and had no sustenance. “Why come to me?”
She was gazing at the child within me. “Is it a son?” Her voice was plaintive.
“Now you think I’m a witch and can divine God’s will. You think I’m many things, it seems. Did you ever think I was a girl who was sent into the wilderness? Did you see that my feet were bare and that the vultures followed me and that I was alone, sent to die? Maybe that was why your dream came to you. Perhaps you’re meant to choke on feathers.”
“Save him, even if it’s for yourself,” Channa said to me then.
She raised her eyes, and I saw the truth, that he was her husband and that she was willing do anything to rescue him. I took a step away. I knew then that she had power over me still, and that her power came from the fact that she loved him.
“I should have brought you into our home,” she went on. “Then your children would be mine as my husband was yours. We might have carried our burdens and joys together, as sisters.”
I marveled that she had the courage to speak to me in this manner, that she hadn’t been afraid to court my hatred of her and my spite. Because of this, I softened in a way I hadn’t thought possible. Perhaps it had been written that she would ruin her life and my own. Perhaps she, too, had no choice but to follow her fate.