“So, shall you wait until they are gone and you are free to choose?”
He gave me a long look and then replied. “I have thought of that.”
“But your father, though older, seems energetic still. Your mother may be so, as well. It could be quite some time. And you, have you no desire for the comfort and closeness of a woman?”
He smiled. “I prefer my own company at present.”
We both turned our eyes to the hearth and watched the flames licking at the logs for a while.
“And you,” Joseph asked at last, “have you no desire for the comfort and closeness of a woman?”
A sudden vision of Sophia bloomed in my mind. A day when we had gone walking in the countryside and she slowed and turned to me, her face radiant as she told me that she was with child. A joyful day. I had suppressed all memory of that day for long years since her death. My eyes filled with tears.
“Alexios?”
I wiped my eyes. “A sudden memory,” I replied huskily.
“Sophia?”
“Three years we had together. Wonderful years.”
I smiled. “My father wanted me to marry a younger girl in town. He told me, ‘She has the build fit for a mother of many children.’ But I had glimpsed another woman in the marketplace. I had seen her as she picked out fruit. A lovely smile, a slim build, and such beautiful dark hair she had, coiled respectably under her headscarf. I knew at once that we were meant for each other. I learned of her name from the fruit seller. Sophia. A friend spoke to her father.
“Another memory. How delighted she was early in our courtship at my gift to her of a hair comb carved from olive wood. She danced around me, laughing with excitement as she waved the comb in her hand. Then she handed the comb to me and said. ‘You must be the first to comb my hair with this.’ With that she pulled off her scarf, loosened several pins, and her lovely long hair tumbled almost to her waist. It was the day of our first kiss.”
I turned to Joseph, my eyes moist. “Imagine! A woman in her twenties, passed over for whatever reason by others. Soon to be considered a spinster, only good for service as an aunt to the children of her brothers and sisters.”
Joseph smiled. “But saved for you. I remember a verse of the Psalmist. ‘You have put gladness in my heart, more than when grain and wine and oil increase.’”
“Yes, great gladness for each other and a deep love I had never dreamed possible.” My voice grew husky. “Three years—”
I could not speak further.
Joseph leaned over to me and put a hand on my shoulder and spoke softly.
“Alexios, better than no years at all.”
“Not true! To have the warmth of love and partnership. To wake with joy every morning knowing that once again I would see her dear face, and then, gone! Never to see her again! It is a living death for me!”
“Is this what you believe?”
“Yes.”
“I think a different way.”
Sudden anger rose in me and I glared at him.
“Yes, you Jews have your God to comfort you! Mind the Commandments you have been given and the sacrifices and burnt offerings that you make to appease your God! Follow the rules and enter the heavenly kingdom. A fool’s dream! Empty words of consolation, I say!”
Joseph spoke quietly. “I believe you will see Sophia again.”
With an edge to my voice I said, “Is this your way of consoling me? Stop.”
His soft voice continued. “Please do not be offended.”
“What rubbish!” I wanted to slap him and shake his whole frame for such talk. Instead I pulled his hand from my shoulder and turned my face away.
“Alexios, death is real. When I think of my own mortality, at times I am frightened of the darkness that may come and feel powerless. But there is something other than the Law and the Commandments that gives me hope in times when hope seems impossible.”
I turned back to face him with scorn in my voice. “So, are you among those who consult the witches and seek news of the departed?”
“No, never! My hope comes from a prophet of old named Micah. In a time when my people were trodden down by the rich and powerful, he said many things, but of them all, one saying is inscribed on my heart: ‘What does the Lord require of you? To do justice, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God.’”
“Huh!” I snorted, “A fine notion.”
“Alexios, I know you find no worth in Roman gods.”
“The belief of fools. With every conquest Rome adds local gods to the list and thus soothes the conquered people.”
We both looked at the hearth. There were no words between us for a time. When at last Joseph spoke again it was in a low voice.
“You think me young, but I, too, have endured much.”
“Then be satisfied with your faith and may it comfort you in hard times.”
“I offer these words as comfort for you also.”
“Oh, are you now to convert me? So that I may worship in your synagogue and rock myself to and fro as I stand in prayer to the invisible one you call your Lord?”
“Alexios, I come here to purchase excellent wood, not to make you into someone you have no desire to be.”
“Thank you.”
“In my visits of these past years I have come to know you.”
“And I you. Up to now we have been comfortable together.”
“May it continue. What seem to be boundaries may not be so.”
“Meaning?”
Joseph looked me full in the face.
“Without knowing the prophet Micah you follow the path of his words. You are a just man, a kind man. I believe your love for Sophia and hers for you does not end in the grave. Your love will be recognized.”
“We are born; we die.” I responded. “That is the beginning and the end of our existence.”
“It is not. Think of your love for her, your memories of her. Neither has ended.”
“Words, words,” I muttered.
“Love is greater than death, Alexios.”
“We must stick to what the eye can see and the ear can hear.”
Joseph paused. I was waiting for more words of the scripture he studied. I would rebut it as well, I told myself. But he surprised me.
“Alexios, tell me. You truly loved Sophia and truly love her still?”
“Don’t be silly. Of course.”
“Of course. Now think with me for a moment. When we have spoken of the Lord, you picture God as an angry, wrathful god, a god who must be appeased. A god we weak humans never can live up to. Am I right?”
“Somewhat. My belief is that we have only ourselves for help.”
“I understand. But what if, instead of an aloof, easily angered god, there is a Lord who has created all that is, and loves us and wants the very best for us. What you wanted for Sophia.”
“Yes,” I said softly. “And she was taken from me. Is that the kind of love your Lord shows us?”
He was silent, thinking. At last he spoke once more.
“There