Esther (50 page)

On the ninth year, Erez did not press anything into my hand as I passed him on my way to the Purim celebration. I tried not to look disappointed. It would appear strange for me to be sad on such a happy occasion. After I had gone a few more steps, Erez called out, “Your Majesty, you dropped this.”

I turned around and walked past my escort so I could take the scroll directly from him. I had not looked openly at him since the last time he had walked me to the king's chambers nine years before. I was startled to see how much older he had gotten. Some of the hair near his temples was starting to turn silver and deep lines cupped his mouth on either side. But this was not as startling as seeing that he was looking at me directly. I tried to hide the pleasure I felt at having his dark eyes on mine. I knew from the intensity with which he gazed at me that something big was coming and that he was not afraid. I gazed back with equal force.
I am not afraid either.

He pressed not only a scroll into my palm but something solid and sharp as well. I did not have to look at it to know what it was. It was as familiar as though I had just torn it from my neck and dropped it upon the banquet hall floor yesterday. He had gotten the Faravahar back. My heart swelled and I had the urge to press myself against him.

Perhaps my desire was written too plainly across my face. He bowed abruptly, but not before I noticed his smile.

“Thank you,” I said, and forced myself to walk away.

I was surprised to see that Mordecai was at the Purim celebration. He had been so busy for the last few months that I had hardly seen him at all, and when I had, he could spare little time to talk. He approached with a brow even more tangled than usual. “What is it, cousin?”

“I have come to see you,” he said quietly, “perhaps for the last time.” Before I could protest, he went on. “I do not know if Artabanus will succeed in taking the crown, but I do not want you around while he tries. You will be welcome in any Jewish quarter in the empire.”

“As will you. We will go together.”

“For the sake of our people, I must try to retain my position here.”

He was the one person I had known all my life. I had already lost Ruti, and when I fled I would lose Hegai. I did not want to lose Mordecai too. “Will you visit?”

“If doing so will not put you in any danger.” He squeezed my left hand in his, then turned it over and kissed my palm. “May the God of Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Rebecca, and Jacob, Rachael and Leah watch over you on your travels.”

When I returned to my chambers in the morning, I did not go more than two steps before dismissing my servants and opening the scroll Erez had pressed into my palm.

Next time we travel together, I will take you wherever you want to go
.

I had not been outside the palace in fifteen years. Half my life. When I fled, my crown would not go with me. I unpinned it without a servant's help and stood feeling its weight upon my head one last time. I thought of all I had done to get it, how hard I had struggled to keep it, and the many people who had helped me.

Am I ready for another journey?

My hands were steady as I took off the crown and set it on a table beside the bed.
Yes, I am ready.

I've had a complicated relationship with the Old Testament since I was old enough to read it on my own. The one thing that always brings me back is the people God chose to carry out His tasks. He didn't call upon perfect people. He chose people who sometimes wished He'd chosen otherwise. When Esther isn't feeling up to the task of saving her people, Ruti tells her, “God chooses cowards to be brave, barren women to give birth to prophets, passionate men to be patient, and a man who stutters to command his people through the desert.” Conflicted people. Ruti's line had been in the prologue to
Sinners and the Sea,
but I cut it before the book was published. The only way I could bring myself to cut it was to decide to use it in my next novel. I like the writers' adages
Only trouble is interesting
and
Hell is very story friendly.
Sometimes the worst trouble is that which one finds within herself.

Esther has a question many of us have at some point in our lives:
Am I worthy of the task I've been given?
This is one of the ways I sought to make her a human being, neither all-good nor all-bad. Ideals of perfection plague women and girls in a special way. We're encouraged to be “nice girls” and people pleasers. Which brings me to another of my favorite adages:
Well-behaved women seldom make history
. Hegai tells Esther “do not waste time trying to convince yourself that everything you do springs from pure and selfless goodness . . . I cannot tolerate girlish silliness.” Esther must leave behind certain prized aspects of femininity to do what must be done.

Another area I wanted to explore in writing about Esther was her intelligence. Becoming queen is no easy task. I've never been satisfied with the assumption that many come away with after reading the Book of Esther: the king made Esther queen because she was beautiful. With hundreds of beautiful girls for the king to choose from, a girl would have been foolish to rely solely on her beauty. Esther is smart enough to quickly win the favor of Hegai, and smart enough to listen to him. In the novel, Hegai tells her, “You will have to learn to appear fierce and submissive at the same time. That is the task of womanhood, and you must master it while you are still a girl.”

LIBERTIES TAKEN

Those familiar with the Book of Esther may have noticed that I combined Haman and Memukhan into one character. Scholar Ilana Goldstein Saks notes the similarities between the two men in
Torah of the Mothers: Contemporary Jewish Women Read Classic Jewish Texts.
Both advisers manipulate the king in similar ways, and both generalize about the effects of a transgression on an entire population.

Another liberty I took was using the term “Immortal” to describe Xerxes' most elite force. Use of the term is thought to originate with Herodotus some years after Xerxes' reign. I also used Herodotus's exaggeration about the size of Xerxes' forces. Herodotus often blurred the line between historian and storyteller. Perhaps I was subconsciously thinking of him when I had Mordecai tell Esther, “The tale men fashion is as important as what really happened. Until many years have passed. And then it is more important.”

I'm so grateful for all the support I've received. Thank you to early supporters Amber McKenzie, Megan Atwood, and Heather Anastasiu, along with friends Inna Valin, Margie Newman, Alyssa Maizan, Jenny Updike, Michelle Meyers, Diane Grace, Dawn Frederick, Richard Nystrom, Tanya Pedersen-Barr, Karen Seashore, and Tom Remes. I couldn't have done it without the tireless members of my writing group, Sandy Stefenson and Richard Thompson, and my brilliant agent, Carolyn Jenks, who can light up a room from a thousand miles away, along with her well-chosen junior agents and editors, most especially Tildy Banker-Johnson and Caroline Pallotta. I'll be forever indebted to my unofficial and woefully underpaid local PR woman, Sue Stein. Becky Nesbitt and the other lovely folks at Howard have once again astonished me with their grace and insight; I can't thank them enough. Many thanks to superhero Rabbi Morris Allen of Beth Jacob Congregation, my brother, Aaron Kanner, who is a champion in every way, my devoted father, Michael Kanner, and my mentor and friend Lynn Nelvik-Levitt, to whom this book is dedicated.