Rashi's Daughters, Book II: Miriam (31 page)

“You didn’t hurt me,” she said. “And I didn’t bleed.”
Thank Heaven he has no memory of what happened.

“You didn’t? How is that possible?” The relief in Judah’s voice was obvious, but there was doubt too.

It took Miriam a moment to realize that Judah’s concern about Simchat Torah was whether they’d used the bed while she was bleeding. She patted his arm reassuringly. “I didn’t bleed because two weeks earlier, while I was
niddah
, Aunt Sarah opened me with a sharp knife. I was completely healed by Simchat Torah. Don’t worry, our child was conceived in purity.”

At first Judah was too ashamed to mention his previous ineptitude. But Miriam had gone to her aunt for help, so she’d obviously recognized it. He had to say something. “I’m sorry I was so incompetent. I can’t imagine what you must think of me.”

“Don’t disparage yourself.” She squeezed his hand. “Since my door was so tightly closed that it took a knife to open it, I’m grateful that you didn’t use too much force and injure me.” If anyone had been incompetent it had been herself. What kind of midwife could be unaware that she’d remained a virgin despite a whole year of marriage?

Not all Judah’s anxieties were resolved either. One festival with too much drinking and his
yetzer hara
had completely escaped his control. This time he was lucky and the consequence was his wife’s pregnancy, but next time ...?
Non
, he told himself firmly, there would be no next time.

F
or the third time since she’d sat down to breakfast, Miriam adjusted her position on the bench. If she tried to eat over her dish on the table, her belly got in the way, and if she tried to bring a spoonful of stuff to her mouth, she risked spilling it. She shifted her weight again, and then, defeated, picked up her bowl of stirabout and drank it like a cup of soup.

Yet if trying to eat was bothersome, trying to sleep was worse. No sooner did she lie down than the baby began kicking her. The previous night had been particularly trying; at one point she’d awakened in pain with one of the child’s limbs stuck under her ribcage.

When will this child be born?
But she wasn’t close to her time; the baby was still high in her womb. Lost in thought, she scarcely noticed when the courtyard geese began to squawk in alarm. Suddenly Joseph, the
parnas
’s son, was in the dining room.

“Joseph, to what do we owe this pleasure ...” Salomon stood to greet his friend, and then, observing the consternation on the man’s face, continued, “Whatever is the matter?”

Rivka brought a goblet of wine to their distraught guest, but Joseph waved it aside to address Miriam and Sarah. “You’ve got to come back with me. Johanna needs you.”

Sarah’s brows rose in surprise. “Johanna? Are you sure?”

“She’s been feeling poorly since Passover but refused to consult the doctor,” Joseph began. “Last night her belly ached so much that neither of us slept, and she was in such agony this morning that I ran to Moses’s house and had him come immediately. He was only with Johanna a few moments before he came out with this stupid grin on his face and told me, ‘Your wife doesn’t need a doctor, she needs a midwife!’ ”

“She’s having a baby?” Miriam couldn’t have understood him properly. “But your sons are—”

“Twenty, and already fathers themselves,” he replied, shaking his head. “I can’t believe it either. We assumed that she’d been through the change when her flowers stopped.”

Sarah motioned Miriam to get their midwife supplies, scattering Samuelis’s poultry as they hurried toward the gate. Salomon, Judah, and the yeshiva students followed in their wake. The blue door of the richest house on Rue de Vieille-Rome opened at their approach, and the two midwives rushed upstairs. Johanna was sitting in bed, sweat streaming down her face, while Moses stood besides her, taking her pulse.

“You’re just in time,” he greeted them as Johanna abruptly grimaced in pain. “I’ll wait downstairs.” He headed below, where the men had begun praying for Johanna and the baby’s health, and called out, “Has anyone found a cradle yet?”

Sarah lifted her patient’s chemise and began to palpate the woman’s massive abdomen. Miriam then gently pushed her hand between the pair of corpulent thighs and reached into the birth passage to assess how far the womb had opened. A contraction came during this examination, and Miriam felt the baby’s head bulge forward against her fingers.

It took two servants and both midwives to help the heavy woman onto the birthing stool. Miriam had never attended anyone so fat before—no wonder nobody suspected she was pregnant. And despite the folds of flesh that Miriam worried might impede the child’s exit, Johanna eventually pushed out the largest baby Miriam had ever seen.

“Mazel tov! You have a son,” she declared loudly. “And what a son—look at the size of him! He’s a giant.” Miriam gave the baby a measured swat and was rewarded with a resounding yowl.

As astonished servants cleaned the baby and the even more astonished mother, Miriam got an opportunity to observe her surroundings. She tried to hide her awe as she surreptitiously surveyed the intricately carved bed frame, the elaborate inlaid chests, the brightly patterned wall hangings, the soft furs that served as blankets. Instead of rushes on the floor, there was a heavy woven tapestry. Judah had provided some fine furnishings for their wedding chamber, but Johanna’s bedroom was nearly as opulent as Countess Adelaide’s.

Reluctant to leave such a beautiful room, Miriam stayed until Joseph’s appearance made her presence intrusive. She came downstairs to find Isaac haParnas pouring wine for Salomon, Shemayah, and Meir. Judah was sitting at the dining table, engrossed, as usual, in some manuscript. Across the room, Sarah was deep in conversation with the doctor.

“Miriam.” Sarah motioned for her to join them.

“Have a taste of this.” Instead of a goblet of wine, Moses held out his clear glass urine container, which contained a pale yellow liquid, undoubtedly Johanna’s.

Miriam looked at him in alarm. “Why?”

“You don’t have to gulp it down,” Sarah said with a smile. “Just dip your little finger in and put some on your tongue.”

Not sure what she ought to discern, Miriam followed her aunt’s instructions. “It tastes sweet, almost like honey.” She tasted another drop to make sure.

Before she could say anything more, the doctor began to whisper, “Johanna has diabetes, that’s what makes her urine sweet. It’s not surprising, considering her size.” He shook his head sadly. “I can advise her to change her diet so she’ll lose weight, but otherwise there’s little I can do for her.”

Sarah frowned. “Don’t be so pessimistic. It’s not unusual for an older woman, especially a large one like Johanna, to develop diabetes during pregnancy, only to have it disappear after she gives birth. If I had known she was pregnant, and I could kick myself for not noticing, I would have checked her for the condition earlier.”

She turned to Miriam. “Often the first sign of diabetes in a woman is the birth of an exceptionally large baby. Whenever you deliver one, you should taste the mother’s urine. If it tastes sweet like this, inform the doctor.”

Miriam had never heard of diabetes. “Can you treat it?”

“The disease clearly comes from the patient consuming too much sweet food,” Moses said. “Until such time as her urine no longer tastes sweet, she should avoid desserts such as pastries, cakes, and pies, as well as fruit tarts and preserves.”

 

Riding back to Ramerupt that afternoon, Meir eagerly anticipated sharing the day’s surprising events with Joheved. His wife never complained about her isolation at his family’s rural estate, but surely she felt lonely away from her family and friends. He brought her news every day, something from the morning Talmud lesson, as well as a story involving her parents or sisters. It was rarely exciting stuff, and Meir smiled as he imagined Joheved’s reaction upon hearing about Johanna’s unexpected pregnancy and its successful conclusion.

Meir was mistaken about Joheved missing Troyes’ urban life. She had never been a social creature and was content with her small circle in Ramerupt. What she missed in Troyes was its yeshiva, the arguments and discussions that were as much a part of mealtime as the food, the lessons she overheard while working in the vineyard, the atmosphere of erudition that permeated the Jewish Quarter along with the tannery smell.

But Joheved was not exiled from her city of birth. She spent nearly every Shabbat in Troyes, and she would be returning for a lengthy stay at the beginning of the Hot Fair. Then she and Meir, and their sons, would take up residence in their old room on the second floor of her father’s house until the vintage and Sukkot were finished. Many summer days would still be spent in Ramerupt, especially during the harvest. And something wonderful she had discovered today was likely to keep her even busier at the estate this summer, something she couldn’t wait to tell her husband.

This morning an elderly housemaid who supervised the laundry had approached Joheved. “Is it true that brush is being cut back to make space for a vineyard?”

“
Oui
,” Joheved replied.

The woman broke into a toothless grin. “When I was a little girl,” she whispered, as if imparting some great secret, “my brother and I used to play in the bushes on the slope above the far sheep meadow. If we crawled down low, it was like there were tunnels in them, our own secret passages.”

Joheved couldn’t imagine why this old servant thought she would be interested in these childhood memories. Hoping the woman wasn’t senile, Joheved forced herself to listen patiently.

“We never told anyone about them, just me and my brother knew. They were such fun to hide in; nobody could ever find us. The best part was in the fall, when we could eat as much fruit as we wanted. I never tasted anything so sweet in all my life.”

It took Joheved a little while to put everything together. “You mean there already is a vineyard on our land and you used to play in it?”

“
Oui
,” the laundress said. “I can take you there now while the linens are soaking.”

As they reached the last of the sheep meadows, Joheved looked anxiously at the southern slope rising above it. While it was true that no trees grew there, the hillside was so overgrown that it was impossible to distinguish any grapevines among the other shrubbery. Only when she began to push through the vegetation did she recognize the familiar leaves and curling stems. Then she rushed back to the manor, too impatient to return at the old servant’s pace.

 

“Even if the other plants are removed,” Joheved told her in-laws, “I have no idea if these ancient vines will yield worthwhile fruit.”

“Certainly we must clear out the slope,” Samuel said. He shook his head in amazement. “Who would have imagined a vineyard on the estate all these years?”

“How do we know if the grapes are any good?” Marona asked.

“I’ve been thinking about that.” Joheved had been thinking of little else. “We could remove the other plants in a small area of the vineyard, then trim back and train the grapevines there, taking proper care of them all summer. In the fall my father and I will taste the ripe grapes.”

Marona sighed with disappointment. “I hoped that we could begin removing the other bushes now, before the villeins are busy with the harvest.” She shrugged in resignation. “But that would be a tremendous waste if it turned out that the grapes weren’t worth the effort.”

“This old vineyard has probably waited a hundred years to be put into production.” Samuel patted his wife’s hand. “If there’s wine to be wrung from her, she can wait a few more.”

But does Samuel have a few more years?
Joheved tried to put the sad thought out of her head. Perhaps the desire to drink wine from his own vineyard would keep Meir’s father, may the Holy One protect him, alive until then. Soon Joheved’s enthusiasm dispelled her concern over Samuel’s poor health.

“Just think of the surprise we’ll have for Meir when he comes home,” she said.

For an excuse to be outside, Joheved occupied herself with weeding the herb garden. Emeline would have disapproved, but the sun was pleasantly warm, and the soft, damp earth felt good in Joheved’s hands. She was enjoying a sense of accomplishment at the large pile of exhumed weeds, when she heard the manor’s gate opening. She jumped up to welcome her husband, only to realize that her hands were covered with dirt. Thus Meir was the one to greet her, as she bent over the well washing her hands.

His eyes were wide with excitement. “The most amazing thing happened today. I could hardly believe the news.”

“Isn’t it wonderful?” she agreed, wondering who had informed him of the secret vineyard first. “Who’d imagine that such a thing could remain hidden so long?”

Sure that somebody from Troyes had already told her about Johanna’s baby, Meir tried to hide his disappointment. “I was so surprised when I arrived at the yeshiva only to learn that everyone had rushed off to the
parnas
’s house.”

She stared at him in bewilderment. “Why are you talking about the
parnas
?”
What could he have to do with the new vineyard?

“I’m talking about what happened at the
parnas
’s house.” He couldn’t understand her confusion, until he came to the obvious conclusion. “What did you think I was talking about?”

“Something wonderful and amazing happened here,” she announced. “Here, on your own estate.”

“That may be, but I’ll wager it wasn’t as wonderful and amazing as what happened in Troyes.”

Joheved beamed with confidence. “I’ll take your wager.”

“Very well. Now tell about the wonderful and amazing thing I missed here.”

As she informed him of the morning’s discovery, his eyes widened and he nodded appreciatively, but he declared with a grin that he was still going to win.