Read Online Blood Secret by Kathryn Lasky - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kathryn Lasky
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the study and measurement of the shapes of things. There are laws, rules that when applied to points and lines and planes help one calculate the dimensions of space. One can map a dragonfly’s wing or perhaps the world using geometry.”
“Oh, I want to learn! Please.”
“Don Solomon.” Mama raises her finger. “Please don’t put any more ideas into this child’s head. She’s already making a nuisance about learning how to read.”
“But I want to,” I whine.
“We have enough troubles in the quarter without little Jewish girls learning to read. That’s all that crazy Friar Martinez needs to hear, that we are teaching girls in the quarter to read.” Mama quickly clamps her mouth shut. She had not meant to speak of the friar or any of the troubles. But now I know I am going to be sent to bed so they can speak of such things. They can’t wait to get me off to bed. But what they don’t know is that I shall still hear them. Yes, in my bedroom on the second floor there is an air vent. This vent not only brings up the warmth from the fire in the winter and the cooler air in the summer, but their voices as well. With my ear pressed to this hole, I can hear everything!
“I think, Doña Grazia…” There was a pause. “No, pardon me, I know that you and your daughtersmust leave Seville immediately.” I almost gasp and press my ear closer to the grate of the vent.
“What? Leave Seville?”
“It is no longer safe.”
“But the walls of the Jewish Quarter here are guarded. It won’t be like in March.”
“You are right. It will be worse.”
“Worse? How can it be worse?” Mama says in a voice so low I can barely hear her.
“They will burn the gates.”
“But did you not talk with the archbishop? The archbishop is sympathetic, no?”
“Of course he is sympathetic. The king is sympathetic. He has a court full of Jews—Jews like me, physicians and scientists. His best tax farmers are Jews, his chief accountant is a Jew, as is the secretary to the king.”
“So why can’t he and the archbishop stop it?” Mama hisses in frustration.
“Why? Because what is happening is the work of the mobs, the lowest classes. That is Martinez’s genius. How he rouses them! Now tonight they are demanding the police chief’s removal because he jailed that rabble who tried to burn the synagogue, and it is said that even the nobles are split on this.You must leave tomorrow.”
“Where? Where does a widow with two daughters go?”
“Toledo. You have family in Toledo.”
“Will Toledo be any better? What if this spreads?”
“It won’t spread that fast. Just get out, Doña Grazia. I can arrange a wagon. I shall come in the morning.”
I cannot believe what I am hearing. Mama is right—where would we go? It is exciting but scary. Suddenly I hear something, louder than Mama’s voice or Don Solomon’s. At first I thought it was a wind, the cold north one that sweeps down in winter from the Sierra Nevada. But it is hot now and this wind comes with shrieks and shouts. I start to shake. I cover my ears. Horrible, horrible words like needles in my ears. I press harder with my hands. “ Muerte a los Matadors de Christo .” “Death to the Christ Killers.”
There is a terrible crushing sound and a storm of feet in the street. Then the smell of burning wood. The gates of the quarter must be on fire! This cannot be happening. I think that somehow I can make this unhappen. I feel the violet crinkle in my pocket.“Here,” I say to myself, “I am going to make a little bargain.” I slip the violet crinkle into my mouth and clamp my hands over my ears. This is the bargain: If I can keep the sound from my ears and the sweetness in my mouth, Mama, Reyna, Don Solomon, and I shall all live. But now there is a terrible scream, like flames in my head it roars. My hands fall from my ears. The violet sugar seeps from the corner of my mouth. I am losing this bargain.
No hay cruces . There are no crosses
“Oh, I want to learn! Please.”
“Don Solomon.” Mama raises her finger. “Please don’t put any more ideas into this child’s head. She’s already making a nuisance about learning how to read.”
“But I want to,” I whine.
“We have enough troubles in the quarter without little Jewish girls learning to read. That’s all that crazy Friar Martinez needs to hear, that we are teaching girls in the quarter to read.” Mama quickly clamps her mouth shut. She had not meant to speak of the friar or any of the troubles. But now I know I am going to be sent to bed so they can speak of such things. They can’t wait to get me off to bed. But what they don’t know is that I shall still hear them. Yes, in my bedroom on the second floor there is an air vent. This vent not only brings up the warmth from the fire in the winter and the cooler air in the summer, but their voices as well. With my ear pressed to this hole, I can hear everything!
“I think, Doña Grazia…” There was a pause. “No, pardon me, I know that you and your daughtersmust leave Seville immediately.” I almost gasp and press my ear closer to the grate of the vent.
“What? Leave Seville?”
“It is no longer safe.”
“But the walls of the Jewish Quarter here are guarded. It won’t be like in March.”
“You are right. It will be worse.”
“Worse? How can it be worse?” Mama says in a voice so low I can barely hear her.
“They will burn the gates.”
“But did you not talk with the archbishop? The archbishop is sympathetic, no?”
“Of course he is sympathetic. The king is sympathetic. He has a court full of Jews—Jews like me, physicians and scientists. His best tax farmers are Jews, his chief accountant is a Jew, as is the secretary to the king.”
“So why can’t he and the archbishop stop it?” Mama hisses in frustration.
“Why? Because what is happening is the work of the mobs, the lowest classes. That is Martinez’s genius. How he rouses them! Now tonight they are demanding the police chief’s removal because he jailed that rabble who tried to burn the synagogue, and it is said that even the nobles are split on this.You must leave tomorrow.”
“Where? Where does a widow with two daughters go?”
“Toledo. You have family in Toledo.”
“Will Toledo be any better? What if this spreads?”
“It won’t spread that fast. Just get out, Doña Grazia. I can arrange a wagon. I shall come in the morning.”
I cannot believe what I am hearing. Mama is right—where would we go? It is exciting but scary. Suddenly I hear something, louder than Mama’s voice or Don Solomon’s. At first I thought it was a wind, the cold north one that sweeps down in winter from the Sierra Nevada. But it is hot now and this wind comes with shrieks and shouts. I start to shake. I cover my ears. Horrible, horrible words like needles in my ears. I press harder with my hands. “ Muerte a los Matadors de Christo .” “Death to the Christ Killers.”
There is a terrible crushing sound and a storm of feet in the street. Then the smell of burning wood. The gates of the quarter must be on fire! This cannot be happening. I think that somehow I can make this unhappen. I feel the violet crinkle in my pocket.“Here,” I say to myself, “I am going to make a little bargain.” I slip the violet crinkle into my mouth and clamp my hands over my ears. This is the bargain: If I can keep the sound from my ears and the sweetness in my mouth, Mama, Reyna, Don Solomon, and I shall all live. But now there is a terrible scream, like flames in my head it roars. My hands fall from my ears. The violet sugar seeps from the corner of my mouth. I am losing this bargain.
No hay cruces . There are no crosses
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