Read Online Jerusalem Maiden by Talia Carner - Free Book Online

disciplined to tame his lines; his painting would burst with movement.
    Mlle Thibaux stepped over to Esther’s easel, but Esther shook her head. “Not yet,” she murmured, her cheeks hot. Her teacher must have gathered from Esther’s scrutiny that she had been the subject, and Esther still needed to correct many details that fell short of the real person’s loveliness.
    â€œI know how you feel.” Mlle Thibaux smiled and unbuckled the food basket. As she shook a cloth over a flat rock and took out plates and utensils, Esther’s mouth watered. But she wouldn’t touch traife food or utensils.
    She rested her brushes in the jar of turpentine to melt the caked paint and stepped to the fig tree. She took off her shoes, then braced the arch of her foot on the lowest branch and hauled herself into the depth of the tree, searching for purple figs whose firm skin was pliant yet undisturbed by insects. Opening one, she inspected the pistils nesting in the juicy meat for worms; these non-kosher interlopers masked themselves as pistils and caused the unaware to sin. When none of the fine whitish threads wriggled, Esther ate the fig, then a few more. She climbed down and placed a handful of fruit on a rock next to Mlle Thibaux.
    â€œ Merci. ” Mlle Thibaux gave her an apple and pointed at a package wrapped in a Yiddish newspaper. “It’s from the kosher boulangerie .”
    Pierre grinned and picked it up. “I bought it. I asked the kosher baker—”
    â€œPierre,” his mother said, her tone warning.
    â€œI’m not supposed to speak with her, but can’t I just give this to her?”
    â€œPierre!”
    â€œ D’accord, d’accord, fine,” he grumbled. He poured himself tea from the thermos and retreated with his bread, a piece of cheese and a hard-boiled egg. Mlle Thibaux handed Esther the package, but taking it, Esther felt it had been scorched by Pierre’s touch. This was all a mistake. She shouldn’t have come out here with him tagging along. Mlle Thibaux was a gentile from Paris. How could she grasp the strict discipline God expected from the chosen among all His Chosen People?
    Mlle Thibaux presented her with a small bottle of wine. “I emptied the kosher wine, washed the bottle and put in drinking water instead,” she told Esther.
    â€œOh.” Such kindness! How different her life might be had Ima been as kind and patient as Mlle Thibaux. Banishing the ungrateful thought, Esther mumbled a prayer to “ Who brings forth bread from the earth ” and took a bite of a roll. It must have cost a fortune, since flour was scarce. And Pierre had made the trip to a kosher store just for her.
    Gingerly, Mlle Thibaux bit into her sandwich, her pinky stretched out in a gesture Esther decided to emulate. Esther peeled her hard-boiled egg and, her pinky sticking out, sprinkled the egg with Dead Sea salt.
    â€œHere, mon chou , try a fig,” Mlle Thibaux told Pierre and handed him one of Esther’s fruits. He tasted it, and a minute later was up among the branches, picking more figs, laughingly pelting his mother with them.
    â€œLeave something for the poor shepherds,” his mother said. “It’s food, not toys.”
    Pierre was quiet for a moment, his head hidden among the leaves. “Can you hear the music?”
    Having given each bite the full attention God’s handiwork deserved, Esther hadn’t paid attention until now to the flute’s song. Melodious and clear, it drifted from the other side of the monastery ruins. “It’s the Arab shepherd,” she told Mlle Thibaux.
    â€œ Ce n’est pas la musique arabe. C’est Mozart! ” Pierre called down. He hopped down from a tree branch so high that Esther flinched, expecting a broken leg. But Pierre merely landed on his feet with a small jangle of stones and started walking. “ On y va, ” he said. “Let’s go see