Read Online The Cairo Codex by Linda Lambert - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Linda Lambert
Ads: Link
most of our own clothes and furnishings. Barter is the usual medium of exchange, although the Romans have given my husband a small number of dinars for his work on the gates, and our eldest earns a few more from his work on the canal. Recently, we purchased a new donkey.
I stop beside a seated man who is unbothered by the swirling fury around him. The scribe, surrounded by his papyrus, pallets, pens, and ink, sits in the middle of the market, ready to take dictation from travelers eager to send letters to their families. I ask for three pieces of papyrus.
“Why the papyrus?” my son asks. “For writing to our family in Palestine?”
“Yes, my son. Our family members are hungry for news from us. They ask about how you and your brother are growing up and what it is like to live in this land. They miss us. And your father misses his family.” I take a few clusters of garlic from my pocket to hand to the scribe.
My son hesitates before asking the question I know has been pressing on his young mind. “I have noticed that Rachel and Noha do not write. Can only some women write?”
“All women can write if they are taught how. Just as you were taught to read and write.”
The scribe, a neighbor to the north, holds up his hand and gently refuses the garlic. “I do not need any garlic today. Why don’t you have your son bring me radishes tomorrow?”
“It will be so,” I say. I direct us toward a large stone near the side of the market. As we sit down, a young boy appears and asks if we would have tea. I agree and he scampers off.
“How did you learn to write, Mother?” my son asks, balancing on the edge of the rock and folding his tunic between his tanned legs.
“It is unusual for women to learn to write. You have observed well. I was fortunate. My grandmother taught me when I was but a girl. She thought it important for women to be able to do many of the same things men do. Grandmother considered inequality the source of all evil. I wish you could have known her.”
“What did she mean by ‘inequality is the source of all evil’?” he puzzles.
The tea arrives in two chipped, mismatched cups. I hand the boy a cluster of garlic. My son has an inquiring mind, much like I did as a child. “What do you think she might have meant?”
“I don’t know. To me, most people seem unequal: Noha is not like Rachel, Isaiah is not like Samir.”
“I see the same things. But Grandmother also talked of inequality between the rich and poor, men and women, the educated and uneducated, the old and the young, Jews and pagans, Romans and Israelites. These inequalities lead to misery, hatred, and wars, which are evil. Her family came from Mt. Carmel and had many strong ideas about how life should be lived. Many of these ideas I carry with me.”
“But why did God make us unequal if He wanted us to be equal? I don’t understand.”
“I’m not so sure God made us so. Perhaps we did that to ourselves. It is we who choose to obey the powerful and deprive others of their rights. Perhaps God gave us these choices to test our compassion.”
We sit silently for a while, sipping the strong tea to which the boy has generously added a little honey. As he always does when he is struggling with an idea, my son sits very still, as though hypnotized by some distant object. I try to follow his eyes, but they seem to rest in the air over the market. We finish our tea and set the cups on a small tray left nearby.
No longer holding my hand, my son occasionally stops to look at displays of tools and musical instruments. Two Egyptians display amulets, ankhs, and djed pillars.
“These adornments are tucked into the long wrappings of mummies for their trip to the afterworld,” I explain. “The Egyptians believe that when people die they go to a land far beyond the sunset and will have need of many tools and foods.”
At the far side of the market square, narrow alleys lead to temporary living quarters for traders and other visitors.
I stop beside a seated man who is unbothered by the swirling fury around him. The scribe, surrounded by his papyrus, pallets, pens, and ink, sits in the middle of the market, ready to take dictation from travelers eager to send letters to their families. I ask for three pieces of papyrus.
“Why the papyrus?” my son asks. “For writing to our family in Palestine?”
“Yes, my son. Our family members are hungry for news from us. They ask about how you and your brother are growing up and what it is like to live in this land. They miss us. And your father misses his family.” I take a few clusters of garlic from my pocket to hand to the scribe.
My son hesitates before asking the question I know has been pressing on his young mind. “I have noticed that Rachel and Noha do not write. Can only some women write?”
“All women can write if they are taught how. Just as you were taught to read and write.”
The scribe, a neighbor to the north, holds up his hand and gently refuses the garlic. “I do not need any garlic today. Why don’t you have your son bring me radishes tomorrow?”
“It will be so,” I say. I direct us toward a large stone near the side of the market. As we sit down, a young boy appears and asks if we would have tea. I agree and he scampers off.
“How did you learn to write, Mother?” my son asks, balancing on the edge of the rock and folding his tunic between his tanned legs.
“It is unusual for women to learn to write. You have observed well. I was fortunate. My grandmother taught me when I was but a girl. She thought it important for women to be able to do many of the same things men do. Grandmother considered inequality the source of all evil. I wish you could have known her.”
“What did she mean by ‘inequality is the source of all evil’?” he puzzles.
The tea arrives in two chipped, mismatched cups. I hand the boy a cluster of garlic. My son has an inquiring mind, much like I did as a child. “What do you think she might have meant?”
“I don’t know. To me, most people seem unequal: Noha is not like Rachel, Isaiah is not like Samir.”
“I see the same things. But Grandmother also talked of inequality between the rich and poor, men and women, the educated and uneducated, the old and the young, Jews and pagans, Romans and Israelites. These inequalities lead to misery, hatred, and wars, which are evil. Her family came from Mt. Carmel and had many strong ideas about how life should be lived. Many of these ideas I carry with me.”
“But why did God make us unequal if He wanted us to be equal? I don’t understand.”
“I’m not so sure God made us so. Perhaps we did that to ourselves. It is we who choose to obey the powerful and deprive others of their rights. Perhaps God gave us these choices to test our compassion.”
We sit silently for a while, sipping the strong tea to which the boy has generously added a little honey. As he always does when he is struggling with an idea, my son sits very still, as though hypnotized by some distant object. I try to follow his eyes, but they seem to rest in the air over the market. We finish our tea and set the cups on a small tray left nearby.
No longer holding my hand, my son occasionally stops to look at displays of tools and musical instruments. Two Egyptians display amulets, ankhs, and djed pillars.
“These adornments are tucked into the long wrappings of mummies for their trip to the afterworld,” I explain. “The Egyptians believe that when people die they go to a land far beyond the sunset and will have need of many tools and foods.”
At the far side of the market square, narrow alleys lead to temporary living quarters for traders and other visitors.
Similar Books
