We told each other our stories, Moishe explaining how they wandered the streets looking for Diego, Moishe like a dowser, trying to lead them to the alleyway, following only his intuition and the nervous beating in his chest.
“I knew I was near,” Moishe said. “But after awhile, the corners all looked the same, like the corners of a circle. And I knew if we kept wandering around, we’d be discovered. So we gave up and they brought me here.”
I told him how Abraham, like Judas, had betrayed us. How he had betrayed Samuel, the rabbi, and even his own niece. About the wine that was blood after the raid of the merchant’s cellar.
“Ptuh!” he spat. “That mamzer Abraham is the one that deserves blood and fire. And since he won’t save his own niece, I will. And the others, too.”
Since we’d been apart, it seemed Moishe had had his Bravado Mitzvah. His chutzpah was impressive. It had taken root and had been growing since he’d held that knife to the thieving youth’s neck. And like me, he was a bit of foygl too. A wise guy.
He looked around the room and up at the high window as if he were imagining escape.
“But I have no idea how.”
I told him about how the room filled with red capes and Hebrew books.
“So, nu, how will the rabbi and his Jews fly from their prison?” he asked.
“Red wings,” I said, spreading my own grey ones impressively. “Not a wolf in sheep’s clothing, but sheep in red silk. Catholic wolves. We’ll dress them as Inquisition priests.”
“You molodyets of a bird,” he said. “You clever rascal. An impressive plan.
“Especially the part where they’re still locked in a dungeon, but just better dressed.”
We agreed that there were some details that remained to be worked out.
There was a knock on the door. “Perhaps it’s the Messiah,” I said. “Our prayers are answered.”
Nu, it was the bread man telling us that Do?a Gracia wanted to see us.
Chapter Eleven
He led us along a covered hallway and into a small inner courtyard. Do?a Gracia was sitting by a pool with another fountain, surrounded by greenery. Broad leaves, hibiscus flowers, palm trees, and twittery birds with the brainpower of flowers.
It felt like home.
Do?a Gracia received us like a queen.
Moishe bowed slightly as he stood before her, and so, whether I intended to or not, I bowed also.
“I see you and the bird have become friends,” she said.
“Yes, Do?a Gracia,” he said. “We’ve had a few minutes together. He’s taught me all he knows.”
She laughed but then added gravely, “Flight should be something on your mind. Even with my gold, it will be hard to keep the Inquisitors satisfied without you. They are not planning to bother themselves with even the pretence of a trial. On Friday they intend to burn those they have already taken.”
“Like Shabbos candles,” I said without thinking.
What a pisk I have sometimes. A big mouth.
“You have taught this bird not only davening, but about Shabbos candles, too?” Do?a Gracia looked at Moishe with some amazement.
“He needs to know. For his Bar Mitzvah,” Moishe joked, covering for me.
“And similes?” she said. “You taught him similes?” She was a clever bird herself. She knew.
“Once I had a husband,” she said. “He was a smart man. Even when he was alive, he never disagreed with anything I said. But I’m told that when the opportunity arose and he was called upon to make his own decisions, he had a mind of his own. I suspect that it’s this way with this parrot. That’s good. We can use him.”
What was I saying about being press-ganged?
“You can be of great help in rescuing our friends,” she said to me. And then, businesslike, she moved on, evidently believing it best not to question intelligence in this time of folly.
A prominent merchant from a family of hidden Jews, her husband had been murdered by zealots. Since then, the Do?a had sworn to help Jews or conversos escape. They’d be taken on as extra crew or cargo on her trade ships that sailed for Morocco. The ships would return with a new Moroccan crew and fruit, wheat, slaves, copper, iron and African gold—gold-embroidered caps, golden saddles, shields and swords adorned with gold, and even dogs’ collars decorated with gold and silver.
Jewish freedom was all collar and no dog. And the dog that wasn’t there was free to roam the streets of Fez, Marrakech and Rabat.
It was only a matter of time, she said, before all Iberian Jews and the sincere or expedient New Christians would be as the Jews of Egypt in ancient times: slaves, servants, and builders of monuments to their masters. The Jews of Andalusia had been expelled, ballast thrown kippah-first off the kingdom’s bow, but even this treacherous fate wasn’t available to conversos. The Inquisition would poke and prod for signs of the vermin-taint of continued Judaizing, take their money and property, but not let them leave, save through Death’s door.