it backsliding.
âThink of Ramon.
If they burned you for work
youâd chosen to do, wouldnât they take
your apprentice too?â
Backsliding
Were the choice mine, Iâd do it.
I would copy that book.
I would take that bold chance.
But when is the choice ever mine?
As for that ladder, that great, famous ladder
to Christian from Jew,
I donât recall any such thing.
How can I slide down
what I never climbed up?
You know what?
I donât recall ever taking one step
that wasnât mapped out for me first.
Knives
I look, really look,
at my mother. It must be
the first time Iâve done so
in months.
I feel a cold shock.
Could this be the pillowy Mama
who once scooped me up
like I weighed nothing more
than a glove?
Now the bones at her collar
jut out like stashed knives.
Her skin looks too thin,
like parchment rubbed free
of a thousand mistakes.
Return
Señor Doda is here.
Heâs been coming to us
since before I could write.
Now heâs here to return
the last book that he ordered.
âItâs paper!â he says, to explain.
âMy wife believes only the Jewsââ
here, he cringesââuse such things.â
He smiles, turns his hands
so the palms face the sky.
âBut paper is better than parchment, señor,â
I tell him. âTheyâve used it in China
for hundreds of years.â
Señor Doda wonât be swayed.
âWhat if I wanted to sell it again?
My wifeâs not alone in her thinking.
No one will touch it.
âIâm sorry, Ramon.
But I wonât be allowed
back inside my own door
if I pay you for this.â
The Familiariâs Daughter
Beaâs angry. At me.
Iâve failed to notice
something about her.
(It seems hard to believe.)
I wheedle. âGive me a clue.â
She scowls, but relents.
âOh, youâll never guess, you ignorant boy.
Itâs my skirt. Canât you tell? Itâs fine
Persian silk. A thousand times finer
than that old sack I wore!
A blind man could see it.â
I appease her. I tell her
her own perfect beauty
blocks everything else.
She warms up.
(Once again, those daft books
pay off for Ramon!)
I know that itâs rude
to inquire about money.
But we Benvenistes have so littleâ
itâs made me obsessed.
âSoâ¦what is the source
of this new gush of wealth?â
She claps her small hands, so glad Iâve asked.
Her fatherâs been named familiari .
A familiar, a spy, of the Inquisition.
There are riches, it seems,
in ratting on friends.
I pretend to be thrilled.
But what Iâm thinking instead:
Arenât people like him
in the business of squashing
conversos? People like Papa, and Mama,
and me?
Green
Bea invites me to lunch at her home.
She says, âOnly my mother and sisters will come.â
Only?
I feel, by the end,
as if Iâve been grilled
by Inquisitorsâfour of them.
But the food!
Warm bread and plump olives. Long, thin
slices of serrano ham, marbled red and white.
More food than Iâve had for two solid weeks.
But the ham, slippery as it is,
seems to stick in my throat.
Later, Bea asks, âWas lunch not to your liking?
Though you ate like three men, your face
was as green as the olives.â
âItâs justââ
I donât want to insult her.
âMy parentsâwe rarely eat pork.
Itâs so costly, you know,â I hasten to add.
The minute itâs out,
I want it back in.
Bea stares. Those luscious lips gape.
Take care, I should tell her, or youâll swallow bugs.
I cover my panic
with an awkward kiss.
She at first pulls away.
And then
she returns it.
Heirlooms
After lunching at Beaâs,
I see our small rooms
with new eyes.
Though Beaâs house is three times
the size of our place,
it is ten times more cluttered.
Theirs is filled up with objects.
Paintings and vases. Carpets
and crests.
All of it seems very old.
Much of it bears the Alvarez crest.
One thing is certain:
thereâs no