The Dovekeepers by Alice Hoffman Read Free Book Online Page A

was tall and well muscled, with strong arms, exactly the sort of man they wanted. They were searching for gladiators and had therefore devised a test. They locked ten men in a room with a lion. Whoever survived would be sent to Rome. The first nine were killed, but when it came to this man who lay beside me, the lion had cut him once across his face, then fallen at his feet. The creature had died a sudden death, collapsing all at once, splayed out upon the tiled floor. Perhaps the lion had been wounded in his other encounters, but Ben Simon announced to the soldiers that he had slain his foe with one look. It was such a strange sight that the Romans, now puzzled and confused, took to discussing the possible causes of this odd circumstance. It was then Ben Simon managed to escape, though his wound still bled.
He was appalled that he had killed such a beautiful beast, when he would have much preferred to murder the soldiers, for one of the nine who might have been gladiators and had died before him was his brother.
“The truth is, I was bitter,” he confided, whispering in my ear, in order to explain why the lion had collapsed at his feet. “The lion didn’t like my taste.”
I ran my hand over his features in the dark, wondering what it might be like to come face-to-face with a lion. Perhaps the creature had sensed something in him, a lion of a man. I would have cried over Ben Simon’s humiliation and suffering at the hands of the Romans, but the desert had taken away my tears. Perhaps I was bitter, too.
He took his time with me that first night. He did things to me I didn’t know even existed. He kissed me everywhere and bade me to do the same to him. After a while my pleasure was in hearing his, in making him hold me tighter and want me more. When he entered me, my eyes were open. I saw the scar the lion had left andknew my dreams had been telling me the story of my own life all along, both what had happened and what would come to pass. He was someone’s husband, but on that night he was mine, the lion I had always known would find me. I was meant to save myself for my own husband, but I already knew there would never be a young bridegroom whose family would want to see my first blood after our marriage. Instead, there was only this man who told me I was beautiful. He told me in such a way, I believed him.

WE BECAME PEOPLE of the desert as the month of Elul passed, wrapped in cloaks to hide from the sun, searching through the day for sustenance. We forgot feast days. Even the Sabbath was a day like any other, though it was beautiful and holy and should have been remembered with joy and with praise. All hours were white, all flared alike. Soon enough my father was the only one who prayed three times a day, and before long he joined Ben Simon in simply praying daily at dawn, facing toward Jerusalem.
One fortunate afternoon Ben Simon caught a young, wild she-goat. Because the beast walked right to me when he brought her into our camp, he gave her to me as a gift. The goat seemed devoted to me from the start, begging to be petted, following at my heels. I was so flattered, I couldn’t bring myself to relinquish her to the one to whom she rightfully should have belonged. Sia was Ben Simon’s wife, the elder of the two of us, yet when she called the goat to her, waving and beckoning, the she-goat refused to come, shying and darting away.
I kept my pet tied with rope so we could drink her milk and make the yogurt we call lebben and others call homes, using my scarf to strain the curds, skimming off some of the buttery chem’ah we often ate plain before it was turned into cheese, for in our current circumstances we found this simple dish to be a feast. I dugin the shade where there was a single ancient olive, stunted from the wind. There I found mud that I strained for some dark, salty water. I could then make cheese, haris halab, wrapping the mixture in cloth until it was hard and ready to eat. The more dishes we had for