Ben Attar now concealed a dove in the folds of his robes, and added a second dove to it, for the sick woman, who would require a double atonement. There in the physician’s dark room, Ben Attar found his second wife where he had left her, sunk in a deep, peaceful sleep, as though the yellow potion that the apostate physician had administered to her not long before was doing its work. But he hesitated to draw forth the doves from the folds of his robe, for at her bedside he found not only the physician but also a black-clad priest, who had come in response to the news of the arrival of the Jews at the house of his disciple the apostate, to warn the new Christian against backsliding or relapsing. The physician, Karl-Otto the First, as he called himself, had to prove to his former catechist that he had no secret attraction to his previous faith but was merely displaying the simple charity of a physician toward a young woman who was suffering, and that even if she belonged to a company of Jews, these were different Jews, who were under the protection of distant Ishmaelites and therefore had no intention of settling in Verdun or anywhere else, but were planning to leave Europe and journey far, far away.
But no man of the Church, and certainly not this one, who stood so dignified and stern, was able or authorized to believe in the existence of another category of Jews, even if they did come from a distant, dark continent. Since on principle the priest considered all Jews alike, he had to be on his guard in case his protégé, who had voluntarily abandoned a sect of blind, error-ridden God-killers in favor of a faith of salvation and love, was deceived into supposing that any Jew might be saved, even if he possessed the sad, dark nobility of this North African who had now entered the room. Ben Attar was examining the light fading in the window, and realized that he had only a little time to awaken his second wife gently yet firmly, sit her up in bed, and revolve two white doves first around her head and then around his own, like some savage idol-worshipper, and to declaim the ancient formula: This is our substitute, this is our exchange, this is our expiation, this dove shall go to its death and we shall enter into a good long life and into peace. On no account could he flinch at the physician’s embarrassed countenance, or at the faint smile of contempt on the face of the priest; he had to complete the ritual by slicing off the heads of the two curiously blinking little birds and drop them, oozing blood, onto the black earth floor at the foot of the bed, confident that they possessed as much healing power as the sparkling array of multicolored flasks lined up under the crucifix.
The young woman sat flushed and confused, her golden nose-ring twinkling like a tiny star in the half-darkness. She was still wondering whether sharing an expiatory dove with her husband was a sign of desperation or of great hope. Meanwhile she obediently took the skin full of water that her husband placed in her hands, closed her eyes, and swallowed slowly, nodding agreement with a faint smile when he whispered to her in Arabic about the meal that the first wife was cooking outside over a fire, which was intended not only to satisfy their hunger and delight their souls but particularly to restore to all of them, and especially to her, such a beloved woman, the strength that had left them since ban and interdict and insult had been cast in Worms, ostensibly upon the twice-wed husband alone but in fact upon them all.
Ben Attar did not linger at his second wife’s bedside, even though his heart yearned to remain by her side and watch over her recovery, but went out to give the two slaughtered doves to his first wife so that she could add them to the stew. Outside the clouds broke and soft sunlight played around him, and suddenly tears welled in his eyes, as though out of the sorrow and despair a new ray of hope had burst, not only at the memory of the faint smile that had flitted across his second wife’s flushed countenance, or at the sight of the meal that his first wife was preparing in readiness for the fast, but also at seeing the two horses and the mule returning from pasture, emerging slowly from behind the gray wooden church. His heart went out to his two servants for returning his property, as though he had really feared that they might vanish with it. A strange idea flashed through his mind of atoning for them too, so as to fortify them on the Day of Judgment that was fast approaching, in case the powers above mistook them for Jews. He told them to approach and bow their heads before him, and out of the large sack he took two more doves, and holding them by the legs he circled them three times above the egg-shaped black skull of the young idolater and three times above the grubby blue turban of the mariner-wagoner. So they would not suspect him of black magic, he also circled the doves above his own head, and he provided a shortened translation of the formula into rich Arabic before deftly removing the birds’ heads and throwing them to the jackal, who devoured with gusto whatever was put before him.
Surprisingly, although he was alone and abandoned, his mind was calm, and the love that welled up within him for all who stood around him and belonged to him comforted and strengthened him for a new and unique experience, which he had never had before in his forty-four years—to be his own prayer leader on this awesome day. Although it was still early and three whole hours remained before the sun would sink behind the treetops, he began to feast, so that he would be filled with food and his soul would be free from hunger pangs and composed for prayer, the better to plead for his second wife’s recovery. Seated beside the fire, he dipped his bread in the steaming stew that his first wife served him and patiently chewed one helping after another. A light slumber descended upon him, and through his fluttering eyelids he saw the priest leaving the physician’s house, followed by the physician himself, clutching a leather bag. A sated tiredness took possession of him and the smoke of the fire befuddled his wits, so he lay down on the ground and stretched out his legs, drowsily but gratefully watching as his first wife spooned some of the steaming stew onto a platter and broke off some delicate morsels of pigeon flesh to add to it, to take to the second wife, who might perhaps need to be helped to eat.
But he did not doze for long. Soon the whinnying of horses interrupted his dreams, and the delightful prattle of the rabbi’s son awoke him from his sleep. Opening his eyes, he found himself surrounded by strangers who looked like Jews. Farther away stood the large wagon, with its pole hanging limply, as Abd el-Shafi and the black slave led the horses to the meadow behind the church. Before he could rise to his feet, Rabbi Elbaz fell into his arms, smiling proudly. Ben Attar’s heart rejoiced, not only because his company was reunited and Jews had been found who were prepared to join it as it stood trapped before the Creator on the Day of Judgment, but more particularly because now he could finally dispel the terrible suspicion that the rabbi too was seeking to reject him.