It was an unexpected point of view, but he did not have time to ruminate on it because he had to concentrate on not getting hopelessly drunk before they even reached the hostelry for which they were aiming. He did not truly register the fact that one of the astronomers had raised the point that since Cleopatra had not been too fond of Jews, things would not have gone so well for them even if Mark Antony had been victorious.
In the end, they did not end up at the hostelry they had spoken of, but one that was closer, and also very good, on a broad avenue which even in the evening was packed with crowds of promenading people as if it were daytime, and small shops, in which one could get anything, were still open. There was no need for them to order anything because dishes and wine were continually brought to the big, round table, even without being asked for, the moment anything was polished off. Heraclitos was given beer because that’s what he preferred. He didn’t have to order that either: he was well known there. They sat in an inner, closed-off garden in a circle under fragrant thuja trees, surrounded by knots of young and old people, Greeks, Jews, Somalis, Ethiopians, Hindus, and peoples of who-knows-what origin. Perhaps Egyptians were the only ones not to be found among them, but that was because the Copts by that time were resting under their own roofs. Torches and sturdy candles provided illumination, along with oil lamps, which were bigger than Jewish lamps and ingeniously designed so that in each one the oil fed nine different flames — an old trick, to be sure, maybe as old as the menorah. There were also musicians trilling away, beating drums and fiddling on strings. Uri was appreciative of the fact that they could perch their backsides on chairs and did not have to eat Roman-style, reclining to one side.
He also took a bit of everything without asking if it was pure, because the Jewish stargazers were eating it, and they must know. He was a bit surprised, it was true, because one thing they served up was seafood, and the astronomers enthusiastically dunked these delicious marvels in garum sauce, and when he finally asked, they pooh-poohed it, with Heraclitos saying that anything coming from the sea was pure. They reassured him that, as Jews, they would not be brought anything uncooked; they took great care with that, so he could eat without any worries.
Uri didn’t know how they managed to get back to the island of Pharos; obviously along the Heptastadion as there was no other way, but that had somehow slipped his memory by the time he woke up the following morning in a little room upstairs. He burped contentedly then quickly had to look for a privy. The one he found on the ground floor had a window overlooking the sea; Uri spent a fair time on the throne, for good reason, but the view was also fascinating: even with his poor eyesight he could see the immense sailing ships bobbing in the Western Harbor.
What a city this is, Most High Eternal One! What a city!
He was also treated to breakfast, and offered sips of decent wine to counter any hangover, before he was sent on his way.
Hippolytos, who accompanied him, was the same young man who had taken the roll down to the archive the previous day.
As they walked to the west, Hippolytos related that Philo rarely stayed in the city, at the palace of his younger brother, Alexander, the alabarch, because he preferred the quiet of the countryside, where he was better able to concentrate on his writing. Philo had a big and splendid house, it wasn’t far away, no more than four or five hours’ walk, but Philo had the feeling that he was living in the country, and that allowed his mind to calm itself. He was in the habit of throwing big parties there, and sometimes as many as a hundred guests would arrive on horseback or ass. But the house was so big and there were so many outbuildings belonging to it that even that number, along with their mounts, could be easily accommodated.
Hippolytos recounted with a laugh that virtually all those with a deep attachment to the land were the descendants of Jews who sometime in the past, many generations ago, had been carried off as slaves into Egypt. The Ptolemies had crammed them into border fortresses to protect the frontiers of the state, and they had graciously given them land instead of food and pay, of course — let them make their livelihood as best they could, and if they couldn’t, then so be it, they’d perish of hunger. Those Jewish slaves of the border fortresses, who were subjugators, oppressors and looters of the indigenous population, had become the first wealthy Jews in Egypt since Moses — mistakenly, as it had turned out for sure in retrospect — had plumped for an exodus from Egypt. There was no richer countryside anywhere else on Earth; the Nile valley, due to its yearly flooding, was the most fertile land anywhere in the world, and the Jews would have saved themselves a world of trouble if, two thousand years ago, they had just calmly sat on their bottoms. Their monotheistic religion would in any case gradually have spread this far, only with fewer conflicts. If things had happened that way, then the conquering Greeks who had overrun the country under Alexander the Great would today be our slaves, Hippolytos declared wistfully.
Uri was captivated by the young astronomer’s compact philosophy of history, and asked him whether he was right in believing that by that token anyone among the Jews who was enslaved at the right time and in the right place was favored by fortune. Hippolytos confirmed that this was indeed the case: anyone who remained free on his own land, that he himself had dug, whether he was Jewish or some other Canaanite, would sooner or later be consumed by the hordes which swooped across it.
Uri simply noted the Roman experience: the present-day descendants of the robbers and murderers whom Herod the Great had deported to Italia as a punishment were doing remarkably well for themselves.
Hippolytos nodded: those of us who are doing so remarkably well for themselves and living off the fat of the land are virtually all descendants of the villains who mercilessly pillaged and slaughtered the indigenous population, bringing them under their rule; for that reason, they were not much liked even nowadays in those areas where the locals lived, he added, memories died hard even after hundreds of years, and it was not possible to eradicate legends and myths. But the wretched Copts did not like the Hellenes any better because they too were newcomers; they had arrived with their fire and swords not long before the Jews, and they were at least as villainous as the Hebrews. For the aboriginal workers of the soil it was all the same — whether one was a Hebrew or Hellene, they hated you, and the only place it didn’t matter was in Alexandria, where the two equally exploiting forces fleeced each other for profit. In any case, it hardly mattered who was hated by the natives, who more than likely were originally Jewish or from some similarly inferior rabble, since they held no power, were quite incapable of any organized way of life, didn’t have the knowhow to manufacture weapons, and were superstitious to boot.
They strolled southward along the bank of the broad north-south canal.