Vitrasius Pollio says — and sadly it is true — he cannot interfere in the internal affairs of the Jews, but speaking as a private individual he acknowledges that such subversion is dangerous; it’s a good thing that the matter is not to the liking of the more respectable elders either, and any of these subversives caught committing such an act would be flogged.
Not that one needed to worry about the elders: they had put together a list of damages and set this before Pollio, demanding that any injury the Greeks had inflicted on shops, stock, and turnover should be recompensed with interest. Pollio did not have the funds for this (how would he?), and as his investigation had not yet been completed, it would be no easy matter to identify Greek murderers, robbers, and thieves, so from the very outset the task was futile. It would make more sense to find the instigators, who along with their main accomplices had fled to Rome and, in league with the sophist Apion, were trying to worm their way into the emperor’s entourage. Meanwhile, some radicals among the elders in Alexandria were voicing demands that the alabarch make compensation from his private wealth to the Jews who had met with misfortune, which was totally absurd.
“Alexandria is not a very nice place to be nowadays,” Philo cut off his complaints, only to start up again the next day at supper time.
Uri asked if he knew anything about what had happened to Apollos.
“He won his school certificate,” said Philo. “He gained Greek citizenship rights and went off to Corinth.”
“Why there in particular?”
“Tija believes it is because the Greeks there will likely also start killing Jews, and Apollos has not yet had enough of it… You know what Tija’s like… It’s hardly a reason for Apollos to go to Corinth, because there is more likely to be a Bane in Antioch, where Jews now make up two-fifths of the populace. In Corinth they make up only one-quarter and, as such, represent less of a threat to Greek businesses.”
Uri looked at Philo in some astonishment. It seemed he knew, after all, what lay behind the Bane in Alexandria. Why then had he not written that down?
“He said farewell before he went,” sighed Philo. “He said he never wanted to see the same thing happen again in Alexandria. The two of us together wept greatly over it… He is taking up a post as a teacher of rhetoric in Corinth, and I think there’s little prospect of his returning.”
Corinth… Go there and leave it all behind… Kidnap his son and take him off to Corinth. Raise him on his own… Teach geometry… Make the rounds of dives and bathhouses…
But it was not possible; certain women were entrusted to his care.
Philo spent a lot of time getting himself ready in the morning, relieving himself at least three times and having a bath at least twice before noon. This was when the ideas would come to his head, the ideas that he would set down in the afternoon. Meanwhile Uri would race around town, taking care of his business affairs so he could continue to provide money for his family; so long as he spent his time on that, he wouldn’t have to be at home listening to the moans of the womenfolk. They did not give him much chance to pick up and play with his son or talk to him, as those were not very manly things to do. Theo had such lustrous blue eyes that Uri wondered from whom he could have inherited them. He seemed to be a bright and happy child; Uri would try and guess when he would utter his first words and when he could at last have some fun with him. Until then, all he could do was furtively tickle the soles of his feet as long as the women let him.
He had to acquire various scrolls for Philo, and Uri had a glimpse at them as Philo slowly unrolled them. Not one scroll had been in his hands since he had gotten back to Rome: I’ll go stupid, he thought. He would either borrow the scrolls from a library or buy them using Philo’s money, and on his rounds he came across several genuine rarities. One day, when he was rolling in money, he would amass a marvelous library of his own; he would make a comfortable living from lending, and he would personally teach his children how to letter.
Since the Bane in Alexandria, scrolls on Judaica had become fashionable in Rome, so if time allowed, he might even go into book selling. He stumbled on a surprising number of scrolls in Greek and Aramaic from Judaea and Alexandria. Interest in the Septuagint had grown as people wondered what sort of lone god these heathen Jews could possibly believe in.
“We have become important in their eyes,” Philo acknowledged this. “The Latini are starting to realize that there are as many of us in the world as there are of them, and we too have our religion and our history!”
Uri remarked that it was far from certain that this was a good sign: there was considerable Roman interest in the history of Parthia because they considered it to be a hostile power; maybe they view the Jews, too, as a potential enemy.
“Bah!” said Philo, “There’s no reason for that. In my opinion, in the depths of their hearts they are starting to understand that the laws of Moses are valid for them too! The Eternal One sees that the time is ripe…”
Uri was heartily fed up with Philo’s chatter, but he was better off listening to him that he was once the alabarch set him to work. It turned out that few of the Roman senators spoke any Greek, and even those who did spoke it poorly.
“What an uncultured bunch!” exclaimed the alabarch. “Do they imagine that the whole world is going to learn Latin for their sake?”
The alabarch dragged Uri around with him as interpreter because neither Marcus nor Tija was up to negotiating in Latin. To In the beginning their father had taken them along practically everywhere, but upon realizing that they were mostly staying silent, ordered them to go out every day to the baths, the Circus, and theater, make friends with the sort of people they wouldn’t find at home, and practice speaking Latin. Marcus and Tija happily went along with that plan, wound togas around themselves every morning, and left for the day, not to be seen again by Uri.
The alabarch presented everyone he met with some knick-knack that had been picked up since his arrival in Rome, telling the filthy-rich patricians the pieces had been brought from Alexandria. The gifts were received with infantile delight. He is a true politician, pondered Uri, thinking ahead.
Uri found himself pulled in different directions by the alabarch and Philo, and it was useless mumbling that he had his own business that needed attending to.
“Through me you will get to know important people, my son,” said the alabarch. “You’ll be able to buy up the whole of Rome within a year!”
There was not a word of truth in that: nobody so much as looked at Uri unless he faltered in his interpreting, and then it was only to give him a dirty glare.
At first the interpreting was hard going; the alabarch babbled and never left Uri enough time to translate an entire sentence, so Uri was obliged to anticipate his train of thought and to formulate in Latin the presumed Greek phrase just half a word behind. But within a week or two Uri had learned how the alabarch’s mind worked — not that this was terribly difficult. However, he was at last able to do the interpreting automatically, and got to thinking that the alabarch would be better off staying home, leaving him, Uri — serving, as it were, as the extra-long protruded tongue of the alabarch — to do the negotiating with the Romans. But given that the discussions were about nothing specific — no business or politics — Uri came to realize it was not what the two parties said but simply the fact that they were spending a certain amount of time in each other’s company that was important.