Kainis took Uri’s hand and pulled him into one of the smaller rooms, stopping in front of a bed.
“Here you are!” she said.
Uri trembled.
She pulled off her clothes.
She had a fragrant, frail, delicate body, diminutive with small, pert breasts, a slim waist, her hipbones slightly jutting out under the skin, her thighs long and thin, with soft fluff between them. Uri got to his knees, kissed and stroked her, but he sensed no desire. Kainis lay on her back on the bed and pulled up her legs. Uri kissed her breasts, her neck, her shoulders, her arms, her flat stomach — still nothing. Tears came to his eyes. Kainis stroked his head and neck, kissed his ears, embraced him, and hugged him tight.
“I don’t know why I can’t,” Uri said.
“It doesn’t matter,” Kainis whispered.
“I’ve never loved a woman so much before! I just don’t understand!”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Maybe I’ll never again be a full man!”
“Of course you will!” Kainis whispered as she kissed his brow. “Of course you will! The problem’s with me. I love you like a twin brother. It’s me who needs to be excused.”
Tears were by now flooding Kainis’s face.
Uri never again went back to Claudius’s house, and from then on he also avoided the small room in Agrippa’s house.
In Agrippa’s house he worked on a rough draft for Philo of a work about Caligula’s transgressions. Philo included many other details, including passages that disparaged Isidoros and Lampo as due warning to Claudius for rewarding, and retaining in his entourage, the Greeks who had betrayed Caligula. Uri also drafted a plan for Claudius’s decree restoring to the Jews of Alexandria all rights that had previously been recognized by Augustus and Tiberius. Philo also added to the fair copy a clause that stated, henceforth, that Jews and Greeks carried equal right of citizenship, but Claudius without comment had this deleted before the proclamation. Even so it was a major achievement, which left Philo beaming and planning further projects.
In Far Side Uri was no longer pestered or called on to spy on his benefactors; it was tacitly understood that their hands would always slip off him, as they would trying to hold a wrestler who had prepared by oiling himself (which was precisely why the practice of oiling was forbidden at the Gymnasium in Alexandria). The big items had been decided: Claudius, Agrippa’s childhood friend, had become emperor, Philo had covered the interest payments on Uri’s loan one year in advance, and it would not do to touch one of Agrippa’s confidants.
All the same, Uri was fearful. Philo’s energies did not seem to be diminishing, but his coughing worsened and he had a fever. It may have been malaria, which virtually every stranger to Rome acquired, or maybe something else. If he were to die, there would no longer be anybody supporting Uri, and the elders of Far Side would take their revenge. Not that he had ever done them any harm, but he had found himself close to the center of power, and they would not forgive him for that. It was assumed that he had influence on the emperor, and they believed his connection with Agrippa had remained intact — that was enough for them to make his life impossible.
It was high time to break out of Far Side.
One thing that came to mind was to become a teacher at the Gymnasium in Rome: they paid well, so he would no longer be dependent on Jews. If Apollos could make it as a teacher of rhetoric in Corinth, then perhaps he could find something similar in Rome. He mentioned it to Philo, who was delighted.
“It’s a great idea, dear son! You’ll be able to carry on my work!”
Uri had no wish to persuade the youth of Rome that the Jewish faith was an ancestor and more perfect version of their own; all he wanted was a livelihood. Still, Philo’s delight made him consider the possibility; it seemed he might still feel some twinge of conscience on account of him.
Philo suggested that he look up Isidoros.
Isidoros shook his head.
“I can’t intervene on your behalf,” he said. “Even as it is I’m accused of being a Jewish stooge. Let the Jews help; there are enough of them.”
After numerous tries, Uri managed to get an interview with the director of the Gymnasium. He was a bearded, bristle-haired, burly Greek, a third-rate commentator on Homer, more doltish than even Apion, but then again he always managed to beg, borrow, and steal the money needed for the school’s upkeep and thus enjoyed universal esteem. After a brief introduction he returned to studying a scroll, barely glancing at Uri. Uri outlined the purpose of his visit and held out the prospect that if the director wished he could obtain testimonials to his studies on Alexandria, which would take a couple of months to reach Rome.
“That won’t be necessary,” the director said affably.
Uri also proposed that initially, if need be, he would be willing to offer his teaching services without salary, in the hope of obtaining a future job.
“I have no wish for that sort of thing from anybody,” said the director even more affably.
Uri fell silent.
“Things are not yet so bad,” the director said, lifting his eyes from the scroll, “that we should have a Jew teaching Greek rhetoric in Rome.”
“It happens in Corinth,” said Uri, trying his best to swallow the insult.
“Then they must be in a bad way.”
Uri paid his respects and left.
Philo did not ask how Uri had done, and he did not say.
Claudius gave an amnesty to all prisoners except for common thieves, reviewing each case personally. He went on to administer justice every day in the Forum, either with the entire Senate or alone, with counselors sitting by; the public was happy to wander by and gawk. Quaestors and praetors accompanied the new emperor whenever the business concerned an investigation of financial affairs, and for doing that he was praised by the people. He had the poisons that he had found in Caligula’s effects destroyed, as well as the books of Protogenes, and the freedman was also disposed of to the great relief of many. Claudius’s grandmother Livia was deified, and a statue of her was placed in the temple of Augustus; sculptors could again be envied, while in the text of any vow they took women were compelled to mention her too.
Equestrian games were held on Claudius’s birthday, August 1, but, because the temple of Mars had been dedicated officially on the same day, the event also marked that anniversary. Claudius objected to being worshiped and prayed to, making efforts to get the number of statues and images in shrines cut down because nowadays there was barely any room for the living, and also abolished many feast days and holidays because so few days were left for work. He was praised for that too, by people who did not work anyway.
Hagar became pregnant again.
That summer Far Side burst into activity: the Alexandrian refugees, who had multiplied in the meantime, thronged onto synagogue pulpits to lash out at the Jewish elders of Rome, cursing them bitterly for being unwilling to get the emperor to back the return to the goods that the Greek rabble had stolen from them, or at least to seek monetary compensation. In the synagogues, with the permission of the archisynagogos, anyone who wished was allowed to speak, and no archisynagogos dared risk provoking a brawl by objecting. Even as it was, a brawl would break out each and every time the indigenous Roman faithful tired of the newcomers’ complaints and those would end with the Alexandrian preachers being hauled off the pulpit. In the beginning the quarrels were limited to specific houses of prayer as the elders made an effort to distribute the refugees evenly among all the synagogues, regardless of their place of residence (though the refugees generally lacked that in any case), but as time went by refugees assembled in Far Side’s larger spaces to make their demands. The younger hotheads among them pelted the larger houses with stones, while desperate womenfolk lay down in the entrances to houses of the rich, refusing to move out of the way. The elders made some effort to restore order, but as they had no Jewish police force at their disposal they would call out the night watch, who turned out to be just as reluctant to keep the peace as as they were to put out fires, and the situation became so acrimonious that the magistracy sent over officials from Rome proper, but they got nowhere either, as few of them knew even a word of Greek.