The Eternal Jew’s Tale, #184, Noah’s tale, 1

In this episode, plumb lines and plumb crazy.

The Eternal Jew’s Tale
Twenty Second Era, Part 2, 1492 C.E., Constantinople

…The battle’s more open out on the street where the conflicts ain’t just Jew on Jew, but Greek and Armenian as well as Jew, vyin’ tu gain the privilege of bein’ top dog Zimmi servin’ the Turk…

In one detail the whole might be seen. Noah, a wealthy financier who escaped Aragon with some of his wealth, drew lots and obtained an abandoned house, one of many available in the district the sultan assigned to the Jews from Sepharad, near the Ahrida*.
* a synagogue in the Jewish district

Noah goes to inspect the place, expectin’ a mansion as suitin’ one in his high station. But what is this? A shack used as a stall for goats; could this be the house intended for him?

“Such an outrage! I must see the sultan’s minister who’s responsible”

But who can find such a hidden one? Disgusted, he confides in me:

“We’re strangers. We can’t speak the language; don’t know men with the sultan’s ear; can’t navigate the government, the laws, customs, or even find the right building or the offices, or even find the right street.”

Advice he once mocked and scorned, is now compellin’ Noah’s steps. He decides to hire tradesmen to rebuild the place. Next day, during Shakhreet, he’s driftin’ around during prayers, whisperin’,

“I have work. You need a job?”

Many quietly growl, ‘shush!’ But more than one man slips away, out to the foyer where they can talk.

“What’s the deal? What kinda work? You need accountants, runners, clerks to restart your financial business?”
“Nah, nah. Nothin’ like that. I need men to rebuild my house. All I got is a shack right now.”

Mumble, grumble…

‘More than I got…’
‘I never done any carpenter work…’
‘Hell, I thought it was a real job…’

But a couple of men sign on-board tho they don’t look like they know which end of a hammer is used to drive a nail.

“Let’s go take a look at the place so’s we can decide how to perceed.”

Standin’ in the path that runs by the shack…

“Whattaya think boys? How do we start?”

Coughs and shrugs and grimace and grunt, and pretty fast it comes clear, except for one fellow, all the rest don’t have a clue about what to do. But Hosaef walks around the shack, kicks the walls, looks inside.

“We’ll need plenty of wood and nails, posts and beams and lots of planks. And for the foundation some large stones and concrete, the more, the better. And later, to make the windows and doors, glass, bitumen, and hinges of course. I reckon that will start us off. And as for tools, I don’t suspect any of us lugged them along when we was fleein’ Torquemad.”

Off to one side Noah asks,

“Hosaef, you think that you can work with any of these other guys?”
“Nah. They ain’t even one of them can hit a nail instead of his thumb. We need to find a Grik or two who knows how to use Pythagorees to lay out a corner straight and square, one who knows that plumb ain’t somethin’ you eat.”

He grins, but Noah don’t get the joke.

With the rabbi workin’ on his behalf Noah is able to get some names from the Romaniote Jews of local Greeks who might be inclined to work for him. Martir, Kleftees, Zhorzheyo; strange names, strange days.

“How can I find them?”
“Hard to say.”

The houses have no numbers here; the streets don’t even have names.

“There’s a little market across from a mosque. Ask them there. Maybe they’ll know.”

For a long time Noah wanders the streets lookin’ for some market across from some mosque, the whole time thinkin’, ‘what will I say? How will I make myself understood?’ And all the time with his ten year old son, Yacoob, who’s scared to be home alone, having seen his uncle killed, and his grandpa who gone and got baptized and then killed himself in shame. And some say he seen even worse things.

And there it be, market and mosque, just a little bazaar, maybe six or eight stalls packed down into a narrow path between a hamam* and a ruined wall. Into its midst, his pantomime well rehearsed, at least in thought, he begins his speech in a loud voice.
* public bath

“Me, me,” pointing to himself, “lookee, lookee for Zhorzheyo.” His fingers, like arrows, shoot from his eyes. “Martir, Kleftees, lookee for.” And he draws the shape of a body with his hands. “Martir, Kleftees, you see?” And he points to each of the men in the stalls, again his fingers like arrows from his eyes.

He stops and looks around to see if anyone knows where to find these men. Instead, it’s smirks and annoyed frowns, like he’s some crazy circus-clown act and Yacoob is his monkey tag-along.

But Noah isn’t discouraged by that. In fact, his fear and self-consciousness disappear.

“I can do this. I must have passed a dozen bazaars. I’ll figure out how to do this right and go to them all and find my men.”

~~~~~~~~~~

In the next episode… is there a translator in the house?