ceremonies. So one day your ancestors took a ship from Lisbon to Constantinople. To escape. They wished to practice Judaism openly. And to live without fear. Do you follow me?”
“Yes,” I said, but I didn’t think I did.
“They wanted to live as they preferred and not worry that they might end up as ash. The Sultan of Turkey welcomed them. He welcomed thousands of Portuguese Jews. Then, later — ”
“But this is madness, Senhora Graca. How did they become Jews in the first place? Tell me that if you’re so clever!”
“They … they always were Jews, I suppose,” she stammered.
“That’s impossible,” I declared. I believed I had found the fatal flaw in her logic. “They must have started out as Christians, so why did they first convert to Judaism and then need to be converted back? It makes no sense. It’s … it’s not true.”
I had no clear understanding of what being Jewish meant, but I feared that it would change everything in my life — that it would distance my parents and Midnight from me, and that they would no longer be fond of me in any way.
Luna sighed. “This has been a wretched day.”
I stood up. “I must go now.”
“You sit back down, John Stewart,” Graca said determinedly, “or I shall never give you instructions in art again!” She grabbed both my hands to hold me down. Hers were freezing cold. “However it came to pass, the truth is that your maternal grandparents were Jewish, and their ancestors were exiled from Portugal hundreds of years ago. They kept their language and they kept their customs, even though they lived in a Moslem land. Then, after the Inquisition ended its worst abuses — you know what the Inquisition was?”
“Yes,” I replied, but I had only a vague notion.
“Then you probably also know that it lost its power twenty-five years ago, though it is not yet completely dismantled. Since then we have been able to practice our religion more … more fully.”
“Though we would not wish to call attention to ourselves,” Luna added.
“No, that would be foolish,” Graca agreed. “It’s much better for everyone that we remain hidden. Now, the important thing for you is this, John: Under sacred law, the child of a Jewish woman remains Jewish. That’s why you are what you are. You see now?”
“So is my father a Jew?” I asked. They both shook their heads. “There, you see! It makes no sense. If I were Jewish, he would be too. I cannot be what my father is not.”
“For better or for worse,” Luna said, “that is not how these things are decided. That’s precisely what we are trying to tell you.”
“Then why wouldn’t I know it? Why wouldn’t my papa have told me?”
“Your parents were waiting until you were a little older. It is part of our tradition. The children are only told when we are absolutely certain they are old enough to keep such an important secret. Unless there are circumstances that … that complicate matters and make such knowledge essential, like what took place today.”
“Why do we have to keep it a secret?”
“Look, John,” Graca replied, “the Inquisition may return, which is why that preacher, Lourenco Reis, came here today. We have known of him for many years. He was formerly employed by the Holy Office, by the Church, as a prosecutor, you might say. He has jailed Jews and made them burn. You can be sure he greatly regrets that such power was taken from him and that we are no longer completely at his mercy. He would like to see a return to the old days.”
“So you’re Jewish too.”
“Yes, John, many of us are Jewish. At least, in secret.”
“Who?”
“I think it best for you to talk to your mother about that. She may be very unhappy with us for telling you this much.”
“But what shall I do now?”
“What do you mean?”
“I am Jewish and my father is not. If you are so clever, then tell me what shall I do?”
I traipsed down the street toward home. Midnight tried to talk to me, but I was too angry to answer him. I was wondering who I was.
Then we saw Senhor Policarpo sprawled on the cobbles outside his home. His wife, Josefina, was leaning over him, sobbing and covered in his blood. The bones in his face had been smashed in. Flies were already feeding at his eyes and lips.
Senhora Josefina gazed up at us in horror and started to wail.
“John, go home,” Midnight said. “Get in the house.”
“What about you?”
“I shall be there presently. Go home and make certain you lock the door.”
I rushed away. Before I closed the door behind me, I saw him reaching for Policarpo’s pulse. He shook his head and reached for Josefina’s hand.
To my relief, I found Fanny alive and well, nosing through the leaves of a verbena bush in our garden.
“Senhor Policarpo is dead and I am a Jew,” I told her, which only made her run to get her leather ball and drop it in my hand. I threw it into the rosebushes, which was a cruel thing to do. While she tried to contort herself to get through their thorns unscathed, I went to my room and cried. Then I peered in my mirror for a mark on my scalp where my horns might have been, but again I could detect no such sign. I found nothing unusual on the tip of my penis either.
Mama arrived home an hour or so later. “John?” she called in a worried voice. “John, are you in your room?”
I dashed down the stairs and ran into her arms.
“Thank God, you’re safe,” she said. She embraced me for a long time, and I could feel her trembling.
I wished to ask her if she and I were Jewish but reasoned that this was sure to insult her either way. For if it were true, then I would be drawing attention to a family fault, and if it were not, as I still hoped, then she might be offended that I thought so badly of her.
“I believe that something worrisome happened to you today,” she said as calmly as she could. “You weren’t hurt at all?”
“No, Mama.”
“No one touched you?”
“No.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes.”
“You must have been frightened.” When I shook my head, she asked, “Is Midnight here?”
“He must be in the Lookout Tower or in the garden.”
“Thank goodness.” She glanced down, weighing her options, then added, “Would you pump some water into a pot for me, John? I’ll prepare supper. Yes, that’s just what I’ll do. Hot food is what we need.”
I took a deep breath and said, “Senhor Policarpo is dead.”
“I know, John, I’ve seen Josefina. We shall speak of what it means for us later.”
“Mama, if I … if I were Jewish, would I … would I …”
I did not know how to continue and so said no more.
Mother held up her hand to have me wait a moment, then removed her black shawl. She laid it on one of the armchairs and returned to me. She held my head in her hands and pressed her lips to my brow. “Yes, John, if you were Jewish … What is it you wish to know?”
She seemed strangely confident, and I realized that I had expected her to become hysterical. Instead, she smiled encouragingly.
“If I were Jewish, would I know it?”
“That is a very good question, John, and I will indeed answer it. But first, will you tell me precisely what happened to you today? I need to know.”
