I opened my mouth to answer, but then he said, “Actually, you told me that you are from Jerusalem. Did you leave there long ago?”
“I left after finishing my degree at the university,” I said, as if this was small talk on the bus, not a conversation with a man from the thirteenth century. Jean’s eyebrows furrowed with incomprehension. “You studied at a university? How? And for what purpose?”
“In my time, universities are an institution for general education, open to all. I studied French, Greek, and Latin. And to what end? Hard to say. But it helps me as a translator.”
“What do you mean?” Jean pursued.
“I translate for work.” He shook his head in bewilderment, and I explained. “I translate books from French and Russian and English—into Hebrew. And whoever requests these translations pays me money for it.”
Jean shook his head and took a long breath in. “In our previous encounter, you said that you don’t have any servants, which aroused my curiosity. How is this possible? Who, if anyone, takes care of the household and the children?”
“I have just one daughter,” I smiled, “and my house is certainly no palace. Also, my husband does some of the tasks.”
“Of course,” said Jean. “He must be responsible for maintaining the house and the gardens and the animals, but do you cook and sew? Dust and wash? Launder and clean the dishes? Light the fire in the wood stove in the mornings? Pump water from the well? Educate and look after your daughter? And if so, how do you look so well taken care of and have time to spend all these hours in my company?”
Now, it was my turn to laugh at the onslaught of questions. “I have all kinds of machines that help me, actually. I suppose you could call them servants,” I said after some thought.
“What do you mean?” Jean asked in the same tone of eager curiosity I had come to know. He pushed up on his elbows, and Brunette turned over with demonstrable displeasure. I, too, got up on my elbows, and the chemise I was wearing must have exposed too much (the pink silk dress was over by the tree), because Jean ran a finger between my breasts.
“I cannot speak while you fondle me,” I said and lay on my back before him.
Jean pulled his hand away and smiled at me.
“Please explain what you mean by that word, my lady, and I will try to conquer my urges,” he mumbled and lay back down.
“You and your conquering of urges,” I laughed. “So—there’s a machine that washes the dishes. I just put the dirty dishes and soap in and press a button, and it washes the dishes by itself. I have a machinethat sucks the dust up from the carpets. I have a machine that washes the dirty clothes. I indeed do my own cooking, but there’s no need for me to sew because I buy clothes from shops, already made.”
“I do not understand what in the devil you are talking about,” said Jean and turned to me again. “I pray that one day I will once again dare to cross the magic passage, and you will show me all these miraculous things.”
“Say,” I said lazily and reached out to stroke his hair. “Do you think the place is called ‘Le Destroit’ because of our magic passage? That would mean someone else has crossed it.”
“That is an interesting question,” Jean said thoughtfully. “To the best of my knowledge, our small fortress here received this name as it guards the narrow passage between the Carmel mountains and the sea and the innocent Christians who pass through it from the murderous attacks of the Saracens. But it could be that there is more to it than that …” He turned onto his belly, chewing on the stalk of a plant.
“Tell me more about your life,” he said, rolling the stalk between his teeth. “And about your … those things you have instead of servants.” He stroked my hair and pulled me closer to him. “Ma-sheen? Is it Greek?”
“Machines,” I laughed with my eyes closed. He moved away from me again and leaned against the tree, attentive in his whole being.
“Listen, it’s not so simple,” I admitted. “The truth is that I do kind of have help. There is someone who comes every two weeks to dust and clean the house; there is a place where women look after my daughter and keep her entertained together with dozens of other children, every morning until the afternoon. There’s no need to take care of horses, because we have chariots that go by themselves; you just have to drive them and fill them with a liquid that makes them move—”
“Like water mills?” Jean sat up again. There was an eagerness in his eyes. “I am just now building one of those by the Jaffa River.”
“Not a water mill, no,” I said, helplessly. “Maybe a little? I have no idea.” I tried to remember car mechanics. “I apologize,” I said, ashamed. “I will try to check how it works and tell you the next time.”
Jean reached into one of his pouches. He took out my lighter and began to play with it again.
“You are aware that you simply took that from me, yes?” I snapped.
“You are right, my lady,” he said, smiling sheepishly. “I was smitten.” He handed me the lighter.
“Keep it,” I said magnanimously. “I have ten more at home.”
Jean whistled in admiration. “I cannot imagine your modus vivendi, my lady,” he said. He gathered several weeds and lit them with the lighter. He blew on them, reviving the fire, then added the small, dry branches that he had gathered earlier. Soon, a small fire was burning cheerfully, and he went to his saddle and took a small copper kettle from one of the saddlebags. He filled it with water from the spring and put in herbs that he took out of one of his countless pouches. He resumed playing with the lighter. “Just wonderful,” he said to himself. “Is it true that you have many of these? This is an inexpensive item?” He asked.
“Very inexpensive,” I said. “And it stops working after a while,” I added, in the spirit of full disclosure.
“In that case, would you mind if I were to dissemble the thing?” He asked eagerly. I nodded and even showed him how to pull out the metal wheel. From there, he proceeded on his own.
“So, who pumps the water?” He asked as he took apart the lighter and looked at every component closely. “Someone brings you fresh water every day, lights the fire, and heats the water?”
