György Spiró - Captivity

“Oh, of course,” the foreman said. “You weren’t here on Sunday…”

The foreman agonized over what to do.

“It’s fine by me,” said Uri, “if you let drop a word at the canteen to let me eat on credit…”

The foreman shook his head.

“I can’t get over there nowadays; I haven’t got the time… Ask Judith, the woman who runs it, she’s a decent sort, just a bit grumpy. You have to ask nicely, yes, that’s the way around it. Don’t ask her husband, he doesn’t make the decisions, she does.”

The foreman was delighted with that plan and gave Uri a friendly pat on the back before rushing off to attend to some urgent matter upstairs.

Uri drank a lot of water those days and chewed his lunch slowly, beginning to suspect he was not really entitled to it.

On Friday afternoon they went back to the hut early, the Sabbath being the Sabbath however you looked at it. They made their prayers to the northwest, the direction in which the Temple was actually located. Uri also received a share of the supper on the Sabbath. This is charity I receive, he thought, like some destitute vagrant. He was not offended, though; he got roast meat for the first time in ages. He again chewed slowly, deliberately, almost cautiously — not too much but not too little either. The wine made him slightly tipsy, and the next morning he slept past the morning prayer.

On Sunday morning he marched cheerfully along with the others toward Fountain Gate, not even trying to avoid the gaze of the gatekeepers, who still did not haul him out from among the others, either because they were not looking in his direction or had already seen him going out.

The cashier arrived in the morning escorted by two guards, though they were carrying no weapons. The cashier squatted in the atrium, opened his case, and took a scroll out. He ticked off the names of those whose wages had been counted. Uri was left at the end. The cashier shut the case, rolled up the scroll, and rose to leave.

“I’m owed as well,” said Uri.

The workers looked his way.

“Everyone got theirs,” said the cashier.

“I haven’t gotten mine yet,” said Uri.

“There’s no other name on the roll,” said the cashier.

Uri saw red. He yelled inarticulately that they would regret this, that he was going to report them, that everyone would be in for it. Even the guards stiffened, uncertain about what to do.

“I’ll tell Joseph, the one in the Sanhedrin,” bawled Uri. “They can make your lives truly unpleasant, you dolts! This is enough from you all! I’ve had enough! Enough!”

The workers had fallen silent. The panic-stricken cashier started to make excuses: that was all the money he had been given, nobody had said anything, it was not his fault if somebody was not on the roll.

“Who is responsible?” demanded Uri.

The foreman appeared, having heard the shouting.

Uri tore into him.

“It’s your fault. It was up to you to inform people, you scum! You’d better go right now and tell them I’ve been taken on, and bring me my wages!”

“Come on!” the foreman said mockingly. “It’s not as if you moved so much as a speck of dust.”

“You go right now,” Uri whispered. By now he had grown hoarse. “If you don’t, I’ll see that you’re taken care of! Joseph ben Nahum is not exactly going to thank you!”

At this the foreman was alarmed; his tone changed.

“Why didn’t you say so to start with?” he wailed. “You didn’t tell me, none of you did… You didn’t come with him. How was I supposed to know?”

He turned on the cashier.

“Give him his wages!”

“I can’t, I have no more money with me!”

“Never mind,” whispered Uri. “You can come back later and bring it then. Gaius Theodorus is my name. Take note of that!”

The foreman wrote down Uri’s name, and Uri checked it; he had made three mistakes.

“Correct that,” Uri said sternly, pointing out the incorrect letters. “There, there, and there.”

The foreman flushed but made the corrections.

“I won’t be able to bring it today,” the cashier remonstrated. “It’s closed already… Tomorrow…”

“I’m not prepared to starve for another day,” Uri declared. “I need to pay for the whole week in advance, and to lay down the money today. You’ll have to drum up the money from somewhere and come back, because if you don’t I’m going to report you. And you too!” he said, turning toward the foreman.

Silence fell. The workers enjoyed the scene quietly.

“Fine,” said the foreman. “I’ll give you an advance, but then I’m getting it back next week, okay?”

“It’s all the same to me,” said Uri, “as long as I get my wages!”

The cashier and his two escorts departed, and the foreman took a pile of coins out of his pouch and counted them, bemoaning why Gaius Theodorus had not spoken up in time. He had a huge amount of respect for Joseph ben Nahum and the whole Sanhedrin and the higher-ups! Why didn’t Gaius Theodorus speak up before this?

He pressed the coins into Uri’s palm.

At least he registered my name, reflected Uri as he stuffed the coins into his loincloth.

The foreman had urgent business to attend to, so he hurried off. The workmen chortled. Uri sat back down, leaned his back against a wall and looked at the fountain, which was now operating. The sculpture portrayed fish clinging to each other like a bunch of grapes, with the water spurting from the topmost fish.

Judas took a seat beside him.

“You’ve got a big mouth,” he said. “I’d never have thought so from the look of you.”

“It was big,” Uri croaked.

Judas laughed.

“How much money were you given?”

“I don’t know,” he answered. “My wages for the week.”

“And how much is that?” Judas asked.

The others gathered around, sitting or stretching out.

Uri tried to recollect what they had said about this back in Beth Zechariah.

“A drachma a day,” is what came to mind.

The workers laughed.

“Only the very best get that much,” one of them said.

“I’m a very good worker,” Uri whispered with conviction.

That raised a laugh.

“So, how much did you get?” Judas pushed. “Let’s see.”

Uri stood up and took the coins from his loincloth. The workers tittered. Uri spread out the small change, a mix of silver and coppers. He had no idea what they were or what they were worth. He arranged the identical ones next to each other.

Judas slowly counted them up, doing a careful job as he had nothing else to do.

“Three ma’ahs, one tropik, two tresiths, twelve issars, two aspers, four pondions, one hundred and twelve prutahs…” He looked up. “Do you think that’s about seven drachmas?”

The workers were quickly rolling on the ground with laughter; a couple of them traced out the numbers in the dust and became absorbed in adding them up.

“Half a zuz, plus half a zuz, plus a quarter zuz, plus a half zuz, plus two fifths of a zuz, plus one third of a zuz, plus roughly three fifths of a zuz… That can’t come to more than three zuz, man!”

Uri sat again; the workers crowed.

“One drachma is how many zuz?” Uri asked, his ears starting to redden.

The workers roared with laughter, still rolling on the ground. Even the painter popped his head out from the upper floor, curious to find out what everyone found so amusing.

“One drachma is how many zuz? Lord Almighty! You’re asking how many zuz in a drachma?”

Naturally, one drachma was one zuz, and the foreman had handed over less than half of Uri’s weekly wage! Menachem had dipped into his pouch and unerringly handed over half! Menachem wouldn’t make a mistake with something like that! He has a good feel for it; he’s had plenty of practice!