György Spiró - Captivity

What would the Essenes have made of all this?

The tenement building had been constructed, along with many others, in a street that had previously burned down to the ground, and it was to be hoped that it would last a few years before it either burned down itself or simply collapsed, as was often the case with the hastily built Roman tenement buildings. As a counter against the common outbreaks of fire, by one of Nero’s decrees, it was required that a porch be erected in front of any tenement building, from the flat roof of which the vigiles were able to fight a blaze more effectively. The landlords of such buildings invariably passed the cost on to the tenants and Uri too soon received a demand to contribute, although no doubt the previous tenant had already paid it. Uri fumed and asked to be allowed to pay it in installments, and the caretaker eventually consented.

Uri made an appearance in Far Side at the premises of its Jewish officials, who were not interested where he lived but only in whether or not he had proof that he fulfilled his obligation to pay the sacrificial money to his Jewish community over the past five years. He did not have this so, reluctantly, he had to pay for a second time around five years’ worth of the annual didrachma of dues, deliberately cursing at a stage whisper so that he would be heard (though he knew this would happen to him, and brought along the correct sum). Having paid, he was informed that insofar as confirmation of having paid it was received from Puteoli, then he would get the ten denarii back. Uri then asked for a receipt for the ten denarii, which, reluctantly, they gave him. A fresh problem arose when he registered the members of his family, as it was noted that Theo ought to have held his bar mitzvah, and they asked for confirmation that it had taken place. Uri reported that Theo had been pressed into slavery, and he had no idea where he might be, which the officials did not like one bit, so they called in a superior, who asked for written verification; Uri had, in fact, put the signed contract in his satchel, alongside the Torah scroll, but he had not brought that with him, only the expulsion order, which posters put up all over Rome advised should be presented. All the officials were young men and they sternly enjoined him to present that too. Uri promised. They even caviled at the fact that Uri was unable to show any written confirmation that Sarah’s grave was in Puteoli even though that had no financial implication at all. Uri was just beginning to detest them heartily, when who should materialize but an abominably obese Hilarus, who had evidently worked his way up to become some sort of potentate, as he was greeted with great respect. Hilarus drew their attention to the need to take special care in handling Uri’s case, which they duly promised.

“Has he signed a disclaimer yet?” Hilarus asked.

It turned out that he had not. Hilarus shook his head then invited Uri to go with him into a separate room, asking to be given all the documentation, which they respectfully handed to him, while making big smiles at Uri: it was clearly a rare event for one of the bigwigs personally to take over a case.

“It was not a pretty business,” Hilarus wheezed after examining the assembled documentation, “not nice at all, but then what could we do? It was an imperial edict and had to be carried out to the letter…”

Uri nodded.

“I’m glad to see you are in such splendid condition!” Hilarus declared. “Sadly, there are all too many who are in rather poor shape… Not the Nazarenes: they stuck together, they’re in good spirits, but those who were accused groundlessly… Anyway, what are your plans?”

“Well, perhaps I wouldn’t mind being able to make a living somehow,” Uri answered modestly.

Hilarus enthusiastically approved.

“The disclaimer from seeking compensation,” Hilarus said, “is unfortunately required from you… Everyone who has now been allowed to return has to surrender any right of compensation. One can understand the thinking behind it, the houses now being lived in by others who had committed no crime. Personal articles have since been scattered or were distributed by the community to the needy; we have no legal basis for asking for these to be returned. It’s because of that we cannot register anyone who doesn’t waive the rights to compensation and they are not permitted to reside in Rome.”

Uri nodded in acknowledgment.

“Where are you going to live?” Hilarus asked.

“Somewhere across the way.”

“Yes, of course, of course,” muttered Hilarus. “Your house was demolished, wasn’t it? A fine six-story tenement building was built in its place. Do you want to take a look?”

Uri mentioned his readiness to see it on some other occasion.

“We could maybe get two families to move in together. We have ways of making that happen, and that would give you a room,” Hilarus offered in friendly fashion. “You would have to pay rent, of course,” he added.

Uri had no wish to meddle with the lives of two innocent families as Hilarus so blithely suggested. The potentate asked for an already prepared letter of disclaimer to be brought in and waited in person while Uri read through it and signed. He then contentedly placed it in with the rest of the documentation.

“So what happens with people who have lost their notice of expulsion?” Uri asked. “Does that mean they can’t come back?”

“Not at all,” said Hilarus, “because we have kept a copy, but then we have to get witnesses who live here to verify that they really were the people referred to… In the meantime they will have gotten older, changed, won’t they? It’s a somewhat torturous procedure, which is hard to arrange from a distance, so it may take a while, but it’s not beyond the bounds of the possible.”

Uri nodded.

“These are bleak times; bleak times, indeed,” Hilarus sighed, even biting into his lower lip. “But we’ll put on a splendid bar mitzvah for your second son — just you wait and see!”

Seeing that he was in Far Side anyway, Uri also paid a visit to the library where five years previously Theo had placed his scrolls on deposit. The weaver who had run the library then was no longer alive; his place had been taken over by his son.

“Yes, indeed,” said the gangly, hollow-chested, dark-haired young man, highly strung and blinking. “Right away.”

He soon reappeared with some twenty scrolls, though Uri had thought there were fewer.

“Remarkable works they are,” the young man said deferentially. “Most instructive!”

Uri looked the young man over; he must have been around twenty years old. He really has read them; pity he’s not my own son.

“They’re in very good condition,” he commented.

“Naturally.”

Uri wavered:

“I’m prepared to let them stay on here,” he finally declared. “Let others read them.”

There was a brief pause.

“Your trust is highly flattering,” the young man said, clearly touched. “I’ll give you a receipt, so you can take them back any time you wish.”

“That’ll be fine.”

Uri had no idea how he was going to make a living. He calculated that they had sufficient money to last them another two or three months; something would surely turn up by then.

One morning he was approached by the caretaker, who was somewhat afraid of him had been trying to get on his good side after finding that he could not simply blather on for any length of time with him as he could with the other residents; the man asked whether he was by any chance interested in a job as a tiler on a construction project. Uri was interested.

At the time large-scale festivities were being held no more than seven or eight stadia away from the Via Nomentana on the Field of Mars, where Nero had ordered a new timber amphitheater to be built. Uri merrily tiled away while these were going on, being not the slightest bit curious about what the new emperor looked like. Marcellus, Hagar, and the girls attended the celebrations since all Rome was going, and they did not feel apprehensive about being in the crowd as now they could at last feel that they were true Romans. Uri went on tiling and kept on sniffing himself; the other laborers noticed nothing, but he felt he could not get rid of a stench of urine.