The Last Song

safer for him not to know of its existence
, I said to myself.

C HAPTER 6
 
T HURSDAY , D ECEMBER 15, 1491
    “W here are we going?”
    “Just follow me,” Yonah said.
    He led me down Potters’ Alley, past vendors selling clay dishes of every type. Urns to hold wine competed for space with plates that would grace the tables of the residents of Toledo. He was walking so fast that I had to run to keep up with him. By the time we got to Tanners’ Row, I begged him to slow down.
    “Wait for me!”
    “We’re almost there.” He stopped so that I could catch up.
    We turned the corner to Bakers’ Lane. The aroma of fresh bread made my mouth water. We passed the large building that housed the public ovens and stopped in front of a bakery. Yonah looked in both directions,but nobody in the street was paying attention to two Jewish boys out on an errand. He was in a homespun cloak with a pointed hood that Jews had to wear. I was dressed in a similar garment. Sofia had bought it for me at the market. Both Yonah and I had the badge of the Jews on our shoulders.
    We slipped into the shop. It was small and dark. A table in the middle of the room was covered by loaves of bread of every shape and size. Wooden racks along the walls displayed more bread. Large bins full of bread dough were scattered all over the shop. Flour covered everything, including the grim face and clothing of the old man kneading dough in a corner. He threw us a glance.
    Yonah’s eyes darted around the shop. When he saw that we were alone with the man, he gave a sigh of relief. “How goes it, Pedro?” he asked.
    The man grunted.
    An old woman in tattered clothes came into the shop. The baker gave her an oily smile.
    She picked up a small loaf from one of the racks on the wall. “I don’t know how you can charge for such poor bread,” she whined.
    “You know that you really love my loaves, Mother,” the baker said in a jolly voice.
    She pressed a few coins into his palm and waddledout of the bakery.
    “Stupid, old witch,” the baker murmured as he dropped the money into the greasy pouch hanging around his neck. “You’re late,” he said to Yonah. He nodded toward the floor. “The rest of them are already here.” He walked over to the door leading to the street and blocked it with his bulk.
    Yonah pushed a wooden chest away from the wall, revealing the outline of a trapdoor on the floor. He lifted the trapdoor and climbed into the opening. I knelt and peered into the darkness below. Yonah was at the bottom of a ladder attached to the underside of the shop’s wooden floor.
    “Come down,” he whispered.
    As I climbed down after him, I heard the trapdoor shut above my head and the scraping noise of the chest being dragged over it. I groped for the next rung with my foot.
    It took a few minutes for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. A single lit taper flickered in the middle of a rough-hewn table in the center of the room. It cast flickers of light that danced over the faces of the people sitting around it. Most of them seemed to be near my age. A man with a long, white beard sat at the head of the table.
    “Welcome, Yonah,” he said. “Who do you bringwith you?” Even in the gloom, the red and white patch was bright against his cloak.
    Yonah pulled the hood of my cloak off my head.
    “Her name is Isabel, Rabbi. She is one of the anusim, the forced ones. We thought it would be safer if she disguised herself as a boy. She wants to know more about us.”
    I leaned close to his ear. “Why do you call me an anusim?”
    “Because your family was forced to convert by the sword. They had to convert or die.”
    “Were you careful? Did anybody follow you?” a woman asked, her voice muffled by the hood of her cloak.
    “We were cautious. Nobody was paying us any attention.”
    “I am Rabbi Abenbilla, child,” said the man with the beard. “So you want to learn about the Jewish religion?”
    “I do, Rabbi.”
    As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew that I was telling the truth. At first, I had agreed to accompany Yonah because I wanted to be with him. Now, despite my fears, I did want to know more.
    “You’ve come to the right place. Welcome to our little group. We come together every fortnight to study Torah.”
    A pretty girl sitting next to the rabbi smiled at me warily. “My name is Judit. Here I am called Yehudit,” she said. “I am an anusim.”
    A boy piped up across the table. “So am I! My name is Alberto.”
    “Time