The Last Song

ebony face.”
    Brianda had the grace to blush. “You know my cursed temper. Mother is always telling me to control myself. After you left that day, I told Mara that I realized that it wasn’t her fault that the cake fell to the floor. She is reliable – the only one among the servants who wouldn’t betray us,” she said as she walked back to the door and left us. The door clicked shut behind her.
    As soon as she was gone, I realized that we had forgotten to say good-bye. I wanted to run after her, but Papa grabbed my arm.
    “Do you want us caught? Let her go!”
    “But I’ll never see her again!”
    “That can’t be helped.”
    I knew that he was right, but it still hurt. I buried my face in Mama’s neck. When I was finally able to stop my tears, I settled down on one of the burlap sacks.
    Mara brought us dark bread, a chunk of cheese, and some ale for our supper. After we finished eating, we sat in the darkness for a while, talking. I couldn’t stopthinking of Anusim, and of the sweet song I’d never hear again. I also remembered all the fun Brianda and I had together.
    “We might as well try to get some sleep,” Papa said. “I’ll go to Natan Abenatar’s house tomorrow morning and let him know where we are.”
    “No, Papa! It’s too dangerous for you to go. The Grand Inquisitor’s men will spot you right away. I’ll go.”
    “Absolutely not! I –”
    Mama stopped him. “Isabel can do it – she’ll have many dangers to face. This isn’t the greatest of them.”
    Papa grudgingly agreed, and before long I heard him snoring on his scrap of burlap. I lay in the darkness, my palms sweaty. I traced the outline of the kiddush cup in my bundle and felt better. I began to pray. I prayed that Torquemada’s cruelty would not affect us again. I prayed that all would go well tomorrow night and that we would be able to leave our beloved Sefarad with Yonah and his father. I also prayed that Yonah and I would … I wasn’t sure how to complete this prayer. I fell asleep and Anusim serenaded me in my dreams.

C HAPTER 17
 
T HURSDAY , J ULY 12, 1492
    T he Juderia was a place of ghosts. The streets were completely deserted. Gone were the merchants selling their wares. There was no sign of women gossiping in the doorways. The children playing in the streets had vanished. The horses, the donkeys, and the carts that the animals pulled had disappeared. And strangest of all was the silence. The noise of the throngs who frequented the lanes and alleys of the Juderia was stilled.
    I began to worry. Had everybody gone already? Had we been left behind? I told myself not to be foolish. Yonah would never leave without saying good-bye and telling us of the change in his plans.
    The silversmith’s shop was deserted. I banged on the front door, but nobody opened it. I was about to leave when I heard a faint, distant sound.
    I followed it to the yard behind the house. A youth, stripped to the waist under the hot July sun, was breaking a wooden table into pieces with an ax.
    “What are you doing?”
    He whipped around. He was a boy about my own age with dark hair. The metal cross at his throat gleamed in the sunlight. He held his ax pressed against his bare chest, as if it were a weapon. “Who are you? What do you want? There is nothing left here for you if you are one of them scavengers!”
    “I am not!” I answered.
    His grip on the handle of his ax tightened.
    “I am Yaacov, Yonah’s friend. Where can I find him?” I struck out my hand.
    He looked suspicious but finally grasped it. “Your hand is soft, like a woman’s,” he muttered.
    “Where can I find Yonah?”
    His eyes traveled warily to the red and white badge on my cloak. “If you are one of them, why don’t you know?”
    “Know what?”
    He wiped his brow with the back of his arm. “All the Jews know.”
    “I have to tell you the truth. My father is a physician in their majesties’ court. He received special dispensation from the queen and the king to live outsidethe Juderia. I usually meet Yonah in the streets of Toledo. I am not privy to everything that goes on in the Aljama.”
    “ ‘Dispensation,’ ‘privy,’ ” he muttered. “You use big words like the gentry. So do my master and Yonah. You better not be wanting to hurt my master or his son!” he said fiercely.
    I realized then that he was the apprentice whose brother Pablo had overheard Torquemada and Fray Armand talking about my papa.
    “There is nothing I want to do