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except to attend synagogue. From its heights I could watch workers in Father’s date groves, merchants and farmers bringing produce to market, shoppers coming and going from the souk, or porters loading and unloading barges on the Hinde Canal. On a clear day I might spy Saracen nomads in the western desert or boats on the Euphrates River in the east. Even during the hottest days of summer, there was usually a breeze.
    I sighed with resignation. My connection to the outside world was severed, and who knew when I’d be allowed up there again?
    Something was wrong. Just last year our house had overflowed with guests for my brother Pinchas’s wedding to Beloria, but this crowding was too sudden, and Mother was clearly not in a celebratory mood. By week’s end so many cousins and cousins of cousins had arrived that Mother made all the slaves sleep in the courtyard.
    Father soon acquired a number of new students whose homes were far from Kafri: Zeira and Abaye from Pumbedita, Rabbah bar Huna fromSura, and of course Abba bar Joseph from Machoza. Abba, who at thirteen was just old enough to be obligated to perform mitzvot, was short and wiry, with big eyes, a small chin, and a child’s reedy voice. I had only seen a monkey once—when Father took us to visit the exilarch’s court for Sukkot, a noble lady there had one as a pet—but Abba immediately reminded me of that monkey. Not that he was bad looking. To the contrary, he was an attractive boy. But he had a restless energy that demanded constant movement, and he seemed to be taking in everything with those big eyes.
    Rami, who was slightly younger than my brother Tachlifa, had been studying with Father for years. He was one of the oldest students who wasn’t one of my brothers. He was taller than the others too, as tall as Nachman, my second-oldest brother, with a pleasant, resonant voice. Rami’s best features were his perfect white teeth and how his face seemed to light up whenever he smiled. Rami was an excellent student, sharper than my brothers, and it seemed to me that he would make a great rabbi. Yet there was a keenness to Abba bar Joseph’s questions that made me think he might be more brilliant than any of them.
    Nobody would discuss whatever was upsetting everyone, and I was too frightened to ask. Ominous signs were everywhere. Women with worried expressions whispered furtively to one another, only to abruptly separate when I approached. We used to have meat, or at least fish, every day, but now there were days when only the men ate it, and even days when all we had was bread and vegetables. Father always took pride that his family and slaves both ate bread baked from fine wheat flour, but now the slaves’ bread was made from coarse flour. And after a while that changed to barley.
    I finally found the courage to ask Devora about our finances. Yenuka ran our family’s brewery business for Father; that is to say he was responsible for brewing and selling the date beer. But his wife, Devora, was treasurer, keeping the accounts and seeing that bills were paid. I hated to interrupt as she wrote in her ledgers, but she was never alone otherwise.
    â€œDevora.” I kept my voice steady. “May I ask a question?”
    She looked up in annoyance and my heart sank at the thought that she’d send me away. But instead she sighed and said, “If it’s a quick one.”
    I took a deep breath. “Has Naval attacked our family and chased Nakid away?” Naval was the Demon of Poverty, Nakid the Angel of Sustenance.
    â€œOf course not. Whatever makes you think that?”
    â€œWe don’t eat as well as we used to.”
    Devora smiled wanly. “Don’t worry, Dada. Nakid is still blessing us, and in fact we are selling more beer than ever. It’s just that there’s less food in the souk to buy these days.” She promptly returned to her work.
    Dada was what my siblings called me, all because