Chapter Fifteen #2
“Yes,” he said simply, as if it were usual, even among his class.
“Along with Latin, French, German, Italian, Portuguese, Spanish, and a little Russian—though I’m trying to improve.
Besides English, of course,” he explained.
“I’ve been meaning to start both Turkish and Arabic, but I’ve been a touch busy. ”
Rebecca gaped once more. Even among their people, who’d populated the world’s ports for centuries and who could often speak at least a dozen languages, reading more than the location’s vernacular plus Hebrew and Aramaic for Talmud study was not common. “That’s more languages than…”
“You?” he asked, giving her a lopsided grin.
“Most certainly,” she said, shaking her head. “I only read English, Hebrew, Yiddish, German, and French—the latter for their scholarly materials in the sciences.” Impressive, but he was… A thought occurred to her. Frowning, she glanced back at him. “You read Hebrew as well, don’t you?”
It was possible he didn’t. In their zeal to be tolerated by, and more, permitted to receive benefits from gentile society, more and more of their community members devoted the time they’d have used for their own study and traditions to learning to mimic those of the favored.
Isabelle, for example, as bright as she was, knew her prayers from either oral memory or a transliterated prayer book. Sol was the same. Though as of late, he’d taken it upon himself to learn more, starting with his letters, in the hope of one day reading.
It was slow going, or so she’d heard, and thus she’d not be surprised if that was the case here. That would be a shame.
“Naturally.” There was an odd tone to his voice. Though before she could ponder it more, he cleared his throat. “But going back to yours… that’s five, which is quite puny compared to my ten,” he pointed out, his grin widening once more.
“I didn’t know we were in a competition,” she told him, though she couldn’t quite muster consternation.
“I’ve surprised you,” he said, rather proudly. As if that had been some sort of goal. Though perhaps it was, as it occurred rather infrequently.
“Yes,” she admitted. “Though, despite what you implied earlier, I did recognize that you weren’t unintelligent, no matter how irritating you could be, but…” And a thought occurred to her. She turned back to him. “The books that were left in my room…”
“Recent acquisitions I enjoyed,” he explained, narrowing his eyes. “Who did you surmise selected them?”
“Isabelle,” she admitted, oddly sheepish even if her reasoning had been quite sound.
“She enjoys poetry?” the man asked, surprise in his tone.
At that she nearly laughed. “She enjoys military strategy,” Rebecca told him, smiling to herself. Her friend was… unique. And utterly delightful. A lump formed in her throat. And she truly missed her.
Inhaling, she pushed the unbidden emotion to the side and returned to the conversation.
“But she also knows me and my tastes,” she told him.
“Which appear to be similar to mine.” His eyes twinkled with amusement in the dim light. “At least in certain areas. How horrifying,” he teased.
“For you or for me?” she couldn’t help but return.
“Perhaps I just recognize quality,” he told her with a grin.
Suddenly, the room was quite hot.
Turning her back to him, she wandered to a table, reaching out to touch an open copy of a botanical text titled Historia Naturalis Palmarum, by someone named Von Martius. Latin. With a neat, handwritten English translation in the margins as well as what appeared to be additional commentary.
“This is your work.” She stared at the man she’d once believed was a brainless fop.
“Oh, yes. I meant to finish that but became distracted.” Ducking his head, he rubbed the back of his neck, as if he was somehow embarrassed.
“You should be a scholar,” she whispered as she scanned the pages. “Imagine what you could do with Talmud.”
The man gave a derisive snort. Rebecca’s back stiffened at the sound. This was his heritage. What their ancestors risked their very lives to protect. What made both of them who they were. How could he treat it so dismissively?
A nasty retort sat on her tongue ready to burst forth, but somehow she managed to pause. After all, it wouldn’t convince him of her point, not to mention, it would not inspire him to, well, not continue to waste his abilities. Not that she was likely to convince him, and yet…
“You have the mind for it,” she said instead, glancing back down at the pages.
“Maybe,” he conceded after a moment. “But there’s the factor of time.”
“There’s time now,” she reminded him as gently as she could.
“Not as much as one would think. Especially with my lack of staff,” he countered.
True… She ran her fingers over his work again as another thought occurred to her. “Perhaps you could tutor your children,” she suggested, glancing over her shoulder at the man.
The man snorted again. “Yes, that would be the best use of my skills.”
Rebecca frowned. “As opposed to… ?”
He raised a brow. “Making sure we don’t lose what we already have,” he returned, impatience in his tone.
“There are plenty on the Commission who do that,” she reminded him.
“I can do it better,” he argued, shaking his head. “And there are professionals who can educate my children a great deal better than I. We each have our role, Miss Adler.”
And he enjoyed his, found it superior to what she’d suggested, not to mention her own role.
It was not her place to interfere. Still…
She pressed her lips together, unable to permit the full argument to die.
“Yet you are currently short a governess. At least until you can hire a new one.” She glanced around.
“You have what, hundreds of books here…”
“Thousands,” he corrected with a smirk. That should make her stomach fizzle, and yet… Oy, she was a draikopt.
“Thousands, then,” she amended. “Thus one would presume you have a plethora of inspiration if you chose to attempt it.” She gestured around the room, her hand coming to rest on a ladder. Her cheeks heating, she pushed backward, nearly tripping over the man.
“Additionally,” she continued, scurrying backward before he could steady her. “You do have siblings, so you’re presumably quite comfortable with children.”
There was a pause. Rebecca glanced at up at the man as an odd shadow fell over his countenance.
However, it was gone so quickly, she wondered if she’d imagined it.
He brushed an imaginary speck of dust off his slightly buttoned shirt, revealing a certainly improper amount of lanky but still unmistakably strong chest—which she was very much not staring at.
“I’m the youngest,” he said, clearing his throat. “I know how to compete with those older than me, not to mind those younger.”
Probably a fair assessment, and yet…
“It isn’t that difficult,” Rebecca found herself arguing. “Especially with an intelligent charge.” She remembered those days caring for Isabelle before they were old enough to be friends. “I’ve done it.”
“You were young,” he pointed out with a wry curl of his lip.
“I thought you were still spry.” She was unable to resist a smile at the surprisingly self-deprecating humor. She rubbed the back of her neck. “Besides, what I had in energy, you make up for in patience. Tenfold,” she replied, throwing his words back at him this time.
“For roses and fops,” he countered with a laugh. “My children are neither.”
The two stared at each other for another long moment, odd energy surrounding them. Rebecca rubbed her arms, wishing she’d taken more covering.
“Are you cold?” the man asked.
“A touch,” she lied, as he already, thankfully, turned his head from her to stroll to the fire, poking at the embers, while the silence between them grew again.
“This is truly spectacular,” she called to him, spinning around, her arms wide. She gazed at the ceiling once more. “I could live in here.”
Rising from the hearth, Berab turned back to her.
“So could I.” He drew near to her once more. So near that the skirts of her nightdress touched his trousers.
“Why don’t you?” She stepped backward once more, pretending to examine a book.
“Sleeping in one of those chairs would probably cause a crick in my aged neck,” he told her, making her laugh.
But he did not join in. No, instead he drew a breath. “I’ve been meaning to apologize.”
“Apologize.” Placing the volume back in its spot, she turned to squint at him.
Of all the words that could’ve come from his mouth… What was he on about? “But you’ve done nothing wrong.”
“Haven’t I?” he asked, moving forward again.
“No, you haven’t.” She shook her head. “You already apologized for our quarrel. Other than that, your hospitality has been more than adequate. I truly don’t need entertaining. You’re well on your way to making amends for the explosion, so you truly have nothing else to apologize—”
“Not even for what occurred in the last library we were alone in together?” he whispered.
Rebecca started. Her heart might have skipped a full beat, if that were possible.
Now? He wanted to speak about this now? For what purpose?