Chapter 7

At the outskirts of unkempt little Magdala, she paused to take a leisurely look at the lake, shimmering in the summerish noon, turned slowly about, and began to saunter back toward Bethsaida.

No: it hadn’t been difficult to become Esther, the orphaned niece of Joseph, the lame, near-sighted stone-cutter of Idumea; but the trouble was that in becoming Esther you were losing your hold on Fara. To be Esther you had to leave Fara far behind you; Fara—and everything that pertained to Fara!

She half-closed her eyes and a little shudder swept over her. Fara and all that belonged to the Fara-personality had dimmed to the vagueness of a dream. Arabia! Her mother! Ione! And Voldi! Voldi! She tried to recover the sensation of galloping alongside him on a narrow mountain-trail; tried to feel the tight grip of her knees hugging Saidi’s hot, rippling withers; tried to smile up into Voldi’s laughing eyes; and, failing of it, found herself blinded by sudden tears; tried—with a whimpering little sob—to feel again the caress of Ione’s gentle fingers combing her hair. But it was all unreal now, as unreal as if it had happened to someone else and she was reading about it—or making it up. Esther was very lonely and lost and homesick for Fara—and frightened! She quickened her steps: she must get back to Hannah. Hannah was real!

It was the first time in her life that she had given any serious thought to the permanent effects of self-deception. Apparently you could deceive other people without suffering much damage, but once you entered upon a determined effort to lie to yourself—about yourself—you were in danger of losing your own personality!

A strict adherence to the truth had never seemed important. Lies were of no significance; unless, of course, they injured someone else. Certainly Arabia had never been scrupulous about truth-telling; nor had the Jews distinguished themselves for any sensitiveness on this subject. How indeed could one do any business at all if required to stick to the truth? Esther recalled that there was a Jewish commandment, written in their ancient law, making it a punishable crime to ‘bear false testimony against a neighbour,’ but that felony had very little relation, if any, to the casual untruth invented to implement a sale or save one from an embarrassing predicament. Today it had begun to appear that not only was the truth a form of property; but—what was still more important—it was possible to commit suicide by a long-continued course of self-deception.

Hannah was overjoyed at Esther’s return and deeply touched when the girl impulsively put her arm around her in a surprising display of sincere affection.

‘I have good news for you, dear,’ she exclaimed. ‘Master David has invited us to come and see his garden; this afternoon, if we will.’

To her relief and satisfaction, for Hannah had expected some reluctance, Esther promptly consented to go: indeed, she seemed pleased to go. An hour earlier she might have invented excuses.

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