The Queen of Persia

Chapter One

I slowly scan the busy market streets with intrigued eyes, glancing at all the unique people of different shapes. Some are selling rugs or delicate pottery jars they made themselves. The movement of people is rushed as individuals pass by the tables or the women situated in front of their houses, trying to cut through the market. It seems like I am the only one truly enjoying myself. It isn't everyday I'm allowed to come here. The marketplace of Susa is no place for a Jewess like me.

I turn my head to the left as I pass through the crowd carefully, trying my hardest not to bump into anyone. I know how easy it is to offend people. Through the masses and movement of people I spot a young lady. She looks like she is my age, her face vibrant and youthful. She calls out into the crowd telling people of her fabrics that she's selling. The fabrics are beautifully designed. One, I notice, is a deep blue with silver stars stitched into it. I think It looks like the night sky.

Another one, a long silky fabric of bright red, reminds me of blood. I draw closer to the girl and her masterpieces. Our eyes meet, and she immediately smiles up at me warmly.

"This red would look amazing on you," he says, lifting it up with her hands for me to take it.

I shake my head firmly, but reluctantly.

"I shouldn't."

The young lady persistently shakes the fabric in her hands, and I finally give in. My fingertips skim the smooth fabric. Then with delicate fingers I lift it from the young lady's hand and place it on my head, my smile widening. Immediately the girl claps her hands and roars with laughter as I wrap it around my neck. It is the boldest thing I have ever worn. Its silky texture runs down my back and skims my arms. It's so incredible to me how one piece of cloth like this can make me feel so beautiful. Eventually I find myself laughing with her. We stare and smile warmly at each other. I grip my hands around the side of my face, pulling the red silk tighter around me as I spin quickly.

For a moment I close my eyes and pretend that I am not Hadassah. I'm not a Jew exiled from my home. I'm a Persian maiden free to wear bold colors and walk the streets without shame. An image of sturdy walls and open spaces captivates my thoughts. Next, I see my parents walking toward me in rich apparel, but nothing shines brighter than their smiles. The young lady claps her hands louder than before, breaking the trance. I slip the wrap from my hair and hand it back to her reluctantly.

My dark, curly tresses creep up without the silk to soften them. I've always had the most unmanageable hair. I can never contain my curls. My cousin Mordeccai says that they are an outward sign of my untamed spirit.

"It is beautiful," I say, as she grabs the cloth from me. Our fingertips lightly skim each other's.

"I've never seen my fabrics look lovelier on anyone!"

I smile but try to hide it. I can tell her compliment is sincere by the way she stares up into my eyes and the confidence in her smile. The truth is I could never afford to wear anything as fair as the fabrics she designs. A slight sting of guilt forms in my chest. I regret dreaming of a better life. It feels like a betrayal to Mordeccai. Before I let my thoughts run away with me again I cough, clearing my throat and mind.

"God bless you," I whisper as I walk away. I can hear her steady voice booming into the hustling street. She yells out, offering her unique creations to the busy men and women. The farther away I get from her the more her voice fades away.

I round a corner, cutting across a broad street that leads away from the marketplace. A blast of wind swipes past me and swirls the dirt around my feet. A loose strand of my raven black hair, that life has granted to me from birth, sweeps down into my eyes. Mordeccai always tells me that I inherited my mother's hair. I tug on a thin piece of black hair as if it connects me to her somehow. The curls are always a sense of comfort for me whenever I need something to soothe me.

I round another corner and make my way past a man leading his donkey through the street by a thin rope fashioned around its neck. Behind them both trails a wobbly cart, carrying vast clay jars brimming with fragrant oil that permeate the street. I inhale the sweet aroma as I walk by.

The marketplace cacophony is no longer tickling my ears. Now, only low rumbles of moving feet and of conversations fill the atmosphere around me. I walk along the meager clay and stone houses that line the road home.

The air around me is warmer now, and as dry as the dust filling my sandals. I pace myself, not wanting to get overheated before reaching home. I'm caught off guard when I see my best friend come into view ahead of me. Her face is stained with tears as her tiny form rushes toward me frantically.

I run to her, and she clasps my arms as we collide with each other from the momentum.

"Mary? What's wrong?!" She does not seem able to speak.

She pants and coughs the dust that she inhaled from her lungs. When she has finally regained enough breath, she jerks her head behind her, searching over the rising hill.

"They're coming for us, Hadassah," she musters through broken words and shattered breaths.

I shake her shoulders lightly, my heart beating faster and fear beginning to bubble up in my stomach. I swallow hard, forcing myself to be calm when I feel anything but.

"Who's coming?" My question hangs in the air along with my fear.

She jerks my arm and forces me to run with her down the street the way I just came. I move my feet quickly, trying to keep up with her rapid pace. So many questions are running through my mind. Mary is never one to cry over nothing. We've grown up together. I know her like a sister. Something is terribly wrong for her to be troubled like this. The demure disposition I am used to seeing in her has been swallowed whole by panic and sheer terror.

She yanks my arm, and a sharp ache jolts through me, starting from my shoulder. Mary turns a sharp corner, and our feet sink into the dirt as our legs grow still. I'm breathing so hard, I'm not sure if I'll ever catch my breath. I look over at Mary. We're both leaning against the wall of someone's home, panting thirstily.

"What's... happening?!"

"I was at home when I heard the screams. Soldiers are everywhere, capturing young women like you and me. They are going to try to take us, Hada."

My eyebrows shoot upward pressing into my forehead. Mary chokes on her breath as she starts to sob again. Thick tears trickle down her face. Her dainty hands press into her lips as she tries to quiet her fears.

I grip her hand, trying to reassure her that we're safe. God will protect us from harm, my hands say, even though my mouth can't make out the words.

Mary unleashes a bloodcurdling shriek that rips my eyes away from her. I follow where her glossy blue eyes are latching onto the space right over my shoulder.

"There're some over here," says a burly soldier, his shadow flooding the alleyway's entry.