At the end of the alley of pomegranate trees, Rebekah and her mother approached the single room buried under lavish flowers. They parted the branches, searching for the low entrance, and nudged open the door that was never locked. Lingering at the threshold, they waited to be acknowledged.

The old woman sat cross-legged next to a brazier heaped with blazing coals on which seeds of rue crackled and smoked, permeating the air with anticipation. The Zoroastrian’s ash-colored skin stretched taut over fragile bones. She had lost all her hair to the ravages of time. Her purple eyelids concealed inquisitive eyes.

Rebekah’s mother averted her gaze from the turquoise amulets that hung around the woman’s neck, and the red chicken eyes that were set in gold and glared at her from the Zoroastrian’s pierced earlobes. “Holy One, I’ve promised Rebekah’s hand in marriage. She’s here to ask for your blessing.”

The Zoroastrian did not lift her head, open her eyes, or ask any question. She had gazed into her fire and had seen Rebekah and her mother approach. The old one had clutched her bony knees and had chuckled out in glee. She had shifted closer to the flames to better inhale the scent of pearls, silk, rapture, and bliss. Neither the mother nor the child was aware that marvelous miracles were about to occur in Rebekah’s life.

“Rebekah’s fate is sealed,” the Ancient Zoroastrian murmured in a voice that had retained the vigor of youth. “Her future is embellished with crowns and jewels. A life of lust and passion, conspiracy and love. At times, it will be difficult, but never, ever hopeless.”

The Ancient Zoroastrian set her veined hand on Rebekah’s head. “May Ahura Mazda bless you and may he grant me more years on this earth to revel in the impending miracles.”

In the synagogue of the One-Eyed Rabbi, Rebekah’s mother folded a parchment and handed it to Rebekah. “This is signed proof you’re a married woman.” She pressed her lips to her daughter’s golden curls. “Your husband is rich. You’ll live in comfort.”

Glancing at the parchment that dangled from her fingers, Rebekah knew she had to accept her fate. She was sad but not scared. Promises of toys and veils and sweets, of kindness and patience and love reverberated in her head. Her mother had married her to the stranger with the sweet voice.

“Your husband will not join you in bed before your first menstrual period,” her mother whispered, tears in her voice. “Since I won’t be here for long, you must demand that he keep his word.”

For the first time Rebekah understood the gravity of her mother’s endless coughing and the terrible wheezing in her chest, and why she had found it necessary to discuss the importance of a wife’s responsibilities.