Cruelty and indifference did not shock Rebekah. She did not call upon Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, the fathers she had never known. She was the only one she could rely on, and she had her own plan.

On the first day of the week, at the noon hour when the streets were crowded, Rebekah and Gold Dust vaulted Venus, decked in his most colorful saddle and crown of ostrich plumes.

“Hold your head high, Gold,” Rebekah sang defiantly, soliciting the attention of every pedestrian. “The world is your dais and you are the main performer.” She yanked on the reins and vaulted off the saddle. “Learn the delicate art of walking and the feminine rounding of your shoulders. Your eyes should harbor secret dreams, and your tongue murmur passionate words. Now breathe as if you are in pain.”

Perched on Venus, Gold Dust shut her amber eyes and with her tongue moistened lips that were full, but not as full as her mother’s. She glanced expectantly around the alley, praying her blue-eyed acrobat would appear with the music of his tambourine and his pliant body twisting and bending in unbelievable configurations.

“Exhale softly, very softly,” Rebekah encouraged, “like the footfalls of kittens. And flutter your lashes like the wings of nightingales.”

Gold Dust licked her thumb and forefinger and wet her lashes, fluttering them. Her palm glided up her knee and rested on her thigh. Not even her mother was aware that Gold Dust performed for an invisible fan.

Wide-eyed, the populace watched a girl of eleven not only imitate her mother’s ripe sensuality but embellish it with a slight parting of her lips, a delicate arching of one brow, and a mysterious lighting of her eyes.

As if she had just ended an exhausting show and had to refresh herself, Rebekah removed the sprig of mint from behind her ear, waved it about, and brought it to her nose. Then, with a great sway of her breasts, she bowed to the crowd, whose anger blazed at the gall of this child and woman’s provocative show.

Pleased with her student’s progress, Rebekah dug her sandals into the donkey and steered him toward the Ancient Zoroastrian’s home. “Gold, ask the old woman about good and evil and secret of the Gathas, the seventeen hymns of Zoroaster. She loves to teach. It’s an implicit requirement in return for her help.”

A visit to the Ancient Zoroastrian was a significant event. For her mother to solicit aid, no doubt, a monumental phenomenon was about to transpire. “You never need anyone’s help,” Gold Dust said.

“You’re a woman now,” Rebekah murmured. “Advice from a clairvoyant won’t hurt.”

They entered the house of bougainvilleas. The Ancient Zoroastrian sat huddled next to a brazier. Her round, opal eyes quivered as if disconnected from their sockets and rested with no sign of surprise on the two. “I was expecting you, Tinkling Child!”

Rebekah stuffed Gold Dust’s hand into the Ancient Zoroastrian’s lined palm. “Holy One, she just had her first menstrual period.”