With lowered lids, Rebekah watched the eunuch approach. He was clad in a magnificence she could not even conceive in her dreams. The splendidly pompous scene splashed color on the tapestry of her life, promising possibilities beyond the gates of the Jewish Quarter. She clutched her bundle of fabrics, her fingers itching to test the silk of the eunuch’s red turban, pinned with a cluster of blue sapphires, and the lavish satin paisley of his pants. At every opportunity the eunuch heralded his arrival with the singing voice he was proud of. But she had heard that when he spoke his tone was squeaky, high-pitched like a woman’s, a constant embarrassment.

Gold Dust first stole a glimpse, then stared at the eunuch in surprised disappointment. He was ugly. The bright colors of his attire, under which his flabby stomach jiggled, transformed him into a clown. His face was puffy. He had short legs, and his teeth were yellow.

The eunuch dug into his pockets and tossed coins into the air. Silver flipped up, then fell down at the feet of hungry-eyed men, women, and children. Some scrambled to grab the coins. Others clung to the shreds of their dignity.

Rebekah rushed in front of the horse.

The eunuch yanked at the reins. The neighing animal rose into a regal dance.

An awesome silence fell over the dusty air.

Rebekah knelt and unfastened the knots of her bundle. Her veil slipped off her hair. The flaps of her vest fell open against her lace-clad breasts. With a flourish of her multibangled wrists, she spread out her fabrics, ribbons, and trims. She focused her gaze on the eunuch and cupped her palm over her bosom. “Pardon my impudence, Your Honor. I’ve merchandise fit for the harem—silk, satin, and cotton muslin, embroidered with wires of gold and silver. I’ve sheer fabrics, transparent and light, woven with threads that shine in the night.”

The eunuch stared into her violet eyes and felt a stab in his groin, a sensation he had almost forgotten. He felt a stirring in his heart, which he had thought lost forever when he was gelded like a calf and robbed of his manhood. Not even later, when he had fled a world of rape and slavery and had entered the harem of the Shah, a forbidden world where true men were not allowed, for fear of setting eyes on the Shah’s sultanas, had he experienced such potent yearning.

It seemed another lifetime when that ruthless hakim had rested a hand on his shoulder and had snickered, “You will lose your manhood but not the desire for a woman.”

In his quest for fulfillment, Narcissus had inserted ravenous gerbils in his anus, drunk potent aphrodisiacs laced with saffron, walked around with ivory marbles attached to his crotch, and smeared his groin with sea horse ointment and deer antler extract. But he was as far from consummation as the first day he was cut. And his constant longing was eternally fanned in the harem, the world of women in which he resided. Now this bundle woman stirred welcome desires in his veins, and filled him with hope of a universe resonating with possibilities.