She looked forward to the hours she spent cultivating her herbs, not only because her patch of land evoked the home she longed for, but also because from behind the railings she could observe the dancing Gypsies. Rebekah fed the earth with leftover stew and chickpea paste and sprayed the leaves with a mixture of honey and wine to attract the praying mantis. On Fridays, when the first chorus of cymbals, tambourines, and shakers rang about the neighborhood, she walked to the fence, expecting the Gypsiest Colorful, flowing skirts and sleeve ruffies came into view first around the bend of the alley, then plump, feminine figures twirled and spun and swayed in dances Rebekah captured again in her dreams. The vegetation in her garden doubled in size and turned a deep, glossy green, and the dances in her dreams developed and matured in ways she did not understand. What she found out was that something as innocent as a bunch of herbs concealed a secret that helped her subdue Jacob. The taste, the scent, the sizzle of burning mint must summon his lust for gold and pacify him. If he did not chew or smell mint, he seemed to appease himself with her body.

Selecting a sprig, she inhaled the tangy-sweet fragrance. Was it addictive? She touched a leaf to her tongue, tore and chewed on it, tasting its bitter tartness. Why did he prefer it toasted? She held the leaves over the embers on her stove. In her mouth, it was like fire, the acrid taste of her burned fingers. If only she could muster the courage to ask the wandering Gypsies if mint regulated some part of the body. Added to a man’s sense of virility? Dampened his cruelty? Made a tight-fisted man sometimes generous?

Even Jacob, at times, strove to be generous. One warm Saturday evening, when nightingales and the scent of jasmine lured Rebekah to her herb garden, Jacob arrived with a rolled parchment.

“The plan for our new house. I’ll build it even farther from the garbage pit.”

Rebekah realized the importance of owning a home far from the pit, a mound of garbage in the center of the Jewish Quarter around which makeshift stalls displayed fruits, nuts, and spices. She missed the inviting scents and friendly voices; the comforting closeness of people, her mother’s avid bargaining as she selected provisions. Didn’t her mother know she was not allowed out of the house alone? Why didn’t she visit? Did Jacob forbid it?

“Come inside, Rebekah,” he called out. “Sit on my lap, while I explain. I’ll build our house at the end of the Alley of Lanterns, where a plot of land is so expensive, your little mind won’t grasp its value.”

“Can I choose the furniture?”

“No,” he replied.

“The fabrics for the curtains?”

“What do you know about fabrics?”

“My mother says I’ve a talent for colors.”

“You have none.”

“Yes, I do.”

His fleshy hands slid under her hips, raised her high in the air, and dropped her to the floor.