Not only had he thrust early womanhood upon her, but he felt he had made up for it with a heap of expensive fabrics and sheer veils she despised.

Her gaze roamed the ceiling, forming shadows of fantastical animals and birds and plants, a world where the pain of Jacob’s body on top of her and the bitterness of his broken promise to her mother did not matter. A place where the Ancient Zoroastrian’s miracles would come true, where she would whirl around as free as the dancing Gypsies.

“Say you’re my whore-wife!” Jacob’s voice came from afar.

“Never.”

“One day you will,” he moaned, crushing her into velvet and silk.

Soon, she thought, he will rise and go about his work. For a few hours, she would be left alone in the refuge of her imagination. She tugged the chador of China silk from under her head and studied its shades of orange, red, and yellow. The colors of fire. She threw the veil over her face to inhale the smell of silk and dye and shame.

Jacob’s breathing settled. He lifted himself and tossed a coat over his naked body. “Wait right here. I’ve a surprise for you.”

Her palm sliding over her body, Rebekah watched her husband leave. Her hips were slightly fuller, her breasts beginning to ripen, and so was her shame.

“Come out,” she heard Jacob calling from the garden.

She buried her face in the rustle of silk. She would not go out. She did not need any more garments or jewelry or perfumes that reeked of disgrace, favors that fed her grief.

Through the silk and velvet that covered her ears, she heard him summon her with the tone reserved for times he believed he was indulging her. Had he mistaken the humiliation on her face for gratitude? When his voice curdled with irritation, she lifted herself.

She leaned naked against the doorway. The breeze carried a biting coolness, and the moon sailed in a cloudless sky. A raucous noise came from behind the house. The stamping of hooves?

Jacob emerged into the garden, pulling a donkey by a rope tied around its neck and muzzle. Her breath caught at the most beautiful sight she had ever seen. The animal’s pelt was the color of onyx, with a goose-white band that stretched from its muzzle all the way down to its lush and restless tail. With every jerk of the rope, the donkey turned its neck, thrust its red tongue out, and spat at Jacob. The animal’s hard kick sent Jacob flying to the ground. Rebekah pursed her lips to stifle her laughter. She felt an immediate affinity with the stubborn donkey.

Jacob ran after the donkey, pulling the animal around to face her. “This is the only male who may glance at a single strand of your hair.”

Rebekah was ecstatic. She had found another who would spit at Jacob. She saw that the animal’s penis dangled almost to the ground. To spite all signs of masculinity, she named him Venus.