“The world has a song?” I asked.
“Each thing in the world has its own melody. Together their notes rise to form the song of the world.”
Zim, who had said little since the morning meal, rolled over at this. “Call it the noise of the world if you must—what you’re hearing is too much silence. You’re right that there’s beautiful music in the world, and you’ll hear it as soon as I can get my drum.”
Now that Shabbat was finally over, Zim sped up the dark trail and was already seated outside and tapping at his drum when the rest of us reached the cave. I retrieved my kinnor, took my place on one of the boulders, and fell into rhythm with Zim. Yonaton piped in with his halil, but Daniel didn’t come out to join us. Would the tension left over between Daniel and Zim from Shabbat keep them from playing together? The thought had hardly been formed in my mind when Daniel stepped out, nevel in hand.
Zim gave a last roll, and removed his hands from his drum, bringing our brief song to an end. He waved toward Daniel in a gesture that said, “You lead.” Daniel tightened his strings, then struck up the nigun that Tzadok had led us in the night before. He began the song slowly, increasing his pace with each pass through the melody. We played on into the night, not speaking, letting the music reunite us in a way that words could not. On our first night together we’d jumped from melody to melody, but tonight Daniel never strayed from Tzadok’s nigun, increasing the speed and intensity with each round.
It was rare in Levonah that I found the time to play my kinnor without having to keep one eye on my sheep. All I had were those few precious moments after the evening meal each night when I could let myself dive fully into my music. But even those moments were short-lived, as it was never long before my uncle, or exhaustion, called me in for bed. That night in Emek HaAsefa, Daniel drew me deeper into music than I had ever ventured before. We must have passed through the melody a hundred times or more, but it never grew old. Before long, the notes came of their own off the strings, without thought. I felt the notes flow through me, vibrating up through my chest, and saw them behind closed eyes in tones of blue and orange. For the first time, I sensed what the prophets were seeking in our music and why Daniel had said that it could transport me as well.
Well after the moon set, after the ram’s horn sounded to wake the disciples, Daniel finally broke off the nigun. My eyes scanned Zim’s expression, expecting a protest; his energy had only increased as the night went on. No disappointment registered on his face, though. It was only after I lay down, when I heard neither snoring nor tossing from the bedroll next to me, that I realized Zim hadn’t rejoined us in the cave.
Sometime later, a hand shook me awake. “Don’t make a sound. Get dressed and follow me,” Zim whispered in my ear.
I knew how much time had passed only when I stepped out and saw how far the stars had wheeled across the sky—I guessed we were late into the second watch of the night. The hair on my arms stood on end without the comfort of my warm bed. “Why did you wake me?”
“I want to show you what I found. Come.” He turned without further explanation, and I was too clouded by sleep to protest. Zim all but ran down the path, and I hurried to keep up, careful not to stumble into the darkness below. It was only when I paused to catch my breath, and the sound of my footfalls ceased, that I heard it: a low, bass hum. “Zim, what’s that sound?”
“You’ve finally heard it? I was beginning to wonder whether you three were deaf or I was crazy. I’ve heard it every night since we’ve arrived, but tonight I finally found the source. Come.”
We reached the valley floor, continued along the base of the cliff and onto a faint trail that rose to the black mouth of a cave. The sound grew deeper, its rhythm vibrating along stone walls. When we stepped inside, the sound reverberated in my bones. The cavern floor sloped steadily down into darkness. Sightless, I kept one hand on the wall and followed Zim’s breathing.
There would come a time when I would grow used to the underground world, but at this moment I was still a child of the sun. As we descended deeper toward the source of the sound, I felt the weight of the rock pressing above me. Had I been alone, I certainly would have fled back to the comfort of the starlight. But I continued after Zim, preferring to tremble in darkness rather than face his scorn.
Salvation came in the form of a dim, yellow light in the distance. It grew brighter as we approached and finally took the shape of a lamp burning in a niche carved into the tunnel wall. Below it was a short drop of less than a body’s length; the lamp was surely there to prevent anyone from falling. Zim climbed down first, then silently showed me where to place my hands and feet. As we moved on, the security of the light tugged at me from behind, but in a few steps, the tunnel turned and once again we were dependent on our hands and feet to see.
I lost count of my footsteps as we descended into the earth, the deep notes expanding as they echoed up to us. As we approached the source, it assumed a layered quality. The complexity was beyond anything but a stringed instrument, no number of voices woven together could accomplish that. Could they? A second light gleamed in the distance, and the tunnel widened out to meet it.
Torches high on the wall lit the floor of the cavern, but its roof remained shrouded in darkness. Flickering light danced over three circles of men swaying in rhythm, mouths pouring out their song. The power of the nigun we sang over Shabbat was in its repetition, in its slowly building pace. This nigun, sung underground, had a fullness that the other one lacked. Somehow, I knew the chant was ancient, each voice a thread in a fabric that stretched back ages. Tones stitched endlessly on themselves, notes braided into sacred layers, building ever more elaborate structures of sound. The song vibrated in harmony with the echoes thrown back by the cave walls, and the torchlight seemed to grow brighter as the intensity built.
I edged toward the swaying men, eager to join them in their song, but Zim grabbed my arm and pulled me back into the shadows, shaking his head. In my desire for the music, I’d forgotten that the prophets wouldn’t welcome intruders. I nodded, and Zim released me. Holding our breath, we crept along the cool and damp wall of the cave, outside the circle of light, and tucked ourselves into a crevice where we could see, but not be seen.
Tzadok again led the nigun, his hands on his knees, his body loose as he rocked forward and back. Even Yosef swayed with the melody, his dark eyes hooded by closed lids, the sharp lines of his face softened by the warm light.
What had saved me from drowning in my grief? Music. What had freed me when my pain was too much to bear? Music. But here I felt a new power: I saw the prophets and their disciples attaining a true unity on the strength of the nigun. I saw that music that flows from the heart can convey a depth of emotion that words cannot.
The song had been steadily building since we entered the cave, and now the momentum came to a head. Their voices rose to a peak in a unity that almost brought me to my knees—then ceased all at once. The silence deep in the earth held me like a newborn child.
The disciples’ clothing rustled as they stood. Once they left the circle of light, we would no longer be hidden. Zim’s voice trembled in my ear, “We have to get out of here.”
We crept back along the wall, moving as quickly as possible without making a sound, and reached the tunnel without mishap, though I couldn’t be sure we’d escaped unnoticed. We scurried faster now, still careful to muffle our footsteps, but taking comfort in being out of view.
The breeze from the cavern’s mouth flowed toward us in a cool stream. I raised my hand to my face, surprised to find a touch of moisture on my cheek, and quickly wiped my eyes. I didn’t risk my first words until we were beneath the stars again. “Warming to the prophets now, are you?”
“I’d no idea they had music like this.” Zim shook his head. “Imagine having such power and keeping it hidden underground!”
We increased our pace now that we were out of the total blackness of the cave. “What else should they do with it?”
“What else? You heard Uriel on Shabbat: the prophets must uplift the people. So, what do they do? They travel the land teaching the Law. If they want to inspire, they should bring their music out into the daylight!”
“It looks as if they don’t agree with you.”
“Of course they don’t, and the more fools they are. They don’t know how to use what they have—but we can.” Zim’s face glowed in the starlight.
“We work for them.”
“Just for the gathering. In two months, we’ll be free.”
“Free? Once the gathering ends, I have to go home.”
Zim led the way up the narrow trail crossing the cliff face. “You mean to your uncle’s? And how long will that last? I heard you talking to Yonaton yesterday.”
I scratched the back of my neck. “I thought you were asleep.”
“I told you, you have to be careful what you say around me.” Zim grabbed my arm and yanked me away from the edge of a precipice. “You have three years left at most in your uncle’s house. Then what will you do? Wander alone through the wilderness, dreaming only of green grasses and fresh water for your flock?”
The words stung, and I hung my head. “What choice do I have?”
“Fool, you have your kinnor! If we spent our nights in this cave, learning the ancient nigunim of the prophets, think what it would do for us. We could go anywhere—even to Shomron to play for the King.”
“The King?” Zim was clearly repeating some fantasy of his.
He stopped in his tracks and faced me. “Yes, the King! Why not? Come with me.”
Suddenly, I understood why Zim had handed me his mirror the other day, even while speaking to Yonaton. It was the same reason that he woke me alone to hear the prophets’ chant. I was the one with no future. I could go anywhere and hardly be missed. And two wandering musicians would be better than one; we could keep each other company, perhaps even find more work. As we reached our quarters, I was glad for an excuse to break off the conversation. “I don’t know, Zim.”
Zim appeared ready to say more, but Daniel rolled over in his sleep, and he held back.
