“When I was apprenticed to a doctor, when, ah. When my sister and I were apprenticed, medical necromancy was one of the few professions still open. But soon after our mentors deemed us ready to assist them as colleagues and not as students … nu, well. The Tzar passed an edict. Another bloody quota, now extending to civil servants and skilled trades, and ah … doctors in the bargain, too.”
His voice shakes, just a little, but he presses on, “we had skirted by on merely neglecting to specify, see’st thou? And we stayed by Svet-Dmitrin then, where we worked for one of the boyar houses. Bastards paid well enough that we could afford to treat the poor for free. My sister and I, half the week we spent in the Talons Ghetto. And then—”
He takes his hands away from his face and looks past Zivia, his face stony.
“It was a matter of keeping our licenses, of livelihood and the lives of our patients … we did what many have done, and acted as if we’d turned away. Not a year later came the Court appointment, for our mentors and for us.”
He sighs, deeply.
“We had fooled nobody,” he says, his voice a colourless monotone. “They all knew our conversions were a legal fiction. I had not dared to keep our traditions even in secret, except …” he bites his lip. “It’s such a small thing, nu? But all those years at court, I recited the Shma from memory, dawn and nightfall. Some days, all I had time for was the first two lines. But, nu—“
He cuts off, and looks into the distance again, unable to bring himself to say anything more.
cw: 19th century antisemitism & related flavours
Anzu sighs, and hides his face in his hands.
“When I was apprenticed to a doctor, when, ah. When my sister and I were apprenticed, medical necromancy was one of the few professions still open. But soon after our mentors deemed us ready to assist them as colleagues and not as students … nu, well. The Tzar passed an edict. Another bloody quota, now extending to civil servants and skilled trades, and ah … doctors in the bargain, too.”
His voice shakes, just a little, but he presses on, “we had skirted by on merely neglecting to specify, see’st thou? And we stayed by Svet-Dmitrin then, where we worked for one of the boyar houses. Bastards paid well enough that we could afford to treat the poor for free. My sister and I, half the week we spent in the Talons Ghetto. And then—”
He takes his hands away from his face and looks past Zivia, his face stony. “It was a matter of keeping our licenses, of livelihood and the lives of our patients … we did what many have done, and acted as if we’d turned away. Not a year later came the Court appointment, for our mentors and for us.”
He sighs, deeply.
“We had fooled nobody,” he says, his voice a colourless monotone. “They all knew our conversions were a legal fiction. I had not dared to keep our traditions even in secret, except …” he bites his lip. “It’s such a small thing, nu? But all those years at court, I recited the Shma from memory, dawn and nightfall. Some days, all I had time for was the first two lines. But, nu—“
He cuts off, and looks into the distance again, unable to bring himself to say anything more.