LEARNING TO MAKE AN ‘OUD IN NAZARETH
(published in The New Yorker, October 2008)

Ruth Padel

The first day he cut rosewood for the back, 
bent sycamore into ribs and made a belly  
     of mahogany. Let us go early to the vineyards 
     and see if the vines have budded. 
The sky was blue over the Jezreel valley  
     and the gilt dove shone  
above the Church of the Annunciation.  
The second day, he carved a camelbone base  
     for the fingerboard.  
I sat down under his shadow with delight.

The third day, he made a nut of sandalwood,  
and a pickguard of black cherry. 
     He damascened a rose of horn  
     with arabesques   
as lustrous as under-leaves of olive beside the sea.   
     I have found him whom my soul loves.  
He inlaid the soundhole with ivory swans, 
each pair a Valentine of entangled necks, 
     and fitted tuning pegs of apricot 
to give a good smell when rubbed.

The fourth was a day for cutting  
the high strings, from camel-gut. His left hand  
     shall be under my head.  
     For the lower course, he twisted copper strings  
pale as tarmac under frost.   
     He shall lie all night between my breasts. 
The fifth day he laid down varnish.  
Our couch is green and the beams of our house 
     are cedar and pine. Behind the neck  
he put a sign to keep off the Evil Eye.

My beloved is a cluster of camphire  
in the vineyards of Engedi  
    and I watched him whittle an eagle-feather, a plectrum  
     to celebrate the angel of improvisation  
     who dwells in clefts on the Nazareth ridge  
where love waits. And grows, if you give it time. 
Set me as a seal upon your heart.  
On the sixth day the soldiers came  
     for his genetic code.  
We have no record of what happened.

I was queueing at the checkpoint to Galilee. 
I sought him and found him not.  
     He’d have been in his open-air workshop - 
     I called but he gave me no answer -   
the selfsame spot 
     where Jesus stood when He came from Capernaum  
to teach in synagogue, and townsfolk tried  
to throw Him from the rocks. Until the day break  
     and shadows flee away  
I will get me to the mountain of myrrh.

The seventh day we set his wounded hands  
around the splinters. Come with me from Lebanon 
     my spouse, look from the top  
    of Shenir and Hermon, from the lions' dens.  
On the eighth there were no more days.  
I took a class in carpentry and put away the bridal rug. 
We started over  
with a child’s ‘oud bought on eBay. 
     He was a virtuoso of the ‘oud 
and his banner over me was love.