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The king questions me, but how can I answer him? For surely my son is the same as his father was. If I say he is two and not one, then am I not accusing the king of giving me unlawfully in marriage to two husbands? But if I say he is one and not two, then my son will be shamed before everyone. And has he not endured enough shame, for things which are not his fault?
I answer only, “I do not know.”
The king is not perturbed by my answer. He commands my youngest son, “Come here and stand before me.” My son obeys. “Are you one person or two?”
“We are two,” his two heads say, one after the other. “We are two.”
The king stands in thought. His lips move silently; perhaps he is praying to the Lord for wisdom. I am holding my breath. At last the king says, “Bring vinegar and hot water.” I cannot imagine his purpose. I look at the king’s ministers and the men of war who stand beside his throne, but they are equally puzzled.
“Hold his head which is on the left,” King Solomon says, “and pour vinegar into his eyes.” I want to protest, but my voice seems trapped in my throat. It is done, and immediately both heads cry out: “Stop, please stop! It hurts!” The king nods, and they stop.
“Hold his head which is on the right,” the king says, “and pour hot water over his skin.” It is done, and both heads cry out: “Stop, my lord king! You will kill me!” The king motions, and his servants release my son.
“How can one person suffer pain from what is done to another person?” the king asks. “Though you have two heads, you are one person and not two. That is my judgement.” All the courtiers murmur admiration for the king’s wisdom.
I push my way to my son’s side. Tears are streaming from all four eyes, and the hot water has left pink marks on his skin. I wrap my arm around his shoulders and hold him close. The king is right, but he is also wrong. A mother suffers pain from what is done to her son.
The king has given his judgement, but I do not know how to make peace in my own house. My eldest son is a pious man; he honors his father's wishes and asks for the terms of the will to be carried out. After a warning look from me, my second son mutters sullen agreement. The money and property are divided into three parts as originally intended. My youngest son's injuries are not serious, and within a few days he is as well as ever. Yet neither of his brothers will speak to him, and I fear it will be long before my second son forgives me. My youngest son sits apart and broods. I can tell that he is planning something, but he will not speak of it to me. Things are amiss, and I do not know how to mend them.
A week after the king delivers his judgement, my youngest son comes to me and says, “I wish to take my inheritance and go in search of my father’s people.”
“But that is not possible, my son.”
“There may be a way.” His eyes are very bright. “I went back to the king, mother. I asked him if I might ask a question of Ashmedai.”
I am surprised at my son's boldness, and that the king granted his request. But has the king, who mastered the King of Demons, who learned the speech of bird and beast, ever been able to resist a challenge? “What did you ask, my son? And what did he tell you?”
“Mother, I asked him if there was any way for a man to reach the place at the center of the earth where my father came from. The demon said, ‘There is no road that a man may tread from the surface to the center of the earth. Moles and blind worms may go that way, but not a man. But there may be a way to make such a road.’ And King Solomon said, ‘You are speaking of the shamir.’ The demon replied, ‘Yes, o king. But it will be very difficult for him to find it.’ And the king said, ‘The shamir is a wonderful creature: a worm as small as a grain of barley, yet it can cut through stone and cleave deep valleys. I used it to cut the stones for the Holy Temple, since the Lord told me not to use any metal tool to do this. But after the Temple was completed, the shamir disappeared, and I do not know what has become of it.’”
“But how does that help you, if the shamir has disappeared?”
He smiles with both mouths. “Then I will have to find it.”
I can see he is determined to go on this journey. If he returns -- when he returns -- perhaps his stubborn pride will bend and he will be able to ask his brothers' forgiveness for trying to trick them. Perhaps they will remember the laughter they shared in their childhood, before they realized it was strange for a man to have two heads, and they will be able to grant it. I can only hope that the passage of time will grant us all more wisdom. "You may go, my son. I will ask the Lord for your safe return." He embraces me without a word. I hold him close -- my beloved, strange son -- and then I release him. I give him my blessing, telling him, “May the Lord protect you in all the ways you go.”
There is another story also, and this one begins: Once upon a time, there was a young man who wished to journey to the center of the earth.
