Granada (11 page)

"There's nothing wrong with that," Hasan said, interrupting his mother.

"What's also wrong is that he doesn't own a house where he can live with his bride."

Umm Jaafar laughed, "That's a fault that should suit you nicely, Zaynab. The girl would never leave this house, but would stay and live here with her husband."

"Your grandfather would never have approved," insisted Umm Hasan.

"Grandfather loved Saad as much as he loved me, and he even told me once that if Saad ever asked for permission to marry Saleema, then I should agree."

"Did he really tell you that?"

"Yes, he did."

"But Saleema would never agree to that!"

At that point Saleema entered the discussion and spoke without any hesitation. "Who said so? I would never find a husband like Saad."

That night the three women, who all shared the same bedroom, didn't sleep a wink. But not one of them dared say a word as they kept their thoughts and comments to themselves. Umm Jaafar knew only too well that her husband never said any such thing to Hasan, and that he was never in a hurry to marry off his granddaughter. It was as though he harbored a secret wish that she complete her education without any constraint or interruption, and that he knew deep down she wasn't a girl inclined to marriage and raising a family. Hasan, for his part, is quite fond of Saad and knows him intimately, she thought, and he wants to strengthen his ties to him by marrying his sister to him. Therefore, Hasan's positive response didn't surprise her in the least, nor did his mother's reluctance, for even if a prince mounted on a white stallion came to her daughter from the shores of North Africa, she would find fault with him, that he was a prince, or that his castle was on the other side of the sea.
She simply couldn't bear the idea of being separated from her two children, and would never be truly at ease unless both of them remained right before her very eyes.

Umm Jaafar sighed as she tossed and turned that night. The children grow up, and those who pass away never come back. May you rest in peace, Abu Jaafar, she prayed to herself. She held on tightly to his image lest it be replaced by that of the other, one more dear to her, from whose loss many years ago she never recovered. She couldn't bring herself to utter her son's name after his departure, let alone conjure his image in her mind.

Saleema also tossed and turned that night. She lay wide awake, asking herself what made her respond so readily. The thought of marrying Saad never occurred to her before, nor of marrying anyone else for that matter. She was startled by his proposal, which she hadn't expected or understood. But now she had to think about how to deal with this situation, how to think about it before giving her final answer, one way or the other. Becoming the wife of a man whom she would have to obey, serve, and bear his children . . . why? When her mother began to list all of Saad's faults, she was taken aback, just as much as she had been by the proposal itself. And when she said, "I would never find a husband like Saad," she hadn't even been thinking about a husband, so why did she respond the way she did? But now it was important that she think this through carefully. The sky wouldn't fall to the earth if she announced tomorrow that she didn't want to marry Saad or anyone else. But it if weren't for her mother's comments that provoked her, she may very well have said so.

Umm Hasan was just as baffled and worried as Saleema. She lay in bed thinking she was asleep, but soon realized she was in fact wide awake. Fragments of images flashed through her mind, as memories and thoughts flickered like broken light, appearing as though her life was being rearranged in a straight line, composed of bits and pieces: her husband's bearded face, husky voice, and piercing blue eyes; the tilt of his head and his long, thick eyelashes as she placed Saleema in his arms the day she was born; the tender touch of
his hand on her belly while she was pregnant with Hasan; her sobbing voice after his passing; a shabby and emaciated Saad the day she first set eyes on him, and Abu Jaafar describing him as a poor, unfortunate boy from Malaga who had lost his entire family.

Hasan finally gave his consent to the marriage, but when Abu Mansour relayed the good news to him, Saad felt ill at ease. A shiver ran through his body and a sense of foreboding bordering on sadness unexpectedly overpowered him. He went on working in silence, then decided to take a stroll throughout the quarter to clear his mind and try to understand what was bothering him. Didn't he want Saleema? Not only did he want her but the persistence with which he pursued her made his proposal and Hasan's response seem like matters of life and death. But now the response had arrived, bearing a joy for which his soul has been yearning for a long time, and he was miserable! He missed his father and mother, his little sister, and the sea and the vineyards. And he was at a loss to understand how destiny brought him knocking at the door of his betrothed, alone and naked.

Saad sat under a chestnut tree and closed his eyes. He saw the boy he once was, running through the rugged thickets, leaving behind him a house inhabited by his mother, father, grandmother, and sister, a house deserted in a city demolished by a blockade, starvation, and the constant bombardment of the Spanish canons. He runs from all of that to God only knows where. In the daytime he's able to keep busy despite the forlornness. But at night, the vision of the bleak rocky mountains of Malaga, the austere splendor of their peaks, gorges, and valleys, is transformed into frightening monsters whose ominous presence nearly stops his heart from beating. He doesn't dare look to his right lest he see those terrifying animals assuming different shapes, the slithering bodies of cobras, the humpbacks of camels, and the heads of owls. They appear to him as ogres, and when they approach him they almost touch him or grab hold of him. The colossal coppery moon that is suspended over his head makes him all the more petrified. The air around him is an enemy that wants to take possession of him. He screams as he runs, panic-
stricken, and he hears the echoes of his own voice and swallows the next scream. He whispers to himself, "Your father told you, 'Saad, be a man! Don't be afraid, because men are never afraid. Be brave, Saad. These are mountains made of rock that you've seen in the plain of day. They're desolate and they can't harm you!' " His teeth chatter and his body shivers, sweating profusely. He sits down and crouches, quivering, resting his head on his knees tightly compressed together as he wraps his arms around his torso. Fatigue overwhelms him and he falls asleep in that sitting position until the morning sun awakes him and assuages, somewhat, the fears of the previous night.

Saad stood up exhausted and slowly made his way back to the bathhouse where he found Naeem sitting on the floor by the door, legs crossed, waiting for his return.

"Where were you?"

He didn't respond.

"Did they say 'no'?"

"They said 'yes.'"

Naeem was baffled as he looked at his friend's face that said one thing while his tongue was saying something else. He wondered what was going on.

"Did they give their consent, or not?"

"They agreed."

"Then what's come over you?"

"I don't know!"

"Have you fallen in love with someone else?"

"Naeem, this is no time for joking."

"Who's joking?"

They took a walk. Saad was absolutely silent and Naeem saw no reason to say anything. He didn't understand his friend, but he had grown accustomed in the many years of their friendship to accepting these situations that he not only failed to understand but that seemed to him as though Saad had bolted all doors shut and locked himself in like a hermit, not opening up to anyone who came knocking, not even Naeem. He was surprised at how he would
want to go out on his own, saying that he couldn't breathe, and that he needed to get some air. What air was he talking about? Naeem wondered, when the snow had covered all the roads and the cold air had frozen everything. But he always went as if he didn't hear a word Naeem said. Naeem learned how to leave his friend alone, be it for a day or several days at a stretch, and he would wait until Saad came back to him and opened the doors, laying out before him a bridge of affection and communion as if nothing ever happened.

What would be an appropriate gift for Saleema? Saad paced up and down the Square of the Grand Mosque that was bursting at the seams with buyers and sellers. He looked at bars of fancy soap and bottles of perfume, straw mats and intricately woven baskets, lamps and candlesticks, and wooden boxes carved with different designs. He thought about a beautiful box inlaid with mother-of-pearl and ivory, with two tiers of drawers. He considered another one, smaller than the first, studded with tiny nails whose circular heads formed parallel and crisscrossing patterns. The vendor greeted him cordially and coaxed him into making a purchase. Saad returned the warm greeting, thanked him and left. He passed by the shops that sold harnesses, bridles, and stirrups, and walking along he looked at the pots and utensils, made out of clay, tin, and glass, in all shapes, sizes, and colors. Then he stopped in front of a shop whose owner had laid out in carefully arranged rows his utensils, pots, and jars on a wool carpet, matching its colors with the colors of his goods, making his shop, along with its festive commotion, by far the most attractive sight to behold. The vendor lifted up a brilliant blue vessel made of lapis lazuli adorned with a shiny black ring of Kufic script.
²

"It dazzles the eyes. A magnificent gift, don't you think?" he asked.

2. Kufic script is a style of Arabic calligraphy used especially for ornamentation.

Saad thanked him and meandered on toward the jewelers' lane where he inspected the displays of gold and silver trinkets. He was stunned by the sight of all the precious gems. He stood for a long time in front of a necklace of connected gold rings with a pendant made from a precious stone as blue as the deep blue sea. "Now, that's a gift befitting Saleema with her blue eyes," he thought to himself. When he noticed that the owner was watching him, Saad moved away to avoid an embarrassing situation, since he was in no position to be buying a piece of jewelry such as this.

He headed toward the junk dealers' market before going into the tinsmiths' quarter. He passed by the silk vendors where they laid out their wares of raw, interlaced, and woven silks. One of the vendors shouted out to Saad, "Pure silk! They come from as far away as Genoa to buy it, and it's in high demand in Cairo and Damascus."

"Do you have any silk from Malaga?"

The vendor flashed a sorrowful smile. "What kind of question is that? Where are we going to get silk from Malaga? Have any of us been able to go back?"

Saad walked on not saying a word. What could possibly be said besides an apology for the heart that suddenly asks for something it cannot have? To hold in his hands a piece of silk woven by his father and with the scent of the sea and of his mother. How strange the heart is!

He strolled on through the tinsmiths' quarter and veered toward a small side street that lead to another, and then another. He looked at all the shops that sold fabric for men's clothing, women's garments, scarfs, headwear, sandals and shoes. He decided to leave and head back toward the Square of the Grand Mosque until he reached the food and sweets vendors. He saw displays of dried figs, walnuts, and almonds piled high in big straw baskets.

What would be an appropriate gift for Saleema? he thought, as he continued his walk.

He thought long and hard as he made his way toward the open space next to the souk. He walked around it until he reached the livestock market. He glanced at the horses, mules, donkeys, sheep,
and goats, and just as he was about to turn back and head home, he saw what he was looking for. Was it the blink of her eye or the shutter of her eyelid that brought him to a halt, or merely a glance of distraction between fear and composure?

Her skin was so smooth and white, with a reddish yellow tinge, and her tiny body was held by four delicate paws. "Can I hold her?" He lifted her up and felt her quivering in his arms. "I'll take her," he said to the vendor as he handed him the money and left.

The gazelle Saad bought for Saleema and carried to Abu Jaafar's house aroused in Umm Jaafar a fit of laughter that brought tears to her eyes. Umm Hasan took one look at her and repeated what she thought all along, that he was crazy. Saleema, for her part, was taken aback. She went over to the gazelle and stretched out her hand to pat her. When the gazelle quivered, so did Saleema, and she pulled back her hand. She stared at her intensely and noticed how its wide, black eyes flickered in fear. "She's afraid," she said. Then she stretched out her hand once again, only this time very slowly, and although the gazelle didn't quiver this time, Saleema could sense a reaction as she stroked her gently. She went and got a small bowl of milk and sat down next to her as she drank. Saleema spent the rest of the day occupied with the gazelle, leaving her side only to fetch her some food or water. That night she quarreled with her mother, who insisted that the animal be tied up in the outer courtyard. However, Saleema persisted that she stay with her in her room. Umm Hasan protested: "Does that make sense? Do beasts belong in bedrooms?"

"First of all, she's not a beast," Saleema retorted. "Besides, she could catch cold or be attacked by a wild bird."

Neither Umm Hasan nor Saleema were willing to give in, and it was only when Umm Jaafar intervened and suggested that the gazelle stay on the veranda that the squabble came to an end. "On condition that you clean up after it in the morning," she added.

Both Saleema and her mother agreed and everyone went to bed. When Saleema was sure that her mother had fallen asleep, she piled up her mattress and crept softly out of the room.

"Where are you going?" asked her grandmother.

"I'm going to sleep on the veranda. The heat is stifling me. Good night, Grandmother."

"Good night," replied Umm Jaafar, giggling to herself.

A week before the wedding, the scent of celebration permeated the house of Abu Jaafar. The aromas of savory pastries fried in olive oil followed Naeem and Hasan to friends and neighbors' houses as each one delivered leather-skinned vessels stacked with honey-soaked cakes, bringing them from one house to another and coming back only to start over again. Umm Jaafar, Umm Hasan, and a third relative worked from dawn, sifting the flour, kneading and leavening the dough, and shaping it into little triangles. Then they fried them in large copper pans that sat on the stove from dusk to dawn. They placed the sheets of dough into the scalding oil, and, when they turned into a golden crisp, they removed them, drained them of the excess oil, and layered them in stacks.

Two days before the wedding, three mule-teamed carriages were seen leaving the house carrying Saleema, her mother, and grandmother to the Hana Bathhouse. Several women from the neighborhood and their small children, as well as a few girls Saleema's age, joined the bridal procession. They brought baskets neatly packed with fresh towels and clean clothes, washcloths and loofahs, water scoops and soap. They also brought small jars and vessels of henna, musk, as well as almond and olive oils.

The roasted sheep Umm Jaafar had prepared the night before was placed in a huge, tightly sealed copper pot, and two of the muleteers helped carry it onto the carriage. The neighbors brought the drums and tambourines, and to celebrate the festive occasion they prepared delicious pastries soaked in honey and stuffed with cheese and aniseed or crushed walnuts. They also brought the sweet fruit ciders they brew and set aside in bottles for such special occasions.

When the bridal party entered the bathhouse, the youngsters
shouted, the women ululated, and everyone wished each other good fortune and prosperous marriages. They set down their bundles and went to take off their clothes. They wrapped towels around their waists and shoulders, some covering the breasts and others not bothering at all. As they moved into the baths, the voice of one of the women rose above the din as she recalled the day Umm Hasan gave birth to Saleema fourteen years ago.