Granada (13 page)

The night Saleema said "I'll never find a husband like Saad," she lay wide awake, unable to understand why she had responded so readily. Now, as she was going over in her mind what happened that night, she smiled at the very thought of that sentence that had caused her so much confusion. For it was now clear that divine inspiration had come to her when she agreed to marry Saad, and in this short time together, she had fallen in love.

On that first night Saad approached her gently and timidly, and she in turn responded to him without understanding what it was that allowed her to do so. When their bodies joined as one, a tranquility the likes of which she had never known enveloped them. It was a tranquility that released in her an overflow of affection, meekness, and tenderness she had never experienced before.

On the third night Saad told her stories of the sea and of anchored ships that set sail and returned. He spoke of Malaga, which lies between the sea and the mountains. On top of the mountains there is a castle and a fortress. The fortress has high walls, and it is magnificent to behold. And although its magnificence doesn't compare with that of Alhambra, it is more awesome and glorious because it sparks in your soul strange feelings of fear and security at the same time. Malaga is a big city with many buildings, gardens,
and verdant mountain pastures cultivated with fig, olive, and orange trees, as well as grape vines and palm trees. He asked her if she ever saw a rainfall over the vineyards. The dark rain clouds in the sky block out all but the slightest bit of sunshine that penetrates the vines and pierces through their lush verdure, producing brilliant flashes of yellow made even more radiant by the raindrops, which then appear as the morning dew. He told her about this one field that sat next to his house, and that even though they didn't own it, it was theirs alone to feast their eyes on.

"My father's name was Muhammad Abdel-Azeez al-Hareeri whose family came from a long line of silk weavers. He was a tall man with a dark, olive complexion and finely chiseled features. He had thick, curly hair like mine and jet black piercing eyes that added to his towering presence. My grandfather lived with us, too. He looked a lot like my father although old age made him look short and frail. He spent much time in prayer, and he always had prayer beads twirled around his fingers even when he wasn't praying. He shouted at us whenever we made too much noise, but I wasn't afraid of him. I don't know why I wasn't.

"My mother's name was Aysha. She was a fair-skinned, plump, and jolly woman. She laughed a lot and her face always lit up when she did. Every year my father would weave her an exquisite piece of silk and with it she made a dress she'd wear on the fifteenth night of the month of Shaaban, the first night of Ramadan, and the night of Laylat al-Qadr.
¹
She also wore it on the two grand feasts
²
and whenever she was invited to a wedding. What I remember most is a blue silk dress and a black caftan with white embroidery.

"My sister Nafeesa was four years younger than I. My mother
loved to say how no sooner did she wean me than she suckled Nafeesa. I remember holding her and rocking her to sleep. I can even remember the first steps she took as she toddled in the foyer, and how I used to give her piggyback rides and run beside her as she raced through the vineyard laughing."

1. The 27th of the month of Ramadan is the night on which, according to Quran: 97, the Quran was revealed to the Prophet Muhammad.

2. The first is
Eid
al-Fitr
(the feast of the breaking of the fast), which marks the end of Ramadan, and the second is
Eid
al-Adha
(the feast of the sacrifice), which falls forty days after the end of Ramadan when Muslims commemorate Abraham's acceptance to sacrifice his son to God.

Saad's face was pale and drawn and Saleema did everything she could to keep from crying. They had lost all track of time and didn't notice that the sun had risen. Nor could the early dawn call to prayer remind them of the time since the Castilians now forbade it. Saad stood up to change his clothes and get ready for work. He had no desire to go on with his story, but Saleema persisted.

For the next three nights he recounted all the details of the siege of Malaga and its inevitable defeat after the horrendous cannon fire from both land and sea. "The Castilians besieged the city, first by shooting ignited arrows and then with cannons that could kill you with their screeching sounds before their shells even hit the ground. Then their troops attacked the city and installed bells and crucifixes in the mosques. And over the citadel, all the city gates and every public building their flags were hoisted.

"Several days after the Catholic monarchs issued the orders to distribute rations of wheat to the people, my grandfather passed away, hungry and defeated. Starvation also took my little sister Nafeesa, or perhaps it was fear that killed her. My mother wept and lamented, 'What good will the wheat do us now?' But in the end she did go and return with our allotted ration. She kneaded the flour, baked bread, and said, 'Eat!' And so I did.

"At first they told us that the residents would be able to contribute collectively to the ransom from their money, jewelry, and other possessions, in the amount of thirty gold doubloons per head, including children and infants. It was reported that there were fifteen thousand residents in Malaga, so how could they come up with the exorbitant amounts that the Castilians were demanding? They dispatched a delegation to Granada and they even sought help from North Africa.

"The Castilians rounded up as many citizens as they could lay
their hands on, and proclaiming that the amount of ransom collected was not complete, they announced that every citizen of Malaga was to be treated as a servant to the king and queen of Castile and Aragon to do with them as they pleased. The royal couple agreed to exchange a third of them for Spanish soldiers held captive in Morocco. Another third was condemned to a life of hard labor to compensate for the expenses incurred by the Castilian treasury to finance the war. The remaining third, most of whom were women, were parceled out as gifts to the Pope, European nobility, the Royal Court notables, and the military commanders. My mother was among this last third.

"I was screaming when they came to take her away. I wept and struck the sides of my face repeatedly. A Castilian soldier took pity on me and patted me on the head, trying to reassure me that everything would be all right. He told me about his children who were my age. I was eight at the time. He said, 'Stay with me, and no one will lay a finger on you. I'll take you home and raise you with my own children.' I stayed with him for one month in Malaga, and when we set out to go where he lived, that is, me and this man who's name was Jose Blanco, I escaped on the way."

Saleema sat next to Saad as he was telling her all of this. Her back was slightly arched, her head tilted, and her hands resting on her stomach. A quiver rushed through her body, her head throbbed, and her insides contracted in cramps. She jumped up from the bed and rushed out of the room and went to the bathroom. When she got to the door and opened it, she bumped into her mother, and they both let out a scream at the same time. Then Saleema continued her way to the bathroom and vomited. Her grandmother brewed some mint leaves and made her a hot, steaming infusion. It was noontime. Her mother watched her closely and said, "I think you're better now. You don't look as pale. Don't you feel better?"

"What were you doing behind the door, Mother?" Saleema asked as she looked her mother straight in the eye.

9

H
asan's eyes first fell on her in the tavern. She had a pair of castanets wrapped around the tips of her fingers and she was gyrating to the rhythms of three musicians. One of them was an older man who had a leather strap wrapped around his right shoulder that cut across his chest and went down to his waist, and that held a large, round drum he beat with two small wooden sticks. The two younger men were playing woodwinds that made their cheeks puffy and their faces ruddy.

The loud but melodious music with its quick and catchy rhythms was what first caught his attention. But when he looked more closely, his eyes focused on the girl. He estimated she was no more than thirteen years old. She was small and thin and her body had not yet ripened to full maturity. Her face was a golden brown and her hair black and wavy. She had pleasant but ordinary features like many of the girls he'd seen in the souks. What was it about her that made him take notice? There was something in her eyes or her face, or maybe the combination of the two, that opened up a door for you, and you would pass from darkness to light. Or maybe you exit from the darkness of your prison and walk into freedom from confinement, and you take delight in that because you were never aware of the existence of that door that was always inaccessible to you. What was happening? he wondered. Was she one of those gypsy girls who cast spells on men and fill their minds with strange notions?

He couldn't take his eyes off of her for the longest time, but when he did, he realized that his soul had already attached itself to
her. He left the tavern but her phantom never left his side. He knew that she was dark skinned. He was certain of that, as he was of her black hair and black eyes. But from where did the colors come from? Was it the color of her dress, the same color as the henna on her palms? Was it the color of the green tattoo underneath her lower lip, or was it her dress that was green? Did the clinking of the castanets and the rhythm of the music ignite his imagination with a fire that blazed in bluish flames?

The phantom clung to him, and he whispered to himself that if he went back into the tavern and saw her again, the colors would disappear and he would return to normal. He went back in and then out, several times. He watched her, then turned his eyes away until he saw them carrying away their instruments and leaving the tavern. Just at that moment he made his way toward the older man. "My name is Hasan. I was raised in my grandfather's house. His name was Abu Jaafar the Paper Maker, may God have mercy on his soul. I work as a calligrapher and I'm being trained to write contracts." He didn't stutter or hesitate for a split second. He continued, "If this girl is your daughter, then permit me to marry her."

The man's eyelashes fluttered, then he held out his hand to shake Hasan's. "Bring your family to our house, and, God willing, all will turn out for the best."

And so went Hasan, along with his grandmother, his mother, Saleema and Saad. The house wasn't as impoverished as he'd expected. It was an old house, the kind that passed through generations. It had a fountain in the middle of the courtyard that was surrounded on three sides by arches that led into the main rooms. The women all went off into one room, and the men congregated in another, one furnished with antique carpets and throw rugs that still had their beautiful patterns even though their colors had lost much of their original brilliance. The walls were not bare but richly adorned with an antique sword in its sheath, an inscription, a pair of silver-encrusted daggers, a piece of parchment with a Quranic verse written in Kufic script, and an old banner.

Hasan and Saad sat opposite the older man and two others close to him in age. The older man told them that one was his brother and the other his cousin. There were also the two younger musicians whom Hasan figured out were the older man's sons.

They were offered oranges and dried figs, as well as dates and raisins. Hasan said a silent prayer asking God to untie his tied tongue, but his prayer went unanswered, and Saad did all the talking. They spoke openly and freely, and so too did Saad. Then they came to an agreement and recited the opening chapter of the Quran as was the custom for such an occasion.

When they arrived back home Umm Hasan reproached her son. "You never told me that the man and his sons were musicians in a tavern!"

Hasan's face grew sullen and his grandmother responded quickly. "The man has nothing to be ashamed of. He used to be a professional singer who performed at religious feasts and festivals, and sang about our beloved Prophet and his miracles, and about the brave feats of his cousin, Sidi Ali. Then those demons invaded our country and forbade these ceremonies. What was the poor man to do? Steal, or worse, sing the praises of the Christian monarchs?"

"I don't know what you see in her," protested Umm Hasan. "Her skin is so dark and greenish, and she's as thin as a rail. The neighbors' daughter is much prettier than she. Why don't you let me go and ask her hand for you instead?"

Hasan darted a reprehending glance at his mother and said, "We already recited the opening chapter of the Quran, Mother. And what happened there is the word of honor amongst gentlemen. Besides, she's the one I want."

Umm Hasan had a pained look on her face. "God give me strength to bear should you marry the daughter of a drummer!"

Hasan's face dropped and once again Umm Jaafar quickly intervened in an attempt to put an end to the conversation. "What's gotten into you, Zaynab? The girl is very pleasant and sweet, and she's still just a girl who hasn't fully matured. You, yourself, were thinner than she when you got married. Congratulations, Hasan. May your
new bride bring good fortune to you and this whole house. All our best wishes!"

A week later Hasan signed the marriage contract that his tutor drew up for him:

In
the
name
of
God
the
most
Compassionate,
the
most
Merciful.
Prayers
on
the
Prophet
Muhammad,
on
his
family,
his
followers
and
com
panions,
and
all
his
loved
ones.
This
marriage
contract
has
been
concluded,
by
the
Grace
and
Blessings
of
God,
and
in
accordance
with
His
holy
law,
be
tween
Hasan,
son
of Ali
and
grandson
of Abu Jaafar,
the
Paper
Maker,
and
Maryama,
the
daughter
of
Abu
Ibrahim,
for
the
sum
of
five
gold
doubloons,
as
well
as
the
house
bequeathed
to
the
husband
by
his
father,
may
God
have
mercy
on
his
soul,
located
at
Ainadamar
on
the
outskirts
of
Granada,
in
cluding
the
olive
groves
and
vineyards
surrounding
the
premises,
extending
to
the
estate
of
Muhammad
Shatibi
to
the
south,
the
house
of Umm
Saad
bint
El-Masoud
to
the
north,
the
property
of Ridwan Abu
Khaleel
to
the
east,
and
the
mountains
on
the
west.

In
accordance
with
the
aforementioned,
this
contract
is
enacted.

Maryama had a large chest that she owned ever since she could remember and first started to recognize things by their names. Her mother always said that it belonged to her alone, and that she would take it with her to her husband's house the day she got married. The chest had belonged to her grandmother and was passed down to her through many generations. It was a rectangular-shaped wooden trunk engraved with birds and flowers and ornate tangles of delicate foliage. It had the colors of orange, pale yellow, and shades of pistachio and mint green. The engravings included a sequence of miniature pairs of identical birds facing one another but separated by a single rose. Each miniature was enframed in a garland of leaves. At the point where the arch of the wing touched the tip of the tail another miniature began, and the tail of each bird nearly touched the tail of the previous one. As the arch of the back ascended, it branched out and away from the arch of the other bird, and it ended
where the head faces the opposite direction where you would find its rose and its twin bird. In the inverted triangle that separated the two miniatures, branches, leaves, and small clusters of flowers abounded. The composition was repeated in a weave of colors and set against an olive-green background grown darker and deeper with age.