Granada (29 page)

In the morning he couldn't remember how many times he had made love to her. The only things he found were her scent and some of her clothes strewn across the room. He got dressed quickly and headed out toward the road. He sneaked into the house. When his mother caught sight of him, she ran to him and asked him the reason for his absence. She was pale and her eyes were red and puffy. "We said to ourselves, something bad must have happened to him. Maryama's been out since dusk asking about you all over the place."

He raised his voice and berated her. Then Saleema came out and spoke to him harshly. "Thank God nothing horrible has happened to you. Next time you intend on staying out all night, let us know so that we don't stay up worrying ourselves sick, only to have you greet us in the morning with shouting and rebuking."

He felt ashamed at what she said and he didn't say a word. He went inside and doused his head in a basin of cold water. He asked his mother to heat him some water to take a bath.

Soon thereafter, Maryama and Saleema, reassured of Hasan's safety, went back to whatever was keeping them busy. But Umm Hasan spent the better part of her days and nights thinking about Hasan's absence. She had asked him openly about it, but he never gave her a straight answer. She wondered if he took a second wife. And if he indeed had, why would he keep it a secret from his own mother? She would certainly understand and sympathize with how much he has to put up with that miserable Maryama who annoys him with her constant whining about her mother and brothers who disappeared, and with her ceaseless nagging for marrying her daughters to strangers who took them away where she can never see them.

Whenever Umm Hasan complained about Maryama and displayed her annoyance over her shortcomings, Umm Jaafar, God rest
her soul, used to say, "Be patient, Zaynab, she's still a young girl with no experience. She'll grow up and learn." But here she was now grown up and still hadn't learned, and Umm Hasan had to interfere in every matter, big or small, to set her straight. She tells her, "The children prefer this dish, not that one," or "They like it cooked this way, not that way." When she finally had had enough, Umm Hasan threw up her hands and vowed never to set foot in the kitchen again. "Let's see what this daughter of a drummer will do," she said to herself. But only a few weeks later she discovered that this was precisely what Maryama had wanted all along. She wanted to banish her from the kitchen and take sole charge of it, as though she inherited it from her father. Umm Hasan was convinced that her daughter-in-law was the kind of woman known for her cunning and tricks. She quickly changed her mind and went back into the kitchen so that the drummer's daughter wouldn't get the best of her. Hasan would be totally justified if he did take a second wife because he had had no luck at all with the first. But then Umm Hasan realized that they were all Christians on paper and that Hasan couldn't have a second wife, that he would have to divorce the first to marry the second, but that divorce wasn't easy, and most likely it wasn't possible. Poor Hasan, she thought, without a wife to make him happy, and no way to make himself happy. Maryama interrupted Umm Hasan's thoughts when she suddenly walked into her room, carrying a basket.

"Look at this fish, Umm Hasan. I bought it this morning at the market. It's very fresh. The fishmonger swore that he just brought it in from the shore."

Umm Hasan looked into the basket and saw the glimmering silvery and reddish fish. She picked up one of them and examined its eyes and gills. She squeezed the head gently. "He wasn't lying. It's nice and fresh."

"The children and Hasan and Saleema say that nobody prepares fish the way you do. So, what do you say, will you cook it for us today?" asked Maryama with a smile.

"Why don't you cook it yourself?"

"Because they prefer the way you do it!"

Umm Hasan let out a sigh and stood up, feigning annoyance, to prepare the fish. Maryama followed her into the kitchen with the basket and then announced to her that she was going to the souk with Saleema and they would be back later. "We may be a little late if we have to go to more than one druggist to find what Saleema's looking for."

Maryama and Saleema went out of the house and walked to the square next to the Church of San Salvador where a cart and driver were waiting for them as prearranged. They exchanged greetings and the two woman got into the cart. Ever since the edict demanding that all Arabic books be turned over for inspection was announced, the thought of being investigated terrified Saleema. She knew full well that "inspecting books" meant confiscation, and that Hasan would comply with the new decrees. She also knew that any attempt to persuade him would end in failure.

"What can we do, Maryama?"

"Let's hide the books."

"How?"

"Let me think about it." Maryama spent night and day until she thought of a solution and proposed it to Saleema. "Let's go to Ainadamar and remove the books. When Hasan insists on turning them in, you can tell him that you sold them. He won't believe you and when he comes to get them, he won't find them. He'll blow up in anger, but then he'll calm down."

"But where will we take the books?"

"To this house."

"Here? How?"

Maryama had it all planned in her mind. She laid it out to Saleema, starting with buying the fish and coaxing Umm Hasan into cooking it, and ending with bringing in the books without arousing any suspicion. .

They went to Ainadamar and put the books into five sacks. They tied them up tightly, and the driver helped them put the sacks onto the cart. They got on and returned to Albaicin.

Maryama went into the house first and passed by the kitchen. She found Umm Hasan standing in front of the stove with a large frying pan and the splattering hot oil. She was just starting to fry the fish when Maryama popped her head in, greeted her, and left her in peace. Then she gathered all the children together and asked her oldest daughter to tell them a story. "I bought some sweets," she told them. "If you sit quietly and listen to the story, I'll give you some." Then she rushed off toward the front gate of the house and gave a hand to Saleema and the driver in carrying the sacks into the house. They paid the driver and he left. Then they moved the books, one sack at a time, into Maryama's room.

Maryama had emptied out her chest of everything that was in it. She opened it and opened the sacks. She and Saleema then carefully stacked the books in neatly arranged piles inside the chest. When that was done, Maryama put the padlock back on and locked it. She started to laugh. "If Hasan has any suspicion that we removed the books, it will never occur to him that they're hidden right under his nose in this chest that is the first thing he sees in the morning and the last thing he sees at night. Are you happy now, Saleema?" Saleema put her arms around her and hugged her tightly. She didn't say a word but her eyes were swelling with tears.

22

N
aeem spoke to Father Miguel. "Tell me, Father, what do you think of my Spanish?"

"It's excellent."

"When I speak, does it seem that it is anything but my mother tongue?"

"Not in the least. Why do you ask?"

"I learn foreign languages quickly. And I wanted to surprise you with something that will please you. I've learned many words of the native language, and I can express myself in sentences and I understand what's being said to me."

"This is indeed a surprise."

"Do you know why I want to learn this language, Father? I want to help you."

"Help me?"

"Yes, help you. If you had a translator to convey to you the thoughts of some of these people, your task in writing about them would be all the easier. Isn't that correct?"

Father Miguel gave Naeem a look that made him uneasy, as though he was trying to pry into his soul and expose his secret. "But learning a new language requires a long time, long after we will have returned to Spain and I will have finished my book."

"Not at all, Father. I've learned quite a bit of the native language over the past several weeks. I'll be able to master it in two or three months, but I only need . . ." Naeem stopped. It was now time to ask the question right out. But what if the priest refused?

"What is it you need? A teacher?" Father Miguel laughed as he asked the question.

Naeem responded in laughter as well, but only to hide his nervousness.

"The only thing I need is to speak more with the natives."

"So, what's preventing you from doing that?"

"Nothing's preventing me, but I only speak to them in passing, to this group or that one, usually slaves too busy with work. But if I were given the occasion to sit with them sometimes, to go and visit them in their huts for an hour or two every day, I swear to you, Father, I would learn their language in a short time. I would then be able to tell you what you needed to know of their ideas, their legends, and the meanings of the songs they sing."

Father Miguel remained silent as though he was pondering the matter. "You want to be away from the house an hour or two every day?"

"You needn't worry, Father. When I leave the house, I'll make sure everything has been prepared, and you won't feel my absence at all. But . . ."

"What?" Father Miguel interrupted.

"If you were to notify the regional governor that I was going to learn the language in order to assist you with your book, then none of the soldiers will think I was frequenting the huts for some dubious reason."

"I agree, it would be more prudent to do that. When I meet with the governor tomorrow, I'll bring up the matter."

"Rest assured, Father, that I will do my utmost to master the language in the quickest time possible."

Barely had Naeem left Father Miguel's study than he leaped for joy. He got exactly what he was looking for. He would see her every day, he would go and visit her at her hut, and perhaps she would take him inside to meet her family. And maybe God will even ordain . . .

Naeem had first laid eyes on her only two weeks ago. He was bathing in a stream behind the house when she drew near him. He was embarrassed by his nakedness and dove in the water. When he came up, he looked around and found her standing there and
watching him. He noticed she had sharp features, a dark, round face, a wide forehead, black eyes that came to a slant on the sides, a big nose, thick lips, and long silky black hair that shimmered in the sun. He stayed in the water until he saw her move away, and he quickly jumped out and put his clothes on. And then suddenly she reappeared. She wasn't at all a young girl but a woman, perhaps thirty years old, with a voluptuous body and a well-developed bosom. She had wide shoulders and buttocks. Naeem averted his eyes and attempted to look up at the sky, but he was fully aware that she was staring at him and his face couldn't hide his embarrassment. He looked at her and covered his shyness with a smile. She smiled back. He pointed to himself and said, "Naeem," and repeated it several times. Then he pointed his finger toward her inquiring about her name. "Maya," she said. He repeated her name a couple of times while he pointed at her, and then his own name as he pointed to himself. He laughed and then she laughed. Her face radiated with such sweetness that it warmed his soul. He asked himself where this heavenly woman came from. He wanted to give her a present. He fished in his pockets but came up with nothing. He raced back to the house and grabbed one of the two pies he baked that morning. He came back running and found her exactly where he left her. She had sat down by the edge of the stream. He sat down next to her and set the pie in front of them. He invited her to eat, but she didn't understand what he was saying. He broke off a piece of the pie and put it in her hand. Then he broke off a piece for himself and began to nibble at it. She did the same. They ate together, but couldn't do much else besides exchange names and smiles. When she got up to leave, Naeem had a great urge to embrace her, but he didn't have the courage. He stuck out his hand bashfully and patted her on the head. He never took his eyes off of her as she wandered off gracefully, with her voluptuous body swaying gently from one side to the other.

On the following day at the same time and the same place they met again. Naeem had saved his lunch for them to share. As they sat and ate, she repeated his name and he repeated hers. He pointed to
a tree and said "tree." She repeated it and then taught him the word in her own language. He went home ecstatic with his accomplishments of the day, ten new words of her language, the ring of her voice in his ear, the rhythm of her laugh in his soul, and the quick peck on the cheek he gave her. At night the more he thought of her the more aroused he became.

On the third day Maya did not come. He had every hope she would. He thought she might be late, but was convinced she'd show up. It was inconceivable that she wouldn't. After waiting a long time, he gave up and went home, disappointed and depressed, with no way to console himself except to wait for the next day. The hours passed by torturously slowly, from evening until night, from night until dawn, from morning to midday. He ran to the stream and paced back and forth, looking in every direction until he saw her from a distance coming in his direction. He ran toward her calling out her name. When he reached her, he conveyed to her how worried he had been. "Where were you? I nearly died thinking that I might never see you again. Your absence scared the wits out of me, Maya. Why. . . ?" Naeem then realized he was speaking in Arabic while she smiled at him curiously, wondering what he was saying. He put his arms around her and hugged her tightly and affectionately. He began to kiss her head, her neck and shoulders, and then their lips met.

Beneath the trees and the rustling of the leaves at the edge of the stream, the woman gave herself to him. She gave him what he had been longing for ever since he was a young man but never attained. What did this woman do to him? Naeem was neighing like a wild colt that sprinted furiously as the earth quaked beneath it, stamping the ground and making it shake, as he gained speed and gasped for breath. The sharp point of a knife and the shiver of life conjoined in his soul as it drank from the waters of Paradise while his body burst in flames.

When Naeem withdrew from inside of her, he cuddled up next to her, holding on to her in embrace. He was unaware that tears were flowing from his eyes until he felt her wiping them off with her fingertips and saying something to him he didn't understand.