Radwa Ashour - Granada

Every hour seemed heavy and every day depressing, and they were at a loss to understand why they felt this way, even though the crisis had passed and the archbishop, whom they held in high esteem, guaranteed that they be treated with kindness and respect. They didn’t know whence those ravens of ill-omen, which cawed in the skies and tainted the air with their blackish color, came. Their hearts were obstinate in their misgivings, but the residents of Albaicin mistrusted their own hearts. But time proved their hearts right. The Castilians demanded vengeance for Barrionuevo’s death, and the judge complied by handing over his killer. But not satisfied with the one, they returned and arrested three more. The gallows were erected and the bodies of four young men were left hanging. Everyone knew that the next strike would be against the forty elected officials, and soon thereafter the rumor circulated that they had headed for the hills. Some condemned their escape while others defended them.

“Should they have sat around and waited for the noise to be tied around their necks?”

A small number of people you could count on one hand saw this as an auspicious sign, and they began counting the days.

After Abu Jaafar died, Saad went to work at Abu Mansour’s bathhouse. Naeem found work with a cobbler who taught him the trade. He learned quickly, and the first thing he did was make a pair of shoes for Saad. When Saad asked him why he didn’t make a pair for himself, he evaded the question at first, but then decided to come forth. “I couldn’t make another pair without my boss noticing the leather and nails missing.”

The two friends met up every day, as was their habit, and sat either by the bathhouse or outside the cobbler’s shop after closing time. Sometimes they would take a stroll throughout the quarter, just chatting.

Saad spoke endlessly about his love for Saleema and his desire to ask for her hand in marriage. But he was afraid of being rejected. Naeem listened to him without ever breathing a word of his feelings of anxiety that grew by the day. At first he would make fun of Saad, and Saad responded in kind. God created Naeem with a tender heart that swayed like a branch with every passing breeze. Then he laid eyes on the captive girl in the parade and she stole his heart. But where had she gone, God only knew! She disappeared and left only her phantom to haunt his days and nights. [13] The phantom of the lover is a popular motif in classical Arabic poetry, and also was believed to exist by pre-Islamic Arabians. He would curse her and the day he first set eyes on her, and he swore that he would fall in love with the first girl who caught his eye. But through all the young girls who passed before him, he could only see the phantom, as clearly in dreams as in wakefulness. But poor Saad was a late bloomer, and when he fell in love it struck a heavy blow. Whenever he found himself in Saleema’s presence he froze like a statue. But now, with Naeem nineteen and Saad twenty, they couldn’t afford to remain like this much longer, or else they’d both end up growing old and rejected, even by snickering young girls.

“Put your trust in God, Saad, and ask Abu Mansour to arrange your engagement to her.”

When Saad broached the subject with Abu Mansour, the old man reacted skeptically.

“Do you think these are times suitable for getting married and raising families? I swear by God of the Kaaba that every night I tell myself, if only you hadn’t gotten married! If you hadn’t had a wife to provide for and take care of, you would be free of your subjugation, free to plunge a dagger into the heart of a Castilian, or plunge yourself into the river to relieve your mind and calm your soul.”

The following week Abu Mansour came to Saad while he was cleaning the bathhouse. “I went to Abu Jaafar’s house and spoke with Hasan. He’ll give me his answer in two days.”

Saad stood petrified with broom in hand, and when what he had just heard sank in, the broom fell to the floor. He rushed forward and kissed Abu Mansour on the forehead and shoulders and dashed out like a madman toward the cobbler’s shop. Naeem was leaning over the anvil attaching a leather sole to a sandal with a small hammer. He was too absorbed in what he was doing to notice Saad coming. He was startled when he heard his friend’s voice and the hammer fell out of his hand and struck his thumb.

“When did you come, and what’s going on?” he shouted.

“Abu Mansour has interceded on my behalf and asked for Saleema’s hand!”

Naeem jumped up and, in his excitement, once again dropped the hammer, this time on his foot. He yelled out in pain but his joy at the news made him laugh. “I will dance so much at your wedding that people will remember it when they’re old and gray!”

After Abu Mansour left the house, Hasan wondered if Abu Jaafar would approve of this marriage had he been alive. He anticipated his mother’s negative reaction, protesting that Saad was too poor and deprived, owning only the shirt on his back and his daily bread. He also imagined his grandfather retorting that they, too, were in similar dire circumstances, and that Saad was a decent young man who would take good care of Saleema, so on what basis could he refuse Saad’s request? And Saleema? Hasan paused a moment as though caught off guard. Saleema was unpredictable. She could rejoice at the idea of the marriage proposal and she was equally capable of flatly and adamantly refusing, with no one in any position to change her mind. He could never figure her out. She was the only young girl he knew well, and he often asked himself was it just her, or did she have the incomprehensible nature of all young girls.

The first person he confided in was his grandmother. “If she agrees,” she answered, “then it will be with God’s blessing. These are difficult times, and Saad is good and decent. We won’t have to worry about waking up one morning and discovering that he turned his back on us and went to serve the Castilians.”

“But would Grandfather have given his consent?”

“God only knows, my son.”

That evening Hasan and his grandmother sat down with Saleema and Umm Hasan.

“Today Abu Mansour came to see me, and he asked me for Saleema’s hand in marriage to Saad.”

“Saad?” asked Umm Hasan with a tone of surprise mixed with a tinge of disapproval.

“What do you say, Mother?” asked Hasan.

“Why does he want Saleema? He’s from Malaga, so let him go and find a girl from a family from his own city to marry.”

“What kind of talk is this, Mother? What’s wrong with Saad?”

“What’s wrong with him is his poverty, and the fact that he doesn’t have a family we know and who can reassure us, not to mention…”

“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.