Radwa Ashour - Granada

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. [14] Kufic script is a style of Arabic calligraphy used especially for ornamentation.