Radwa Ashour - Granada

“May the Creator be praised,” one of the women cheered. “I swear to God, your groom is indeed a fortunate man.”

Drops of water and beads of sweat trickled down Saleema’s neck that was covered by her thick, wavy black hair. Her olive-skinned body glistened from the scrubbing of the loofah and the hot water. Her breasts were young and firm, her waist slender, her buttocks ample, and her legs perfectly chiseled. “May He who gave you shape be praised,” exclaimed one woman as another pulled her toward her to remove her pubic hair. The singing continued as some of the women washed their own children, or busied themselves washing one another. A few of them participated in the more exhausting ritual that was taking place in the stall out of view of the others. Umm Jaafar and Umm Hasan decided to take their baths after the lunch. Umm Hasan prepared the henna in a bowl large enough for everyone, while Umm Jaafar prepared to serve the lunch. As usual, she fretted about not having enough food to feed the crowd, and Umm Hasan reminded her this was not the first feast she had ever prepared. “There’s no food more delicious or more plentiful than what you serve,” she said praisingly. But Umm Jaafar would only rest assured after all the women had eaten, and the food had been scrumptious, and there had been more than enough for everyone to have her fill. She watched the women as they ate, walking around and through them and the children, prodding this one or that one to a second or third helping. She herself didn’t touch the food and was only satisfied when her guests were sated and she was certain that her duty as a hostess had been fulfilled in the most perfect manner.

After lunch the women rested awhile before returning to the tubs to finish their baths. Umm Jaafar declared resoundingly, “I will bathe Saleema.” She soaped her head three times, lathered her body over and over again before rinsing her with hot water. Then she dried her off, greased her hair with almond oil, and rubbed musk and olive oil over her body. While her hands were occupied, her face radiated and then suddenly changed expression. Her eyes gleamed one moment and were bathed in tears the next, as her thoughts moved from the little bundle of flesh she carried as a newborn infant to this magnificent young woman, the precious daughter of her precious son. She could see Abu Jaafar and she held on to the image like a little girl frightened by the phantom of someone she could never stare at without feeling her soul abandoning her. Her spirit withdrew, and she felt as though she were going to die.

“Why aren’t you singing, Umm Jaafar?”

“I’m singing. I’ll sing,” she replied as she joined in with a quivering voice.

“Pass me the henna, Umm Hasan.”

“I’ll henna her hair,” shouted one of the neighbors.

She went over to the large bowl and scooped out a handful of the smooth, moist mixture. “Stand up, Saleema.” Saleema stood up and the woman sat down next to her on crossed legs. She took a small bit of the henna with the tip of her right index finger and meticulously drew a squiggly line above her ankle. Then she took more henna and continued her pattern until she formed a beautiful design in the shape of flowered branches in a deep dark red that embellished her anklebone and the top of her foot. “Sit down, Saleema.” Saleema obeyed and the woman applied the henna to her heels and the bottom of her feet. Then she set to work on her palms. All the women followed suit by taking a bit of the henna, while the older ones took more to dye their hair.

Saleema remained seated without moving a muscle as her arms and legs were stretched out to let the henna dry. She glanced all around her and thought about herself and how little she understood of all of this. She wished she could be with her gazelle, to pat her head or watch her sprint and prance about in the privacy and confinement of their house.

The wedding night was boisterous and generated more than the usual excitement for such occasions. The news of the uprisings and the success of the rebels at Alpujarra [15] Alpujarra or al-Basharrat in Arabic, a mountainous region east of Granada, was the site of fierce Arab resistance to the Spanish Reconquest. in attacking the Castilians and regaining control over some of the fortresses along the coast had unlocked the doors of hope that were now wide open. They might be able to reach Murcia from where the uprising could spread and thus reclaim Granada; or, reinforcements could come from Egypt or North Africa, and the freedom fighters and exiles coming aboard the ships could unite with their brothers who were fighting on land.

The incessant talk of the uprising became the people’s daily wine of which they imbibed ravenously, making them giddy with delight. They never tired of repeating the details or listening to the same stories over and over again as though they were strummings on a lute or the chanting of love poems that gave increasing pleasure the more they were heard.

The Castilians had sent their cavalry up the mountain road with their heads swelling with arrogance and confidence as if victory were already in hand. All they needed to do, they thought, was strike their heels on the sides of their horses that would neigh thunderously and dash to the prize at the top of the mountain. But a torrent of rocks came pelting from above and onto their heads. They fell with their horses and tumbled down the deep ravine, calling for help with no one to help them. The people all laughed with joy as one recited Quranic verses with a smile that never left his lips: “Have you not seen how your Lord dealt with the people of the elephant? Did He not make their plan go wrong, and sent hordes of chargers flying against them, while you were pelting them with stones of porphyritic lava, and turn them into pastured fields of corn?” [16] Quran 105:1–5. This chapter, “The Elephants,” recounts the Battle of Abraha in 571 when the Christian viceroy of Sana’ marched against Mecca with elephants and a large army to destroy the Kaaba. See Ahmed Aly’s translation, Princeton, 1993.

The devious Count Tendilla had launched a military campaign on the mountain. As he sat smugly in his castle, awaiting the news of the attack on the villages, the waterfalls were drowning his horsemen with the water from the canals that the rebels opened from the top of the mountain, as though the flood was unleashed against them from God who sent them neither a Noah nor an Ark.

Their hearty and boisterous guffaws mixed with the women’s singing and the rolling of drums. Hasan and Naeem helped Umm Jaafar and Umm Hasan set up the patio for the male guests and lay down carpets for them to sit on. Then they accompanied Saad to the bathhouse with Abu Mansour who insisted on bathing the groom himself. “This is the bath of all baths, my boy,” he said as he scrubbed the back of his neck and back, laughing and embracing life and people as though the uprising of Alpujarra had brought him back to his old affable and pleasant self.

On the wedding night Abu Mansour danced to the rhythms of the lute and kept beat to the applause of the guests. He shook his shoulders and stretched out his arms, then he stiffened his back and swayed his body while flexing the muscles of his belly. He laughed and all the guests laughed with him. He danced with wild animation and his face flushed in ecstasy as though he were the groom. He then grabbed Saad and made him dance, but in utter embarrassment the groom was unable to keep up with the old man nor could he compete with his fine movements and subtle gesticulations. He stumbled as he danced and he felt the blood rushing to his head like a young girl forced to dance in front of a group of men.

Saad sat down, so too did Abu Mansour, and a group of men jumped to their feet to join in the singing and dancing. Some of them hoisted sticks in the air, and as one man raised the stick horizontally over his head, his partner would cross it with a strike of his stick in the middle. Or one would swing a stick around in circles while another would leap high in the air over it. They danced in such a frenzy until their bodies were drenched in sweat.