Radwa Ashour - Granada

Only Saleema was beyond sadness and joy, consumed by burning questions: Was God so evil that He wished them destruction? Or does Saad give her what doesn’t last, the splendor of his gift dissipating into a pain that pierces and torments the soul? Her delivery had been difficult. It nearly ripped open and destroyed her body, stretching it beyond its capacity until the infant was pulled out and she heard his feeble scream. She held him in her arms and examined him closely. She touched his skin gently and kissed his cheek. She sensed his taste on her lips and her breasts were overflowing with milk. She placed her nipple into his mouth, and her insides moved like the earth sprouting a new seedling. It wasn’t joy that filled her heart, since joy always runs its course. It was something that pervaded her body and soul, an odd mixture of awe, joy, fear, amazement, and a thousand other things, the way life comes together with its hills, rivers, skies, the daylight sun, and the moon and the stars on high. It all came together and was concentrated where this tiny mouth was sucking on her nipple and the breast that embraces, shows tenderness, and provides milk; God only knows from where and how it came, like a miraculous spring gushing from the depths of the earth or a cloud in the sky perpetually pouring rain.

Two weeks Saleema spent with her newborn, hearing and seeing nothing but his overwhelming presence that both consumed and enriched her as she needed nothing from anyone or anything else. Then God took him away. Why?

Saad, who resigned himself bitterly to the loss of his son, grew more and more depressed each day. To no avail would he knock on Saleema’s door and then withdraw into himself, rejected and dejected, outside her walls. She wouldn’t talk to him or get near him, as she was averse to any union, physical or emotional. Yet he went on with life, talking to Naeem about his worries and his fear of the future.

No matter how big or depressing life’s disasters seemed, along came another one more intense and ferocious, making what seemed so horrific yesterday mild in comparison today, reducing it to a matter of insignificance that shrunk into a tiny corner of the heart.

The Catholic kings issued their decree of forced conversion on everyone. The orders were posted and made public for all to see. The people of Granada and Albaicin had the choice of converting to Christianity or banishment from the kingdom.

Hasan said that departure was the only solution, and that he would sell the house at Ainadamar and the house they were inhabiting in Albaicin, and they would all go to Fez.

“Or does anybody have another suggestion?” he asked.

Umm Jaafar said that she would not leave since she didn’t have much longer to live. “I’ll never leave my house nor will I leave Abu Jaafar alone to wait for me in vain. I want to stay and lay green leafy branches by his grave until God permits me to join him.”

“Then will you convert, Grandmother?”

“I’ll never convert!”

“Then what are we going to do? What do you think, Saad?”

Saad sat silently, thinking about Malaga, which was now so far away. When the boat carries him off to the shores of Morocco, Albaicin will seem distant and Malaga even farther. “Departure is difficult, but…”

“Then, we go.”

“We go.”

“We won’t go,” shouted Maryama. “Only God knows what’s in people’s hearts, and the heart lives only in its body. I know who I am, Maryama, and this is my daughter, Ruqaya. Would it make much of a difference if the rulers of this country forced me to take the name ‘Maria’ and my daughter ‘Anna’? I’ll never leave because the tongue doesn’t disown its own language and the face its features.”

They all looked at her in astonishment, wondering from where this young girl Maryama got all this wisdom. It was as though she had opened a window and the light came rushing in and illuminated the dark room. They decided to stay. The decision was difficult but carrying it out was even harder.

The women of the neighborhood stood in large groups to receive the baptismal drops of water collectively. The priest muttered some words that none of them understood. They stood motionless, watching him without making a sound. Their faces were deep and raging, like a hostile ocean on the surface of which small boats rock back and forth, battered by the high waves causing loss and dread. They gasped desperately for air as they are about to sink, but they did not sink. The big wave broke only to be replaced by another wave, more ferocious, and another gasp for air, more desperate, as though the soul were submitting itself to Azrael, the angel of death, while screaming, “I do not want.”

It wasn’t the simple matter of a name on a piece of paper replacing another name, as Maryama had thought, but a whole new life of accusations and mortal sins: the circumcision of young boys, contracting marriages according to Islamic law, celebrating the wedding feast with drums and songs, waiting for the new moon before and after Ramadan, chanting the prayers on the holy night of Laylat al-Qadr, the five daily prayers, Ramadan fasting, keeping Friday a holy day, using henna to dye young girls’ palms and older women’s hair. All of these were now crimes, and the gates of prison were wide open for sinners and the piles of wood were readied to be ignited under those who committed them. It all seemed like the wheel of Satan rolling along and the soul unable to keep pace with its terrifying speed.

“It is forbidden for the newly converted to wear Arab clothing. It is prohibited for any tailor to weave this unlawful garb, and for women to wear their traditional veils.”

“A new convert may not sell his possessions to anyone of Arab origin, like himself.”

“It is absolutely forbidden for anyone of Arab origin to sell his possessions. And those who violate the order will have their wealth confiscated and will be subject to a severe penalty.”

“Those Arabs from Granada and its surrounding villages who possess books and manuscripts must submit them all, or else they will be tried and imprisoned. Those exposed for possessing an Arabic book after the date will have all of their possessions confiscated.”

“It is unlawful to own or carry weapons, and this decree includes swords and daggers.”

“Islamic inheritance laws are no longer in effect. Estates will no longer be divided among the heirs, but will be passed down according to the current traditions of the kingdom of Castile.”

“It is forbidden to abet, protect, or give shelter to Muslim terrorists who come in ships from the Moroccan coasts to invade the shores of the kingdom. It is also unlawful to establish contacts or to cooperate in any fashion with the rebels hiding out in the mountains. Violation of this law will result in certain death.”

“Whosoever shall depart from Granada and return shall have no legal rights to his former possessions, and he will be arrested and sold as a slave in public auction.”

A wheel that exhausts the soul turns, and the young ones, in spite of it all, grow up. After Ruqaya, Maryama was blessed with five more children, the last of whom was a boy whom they named Hisham. Saleema however was not so fortunate, but how could she be, given that she withdrew from Saad and immersed herself in reading books, mixing herbs, and concocting blends, ointments, and potions. At first it was only the books that held her attention, and she would stay up all night pouring over them, underlining the important passages, and writing notes in the margins. Then she took great interest in asking women savants for the ancient remedies they used to cure different kinds of pain. She began to purchase pots, jars, vessels, and vials, and she mixed herbs both fresh and dry, making infusions, powders, and salves that she boiled, froze, and distilled. The women of the neighborhood came seeking her advice about curing one illness or another. Umm Hasan couldn’t bear any of this and quarreled with her so vehemently that all the neighbors could hear. But Umm Hasan’s incessant protestations and her attempts to bring her daughter back into the fold of proper housewives who please their husbands with sons and daughters, with kohl-painted eyes, made-up faces, and bodies perfumed with musk and jasmine, fell on deaf ears. After months of waging a fierce battle with her daughter, Umm Hasan retreated and left the matter in God’s hands.