Radwa Ashour - Granada

Then the problem was with Hasan. Umm Jaafar hurried to his room, woke him up, and scolded him as if he were a little boy. “What did you do to your sister’s husband? What did you say to him? Why did you make him angry?”

Hasan sat up and took a deep breath. His face was white as a ghost.

“Saad is planning to leave,” she shouted.

“I know that.”

“What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“Then why is he going away?”

“Leave him be, Grandmother. He’s already made up his mind, and there’s nothing we can do to stop him.”

Everyone began to cry, Umm Jaafar, Umm Hasan, and Maryama. Seeing them, the children burst into tears as well. Saleema stood still, as though the man who was leaving was not her husband. Hasan didn’t budge either. Umm Jaafar thought to herself that it wasn’t true that the two of them did not care. She stared at Hasan and noticed his body trembling from beneath his summer robe, and she looked at Saleema who was so pale that she looked, God forbid, ill.

Neither Hasan nor Saleema, who both knew the reason for the fight and the reason for Saad’s leaving, divulged a word to anyone in the household. Hasan insisted that Saad was not leaving the country and that he would be back to visit them from time to time. “Perhaps…,” he never finished the sentence but instead left the house.

Two weeks later Naeem came to the house and learned of the news. He flew into a fit of anger so violent that the children all ran off to hide from him.

“He went away? What do you mean, he went away? Why? How could he leave and not say anything to me, without taking me with him? What am I supposed to do now? He had a fight with Hasan? It’s not Hasan’s nature nor Saad’s to quarrel like that. You must be lying to me. What happened to my friend? Did he die?” Naeem was screeching frantically, with a pitch wavering between anger and fear.

“Where’s Hasan?”

“He’s not home.”

“Where’s Saleema?” He burst into her room as though he was one of the household or a little boy not yet prohibited from going into women’s quarters. He stood in front of her, seething in anger, at a loss for words. Finally he shouted out, “Are you happy now? He’s gone away. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

She stared him straight in the eye just as he was doing to her. “I had nothing to do with that.”

The devils were dancing in his eyes. He was overcome with a powerful desire to smash all the pots, bottles, and vials and throw all the powders, fluids, and ointments on the floor, and then to strike Saleema as hard as he could to release the anger toward her that had been building up inside of him for several months. Instead, he just spat on the floor and stormed out.

Umm Jaafar called out to him but he paid no attention. He left the house with his thoughts and emotions in turmoil. He was livid and frightened, and he didn’t understand a thing. Had he taken his advice and left Saleema to punish her? A bit late for that, he thought. But why punish him? What did he have to do with it? And were Umm Jaafar and Hasan at fault? He fought with Hasan? How and why? Did some horrible catastrophe befall his friend and were they hiding it from him?

He hurriedly raced back to Abu Jaafar’s house. “Has Hasan returned?” he asked.

“Not yet.”

Once again, he went outside of the house, squatted on the ground, and waited for him to come back. When he noticed Hasan coming from a distance, he jumped up and ran toward him.

“What happened, Hasan?”

“Can you stay the night with me?”

“I can.”

“Well, then, come with me.”

Dawn crept up on them without either one having a moment’s sleep. Hasan told him the whole story and Naeem listened without interrupting, except for one time. “Saad never said any such thing to me,” he lamented. “Did he really say all that?”

“Not at the beginning, but I figured it out because I live with him under the same roof, and I know when he comes and goes, and when strangers I’ve never seen come to visit him. Finally, I confronted him about what was going on, and he told me. We disagreed and ended up in a fierce argument. Do you think I was wrong, Naeem?”

Naeem didn’t answer the question, but left that very moment since he had to get back to his place of employment before the priest discovered his absence. “If I find Father Miguel awake, I’ll tell him I woke up early and went out for some fresh air,” he said as he was leaving.

He went back taking quick steps thinking all along how and why Saad kept all of this a secret from him, and why he went away without coming to say good-bye. His pace slowed down and he stopped dead in his tracks. He went over to the side of the road, sat down on the ground, and burst into tears.

Hasan spent the next few weeks in a state of depression, which of course was no secret to the members of the household. The children were unaware of what was going on even though they bore the brunt of their father’s quick temper, his scolding and spanking that was not his usual way. Umm Jaafar and Umm Hasan blamed his behavior on his quarrel with Saad, which had a devastating effect on everyone. They counted the days before Saad’s return so that Hasan would calm down. But the mystery of why Saad left and why Hasan let his friend and brother-in-law do so was known only to Saleema and Hasan. But Saleema didn’t utter a word of it, so engrossed she was in her herbs, and she didn’t have much to say anyway. Not even Maryama could say anything because Hasan had made her swear on the Quran to keep it a secret after she persuaded him to tell her what had happened. Hasan himself was in a state of bewilderment, and he couldn’t sleep, tortured by the question of whether he behaved rightly or wrongly. At the time it seemed certain, as though he had made up his mind and the subject was closed. “I can’t stop you from taking the road you chose for yourself, but I’m responsible for the safety of my family and I’ll do anything to protect them.”

“It’s not protection you’re giving, Hasan,” replied Saad. “If every one of us shut the door of his house and only cared for the safety of his family, we would all perish, once and for all!”

“Are you accusing me of cowardice?” Hasan asked in an agitated voice.

Saad didn’t answer but shot Hasan an accusatory look that only increased the tension.

“I don’t have to defend myself,” protested Hasan. “It’s not wrong to protect one’s family, even by means of deceit. Life goes on and you have to provide them with food and a roof over their heads. The Castilians show no mercy, as you can see with your own eyes every day. The least suspicion they have of someone leads to an arrest, an investigation, abuse, and torture to extract a confession that is only fabricated to ease the torture. The prisoner may be sentenced to death or he may die in detention before sentencing, leaving a whole family without a provider, and the wife takes to the streets to feed her children. Even an honorable woman will do whatever she can to feed her hungry children.”

“It’s correct what you’re saying, but what are you suggesting to confront this scourge? If every one of us said that he feared for his wife and children, then what would become of us?”

“God is our supporter,” said Hasan after taking a long, deep breath.

“This shows passivity and indecisiveness.”

“There’s no need to be hurtful, Saad,” shouted Hasan.

Saad stubbornly repeated what he said. “Passivity and indecisiveness, while our brothers on the Moroccan shores cross the hostile sea and face the greatest obstacles to wage attacks on these shores to inflict whatever losses they can on the Castilians, and while our own men hiding in the mountains launch a resistance from above. And if they were to ask us for some help or protection, should we mention our women and children as an excuse, and tell them, ‘Go away and God be with you? When you achieve the victory that we’re all hoping for, we will hoist you on our shoulders and shout out our thanks and gratitude?’’