Radwa Ashour - Granada

Saleema finished the story. “Before we even left the vendor’s shop, he had begun to tell the story of the poor woman who sold her gold ring to bring a little joy into her sick son’s heart. On the way home, Maryama told the story three times, twice in Spanish and once in Arabic. God forbid, one of the people she told the story to is an employee in the Office of Inquisition.”

“What if someone asks about the sheep tomorrow, or the day after?” asked Hasan.

“I’ll say that the sheep died,” answered Maryama with a smirk. “I’ll sigh and say, ‘God forgive the vendor, he sold me a sheep with a disease. If he hadn’t had seven children and I didn’t have a kind heart, I would have evoked the wrath of God on him. But who knows? Perhaps it was the will of God, just and merciful, that killed the sheep and restored my son’s health.’”

After dinner, Hasan lured Saad away to be alone with him. Saad told him stories of the mountain village where he was living.

“It’s just like what Granada use to be. The voice of the muezzin rings out, and you can hear chanting and singing at the wedding feasts and out in the fields. We speak in Arabic without any restrictions, we dress the way we’re accustomed to, we sit vigil for the coming of Ramadan, and we celebrate the two feasts.”

“Are there any Castilians there?”

“Not a single one.”

“That’s odd.”

“Its an abandoned mountain village in the middle of nowhere. They probably have no idea that it exists.”

“Do you plan to stay there a long time? This is your house, Saad, and you can come back whenever you want.”

“That’s difficult at the moment, Hasan. When I was living here, I use to help them with what little I could. I’m working with them now.”

“Are you going to stay with them for good?”

“Pray with me that this nightmare ends and the need for our work no longer exists. Maybe God will give guidance to the Ottoman Turks or the North Africans to launch the final campaign we’re all hoping for.”

“Do you really think that could happen, or are we deluding ourselves with the impossible?”

Saad took a deep breath and did not answer the question. “How did Umm Jaafar die, Hasan?”

Hasan spoke without elaborating, but when Saad insisted on hearing the details, Hasan told him everything.

“In the morning I’ll pay a visit to her grave, and then I’ll go and see Naeem and tell him I’m back.”

Hasan looked at him. He was just about to tell him about Naeem’s journey, but decided to put it off until the next day. “Go to your wife, Saad. We’ve spoken too long, and it’s getting late.”

In the morning, Hasan accompanied Saad to Umm Jaafar’s grave and they prayed for her soul. On their way back, Hasan broke the news about Naeem’s journey. He handed him Naeem’s letter that Saad read despondently and without uttering a word.

“Come with me. I want to show you that inn,” Hasan said.

On the way to the bank of the Darro River where the inn was located, Hasan told his brother-in-law all about it.

“Two members of the Tahir clan from Valencia bought this inn. They’re a big and influential family. They even say that a few years ago they were able to buy an innocent verdict for three of their younger members. They were accused by the Office of Inquisition of establishing contacts with the French and agitating a rebellion between the Arabs and the local citizens. They say that the plan was to distract the Aragonese officials in the event of a French invasion. The father and uncles of the three accused supposedly traveled to Madrid and Barcelona and contacted the Royal Court and the Supreme Council of the Office of Inquisition, and they paid large sums to secure the release of their sons.

“The point is that the two men who bought the inn are from this family, although they have no connection at all to the case of the three accused. Obviously they have a lot of clout since they were able to buy this inn and register it under their name despite the ban on buying land and buildings imposed on the Arabs residing within the province of Granada. These two men sent a messenger offering me the job of managing the inn. The messenger said that if I agreed, the two men would come personally to work out the details. So, what do you think?”

Saad inspected the place from every angle. They had just walked through a wooden gate across a corridor and into a rectangular open courtyard in the middle of which was a two-story stone structure. The courtyard was surrounded on three sides by protruding wood-latticed balconies, along which ran a wooden passageway that carried both the columns and the ceilings to the second story.

Directly to the right of the entrance was a spacious pen for the livestock, with a high covering on top and troughs for food and water running across it. Toward the left was a stone stairway that lead up to the wooden loge to which the guest rooms opened out. Hasan opened a door to a long rectangular room that accommodated a bed and a wood armoire. The room was lit by a square window that arched at the top.

“There are fifteen rooms on this story,” said Hasan, “five on each wing. On the lower level. there are ten rooms and a storeroom where the guests can deposit their belongings. On one side there’s the stable, and a large hall for a kitchen and dining area, as well as a place to keep a fire going during the winter. For summer nights there’s the open courtyard where we’ll lay out carpets and wooden sofas. What do you think?”

“I think it’s very nice, spacious, and can be put to good use. God help you with managing it. It’ll require the energy of many men to keep it going.”

“If I were made this offer before Naeem left, I would have kept him here to work with me. I also asked Abu Mansour to help me.”

“Will he be able?”

“He can, but he’s been drinking heavily lately. I asked him to work with me in the hope that he would have something to distract him from drinking,” answered Hasan. The two men left the inn and went to see Abu Mansour, but they didn’t find him at home.

Saad spent three days with Hasan and the family before slipping out in the dark of night to return to his village in the mountains. They all said their good-byes and Umm Hasan cried while Saleema stood ashen faced. He told them he would come back before the end of the summer, but ifhe were unable to do so, he would certainly be there in the fall to spend the feast of the end of Ramadan with them. As he was leaving the outskirts of Granada and on his way back to his companions, Saad thought about his intimate moments with Saleema, and the thought of his leaving weighed even more heavily on him. What he didn’t know was that he bid farewell to his wife leaving a part of himself, and months later he still didn’t know that the seed he left inside of her sprouted and grew into a black-eyed baby girl who resembled him, whom Saleema cuddled with great anxiety as she waited for her father’s return to tell him that his new name is “Abu Aysha.”

Despite a lingering anxiety over Saad’s absence that continued well beyond the end of the summer and even beyond the end of the following winter, Aysha’s birth brought a renewed joy to the household, filling it with the screams of a newborn and all the family fussing over her. The newest member of the family found more than the breast of one mother, but of many mothers who pampered her and showered her with affection. It wasn’t just Saleema, Maryama, and Umm Hasan who were consumed by caring for the baby. Hasan’s older daughters found in Aysha an infant on whom they could practice their early mothering skills, while his younger daughters found her to be something of a new and exciting toy to play with. Only Hisham found himself without any role in all of this. He was only five years older than the newborn, and he saw her merely as an unwelcome guest who was trying to usurp him of his throne of importance within the family. His father wouldn’t tolerate his attitude and scolded him often, adding insult to injury.