Radwa Ashour - Granada

Hasan took a seat with some men he didn’t know and joined them for a drink. His eyes were fixed on one of the three women. She was tall and full-figured, and her dress revealed her upper chest and arms. Her thick, wavy, black hair fell across her half-naked shoulders. When she got close to him, he began to trifle with her. When she set her wide, kohl-stained eyes on him, he told her how captivating they were. She laughed heartily and her laughter was music to his ears. When she finished her song, he pulled out a chair for her next to him. She sat down, and they ate and drank together. Then she invited him to her room. He followed her, leaving behind him his worries and his usual shyness with people he didn’t know.

Back in her cavelike room, she brought him some more wine. He drank and laughed until the tears rolled down his cheeks. She flirted with him, and he flirted back with a boldness he never knew he had. She took off all her clothes and stood naked before him. Her body was hot and sumptuous, and it took his breath away. He ran his fingers all over her body, from the tips of her shoulders to the bottom of her legs. He pressed his face against hers, kissing and softly nibbling on it with his lips. She purred like a wild cat, arousing him with uncontrollable lust. He guided her over to the bed and covered her with his body as the fires of passion ignited inside him.

When their desire was appeased, they lay wrapped in a repose as though they were the first creation at the beginning of time. There wasn’t a sound or an echo, nothing old, nothing new, no recollection or memory, nothing except the mixture of orange and green. There was nothing but a silver liquid, a water or a sky, where the clouds touch. One cloud had released its water, but others were full and promising more.

In the morning he couldn’t remember how many times he had made love to her. The only things he found were her scent and some of her clothes strewn across the room. He got dressed quickly and headed out toward the road. He sneaked into the house. When his mother caught sight of him, she ran to him and asked him the reason for his absence. She was pale and her eyes were red and puffy. “We said to ourselves, something bad must have happened to him. Maryama’s been out since dusk asking about you all over the place.”

He raised his voice and berated her. Then Saleema came out and spoke to him harshly. “Thank God nothing horrible has happened to you. Next time you intend on staying out all night, let us know so that we don’t stay up worrying ourselves sick, only to have you greet us in the morning with shouting and rebuking.”

He felt ashamed at what she said and he didn’t say a word. He went inside and doused his head in a basin of cold water. He asked his mother to heat him some water to take a bath.

Soon thereafter, Maryama and Saleema, reassured of Hasan’s safety, went back to whatever was keeping them busy. But Umm Hasan spent the better part of her days and nights thinking about Hasan’s absence. She had asked him openly about it, but he never gave her a straight answer. She wondered if he took a second wife. And if he indeed had, why would he keep it a secret from his own mother? She would certainly understand and sympathize with how much he has to put up with that miserable Maryama who annoys him with her constant whining about her mother and brothers who disappeared, and with her ceaseless nagging for marrying her daughters to strangers who took them away where she can never see them.

Whenever Umm Hasan complained about Maryama and displayed her annoyance over her shortcomings, Umm Jaafar, God rest her soul, used to say, “Be patient, Zaynab, she’s still a young girl with no experience. She’ll grow up and learn.” But here she was now grown up and still hadn’t learned, and Umm Hasan had to interfere in every matter, big or small, to set her straight. She tells her, “The children prefer this dish, not that one,” or “They like it cooked this way, not that way.” When she finally had had enough, Umm Hasan threw up her hands and vowed never to set foot in the kitchen again. “Let’s see what this daughter of a drummer will do,” she said to herself. But only a few weeks later she discovered that this was precisely what Maryama had wanted all along. She wanted to banish her from the kitchen and take sole charge of it, as though she inherited it from her father. Umm Hasan was convinced that her daughter-in-law was the kind of woman known for her cunning and tricks. She quickly changed her mind and went back into the kitchen so that the drummer’s daughter wouldn’t get the best of her. Hasan would be totally justified if he did take a second wife because he had had no luck at all with the first. But then Umm Hasan realized that they were all Christians on paper and that Hasan couldn’t have a second wife, that he would have to divorce the first to marry the second, but that divorce wasn’t easy, and most likely it wasn’t possible. Poor Hasan, she thought, without a wife to make him happy, and no way to make himself happy. Maryama interrupted Umm Hasan’s thoughts when she suddenly walked into her room, carrying a basket.

“Look at this fish, Umm Hasan. I bought it this morning at the market. It’s very fresh. The fishmonger swore that he just brought it in from the shore.”

Umm Hasan looked into the basket and saw the glimmering silvery and reddish fish. She picked up one of them and examined its eyes and gills. She squeezed the head gently. “He wasn’t lying. It’s nice and fresh.”

“The children and Hasan and Saleema say that nobody prepares fish the way you do. So, what do you say, will you cook it for us today?” asked Maryama with a smile.

“Why don’t you cook it yourself?”

“Because they prefer the way you do it!”

Umm Hasan let out a sigh and stood up, feigning annoyance, to prepare the fish. Maryama followed her into the kitchen with the basket and then announced to her that she was going to the souk with Saleema and they would be back later. “We may be a little late if we have to go to more than one druggist to find what Saleema’s looking for.”

Maryama and Saleema went out of the house and walked to the square next to the Church of San Salvador where a cart and driver were waiting for them as prearranged. They exchanged greetings and the two woman got into the cart. Ever since the edict demanding that all Arabic books be turned over for inspection was announced, the thought of being investigated terrified Saleema. She knew full well that “inspecting books” meant confiscation, and that Hasan would comply with the new decrees. She also knew that any attempt to persuade him would end in failure.

“What can we do, Maryama?”

“Let’s hide the books.”

“How?”

“Let me think about it.” Maryama spent night and day until she thought of a solution and proposed it to Saleema. “Let’s go to Ainadamar and remove the books. When Hasan insists on turning them in, you can tell him that you sold them. He won’t believe you and when he comes to get them, he won’t find them. He’ll blow up in anger, but then he’ll calm down.”

“But where will we take the books?”

“To this house.”

“Here? How?”

Maryama had it all planned in her mind. She laid it out to Saleema, starting with buying the fish and coaxing Umm Hasan into cooking it, and ending with bringing in the books without arousing any suspicion.

They went to Ainadamar and put the books into five sacks. They tied them up tightly, and the driver helped them put the sacks onto the cart. They got on and returned to Albaicin.

Maryama went into the house first and passed by the kitchen. She found Umm Hasan standing in front of the stove with a large frying pan and the splattering hot oil. She was just starting to fry the fish when Maryama popped her head in, greeted her, and left her in peace. Then she gathered all the children together and asked her oldest daughter to tell them a story. “I bought some sweets,” she told them. “If you sit quietly and listen to the story, I’ll give you some.” Then she rushed off toward the front gate of the house and gave a hand to Saleema and the driver in carrying the sacks into the house. They paid the driver and he left. Then they moved the books, one sack at a time, into Maryama’s room.