Radwa Ashour - Granada

“My husband, may God give him a long life and good health, is so good to me. He doesn’t deprive me of anything. The only problem is that his sister doesn’t like me or my children, and never wishes us well. But thank God for punishing her for her jealous heart and rewarding me for my kind heart. The officials at the Office of Inquisition arrested her, but for the life of me I have no idea what evil she conspired.”

“Since she’s an evil person, there’s no doubt she committed acts punishable by law.”

“That’s what’s bothering me. If only I knew exactly what she did so that I could tell my husband and he’ll know the truth about his sister. And then he’ll realize that in all my quarrels with her I was the victim and she was the troublemaker. Of course when she’s released after the investigation, she’ll claim they erroneously arrested her thinking she was some other woman, and she’ll insist on her innocence.”

The woman didn’t seem at all interested in this part of the conversation. She asked Maryama if she was going to buy some eggplant.

Maryama let out a sigh. “I think I’ll buy… but my sister-in-law is on my mind. Do you have any relatives or neighbors who work at the Inquisition?”

“My husband works there!”

Maryama stood dumbfounded as she tried to crack a smile of joy. “How lucky I am, for sure! Your husband will be able to find out why they arrested Saleema, and when I tell my husband why, he’ll begin to believe me over his sister.”

“I’ll ask him, but what do you think of these olives? Are you going to buy some?”

“Don’t bother. I’ll bring you some much better than these. My husband has some olive trees that have the best olives. When you bring me the news, I’ll bring you a couple of containers of olives.”

At their next meeting, Maryama’s heart sank in dreaded fear when she saw the gloating look on the woman’s face when asked about Saleema.

“I brought you news worth a whole tree of olives,” exclaimed the woman. “Tell your husband that his sister is a witch who practices her evil craft on living human beings. My husband tells me that they’re using the most extreme measures of torture on her to extract a confession, but so far she hasn’t confessed. That only proves the devil is living inside of her and helping her.”

Maryama’s face grew sullen, her eyes swerved, and her head spun so violently that she looked as though she was on the verge of fainting.

“What’s wrong?” asked the woman. “Are you feeling sorry for her?”

Maryama stammered before she was able to catch her breath. “Not at all! I was just frightened by the thought that she could scheme to poison me and my children, but…”

“But what?”

“But I just don’t think she’s a witch. I lived with her for many years, and I’ve never seen her leave the house at night. Tell your husband they’re mistaken. Tell him that the Office of Inquisition must know her real crime, that perhaps she stole something that wasn’t hers, or she told lies about some people. She is a liar and she only cares about herself. But she’s not a witch!”

The Castilian woman put her arms around Maryama. “You shouldn’t be so kind. You told me how nasty she was with you, and now God is punishing her with what she deserves. Don’t worry about her. Let’s go finish our shopping.”

Maryama excused herself from walking through the market on the pretext she forgot her money at home.

“I’ll go back home.”

“And the olives?”

“What olives?”

“The olives you promised me?”

“I’ll bring them next week.”

Saleema was ordered to enter the main hall by walking in backwards. This was not the only unnatural act to which she was subjected since they carried her off two days before.

She looked around and saw them. There were four men staring at her with scrutinizing eyes. Three of them were seated side by side behind a black lacquered table directly in front of her. In a corner at somewhat of a distance sat the fourth, with an inkwell and a stack of paper in front of him, and a feather pen in hand. One of the men sitting behind the table cleared his throat. He was old and had a wrinkled face. He tilted his head slightly backward and folded his hands. Saleema noticed the thick brown blotches on the back of his ivory hands. He cleared his throat again, and the scribe dipped his feather into the inkwell to record what the old man was about to dictate.

“In the name of the Father, Amen.

“In the year of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ 1527, on the fifteenth day of the month of May, in the presence of we the undersigned, Antonio Agapida, presiding judge of the Office of Inquisition, and Alonso Madera and Miguel Aguilar, investigators of the Office of Inquisition. This investigation commenced when it was called to our attention that Gloria Alvarez, formerly known as Saleema bint Jaafar, engages in the practice of black magic, and accumulates in her residence suspicious and alarming quantities of seeds, plants, and potions that she uses to cause injury to people, and that…”

Saleema had to listen very carefully so that she could understand everything that was being recited in Spanish, especially with the loud scratching sound of the pen as it recorded frantically what was being dictated.

“… and that she, by perpetrating these crimes, threatens the Catholic Church and the security of the state.”

The judge beckoned her with his index finger to come forward. He squinted his eyes to the point that they seemed to disappear beneath their puffy lids. She approached the table. He asked her to put her hand on the Bible that was set in front of her and to swear to tell the whole truth about herself and others as well. She did as she was told.

The judge continued his dictation and the scribe continued to write.

“Having asked the accused to take an oath and swear on the Holy Bible, we directed to her the following questions:

— Your name?

— Gloria Alvarez after my baptism. Before, Saleema bint Jaafar.

— Where do you live?

— In Albaicin.

— What are the names of your parents and are they still alive?

— My father is Jaafar Ibn Abi Jaafar, the Paper Maker. He died before the Castilian conquest of Granada. My mother is Umm Hasan before baptism, and after Maria Blanca. She is still alive.

— Have any of your relatives ever been tried for practicing sorcery?

— No.

— Are you married?

— Yes.

— What is the name of your husband?

— Carlos Manuel after baptism. Saad al-Malaqi before.

— Where is your husband?

— I do not know.

— What does that mean?

— We had a quarrel, he got angry with me, and he left home. I don’t know where he went.”

The three inquisitors exchanged glances that bewildered Saleema; she was sure she had given them the wrong answer. She got a lump in her throat and slowly released the deep breath that had been lodged in her chest.

— When did you husband leave home?

— A few years ago.

— How many, to be exact?

— Approximately six years ago.

— Do you have children?

— Yes.

— How many?

— One daughter.

— What’s her name, and how old is she?

— Her name is Esperanza, and she’s three years old.

— Didn’t you say that your husband abandoned you six years ago?

— He came back one time. We patched things up, but then he left again.

Once again the inquisitors exchanged glances, and this time she was startled by a leering look in the eye of the younger one who was sitting to the right of the judge. She also noticed a smirk on the scribe’s face as he bared his front teeth.