Amin Maalouf - Leo Africanus

‘… except for those who are incapable, men, women and children, who have no means at their disposal and for whom no way is open, to them God can grant absolution, He is the Lord of absolution, the Lord of forgiveness.’

Sa‘d hastened to add:

‘He has spoken the truth, Almighty God.’

Astaghfirullah did not deny the obvious:

‘God is good and his patience is limitless. He does not ask the same things from those who can and those who cannot. If you wish to obey Him by emigrating, but find that you cannot, He knows to read in your heart and to judge you for your intentions. He will not condemn you to hell, but your own hell could well be on this earth and in this land. Your hell will be the daily humiliation for you and the women of your family.’

Suddenly pressing the palms of his hands on the warm ground he turned his whole body round towards my father and then towards the barber, looking at them fixedly:

‘And you, Muhammad? and you, Hamza? Are you also poor and ill? Are you not important people, prominent in the community? What excuse do you have for not obeying the commandments of Islam? Do not hope for pardon or forgiveness if you follow the path of Yahya the renegade, for the Most High is demanding towards those on whom He has showered his blessings.’

The two men, both exceedingly embarrassed, swore that they had no intention of remaining for ever in the land of the infidels, and that they desired only to regulate their affairs so as to depart in good order.

‘Woe to him who trades paradise for earthly things!’ cried Astaghfirullah, while the deliverer, not wanting to attack Muhammad, whom he knew to be in a tense state of mind and capable of foolishness, addressed the two recalcitrants in a fatherly way:

‘Since it has fallen into the hands of the infidels, this city has become a place of infamy for us all. It is a prison, and its door is being slowly closed again. Why not take advantage of this last chance to escape?’

Neither the curses of the preacher nor the remonstrations of the deliverer persuaded my father to leave his city. The day after their meeting, he went to Hamid’s house asking for news of his beloved. Salma suffered in silence and hoped for exile.

‘We were already experiencing,’ she said, ‘the first of the summer heat, but in the gardens of Granada there were few strollers and the flowers had no radiance. The finest houses of the city had been emptied, the shops in the suqs did not display their wares; there was no more hubbub in the streets, even in the poorer quarters. In the public places the Castilian soldiers rubbed shoulders only with beggars, since all the Muslims who valued their honour and had not left were ashamed of exposing themselves to view.’

And she added in a voice full of grief:

‘When one disobeys the Most High, it is better to do so in secret, because to strut about with one’s sin is to sin twofold.’

She repeated this constantly to my father without managing to shake him.

‘The only eyes which see me in the streets of Granada belong to those who have not departed. How can they dare to reproach me?’

Furthermore, he contended, his dearest wish was to distance himself from this city where his honour as a man had been held to ridicule; but he would not flee like a jackal. He would leave with head high and a disdainful air.

Soon came Dhu’l-Qa‘da, the penultimate month of the year, and it was Hamza’s turn to take to the road; urged on by his old mother the midwife, who bombarded him with her lamentations, accusing him of wanting to drag his whole family down to Gehenna, he left without selling his lands, promising to come back by himself in a few months to find a buyer. For Astaghfirullah too the hour of exile had come; he took with him neither gold nor clothing, only a Qur’an and provisions for the journey.

‘Then came Dhu’l-Hijja; the sky became more clouded over and the nights cooler. Your father still persisted obstinately, passing his days between the deliverer and the Genoese, returning in the evenings either exhausted or over-excited, worried or serene, but with never a word about our departure. Then all at once, less than two weeks before the new year, he was possessed by a disconcerting feverishness; he had to go immediately, he had to be in Almeria in three days. Why Almeria? Were there no ports closer at hand, such as Adra, from which Boabdil had embarked, or La Rabita, or Salobrena, or Almunecar? No, it had to be Almeria, and we had to get there in three days. The evening before our departure, Hamid came to wish us a good journey, and I understood that he was privy to Muhammad’s high spirits. I asked him if he too would emigrate. “No”, he replied, “I shall not go until the release of the last Muslim from captivity.” ’

Salma replied:

‘You risk having to stay in the land of the infidel for a long time yet!’

The deliverer smiled enigmatically, but not without an air of melancholy:

‘Sometimes it is necessary to disobey the Most High to obey Him more effectively,’ he murmured, as if only speaking to himself — or perhaps directly to his Creator.

We left the next day before the dawn prayer, my father on horseback, my mother and myself on a mule, our baggage distributed on the backs of five other animals. Near the Najd Gate on the southern side of the city we joined several dozen other travellers, with whom we journeyed the better to ensure our safety. There were many bandits in the neighbourhood of the city and in the mountain passes, because everyone knew that great wealth was constantly being brought down to the coast.

The great confusion which prevailed in the port of Almeria left an indelible impression on my childish eyes. Like ourselves, many people seemed to have decided to leave at the last moment, and they crowded together to take the smallest boat by storm. Here and there a few Castilian soldiers attempted to calm down troublesome mischief-makers by shouting threats at them; others checked the contents of a trunk with greedy eyes. It had been agreed that the emigrants could take all their property with them without restriction, but it was often not unhelpful to leave a piece of gold between the fingers of an over-zealous officer. On the beach, business was in full swing, the owners of the boats being subjected to endless sermons on the fate which God reserves for those who profit from the misfortunes of the Muslims, apparently to no effect, since the fares for the crossing continued to increase by the hour. The lure of gain lulls consciences to sleep, and moments of panic are not the most opportune for arousing generosity. Resignedly, the men emptied their purses and signalled to their families to make haste. Once on board, they did their best to keep their wives and daughters from being exposed to promiscuous encounters, a difficult task when three hundred people were stuffed into a small galley which had never carried more than a hundred.

When we arrived my father refused to mix with the crowd. From the back of his horse he surveyed the scene around the port, before making for a little wooden cabin, at the doorway of which a well-dressed man welcomed him eagerly. We followed him at a distance; he signalled to us to come closer. A few minutes later we were seated comfortably on top of our luggage in an empty galley on which we had embarked by means of a gangway which was drawn up behind us. The man, who was none other than Hamid’s brother, was the director of customs of Almeria, a post which the Castilians had not yet taken away from him. The little boat belonged to him, and it would not be taking on passengers until the next day. My mother gave my father and myself a piece of ginger to chew to prevent sea-sickness, and she herself took a large chunk. Soon night fell and we all went to sleep, after having eaten several meatballs which our host had had brought to us.