Solomon couldn’t help noticing the dwelling’s whitewashed walls, devoid of the intense colors decorating Arab interiors. He found the lack of a popular influence interesting, if not odd. Very little attention had been paid to the inside or the outside of the dwelling, a telling commentary on this qiyan’s approach to spirituality. The interior life given precedence over the material realm. He felt like he had entered a cloistered world.
Solomon knew that Christ had said: “The kingdom of heaven is within you.”
He also knew that the former Jewish prophet had shared a divine paradox, the other side of this equation: “The kingdom of the father is spread upon the earth and men do not see it.”
He sensed that this woman’s perspective contrasted with his own upbringing and the impetus to find God’s hand not only in the wings of angels but also in the prosaic world of everyday life. Had the Christians turned their backs on a more earthly spirituality. He decided he was better off returning to secular concerns.
“You said she failed to return home last night,” he began. “Did you notify anyone?”
“No, I trust her to know what is right for herself.”
“Think she spent the night with the Caliph’s nephew, Umar?”
“We’re cautious,” Sara told the investigator. “ It was unlike her to go with a man, even a member of the royal family,” She felt the weight of a guilty conscience, but it wasn’t a complete lie she rationalized. It just wasn’t the whole truth. She reasoned that she could come to terms with having committed a venial sin because it didn’t entail damnation of her soul.
“Perhaps her curiosity outweighed her caution.”
This comment drew no response.
Solomon began to wonder about the woman named Sara and her seeming lack of emotion regarding his inquiry; she appeared aloof and disengaged. Maybe she’s in a state of shock. He deliberated about how to proceed and concluded it might be best not to press her too hard.
He turned his attention back to a room furnished with only the barest essentials. A low couch and an armchair occupied the wall behind the entertainer. He waited for an invitation to sit. When it wasn’t forthcoming, Solomon continued looking around the apartment. His eyes discovered a table with a bowl of fruit, set back against the opposite wall, surrounded by three chairs. Did this signify an occasional visitor for prayer meetings or music practice or both. A plain wooden crucifix, devoid of the usual effigy of the redeemer, hung on a narrow wall between two bedrooms.
In one corner, he spied the most popular musical instrument of the Arab world, a pear-shaped, five stringed ‘ud with an angled headstock fixed atop a short, fretless neck, and a spruce body with three sound holes surrounded by intricate geometric designs. He knew that finely-crafted ‘uds like this one had originally possessed four strings. Finding himself strangely attracted to the Christian woman, he seized an opportunity to impress her with his knowledge and perhaps open her mind to his inquiries.
“Did you know that Ziryab brought the five-stringed ‘ud from Bagdad a century ago?”
“Every dedicated musician knows Blackbird’s contribution,” Sara retorted.
Her words were delivered like a slap to the face.
Solomon quietly studied his new acquaintance. Too bad she isn’t more friendly. At least she knows the courtier’s nickname. He wished they’d met under more favorable circumstances. Given their vastly different worlds, they probably wouldn’t have met at all if Umar was still breathing. Should he tell her he was glad that Ziryab had introduced the idea of multi-course meals to Andalusia as well as the use of toothpaste and deodorant. No, he didn’t want to sound pedantic.
“We’re musicians and dancers . . .a breed apart,” Sara tried to explain. “You probably wouldn’t understand.”
Solomon had always admired those who made a living using their artistic talents. He knew from firsthand experience the sacrifices it required to make this dream a reality. He’d tried himself and failed many times with his poetry.
“I might understand what you’re speaking of,” he revealed to her in the quietest of tones. “I make my living as a translator, but my passion is writing poetry.”
“I see,” she said, her voice softening. “So why are you investigating a murder?”
“It’s a long story,” he told her. “I’m afraid I don’t have time to explain.”
Solomon watched as she bit down on a fingernail, caught herself engaged in this nervous habit, and then lowered her hand self-consciously to her side. He felt a part of her wanted to aid in the investigation, another part seemed to be wary of him. He sensed her reluctance but continued the questioning.
“Tell me about her. . . this Galician woman.”
“She called herself La Gallega. She possessed the voice of an angel and always sang one or two songs in her native Galician tongue.“
“I’ve heard they were haunting.”
“She transported her audiences to another realm.”
She may have transported Umar to another realm, he reflected. Only not with her voice. La Gallega still felt more like an apparition than a flesh and blood person to Solomon’s way of thinking. This is all too vague, he told himself. He was hoping to discover something out of the ordinary, a distinguishing detail that set the Galician woman apart from all others. So far he hadn’t had much luck and he felt frustrated by his lack of progress.
Solomon decided to change his approach.
Time to dig deeper.
“I need a name,” Solomon said as he stepped in closer to the Mozarab woman. His eyes locked on hers and he refused to look away. He knew that she might interpret his behavior as mean-spirited, but he needed answers to help give impetus to his investigation.
“Her name is Lia.”
”How would you describe . . . Lia?”
“She’s somewhat melancholy. There’s a sadness about her . . . she really missed her family farm in Galicia.”
“l need a physical description as well.”
“I don’t know. She’s average height with red hair and green eyes.”
The red hair might help, he thought.
“Anything else?” he asked curtly. “Did she have a distinctive birthmark or something?”
Surprised at the sudden change in Solomon’s demeanor, Sara clenched her teeth. Had she said or done something to upset him. It seemed like he was angry with her. She decided to do her best to cooperate with the investigator. His last question had served as a reminder, triggering something in the young woman’s memory of her roommate. This gave her the opportunity she desired.
“Actually, there is something,” Sara offered as she stepped in closer to shorten the distance between them. Trying to overcome her fears, she looked up into the investigator’s eyes. “Lia has a discolored area, a splatter of purple on her left forearm.”
Solomon witnessed Sara begin to bite one of her fingernails again. She caught him staring and quickly dropped the hand to her side before sharing her thoughts: “If she killed Umar, I’m sure she had a good reason.”
“I need to find her so I can discover what that reason might’ve been.”
“She wore a ring with a black stone,” Sara volunteered. “She told me it wasn’t really a
precious gemstone. Some kind of wood or . . . I don’t know.”
“Sounds like jet lignite. It’s called it Azzabáğ in Arabic,” he told her before elaborating. “Basically a form of decayed wood, a minor gemstone. It’s been around for thousands of years.”
The Galician woman can remove the ring from her finger so the black stone isn’t much help. Solomon caught Sara glancing at him for a brief moment before she lowered her eyes. She seemed afraid to look him in the eye now and this made him wonder if she might be hiding something from him. Give him a little bit of information, but hide the most relevant details.
“What else can you tell me?”
“Lia used that word, Azzabáğ. She learned Arabic quickly. It’s because she’s a musician and a singer. . .she h
as an excellent ear for language. . .and, she certainly had the desire.. . she wanted to save her family farm. That’s the reason she left Galicia and came to work here in Córdoba.”
“Mind if I have a look inside of the bedrooms?”
“Yes, I do!” she exclaimed before hurrying over to plant herself firmly in the middle of a doorway.
The negative response stunned Solomon. After getting over the initial shock, he wondered if her protest was based upon his impending invasion of her privacy or if maybe there was something she was trying to prevent him from seeing.
“I’m afraid you don’t understand,” he explained, softening his tone. “I’m conducting a murder investigation.”
“This is our home,” she asserted. Sara felt this stranger had gone too far. His demands for information were becoming unreasonable.
“I’m sorry, but I have to insist.”
Sara suspected that he wasn’t sorry at all.
She reluctantly made way for him and then followed him into one of the two bedrooms. Solomon chewed on the fragments of the shredded clove as he began to look around the room.
“This is my room,” she told him.
Not the room he wanted to inspect, but he decided to appear interested. A half-burnt candle lay upon the nightstand next to a single bed, little more than a wooden frame and straw mattress covered with a linen bedspread. He assumed the three-drawer dresser contained her clothing as well as personal articles. He felt like he’d entered a cloistered cell whose simplicity bordered on austerity. Solomon continued looking around and discovered two embroidered silk tunics. They were folded neatly and placed on top of an unadorned footstool.
He turned and found her staring at him.
“The silk tunics are used in our performances.”
All of their money goes into costumes and musical instruments, he observed. No wonder they live in such poor circumstances.
“I’d like to see the other bedroom.”
Solomon slipped the spent clove into his pocket and followed Sara into the sleeping quarters of the Galician woman. He still didn’t think of La Gallega as Lia. That seemed much too personal for a woman he hadn’t yet met. Although the second bedroom was much like the first, he observed only one of the exquisite silk costumes. It lie folded on a footstool identical to the one in Sara’s bedroom. He considered the second costume and wondered why it might be missing.
“Did you carry a change of clothes to use after your performances?” he asked.
“Yes., she replied. “ Our costumes are very costly so we have to take good care of them.”
The Galician woman might’ve changed before disappearing, he surmised. He made a mental note of this possibility. He’d write it down later so he wouldn’t forget. Solomon took the lead and left the bedroom since it offered no additional clues to aid in his investigation,.
Back inside the living room, he turned to face her:
“Is there anything else?” he implored. “Please.”
Solomon didn’t like pleading with a stranger, but he didn’t have much to go on.
Sara stood before him with arms spread out wide as her body assumed the form of a cross.
“What’re you doing?”
She closed her eyes and mumbled something unintelligible under her breath.
“What’re you doing?” he asked again.
She didn’t bother looking at him when delivering her answer: “I’m saying a prayer for Lia.”
Is she, he wondered. He studied her posture. She remained almost motionless except for her mutterings. So this is the stance Christians assume when they pray. Nothing like Muslims, who get down on their knees to prostrate themselves before Allah. Certainly not like us Jews, swaying back and forth if at all.
“Nothing else you can tell me?”
Sara finished her prayer before dropping her arms and answering.
“That night, before we went on stage, she said she was expecting a visit from a man.”
“A man?”
“She said he was very dear to her.”
A new scenario unfolded and it made perfect sense to the investigator. The Galician woman killed Umar and then her lover, or former lover, helped her to escape. Or, her lover killed Umar and then the two escaped together.
How plausible, yet it seemed unlikely.
What the hell is going on, he asked himself.
Even though Solomon had his back turned to her, he felt Sara’s eyes studying him. He turned around quickly in order to put his intuition to the test. His eyes met hers for an instant before she turned away in embarrassment. Since the time he was a young boy, his mother had sworn he had eyes in the back of his head. This was her way of explaining how he sometimes knew things without knowing how he knew them. His mother claimed he possessed a gift. Solomon sometimes knew the world without seeing it. His mother called this a sixth sense.
As he watched Sara brooding, he felt some mysterious form of attractiveness beyond religion, ethnicity, or culture exerting a strong magnetic force. Biology overcoming surface inhibitions. He found himself liking this woman. He didn’t know why. He suspected that she felt some kind of fascination as well.
“Why don’t we sit down” she said, offering the invitation he’d been expecting earlier.
She led him to the couch before sitting down in one corner. Solomon sat in the opposite corner. They turned to face one another.
“I’m sorry. That was rude of me to refuse your request,” she said.
“I guess I was a bit harsh earlier,” he admitted.
“Lia felt homesick. I think that’s the key to her disappearance,” Sara said offering an opinion as well as a smile. She seemed more sure of herself as she moved over closer on the couch while directing her gaze into Solomon’s eyes. The nervousness in her voice had also vanished, her tone almost soothing as he attempted to gauge her responses to his questions. The effect was almost hypnotic. She is an entertainer, he reminded himself.
“You think that could’ve led to such a drastic act?” he asked, his voice suggesting uncertainty. “Maybe she became a bit unbalanced?”
“I don’t honestly know,” she admitted. “For Galicians the longing for home is a kind of sickness.”
He appreciated Sara’s helping him in his attempts to understand her roommate’s personality, but missing a distant homeland seemed a thin motive. Not the kind of pressure leading to an act of passion. There had to be more to it.
“Do you think her naivety led her to believe Umar would lavish gifts upon her? The reward for a private concert, for merely singing and nothing more?” he inquired. “Maybe he lured her to his apartment by pretending to accept the arrangement before. . . “
Solomon paused.
“Before?” she asked.
“Before he had his way with her,” he replied, remembering how the dead man’s brother had described his intentions.
“I don’t know. I suppose it’s possible,” lamented Sara, cringing at the idea of such a thing happening to her unsuspecting roommate.
Of course it’s possible, he thought. She might’ve been quite naive or perhaps really desperate. Although he wanted to stay and talk more with this young woman, Solomon suspected questioning Sara further would yield little in the way of a motive or new information. There were possible clues: the splotch of purple, the missing costume, and the person dear to her.
“I’d better go now,” he said as he rose from the couch. ”Thank you for your cooperation, Sara. I really appreciate your help.”
Solomon made for the front door and discovered she’d followed behind.
Sara stepped in closer, surprising him.
She gazed up into his eyes while gently caressing his forearm with her fingers, brushing it ever so lightly. He hadn’t seen it coming. So much for a sixth sense that wasn’t always functional. He had no trouble settling for five in this instance. And then he wondered if she was conscious of what she had just done.
Her unexpected gesture led to a brief epiphany as So
lomon realized how the sense of touch can be the most compassionate of all. He began to understand how one can imagine all sorts of things about a person they don’t know well, traits that they may or may not have perceived accurately; but, if that same person touched you their warmth conveyed itself directly through the body to the soul.
Solomon had no clue what Sara might be thinking of him, but her gentle touch felt like an enticing hint of things to come. Then again, he might be imagining a scenario that had no basis in reality, conjuring up a future that would never come to pass. He wondered what she’d think about his library and his poetry, but he’d had given up trying to impress her.
“Be careful,” she counseled.
“I shall. . .”
She’s quite the enigma, he thought. Perhaps she knew something he didn’t. Something she hadn’t shared with him. Something she was afraid to tell him. He didn’t expect to find out what it might be. The time had come for him to leave. Solomon wondered if he’d ever see this woman again as he stepped outside into the bright sunlight and the woman named Sara closed the door behind him.
Chapter 10
Solomon had one more stop to make before he returned home to review in his mind what he’d learned and to write up some notes. He’d return to al-Zahra, in the morning, to make his report to Hasdai. He hoped that those investigating other leads had fared better than himself. If he were to venture a guess it would be that the brother or the widow were somehow involved in Umar’s murder, but he possessed no solid proof to back up his assumption.
His route took him back into the old walled city and led him to a long established neighborhood bordering the Juderia. Beyond patio gates, two-storied, white-washed houses rose up below red-tiled rooftops. Many of the well-cared for homes belonged to families who’d inherited them, passed down for generations dating back to the very beginnings of Córdoba.
Everybody knew where ibn Hafsun lived. He was one of Córdoba’s wealthiest citizens. Solomon arrived at his destination and found the gate unlocked. He entered, closed the gate, and walked past a gurgling courtyard fountain. The sound of water added a soothing background ambience, one the investigator sorely lacked at his own place of residence. One that he never failed to appreciate.
The Galician Woman Page 7