The Galician Woman

by William Mesusan

  Solomon looked into luminous green eyes.

  Lia didn't look afraid and he discerned a fiercely independent nature. On one of her fingers, he found the ring made of jet lignite. The oblong black stone, mounted in a gold setting, looked well-worn and natural on the second finger of Lia's right hand. He observed no telltale trace of lighter skin on any of the other fingers, but he couldn't rule out the possibility she'd worn another ring.

  He removed a leather pouch from his coat pocket, loosened the drawstring, and extracted something from inside. "Please," he implored, as he took her hand and tried to slide the gold ring on one of her fingers with no success. She watched him carefully as he struggled to fit it on her other fingers to no avail. His attempts brought them into close physical proximity, so close he could smell her blouse and the skin beneath. He searched for an accurate word to describe her scent and settled for herbaceous.

  "Have you seen this ring before?" he asked, choosing to conduct his inquiry in Arabic although he suspected she might speak Latin as well as Galician.

  Their eyes met again, his probing for an honest answer.

  "Never," she replied without hesitation.

  Solomon believed she'd spoken the truth.

  He returned the ring to safe keeping, but there was something else inside the pouch. He took it out and once again she watched him closely. He unfolded a quadrant of paper.

  "However, this does belong to you." Solomon insisted as he removed a strand of hair from its wrapping. He held it up so she could examine its length and color. He then placed it next to her own and compared the color and texture to its luxuriant source. She drew away from him, but her eyes held his gaze.

  "You can see for yourself."

  Solomon was attracted by her voice, a warm, engaging tone with a rhythm pleasantly altered by a slight but somewhat evident Galician accent. If this is her speaking voice, her singing voice must sound divine. She transported her audiences to another dimension. Isn't that what Sara had told him before his mind came up with that terrible pun he hadn't dared to share with her.

  “I spoke with your roommate, Sara."

  Lia's expressive eyes registered surprised.

  "You spoke with Sara." she repeated as her voice softened.

  "It was part of my preliminary investigation," he told her. "She's concerned about your welfare. She believes you returned to Galicia because you were homesick."

  "I miss Sara so much," she sighed.

  Solomon felt like he was beginning to lose the tread of his inquiry. As much as he appreciated Lia's sentiment, it was time to get down to business. He needed answers that had thus far eluded him. Only then could he decide how to proceed, whether it would be necessary to take her back with him to Andalusia so as Hasdai had phrased it "justice might be served."

  "You spent time alone with Umar at his apartment."

  "I've never denied it." she said defiantly.

  "I'm not your enemy," he asserted. "Not even your accuser. I simply need to discover the truth about Umar's death."

  "Umar's dead?"

  Solomon saw a look of horror in her eyes as they widened in response to the unintended revelation.

  "You didn't know he was dead?"

  Lia didn't answer. Her expression turned grave as she reflected upon the news. She retreated inside of herself, withdrawing her emotions to some hidden interior place. The investigator felt confused by her answers so he decided to press on.

  "You admit spending time with Umar."

  She refused to answer.

  Solomon realized he had unintentionally opened a deep wound. As he stood in the shadows of the barn, her eyes pierced straight through him: his ignorance, his stupidity, and his arrogance. He felt naked, exposed in a way no clothing could conceal.

  "Do you enjoy this type of work," she asked.

  "What?"

  "I asked if preying upon the vulnerable gives you satisfaction."

  You can hardly consider your brother vulnerable, he thought to himself. She had turned the tables on Solomon. He'd gone from being the interviewer to the one being questioned. What was she hoping to accomplish, he wondered.

  "I'm a professional translator," Solomon answered. "I was sent to Galicia to find you because I understand Latin. I derive little pleasure from this assignment, but the future of the Caliphate may be at risk."

  "Because of me?"

  He didn't know the answer to that question.

  "I can help you." he told her

  "No, you cannot."

  There was a long, uncomfortable silence. Solomon waited, but his sincere and generous offer had been refused. He couldn't think of anything more to say. He sensed their conversation was finished and she'd answer no more of his questions, but he found himself respecting her resolute individuality. Only now, the investigator felt helpless, unable to press ahead with his inquiries.

  Grey clouds filled the sky and raindrops began to sprinkle down on them. Preoccupied with her own thoughts, Lia didn't seem to notice. Maybe she just didn't care. She didn't look up at him. Her downcast eyes found a place of refuge on the earth below.

  Solomon wanted so badly to help this Galician woman, but he wasn't sure what to do or what to say. He tugged gently on the rope fastened around her wrists and then he took her cupped hands into his own and led her back inside the farmhouse.

  Chapter 27

  A light rain continued to fall as the musty smell of wet earth wafted in through the open door of a stone farmhouse divided at ground level into two rooms. The spacious main area housed a kitchen and eating space. An aromatic fire burned in the hearth at the far end of this room. The second room, partitioned with a stacked and mortared grey granite wall, contained a closed doorway leading into the barn.

  There was a wooden stairway and Solomon guessed it led upstairs to sleeping quarters.

  A clean, slate floor worn down from decades of use, and a ceiling above their heads mimicking the barns, provided unpretentious living. Within these walls, the three outsiders found the simple oneness of things ordered. Cooking implements hung down from a rack suspended off an open wooden beam. A long, roughhewn rectangular table, surrounded by half a dozen chairs, had yet to be set. Ceramic goblets and plates were stacked neatly on a rustic-looking pinewood sideboard, plank cut, knots and all.

  The three inhabitants sat at the table, the man at one end and the sisters side by side, while Jalal kept his eyes trained on them. Solomon stood with the excommunicated priest as they warmed themselves by a fire which not only heated this dwelling, but also ensured a different type of sustenance. Hanging over low flames, an iron kettle released a steamy, savory aroma into the farmhouse.

  The fire seemed deficient to Solomon as its heat only extended out a few feet into the room at best. A couple of lit candles notwithstanding, the farmhouse felt dark and cold and dreary. And this was the end of May. He could only wonder what it would be like during the winter months. No wonder these people suffered from melancholia. The investigator found himself aching for the warmth of the Andalusian sun.

  There they were, six bewildered souls huddled together like a bunch of lost lambs, nobody knowing what to do or what to say. Sabela broke the hex when she rose from the table and went to the fire. She carried a ladle and pushed her way in between Solomon and Vitor to taste a soup.

  Lia soon joined her, nudging the men aside as the two women reclaimed their birthright.

  Sabela offered her sister a sip, holding the ladle steady as her bound sibling slurped some soup between her lips. Lia whispered something into her sister's ear before the two of them returned to the table.

  The day wore on as did the rain. The captors and their prisoners spent what felt like an eternity fending off the discomfort and monotony of a long and uneventful afternoon. Vitor stood and abruptly motioned for Solomon to join him. The investigator wondered what might be on the young man's mind. He followed the ex-priest, climbing the stairs until he reached the second story where he found Vitor waiting for him on the l
anding. There was a door on either side and he followed the ex-priest into one of the rooms.

  The bedroom contained a single bed with a blanket covering a straw mattress. On top of an old dresser a blue ceramic pitcher lay inside a matching wash basin. Solomon felt certain Roi slept inside this monastic cell. Not even a window. The room felt danker than the room below them. Simple and spare, it wasn't all that different than the bedrooms Lia and Sara had slept in back in Córdoba. Solomon looked around the room but found no sign of the entertainer's costume. He hadn't expected to. He'd have to search the bedroom across the hallway. He wondered if it would ever turn up.

  Vitor leaned in close and the former cleric spoke in a voice barely above a whisper.

  "I had a hard time explaining to Sabala why I'm here with two foreigners, two apparently hostile foreigners. I think she's accepted my account of how this transpired. She's more embarrassed than anything, ashamed for not putting up a fight when you grabbed her. Galician woman are strong and proud. Lia would've likely given you quite a battle. Sabela, however, is a sensitive soul. Which is why I fell in love with her."

  "This is why you brought me up here?" Solomon interrupted.

  "I'm sorry, I digressed. It's Lia. She refuses to answer any more of your questions in Arabic. She says she won't listen to one word you speak. I tried to talk sense, but she won't listen to reason. It wasn't easy, but I've convinced her to respond to your inquiries in our native Galician, with me acting as interpreter."

  "A rather convoluted arrangement."

  "The best I could do," insisted Vitor. "The only reason she trusts me is that she knows her sister's welfare is my first concern."

  "Lia is certainly bent on defending her autonomy," Solomon responded, changing the subject as well as the tone of their conversation. "Leaving Galicia to work as a singer, in Córdoba, took real courage. She must really love this farm"

  "Sabela told me they were in danger of losing their birthright. This farm has been in the family for generations, but they were threatened with eviction because they couldn't afford to pay the annual taxes and lease. This land is owned by the church in Santiago de Compotela. Bishop Sisnand has vowed to exercise his rights of emphyteusis. The church confiscated many properties like this under the pretext of continuing Roman law after the Emperor's legions were ousted from Galicia."

  "The old Warlord never mentioned any of this to me."

  "They've resisted invading tribes, the Visigoths, and even Berbers," continued Vitor. "After the Muslim invasion, Gallegas were taken to serve as concubines in the harems of the south. Now, they go willingly. Poor farm girls trying to help their families or seeking a better life for themselves in the city, perhaps a life of luxury. Lia didn't want to walk that path. She knew her voice would gain her employment. She didn't plan to stay in Andalusia forever."

  The decision to bring Vitor with them had provided an unanticipated dividend. His relationship with the younger sister gave the investigator a window into their world. Solomon decided he'd have to risk trusting in the veracity of the interpretations he offered in spite of the ex-cleric's infatuation with the younger sister.

  "I appreciate your translating for us, but I'll need more than a verbal interpretation," the investigator told Vitor. "I need you to listen carefully to Lia and Roi's inflections, to see if you can discern what parts of their answers might be true or if they might be attempting to mislead me."

  "I'll do my best."

  "There's something else, Vitor," Solomon continued. " I'd like you to glean some information for me, but I need for you and Sabela to keep it to yourselves."

  "I'm listening."

  "I want to know how much it would take to buy this farm outright from Bishop Sisnand.

  "Oh, and Vitor. . .please tell Jalal I'd like for him to bring Roi up here. I need to ask him some questions. I'll need you to return with them so you can translate for me."

  "Of course," replied the compliant Galician.

  Solomon stood toe-to-toe with the Galician woman's younger brother. He didn't know if any of his questions would elicit a response, but Vitor stood nearby ready to assist him. The investigator observed the farmer closely, hoping his emotions or body language might offer a clue when he delivered his answers.

  "Ask him what he knows about the murder of Umar abd-Rahman and what role he played in his sister's escape."

  Vitor translated from the Latin while Solomon waited patiently for an answer. He sensed the brother would be uncooperative and perhaps resist answering altogether. The language barrier didn't make it easier.

  Roi unleashed a torrent of words the investigator found unintelligible. The brother was surprisingly animated and he didn't appear to be holding anything back as Vitor's eyes grew wide. The words streamed forward as his story unfolded. When he'd finished, Roi gestured to the ex-cleric to share his revelation with Solomon.

  Vitor reflected for a moment and then began.

  "Roi said he went to Córdoba to try to convince Lia to return to Galicia. He followed her to the evening's performance and waited outside, hoping to surprise her. He saw her leave with a man, an Arab, and he shadowed them to the apartment. Someone ran down the street just as he approached. That person was hooded and unrecognizable. When he entered the apartment to find his sister, Umar was dead and Lia lay unconscious at the foot of the bed."

  Vitor paused to collect his thoughts.

  "Go on. . ." encouraged Solomon.

  "Roi says he carried Lia to safety and then devised an escape plan. He was aided by two older men, Latin speaking Christians who had agreed to watch the two horses he had brought with him from Galicia. Roi approached them inside a church, in a Christian neighborhood in Córdoba, after witnessing his sister leave following a mass."

  He brought two horses with him, the investigator mused. One for his sister and one for himself. He probably believed he could talk her into returning home to the farm, never imagining they'd be using them to make their escape from Andalusia.

  "Ask him how they eluded us."

  Vitor asked and then both he and Solomon watched as a broad smile widened the corners of Roi's mouth. The answer came almost as a whisper and Vitor leaned in to hear the words before translating: "They used the horses as a ruse and then followed you to Mérida. They set the horses free and then fell in with a group of pilgrims."

  Solomon detected no falseness in the story or in the man delivering the accounts.

  The good-natured farmer looked pleased with himself, proud of his considerable accomplishment. He'd outwitted representatives of the mightiest kingdom in Europe. Although Solomon found this unlikely scenario giving him an occasion to smile, he was also beginning to realize how vulnerable the situation had become. At that moment, Solomon realized he should return to Andalusia as soon as possible.

  Twilight arrived and more candles were lit to ward off the impending darkness. A flurry of activity in the kitchen resulted in six table settings. A steamy soup was ladled into wooden bowls and brought to the long table. The small family, and their three uninvited guests, sat on opposite sides. Sabela passed out seashells to scoop up the soup. Hands were untied and everyone began to eat soup in painful silence. Jalal unsheathed his sword and rested it against the bench. He appeared poised to strike at a moment's notice, ruining the already strained ambience.

  The two Andalusis emptied their bowls and asked Vitor to arrange for a second helping. As they were being served, Solomon decided small talk was preferable to an uneasy truce and sullen faces.

  "This soup is very nourishing," he said loud enough for all to hear.

  Vitor shared his comment with the Galicians.

  They responded with dour expressions and a stonewalled silence. The ex-priest didn't enjoy being caught in this emotional standoff. Solomon was sure Vitor felt grateful that he'd helped him leave Santiago, but he sensed the cleric was conflicted because he also didn't want to risk antagonizing the older sister and brother of the woman of his dreams.

  The investigator
appreciated his attempt to remain neutral.

  "It's called Caldo gallego," Vitor began. "It's a broth made from turnips, cabbage, and white beans. Sometimes they add other greens. Whatever's available at the time. When they're lucky, they have a bit of meat to add to the soup."

  Despite his initial skepticism, Solomon found himself growing to like these Galicians. What they lacked in cultural refinement found compensation in an abiding connection to their land. Something far deeper and more precious than book learning. He respected this living relationship to nature and the earth, but he found his appreciation also left him conflicted. A part of him wanted to pretend he'd never found the Galician woman, to enlist Jalal in a secret conspiracy of silence; but, he could never forsake his responsibility and his mission. He could never turn his back on his people and his own land.

  As they cleared the table, Solomon observed Vitor and Sabela speaking to each other in hushed tones. Lingering stares and warmhearted smiles revealed an obvious affection and in a paranoid moment the investigator wondered if they might be hatching an escape plot. He decided it was time to take control of the situation, save his doubts and questions for another time.

  "We don't want to hurt anybody," Solomon insisted, raising his voice. "If you all cooperate, we won't have to take any extreme measures."

  Roi looked to Lia. A look of perplexity filled his broad face. Brother and sister exchanged looks. Solomon wasn't sure what the nonverbal message might be. Did they possess a secret code? He couldn't read their faces so their emotions remained locked in mystery. He hoped they wouldn't attempt to flee. He didn't want to act on his threat. He didn't want the mission to end in tragedy.

  "Tell them what I said, Vitor," Solomon instructed. "Make sure they understand the consequences of any attempt to escape."

  When the ex-priest had finished, everyone understood the gravity of the situation.