by Raḍwá ʻĀshūr
Abu Jaafar had agreed with his colleagues in the Paper Makers' Quarter that he would move his books to their houses only under cover of night, and that in the daytime he would take them to their permanent hiding place. He would load them on donkey carts or on the backs of mules camouflaged as household goods and utensils, pretending to be moving house. They all agreed that this should be carried out in stages, quietly and cautiously, in a way that wouldn't draw any attention. They agreed that the books would be distributed evenly in a number of places, in mountain caves, under the ruins of abandoned houses, and in the vaults of their own homes.
Several days later Abu Jaafar rented two carts and loaded them with his books and those of some of his friends. He mounted his wife and Saleema on one mule, Hasan and Umm Hasan on another, and he himself mounted a third. They rode in the direction of Ainadamar. Abu Jaafar wanted to make it known to whomever passed them by that he could no longer bear to live in Albaicin, nor tolerate the onslaught of the Christian missionaries who invaded the quarter like a swarm of locusts. They arrived at the house at Ainadamar and unloaded the goods. They paid the drivers and moved the books to the vault. Umm Jaafar turned her attention to the windows as she and Umm Hasan made a courageous attempt to coax Saleema into helping them clean the house as though they had every intention of staying for good. Saleema spent nearly an hour helping out but soon crafted the excuse that she heard her grandfather calling her from the vault. She then left them and went down below. Umm Jaafar smiled, knowing full well that her granddaughter was not inclined at all toward housework. Her mother, on the other hand, also knowing the same thing, only sighed and secretly feared for her daughter.
Hardly two weeks passed when Abu Jaafar hired another three mules and a cart and returned the family to Albaicin. Once again, Abu Jaafar let it be known to anyone who would listen what he wanted them to believe. "I had every intention to live out the remainder of my days at Ainadamar, but I just couldn't do it. I can't survive away from Albaicin. I was born there, and God knows I will die there as well."
Just as Umm Hasan was opening the door, Naeem came rushing in panting: "Where's Abu Jaafar?"
"What's gotten into you, boy? No 'good morning'?"
Naeem acted like a madman as he called out to Abu Jaafar as loud as he could. Abu Jaafar came as quickly as his many years would allow.
"They're piling up all the books they can get their hands on at Bibarambla Gate," he shouted. They're going to burn all the books!"
Abu Jaafar put on his shoes and hurried out of the house behind Naeem. Saleema came out to see what all the uproar was about, and her mother repeated to her only what she was able to catch. Saleema rushed back to her chest and came back in a few short moments ready to go out.
"Where are you going?"
"I'm going with Grandfather," she said, not waiting to hear her mother's response, as she darted past the door as fast as an arrow. The only thing her mother could do was to call out to Hasan to go and follow his sister.
They all assembled at the bank of the Darro. The river flowed in a mad rush in the same direction as the hordes of people—those who knew or didn't know, some silent and others boisterous. When they reached the Tanners' Bridge, the river bent in the direction of the Genii, and the throngs of people made their way toward Bibarambla Gate. At the main square of Bibarambla, they saw many carts drawn by oxen, mules, and donkeys. Each cart would pull into the center of the square, and when the driver pulled on the reins the animal slowed down. The wheels screeched to a halt and the cart came to a full stop. Three guards who had been sitting on top of the piles of confiscated books loaded on the cart stood up and stretched out for a moment to rid themselves of the numbness that had set in during the ride. Then they went to work. Their backs arched and their heads disappeared and reappeared as their torsos straightened out and their hands worked together in lifting the loads. Again and again, bodies bent and straightened, hands grabbed and let go, in unison and with efficient speed, as the books dropped to the ground, piling on top of one another, some closed, others opened, as fragments and pages flew apart, tumbling like autumn leaves through the air before they hit ground, reaching their final resting place. The people followed with their eyes as the many copies of the Quran fell to the ground, both large and small, as the leather binding, embellished with exquisite engravings and magnificent script, came apart. They watched their precious manuscripts falling to pieces, ancient ones and those newly inscribed, as well as hundreds of folios that bore the same words, whether composed in prose, line after line, or set in verse, with their two columns neatly balancing every page.
The guards continued their task as several more carts pulled up, one after the other, each one making its way to the center of the square. The screeching of the wheels mixed with the thump of the books as they crashed to the ground, while the people shouted in horror and the guards warned them with their weapons not to come close to the books. Abu Jaafar watched this specter, then turned his eyes away. He looked back again and muttered something that nobody could understand. He was completely oblivious to Saleema's hand that was pulling his, as her nails were digging into him. He was oblivious to her and deaf to what she was saying, even as she raised her voice, asking time and again. "They won't burn the books, Grandfather, will they? They can't do that!" Saad and Hasan stood dumbfounded as Naeem sobbed and wiped his nose with his sleeve. Carts rolled in from every direction, from Albaicin and the hospital, from Alhambra and the Jewish Quarter, from the university and the Grand Mosque. Saleema was distraught by this horrible spectacle, and she told her grandfather she didn't want to look any longer. She pulled her hand away from his and ran away. Abu Jaafar remained motionless, drowning in the inner turmoil of his most private thoughts. Could it be that God was abandoning His pious servants? Could He allow His book to be burnt? Abu Jaafar raised his eyes to the sky searching and waiting for an answer, when he suddenly became conscious of the moans of the crowd as the smoke thickened the skies.
The soldiers hastily dispersed in different directions to avoid the spreading flames. The fire quickly consumed the books, charring the edges and desiccating the pages, as the paper curled up on itself as though it was trying to protect itself, but to no avail. The fire devoured everything that fell in its way, and gobbled up every line, every page, book after book. It crackled and sizzled so intensely that it seared your eyes and suffocated you with its thick, black smoke. Abu Jaafar stared, horrified, as his mind screamed out in silence: this is not a forest set ablaze by fire that devoured its greenery and seared its branches and trunks; this was not a forest whose seeds were carried off by the winds or drenched by the heaven's rains, growing wild and on its own. This was not Granada's Vega, a field that the farmers cultivated year after year, with wheat, figs, olives, lemons, and oranges, and when it suddenly catches fire before their very eyes they respond, "There is no power or strength save in God," and then roll up their sleeves and go back to tilling the soil until they're blessed with a new harvest. It was not a forest or a cultivated land. Abu Jaafar knew it, but he could only see a land and forest besieged by vultures hovering over their heads, swooping down to pluck men's hearts out of their chests.
Abu Jaafar turned around and went home to Albaicin. On the way he watched the people walking alongside him, but the only thing he could see was the blazing fire. He was coughing and wiping the sweat from his brow. As he walked on the only thing he realized was that the door to God, which he had lived his life believing in, its existence and proximity, was now shut like a solid wall. He stopped in the middle of the road, besieged by a long, uncontrollable fit of coughing that nearly choked him to death.
When he turned away from the Darro and headed up toward the hill, the inclining mountainous pass appeared ominous and insurmountable. His legs were barely able to carry him, and he felt as though he were carrying a thick tree stump not humanly possible to bear. He managed to go up a bit further, stopped, and continued his climb. His legs wobbled and he fell flat on his face.
A trickle of blood flowed out of his nose and he injured his knee. But he didn't seem to notice and got up and continued his ascent until he reached the main square of the Albaicin Mosque, now the Church of San Salvador. He sat on a stone bench motionless until sunset. That night, before retiring to his bed, Abu Jaafar said to his wife: "I'm going to die naked and alone, because God has no existence." And he died.
The men washed the tall, naked body, recited the shahada prayer over it before covering it with the burial shroud. They lifted the coffin over their shoulders, recited some more prayers, then took him to his final resting place.
Abu Mansour, Saad, and Naeem went down into the tomb and with outstretched arms took hold of Abu Jaafar's body, slowly and gently. They laid him to rest and then came up and covered his grave with soil.
That afternoon Abu Jaafar's home was swarmed with the neighborhood women who came to join in the mourning ceremonies with the women of the household. They cried together and rivaled one another with stories and anecdotes of the many fine qualities of the deceased. They beseeched God for the patience to endure His decree that given by anyone else would not be so lauded. Saleema was the only one who didn't shed a tear nor utter a word to any of the mourners. The women may say that everyone's time must come, but was this Abu Jaafar's time, or was it the book burning that really killed him?
When the last of the mourners departed and night crept in slowly, when everyone in the house went to sleep, Saleema lay awake staring into the darkness, thinking. She was just as upset as her grandfather by the burning of the books. Naeem had wept bitterly, and Saad and Hasan both looked pale and frightened, but why was it that it was her grandfather who died, suddenly, and without a warning sign, without a previous illness? She had barely reached four when her own father died, but he had been sick and in pain. She used to ask:
"Why is he moaning?"
"Because he's sick."
"When is he going to get better?"
"When God permits it."
But what God permitted was something else, and they took him to his grave.
"Where has he gone?"
"He died."
"What does 'die' mean?"
"That God chose him to be next to Him in heaven."
She pictured in her mind that God had especially chosen her father to sit right next to Him on a big throne in a heaven more beautiful than all the gardens of Ainadamar, with fountains and water trickling through the towering trees and the brilliantly colorful flowers. She wondered if she should ask God to chose her as well to go to live with Him in that beautiful place or to stay with her grandparents, her mother, and brother. Or should she pray to Him to take all of them together? Then she would think about her playmates and decided it may be best to stay where she was.
One day a little more than a year after her father died, Saleema found a small lizard in the courtyard. She went toward it and when she noticed that it didn't try to escape from her she picked it up by the tail. It was cold and dead. She brought it to her grandmother: "This lizard is dead, right?" Her grandmother shrieked in disgust and yelled at her to throw it away and go and wash her hands. But Saleema just stood there.
"When lizards die, do they go to heaven?"
Her grandmother muttered something under her breath without answering.
But the question lingered in her mind until more questions began to fill her head: what's the use of having lizards, bats, and scorpions? And why did God create these species only to have them die later on?
Months later little Saleema asked her grandfather if scorpions and lizards go to heaven just as people do. Her mother pulled her away and scolded her for bothering him with such silly questions, and told her to go outside and play with her friends. But she got no further than the outside door as she stood thinking how absurd it was for dead scorpions and snakes to go to heaven and frighten and bother people. So she ran back to her grandfather.
"Grandfather, do lizards go to heaven or hell when they die?"
"To hell."
"But what did they do to make them go to hell?"
"Because they cause harm to people, they go to hell."
She left the house and went out into the neighborhood not entirely convinced of what she had just heard. It's strange to think that scorpions go to heaven, but even stranger that they go to hell. Didn't God create them with their harmful sting? They didn't choose to be born that way, so why should God punish them for something they didn't choose?
Saleema went back to thinking about her grandfather, about the blazing fire and the piles of smoldering books at Bibarambla Square. She dozed off but soon awoke in a state of fright. She felt a blaze of fire rush through her body, and as she opened her eyes she realized that her whole body was shivering and her teeth were chattering. They covered her with lots of blankets, and in her feverish trance she felt as though she were about to join her grandfather.
The day Saleema recovered from her fever, Umm Hasan wept in sorrow because she was convinced that the illness had impaired her daughter's reasoning and made her lose her mind when she suddenly leaped out of bed, washed her face, put on her clothes, and announced to her mother that she was going to Ainadamar.
"Yes, I am going to Ainadamar, and if you want to come with me, that's fine. If not, I'll go by myself."
They all tried to talk her out of going, but when they didn't succeed, they went along with her, thinking that if they made her happy then perhaps she would regain her peace of mind and powers to reason. They rented a cart and went to their country house. No sooner had they reached the front door than Saleema jumped off the cart and went immediately down to the vault. She wiped away the dust as best she could and began to rearrange the books. Then she took out the paper, pens, and bottle of ink she brought with her and made a list of all the books and manuscripts, writing down first the name of the author and then the title. She moved to the next line with the second book and wrote until she reached the bottom of the page. She filled ten pages with each page containing seven titles except for the last, which had only six. When she was finished, she sat Hasan down in front of her and dictated the whole list to him.
"What's this for?"
"I want two copies of this list."
6
In the main square in the center of town, where both the old and new casbahs intersect with the roads that lead to Albaicin, a young girl carrying a basket was walking along the street. She had left home to do an errand or perhaps visit an aunt. On her way, either to or from home, God only knows, she walked along minding her own business while the veil on her head failed to conceal her long braids, and her loose fitting gown revealed her slender figure.
She noticed two Castilian men approaching. She lowered her eyes and continued to walk in an attempt to pass them or let them pass her. She glanced up quickly and noticed that they were watching her. She pretended not to notice and quickened her pace. When she looked up again it became clear to her that they were following her. She gasped for air and froze in bewilderment. After several moments she decided to run in the opposite direction. They ran after her until they caught up with her.
"What do you want?"
"What's your name?"
She was unable to run away this time. One of them put his arm around her while the other took hold of her braid and twirled it like rope around his fist. She cried out for help, and the two started to hit her. She yelled with all her might until four young men, hearing her screams, rushed toward her. Though the Castilians saw them they continued to slap and kick the girl so violently that she fell to the ground unconscious.
"That's Velasco de Barrionuevo, the police commissioner."
"And who's the other one?"
"That's Salicio, the cardinal's servant."
The fact that the four youths knew the Castilians made them all the more furious, and soon a brawl erupted, with fists, heads, and feet pounding each other. While two of the youths remained to punish the Castilian assailants, the other two carried the girl to the nearest house,
not knowing whether she was dead or alive. Back on the street, one of the youths shouted that the bastard Salicio was getting away. His friend ran after him and they both quickly disappeared. The one who had stayed took such a punch from Barrionuevo that he slipped and lost his balance, allowing the Castilian to escape. He ran after him and just at the moment when he was about to grab hold of him at the entrance of the quarter, someone appeared at a window and threw a rock, hitting Barrionuevo on the head and killing him instantly.
Within hours the news spread like wildfire throughout Albaicin, and with it the pent-up feelings of anger were unleashed. "What shall we do?" "Lock the gates of the quarter." The men spread out in every direction and locked the gates with their massive iron bolts. Behind the gates and walls they set up barricades of wood, iron, and even their own bodies. They blocked off all the gates except the one from which a group of young men left to go to the cardinal's palace near Alhambra. From the Bunoud Gate a throng of people gushed out toward the old casbah and crossed the Darro in a state of extreme agitation. The profound sadness that had weighed heavily on their shoulders, heads, and hearts now carried them. They mounted their dejected spirits like a stallion, with their backs straightened, and their heads held high. Their eyes glimmered and their feet compelled its spurs as this dejection turned stallion broke away, unbridled, and exploded like a canon.