Granada

by Raḍwá ʻĀshūr

  "I told him to stay, and that he can come and go as he pleases. I told him this is my house and Hasan's house, and that it was his house as well. I told him to stay and do whatever he wants."

  Then the problem was with Hasan. Umm Jaafar hurried to his room, woke him up, and scolded him as if he were a little boy. "What did you do to your sister's husband? What did you say to him? Why did you make him angry?"

  Hasan sat up and took a deep breath. His face was white as a ghost.

  "Saad is planning to leave," she shouted.

  "I know that."

  "What did you do?"

  "I didn't do anything!"

  "Then why is he going away?"

  "Leave him be, Grandmother. He's already made up his mind, and there's nothing we can do to stop him."

  Everyone began to cry, Umm Jaafar, Umm Hasan, and Maryama. Seeing them, the children burst into tears as well. Saleema stood still, as though the man who was leaving was not her husband. Hasan didn't budge either. Umm Jaafar thought to herself that it wasn't true that the two of them did not care. She stared at Hasan and noticed his body trembling from beneath his summer robe, and she looked at Saleema who was so pale that she looked, God forbid, ill.

  Neither Hasan nor Saleema, who both knew the reason for the fight and the reason for Saad's leaving, divulged a word to anyone in the household. Hasan insisted that Saad was not leaving the country and that he would be back to visit them from time to time. "Perhaps . . . ," he never finished the sentence but instead left the house.

  Two weeks later Naeem came to the house and learned of the news. He flew into a fit of anger so violent that the children all ran off to hide from him.

  "He went away? What do you mean, he went away? Why? How could he leave and not say anything to me, without taking me with him? What am I supposed to do now? He had a fight with Hasan? It's not Hasan's nature nor Saad's to quarrel like that. You must be lying to me. What happened to my friend? Did he die?" Naeem was screeching frantically, with a pitch wavering between anger and fear.

  "Where's Hasan?"

  "He's not home."

  "Where's Saleema?" He burst into her room as though he was one of the household or a little boy not yet prohibited from going into women's quarters. He stood in front of her, seething in anger, at a loss for words. Finally he shouted out, "Are you happy now? He's gone away. Isn't that what you wanted?"

  She stared him straight in the eye just as he was doing to her. "I had nothing to do with that."

  The devils were dancing in his eyes. He was overcome with a powerful desire to smash all the pots, bottles, and vials and throw all the powders, fluids, and ointments on the floor, and then to strike Saleema as hard as he could to release the anger toward her that had been building up inside of him for several months. Instead, he just spat on the floor and stormed out.

  Umm Jaafar called out to him but he paid no attention. He left the house with his thoughts and emotions in turmoil. He was livid and frightened, and he didn't understand a thing. Had he taken his advice and left Saleema to punish her? A bit late for that, he thought. But why punish him? What did he have to do with it? And were Umm Jaafar and Hasan at fault? He fought with Hasan? How and why? Did some horrible catastrophe befall his friend and were they hiding it from him?

  He hurriedly raced back to Abu Jaafar's house. "Has Hasan returned?" he asked.

  "Not yet."

  Once again, he went outside of the house, squatted on the ground, and waited for him to come back. When he noticed Hasan coming from a distance, he jumped up and ran toward him.

  "What happened, Hasan?"

  "Can you stay the night with me?"

  "I can."

  "Well, then, come with me."

  Dawn crept up on them without either one having a moment's sleep. Hasan told him the whole story and Naeem listened without interrupting, except for one time. "Saad never said any such thing to me," he lamented. "Did he really say all that?"

  "Not at the beginning, but I figured it out because I live with him under the same roof, and I know when he comes and goes, and when strangers I've never seen come to visit him. Finally, I confronted him about what was going on, and he told me. We disagreed and ended up in a fierce argument. Do you think I was wrong, Naeem?"

  Naeem didn't answer the question, but left that very moment since he had to get back to his place of employment before the priest discovered his absence. "If I find Father Miguel awake, I'll tell him I woke up early and went out for some fresh air," he said as he was leaving.

  He went back taking quick steps thinking all along how and why Saad kept all of this a secret from him, and why he went away without coming to say good-bye. His pace slowed down and he stopped dead in his tracks. He went over to the side of the road, sat down on the ground, and burst into tears.

  Hasan spent the next few weeks in a state of depression, which of course was no secret to the members of the household. The children were unaware of what was going on even though they bore the brunt of their father's quick temper, his scolding and spanking that was not his usual way. Umm Jaafar and Umm Hasan blamed his behavior on his quarrel with Saad, which had a devastating effect on everyone. They counted the days before Saad's return so that Hasan would calm down. But the mystery of why Saad left and why Hasan let his friend and brother-in-law do so was known only to Saleema and Hasan. But Saleema didn't utter a word of it, so engrossed she was in her herbs, and she didn't have much to say anyway. Not even Maryama could say anything because Hasan had made her swear on the Quran to keep it a secret after she persuaded him to tell her what had happened. Hasan himself was in a state of bewilderment, and he couldn't sleep, tortured by the question of whether he behaved rightly or wrongly. At the time it seemed certain, as though he had made up his mind and the subject was closed. "I can't stop you from taking the road you chose for yourself, but I'm responsible for the safety of my family and I'll do anything to protect them."

  "It's not protection you're giving, Hasan," replied Saad. "If every one of us shut the door of his house and only cared for the safety of his family, we would all perish, once and for all!"

  "Are you accusing me of cowardice?" Hasan asked in an agitated voice.

  Saad didn't answer but shot Hasan an accusatory look that only increased the tension.

  "I don't have to defend myself," protested Hasan. "It's not wrong to protect one's family, even by means of deceit. Life goes on and you have to provide them with food and a roof over their heads. The Castilians show no mercy, as you can see with your own eyes every day. The least suspicion they have of someone leads to an arrest, an investigation, abuse, and torture to extract a confession that is only fabricated to ease the torture. The prisoner may be sentenced to death or he may die in detention before sentencing, leaving a whole family without a provider, and the wife takes to the streets to feed her children. Even an honorable woman will do whatever she can to feed her hungry children."

  "It's correct what you're saying, but what are you suggesting to confront this scourge? If every one of us said that he feared for his wife and children, then what would become of us?"

  "God is our supporter," said Hasan after taking a long, deep breath.

  "This shows passivity and indecisiveness."

  "There's no need to be hurtful, Saad," shouted Hasan.

  Saad stubbornly repeated what he said. "Passivity and indecisiveness, while our brothers on the Moroccan shores cross the hostile sea and face the greatest obstacles to wage attacks on these shores to inflict whatever losses they can on the Castilians, and while our own men hiding in the mountains launch a resistance from above. And if they were to ask us for some help or protection, should we mention our women and children as an excuse, and tell them, 'Go away and God be with you? When you achieve the victory that we're all hoping for, we will hoist you on our shoulders and shout out our thanks and gratitude?''

  "I'm not a freedom fighter, Saad," retorted Hasan with a bitterness tinged with sarcasm.

  "Nor do I claim
to have that honor, but I will cooperate with them. If they ask me for anything, I will give them whatever I have or do anything I can."

  "But you're receiving them here in my house, and you go to meet them leaving from this house, and in the process, you threaten everyone in it, my mother, grandmother, sister, wife, and children."

  "What do you want, Hasan?"

  "I want you to refrain from dealing with the freedom fighters."

  "And if I don't agree?"

  "You must agree because you're not living by yourself."

  "Then I'll go away and live alone. Will that give you any peace of mind, Hasan?"

  Hasan had a pained look and he shouted back. "Why do you want to humiliate me, Saad? Do you think I don't care? Do you think all this doesn't weigh heavily on me and tear my insides out? I can't sleep at night. I've consulted more than one faqeeh, in fact, I consulted three. Wait!"

  Hasan got up and came back a few minutes later carrying three sheets of paper that he spread out in front of Saad. "Look," he said, "I copied this letter in spite of the danger in doing so. I copied it so that you can see and hear for yourself what's in it, and you'll know that I'm not a coward or a derelict, nor am I abandoning our religion. But God wishes ease for us and not hardship, as the Quran tell us.1 Listen to this fatwa of one of the most eminent Maghrebi jurists who permits us to* use concealment and dissimulation to protect ourselves and our children. It says:

  1. The reference is to Quran 2 (The cow), verse 185:"as God wishes ease and not hardship for you."

  "Thanks be to God, and prayers and blessings on our Prophet Muhammad, on the members of his household and all his companions. Our brethren who hold on to their faith are like those who hold on to live embers, the most deserving of God's rewards for what they encounter and what they suffer of themselves and their children to please God. Though they live in exile, they are yet to be brought close to His prophet in Paradise, in the highest heavens. They are the inheritors of the traditions of the pious ancestors in bearing the burdens of the faith even in the face of death. We ask God's kindness and protection for ourselves and for you. May He help us all preserve His righteousness with pure faith and truthfulness. May He lift from us our burdens and ease our difficulties.

  "Greetings upon you from the author of this fatwa,from the most humble of God's servants and the most needy of His forgiveness, the servant of God, Ahmad bin Bujum 'a al-Maghrawi of Oran. May God shed His kindness and protection on all, May I prevail upon you in your state of pure heart and your presence on distant shores to pray your best prayers so that God grant us a safe and happy ending to the perils of this life. May He gather us in the company of those pious folk on whom He has shed His grace. Hold on dearly to your faith and instruct your children who come of age to do the same, even if exposure to the enemy is no longer a danger to you. Blessed are those who follow the right path when others have been corrupted. For praying to God amongst the heedless is like living among the dead."

  "The shaykh didn't say in his fatwa that you should turn your backs on those who were forced out of their homes and have become freedom fighters."

  Hasan's face contorted, and he exploded in anger. "Just listen until I finish, and don't interrupt.

  "Pray, even if by outward gestures. And give as though you were giving to the poor and destitute, because God does not look into your faces, but rather into your souls. Wash yourselves from any ritual impurity, even by swimming in the sea. And if you are prevented, pray at night to make up for the day prayers, even if you are compelled to use unclean water.You may perform your ablutions with fine sand by rubbing your hands on a wall. If it is not possible, you are absolved from performing the prayer for lack of water or fine sand, unless you can point with your hands and face to pure earth, a stone, or a tree with which to clean yourselves.Then you may go through the gestures . . ."

  Hasan read on in a soft voice with a slight tremor and a grim expression on his face.

  "And if they coerce you into denying your religion, and if you can do so deceivingly and with trickery, then do so; and if you cannot, then rest assured in your faith even if you utter something false.And if they force you to insult the Prophet Muhammad, then do so with the devil in mind."

  Tears rolled down from Hasan's eyes and his voice quivered and cracked as he continued to read until he reached the end.

  "Whatever hardship you face, seek counsel with us so that we guide you in the right direction, God willing. We ask God to end all coercion against Islam so that you may worship Him with His grace without intimidation and fear, but with the aid of our co-religionists, the noble Turks.2 And we bear witness to you in the eyes of God that you have been truthful and you have accepted Him. We must respond to you, and send you our sincerest wishes for your safety. May those in exile return, God willing."

  Saad looked at Hasan despondently but responded with resolve: "This is a fatwa about something else. I'll be leaving at the crack of dawn."

  2. It was widely believed among the Muslims of Spain and North Africa at the time that the Ottoman Turks would defeat the Christians and bring al-Andalus back into Islamdom.

  15

  Umm Jaafar was waiting for Saad to return when she died in her sleep. She passed on with no one in the household aware of any trace of illness. She took to her bed because she was weak, and she never complained of any ailment. When they found her in the morning, she had already died during the night.

  "What shall we do?" asked Umm Hasan, wiping the tears from her eyes.

  "Take Maryama and Saleema inside and wash the body according to our tradition, then dress her in her embroidered dress. I'll go and call the priest to come and read whatever prayers he wishes to read and let him go. Then I'll let Abu Mansour and some of the neighbors know. We'll conduct the prayers of the dead here in the house, then we'll carry the body out and walk in procession and bury her according to their tradition."

  "We bury her according to their way?" she asked Hasan.

  "Yes, according to their way." He replied as the color faded in his face and a stern look shot from his eye. He spoke as though he had rehearsed what to say and was exhausted from repeating it, and he delivered his lines quickly so he wouldn't stutter or waver. His mother stared at him, and he averted his eyes. "I'll perform the ablutions and get the Quran."

  The women did exactly what he asked them to do. They were sobbing quietly while they poured warm water over the lifeless body. When Maryama brought the embroidered dress to the corpse, Umm Hasan leaned over and kissed Umm Jaafar's forehead and whispered, "We never wanted to deprive you of your shroud. Forgive us!"1

  The sobbing grew louder, and Maryama wept uncontrollably. The crying turned to wailing and didn't stop until the priest arrived. He muttered his prayers and placed a small wooden crucifix between the deceased's hands. The men came in after he left and recited the prayers of the dead over her body. Then they left the house and formed a procession to take her to her final resting place next to her husband. Umm Hasan, Maryama, and a few neighborhood women remained at home to wait for the men to return. They prepared the meal for the mourners as they bemoaned the loss of Umm Jaafar and lamented the passing of time that took with it the right of good decent folk to shroud their dead and pray at a Muslim funeral.

  Saleema participated neither in preparing the meal nor in the women's mourning rituals, but withdrew to her room. She was thinking about death and how it oppresses and humiliates, and that before it human beings stand powerless, and she thought about God in the highest heavens. Is He watching all of this in silence and indifference? Isn't it He who takes life away? Why does He take it away and why does He place it in the heart only to recall it after a while, leaving its warm nest a wasteland? God seemed so obscure to her, incomprehensible, a tyrant who burdened His servants with unbearable things. She contemplated the image of her dead grandmother, and a shiver ran through her body. A lump swelled in her throat, and she held back the tears from her eyes. Her grandmother was dead like her infant son a
nd the gazelle. How could all this be? She couldn't do to the grandmother's corpse what "Hayy" in the story had done to the gazelle, the mother who nursed him, when he ripped open her chest to look for the thing that animates the body, after he had called out to her and she did not respond. He looked at her eyes, her ears, and all her limbs, and he didn't see any defect or disease, but he found her nonetheless incapable of moving.

  1. In the Muslim tradition, the body of the deceased is undressed, washed, and wrapped naked in a shroud.

  Saleema brought out the book and opened it exactly to a page practically worn from constant use. She read:

  He examined the heart and saw that it was totally still. He wondered if there were some discernible defect, but he didn't see anything. He pressed it with his hand, and he felt a cavity. He said, "Perhaps what I've been looking for has always been inside this organ, and I've never been able to reach it."

  He split it open. He noticed that there were two cavities, one on the right side and one on the left.The one on the right was filled with coagulated blood and the one on the left was completely empty. He said, "I only see coagulated blood in this chamber on the right. It must have clotted when the rest of the body became in this condition." For he had witnessed that whenever blood leaves the body and flows out, it clots and congeals. "And this is blood like any other blood, and that this blood is found in all the other organs, and that no organ has the sole possession of the blood over the other organs. But what I've been seeking, my ultimate goal, does not have this quality, but rather something that uniquely distinguishes this state in which I find myself. It is that without which I cannot do, not for a single moment, and to which I attribute my first emanation.