by Raḍwá ʻĀshūr
He stared at a little girl of three years, with a bright face, and with his mother's features and her big deep-black eyes. He was looking at her in such awe that it seemed as though he was witnessing a miracle and couldn't believe his eyes. She was the exact age of his sister Nafeesa, and she had his mother's name, Aysha. Just looking at her brought back their memories, as clear as though the years had never passed, or as if he traveled back in time.
"Her name is 'Aysha'?"
"Yes, 'Aysha', but on paper her name is 'Esperanza.' But her uncle only calls her 'Amal.'"
"Amal?"
Saad bent down to the extent his crutches would allow him. "Come here Aysha, come here, honey."But the little girl was frightened and burst into tears.
Saad didn't sleep a wink that night. He couldn't even lie on his bed. He spent the night between staring at the little girl and rummaging through whatever remained of Saleema s things. In the morning and throughout the day, the little girl remained aloof from him. She stopped crying, and even though she sometimes stood still and gazed at him, she kept a safe distance just in case he tried to get close to her. But slowly her interest in him grew as she followed him with her eyes more and more. In the evening, Maryama picked her up and told her a story. When she dozed off, she put her in her mother's bed and looked over to Saad and smiled.
"So that you can sleep next to her, Saad."
The little girl was sound asleep, and the only thing you could see of her was her round moonlike face and the rings of black, curly hair moistened by sweat that covered her forehead. He couldn't keep his eyes off of her, and he listened to his heart pounding from all these new events. He thought about how he now had a daughter, not a seed that grows in her mother's stomach day after day, not an infant you watch nursing and crying, smiling and taking those first steps, uttering that first word or sentence, but a complete human being who knows her name and how to say "yes" and "no." This is your daughter, he thought, right before your eyes, ready and complete. But how was this possible? They say this is Aysha, your daughter, but then they say your wife isn't here, because the men from the Office of Inquisition came a few days ago and took her away. What did she do to make them do that? he wondered.
Maryama told him the story. "They came and searched the house, every corner and inch. They tore the place apart. It was as if some son of a bitch concocted a rumor that we were stashing secret weapons or a buried treasure. They turned the whole house upside down, Saad. It never occurred to me that they were targeting Saleema. What on earth would the Office of Inquisition want with a woman like her? But it was her they were looking for. They spent more time searching her room than they did the rest of the house. One of them had a pen and notebook and was writing down the names of all the herbs, the jars, and books. They put everything into two huge sacks. They handcuffed Saleema and carried her off in a large basket. Can you believe it, Saad, they carried Saleema off in a large basket? It's the strangest thing I've ever seen. I still can't get over it. For a while I thought they were lunatics who escaped from the insane asylum. But Hasan assured me later on that they were, in fact, officials from the Office of Inquisition."
The more Saad listened to Maryama, the more frightened he became. He was hoping that there would be some accusation charged against Saleema other than practicing witchcraft. But carrying her off in a basket meant that they were afraid to touch her. Saad was sure that they had arrested her and charged her with this, the most serious crime. His body began to shake in short, quick convulsions, then he bit hard on his lower lip to suppress the word "No!" that was surging from inside of him so that Maryama wouldn't hear it.
Should he rejoice over his little daughter or give himself over to the sadness he felt for his wife? How could he cope with all these events that unfolded in the course of one day? He now understood what Umm Hasan's face said to him when he knocked on the door and she opened it. When she saw him, she was inundated in a wave of fear and she called out for help. Whether he had aged or not, whether he was with or without crutches, she had seen him as Saad, the husband of her daughter, and she cried out to him to save her. But here he was sitting on his hands, powerless, unable to enjoy his daughter without grief, and unable to fear for his wife's life without thinking about the existence of this little one who was stealing his heart that only knew at that moment utter bliss and affection.
As Saad sat and gaped at his daughter while she slept and thought about his wife who wasn't there, he couldn't hear a thing that was going on in the next room between Hasan and Maryama as they engaged in a heated conversation that never rose above a whisper.
"I don't know what I'm going to do now," he said in great agitation.
"Concerning Saleema?"
"No, about Saad."
"What are you getting at?" she asked with a disturbed look on her face.
"Not only has Saad come to us having just been released from prison by an Inquisition tribunal, but he's coming having been placed on probation. And he has to wear the sanbenito."
"So what does that mean?"
"It means that he's being watched, that the authorities have their eyes on him, and that puts this house and everyone in it . . ."
"That puts this house and everyone in it in a position of honor! All of Albaicin respects those whom the Inquisition have persecuted, and that vest raises their heads in awe." Maryama was highly agitated and the sparks flew from her eyes.
"I'm aware of that, Maryama, and I'm not saying I don't respect Saad. But I've spent too many years guarding the safety of my family."
Maryama interrupted him and answered in a tone full of derision. "I know—you've been overly cautious, you wouldn't even allow my mother and brothers to come and live with us after their house was confiscated."
Hasan didn't respond to her charge and paused for a few seconds before he spoke again.
"I think I'll let him know my true feelings on the subject. Saad is very astute, and he more than anyone will understand that living away from here is safer. He won't have to wait and hear me tell him that I honestly prefer that he not live with us."
Maryama gave him a long, hard stare without saying a word. She stood up and calmly went off and brought back a Quran. She set it in front of him and placed her right hand on top of it. "Listen to me well and watch, Hasan. This is the book of God, and I swear upon it. I swear to Almighty God that if you bring up this subject with Saad, either openly or by dropping hints, I will leave this house before him and I promise I will never set foot in it again as long as I live." She picked up the Quran and put it back in its place. Then she went over and lifted the cover from her bed and carried it out of the bedroom.
Umm Hasan felt Maryama next to her in bed, and she asked surprised, "Are you sleeping here?"
"I don't know what on earth Hasan ate tonight," she answered. "His snoring is very loud. Yes, I'm sleeping here."
Whenever Aysha asked for her mother, Umm Hasan burst into tears. Maryama, on the other hand, thought up ways to keep the little girl occupied. She would tell her a story or invent a new game, or she would call out to Hisham to come and get on his hands and knees and neigh like a horse. "Would you like a ride on the pony, or should I ride him?" she'd ask.
"He's a donkey, not a horse," the little girl would answer teasingly. Then both she and Maryama would chuckle, after which Hisham would jump up in indignation and protest that he wasn't a donkey. His mother would scold him and tell him to get back on the floor so that his cousin could have a ride. He would obey grudgingly, but get his revenge.
"My father says that Aysha is a good luck charm, but she's been bad luck ever since she came in to this house. Her father became sick and has to walk on crutches, and the police came and took her mother away."
His mother chides him with a threat. "I'll kill you if you ever say anything like that again." But the boy doesn't balk, and his mother gives him a good whack. Then she goes over to console him and calmly tries to make him understand that he has to be nice to his cousin because she
is his cousin and because her mother is away from her.
Saleema's absence was a source of enormous stress and sadness to everyone in the household. Umm Hasan's eyes would swell in tears as she clapped her hands together in frustration and repeated over and over again, "There's nothing we can do!" This only exacerbated the misery as she walked around with her head held low. Hasan and Saad felt the same thing, not in words, but through that hopeless look in their eyes.
Only Maryama racked her brain to think of a strategy, some way out, even though she didn't let anyone know. She could at least find out what was happening with Saleema, what the charge was, and how long she was to be imprisoned. She poked and prodded and made inquiries until she stumbled upon a Castilian woman whose husband worked as a secretary at the Office of Inquisition. She met her at the souk by chance. They exchanged a few passing words and she left. Two days later there was a short conversation. Eventually, as the woman came to know Maryama and enjoy talking to her, they spent more time together at the souk. She would ask Maryama how she cooked something, or ask for a recipe for meat pies. After several weeks of their acquaintance, Maryama broached the subject.
"My husband, may God give him a long life and good health, is so good to me. He doesn't deprive me of anything. The only problem is that his sister doesn't like me or my children, and never wishes us well. But thank God for punishing her for her jealous heart and rewarding me for my kind heart. The officials at the Office of Inquisition arrested her, but for the life of me I have no idea what evil she conspired."
"Since she's an evil person, there's no doubt she committed acts punishable by law."
"That's what's bothering me. If only I knew exactly what she did so that I could tell my husband and he'll know the truth about his sister. And then he'll realize that in all my quarrels with her I was the victim and she was the troublemaker. Of course when she's released after the investigation, she'll claim they erroneously arrested her thinking she was some other woman, and she'll insist on her innocence."
The woman didn't seem at all interested in this part of the conversation. She asked Maryama if she was going to buy some eggplant.
Maryama let out a sigh. "I think I'll buy . . . but my sister-in-law is on my mind. Do you have any relatives or neighbors who work at the Inquisition?"
"My husband works there!"
Maryama stood dumbfounded as she tried to crack a smile of joy. "How lucky I am, for sure! Your husband will be able to find out why they arrested Saleema, and when I tell my husband why, he'll begin to believe me over his sister."
"I'll ask him, but what do you think of these olives? Are you going to buy some?"
"Don't bother. I'll bring you some much better than these. My husband has some olive trees that have the best olives. When you bring me the news, I'll bring you a couple of containers of olives."
At their next meeting, Maryama's heart sank in dreaded fear when she saw the gloating look on the woman's face when asked about Saleema.
"I brought you news worth a whole tree of olives," exclaimed the woman. "Tell your husband that his sister is a witch who practices her evil craft on living human beings. My husband tells me that they're using the most extreme measures of torture on her to extract a confession, but so far she hasn't confessed. That only proves the devil is living inside of her and helping her."
Maryama's face grew sullen, her eyes swerved, and her head spun so violently that she looked as though she was on the verge of fainting.
"What's wrong?" asked the woman. "Are you feeling sorry for her?"
Maryama stammered before she was able to catch her breath. "Not at all! I was just frightened by the thought that she could scheme to poison me and my children, but . . ."
"But what?"
"But I just don't think she's a witch. I lived with her for many years, and I've never seen her leave the house at night. Tell your husband they're mistaken. Tell him that the Office of Inquisition must know her real crime, that perhaps she stole something that wasn't hers, or she told lies about some people. She is a liar and she only cares about herself. But she's not a witch!"
The Castilian woman put her arms around Maryama. "You shouldn't be so kind. You told me how nasty she was with you, and now God is punishing her with what she deserves. Don't worry about her. Let's go finish our shopping."
Maryama excused herself from walking through the market on the pretext she forgot her money at home.
"I'll go back home."
"And the olives?"
"What olives?"
"The olives you promised me?"
"I'll bring them next week."
25
Saleema was ordered to enter the main hall by walking in backwards. This was not the only unnatural act to which she was subjected since they carried her off two days before.
She looked around and saw them. There were four men staring at her with scrutinizing eyes. Three of them were seated side by side behind a black lacquered table directly in front of her. In a corner at somewhat of a distance sat the fourth, with an inkwell and a stack of paper in front of him, and a feather pen in hand. One of the men sitting behind the table cleared his throat. He was old and had a wrinkled face. He tilted his head slightly backward and folded his hands. Saleema noticed the thick brown blotches on the back of his ivory hands. He cleared his throat again, and the scribe dipped his feather into the inkwell to record what the old man was about to dictate.
"In the name of the Father, Amen.
"In the year of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ 1527, on the fifteenth day of the month of May, in the presence of we the undersigned, Antonio Agapida, presiding judge of the Office of Inquisition, and Alonso Madera and Miguel Aguilar, investigators of the Office of Inquisition. This investigation commenced when it was called to our attention that Gloria Alvarez, formerly known as Saleema bint Jaafar, engages in the practice of black magic, and accumulates in her residence suspicious and alarming quantities of seeds, plants, and potions that she uses to cause injury to people, and that . . ."
Saleema had to listen very carefully so that she could understand everything that was being recited in Spanish, especially with the loud scratching sound of the pen as it recorded frantically what was being dictated.
". . . and that she, by perpetrating these crimes, threatens the Catholic Church and the security of the state."
The judge beckoned her with his index finger to come forward. He squinted his eyes to the point that they seemed to disappear beneath their puffy lids. She approached the table. He asked her to put her hand on the Bible that was set in front of her and to swear to tell the whole truth about herself and others as well. She did as she was told.
The judge continued his dictation and the scribe continued to write.
"Having asked the accused to take an oath and swear on the Holy Bible, we directed to her the following questions:
— Your name?
— Gloria Alvarez after my baptism. Before, Saleema bint Jaafar.
— Where do you live?
— In Albaicin.
— What are the names of your parents and are they still alive?
— My father is Jaafar Ibn Abi Jaafar, the Paper Maker. He died before the Castilian conquest of Granada. My mother is Umm Hasan before baptism, and after Maria Blanca. She is still alive.
— Have any of your relatives ever been tried for practicing sorcery?
— No.
— Are you married?
— Yes.
— What is the name of your husband?
— Carlos Manuel after baptism. Saad al-Malaqi before.
— Where is your husband?
— I do not know.
— What does that mean?
— We had a quarrel, he got angry with me, and he left home. I don't know where he went."
The three inquisitors exchanged glances that bewildered Saleema; she was sure she had given them the wrong answer. She got a lump in her throat and slowly released the deep breath that had been lodged in her
chest.
— When did you husband leave home?
— A few years ago.
— How many, to be exact?
— Approximately six years ago.
— Do you have children?
— Yes.
— How many?
— One daughter.
— What's her name, and how old is she?
— Her name is Esperanza, and she's three years old.
— Didn't you say that your husband abandoned you six years ago?
— He came back one time. We patched things up, but then he left again.
Once again the inquisitors exchanged glances, and this time she was startled by a leering look in the eye of the younger one who was sitting to the right of the judge. She also noticed a smirk on the scribe's face as he bared his front teeth.
— Do you practice witchcraft?
— No, I do not.
— How do you explain all the paraphernalia that was found in your house?
— They are seeds, herbs, and solutions I used to cure people's illnesses.
— Who taught you that?
— I taught myself.
— By yourself, or through books?
Saleema paused before she responded.
— Where am I going to get the books? I don't read Spanish, and Arabic books are banned by law.
— The books we found in your possession.
— Neither I nor anyone else in my household owns or purchases books.
— Then you admit that you practice witchcraft and that it is the devil who taught you to make what you call medicine?