by Raḍwá ʻĀshūr
— I never said that.
— Do you not believe in the existence of black magic and witches who have the power to induce storms, kill livestock, or infect people with deadly illnesses?
— I believe that all those things, I mean storms and the death of livestock and people, have natural causes that we don't know about because our knowledge as human beings is insufficient. No, my lord, I do not believe in witches.
— Then why do people resent you?
— People resent me?
— Why do they resent and fear you, and why do they avoid your stare? You once told somebody, "Do not speak to me in that manner," and you gave him a look that made him writhe in pain all night long. You put your hand on the stomach of a pregnant woman who died two days later. A woman sent for you to come and cure her ailing son, and you made him bleed so profusely that his bedroom floor was soaked in blood, and he died.
— I have no recollection at all of the first incident. When somebody insults you or talks to you rudely, you say, "Don't talk to me in that manner," but I do not remember when I said that or to whom, and his illness that night is pure coincidence. The second incident is correct. A woman I encountered on the street, a New Christian, that is, an Arab like me, sought my advice. "I can't understand why I don't feel the baby moving inside of me." I felt the woman's stomach, and I deduced that the baby was dead in the womb since there were no signs of life stirring within even though her stomach was huge. It was clear that she was in the final weeks of pregnancy. I was right; the woman died because the dead baby inside of her poisoned her body.
As for the third incident, well, that's correct as well. A Castilian woman came to me in tears. She begged me to go with her because her little boy was very sick. Against my brother s orders that I never visit the houses of strangers, I accompanied the woman home. When I arrived, I found the boy hemorrhaging, he had no color in his face, and his fingertips had turned blue. He was on the verge of death, and my prognosis was that he was bleeding internally, and that there was nothing I could do to save him.
— Do you know how to perform witchcraft?
— I told you I don't believe in witchcraft.
— And you don't believe in the devil?
— I don't know.
— Do you believe in the existence of Satan, or not? Answer yes or no.
The inquisitors were all looking straight at her. The judge's eyes peered at her from behind his thick, puffy eyelids. The thin, frail one to his left ogled her with two gleaming, lascivious eyes, and she couldn't understand why. The one to his right, the one with the waxen face and sharp features, looked at her with a stone-cold expression. Even the scribe lifted his eyes from the pen and paper and looked at her amused.
"I do not believe that the devil has existence," she answered in a faint voice. Once she said it, she quickly corrected herself when she detected a look of victory reflected in their expressions. "Yes, I do believe that Satan exists."
— Do you worship him?
The thought never entered her mind.
— What do you mean, worship him?
— Do you believe in Satan over God?
— Of course not!
— Then how do you explain this?
The judge waved in front of her a piece of paper the size of a palm of the hand, but she was unable to make out the details. He raised it as though it was the final piece of evidence that would seal her guilt. His two assistants nodded their heads approvingly.
— What's this?
— Come closer, and have a look at this piece of paper. Look at it closely.
She looked at it. On it was a drawing of a sheep or a gazelle. She examined it closely and then she remembered. "Ah, it's a bad drawing. I'm not good at drawing pictures."
— Then you admit that this is your drawing?
— I used to own a gazelle I loved very much. I tried to draw a picture of it.
The judge burst into a raucous laughter and his colleagues followed suit. Even the scribe joined in.
— This is a billy goat, not a gazelle.
— As I said, Your Honor, I'm not very good at drawing.
— This is the billy goat with which you copulate and to which you travel by night.
— The billy goat I copulate with?
— Yes, the billy goat that drew you away from your husband and caused him to abandon you. It is the devil in whose service you are employed.
The judge raised his voice to a shrill pitch as his face contorted and he pointed his accusing finger at Saleema. He tilted his neck forward, carrying with it his head inflamed in anger.
Was this a nightmare, Saleema thought, that shoved her into an absurd game directed by three strange, demented men? The judge accuses her of copulating with a billy goat and faults her for drawing a picture that didn't mean anything. Even those men who came and arrested her acted strangely. One of them tried to fiddle with her books, and when she reached over to stop him, he jumped away in a panic and screamed at her, "Don't touch me!" as though she were some kind of snake or scorpion that could kill him in a second. Then they tied her up as though she were a raging bull, and they put her into a large basket. You don't put a raging bull in a large basket. Maybe a lamb, a chicken, or a rabbit. But this was only Saleema bint Jaafar whom they were taking away, tied up and in a basket! Whenever she recalled the scene, she would laugh a laugh that verged on sobbing, and then she would laugh no more.
Prior to presenting her to this three-man tribunal, they brought in a huge, stern-looking giant of a woman who cut off all her hair and ordered her to remove all her clothes until she stood in front of her naked as the day she was born. The woman inspected her body and ran her fingers under her arms, between her legs, and into all the holes of her body, her nose, mouth, and ears, and even her private parts. But what was she looking for? Saleema wondered if this was all somehow a joke, or just sheer madness. And on top of it all, the judge sticks his finger in her face as though he's about to pluck out her eyes and screams at her, "the billy goat with which you copulate!"
Saleema was terrified as she sat alone in her cell because she didn't understand what was happening. At first she thought it was Saad they wanted, but now that the investigation started she knew it was she they intended—but why? She wondered if they were going to charge her for failing to attend mass on Sundays and holy days of obligation, but the judge never mentioned anything of the sort. She needed to be clear-headed in order to ponder, reflect, and understand everything that was happening. She needed to remain calm, but how could she be calm with all that humiliation? The woman threw at her a woolen rag that was supposed to be her dress, and then led her into the main hall and forced her to walk in backwards unlike all God's creatures. "Turn," the woman said, and Saleema turned around only to face three interrogators, with their waxen faces, curved noses turned upward, and their scrutinizing eyes piercing her very soul. She couldn't understand what they wanted from her. She was confused, and she felt both utter fear and bitterness. She was seething with an anger that could only be mollified by attacking these men, the scribe and the giant woman, tearing off their heads and shredding them to pieces. But how could she ever erase the humiliation? There was nothing that could undo that. "The billy goat with which you copulate!" She wondered whether to laugh or cry, or bang her head against the wall and smash it instead of smashing their heads that she couldn't stand. "The billy goat with which you copulate!"
As her insides roiled in anger, Saleema not for a moment harbored any illusion that the judge might be a man of integrity, with the sufficient knowledge and learning to weigh the facts judiciously, and the strength of conviction to rein in his colleagues from any belligerence or excessiveness that he might deem uncalled for. And there they sat taking turns, acting as though they were men of learning, schooled in the textbooks of the Ancients, steeped in the knowledge of the facts and details of theological sciences.
The youngest inquisitor, Alonso Madera, consumed by the fervor of maintaining the sa
nctity of the faith and protecting it from any harm or injury, spoke in a resounding, passionate voice, and the fiery gleam in his eyes masked his pinched, severe face, his crooked nose, and his thin, tight lips.
"We should seize the little girl since she carries the seed and soul of the devil. There's no doubt or confusion in what the accused said. Her husband went away six years ago, and she gave birth to the girl three years ago. Therefore, the girl is the product of the physical union between the accused and the devil who came to her in the form of the billy goat."
Judge Agapida smiled. All along he was patient and supportive of his two assistants. He never doubted for one moment that their enthusiasm, which at times pushed them to extremes, was deeply rooted in their steadfast faith and an ardent desire to render service to their religion.
"My dear Alonso, the devil is a spirit and not a body. He is incapable of producing one seed of human life."
"But Your Honor, Satan, as is well known and proven, roams the earth and crosses it from one end to the other to gather seeds, including human sperm, to produce whatever he wants. Saint Augustine emphasized that in the third chapter of his book On the Trinity, when he said that devils collect human sperm and preserve it in the bodies of humans. In his commentary on the Book of Exodus, the scholar Walahfrid Strabo1 wrote that the devils scout the earth and gather all kinds of seeds that they can activate to produce various creatures. Likewise, Your Honor, the commentary on that very work, which has a reference to the sons of God who attempt to seduce young girls, says that the giants were produced by lecherous devils who shamelessly copulate with women."
1. Walahfrid Strabo, 807—849, was a German scholar who wrote on Biblical exegesis and early Christian liturgy. His evocation enhances the irony in that he wrote extensively on botany and the medicinal use of herbs and plants.
At this point Miguel Aguilar interceded. He was a seasoned lawyer with extensive knowledge and experience, and when he spoke he exuded trust and composure.
"The devil is a spirit, as Father Antonio said, and the birth of a child is a function of the living human body. Despite their extraordinary powers, devils cannot endow with life the bodies they inhabit, nor can they give them the capacity to produce life. Devils can fill the world with plagues, cause storms to happen, inflict men with impotence, and wreck havoc wherever they go. They can enter the bodies of those who cannot resist their temptation and cause destruction in the life of human beings. All these things they can do, but they cannot produce one seed of human life that will create a human being made of flesh and blood."
"Do you mean to say that this little girl is not related to the devil?" asked Alonso with disappointment.
"No, but she must be related to another man whose sperm the devil removed directly, or by way of another devil, because there are many degrees of devils, and the most noble of them are those who see themselves above fornicating with women; therefore, they collect sperm, as they do other seeds, and give it to the lesser devils who consort with women and plant the seed in the right place. In this instance, the devil does what he's supposed to do to impregnate the woman, but the power to impregnate itself does not come from the power of the devil or the body it invades, but rather from the power of life that comes from a certain man in a certain place. Therefore, this little girl is not the offspring of the devil but of a man neither we nor the accused know."
"Then she won't be burned?" asked Alonso with a tone of defeat in his voice.
"She will not be burned," responded Agapida with resolution. A moment of silence passed before Agapida resumed speaking. "This has not been a question of our immediate concern because there are clear answers to it in the writings of both the Ancients and contemporary scholars. The question that does warrant discussion is, do we torture the woman to extract more information she may be hiding, or does it suffice that we undertake another round of interrogations to secure her confession?"
"Today we have heard from her three confessions. In the first she admitted that she did in fact draw the picture of the billy goat. She stated but then retracted the second one when she said that her husband had been away for six years and that her daughter was three years old. The third proves her unbelief in God and her apostasy, since she openly declared that she does not know whether the devil exists or not."
"This denial alone allows us to condemn her of heresy," said Alonso Madera. "Her statement that she doesn't know whether the devil exists or not is a rejection of one of the fundamental principles of Catholic doctrine. In light of that, I believe that torture is necessary because she most surely harbors other heretical views." He then turned to Father Agapida. "Didn't you say, Your Honor, before asking me to join you the first time in an inquisition, that witches who consort with the devil speak softly and are not prone to tears because they rely on the power of Satan to support them and convince them they have the power not only to withstand the suffering of a trial but to come out of it unscathed?"
"This is correct. And I did observe just that today. The accused did not cry, she did not plead for mercy, nor did she lose her composure. This can only confirm that she is a consort of the devil. Do you recommend that we use torture or undertake another round of interrogation?"
Miguel Aguilar cleared his throat before speaking.
"In my estimation, it would be more appropriate to further the interrogation, to ask her again some of our previous questions and be certain of her answers. We should also ask her some new questions, and in the light of those decide whether or not to impose torture."
This response seemed to satisfy everyone. They all stood up to go and have dinner and to relax their minds and bodies after a long and grueling day.
26
Saleema tries to calm herself as she sits in solitary confinement. She doesn't sleep because only with open eyes can she keep the rats away from her and repel the nightmares she cannot repel when she's sleeping, only to awaken in a seizure of terror. She lies awake wondering what it is that will give her peace of mind. The giant woman who brings her food told her she was a witch, that it was proven and declared, and like all the hundreds of other such trials conducted by the Office of Inquisition, this one would end with her being burned at the stake. She ran the scene through her mind. They would tie her up, lead her into a public square packed with curious spectators anxiously awaiting the stack of wood to be set afire, like the burning of the books . . . How did her grandfather Abu Jaafar bear to watch the blaze of fire as it ravaged one book after another, to see the pages curl up on themselves as if the fire were warding itself against them and continuing on its path of destruction, consuming, burning, snapping off, and turning into coal everything in its way until nothing remained but dust and ashes? And what was written in them, where did that all go? Saleema wondered. Weren't human beings inscribed sheets, strings of words having meaning that, when put together, connote the whole that a person signifies? She is Saleema bint Jaafar, and in one split second she wanted to defeat death, but then she changed her mind and accepted a mission less impossible. She read books, treated the sick, and deliberately disregarded the injustice of the Castilians. When she walked through the markets, she didn't concern herself with the shops like other women did, but rather with the face of a woman she prescribed a remedy for but did not heal, and she would examine the face and the symptoms, and run them through her mind and think of a treatment.
"Saleema bint Jaafar," the inquisitors asked, "why do people resent you?"
They lie. They never asked the people of Albaicin. Will they be able to look her in the eye when they light the fire beneath her? Will they be able to endure what Abu Jaafar endured, but what she could not, the day they burned the books? And Aysha? She tried not to picture her or think about her, pushing away what can defeat the body and soul and bring the mind to the brink of madness. She conjured the image of her grandfather, Abu Jaafar, the grown-up who inscribed the first word in her book. It wasn't her father or mother who did that, but the grandfather who announced that he wo
uld provide her with an education just as he would for Hasan, and who whispered to his wife that Saleema would be like the educated women of Cordova. Her grandmother laughed and repeated those words to Saleema. And so it was inscribed. The only person she ever treated severely was Saad. Why, she asked herself, when he loved her and she loved and still loves him? "I made you suffer, Saad. Will you ever forgive me?" she thought to herself. She wondered if he was still alive or had he preceded her there. Was there an illusion or a reality? She wondered if she would encounter her grandfather, her little son who died, and her own father, if in fact there really existed. She thought about meeting her father. He won't recognize her because the little girl he fathered has become a full-grown woman in her forties. She would probably recognize him because he must resemble Hasan. Poor Hasan! He wanted so much to protect his family, and out of nowhere comes this unexpected catastrophe. But he's not alone. Maryama is with him. She brings life to the house and nurtures his children and Aysha as well. Saleema broke down in tears. Her body shook as she tried in vain to suppress the sobbing.
When Saleema went through the ordeal of the red hot iron and walked with it in measured steps, the inquisitors did not come to the conclusion, as would be expected upon undertaking such a trial, that the accused was truthful in her testimony. In fact, they were as convinced as ever that she was deeply involved with a powerful demon who empowered her to cause injury. On the following day, they resumed their interrogation of her, and she added nothing more to what she had already told them. She may have even aroused more suspicion when the judge asked her if she journeyed long distances at night on the back of a flying beast, to which she replied that she had never heard of any human being able to do such a thing with the exception of the Muslim prophet, Muhammad. When asked to explain and elaborate on her answer, she told them the story of the winged creature who carried Muhammad from a mosque in Mecca to a mosque in Jerusalem. When the judge asked her if she believed that this actually took place, Saleema avoided answering the question directly: "I've been baptized, and I've become a Christian."