“Typical symptoms of a concussion,” Thomas had explained. “They will subside soon. But only if you get sufficient bed rest.”
Sibylla’s physician son had been categorically opposed to his attending Tamra’s funeral, but André knew how deeply his wife mourned the old servant and wanted to be by her side at this difficult hour. Tamra had been a mother to her, unconditionally devoted, had known her better and longer than any other human being.
He reached for Aynur’s hand. Her fingers were like ice. She stood motionless next to him, never taking her eyes off Tamra’s body as it was lowered into its narrow grave next to her children, Thiyya and Izza.
Frédéric, Christian, and André Jr. stood on Aynur’s other side. Malika gently supported André’s back. Very slowly, so as not to lose his balance, he turned and looked over at Emily and Sibylla. They hung back next to Thomas and Sabri bin Abdul under the arched adobe gateway leading to the garden. The Ait Zelten were also paying their last respects and had assembled in a silent semicircle around the holly oak.
Before the funeral, their sheikh had paid André a visit. “I am deeply ashamed that men from my tribe have brought death and destruction upon you and yours,” he had said and bowed his head as a sign of his shame. “Today, my sons rode off into the mountains. I have ordered them not to return until they have killed every last one of those cowardly jackals!”
Qaid Samir’s soldiers had already searched for the attackers without finding even the slightest trace. That did not surprise André. He was familiar with the mountains around Qasr el Bahia and knew there were many inaccessible caverns and hidden gorges. Had he been in better condition, he would have ridden off to confront the gang himself. But, he thought, the sheikh’s sons might be able to succeed where Qaid Samir’s men had failed.
André was startled when something fell on his left shoulder. A locust. He shrugged off the insect in disgust and stepped on it. The locust plague had prevented the worst from happening, but looking at the damage to his land made him want to weep. The saffron not yet harvested was lost. Blue-green stumps were all that was left of the plants. The pomegranate, orange, and olive trees were bare. The proud holly oak looked as though it had been plucked.
“When the wind blows through the leaves, that means the tree is singing,” Aynur had always said of this old oak she loved so much. But now its constant, soft song had been silenced.
Aynur shuddered when some of the men began shoveling dirt on Tamra’s body. Her body was racked by shivers. She moaned and began to sway. André thought that she was overcome by grief until he saw her face, covered in sweat.
“You’re not well. Why don’t you go and lie down again? I’ll send Dr. Hopkins to you,” he urged her, trying to support her even though he could hardly stand upright himself.
“Leave me be!” She resisted when he put his arm around her waist. “I just have a little headache.”
“Baba is right, Imma, you belong in bed!” Malika insisted, but Aynur shook her off too. Only when the Ait Zelten had covered Tamra’s body completely did she turn away.
Sibylla had been watching jealously. “I’m a little cold. I think I’ll fetch a shawl from the house,” she said, hurrying off before Emily or Thomas had a chance to react.
“When will you finally understand that Aynur is the most important woman in his life?” she scolded herself with clenched teeth. She pushed open the door to her bedroom and angrily shooed a cat off the bed. She would return to Mogador first thing tomorrow. And Emily must come with her. She had been at Qasr el Bahia long enough!
Sabri and Thomas also had noticed that Aynur was not well. “I’m concerned about you, Madame Rouston,” said Thomas when they reached the arched gate. “I would like to examine you once more.”
Aynur did not answer, but leaned against the mud wall, gasping and exhausted. Although she felt cold, sweat was running down her face and body. Her head pounded and she seemed to have lost control over the cramps making her back muscles shudder.
“Madame Rouston? Can you hear me?” Thomas was extremely worried. As André was slowly regaining his vigor, Aynur seemed to be losing hers.
“I just need to rest a little,” she replied with a forced smile. “You may examine me again after midday prayers.”
“Hakim, please, you must examine her now!” Malika whispered to Thomas.
Thomas watched Aynur stumbling toward the house and nodded. “I’ll run and fetch my bag.”
Sabri frowned. “Do you want me to come along?”
Thomas shook his head. “You go and take care of your patients.”
Sibylla found André standing at the edge of his destroyed saffron field. She had been determined to tell him that she was leaving Qasr el Bahia, but seeing him so crestfallen, she did not have the heart.
“I am so very sorry,” was all she could say and, after briefly hesitating, she placed her hand on his arm.
He turned his face, swollen and bruised, toward her. Dark stubble grew on his chin and a thick bandage circled his head. “Three days ago, there was a purple carpet of flowers blooming in this field. Now everything is destroyed. The locusts did not spare even one single plant.”
“Don’t forget that you have brought in most of the harvest already. And soon saffron crocuses will grow again.”
“There is no certainty of that.” André loosened some of the soil with the tip of his cane and kneeled down with great difficulty. “As I suspected, those pests have laid their eggs here.”
He showed Sibylla the palm of his hand. A little perplexed, she peered at the whitish foam swimming among the pieces of dirt.
“Next spring, the larvae will hatch,” André explained. “And the whole thing may happen again.”
He threw the soil back on the field and struggled to get back to his feet. Sibylla quickly came to his aid.
“Thomas says that you must rest. Please listen to him, André. He is a good doctor.”
André looked ruefully over his ruined saffron field. Finally, he sighed. “I must accept my fate. It was only a few plants. My family is alive. If I believed in a god, I would pray every day for Him to punish those criminals with all His wrath!”
Sibylla cleared her throat. “I’ll be returning to Mogador tomorrow.”
He spun around and tried to suppress a painful groan. His face showed surprise and, much to Sibylla’s delight, regret.
“I’m strongly against it,” he declared firmly. “As long as the attackers are still at large, the area around Qasr el Bahia is not safe.”
“The qaid’s soldiers are returning tomorrow and I shall ride with them,” she replied. “I can take your saffron with me. You’re still too sick to ride and, as long as those thugs are still making trouble, the harvest is not safe on the estate. So, what do you think of my offer?”
He snorted angrily. “Offer! Don’t make me laugh. This proposition is typical of you, Sibylla. You do everything exactly as you see fit and worry little about the feelings of others.”
She squinted in the sun, now standing over the blue peaks of the Atlas Mountains and pouring its golden light over the black cedar forests. “There’s nothing more for me to do here, André. But if I take your saffron to Mogador and keep it safe, then I have contributed something to helping you all recover from these terrible events.”
He stared at his dusty boots. “Very well. I respect your decision.”
“And I’m taking Emily with me.”
His head jerked up. “Is that what she wants?”
Sibylla’s back went up. “I have not asked her yet, but she will come.”
“Our daughter is an adult. She knows what she wants and she is old enough to decide for herself,” André remarked sharply.
“Are you going to teach me about my daughter?”
“Sibylla, you know I’m right. When will you honor Emily’s wishes?”
She said nothing. It would have been so easy to finally let him have it: the indignation, the hurt, the jealousy she had bottled up all these y
ears. But for Emily’s sake, she said nothing.
“I would like to have Emily with me,” she finally said reluctantly. “She’s been gone a year now. Can you imagine how much I’ve missed her?”
“Oh, indeed I can!” he said emphatically.
She avoided his eyes and lowered her head. They stood next to each other for a while. At last, André took her hand gently. “When will we see each other again?”
“In Mogador, of course, to negotiate the price of your saffron.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about. Do you not at last wish to speak about those things that are still between us?”
Tears welled up in her eyes. “You have Aynur. I have seen how much she means to you. We cannot turn back time, André.” She very gently caressed his bruised face. “I shall go find Emily now and tell her we’re leaving.”
“The paste is almost hard,” Sabri said with satisfaction as he carefully checked the little boy’s bandage. “Emily, please tell the parents that their son must remain lying down today. He may get up tomorrow. But they absolutely cannot return to their village. They have to remain on the estate until the arm has healed completely.”
Emily lowered her charcoal pencil and translated for the mother, who paid close attention.
Meanwhile, Sabri looked at her sketch of the little boy with his arm in a sling. “I like your drawing,” he said approvingly.
She smiled happily. She was always happy when Sabri spoke to her in a familiar tone. He did so only when there was no one else around or if those present, like the parents of the injured boy, understood neither English nor Arabic. “I promised him a drawing as a memento of his courage.”
There was activity all around them. The Ait Zelten sheikh had refused the agreed-upon pay and informed André that the people were ready to return to their village. Now, there were pack donkeys all over the yard being loaded with tents, rugs, equipment, and cooking utensils. A group of children had gathered around the injured boy to marvel at his bandage.
“Emily?” the boy asked.
She was concentrating on capturing the folds of his mother’s headscarf. “Yes?”
“Why do you look so strangely at the hakim when he speaks with you?”
“Pardon me?” She lowered her pencil.
“I want to know why you look at the hakim like that,” the little boy repeated impatiently. The other children giggled. The mother too smiled at Emily.
“Look, I’ll show you. Like this.” He opened his eyes wide and stared into the air with a rapturous expression.
It made Emily laugh. “That’s not true. I never make a silly face like that!”
“What’s he saying?” Sabri interrupted. “Is he in pain?”
“Oh no! He wanted to know how much longer he’ll have to wear the bandage,” Emily fibbed.
“Six weeks exactly,” Sabri told the boy with a firm look.
The boy turned his attention back to Emily. “My sister looks at her bridegroom the same way. Is the hakim your bridegroom?”
Embarrassed, Emily said nothing and busied herself with her sketch.
“Shush, alemzi, quiet!” The mother lightly smacked his bottom. She fiddled with the jewelry around her neck and handed Emily a silver chain with a pendant made of bright red coral. “For you, because you have helped my child. The coral glows with the color of love, like your heart. If you wear it, it will bring you fertility and many children.” She ceremoniously hung the chain around Emily’s neck.
“Thank you very much.” Emily shyly looked over at Sabri and wondered if he had understood anything.
But he joked without any inhibition, “What did she give you? An amulet to cast a spell on me?”
Emily was relieved to see Malika coming toward them from the stable. “It’s a good thing you’re here, Sister. Do you think you could finish milking the goats for me? I want to be with Imma when the English hakim examines her wound.”
“Of course! Pester my brother with questions all you want, and don’t worry. Aynur will get better, just like our father.” Emily hugged Malika.
“May God repay you for all your kindness, Sister!” She hurried away.
Emily gathered her drawing materials, said good-bye to the young family, and hurried off to the stable. This was where the horses and cows of the estate were kept and now, in the wintertime, the goats had their own fenced-off area as well. Malika had milked most of them already. Full earthenware dishes were lined up in the milking area, which was paved with mud tiles. André Jr. was pouring the fresh, foamy milk through a horsehair strainer into tin pots, which Christian then took to the rectangular cooling basin André had built in the courtyard next to the well. A pump made fresh, cold mountain water run into the basin and cool the warm milk. After that, the cook used the milk to make laban, a mildly acidic farmer’s cheese that was eaten with olive oil and flatbread or with honey and fresh fruit.
“Your mother would love to see you,” Emily said to Christian and André Jr. “Go ahead, I’ll take care of the milk.”
After the boys had left, she took a clean earthenware dish from the wooden shelf, fetched a rope from an iron hook on the wall, and went over to the goats. There were only five of them left with full udders, and they greeted Emily with their bleating. She looped the rope around the first goat’s neck, fastened it to a ring on the wall, placed the dish under the udder, and crouched down on the floor.
“Might I help you?” a voice behind her asked.
“Sabri!” Emily had not noticed that he had followed her into the stable. “You know how to milk goats?”
He shook his head. “I’m afraid not. Will you teach me?”
“Why not? Come and sit down on the other side. Normally, they’re milked from behind, but if you want me to teach you, it’s better like this. We’ll each take a teat and you shall do exactly as I do.”
The animal’s udder felt pleasantly warm and soft in Emily’s hand as she expressed the milk. The goat turned her head and looked at her with large brown eyes as if to ask, What’s going on? Why are you working so slowly?
Next it was Sabri’s turn. But try as he might, he could only express a few paltry drops. The disgruntled goat tried to kick him, knocking over the dish.
“Do it with feeling, Hakim! Where are your sensitive physician’s hands?” Emily convulsed with laughter.
“Go ahead and make fun of me!” He gave her a helpless look. “I have been living in Mogador all my life. How was I to know that milking a goat requires such finesse?”
“I’ll show you once more,” Emily said. Without taking her eyes off Sabri, she reached for his hands underneath the goat and placed them on the udder.
“There,” she continued patiently. “And now you ask her with your fingers to give you her milk. But you must do it gently, lovingly. After all, you are asking her to give you her children’s nourishment.”
Steadily and evenly, her hands over his, Emily guided him through the pressing and stroking motions, and soon, a thin stream of milk squirted into the bowl.
“I can do it!” Sabri shouted enthusiastically.
“Really? You no longer need my help?”
“Well, yes, I do.” He winked at her. “That would be nice.”
Their eyes met and, slowly, their faces neared each other. When their lips touched over the goat’s brown back, Emily closed her eyes and lost herself in the glory of her first kiss. Somewhere in her consciousness, she remembered something Thomas had told her, something about Sabri’s being promised to an Arab girl in Mogador, but she blocked out that thought, especially when Sabri took hold of her face and kissed her more and more. It was only when the goat bleated loudly and jerked on its rope that they returned to the present moment.
“That was beautiful,” Emily whispered as she untied the rope with jittery fingers.
“We could repeat it sometime,” Sabri suggested hopefully.
She took a deep breath and looked into his warm, kind eyes. Perhaps Thomas had been mistaken. Perhaps there was
no promised bride. Sabri was not acting as though there was another woman waiting for him.
“Why ‘sometime’? We will be undisturbed over there.” She took him by the hand and led him to an unused horse stall in the remotest corner of the stable. Sabri pulled her close and they were locked in a tight embrace when they sank to the thin layer of hay on the mud floor. André’s horse in the next stall snorted. There was a warm smell of leather, hay, and animals, and Emily could not remember feeling as alive as she did just now.
Sabri kissed her for a long time with abandon and when he said, “Do you know that I love you, Emily?” her joy knew no bounds.
“I love you too.” She took his hand and guided it to the neckline of her tunic. He flinched when his fingertips felt her naked breast, but she held his hand in place. “I want us to do what married people do when they love each other.” She looked deeply into his eyes while she placed her hand on the crotch of his pants.
“Emily! What are you doing?” He tried to push her away. “And how on earth do you know that a man is, uh, sensitive there?”
“Malika told me. She’s been married before and she told me everything.” Emily felt very worldly and experienced.
She assumed that her own desire was not very different from Sabri’s. He exhibited what Malika referred to as a “love column” in the same place where her “heavenly lips” were located. Emily did not have her own name for the place between her legs. Nor for that mysterious little organ that Malika called an “almond,” which brought such wonderful pleasure if she massaged it gently.
“I wish you could crawl inside my body and experience all of my emotions for yourself!” she whispered and pressed herself against Sabri. When she felt how big and hard he became, her eyes grew wide. So that’s why Malika had talked about a column! She forgot everything around her, felt only the two of them, their bodies filled with warmth and passion. She lifted her pelvis toward Sabri expectantly. But to her surprise, he pulled away from her a little.
The Lioness of Morocco Page 33