Zaytuna’s face became hot at this insult to Zayd, despite it being an observation she had made herself; she held herself inwardly to keep from slapping the woman. Her anger fell back enough to keep up the act with this woman, letting her say, “Poor thing, may God accept him to Paradise where he will be made whole.”
The corpsewasher held up her hands in prayer and said, “Amin, amin.”
They caught up with the other women standing by the door. Mustafa and three other men had taken up the bier and were walking toward the door reciting from the Qur’an, “Ya Siin, I swear by the Wise Qur’an, Indeed you are among the Messengers, on a straight path...” followed by the others. Zaytuna turned to keep her eye on the housekeeper and Zaynab who were standing at the outside of the crowd of women by the door. She moved in through the crowd until she was on the other side of the girl. She watched the girl as the bier drew closer. Zaynab tightened her hold onto the housekeeper’s arm. As it reached them, she could see Zayd’s form despite the thickness of the winding cloth and the green drape embroidered with words from the Qur’an that had been laid over him. The girl’s knees buckled under her and she fainted. Zaytuna and the housekeeper caught her as she was going down and they moved her gently away from the crowd, so she could rest against the wall. The housekeeper pulled Zaynab’s niqab back over her forehead so she could breathe more easily. Zaytuna saw the bit of cloth that had covered all but her eyes was soaked with tears and her thin pale face had lost what colour it had.
Zaytuna looked up and saw the corpsewasher looking straight at her, eyebrows shot up, with a look that said, “Well maybe she loved him after all!”
Zaytuna ran to get a cup of water from the jug at the back of the women’s section. Zaynab had opened her eyes, but was not moving. Zaytuna handed the housekeeper the cup to hold to the girl’s lips, asking, “How is she?”
“She’ll be alright, she’s just had a shock. I shouldn’t have brought her, but she insisted.”
“I knew the boy. Zayd. May God hold him in His care.”
The girl raised her eyes to her, searching Zaytuna’s face, saying with what breath she had, “How? How did you know him?”
“He visited the storyteller in our neighbourhood. He had to go past my street to get there. He was such a funny thing. He must have been wonderful to have around.”
Zaynab’s cheeks began to get their colour back, “Oh! He is….was... He was so smart, too. We…”.
The housekeeper brushed her cheek lightly with her fingers to quiet her, “Now hush child, you’ve had a fright.” Zaynab understood and dropped her face, turning to hide in the woman’s arms.
The housekeeper turned to Zaytuna, imploring yet speaking plainly, “They saw each other a bit when they were little. Growing up in the same house, you see. They played now and again, as is permitted at that age. But she’s been in seclusion for sometime now and no longer saw the boy. Then this happened. It’s been hard on her, you understand. Little ones, so innocent.”
“I understand. You needn’t worry,” she reassured her. Zaytuna looked at the woman, the way her arm was around the girl, the tender way she cared for Zaynab. She herself had washed clothes for women like this when she was old enough to begin working. Her mother had died by then. Mustafa’s mother, Zaytuna, stepped in and did the best she could for them. They were clean, clothed, and well-fed. It was a good home. More than that, she held Auntie Zaytuna’s memory close to her heart because she had loved her and Tein like she did her own Mustafa. They never felt that they were a burden to her. On the contrary, Mustafa’s mother called her and Tein barakati, “her blessings.” But she was always hungry for more. A few of the housekeepers, women like this one, opened their hearts to her as soon as they saw her love-starved eyes. They would make time to sit with her when she’d finished the washing. They held her, her head resting on their breast, and told her stories or sung her lullabies.
She reached her hand out now and placed it on the housekeeper’s knee, “But, Auntie, how are you doing? I started coming in to do laundry when I was little. Some of the housekeepers where I worked cared a lot for us little ones doing the heavy labour. You seem especially kind, like one of them. This must be a real strain on you.”
“Bless you, alhamdulilah. You must have been like our little Layla.” She looked around, “Where is she? I thought she’d be here.” She sighed, “I guess she couldn’t get out of the house.” Zaytuna looked quickly at Zaynab to see how the name registered to her. The girl had lost her colour again, but she couldn’t tell if it were at the mention of Layla’s name or because grief had pulled her down.
The housekeeper brought her attention back, “I do love the little ones working for me like they are my own. This boy was dear to me. If it’s alright to say…,” she paused and searched Zaytuna’s face. “Please understand. Well, I think you do. He could charm the birds from the trees. I’m afraid I let him get away with a lot, but he always did his work like I asked. I just loved him so much,” she began to weep quietly. Zaynab looked to her, held her more closely, and wept with her.
When they had quieted after a moment, Zaytuna said, “I want you to know that housekeepers like you made all the difference. Please let me thank you if I have not thanked them properly.” She took the woman’s hand in her own and brought it to her lips, kissing it lightly, then pressing the back of the old woman’s hand to her own forehead.
She looked up as she let the woman’s hand go and the housekeeper was in tears at her gesture, “Alhamdulilah to the Opener of our hearts to each other in this cruel world.”
“I’m Zaytuna.”
“I’m Maryam.”
Maryam moved to help Zaynab get up, saying to the girl, “If you are alright now, we should be heading back. I saw a place nearby where we can get you some juice. That should help.”
“Is it a far walk?”
“No, on the Muhasibin road in al-Anbariyya.”
Zaytuna took note of the place. She wondered how she might be able to visit the house and ask them more questions. Maybe offer to wash clothes there? No, that would only make it seem that the concern she showed them was selfish, just wanting a job.
Maryam and Zaynab stood up and readied themselves to leave. Zaynab’s niqab was lowered again and she adjusted her wrap to cover her whole body, her hand grasping a clutch of the cloth underneath it to keep it close to her.
Zaytuna felt all at once that she had been selfish. She’d lied, too. She’d lied so easily! She objected to herself that it was only to help the boy. It’s alright to lie in God’s service… isn’t it?
Maryam stepped forward and embraced her, “God give you ease.”
Zaytuna held her, “And you, Auntie.”
Shame came over her then, followed by a wave of fear as she finally put to mind where this kind of questioning could lead. What if she did get to talk to them again and the questions led to Maryam or the girl getting into trouble? Zaynab loved Zayd. As sure as she had been before that nothing had happened, now she was sure Zayd did not sleepwalk off that roof. Imam Ibrahim must have found out and had the boy killed. Or even killed the boy himself. Layla was right.
Zaynab nodded her head as they turned to leave, she could see that her eyes were welling up with tears again.
Zaytuna argued with God, Maybe I should just leave this story to die. The boy is dead. How is it possible to be on the side of God’s love by hurting others?
She hurried after them and took Maryam’s hand again, saying, “I’ll ask the friends of God at Shaykh Abu al-Qasim al-Junayd’s to say the fatiha for the boy and to ease your hearts. Please give my greetings to Layla when you see her. Tell her to come see me.”
“Insha’Allah.”
Chapter Thirteen
Tein unsteadily picked his way through the sleeping bodies in the courtyard in the small light of the moon. Most of Zaytuna’s neighbours had laid their mats out in the cool night air and there wasn’t much room for a misstep. “Tein!” he heard whispered nearby. He jumped but did
n’t answer. He recognized Saliha’s voice, insistent, “Tein!” He was nearly to Zaytuna’s door. He didn’t turn around, but gestured, hoping she could see him, and went inside.
Zaytuna was awake. The room was nearly pitch black but he could hear her reciting Qur’an verses quietly to herself. She must be standing in prayer. He slumped down on the soft reed mats covering the dirt floor, sitting against the wall closest to the door to give her space. He just wanted to sleep. He’d finally got enough wine in him that he could sleep without dreaming of Ayzit’s bloody body curled up over their tiny son, trying, and failing, to protect him from the Byzantine raid on their camp town in the middle of the night. But Zaytuna would be going up and down and up and down in here and Saliha would be trying to get next to him inch by inch outside.
He heard Zaytuna say quietly, “Assalamu alaykum wa rahmatullah. Peace to you and God’s mercy,” ending her prayer. Then, “God, I can smell the wine from over here, Tein.” She kicked her brother lightly, “Can’t sleep?”
He moaned, stretching his arms over his head, “I could if you would stop with that relentless praying.”
“Oh my sweet, lie down. I’m done.”
He said, “I don’t know if I can sleep anymore. Do you have any oil for the lamp?” He laughed, “I have to tell you, Zay, your sainthood game is off. Shouldn’t you be lighting up the room at night with your luminous soul already?”
Zaytuna reached for her lamp, “Mother never lit up at night. If a woman’s soul was going to be a lamp, it would be hers. I complained to Uncle Nuri about these stories once, he laughed at me thinking they were talking about real light. He said, ‘When dawn breaks, one no longer needs a lamp’.”
“Well, she couldn’t see in the dark, either.”
“That’s not what he meant.”
“Do you think people will tell stories about her someday?”
“Sorry Tein, I’ve got the lamp but no oil. We’re stuck in the dark. What did you say?”
“Stories. Will people tell stories of Mother? Will anyone know her name?”
As usual, she turned his question toward her own thoughts, “Why did she never tell us stories of her life before she wandered? We don’t know anything about who we come from. Our family. We’ve got nothing other than the drum and the beads.”
“If we should’ve known, she’d have told us. She left all that behind.”
“For God.”
“Maybe for a different reason.”
“I wish I could’ve asked her.”
“Listen. I meant will the Sufis tell stories about her?”
She thought about it and said, “I’ve always heard stories of the women from years past at Uncle Abu al-Qasim’s. Mustafa said he heard an Auntie reciting mother’s poetry recently. I can’t imagine the Sufis forgetting about her, forgetting about the women. If they go the way of the scholars, though…. Women are no better than donkeys and dogs to the likes of them.”
“Mustafa is not like that.”
“True, but it seems like the ones who are like that get control of everything. There were two fools out in front of the mosque today taunting the women.”
“And how did that go over,” he asked, knowing exactly how the women of the neighbourhood would handle it.
“They would have been knocked out flat if Mustafa had not shown up and tried to argue them down. Poor Mustafa. The women should have just hit the swine. The men weren’t listening to him. What use is there in arguing?”
“Said my sister who loves to argue,” his eyes closed slightly as he slid a bit more down the wall to get comfortable.
She ignored him, her gorge rising as she thought of Imam Ibrahim. She nearly spat, “One of our boys was killed by one of these scholars.”
He sat up, “What?”
“Uff, probably killed. I don’t know.”
“Zay, make sense now, tell me.”
“A boy who worked for Imam Ibrahim’s household died last night. They think it was an accident, but there’s more going on. I know it.”
“Who in the world is Imam Ibrahim?”
“One of those hadith scholars trying to kiss the ass of the Caliph.”
“That could be a thousand men.”
“I don’t know, Salman boasted about having the boy studying with him instead of the glorious Imam Ibrahim as-Silafi, so he must be important.”
“The boy?”
“Zayd.”
“This Imam Ibrahim doesn’t live in al-Anbariyya does he?”
“You know him?”
“No, I saw Ammar this morning. He offered me a job, by the way.”
“Oh Tein! But how? Your leg? the military…?”
“No, no. Ammar works for the police now. He was coming back from a house in al-Anbariyya when I met up with him. He said a boy had died in an accident.”
“Work for the police! Tein, how will you do it? What have the police ever done for the likes of us? Are you to begin beating women and children simply because they are hungry? Men for demanding their rightful pay? You can’t!”
“Relax. Ammar is an investigator. Not that kind of police. He investigates grave crimes.”
“Grave crimes? Does that cover all the grave sins including fornication and adultery? Will you be pulling people from their beds and bringing them before the courts?”
“Zaytuna, would you calm down please. It’s murder and assault. I’m to help him. You know, to handle things if anything gets out of control.”
“I don’t trust them.”
“You’ll trust the coin I’ll be bringing home.”
Zaytuna went stiff at the suggestion that she’d be pleased with more money. For him to suggest that money mattered to her, that they needed more, walla! Worse, how could he say that she wasn’t doing enough for them. They did alright on what she made washing. They had food, a place to sleep. It’s true the place was small, but they made it work well enough.
Tein asked with a tone of official certainty, a touch of pride in himself, “So what do you know about this boy’s death?”
She heard his pride, then castigated herself for not seeing it. He needed the work for himself. But he wanted the work for her, too, to care for her. She smiled, feeling tenderness toward him returning to her, and comfort that he was there for her, and said, “I’m glad for you, Tein.”
And then what he said hit her. Woman! She scolded herself, You are so slow! Then, “Tein, you will be working with the very man who is investigating the crime that I’ve been asked to look into, that I am looking into...”
Tein broke in, sitting up at it and leaned forward, placing both hands on the floor, “You are looking into...? What are you talking about?”
“I have to tell Ammar what I know. He’ll be able to investigate it….”
“Zay, what are you going on about?”
“Imam Ibrahim’s daughter. She was in love with the boy who died. It is the strangest thing, Tein. This girl, her name is Layla, came here and told me about it. Then I talked to the corpsewasher, and even the Imam’s daughter.”
She reached out to him, found his hand and pulled it to her, saying, “God Himself brought them all to me. And now you work for the man who is investigating it!”
“God Himself? What is all this, Zay? And where in the world would you have met a rich scholar’s daughter?”
“Will you bring me to talk to Ammar?”
“Slow down.”
“There’s so much suffering in this world, Tein. But what do any of us do about it?”
“Fine, tomorrow, if it will calm you down. But I’m not sleeping anymore tonight. You better tell me everything. Tell me about this boy. Then get back to your prayers.”
Thinking about what she’d done in bringing up Zayd’s death, probably reminding him of his son, she reached out to him again and said, “Tein, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought up a boy dying, at this hour especially. I wish you’d never run off with those men to the Frontier to fight.”
“The Sufis have been fig
hting on the Frontier since the early days.”
Old resentments pushed up too easily, “Don’t pretend you went off to war in the pious footsteps of Ibn Mubarak.”
“Don’t pretend you’re our mother. Standing in prayer all night and not eating doesn’t make you a seeker. When did you ever take the advice of our aunts and uncles?”
Cutting him off, “Be careful what you say now.”
“Look, I had to get out of here. You wanted to be like Mother. I didn’t. What good did any of her piety do us, Zay?”
She said what she always said, “You abandoned me.”
“I’m tired of this, Zay. You had a home with Auntie Zaytuna and Mustafa. You had the whole circle of family at Uncle Abu al-Qasim’s. How could you possibly have been alone?”
Zaytuna took a long breath, exhaling, saying, “I was without you.”
He shook his head, “And if I had stayed here with you? You would have it so that I never loved Ayzit and my Husayn, your nephew, was never born?”
“I’m not saying that.”
“You are, Zay.” He got up, “I’m going to the cemetery to sleep.”
“Oh Tein, stay. I’m sorry. Stay here, I’ll go outside and share Saliha’s mat. It’ll be fine. Please stay.”
“Zay, stop it. I’ll be back first thing. We can talk about it then. If I can make sense of this, I’ll take you to see Ammar.” He walked out the door, finding his way through the sleeping bodies again, past Saliha, who did not call out to him this time, but who watched him go; he left Zaytuna in the dark, alone.
The Second Day
Chapter Fourteen
Zaytuna woke to the sound of the call to prayer. She felt for her jug to perform her ablutions, but there was nothing. She felt heavy. She could not, somehow, get out of her room, pick past her sleeping neighbours, to the deep basin of common water in the courtyard. She said to God, “You know me. Accept this dry ablution for the morning prayer,” and she patted the mud brick wall with both hands, raising some dust and grit, wiped her hands together, her forearms, and then her face. She then pushed herself up, somehow, and stood, feeling her heart ease once she lifted her hands and brought them down, saying, “Allahu akbar, Surely God is greater than this,” opening her prayer. Afterwards, she sat for a while, simply breathing, being with God, until she heard bodies moving out in the courtyard. Then she raised herself and stepped out into the dawn light and looked for Tein’s sleeping body, but he was not there. Saliha’s eyes were open and watching her. Saliha got up to go to her, stepping around her neighbours as they shifted, slowly coming awake. She put her hand on Zaytuna’s dusty face, “You alright?”
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