The Lover

by Laury Silvers

  Mustafa lowered his voice to a whisper, “Zaytuna is mad at you for that?”

  “No. No. She’s mad because of what I said to the Washer. I asked the woman how I could learn to be a washer too. Just to keep her busy. But the one I spoke to, she gestured to the one speaking to Zaytuna saying that she needed to replace her. That she wasn’t all that discreet. She invited me to train with her.”

  “Why would Zaytuna be mad about that? I don’t understand.”

  “If I train to be a corpsewasher, I will no longer be a washer of clothes.”

  “Oh,” he said. “Leaving Zaytuna to do that without you.”

  “Correct.”

  They heard Zaytuna from inside her room, yelling, at them, “ALLAHU AKBAR!”

  Saliha rolled her eyes, “I guess she’s going to pray about how I’ve betrayed her.”

  Mustafa said gently, “Maybe she’s going to pray to quiet her heart.”

  “Mustafa, please. Do you really think that?” She walked away from him to her own room leaving him standing by her door.

  Saliha was right. Zaytuna would have her back up about this. He could never understand how someone who cared so much for others, who championed the most vulnerable, could not be more generous with those closest to her. Now he had to tell Zaytuna there was nothing to her suspicions of Imam Ibrahim. It would be a betrayal to her. Just the fact of the situation. But she would feel it as a betrayal all the same. Maybe he shouldn’t tell her?

  He could hear the crackling sound of her fishskin mat and the rustle of her clothes, then quietly, her voice reciting Qur’an. She was in prayer now. He sat down against the wall and waited for her to finish. But she didn’t finish. She kept going. She was settled in for a long prayer. Maybe he should just come back.

  As he sat listening to her movements and her voice he realized she had been reciting the same verse over and over in each cycle of prayer, “Who is it who answers the distressed when they call upon Him? Who removes their suffering? Who has made you His advocates on this earth? Is there another god beside God? Yet you remember none of that.”

  He sighed. This conversation was not going to go well with her in this state of mind. He got up to leave.

  Saliha came out, asking him, “Has she stopped praying for my doom yet?”

  He shook his head. “I have to tell her something, but it can wait. I’ll come by later.”

  Mustafa saw Saliha move toward Zaytuna’s doorway. Realizing what she was going to do, he tried to stop her, “No, really. I’ll come back later. Don’t disturb her prayer.”

  She gave him a look that said, “It’s fine,” and pulled back the curtain, saying loudly, “Zay, Mustafa’s here. Cut that out and come and speak to him.”

  Zaytuna responded with a harsh, “ALLAHU AKBAR!”

  Saliha laughed, “She’ll be out.”

  Mustafa didn’t like it, “God protect me. You are worse than she is.”

  Saliha laughed again and went back to her own room to get ready to go to work. The sky was light now. Neighbours began moving around the courtyard. Umm Farhad came out, her hair uncovered and her wrap wound around her body, her shoulders bare. Farhad followed her, tugging at his own sirwal and complaining to her about something. Mustafa couldn’t hear what about. She looked down at him, pushing him away from her, “Run then if you have to go. You don’t need me. The latrine isn’t far. Just around the corner. You know where it is.” Farhad rushed off, out the passageway.

  Mustafa dropped his eyes to the ground. She caught it and laughed at him, “Look you silly boy! No one has cared for this old body in many years. Maybe I’ll still find me a man, but he won’t be you. So don’t be so scared!”

  Mustafa blushed deeply and called inside Zaytuna’s room, “Zaytuna, I’m leaving. I’m sorry. I had news about the Imam.”

  At that, he heard her quickly end her prayer. He wished he’d said it earlier. The curtain pulled back, she stepped out and said without greeting him, “What did you hear?”

  “It’s nothing. I mean, there is nothing.”

  “Mustafa, what do you mean ‘there is nothing’?”

  “The book of hadith isn’t a forgery. You know the scholar, Abu Abdelrahman al-Azdi, who is permitting me to become certified in the hadiths of the Golden Chain?”

  “Yes, yes.”

  “He said Imam Ibrahim was his student once. He taught him many of those hadith himself. There is no Ibrahim Ibn at-Tahir al-Naysaburi who he could have stolen the collection from. It’s all lies, made up to slander Imam Ibrahim.”

  “Oh,” she said, looking down.

  “So you see, there just isn’t any reason for the Imam to have killed Zayd.” She didn’t respond. She was still looking at the ground, or her feet. What did it matter? He didn’t know what she was thinking. Maybe he could guide her. He said, softly, “Isn’t it possible that you’ve seen too much in all this. You’ve seen patterns where there were none? We’ve looked at everything.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Layla and Zayd,” he pushed lightly, “Don’t you see a bit of us in them? Our childhood. Everyone’s childhood here. Maybe you are trying to speak out for them because, well, who speaks for any of us when the rich can do as they please?”

  “You’re saying all this is in my mind.”

  “No.”

  “I don’t believe it, Mustafa. How could it be?”

  Her voice became desperate. Her eyes searching his for confirmation, “God arranged all this. God brought them to me.”

  “Maybe God brought them to you, but not for the reason you think.”

  “What then? What is the reason? How could I have misunderstood God so completely?”

  Zaytuna fell back against one edge of the doorway and sat down hard on the floor. He watched her slide down the wall. Now seated, he saw her heart beating so hard the fabric was moving. He looked away, across the courtyard, focusing on the far wall.

  She listened to her heart thumping in her chest. She could hear the percussive whoosh of it as far as her ears. Then she heard the beating of her heart as if from outside her body, and saw herself as if in front of herself, watching the colour rise up into her face.

  Mustafa didn’t look at her. He didn’t dare. She was breathing hard, nearly panting. He was waiting for an outburst. There was nothing. Then he heard footsteps from behind him in the courtyard and Tein’s voice.

  “Ya Zaytuna, we have to talk.”

  The sound of him snapped her back to herself. She turned towards him, looking past Mustafa, finding her voice, and hissed, “You too?”

  Tein stopped short and held his hands up, “What did I do? I just walked into this courtyard! Calm down, sister.”

  She repeated his words, “Calm down, sister.”

  He looked at Mustafa, “What’s wrong?”

  Mustafa said, “I found out there is nothing to the forgery story.”

  Tein gestured with his hand, “What?”

  “Another reason Zaytuna was considering why Imam Ibrahim might have killed Zayd. There was no forgery for Zayd to discover and for the Imam to cover up by killing him.”

  Tein laughed under his breath, “Another angle.”

  Zaytuna repeated his words, “Another angle.”

  Tein ignored Zaytuna and said to Mustafa, “It didn’t go so well when she spoke to Ammar.”

  He said, “I heard. Naturally, she was upset.”

  Zaytuna muttered, “Naturally.”

  Tein turned his hand out gesturing to her, speaking to Mustafa, “I can’t do what she wants.”

  Saliha came out of her room. She saw Zaytuna, her back against the doorway, red faced, muttering, and the two men talking over her, crowding her down, and hurried to her, “Habibti, you’re scaring me. Look at you. You’re sweating, look at your face, it’s all red. That vein on your forehead is beating like a drum. Come, come.”

  She pulled Zaytuna away from under them, pulling her up and over to her. She ran to get a cloth to wet at the basin. Only then did Mu
stafa and Tein see that anything was wrong.

  Saliha placed the cloth from the basin on the back of Zaytuna’s neck. Zaytuna tried to push her away, but Saliha scolded her, “Stop it right now.”

  The men came over. Mustafa asked, worried now, “What can I do?”

  Saliha looked the two of them up and down, “Walla, you two are useless. One of you, get her a cup of water.”

  Mustafa rushed to get the water. Saliha took it from him and held it to Zaytuna’s lips. Zaytuna, pushed her hand away, nearly spilling the water, spitting out the words, “I’m not a child.”

  Saliha looked her in the eye and put her hand on her cheek, “No you are not, so stop acting like one.”

  Zaytuna looked back at her just as sharply, “Fine. Give me the cup.” Saliha handed it to her and she drank from it, her breathing slowing as she focused on drinking the water.

  Zaytuna looked up at the two men, hovering over her again, and pushed at them with her free hand, “Get away from me!”

  Tein shrugged and moved over to the far wall, saying over his shoulder, “She’ll be fine. She’s my sister, you think I haven’t seen this before?”

  Mustafa walked over to him, unwilling to say aloud what Tein had, but thinking it. He turned to Tein and asked almost in a whisper, “What did you have to say? Was it about all this?”

  Tein didn’t bother to lower his voice, “She doesn’t think she was taken seriously.” He turned to speak directly at her, raising his voice slightly, “but what she doesn’t know is that Ammar questioned another person because of her and we’re going to question the last possible person who could know anything later today. Two people she didn’t even know about. A student in the Imam’s house who is in love with Zaynab and another servant, a boy named Yusuf. He was on the roof when Zayd went over. The student couldn’t have done it. He wasn’t there. The servant was sleeping, but, despite her complaints that she’s been treated unfairly, we’re going there today to question him, too. Just to make sure.”

  Mustafa shook his head, “It seems that every consideration is being made.”

  “Ammar’s not happy about any of it, though. He said it’s wasting a lot of his time. I got the backhand of that for her efforts.”

  Mustafa looked down, speaking under his breath, hoping only Tein could hear, “I asked questions I wouldn’t have, too. I shamed myself in front of an important scholar by questioning him about libellous gossip for her sake.”

  Saliha looked at the two of them, eyes wide, shaking her head, “You know we can hear you.”

  Mustafa looked stricken.

  Tein said, “I haven’t said anything that I wasn’t going to say to her directly. In fact, I’ve been talking directly to her.”

  Zaytuna said, her face hard, trying to keep tears back, “Leave then. Leave like you always do if I’m so much trouble for you! And where did you sleep last night?”

  Tein said, “I’ve got my own coin now. I’ve got a room, closer to the Basra Gate.”

  Zaytuna said, “Of course you do. And what about me?

  “It’s always about you. What am I here for? You think I can protect you? I can’t protect you. I can’t protect anyone. Get off my back.”

  Zaytuna spat out at him, “Perfect for the police then. When have they ever taken care of the likes of us!”

  Mustafa took a step toward Zaytuna, she pointed at him, growling, “You, BACK!”

  Mustafa’s heart froze. He’d never heard this from her. He stood perfectly still, tight with fear, “Zaytuna, please. Forgive me.”

  Tein heard him simpering and laughed out his nose, “I’m gone. You two. You two are perfect for each other. You give right in to her. You’ll be happy.” He tipped his chin up at Mustafa saying, “Ask her to marry you already.” He turned his back on them and walked away, wondering if Salman had replaced his stock of wine. It was early in the morning, but he already wanted a drink.

  Mustafa rushed to Zaytuna, kneeling before her, but taking care not to touch her, “I would give my life for yours! Please forgive me!”

  She pushed at him, “Your life! Do you truly want to marry me? Mustafa, what would make you think that? I’ve never loved any man other than the Prophet. Look at you! Is this how he would treat a woman? Is this the kind of loyalty he showed the women he loved? Get away from me!”

  He stood slowly, backing up, and tripped over Umm Farhad and Yulduz who had been sitting by Umm Farhad’s room watching the whole thing, falling beside them and landing hard, his turban falling off. He scrambled up, grabbing his turban, and ran out of the courtyard, his eyes stinging from fighting back the tears that were now coming hard.

  Saliha turned to the old women, “Alright, you’ve had your show.”

  Yulduz replied to Zaytuna, “I told you whose side that brother of yours would be on.”

  Zaytuna wanted to reach out and slap her and looked like she would.

  Saliha got up and walked over to the old women and said quietly to Yulduz, “Go inside.”

  Yulduz flicked her chin up at Saliha and stayed right where she was while Umm Farhad crossed her arms, settling in.

  Saliha nodded slowly and said, “You’ll reap what you sow, old woman,” and turned her back on the two of them.

  Yulduz called after her, “Say what you like, girl. But I vow I’ll go see Hajja Tansholpan at the market gate for a lasting curse on that man if he turns against us.”

  Farhad came out at all the yelling and started crying. Saliha wanted to slap him quiet, but Yulduz had scared her. She looked back at the two women, knowing one of those cows would do it, too. Qambar came out of their room and pulled at Yulduz to get inside. Yulduz slowly rolled over to her side and pushed herself up and, for her husband’s sake, went inside while Umm Farhad finally took her child in hand and walked him out of the courtyard.

  Saliha got to Zaytuna and crouched in front of her. Her face had changed. It was resolute. She asked Zaytuna, “What do you want to do?”

  “I need to speak to the housekeeper.” She looked back at where the old women were sitting, “I never considered what an old woman might do to protect her own. If what Zayd did to Zaynab was bad enough….” She looked back at Saliha, “I have to go this morning. Did you hear Tein? He said they are going over there later today. If I don’t do this, I won’t know what I am for in this world. I won’t know who God is anymore. Insha’Allah, I need to finish this. Whatever that means. And I need to finish it before they get there.”

  “Do you know where they live?”

  “I know the street. From there, I’ll ask.”

  “Do you want me to come with you?”

  “No, I’ll go alone.”

  “You don’t need to come with me to work today. It’s a small family. One house. I can do it by myself.”

  Zaytuna reached for Saliha’s hand, brought it to her lips and kissed it, then placed the back of Saliha’s hand to her forehead. Saliha pulled her hand back slightly and pulled at Zaytuna’s kerchief, saying, “Look at that hair. It needs a good combing. Let’s take care of you before you go.”

  Saliha pulled her up a bit by her arm until Zaytuna followed her into her room. Saliha said, “Sit. I’ll get my comb.”

  Zaytuna spoke as Saliha rooted around until she found it, asking, “What will I do without you?”

  “I’m not going to start washing bodies tomorrow. I’m not paid to train, so I’ll wash clothes until I get paid. And when I do, you’ll wash clothes by yourself. You’ll knock on doors for business by yourself. You did that before I met you. You’ll be fine.”

  “You won’t move out, like Tein?”

  Saliha sat down behind her, and pulled Zaytuna’s kerchief off, “Zaytuna, how much do you think I am going to make? Even if I do make more, why would I move? This place is clean and safe. Those old women are difficult, but they are good women all the same, and better the good and bad you know.... Maybe I’d buy us mattresses. Huh? How would that be? In any case, no matter what, if I moved, you would come with me.”
>
  Zaytuna spoke so quietly, she could barely hear her, “Alright.”

  Saliha unraveled the long, thick braid tied up in a bun at the nape of Zaytuna’s neck and began to comb it through, placing the matted strand threaded with the stone beads over her chest so she would not catch it with the comb. Despite having been braided, her hair was still snarled here and there, when the comb caught on them, Zaytuna pulled her head back, saying, “Ouch!”

  Saliha scolded her lightly, “Woman, when was the last time you combed your hair out?”

  Zaytuna was able to laugh a little at least, “What good is hair to an ascetic?”

  “Ascetic? I was with you when you ate meat yesterday. Don’t give me that ascetic talk.”

  “I don’t feel much like eating today. I don’t know what yesterday was all about.”

  Saliha’s face fell a little, but she kept it to herself, “Well let’s solve this ascetic hair of yours. I haven’t got any oil for it, but we can take care of that when we go to the baths next.”

  Zaytuna said, “God forgive me, Saliha, I hate my hair.”

  “Why? It’s perfectly straight, so thick, and such a deep black! It’s extraordinary.”

  “I hate my hair.” She wanted to cry. She touched her matted loc, feeling each bead, and said, “I only ever wanted hair like my mother. Why did Tein get her face, her skin, her hair? I’m tall, I have her bones, that’s it.”

  Saliha put her hand on her shoulder and pulled her back into a hug, “Zay.”

  Zaytuna said, “I used to twist my mother’s locks. They were beautiful. If we had beeswax, only sometimes did we have it, she would warm bits of it in her palms, then give me a tiny ball of it. I would sit all over her, digging into her hair. I’d be in her lap. On her back. Hanging onto her. I’d take each loc, where it was growing out, and rub the wax in, twisting with my fingers….over and over.”

  “It must have taken a long time.”

  “It did. Just the two of us. I had her to myself, as long as I liked, to twist that hair.”

  “How did she do your hair?”

  “She would braid it. Long small braids along my scalp. Sometimes in patterns, round and round my head. But the little straight ends would stick out and ruin it.”