Maryam said, “I’ve heard of him. That shaykh, he won’t talk to the police?”
Zaytuna said quickly, not knowing, just acting on the certainty of her feeling, “No. He wouldn’t do that. Not in this case.”
Maryam said, “If you promise me he won’t be harmed.”
Zaytuna said, “At least let me take him there, now. It will get him out of the house for today.”
Maryam turned to Yusuf, “What do you think?”
He said quietly to Zaytuna, still lost, “No one can help.”
She replied, “Let them try.”
Layla repeated to Yusuf, “Let them try. I’m sure they can help.”
Then turning to Zaytuna, she said, smiling, “Auntie, I knew you’d know what to do.”
Zaytuna replied, shaking her head at the wonder of it, “There was a plan already in place.”
Chapter Thirty
Zaytuna tried to hurry out of al-Anbariyya, but Yusuf was in sullen tow. She kept having to turn and grab him by the arm and push him ahead of her but moment by moment he would fall behind her again. She saw him slip back again and turned around to grab him, saying, “Yusuf, come on…,” and came face to face with Tein who was walking closely behind them, almost in mirror step.
He said, “Who is this, then?”
She stopped, eyes wide on Tein, now wearing a black turban, and took firmer hold of Yusuf’s arm; the boy, despite shuffling behind her, nearly knocked into her at the suddenness of their stopping. For the first time in her life she was afraid of her brother, whom she realized in that moment, just as Yulduz had warned, was not her brother anymore but the police. She threw her fear back at him, demanding, “Are you following me?”
“I told you this morning that we were coming to al-Anbariyya.”
He tried to get Yusuf to look at him, “You, boy. You’re a big fellow. You remind me of myself at your age. What’s your name?”
Zaytuna kept her hand firmly on Yusuf’s arm, willing him not to speak. There was no worry there, she felt him stiff with fear under her hand. He kept his head down, refusing to look up.
She challenged Tein, “What does he have to do with you? Go back to Ammar and keep your head in your own business.” She looked around, “Where is this boss of yours anyway?”
Tein gestured, “He’s just over there talking to a witness in a different case. I saw you and came out to find out what was going on. Can’t I stop my sister in the road?” He repeated, “Who is the boy?”
Zaytuna scanned the shops nearby looking for Ammar, saying to Tein, “I’m walking, that’s what is going on.”
Ammar stepped out of one of the shops. She saw him immediately. He was looking for Tein. Then she saw him see them. He visibly sighed. She nodded to him as if to say, “I’m no happier to see you.” He walked over slowly, looking like he hoped the conversation between brother and sister would break up before he got to them.
Tein repeated, “Who is the boy?”
“We’re late,” she turned away from him and pulled at Yusuf to walk with her.
Tein took a few quick steps to her other side and put his hand on her arm to hold her back. She let her arm go slack under his hand, like he’d showed her how to do when they were children so that she could escape anyone who grabbed her, and he lost his grip on her arm. She quickly swung her arm around and pushed at him, spitting on the ground before him, “Don’t you touch me!”
He stepped back and laughed, “There’s my sister! Do you know this side of my sister, boy?”
She heard Ammar’s voice behind her, laughing too, “What’s all this, then? Am I going to have to put you in prison for assaulting the police?”
Tein answered back, “She’s not in the mood for jokes today, apparently.”
Ammar said, “It is good to see you again, Zaytuna, but perhaps not in this neighbourhood. You haven’t been to Imam Ibrahim’s house have you?”
Tein saw the boy begin to shake, and he knew exactly who stood before him and what this boy had done, but not why. He also knew his sister. He didn’t know if Ammar had seen the boy shaking or not. He took a step forward toward Ammar to draw his eyes to him away from the boy, but Zaytuna had moved in his way to get in Ammar’s face, putting the boy behind her and out of Ammar’s line of sight. She challenged him, “I’m not allowed to get business washing clothes in neighbourhoods where you work? Do you want to give me a list of where I might go to earn my chink of coin?”
Ammar laughed, stepping back to get some distance, and asked Zaytuna, “Who’s the boy?”
Tein didn’t even think about it, he interrupted, reaching out to tweak the boy’s ear, “This little fart is one of Shaykh Abu al-Qasim’s boys. He wasn’t born right. Doesn’t talk.”
Zaytuna’s heart went out to him, leaping so suddenly in gratitude that she nearly spoke, nearly reached out to acknowledge this crucial act of loyalty, but most carefully did not. She turned and sneered at Ammar instead, “His name is Abdulghafur. He was helping me with some heavy work today. Do you want to take us in for questioning? Did we not get a spot out? Is this a new crime come down from some vizier with nothing to do but torture the poor trying to make a few fals?”
Ammar smiled, “Calm down, woman. I’m just making sure you aren’t getting into any more trouble.”
Tein raised his eyebrows and laughed, “Not today, for once!”
She turned her glare towards Tein and pretended to regard him with the same disgust as Ammar, “Don’t think I’m going to forget how you’re treating me, you now in that black turban.”
Ammar saw this conversation turning into a family fight he wasn’t interested in witnessing, so he said, “If this family reunion is over, we have work to get to, Tein. Let’s go.”
He turned and walked away without saying goodbye. Tein turned to follow him, saying, “I’ll see you later, sister?”
She reached out to him and took his hand, holding it for one moment. She whispered, “We actually are heading to Uncle Abu al-Qasim’s.”
“No fooling?”
“You must have knowledge of the Unseen. No fooling.”
He turned and left, catching up with Ammar who was well enough down the road ahead of him that Tein had to pull his bad leg up with his hip with a slight swing to walk faster than was comfortable. But, Zaytuna, thought, watching him and knowing he was in a bit of pain, you wouldn’t know if you weren’t family. He hid it well.
She pulled Yusuf to her, her arm around his back, and lifted his face to her with her other hand. There were no tears only wide-eyed desperation. She said firmly, “Everything will be alright. Come with me now and no lagging behind.”
***
Tein slammed the knocker at the gate of Imam Ibrahim’s house, and stood aside waiting for someone to come. They didn’t hear anyone opening the main door to the house beyond the gate. Tein gave Ammar a questioning look. Ammar gestured to him to try knocking it again. They heard the bolt slide in the door and a little girl stood before them, ridiculously covered up in an old wrap so that even part of her face was covered, “Assalamu alaykum, what can I do for you?”
Ammar stepped toward her, “Wa alaykum assalam. We’re here to see the housekeeper, Maryam. You are new here? What’s your name?”
“Layla, Sir. I just started here today. I’ll go get her for you.”
Ammar looked at Tein who acknowledged the name. Here was the infamous Layla. The girl turned to shut the door on them while she got the housekeeper, but he stepped forward and held the gate, and they stepped through behind her instead.
She turned around, brows knitted, not sure how to get these men to get back on the other side to the street, “Sir, I’m sorry. I’m instructed only to let in guests of the Imam. All others have to wait outside for the housekeeper. Please.”
“It’s alright Layla. We’re the police, just here to follow up some matters concerning the death of your friend, Zayd.”
The colour drained out of her face despite being ready for them. She stood stock still.
How did they know she was friends with Zayd? She recovered herself quickly, bent her knees and turned to run around to the kitchen door to get Maryam. They followed. But by the time they’d got to the door, Maryam was on her way out and gently pushed them back into the garden by simply walking calmly into them. She smiled at Ammar warmly, “Assalamu alaykum, it’s good to see you, Sir. How can I help you?”
Ammar felt the same tug of care toward the woman that he had when he first met her. He bowed to her slightly, “I’m sorry to bother you again, we’re just here to follow up with that last witness. The other servant, Yusuf. I just need to get his account of the night, then I can tie up the paperwork on this case and close it.”
“I’m sorry to say, sir, that Yusuf has left us. He was so heartbroken at the loss of his friend, he found work elsewhere and has gone off to it. I was left with no help, but Layla’s come to work with me. I mentioned her to you last time. She worked next door. Still need another boy, though, but she’s a hard worker and we love her here already.”
Ammar asked, “Where did Yusuf go?”
She said, “Far north of the City. I think as far as Qatiat Umm Jafar, beyond the Trench, but I can’t be sure. I don’t know the name. A wealthy estate, don’t you know it! He helped out a servant from the house one day when he’d spilled his delivery on the street—he’s such a selfless boy—and they offered him work right there and then. He went north with the man that day and they sent a note to let us know he’d gone.”
“Do you still have the note?”
“I’m sorry, sir. I wouldn’t know. One of the Imam’s students kindly read it to me. I can’t see why he would have kept it afterwards. But I can ask.”
Ammar asked, “He never came back? Not even to say goodbye? To get his things?”
“The note explained everything. It said he’d be back in a month or so on his first free day to say goodbye properly. Left us in the lurch, he did. But I understand the boy’s heartbreak well enough,” and tears began to well up in her eyes.
Ammar felt the need to comfort the woman as he did when he first interviewed her, but held back. He needed to finish this. Comforting her wasn’t going to close the matter. He shook his head, not knowing what to do about the missing boy. He considered whether or not the case warranted spending weeks going door to door to find a servant or waiting a month or more for the boy to come back to close it. He’d speak to the girl instead, follow up with one more question with Maryam, then he could consider himself as having done due diligence.
He said, “We’d like to speak to the girl, Layla. Clear some matters up with her and that should handle it.”
Maryam looked at him as if he must have forgotten, “I told you, sir, she wasn’t here that night.”
“I remember. But we have another witness to whom she shared her fear that the Imam had killed Zayd.”
Maryam drew her head back, “Uff, that girl! I’ll go get her immediately and we’ll clear all this up.”
She turned and went through the kitchen door shutting it behind her, leaving them standing by the well.
Tein said, “Not very polite leaving us standing out here.”
Ammar didn’t like Tein’s tone, and replied to him more sharply than he intended, “It’s fine. The kitchen’s probably full of work. She’s a busy woman. We’re getting what we need.”
Tein raised his eyebrow and decided to let it go. Nearly a minute passed until Layla opened the door and she and Maryam came out together.
Maryam said, “Here she is, sir. Ask her whatever you need.”
Tein moved back and leaned against the well, watching the scene. Ammar moved toward her and squatted, putting himself at her level, and asked gently, “What is this I hear about you thinking the Imam killed your friend, Zayd.”
Layla began to cry, “I’m sorry. I was so sad and angry about Zayd. I made it all up in my head. I told Auntie Zaytuna my story. I never should have. Maryam explained it all to me. Yusuf told me Zayd walked in his sleep all the time. But I never got a chance to see Auntie Zaytuna again to apologize.” Her tears turned into sobs, “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to make any trouble. Do I have to go to prison? Will I be executed?”
Ammar stood, sighing, and patted her on the head, “No dear, of course not. God forbid anything like this should happen again, but should you be in a bind in the future, talk first to your elders who will know what to do.”
Tein observed the old woman watching Layla talk. Her eyes were keen on the girl, she looked like she was willing Layla to cry and tell her story just so. He laughed to himself, she and the girl were a good team. They had Ammar well tied up. He thought of how bothered Ammar was by Zaytuna challenging him and made a note to himself that a man who is unwilling to consider the roles women play in these scenes would be incapable of solving crimes involving them. He’d have to watch for that in the future.
Layla nodded to Ammar, snuffling and wiping away her tears with the edge of her wrap, and said, “Yes, sir.”
He stood and dug into the pocket in his sleeve for a fals and handed it to her, “Here. Go buy yourself some candy.”
He turned toward Maryam, “This woman, Zaytuna, she said she spoke to you in the mosque at Zayd’s funeral prayer. What was that about?”
She held herself upright saying, “I’m sorry. Gossip is a terrible sin, but I believe that woman is a bit mad. I can see how she got the wrong idea from our little Layla here, but she wouldn’t hear a word I said to her at the mosque. Mad, sir, I think the woman is mad.”
Ammar laughed and looked at Tein, “Well, maybe not mad, but she does get ideas in her head that she can’t shake, it seems. That’s enough then, I can close this case for good.”
Tein saw Maryam push Layla back into the house before leading them toward the gate. Once there she turned to Ammar, putting her hand on his arm, “Thank you for all the care you gave to our Zayd. Your mother must be proud of the man you’ve become.”
Ammar looked down and blushed, saying, “Alhamdulilah. I’m glad we could do right by the boy. May God protect you.”
“And you, sir,” and she shut the gate behind them.
Ammar and Tein walked away from the house, Ammar smiling, turning to him and said, “A little more paperwork and that’s that.”
Tein repeated, laughing to himself, “That’s that.”
***
Zaytuna called out her greetings to everyone within earshot as she and Yusuf entered Junayd’s home. There was no one but a young woman sitting in the reception hall and the same student who had let her and Mustafa in three days ago. She asked, “Brother, would you take our friend to go wash up? I want to bring him to meet Shaykh Abu al-Qasim.”
The student replied, “The Shaykh is still at his shop. But Mustafa is here. He’s in the courtyard.” He took Yusuf by the hand and led him across the courtyard to the kitchen area where they had water in a large basin set out for ablutions.
Zaytuna replied, “Alhamdulilah, I’ll wait here.”
Yusuf trailed behind him, his head still hung low.
She sat on the floor against the wall in the wide reception hall waiting for Yusuf to come out, hoping Mustafa would stay where he was so she wouldn’t have to deal with him.
She shook her head in sorrowful anger at him. What was he thinking telling me he loves me? All these years. I thought he understood me. What would make him think I’d let him, let any man, touch me?
Zaytuna felt hot suddenly, sweating, her skin crawling so that she could not sit still and she stood up and began pacing the reception hall. She turned at the far side of the room and there was Mustafa standing closely before her. She blurted out, “What is it with you men coming up behind me!”
A young woman sitting in the corner of the reception hall looked up at her, giving her a sharp look to lower her voice. Zaytuna stared at the girl wanting to tell her that she’d been coming here since before she was born and she, Zaytuna, had more of a right to raise her voice here than that girl had to sit in that corner,
but Mustafa was already speaking.
She huffed, turning to him, “What are you saying?”
“Zaytuna, please. I am saying how sorry I am for surprising you this morning. I do want to ask you, but not in that way. Not like that….”
“Mustafa…,” she said clearly, her anger no longer flailing but turned sharp and held to his throat, “You should not speak to me that way again. I will never accept you in marriage. Never. Mustafa. Hear me. Never.”
Mustafa reached out to take her hands, then pulled his hands back, looking at his palms, then his knees buckled underneath him and he fell to the floor.
Zaytuna couldn’t help herself, she sighed sharply, “Mustafa!” She realized he wasn’t getting back up, so she crouched down on the floor next to him. The colour had drained from his face. She turned back to the young woman, who had gotten up in a start at his fall, saying, “Go get him some water! Better, get something sweet to drink from the kitchen.”
The young woman ran across the courtyard to the kitchen on the other end. Zaytuna turned to Mustafa, saying, not kindly, “Breathe, Mustafa.”
He took in deep breaths, one after another, until the girl returned with a cup in her hand. Zaytuna held her hand out to take it, but the young woman handed it directly to him. Only then did Zaytuna see how beautiful she was; petite, she had large, wide-set dark brown eyes, round cheeks, touched by pink, and smooth skin, not a pock mark or wrinkle on her. Her deep black hair fell out in two thick braids down her back. She spoke gently to him, her softly accented Arabic making her gesture feel even more tender, “Mustafa, here, drink this. You’ll be yourself again soon.”
He looked at the young woman, recovering himself through the tenderness of her face, and took the cup from her, careful not to touch her fingers with his own. He took a sip, a breath, and said, “May God leave you with nothing but thirst for His love, YingYue.”
The Lover Page 27