The Colonial Conquest: The Confines of the Shadow Volume I

by Alessandro Spina

  The oppressors had also heard about this merchant. On one occasion the Hajji had been summoned and questioned, but he had been able to restrict the interview with so many punctilious formalities that anything he said amounted to empty expressions. Aside from finding conversation difficult, Hajji Semereth also knew how to stop others from talking. He was living in a different dimension to Benghazi’s other residents, and his detachment from them was thereby accentuated. The other notables thought the merchant’s obliviousness to the city’s tumult – as though he didn’t even live there, but somewhere else – was almost insulting.

  Tiring of this situation, Hajji Semereth decided to leave for Egypt, as though he were only interested in exploiting that tragic situation to further his business interests and increase his profit margins.

  The Hajji had wanted to take Ferdinando – a boy who was very dear to him, and who it was said was the son of a Christian – along on the journey, but the latter had fallen ill just prior to the scheduled departure. The Hajji had entrusted him to the care of old Abubaker, expressly instructing his other wives to look after his favourite, words that seemed, to those finely tuned ears, as bitter as threats. He entrusted the running of his household to the Venetian, a repudiated woman he’d brought with him from Istanbul.

  IV

  Hajji Semereth’s departure sent his household into a sort of hibernation. The wives became more indolent and alleviated their boredom by bickering amongst each other.

  Lethargy and disorder seeped into the house in the wake of the master’s departure, spreading like a puddle of oil; but the vague tension Zulfa’s presence amongst the other wives generated didn’t elude the Venetian woman’s attentive ear. The slumber that had settled over the house wasn’t tranquil and carefree – instead, it was populated by confused images that guided its steps.

  The Venetian woman was shrewd, and while she was prey to the winds of the other wives’ moods, she in turn controlled them. The wives often threatened to throw her out on the street, and this was the worst sort of fate someone her age could suffer, since she had no attachments whatsoever in the world. However, she knew exactly how irreplaceable she was, constituting the only link to the outside world those women had, as they weren’t allowed out of the house. Thus the wives were in her thrall, and tried to ingratiate themselves with gifts, which the repudiated Venetian coveted. Because society denied her the chance to lavish her affections on people, she lavished them on objects instead.

  Abubaker was the only one who wasn’t afraid of her. He’d lived in that house since the days of the Hajji’s father. When everything appeared ready to fall apart and collapse, his mere presence acted as a bulwark. He had defended Semereth and his wealth from the greed of his relatives and his rivals’ interests, and now he was protecting it from the Hajji himself, forcing Semereth to respect the equilibrium of the house.

  The wives hated this stern, intractable man who spent the whole day loafing, but kept them under lock and key like a jailer, without according them any more importance than the other objects in the house entrusted to his care. Abubaker hated the Venetian woman for usurping his position: she was the one who was allowed to spend money and render accounts to the master, whereas he was only charged with looking after the house. He always ensured every intrigue led back to her and didn’t hesitate when it came to beating her.

  V

  Ferdinando, the boy the master was fond of, had been committed to the Venetian woman’s care after becoming ill, since she was both a physician and a necromancer. The Venetian woman nursed him so conscientiously that he was soon cured. Hajji Semereth had left orders that the boy should be sent to one of the Hajji’s villas outside the city as soon as he recovered. But while the Venetian woman had been washing and perfuming him, she’d hatched a plot that would require his presence in the house. Instead of handing him over to Abubaker, who’d have then transported the boy out of the city on a boat – as the walls were well guarded and traffic in and out of the city forbidden – she instead sent Ferdinando back to bed, saying she’d got confused and that the boy would need to be looked after some more.

  One evening, while the Venetian woman was as usual absorbed in narrating stories she’d heard during the day to the housebound women, making them laugh with salacious anecdotes set, as always, in that distant Istanbul none of them had ever set foot in and which they were thus ready to believe the most extraordinary things about, she suddenly starting speaking of Ferdinando. The wives had never seen him, since he was forbidden to enter the part of the house where they lived. The Venetian woman began describing the boy’s beauty down to the boldest details, adding that Ferdinando was such a tender morsel that she too would have been tempted if her advanced years hadn’t snuffed out all traces of desire.

  The women grew curious. The most insignificant detail that reached their ears excited them beyond all measure. They now wanted to see that paragon of beauty with their own eyes and by dint of giggles, sweet-talk and all sorts of promises, they tried to persuade the procuress to slip Ferdinando into their rooms even just once. The Venetian woman knew how to assess the risks involved, and the possible profits; her hesitation in granting their request was not because the risks were excessive, but because she wanted to raise her profit margins. She swore to the women she would keep their secret, but expected gifts commensurate to the task in return.

  All that remained was to trick Abubaker. Having grown impatient of the boy’s protracted illness, and distrusting the Venetian’s reports, the surly old man was on the alert.

  One day, a messenger from the authorities came to ask after Hajji Semereth, even though the latter had been granted permission to leave the city; Abubaker then had to leave the house to go and clear up the misunderstanding. A moment later, Ferdinando – who’d been washed, perfumed and dressed in a blue waistcoat and white breeches – was ushered into the ladies’ quarters. He was sixteen years old.

  A chorus of exclamations greeted his arrival, just like when the Venetian woman ended her stories with an unexpected twist. Accustomed to seeing a gigantic monster in their rooms, the ladies felt marvellously happy at seeing the boy’s face. They said how unlucky they’d been that fate hadn’t sent them a husband like Ferdinando, as they caressed him tenderly.

  But the Venetian woman and the wives had noticed both Zulfa’s shocked silence and Ferdinando’s obvious confusion at seeing that beautiful creature he couldn’t stop staring at. The Venetian woman then tore Ferdinando away from his adoring crowd and sent him off to bed again, where Abubaker later found him when he decided to check, on his return, that the boy hadn’t disappeared. The procuress said that Abubaker wanted to throw ashes on every pretty object or creature that he saw: youth and beauty offended his eyes.

  A few days went by, and the women often spoke of Ferdinando to the Venetian woman. The boy’s appearance in their rooms had dispelled the monotony of their lives. They said that women, being subjected to a man’s full discretion, always had unlucky destinies, but that a woman blessed with so delicate a husband as Ferdinando would be lucky indeed. They wanted to know a little more about his background and those Christian parents people attributed to him. However, the Venetian woman didn’t know any more than they did, and all her conjecture was taken with a pinch of salt.

  Zulfa pretended not to listen to their chatter, but the others nevertheless knew she’d heard them. One day, when Zulfa wasn’t in their presence, the wives and the Venetian huddled tightly together, as though scared that Abubaker’s guards were hiding inside the walls so as to eavesdrop. Each of the women revealed the web of intrigue they’d weaved, which turned out to be identical. As Zulfa had shown such great embarrassment – and there being, of course, no doubt whatsoever as to Ferdinando’s own embarrassment – the ladies decided to act as a screen behind which the couple could secretly meet.

  The Venetian woman was tasked with taking each of the two youngsters aside and helping them disclose the object of their affections to one another. It was imper
ative to make them conscious of the void that had opened up before them, of the precipice they were approaching with each step, and simultaneously sprinkling the beatific balm of the revelation of their true feelings for one another. Owing to their tender years and inexperience, it was highly unlikely they would bear the strain of a double discovery. At which point, they would need to guide their steps lest they forget to trick Abubaker in the blinding heat of the moment.

  Ferdinando unwittingly endorsed the Venetian woman’s plan by feigning a continued illness so as to remain in Benghazi. The procuress finally made him understand that she knew his secret and the real reason for him not wanting to leave, throwing the boy’s heart into bewilderment. But, she also added quickly in an irritated tone, as though that wretched feeling was sure to lead them all to catastrophe, that it was too late to pretend otherwise, that he had compromised himself with Zulfa and that he’d have to follow the Venetian’s strict orders if he didn’t want her to denounce him to Abubaker, and thus abandon him to his fate.

  The Venetian woman’s threats prevented the boy from articulating his thoughts, but the blackmail was laced with flattery and seduction. The Venetian would talk about Zulfa and Ferdinando would eagerly listen, lacking both the strength to repel her chatter – especially given that the Venetian was his sole link to Zulfa, who was otherwise remote and unreachable (Semereth’s house was partitioned by interdicts as powerful as spells) – and the courage to freely confess his love, thereby experiencing the relief such a confession would bring him. Despite hesitating to let his imagination carry him off, the necessary steps he would need to take already seemed easier, thanks to the Venetian woman having plotted them out in her mind.

  While the boy experienced the delights and torments of love for the first time, and while he easily played the role of the invalid, the Venetian busied herself with delicately persuading Zulfa. Feigning perplexity and fear, she said that the boy had changed, and that he no longer wanted to go to the countryside as the master had ordered. She worried that Abubaker would discover the boy’s subterfuge and accuse her of having colluded with him. She then ran off to Ferdinando to tell him that Zulfa had been unsettled by her disclosure and might have guessed his secret. But she didn’t add anything about Zulfa’s feelings, and didn’t explain whether Zulfa was tenderly disposed to the idea, or instead regretted having consented to see Ferdinando.

  Returning to Zulfa, the Venetian woman would question her, start to sob and say that she was the most wretched of women, since she was always accountable for everything while simultaneously being kept in the dark. Zulfa would look at her, but she didn’t have the courage to reply, even though she could guess the reason behind the boy’s reticence. So the two would linger in silence, until the Venetian woman would grow bored and go off to update the other wives on how their conspiracy was progressing, but not before having asked Zulfa for either a gift or a loan, which request the young girl would oblige. The Venetian woman also extracted the same from the other wives: it was better to have them all pay her on the spot, without waiting to settle it all at the end, at which point the women might capriciously renege on their promises.

  As for Ferdinando, the Venetian woman told him she was now certain that Zulfa loved him, but that he should also remember that he couldn’t entertain any hopes in that regard, that Abubaker was watching them closely and that she would rather have her tongue cut out than risk falling into the old man’s trap, as Abubaker would undoubtedly exact retribution without even waiting for Semereth Effendi’s return. Besides, in those days death was running amok in the streets of Benghazi and people disappeared at night as though they’d been abducted by demons. She said she would flee at the slightest suspicion, and would ask the city’s new authorities to take her in, forswearing the new faith she’d embraced out of convenience and thus freeing herself from that accursed house forever and boarding a ship bound for her homeland, from which her adverse fate had torn her away.

  Ferdinando believed everything the Venetian told him, adopting her as his guide along a path on which he’d never thought he’d venture; on the contrary, he found himself so overwhelmed that he became genuinely ill once again. The Venetian woman was the architect of the maze where he’d been allowed to roam.

  The Venetian was triumphant: it was so obvious that the boy hadn’t healed, that the suspicious Abubaker would be forced to lower his guard – which was exactly what happened. The old man didn’t suspect there was a plot involving Zulfa. It was the boy’s idleness that truly irked him, as Ferdinando continued to lie in his bunk instead of obeying the master’s orders. But once his calloused hand touched the boy’s feverish forehead he was finally persuaded to lay his suspicions aside, and he cursed the Venetian for being a charlatan and failing to cure him.

  The procuress was growing impatient. Time was running short and the plot was far from its climax. The other wives had begun to make rash suggestions that seemed like veiled threats.

  The Venetian entered Zulfa’s room and revealed that Ferdinando was in love with her, reproaching her for it as though it were her fault. Zulfa threw herself at the Venetian’s feet, imploring her – in the name of God! – not to betray her. She admitted she loved Ferdinando, but promised she’d never see him again.

  The Venetian bolted out of the room to apprise the other wives of this latest development, who then commanded her not to hesitate any further. They would all keep an eye on Abubaker, and at the first available opportunity would usher Ferdinando into the ill-starred youths’ bridal chamber.

  The Venetian woman rushed back into Zulfa’s room and said it was all over, that Ferdinando was being consumed by an inner fire and was ready to die at her door, but had steadfastly refused to be leave her behind. Abubaker was preparing to take the boy out of Benghazi by boat that night. The Venetian said they only had a single day left, and that while she wouldn’t help Zulfa meet Ferdinando, as she’d never consent to betraying her master like that, she would however help Zulfa flee. She cursed fate for having forced her into servility, and complained of how everyone defrauded her of her rightful dues. Zulfa comforted her, even while sobbing, swearing she would be forever grateful, and begging the Venetian to speak to Ferdinando and convince him to leave and take Zulfa’s pledge of love along with him. Carrying the little necklace Zulfa had worn on the one night the two had seen each other, the Venetian woman hurried out and went into Ferdinando’s room.

  Once she’d entered the room she found the old man keeping guard. She pretended to tuck in Ferdinando’s sheets more tightly, and while doing so let the necklace slip down by the boy’s side. Every vein in Ferdinando’s body began to tremble. It was as though he was overflowing with blood: his delicately rosy complexion was replaced by bright red flames. Furious, Abubaker sprang to his feet and said the Venetian woman was casting an evil spell on Ferdinando and that he, being a wizard with a multitude of jinn at his service, would break the hex. The old man formulated his counter-spell, as though wanting to make her disappear, but instead the Venetian ran out of the room and into the courtyard, shouting that she couldn’t care less about the stern guardian’s hex as even the jinn were fed up with him and were actually devoted to youth and beauty, or rather everything the old man detested.

  Abubaker curtly retorted that he didn’t want to bother with that woman, who was clearly possessed by the devil, and that one day she would disappear just as suddenly as she’d been found as an orphan, and be irrevocably consigned to the damnation which had always been her destiny; and so as not to hear her voice any more, he left.

  In a flash, Ferdinando was pushed out of his bunk and led to Zulfa’s room.

  There, the two youngsters became acquainted with all the pleasures of love.

  Chapter 4

  I

  The previous events took place before Hajji Semereth’s journey to Egypt. Having disembarked the ship that had brought him back to Cyrenaica along with the young Maronite, from whom he’d purchased some merchandise and to whom he’d assigne
d a young apprentice, Hajji Semereth reached his abode. The hour of departure and the hour of arrival were nothing but two different moments in time from which exactly the same reality emerged. As soon as the Hajj entered his home the servants rushed to kiss his hand. Having met his master at the docks, Abubaker was now sternly supervising the ceremony. Any effort to detach himself from the little in life that actually interested him, like his master’s presence and the latter’s immobile steadfastness, was proving bothersome.

  The Venetian was the first woman to come towards Hajji Semereth, as though she’d closely watched the other women so as to be the first to greet him. The Hajji observed her drained features. Now that the Hajji had returned, the mere act of him looking at her would translate into recognition: life was resuming its habitual, circular course, which had a way of making time stand still. The servants were pleased the master had returned because it would free them from his wives’ excessive high-handedness, as well as from Abubaker and that shrewd Venetian. For his part, the Hajji was fully aware they were welcoming him as one does a judge. These pointless storms that raged in his house were like birdsong and the barking of dogs, the domestic soundtrack of a part of his reality: one of the few constants in the inexhaustible variety of life. Throughout his absence harmony appeared to have reigned over his bickering wives. Yet as they were both astute and disingenuous, perhaps they were merely feigning such serenity, but so long as they carried on in this manner, it didn’t really matter much.

  Zulfa was the last to appear; she was so dwarfed by the other women that Semereth didn’t see her until her silken hands gripped his fingers. It was as though he were standing atop a mountain looking at someone in the valley below. He would have liked to hurl himself off the precipice and land at her feet, but he would only have frightened her. She’d have just run away, like a vision one chases in a dream. Zulfa immediately withdrew and Semereth followed her every step, straining his eyes as though he were watching a bird in mid-flight. Abubaker begged God to bestow his blessing on the house.