Granada (26 page)

After a while, Naeem stopped running in a panic to tell about what he had just been witness to, for the priest came to realize that any meeting he had with the governor or his deputy would be to no avail, and writing letter after letter to the king or the court officials in Spain, or to the pope in Rome for that matter, would fall on deaf ears.

Naeem would pass by the bare breasts, the slender bodies, and those ravishing eyes without staring. He averted his eyes as though these women were members of his own family whose honor he could not violate. He was afraid to make eye contact lest the shame of their nakedness and his own weakness devour him.

If only Father Miguel would stop writing and talk to him. If only he could speak the language of the natives, he could come to know and befriend a number of them. He would see them working, cutting down trees, paving roads, lifting rocks, always under the vigilant eyes of the armed Castilians. He stared at them for a long time, guessing their natures and temperaments. He would say that this one is kind-hearted, and that one is less so, or that one is self-confident and kind to his people. He wished he could approach them and talk to them, to introduce himself to them. He wanted to tell them his stories and listen to theirs. But how could he do this not knowing their language? Besides, they most assuredly thought of him as one of those whom the sea washed ashore to inflict suffering on them.

Naeem closed his eyes and imagined the middle-aged man whom he saw time after time and who by now was as familiar with his face as he with his. Naeem would smile and wave his hand whenever he passed him by. At first the man just fixed his gaze on Naeem in wonder, but then he gradually began to smile and wave back exactly as Naeem had done, lifting his hand and touching the side of the forehead. If only he understood my language, Naeem pined, if only I understood his, I would say to him, "I'm not one of
them! Did you think I was one of them? I'm from Granada!" He would speak to him at length, and the man would get to know him and like him, and then he would invite him to his house. And who knows, maybe he has a daughter as nice as himself, and he could ask to marry her. Surely, I'm a stranger and nearly forty years old, he would say, and I'm not as handsome as I used to be, but I have a kind heart and I would take care of my wife and I would lavish on her both love and children. So, what do you say, uncle?

Between the time he awoke until drowsiness overcame him, Naeem saw the girl he was going to marry, the daughter of that man. She resembled the one he had seen that long-ago day near Granada. The one who stole his heart. It was astonishing how much they looked alike. She wasn't naked, but like her was dressed in a white robe.

"Your eyes are getting heavy with sleep, Naeem. Why don't you go off to bed, my son?"

Naeem opened his eyes wide and responded, "Not at all, Father. I don't feel like sleeping just yet."

Father Miguel smiled and shook his head. "You fell asleep and perhaps you were dreaming. My voice must have awakened you."

"Father Miguel, may I ask you something?

"Go ahead, my son."

"What are you writing? What exactly are you writing?"

"I'm writing, I mean, I wrote the story from the beginning. I wrote about Christopher Columbus's four voyages, the difficulties he encountered and the successes he achieved. Now, this past month, I'm writing about the island and its inhabitants. I'm describing the climatic conditions over the course of the year, and I'm writing down my observations about the different species of plants, birds, and animals. After that, I'll write about the people. I'll describe their physical characteristics, their way of life, their thoughts and beliefs."

"But . . ." Naeem stuttered. "How do you know about their thoughts and beliefs when you haven't spoken directly to them?"

"I observe their behavior, and I compare my observations with those of others, and from that I deduce their thoughts and beliefs."

"Are you writing about those other things as well, Father?"

"Yes, my son, I have written and will continue to write more and more about those painful things I saw and heard about. And I will add that it's a shame we're transforming the dream of that great man who discovered this land into this incredible savagery. Do you know, Naeem, what compelled Columbus to set sail and seek adventures?"

"To discover a new land, Father?"

"That was just a means to an end, my son, a means to achieve a noble and lofty dream that can be epitomized in just two objectives: to spread the word of God among the people who have not received it and bring them into the fold of the Church; and to obtain gold in order to unleash a holy crusade on the Holy Lands, liberate Jerusalem, and rescue the tomb of our Lord and Savior from the hands of those who do not believe in him."

"But the Muslims do not deny Jesus Christ, Father." The sentence slipped out without Naeem thinking, but he wasn't able to retract it.

Father Miguel shot him a stern look and retorted emphatically, "Yes, they do deny him!"

Father Miguel arose from his chair, which was a sign that he finished writing and was preparing to go to bed.

Naeem jumped up and said, "Thank you, Father, for allowing me to sit with you. I hope that I haven't bothered you with my questions. Sweet dreams!"

Naeem had no choice but to go to his room and lie alone on his bed, to wait for sleep to overtake him and, like every night, nightmares to ravage him.

19

T
he two brothers, Omar and Abdel-Kareem, arrived from Valencia to work out the details and come to an agreement concerning the management of the inn. Hasan hosted them at home, and he honored their visit not only because they were strangers who came from out of town, but because he had taken a genuine liking to them. He liked their confident manner and their intelligent conversation, and there was something else about them that he couldn't put his finger on that particularly drew him to them. It was something that he didn't see in the Arabs of Granada. He wondered if it was wealth that gives its possessor an air of self-assuredness, or perhaps power and influence that gives an individual that certain thing he saw and liked in them.

The brothers were close to Hasan in age. Omar, the younger of the two, was the more effusive. He spoke forcefully, coherently, and clearly, which amazed Hasan since speaking about political matters and delving into details required a great deal of caution. But he spoke courageously as though these troubled times were surmountable, or that these troubled times weren't troubled at all. He had a round, full face distinguished by two big, wide eyes that made direct contact with whomever he spoke. He had an impeccably groomed moustache and beard. He was tall and stocky, although not corpulent in the least, and his elegant robe added to his dignified look. Although his brother looked a lot like him, he gave a totally different impression. His quiet demeanor and his measured speech and short sentences complemented his outward appearance, reflecting in the
look in his eyes and his facial features confidence, importance, and aloofness. Yet, at the same time, he was cultivated and warm.

The brothers listened attentively to Hasan as he described to them the conditions in Granada. In turn, Omar spoke about Valencia. "The conditions in Valencia are much better. The nobility are with us, and the court could be with us if we behave prudently. The Aragonese nobility are the ones who are resisting the injustices perpetrated against us. King Ferdinand had promised them repeatedly that there would be no forced conversions or expulsions for the Arabs, nor any restrictions on our interactions with the Christians of the kingdom. When Emperor Charles V assumed the throne of Aragon upon the death of his grandfather, Ferdinand, he was forced to renew this promise. The struggle exists between the nobility on the one hand and the Office of Inquisition on the other. The court is leaning toward the nobility, but it fears the powerful influence of the Office of Inquisition."

Hasan had some difficulty comprehending the idea of a dispute between the nobility and the Church. "I don't understand how the nobility can defend the interests of the Arabs when they financed wars against them and offered themselves and their men to Ferdinand and Isabella to invade Granada."

"They're not defending the Arabs, Abu Hisham, but their own interests and the interests of the kingdom of Aragon. The Arabs are a financial power the kingdom needs. More important than that is the fact that most of our people in Aragon work as farmers on the feudal estates of the nobility, and they impose on all of us, rich and poor alike, heavy taxes that exceed those imposed on the rest of the kingdom. If the Arabs were to emigrate, the estates would fall into disarray, and their conversion would mean a decrease in the tax revenues they reap from us."

"We have an expression in Valencia that goes, "The more the Arabs, the more the profit,' "added Abdel-Kareem.

"But they don't want us to remain Arabs or Muslims!" argued Hasan.

"That's correct," answered Abdel-Kareem, "but self-interest governs everything."

"But as Omar pointed out yesterday, there are the Brotherhood of the Germania whose gangs hoist the cross and chant 'Death to the Arabs,' and wherever their banners pass, you find a trail of corpses, burnt homes, and people so terrorized that they seek baptism as a way to save their lives."

"These are hooligans whose activities will be crushed."

"Even these hooligans," interjected Omar, "and I agree with my brother that their activities will not last much longer, are not targeting us specifically, but rather the nobility. They're striking out at the Arabs to wound the nobility who protect them and depend upon them to cultivate their estates. But that's not the point. What's important is that we win over the court and convince the officials, as well as the emperor, that protecting the Arabs and keeping them here are in the best interests of the state."

"Is that possible?" asked Hasan, as it seemed to him to be wishful thinking.

"It's very possible, but the one problem is those who call themselves freedom fighters."

"Freedom fighters?"

"They're ruining everything," said Abdel-Kareem.

"How so?"

"With their extremist behavior that only complicates matters."

Omar elaborated on what his brother just said. "The attacks on the Spanish coasts and the smuggling of emigrants on the one hand, and collaboration with France with the aim of weakening the emperor's power on the other, reinforce the attitude that the Arabs of the country have no allegiance to the kingdom, and therefore the only solution is forced conversion or expulsion. This makes our task more difficult."

This was the oddest thing Hasan had ever heard. The people of Granada were afraid to publicize their sympathies with the freedom fighters or their clandestine cooperation with them. It's true they feigned their support and allegiance to the kingdom, but he never heard that what the freedom fighters were doing harmed the interests of the Arabs. The brothers' position confused Hasan, and when he retired in solitude to his room that night he thought about it long
and hard. After a night of tossing and turning and mulling the matter over and over again, he came to the conclusion that they were correct, especially since they were influential and in a position to be in contact with the nobility and the court officials, or at least with those who were in contact with them.

The day before the brothers were to depart, Omar spoke to Hasan. "Listen, Abu Hisham, we came to you from Valencia to reach an agreement on managing the inn, but apparently the Knower of All Secrets has foreordained something further. We have met you and come to know you well. We have seen your family and told ourselves that there is no finer man with whom we would like to bond through marriage. What do you think?"

Hasan was stunned and speechless. Omar continued, "Your daughters, Abu Hisham, are a credit to our Maker. I have a son, and Abdel-Kareem has two sons. What do you say to that?"

"I would say, with God's blessing."

Hands went outstretched and they recited the opening chapter of the Quran. After the initial moment of shock, Hasan began to feel immense satisfaction and joy. Where would he find such noble stock, he thought, with breeding, wealth, knowledge, and influence. He rushed off with the happy news to Maryama but was taken aback by her reaction. She was not pleased, and she screamed in angry protest. "What's gotten into you, man, that you banish your daughters to some faraway place?"

"Lower your voice! The two guests are still in our house, and it's not right that they hear this!"

"How can I give my daughters over to a family I know nothing about?"

"It's a good family, of good stock with wealth and influence. What more could you want?"

"I want to rest assured of my daughters' safety and security. I want them to visit me from time to time. I want to be able to go to them if need be. How could you, man? Shame on you."

"Calm down, Maryama, and listen to me. This marriage will protect your daughters from the evil of poverty. Besides, the people of Valencia are not subjected to forced conversion. Your daughters
will never be forced to give their children names other than their own, and they won't have to live their lives practicing one religion in public and another in secret."

Maryama responded with a scoffing smirk on her face. "Why don't you marry them off to men from North Africa or Egypt or Arabia?"

"If an honest and decent man from North Africa came and asked for one of my daughters, I would give her to him."

"I'll die of grief if my daughters are far from me."

"Valencia is not that far away. Both countries are ruled by one emperor. Besides, the law that prohibits the Arabs of Granada to travel to other provinces within the kingdom may be changed within a year or two."

"It's bad enough you give one away, but why did you give them three?"

"I recited the opening chapter of the Quran, and the matter is settled." Hasan turned his back to Maryama, closed his eyes and went to sleep. This only increased Maryama's anger, so she got up and left the room to go and complain to Saleema.

"Saleema . . ."

"What's wrong, Maryama?"

"Your brother has lost his mind. I swear to God, he lost his mind. He's deranged."

"Calm down and tell me what happened."

"Those two men who descended upon us like a death sentence."

"You mean, the guests?"

"Exactly. I wish they had never come to this house and I had never laid my eyes on them."

"Did they insult Hasan?"

"They asked for three of my daughters to marry their sons."

"And go to Valencia?"

"Yes, they're going to Valencia!"

"Why did Hasan give his consent? He may have found the two men to be good people, but who knows if their sons are as good as they?"

"Exactly, who knows? I'm going to Hasan right now and telling
him that." Maryama rushed into the bedroom. Hasan was plunged into a deep sleep, and she woke him up.