Granada (31 page)

When he came to work at the inn, Hasan showed him a small room by the entrance. "Why don't you work here, away from all the commotion? You can register the names of the guests and take what they want to keep in the safe. You can put their belongings into the safe yourself, and return them once they settled their accounts."

In the beginning, it seemed that the job suited Abu Mansour. He put his mind to it, and he seemed to be pleased with it. He didn't drink excessively. But that didn't last long. After a while, the drinking got the better of him, and he would stumble out into the courtyard looking for a fight. Hasan had to stand on guard and be ready to prevent a brawl at any moment. Whenever he needed to be away, he cautioned his employees to keep an eye on Abu Mansour and make sure he didn't stir up any trouble.

Business was bustling at the inn, especially during the summer months. The rooms were always full, especially with traveling merchants, and many people stopped by for an evening of entertainment. The clientele were Arabs and non-Arabs. Some came from the villages surrounding Granada who needed to stay over a day or two to finalize a business deal. Some came from long distances, like Aragon and Valencia, or even as far away as the cities on the Italian coast, mostly merchants coming to buy or sell. During the day they would conduct their affairs, and at night they would sit and chat, or have dinner and drink. In the summer the guests stayed up late into the night, and the inn's employees wouldn't get to sleep until the wee hours of the morning.

Hasan was busy settling accounts with the chef when he heard Abu Mansour shouting. He jumped up and rushed out to the courtyard where he found him with a sullied face and fire raging in his eyes. Hasan put his arms over his shoulders and spoke to him in an attempt to lure him away and toward his room. "Everything's fine, Abu Mansour. Tell me, what happened?"

Abu Mansour wouldn't budge, so Hasan spoke to him in a stern, measured tone.

"Come with me inside to your room, and we'll talk calmly about what's bothering you."

Abu Mansour paid no attention to Hasan, but yelled out and pointed his finger at one of the patrons: "May we be rid of your kind, you dog!"

The young man Abu Mansour was pointing at was strikingly handsome and impeccably groomed. He sneered at Abu Mansour and turned his head away in disgust.

"I beg you, for God's sake, come with me," Hasan shouted at Abu Mansour as he tried to push him inside.

"This boy is the son of Yaseen the stoker. His father, may God have mercy on his soul, used to work as a stoker in my bathhouse. I just heard him now with my own ears bragging that he's a Castilian, born and bred, and that he's of pure blood. Where in hell did you get pure blood when everything about you reeks of being a filthy sodomist?"

The young man jumped up from his seat and shouted at Hasan. "Are you going to allow this senile old goat to insult people? Since you manage the place, you're responsible for making sure your guests are treated with respect."

Before Hasan could even open his mouth to apologize for what had happened, Abu Mansour stretched out his hand to grab the man by the collar. But just in time, Hasan jumped between them and ranted at him furiously. "Abu Mansour, conduct yourself like a gentleman. I've had enough of what you're doing to yourself and to other people!"

But Abu Mansour was like a raging bull as he tried to set himself free and charge at the young man. "Pure blood?" he repeated, "you son of a whore."

In a panic, not knowing what to do, Hasan punched Abu Mansour in the stomach, which quieted him down. Silence prevailed for several moments before Abu Mansour spoke.

"Hasan, whom I carried in my arms as a baby, hits me. Don't worry, son of Yaseen the stoker, you're not the only son of a whore
in this place." All the clamor that had erupted in the courtyard in loud bursts ended in a whimper. Abu Mansour turned around and staggered in slow heavy steps until he vanished from sight.

Despite Hasan's attempts to offer an apology to the guest and kiss his shoulder, making the excuse that Abu Mansour was an old man prone to excessive drinking, he found it difficult to forgive his own behavior. When he found himself alone in bed that night, he was tormented by what happened. Abu Mansour never dared to insult or harm him in any way, so why did he raise his voice and strike him in front of all those people? In the morning Hasan went to him and tried to apologize, but Abu Mansour couldn't even look him in the eye. His face was crestfallen, and the only thing he could say was, "Go, Hasan, don't make matters worse. Times are hard enough."

Hasan went away, but came back to visit on the holidays. On both occasions Abu Mansour motioned to his wife to offer him whatever food or drink they had, but he sat without saying a word, as though he forgot how to talk. After that Hasan stopped visiting. He told himself that when Saad comes back he'll patch things up between them. But Abu Mansour didn't wait for Saad. When Hasan joined Abu Mansour's funeral procession, he sobbed so profusely that the others berated him. "Control yourself, Hasan. It's not right to weep like a woman."

24

S
aad came to the realization that going back to work with his comrades, the freedom fighters, was virtually impossible. What good would there be in a man who walks slowly and cautiously with the help of crutches? How could he climb up or come down from that village suspended in the highest rungs of the mountain, with its roads winding and unpaved? Even if they found him some other job or duty to fulfill, how would that suit him, especially since the court extended his sentence beyond the three years of prison by placing him on probation and house arrest in Granada, restricting his movements outside the home to attending mass on Sundays and holidays, including Christmas and Easter. He could not mingle with other people without wearing the sanbenito, the yellow vest with the red armband that called attention to his past sins.

If Saad could have chosen what to do upon his release from prison, he would not have gone directly to Granada. How could he go back to Hasan and Saleema and say to them, "Feed me and take care of me because I don't have a job and the court won't allow me to go and work." How would he bear that look of pity or the suppressed gasp of dismay that reveals itself in the quiver of lips the moment the door opens and he see on their faces his own reflection, his impotence and his crutches?

He knocked on the door. When Umm Hasan opened it, she called out his name, and then yelled out, "Saleema!" and started to weep. It wasn't what he was expecting. His immediate reaction was
that something terrible had happened to Saleema. He was stunned by fear and his tongue and body froze. As he started to whisper something, Maryama came rushing out and greeted him. "Welcome back, Saad. Saleema is fine. She bore you a daughter, so beautiful and radiant. Come, Aysha, come and say hello to Saad, your father."

He stared at a little girl of three years, with a bright face, and with his mother's features and her big deep-black eyes. He was looking at her in such awe that it seemed as though he was witnessing a miracle and couldn't believe his eyes. She was the exact age of his sister Nafeesa, and she had his mother's name, Aysha. Just looking at her brought back their memories, as clear as though the years had never passed, or as if he traveled back in time.

"Her name is 'Aysha'?"

"Yes, 'Aysha', but on paper her name is 'Esperanza.' But her uncle only calls her 'Amal.'"

"Amal?"

Saad bent down to the extent his crutches would allow him. "Come here Aysha, come here, honey."But the little girl was frightened and burst into tears.

Saad didn't sleep a wink that night. He couldn't even lie on his bed. He spent the night between staring at the little girl and rummaging through whatever remained of Saleema s things. In the morning and throughout the day, the little girl remained aloof from him. She stopped crying, and even though she sometimes stood still and gazed at him, she kept a safe distance just in case he tried to get close to her. But slowly her interest in him grew as she followed him with her eyes more and more. In the evening, Maryama picked her up and told her a story. When she dozed off, she put her in her mother's bed and looked over to Saad and smiled.

"So that you can sleep next to her, Saad."

The little girl was sound asleep, and the only thing you could see of her was her round moonlike face and the rings of black, curly hair moistened by sweat that covered her forehead. He couldn't keep his eyes off of her, and he listened to his heart pounding from
all these new events. He thought about how he now had a daughter, not a seed that grows in her mother's stomach day after day, not an infant you watch nursing and crying, smiling and taking those first steps, uttering that first word or sentence, but a complete human being who knows her name and how to say "yes" and "no." This is your daughter, he thought, right before your eyes, ready and complete. But how was this possible? They say this is Aysha, your daughter, but then they say your wife isn't here, because the men from the Office of Inquisition came a few days ago and took her away. What did she do to make them do that? he wondered.

Maryama told him the story. "They came and searched the house, every corner and inch. They tore the place apart. It was as if some son of a bitch concocted a rumor that we were stashing secret weapons or a buried treasure. They turned the whole house upside down, Saad. It never occurred to me that they were targeting Saleema. What on earth would the Office of Inquisition want with a woman like her? But it was her they were looking for. They spent more time searching her room than they did the rest of the house. One of them had a pen and notebook and was writing down the names of all the herbs, the jars, and books. They put everything into two huge sacks. They handcuffed Saleema and carried her off in a large basket. Can you believe it, Saad, they carried Saleema off in a large basket? It's the strangest thing I've ever seen. I still can't get over it. For a while I thought they were lunatics who escaped from the insane asylum. But Hasan assured me later on that they were, in fact, officials from the Office of Inquisition."

The more Saad listened to Maryama, the more frightened he became. He was hoping that there would be some accusation charged against Saleema other than practicing witchcraft. But carrying her off in a basket meant that they were afraid to touch her. Saad was sure that they had arrested her and charged her with this, the most serious crime. His body began to shake in short, quick convulsions, then he bit hard on his lower lip to suppress the word "No!" that was surging from inside of him so that Maryama wouldn't hear it.

Should he rejoice over his little daughter or give himself over to
the sadness he felt for his wife? How could he cope with all these events that unfolded in the course of one day? He now understood what Umm Hasan's face said to him when he knocked on the door and she opened it. When she saw him, she was inundated in a wave of fear and she called out for help. Whether he had aged or not, whether he was with or without crutches, she had seen him as Saad, the husband of her daughter, and she cried out to him to save her. But here he was sitting on his hands, powerless, unable to enjoy his daughter without grief, and unable to fear for his wife's life without thinking about the existence of this little one who was stealing his heart that only knew at that moment utter bliss and affection.

As Saad sat and gaped at his daughter while she slept and thought about his wife who wasn't there, he couldn't hear a thing that was going on in the next room between Hasan and Maryama as they engaged in a heated conversation that never rose above a whisper.

"I don't know what I'm going to do now," he said in great agitation.

"Concerning Saleema?"

"No, about Saad."

"What are you getting at?" she asked with a disturbed look on her face.

"Not only has Saad come to us having just been released from prison by an Inquisition tribunal, but he's coming having been placed on probation. And he has to wear the sanbenito."

"So what does that mean?"

"It means that he's being watched, that the authorities have their eyes on him, and that puts this house and everyone in it . . ."

"That puts this house and everyone in it in a position of honor! All of Albaicin respects those whom the Inquisition have persecuted, and that vest raises their heads in awe." Maryama was highly agitated and the sparks flew from her eyes.

"I'm aware of that, Maryama, and I'm not saying I don't respect Saad. But I've spent too many years guarding the safety of my family."

Maryama interrupted him and answered in a tone full of derision. "I know—you've been overly cautious, you wouldn't even allow my mother and brothers to come and live with us after their house was confiscated."

Hasan didn't respond to her charge and paused for a few seconds before he spoke again.

"I think I'll let him know my true feelings on the subject. Saad is very astute, and he more than anyone will understand that living away from here is safer. He won't have to wait and hear me tell him that I honestly prefer that he not live with us."

Maryama gave him a long, hard stare without saying a word. She stood up and calmly went off and brought back a Quran. She set it in front of him and placed her right hand on top of it. "Listen to me well and watch, Hasan. This is the book of God, and I swear upon it. I swear to Almighty God that if you bring up this subject with Saad, either openly or by dropping hints, I will leave this house before him and I promise I will never set foot in it again as long as I live." She picked up the Quran and put it back in its place. Then she went over and lifted the cover from her bed and carried it out of the bedroom.

Umm Hasan felt Maryama next to her in bed, and she asked surprised, "Are you sleeping here?"

"I don't know what on earth Hasan ate tonight," she answered. "His snoring is very loud. Yes, I'm sleeping here."

Whenever Aysha asked for her mother, Umm Hasan burst into tears. Maryama, on the other hand, thought up ways to keep the little girl occupied. She would tell her a story or invent a new game, or she would call out to Hisham to come and get on his hands and knees and neigh like a horse. "Would you like a ride on the pony, or should I ride him?" she'd ask.

"He's a donkey, not a horse," the little girl would answer teasingly. Then both she and Maryama would chuckle, after which Hisham would jump up in indignation and protest that he wasn't a
donkey. His mother would scold him and tell him to get back on the floor so that his cousin could have a ride. He would obey grudgingly, but get his revenge.