Dancing In The Shadows of Love (24 page)

‘I’ll visit her every day,’ Lulu offers. ‘So will
Prior
Ajani, and Enoch.’

Jamila wants to laugh. The
Pale One
and the Outlander to visit Granny Zahra? She doesn’t want to be churlish, so she merely smiles her thanks, and says, ‘I’ll do more good here, where I can make a daily petition to the
Spirit King
for Dawud’s safety.’

When Chuki Samanya promises they’ll tend to her while Dawud is away, she’s content with her choice.

• • •

Once Dawud has left to do his duty in
The War
, Jamila is no longer afraid as she drives Granny Zahra back from the airport.

Careful to turn the flicker on, Jamila changes lanes and glances at Granny Zahra. The old woman hasn’t moved. She hasn’t spoken a word since she reached up and placed her lips to Dawud’s cheek, one hand knotted in her hankie, the other glued to Dawud’s arm as if she wanted to hold him forever.

‘May the
Spirit King
keep you safe,’ she’d said. A chill had seeped into Jamila’s bones, for despair underpinned the words and Granny Zahra sounded like an old woman who had spent a lifetime petitioning a
Spirit King
who never answered her
pleas
.

Granny Zahra has never set foot in the court of St Jerome’s in all the years Jamila has been in the city. Has the bitter old woman forgotten how to be a supplicant? She must have committed a terrible error to have so little allegiance to the
Spirit King
. Perhaps that’s why
Prior
Ajani visits her so often: to save her essence and return her allegiance to the
Spirit King
.

But she’s an old woman and must be afraid of the
Spirit King’s
judgement that death heralds. Jamila’s disguised fear of the old woman changes into pity. She will, she decides, use the time Dawud is away to help guide Granny Zahra back to the
Spirit King
who has so blessed her own life.

How pleased
Prior
Ajani will be, when she saves a faded spirit where he has failed! Jamila takes a hand off the wheel, leans over and places it on the old woman’s arm, the wrinkled skin dry with age and waning life. ‘Our Dawud will be fine, Granny Zahra,’ she says. ‘We’ll light candles every day. The
Spirit King
will keep him safe. Trust me. He’ll be safe.’

For a long while, long enough for Jamila to turn off the highway and enter the curving driveway of the Templeton mansion—Granny Zahra is to move back in while Dawud is away—the old woman doesn’t answer. She shifts in her seat, her hands twisting the handles of her purse, and says, ‘You think the
Spirit King
listens to the entreaties of ordinary people who err?’

Jamila has an epiphany. ‘Yes,’ she says from the midst of a soaring joy. ‘Yes!’

This is why the
Spirit King
has tested her all these years. Not for her new life, the one Dawud is risking in a distant foreign war that’s of no concern to either of them. Not to suffer the deep unhappiness that sucked all the meaning from her life for so many years, and not for the kindness she shows the
Pale One
.

No, her belief in the
Spirit King’s
guiding light endured for one reason only: to save Granny Zahra from her errors. Granny Zahra, a daughter of privilege, is an unbeliever, while she—the daughter of a beggar—is an honest soldier of the
Spirit King
.

For too long, guilt ate at her certainty. The memory of mingled flesh under a moonlit night drowned out the brighter image of a young girl and a
nova
, silvered with dew and full of the promise of a better life. But the part of her that has endured her trials is the gift of true reverence. So much a forgotten part, she lost the certainty she’d found as a young girl, one early dawn long ago. She has found her lost devotion, her sense of what is right and true.

Deep peace flows into her as she pulls the car into the driveway and hurries round the bonnet to open the door for Granny Zahra. She has the strength to help the old woman out and, for the first time, Jamila puts her arms around her in a brief hug of comfort.

It makes Jamila feel good, so good. The
Spirit King’s
approval is in the air, and in the wind that brushes their faces as, bubbling with determination, she locks the car and says, ‘The
Spirit King
does answer our supplications, Granny Zahra. He does!’

A low, sour laugh escapes the old woman and Jamila wonders what errors this stern upright woman committed. Her mouth pinches small with resolution. All she needs to do is save her as she saved herself. The power of her belief trembles through her and she shuffles Granny Zahra inside as fast as she can. She tells her to wait as she runs to fetch the old family
Eden Book
Dawud keeps in his study. She will read the holy words to Granny Zahra, tonight and every night until she has saved her and the old woman returns to worship the
Spirit King
at the
Court
of St Jerome.

• • •

Jamila is unable to tell Chuki Samanya of her crusade; of the exhilaration driving her new life, and her renewed faith, through to her very core. Instead, she tells Lulu. Somehow it doesn’t embarrass her when she shares her progress with the
Pale One
, for she has come to realise—it makes her blush even to think of it!—that Lulu
worships
her.

She’s become aware of Lulu’s covert glances of admiration since Chuki Samanya showed her that she’s worthy of so much more than she’s settled for, these past years she lived so laden with errors. She rewards Lulu by delegating small tasks to her.
Prior
Ajani’s coffee. Delivering the approved proofs of the wedding invitations to the printers or typing out the provisional guest list. Jamila needs it typed to show Chuki Samanya when she goes to dinner. ‘It’ll be the two of us,’ Chuki promised. ‘Daren will be away on business.’

The offer thrills Jamila. Lulu, in her gruff way, is pleased too. For Jamila, in a rush of happiness shows her where her name is, right next to
Prior
Ajani’s on the guest list.

‘What can I do to help?’ Lulu asks her, after she saw the list.

‘There’s a book in the court library,’ Jamila says, ‘called “
The
Spirit King
Forgives My Error
.” Fetch that.’ She’d read it herself, a few years after The Battle of the Balcony. It hadn’t made much sense to her. Today, understanding that the years she’d run from Samanya in fear of her
ezomo
’s power, were years in which she’d used her allegiance as a shield, the book is a revelation to Jamila. One she determines to share with Granny Zahra.

‘I’ll read it to Granny Zahra,’ she says, when Lulu returns and places it on her desk.

Lulu’s eyebrows lift in surprise. ‘From what you’ve said about her, I don’t think Dawud’s grandmother will enjoy it.’

Jamila tells her the plan.

‘I’m going to save her,’ she bursts out. ‘She’s never been to an
Earth Palace
as long as I’ve been in the city. Not even this court!’

‘Maybe she has her reasons for not going to court,’ Lulu answers. ‘Maybe the
Spirit King
has failed her.’

‘She must have failed the
Spirit King
! I’m sure there’s some
Great Error
in her background. That’s why she keeps everyone at a distance,’ Jamila replies, surprised at the look Lulu slants in her direction. Those strange eyes, always distorted by the thick spectacles common to the
Pale Ones
with their poor vision, take on an intensity that almost disconcerts Jamila, until she realises that, despite her efforts, she’s not quite at ease with the girl’s difference.

‘Does it matter?’ Lulu asks.

‘That Granny Zahra has erred?’ Jamila remembers where Lulu has come from. ‘Oh no, dear,’ she says and, because she must be kind, she steels herself to jump up and give the
Pale One
a hug. ‘The
Spirit King
forgives all who make mistakes, so one’s past doesn’t matter.’

‘The way I heard it, we shouldn’t err at all.’

‘We err; that’s why we’re human.’

‘
You
haven’t made any
Great Errors
,’ Lulu says, shocked, as the possibility enters her mind. ‘Have you?’

Jamila laughs at her shocked grimace. ‘Maybe a little error here and there,’ she concedes. ‘I’ve disclosed those to the
Prior
, though.’

How right her words are! Her ‘Great Error,’ The Battle of the Balcony, is not such a big mistake after all. Unlike murder, or some other terrible crime, her desire is a mere human foible—the very reason why the
Spirit King
came to the
Earth Palace
. As the
Eden Book
promised, he suffered to free those that err, to save them by the grace of his love, as he saved Jamila.

The last of the chains forged in guilt around Jamila’s heart disintegrate and she throws her head back to laugh with the lightness of freedom. Freedom from the consequences of one small deed that surely never hurt anyone. For the unhappiness she’s suffered these past years, as she waited and waited for Dawud to marry her, has been but a test.

‘I
am
free from error,’ she says and believes it. ‘Because of the
Spirit King’s
death and the
Spirit King’s
grace. As are you.’

‘Am I?’ Lulu asks, her tone quiet with the same despair Jamila saw in Granny Zahra as she waved goodbye to Dawud.

Jamila remembers
Prior
Ajani told her Lulu’s crime involved a dead Controller. Pity floods her for the poor lost spirit of the
Pale One
, and she finds the strength to give Lulu that hug. Touched by the sudden tension of the body in her arms, she hugs her tighter until Lulu rewards her with an awkward hug in return.

She steps back and beams her approval. ‘Of course you’re unstained by past mistakes,’ she says. ‘No one here at St Jerome cares about your past. We’re concerned with what you do for the rest of your life.’

‘Maybe,’ Lulu says, and stares out the window, into the garden where Enoch digs a hole to plant a new tree someone has donated to the court.

A cedar tree, he tells Jamila when she asks.

‘That won’t grow here,’ she says. ‘You’re wasting your time planting it.’

An almost-invisible smile softens his face. ‘Maybe not,’ he says. ‘But I can try.’

He crushes a leaf between his long, elegant fingers and raises it to his nose, inhaling the fragrance deeply. He offers it to her. She frowns, disliking the clean, woody smell and the intimacy of his sticky fingers, covered in cedar-sap, under her nose. His eyes, too, make her nervous. Soft liquid pools, they invite her to dive deep. Briefly, she’s tempted, for she thinks she sees the phantom of a girl standing beneath a
nova
in them. She grasps for her
fealty
, the
fealty
she lost once before: on a balcony, tempted by her
ezomo
, tempted by Daren Samanya.

But she learned from that lapse. She steps back, away from Enoch. She jerks her head out of his reach and so, again, her faith endures. When she looks back, she sees a pair of ordinary sea-grey eyes that watch her with a rude intensity.

She turns and walks away.

• • •

She meets Chuki Samanya for some lunchtime retail therapy in an inconspicuous little boutique, tucked away in an arcade filled with street musicians wailing tunes of poverty and loss, and hawkers selling fruit and toffees and cigarettes. A discreet notice on the solid wood door proclaims that there’s more than a passage beyond it. Jamila hesitates. Chuki doesn’t. She opens it and, with bold steps, crosses the threshold. An assistant appears from nowhere to assess Jamila’s body with a glance. She leads them to a rail almost alive with a variety of colours and fabrics.

‘Dawud will like this on you,’ Chuki says.

The hallowed atmosphere of the small room is fragrant with the cloying scent of the tuberoses tumbling from a tall crystal vase. This, combined with the haughty decorum of the shop assistant as she produces dress after dress for Chuki’s inspection, makes Jamila too awkward to point out that none of the items display a price tag. She is concerned at the pile of gowns put aside at Chuki’s nod.

‘How will I afford to pay?’ Jamila whispers.

‘My dear,’ Chuki exclaims, ‘we’re shopping for your trousseau. No Templeton wife would settle for less.’ An imperious flick of a wrist adds another frock. ‘Dawud won’t object. Will he?’

A remembered whisper of Lulu’s words make her think that Dawud isn’t due back for weeks, and he left her money, but not enough to pay for all of this.

‘But…’ she stammers. She wants to say no, but she doesn’t want to loose Chuki’s friendship.

‘Oh, darling!’ Chuki lights a cigarette with a languid flick. ‘Felicity won’t mind. She’ll open an account for you. I’ve been a customer for years and I’ll stand surety until your Dawud comes back.’

As if her concerns are absurd, Chuki laughs, a rich dark sound that coaxes Jamila into agreement and swallows her doubts. Chuki, born into the same privileged world as Dawud, must be aware of the expectations for a Templeton wife. Soon, she has let Chuki select a wardrobe of new clothes. Her reflection in the cheval mirror tells her she looks like a Jamila Templeton and nothing at all like a Jamila Johnson.

She objects to the pink linen tunic, though, until Chuki and the shop assistant embarrass her with a mutual irritation at her gaucheness. Chuki stands up from the armchair—a sleek, twisted design of tubular chrome and leather Jamila privately finds hideous—and, with firm hands, turns her to face the mirror.

‘Pink is your colour,’ she says. ‘Soft, and gentle, and sweet, like you. And,’ she adds as her fingers skim up to play in Jamila’s hair and remove the hairpins so it falls in a straight golden curtain to her shoulders and frames her flushed cheeks and bright eyes, ‘you look like an angel. A sexy, golden angel.’ She laughs that laugh again.

‘I’m not sexy,’ Jamila mumbles, flushed with more than embarrassment, flushed with a volatile cocktail of emotions raised by Chuki’s touch.

‘You are. You don’t appreciate your own strengths,’ Chuki says and smiles in such a way Jamila’s heart thumps with surprise and a secret vanity forbidden to angels and women. ‘Daren says you’re beautiful.’ Chuki holds her gaze and with an idle stroke of a crimson-tipped finger brushes Jamila’s breast. ‘He’s never wrong about a woman.’