Granada (2 page)

But no matter: as with all genuine literature the ambiguities seep out everywhere, and a part of the bittersweetness of this novel certainly lies in the softly spoken understanding the reader has of how many of these Muslims, and how much of their culture, will indeed survive the crucible of this ghastly moment but transformed into something quite different from what they were in Granada before 1492. What makes the novel gripping and enjoyable is that as it progresses the characters are transformed by life in general—yes, of course by the crises provoked, by the earth-shaking events of the time, but no less—and sometimes far more—by the births of children and the deaths of fathers and mothers. And by the search for love. In 1991, Salmon Rushdie published his own small but jewel-like contribution to this body of imaginative literature, determined to make us realize how close we all really are to 1492. In that story Rushdie sums up peaks through the mouth of Columbus to sum up these complex and often heart-breaking ties between our hearts and history, the history that often seems to set a stage for us we have not chosen and yet from which we cannot escape:" 'The search for
money and patronage,' Columbus says in Rushdie's novel, " 'is not so different from the quest for love.' " And later: " 'The loss of money and patronage,' "Columbus says," 'is as bitter as unrequited love.' "
3

2. A forthcoming study, based on a detailed study of the extensive Inquisition archives by Yale historian Stuart Schwartz and entitled "Each in His Own Law: Salvation, Repression and Popular Toleration in the Luso-Hispanic World, 1492-1700," will reveal the extent to which the harsh and devastatingly destructive intolerance of 15th and 16th century Spain was neither understood nor shared by many of the "Old Christians" of Spain.

Ultimately, Ashour's Granada is as touching a historical novel as it is not because she has got the history right and is able to interweave its interesting details into her narrative although she does just that, and readers will profit from and perhaps be amused by her judicious and accurate revelations about everything from the original terms of the capitulation of Granada (which granted religious and cultural freedoms to the Muslims, but were soon revoked) to the first items and people brought from the New World and paraded through the roadways of Andalucia. Rather, it works because it is written from the heart, and about the heart, and the novelist does not thus condescend to her characters, who are no more heroic nor less frail because of the historical stage on which they played out their lives. And we understand that there is much life to follow at the end, that because
Granada
was not about the stone city of its title but about a flesh-and-blood family who lived there, that history lies in the hands of their children: some born and others not yet, some who will be expelled in 1608 with the rest of the "Moriscos" and go to Arab and Ottoman lands (but always keep their iconic keys to homes in cities like Valencia); others who will remain in Spain, as first and second and third generation New Christians, intermarried, and ultimately seamlessly interwoven into Spanish culture; and yet others will emigrate to the New World, as one from the pivotal generation here already has, one of the young men whose coming of age from early adolescence through mature manhood provides the backbone of the narrative. The success of this novel's marriage
of the public and the personal is such that we finish the book convinced that the children of these characters will not only continue the family saga, but be the protagonists in the historical dramas yet to come, dramas that one generation after another, lead to us.

3. "Christopher Columbus and Queen Isabella of Spain Consummate Their Relationship, Santa Fe, January 1492," was first published in the
New Yorker
of June 17, 1991. It was Rushdie's first published work of fiction after the fatwa forced him into exile.

MARIA ROSA MENOCAL

Translators Acknowledgments

I
wish to thank Radwa Ashour for her encouragement and support for my translation of
Granada,
as well as for her many suggestions and explications. Also, a profusion of gratitude to Ayman El-Desouky and Sinan Antoon, who graciously read the text over and over and made important contributions to the polished version. In addition, I wish to thank Shawkat Toorawa, Ariel Blumenthal, Jonathan Smolin, and Laila Parsons for their input, and Michael Beard and Marilyn Booth for their expertise and support. To Maria Rosa Menocal a special thanks for her magnificent foreword, and finally to Mary Selden Evans of Syracuse University Press a symphony of praises for her wisdom, understanding, counsel, and good humor.

W.G.

Granada

1

A
t the crack of dawn one day Abu Jaafar saw a naked woman walking down the hill and in his direction, as though she were coming deliberately to meet him. The closer she got to him the more convinced he became that she was neither impudent nor inebriated. She was a young woman of extraordinary beauty, slender and graceful, with breasts like small, smooth, perfectly shaped ivory vases. Her jet black hair cascaded over her shoulders, and a sadness made her wide eyes seem even wider on her intensely gaunt, pallid face.

The streets were still empty, the shops had not opened, and the light of day had not yet dissolved the violet haze of the early dawn. Abu Jaafar first thought that what he was seeing was a mere figment of his imagination. He then peered more closely, and he came to grips with his own utter amazement. He went toward the woman, took off his woolen cloak, and wrapped it around her body. He asked her her name and where she lived, but it seemed as though she could neither see nor hear him. He left her to continue on her way, and he watched her from behind as she walked on slowly, his eyes fixed on the jingling gold spangles that wrapped around her ankles caked with the mud of a road her two feet had been treading.

In spite of the wintry chill and the howling winds that shook the walnut trees lining both sides of the road, Abu Jaafar remained standing by the door of his shop until the sun released its pale yellow rays and exposed the street's prominent features.

Inside the shop he exchanged a few words with Naeem and then went to a corner where he sat quietly. The boy couldn't help but notice his patron's silence, and he responded by suppressing his usual noisiness, as he began the day's work with a desire to do a good job to please his patron and with a genuine concern for him, making Naeem sneak a peek at him every now and then.

"What's
your
name,
my
boy?"

The
man
was
very
tall
and
somewhat
frightening,
looking
no
different
from
all
those
older
men
who
intimidated
him,
who
would
no
sooner
stop
him
on
the
street
than
he
would
leap
away
like
a
scared
jackrabbit.
He
lifted
his
gaze
and
glanced
up
over
his
towering
body
until
he
came
to
the
eyes,
blue
and
peaceful.
He
didn't
rush,
and
he
answered
in
a
soft
voice:
"Naeem."

"Where
is
your
family,
Naeem?"

"They
went
away,
or
they
died.
I
don't
know."

Abu Jaafar
stretched
out
his
enormous
hand
and
took
hold
of
the
boy's
hand,
and
the
boy
followed
with
the
longest
strides
his
two
young
feet
al
lowed
him
to
take
in
order
to
keep
pace.

Abu Jaafar
fed
him,
gave
him
shelter,
and
began
to
teach
him
all
the
tricks
of
his
trade.
He
trained
him
in
tanning
and
drying
goat
hides
for
bind
ing.
He
taught
him
how
to
arrange
the
pages
of
a
manuscript
and
bind
them
together.
He
allowed
him
to
undertake
every
task
save
a
couple
he
preferred
to
do
himself.
He
instructed
Naeem
to
follow
him
closely
so
that
he
could
learn:
to
thread
the
twine
into
the
awl,
and
slowly
and
carefully
pass
the
awl
and
thread
through
the
spine
of
the
book,
once,
twice,
a
third
and
fourth
time,
back
and
forth
until
the
stitching
was
tight;
then
he
let
him
attach
the
spine
to
the
cover
and
place
the
book
under
a
press.
Several
days
later,
he
would
re
move
the
book
from
underneath
the
press
and
Abu
Jaafar
would
write
the
title
and
the
name
of
the
author,
as
well
as
the
owner
of
the
manuscript,
in
gold
ink
or
something
else
that
may
have
been
requested.
Finally,
he
would
engrave
the
cover
with
intricate
patterns.

Naeem
became
consumed
by
a
desire
to
do
all
of
that
by
himself,
and
when
he
persisted,
Abu
Jaafar
handed
him
a
piece
of
paper,
smiling:
"Here,
write
the
opening
chapter
of
the
Quran
on
this."
He
felt
as
though
he
had
backed
himself
into
a
corner
because
his
penmanship
was
as
crooked
as
a
long
and
winding
mountain
pass.