Granada (32 page)

"My father says that Aysha is a good luck charm, but she's been bad luck ever since she came in to this house. Her father became sick and has to walk on crutches, and the police came and took her mother away."

His mother chides him with a threat. "I'll kill you if you ever say anything like that again." But the boy doesn't balk, and his mother gives him a good whack. Then she goes over to console him and calmly tries to make him understand that he has to be nice to his cousin because she is his cousin and because her mother is away from her.

Saleema's absence was a source of enormous stress and sadness to everyone in the household. Umm Hasan's eyes would swell in tears as she clapped her hands together in frustration and repeated over and over again, "There's nothing we can do!" This only exacerbated the misery as she walked around with her head held low. Hasan and Saad felt the same thing, not in words, but through that hopeless look in their eyes.

Only Maryama racked her brain to think of a strategy, some way out, even though she didn't let anyone know. She could at least find out what was happening with Saleema, what the charge was, and how long she was to be imprisoned. She poked and prodded and made inquiries until she stumbled upon a Castilian woman whose husband worked as a secretary at the Office of Inquisition. She met her at the souk by chance. They exchanged a few passing words and she left. Two days later there was a short conversation. Eventually, as the woman came to know Maryama and enjoy talking to her, they spent more time together at the souk. She would ask Maryama how she cooked something, or ask for a recipe for meat pies. After several weeks of their acquaintance, Maryama broached the subject.

"My husband, may God give him a long life and good health, is so good to me. He doesn't deprive me of anything. The only problem is that his sister doesn't like me or my children, and never wishes
us well. But thank God for punishing her for her jealous heart and rewarding me for my kind heart. The officials at the Office of Inquisition arrested her, but for the life of me I have no idea what evil she conspired."

"Since she's an evil person, there's no doubt she committed acts punishable by law."

"That's what's bothering me. If only I knew exactly what she did so that I could tell my husband and he'll know the truth about his sister. And then he'll realize that in all my quarrels with her I was the victim and she was the troublemaker. Of course when she's released after the investigation, she'll claim they erroneously arrested her thinking she was some other woman, and she'll insist on her innocence."

The woman didn't seem at all interested in this part of the conversation. She asked Maryama if she was going to buy some eggplant.

Maryama let out a sigh. "I think I'll buy . . . but my sister-in-law is on my mind. Do you have any relatives or neighbors who work at the Inquisition?"

"My husband works there!"

Maryama stood dumbfounded as she tried to crack a smile of joy. "How lucky I am, for sure! Your husband will be able to find out why they arrested Saleema, and when I tell my husband why, he'll begin to believe me over his sister."

"I'll ask him, but what do you think of these olives? Are you going to buy some?"

"Don't bother. I'll bring you some much better than these. My husband has some olive trees that have the best olives. When you bring me the news, I'll bring you a couple of containers of olives."

At their next meeting, Maryama's heart sank in dreaded fear when she saw the gloating look on the woman's face when asked about Saleema.

"I brought you news worth a whole tree of olives," exclaimed the woman. "Tell your husband that his sister is a witch who practices her evil craft on living human beings. My husband tells me that they're using the most extreme measures of torture on her to extract
a confession, but so far she hasn't confessed. That only proves the devil is living inside of her and helping her."

Maryama's face grew sullen, her eyes swerved, and her head spun so violently that she looked as though she was on the verge of fainting.

"What's wrong?" asked the woman. "Are you feeling sorry for her?"

Maryama stammered before she was able to catch her breath. "Not at all! I was just frightened by the thought that she could scheme to poison me and my children, but . . ."

"But what?"

"But I just don't think she's a witch. I lived with her for many years, and I've never seen her leave the house at night. Tell your husband they're mistaken. Tell him that the Office of Inquisition must know her real crime, that perhaps she stole something that wasn't hers, or she told lies about some people. She is a liar and she only cares about herself. But she's not a witch!"

The Castilian woman put her arms around Maryama. "You shouldn't be so kind. You told me how nasty she was with you, and now God is punishing her with what she deserves. Don't worry about her. Let's go finish our shopping."

Maryama excused herself from walking through the market on the pretext she forgot her money at home.

"I'll go back home."

"And the olives?"

"What olives?"

"The olives you promised me?"

"I'll bring them next week."

25

S
aleema was ordered to enter the main hall by walking in backwards. This was not the only unnatural act to which she was subjected since they carried her off two days before.

She looked around and saw them. There were four men staring at her with scrutinizing eyes. Three of them were seated side by side behind a black lacquered table directly in front of her. In a corner at somewhat of a distance sat the fourth, with an inkwell and a stack of paper in front of him, and a feather pen in hand. One of the men sitting behind the table cleared his throat. He was old and had a wrinkled face. He tilted his head slightly backward and folded his hands. Saleema noticed the thick brown blotches on the back of his ivory hands. He cleared his throat again, and the scribe dipped his feather into the inkwell to record what the old man was about to dictate.

"In the name of the Father, Amen.

"In the year of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ 1527, on the fifteenth day of the month of May, in the presence of we the undersigned, Antonio Agapida, presiding judge of the Office of Inquisition, and Alonso Madera and Miguel Aguilar, investigators of the Office of Inquisition. This investigation commenced when it was called to our attention that Gloria Alvarez, formerly known as Saleema bint Jaafar, engages in the practice of black magic, and accumulates in her residence suspicious and alarming quantities of seeds, plants, and potions that she uses to cause injury to people, and that . . ."

Saleema had to listen very carefully so that she could under
stand everything that was being recited in Spanish, especially with the loud scratching sound of the pen as it recorded frantically what was being dictated.

". . . and that she, by perpetrating these crimes, threatens the Catholic Church and the security of the state."

The judge beckoned her with his index finger to come forward. He squinted his eyes to the point that they seemed to disappear beneath their puffy lids. She approached the table. He asked her to put her hand on the Bible that was set in front of her and to swear to tell the whole truth about herself and others as well. She did as she was told.

The judge continued his dictation and the scribe continued to write.

"Having asked the accused to take an oath and swear on the Holy Bible, we directed to her the following questions:

— Your name?

— Gloria Alvarez after my baptism. Before, Saleema bint Jaafar.

— Where do you live?

— In Albaicin.

— What are the names of your parents and are they still alive?

— My father is Jaafar Ibn Abi Jaafar, the Paper Maker. He died before the Castilian conquest of Granada. My mother is Umm Hasan before baptism, and after Maria Blanca. She is still alive.

— Have any of your relatives ever been tried for practicing sorcery?

— No.

— Are you married?

— Yes.

— What is the name of your husband?

— Carlos Manuel after baptism. Saad al-Malaqi before.

— Where is your husband?

— I do not know.

— What does that mean?

— We had a quarrel, he got angry with me, and he left home. I don't know where he went."

The three inquisitors exchanged glances that bewildered Saleema; she was sure she had given them the wrong answer. She got a lump in her throat and slowly released the deep breath that had been lodged in her chest.

— When did you husband leave home?

— A few years ago.

— How many, to be exact?

— Approximately six years ago.

— Do you have children?

— Yes.

— How many?

— One daughter.

— What's her name, and how old is she?

— Her name is Esperanza, and she's three years old.

— Didn't you say that your husband abandoned you six years ago?

— He came back one time. We patched things up, but then he left again.

Once again the inquisitors exchanged glances, and this time she was startled by a leering look in the eye of the younger one who was sitting to the right of the judge. She also noticed a smirk on the scribe's face as he bared his front teeth.

— Do you practice witchcraft?

— No, I do not.

— How do you explain all the paraphernalia that was found in your house?

— They are seeds, herbs, and solutions I used to cure people's illnesses.

— Who taught you that?

— I taught myself.

— By yourself, or through books?

Saleema paused before she responded.

— Where am I going to get the books? I don't read Spanish, and Arabic books are banned by law.

— The books we found in your possession.

— Neither I nor anyone else in my household owns or purchases books.

— Then you admit that you practice witchcraft and that it is the devil who taught you to make what you call medicine?

— I never said that.

— Do you not believe in the existence of black magic and witches who have the power to induce storms, kill livestock, or infect people with deadly illnesses?

— I believe that all those things, I mean storms and the death of livestock and people, have natural causes that we don't know about because our knowledge as human beings is insufficient. No, my lord, I do not believe in witches.

— Then why do people resent you?

— People resent me?

— Why do they resent and fear you, and why do they avoid your stare? You once told somebody, "Do not speak to me in that manner," and you gave him a look that made him writhe in pain all night long. You put your hand on the stomach of a pregnant woman who died two days later. A woman sent for you to come and cure her ailing son, and you made him bleed so profusely that his bedroom floor was soaked in blood, and he died.

— I have no recollection at all of the first incident. When somebody insults you or talks to you rudely, you say, "Don't talk to me in that manner," but I do not remember when I said that or to whom, and his illness that night is pure coincidence. The second incident is correct. A woman I encountered on the street, a New Christian, that is, an Arab like me, sought my advice. "I can't understand why I don't feel the baby moving inside of me." I felt the woman's stomach, and I deduced that the baby was dead in the womb since there were no signs of life stirring within even though her stomach was huge. It was clear that she was in the final weeks of pregnancy. I was right; the woman died because the dead baby inside of her poisoned her body.

As for the third incident, well, that's correct as well. A Castilian woman came to me in tears. She begged me to go with her because her little boy was very sick. Against my brother s orders that I never
visit the houses of strangers, I accompanied the woman home. When I arrived, I found the boy hemorrhaging, he had no color in his face, and his fingertips had turned blue. He was on the verge of death, and my prognosis was that he was bleeding internally, and that there was nothing I could do to save him.

— Do you know how to perform witchcraft?

— I told you I don't believe in witchcraft.

— And you don't believe in the devil?

— I don't know.

— Do you believe in the existence of Satan, or not? Answer yes or no.

The inquisitors were all looking straight at her. The judge's eyes peered at her from behind his thick, puffy eyelids. The thin, frail one to his left ogled her with two gleaming, lascivious eyes, and she couldn't understand why. The one to his right, the one with the waxen face and sharp features, looked at her with a stone-cold expression. Even the scribe lifted his eyes from the pen and paper and looked at her amused.

"I do not believe that the devil has existence," she answered in a faint voice. Once she said it, she quickly corrected herself when she detected a look of victory reflected in their expressions. "Yes, I do believe that Satan exists."

— Do you worship him?

The thought never entered her mind.

— What do you mean, worship him?

— Do you believe in Satan over God?

— Of course not!

— Then how do you explain this?

The judge waved in front of her a piece of paper the size of a palm of the hand, but she was unable to make out the details. He raised it as though it was the final piece of evidence that would seal her guilt. His two assistants nodded their heads approvingly.

— What's this?

— Come closer, and have a look at this piece of paper. Look at it closely.

She looked at it. On it was a drawing of a sheep or a gazelle. She
examined it closely and then she remembered. "Ah, it's a bad drawing. I'm not good at drawing pictures."

— Then you admit that this is your drawing?

— I used to own a gazelle I loved very much. I tried to draw a picture of it.

The judge burst into a raucous laughter and his colleagues followed suit. Even the scribe joined in.

— This is a billy goat, not a gazelle.

— As I said, Your Honor, I'm not very good at drawing.

— This is the billy goat with which you copulate and to which you travel by night.

— The billy goat I copulate with?

— Yes, the billy goat that drew you away from your husband and caused him to abandon you. It is the devil in whose service you are employed.

The judge raised his voice to a shrill pitch as his face contorted and he pointed his accusing finger at Saleema. He tilted his neck forward, carrying with it his head inflamed in anger.

Was this a nightmare, Saleema thought, that shoved her into an absurd game directed by three strange, demented men? The judge accuses her of copulating with a billy goat and faults her for drawing a picture that didn't mean anything. Even those men who came and arrested her acted strangely. One of them tried to fiddle with her books, and when she reached over to stop him, he jumped away in a panic and screamed at her, "Don't touch me!" as though she were some kind of snake or scorpion that could kill him in a second. Then they tied her up as though she were a raging bull, and they put her into a large basket. You don't put a raging bull in a large basket. Maybe a lamb, a chicken, or a rabbit. But this was only Saleema bint Jaafar whom they were taking away, tied up and in a basket! Whenever she recalled the scene, she would laugh a laugh that verged on sobbing, and then she would laugh no more.

Prior to presenting her to this three-man tribunal, they brought in a huge, stern-looking giant of a woman who cut off all her hair and ordered her to remove all her clothes until she stood in front of
her naked as the day she was born. The woman inspected her body and ran her fingers under her arms, between her legs, and into all the holes of her body, her nose, mouth, and ears, and even her private parts. But what was she looking for? Saleema wondered if this was all somehow a joke, or just sheer madness. And on top of it all, the judge sticks his finger in her face as though he's about to pluck out her eyes and screams at her,
"the
billy
goat
with
which
you
copulate!"