The Horse Healer (13 page)

“Follow along the banks!” He pointed out the direction.

They made a break and went down a steep hillside where there was a narrow tree-lined path that would help them to hide. Fatima, back in charge of her own reins, was the first to make it onto that green pathway, so dense that soon they had lost sight of her. Following in the rear was Diego. In that mass of vegetation, the darkness was almost complete. Sabba followed on the haunches of Benazir's horse, and she followed that of her husband.

Diego thought he heard noise behind his back. He couldn't tell what it was. It could be some animal, but he warned those ahead of him and immediately they picked up the pace as much as they could without fear of being whipped in the face by the hundreds of branches that came out from every side of their path. They seemed not to care, and each knew what had to be done in that moment. The desire to get out of there was a sufficient motive for crossing through that dense area without any fear.

After two days, once they had arrived in the foothills of the Sierra and were free from any more danger from the Turks, Diego and Galib decided to wait for Kabirma there.

“He'll come …” Benazir enveloped Fatima in her arms and looked northward with her. They had been doing it every once in a while for many leagues now.

“We were able to trick our captors, but maybe my father wasn't. …”

“We won't leave until he appears. … And he will,” Galib said. “Your father is a man of many resources; he'll have made it, you'll see.” He got off his horse and climbed onto a large boulder. He invited Fatima to come with him. From that height, you could see more than five leagues into the distance.

The girl was suffering the unspeakable. With all her might, she wished things wouldn't end in that way. Could something have happened to her father? she thought timidly. And if they had taken him prisoner, or worse, had hurt him? She shook from anguish. Galib guessed what she was feeling and tried to console her with a long embrace.

He thought the same and was deeply sorry for all that was happening to them. He had warned them all. Their journey was dangerous. … Why hadn't they listened to him at the time? If they had stayed in Toledo, none of this would have happened, and Kabirma would be safe.

In midafternoon, when the sun had begun to descend and they were filled with despair, Fatima thought she saw a small shadow moving in the distance. She squinted her eyes and shouted to everyone. She thought she saw him. Yes. It was her father!

After Kabirma had made his way to them, he embraced his daughter, enchanted to be back together with her. He hadn't know whether they had managed to escape the men guarding them or not either. He admitted he had been tormented by doubt as much as or more than they had, especially since he was alone. He explained how he had managed to escape unharmed as the reunited group got back on the trail, because he wished to leave those wastelands behind him and take the road farther into the Sierra.

He had, in fact, falsified the signature, he admitted, but the Turk had taken too much time trying to verify it.

“I passed through some tough moments. But like always, I was able to use a solution that has never failed me, I swear.”

“How much did it cost you then?”

“You're an old dog like me, Galib, my friend. You know what I'm talking about, right?”

“It's true I've met a few Turks in my time.”

“His silence cost me a hundred
maravedíes
, everything I had, but I consider it a deal.”

“Father …” Fatima grabbed his arm and covered it with kisses. “For a moment … I thought I'd lost you.”

“I'm not afraid of weapons or of tricks, I know they'll never defeat me, but I confess that just one look from you can do it every time.” He stroked his daughter's cheek.

From then on they looked for the cool hillsides of the Sierra and climbed less nervously, their spirits renewed, feeling somewhat closer to their desired destination. Diego only thought of Seville, of being able to find out something about his sisters.

“We should make it to Castella before night falls. … I don't want any more scares, and I know we'll find protection there. Altair is a friend.”

XIX.

T
he walled city of Castella, or Cazalla de la Sierra as it was also known, opened its doors to them when they announced whom they had come to visit.

Altair was a curious person with an appearance that surprised people from the first glance. His extreme obesity seemed out of proportion with his tiny head. It was the same with his face, where he had an enormous mouth with fat lips that jutted out and an almost nonexistent nose.

When they arrived at his home, as soon as he saw his friend Kabirma, the man flew into a fit of joy. But only a minute later, without any sort of segue, he entered into a state of hysteria. He shouted a string of orders to his people to prepare milk and dates to welcome his guests, a dinner for afterward, and then beds and baths for his newly arrived friends.

The house was also occupied by some family members who had shown up not long before, fleeing from Castilian territories. Even so, Altair held Kabirma in such esteem that he tried to offer them the best rooms. Soon everyone had lodgings, everyone but Diego. Altair begged pardon and suggested that the young man sleep in the hayloft.

“I'm sorry I can't offer you anything better.” He seemed distraught.

“Relax, Altair, for days we've been sleeping out in the open. I'm sure he'll sleep better there than on the grass.”

“Of course, don't worry about me.”

After quickly washing up, they met for dinner. The table was set for the invitees and Altair's family in a courtyard with flower beds and a melodious fountain at its center.

They sat atop cushions and admired the elegance of the gathering. On a tabletop of leather, they had placed plates and bowls of crockery lined with decorative glass, olivewood spoons, candles and aromatic lamps in the center, and rose petals all about.

First they served them meat pastries fried in olive oil, as delicious as they were filling, and then followed savory grilled pigeons with an eggplant soup.

Apart from his hospitality, Altair was also an excellent conversationalist. He spoke to them of his ancestors, Andalusians as far back as anyone could remember. He also recollected to them his earlier pledge to breed the finest race of horses that Allah had ever created: the African Berber. It was for that reason that he had met Kabirma.

“After my active participation in numerous wars against the Christians, they gave me a public office in the town. Now I am the zalmedina, responsible for governance and administration. Not a well-paid job, but an easy one. Castella is a calm place where almost nothing ever happens, though that changed a few days ago. The mood has changed and the people are living anxiously. All because of some terrible news. …”

Galib and Kabirma made faces that indicated their ignorance.

“You must be the only ones who don't know what happened with the fortress Salvatierra. …”

The man's cheeks reddened to the point of exploding.

“A few days back, my brother-in-law Ahmed and my sister Layla had to flee from there, just like all the other brothers of the faith who were defending it. The most beautiful fortress, the greatest, was attacked and captured by that order of friars and soldiers from Castile, the Calatravans.” He shook his head in disgust and asked Allah for advice, yelling.

They all stopped eating, alarmed by his expression.

“Salvatierra!” He began to wave his arms like a man possessed. “Doom is near!” he screamed again, now beating his chest with both hands, as if trying to expel his pain. “With this conquest, the infidels have shot an arrow into the heart of Al-Andalus. Now they are much closer to our homes, our women, and they will fight to destroy our faith; the faith revealed to our Prophet Muhammad.”

His reference to the Calatravans and their invasions provoked Diego to ask a question: “Excuse me, sir, did you see the Battle of Alarcos?”

Galib and Kabirma looked at him, immediately disapproving of his insolence.

“By Allah the Magnificent, of course I was there. That was already three years back. I remember a great deal about it but more than anything, the humiliating and harried retreat of that ambitious and petulant Castilian king. Yes, sir, a victory, unprecedented, on the open field!”

With those words, his face lit up with a broad smile.

“Do you know what happened to the Christians captured over the following days?”

Diego's question sounded as bad as it was inopportune, but there was nothing to be done. Altair sat there staring at him, not knowing quite what he was after.

Kabirma came to his aid.

“Our friend Fadil …”—that was the name they had decided to call Diego so that no one would discover his Christian origins—“has had the idea of getting hold of a couple of slaves for some time. He heard people say that was one of the biggest hauls in terms of quantity and quality that has ever been conquered.”

“Now that you say it, it's true. Many, and some very pretty. In fact, I myself still have two very beautiful ones.” He slapped the boy's back on being informed of his carnal intentions.

“They're sisters, now that I think of it, they must be very thankful to me, since I've kept them together.”

Diego couldn't contain himself and Benazir saw it. He seemed to be close to asking after them without any restraint. If he did, his interest could seem excessive and it might compromise the security of the rest of them. To avoid that, she intervened.

“I object!” she raised her voice.

Everyone looked at her, perplexed.

“To speak of the beauty of Christian women offends both Allah and his daughters, and I am proud to count myself one of those. Does the Prophet not say we were created the most beautiful, the best, the most fertile?”

Altair was embarrassed. He begged pardon, full of praise for the most perfect of all creations, and tried to justify himself.

“You are right, ma'am. Besides, mine are not so pretty. … If you have paid attention, they are the ones who have served the dinner.”

Immediately, things grew calmer in the courtyard. Diego looked at Benazir thankfully. She returned his expression with a sly wink.

“The best among those women, and all those younger than twenty,” Altair continued, “were sent to Marrakesh, to the court of the caliph, to form part of his great harem.”

“All?”

“That's what they say. The caliph prefers them young.”

Full of rage, Diego held back his tears and continued talking as though none of this had affected him.

When dinner was over, in the darkness of the stable and over a rough bed of dry straw, Diego cried like a child while he remembered his sisters' faces. To imagine them in that place was almost worse than to imagine them dead.

Though it was hard for him to sleep, a little noise awoke him as soon as he did. When he opened his eyes, he saw Fatima's sweet smile. She lay down next to him and curled up to his body.

“You're crazy! If your father finds out, he'll kill us.”

“I couldn't sleep. I imagined you were feeling bad because of your sisters, and I felt bad that you were alone.”

She stroked his cheek.

“When they took them, Estela was only thirteen and Blanca a year older than me, fifteen. I can't think of how much suffering they must be going though if what that man said is true. I feel so guilty.”

His tears flowed again.

“I didn't do what I should have. … I left them alone.”

“Diego, don't torture yourself more. You'll find them.”

“I won't find them, Fatima. They are too far. … How am I going to get to Marrakesh?”

“And if they aren't in Marrakesh?”

“They're there. They were young and Altair told us himself. They must be there. I don't know what to do.”

Diego stayed quiet. Fatima didn't know what to say to him or how to console him. Maybe he was right. She didn't know of any slave who had been rescued from the territories of Al-Andalus, and even if Diego proposed it, it seemed like an almost impossible task.

The girl searched for him with her lips. She wanted to erase his tears, for him not to be sad. She kissed his eyelids and stroked his hair. He wanted to say something, but she stopped him, pressing her lips against his. Diego savored them, and again felt her body rub against his, as in the river before. Her hair fell over his face and with it, he breathed in the aroma of her desire, at once contained and intense.

“Fatima, listen … I don't know if this …” He pushed her from him and they looked in each other's eyes. He needed to be sincere with himself and with her especially, but once again he felt awkward and incapable of expressing what he really thought. He knew he didn't love her, but he wanted her passionately in that moment.

“Don't speak, don't think, don't breathe, and don't plan, either; just enjoy.” She went for his mouth again and offered him her breasts.

They didn't know it, but someone was watching them in the darkness, nearly suffocating. It was Benazir. Like Fatima, she too had come up with the same idea of consoling him, never imagining what she would find.

She watched them, stunned and confused.

She felt a pang of remorse.

Galib was her reality and she loved him, but if she thought of Diego, the idea of making him hers was almost overwhelming. When he was by her side, she felt more alive. If she thought about him, her imagination would travel through worlds much more exciting than those where she passed her anodyne day-to-day life.

That night, Benazir felt the complicity of the two adolescents. Every one of their kisses was a distressing reality, a shattering of her hopes.

But her martyrdom didn't last long.

She heard Diego ask Fatima to leave and she saw the girl take leave of him with one last kiss.

There, hidden behind a thick door, Benazir felt, as though pierced with a dagger, the flicker of joy that Fatima bore on passing so close by her.

When they left Cazalla the next day, they had dismissed the thought of taking the route through Seville, convinced that it would be pointless for Diego's purposes, and decided on another that would lead directly to the valley of the Guadalquivir River, passing over the basin of the Guadiamar.

Galib directed the group, since he was more familiar with the territory than Kabirma, because the latter's business had never taken him this far south.

Diego was at his side, freighted with worries.

Undoubtedly he had his concerns, but Galib felt more at ease. Seville would have put him at grave personal risk. In any case, he felt sorry for Diego, he understood his disappointment and wanted to give him hope.

“I would do whatever it took to help you, to take away that pain you're carrying around inside. I can see you are happy in your work, and I think in our company as well, but at the same time, I understand that you won't reach true peace until you're reunited with them. … It's logical.”

“Galib, you've given me much, everything, but … my father …”

“I know, Diego. One day, I don't know when, your moment will come, you'll see. Then you'll be ready to do what your father asked. You shouldn't go on blaming yourself for what happened. You have to look ahead with your head high. You are intelligent, intuitive, and tenacious. I'm sure that one day you will reunite them at your side.”

Diego embraced Galib. He felt comforted by his words and also knew he was right. In life, things came when they were supposed to. He would wait until his time arrived.

Without hearing what they were talking about, Benazir was pensive beneath her veil. She felt bad for her attitude the night before, but it also hurt her to see how her fidelity to Galib was crumbling away bit by bit.

As they left behind the last hill of the Sierra, she looked for Diego and gazed at his lips, dreaming of them. Far from her intentions, Diego still remembered Fatima's kisses, without knowing what to think. The sweetness of his friend caused him to speed up, and yet something inside him told him that it wasn't good to lead her on, since he didn't love her.

The dawn of the next day surprised everyone half asleep, still on their horses' backs. After resting one night in the house of Altair, they had passed another night riding, taking advantage of the energy they had gained in that brief respite to push on ahead.

The first ray of sun that appeared over the horizon called the attention of the group. They looked toward it and Galib, with immense satisfaction, was the first one who saw them.

“There they are!” he shouted.

The light reflected in thousands of points along the immense wetlands. For mid-May, the heat was more like that of summer. And yet the abundance of flowers, millions of them, extended in multicolored sheets amid the earthen walls that separated one pond from another, told of the presence of spring.

From the beginning, Galib made them go in single file so they wouldn't get lost in one of the bogs where the horses could encounter serious problems. His face showed pure joy; they had arrived in a corner of the world, the most beautiful of all, that had to be the garden promised by Allah to all his believers, Galib thought, absorbing in his memory for all time every corner that came into his view.

The rest went on, overwhelmed by that extraordinary beauty, grand and also aromatic. The silence of that region seemed to reject their very voices; it only allowed for the soft click of the hooves against the earth, or the crackling of some tree, and perhaps, the breathing of the horses.

They plunged into a pine forest scattered with gentle hills of sand. Without stopping, they reached a summit free of trees. On the opposite edge, there awaited them an incredible spectacle as hard to imagine as it was grandiose. They made out an extensive plain sprinkled with thousands of lakes of the most varied colors, spanning green and blue. And throughout, stopped, grazing, galloping, lying down, or splashing about in the water, in groups or alone, there were thousands of beautiful horses.

There was the herd of the former Caliph Abderrahman III, the famed Yeguada de Las Marismas.