Alamut

CHAPTER THREE

Soon Halima had fully adjusted to her new surroundings and new life. By some strange, inexplicable circumstances she always got whatever she wanted. Mainly this consisted of everyone liking her, both people and animals. Occasionally even Apama would twist her withered lips into an indulgent smile at some foolishness. Halima took full advantage of her position, becoming both stubborn and a tease, and taking it for granted that the world just naturally submitted to her wishes, which for the most part were tame enough.

Sara succumbed to her first and most abjectly of all. Halima’s slightest nod was her command, and it made her happy if she could be compliant to her in every way. She was a born slave, loyally enduring Halima’s every annoyance and whim. Whenever Halima in any way showed a preference for one of her other companions, Sara would become dejected and miserable.

That’s how things were by day.

But at night, barely had the girls burrowed into their pillows and Zainab fallen asleep, than Sara would creep over to Halima’s bed, slide in under the blanket, and start kissing and caressing her. Halima resisted at first, to some degree. With time, however, she managed to grow used to it and learned to quietly tolerate it. She figured that she probably had to make some sacrifice for the countless services that Sara performed for her by day. But she was incapable of taking Sara’s constant jealousy. Halima enjoyed lavishing her favor in all directions. She liked throwing her affections at everyone, flattering first one person, then another, and she couldn’t stand to have anyone holding her back. Whenever she caught Sara watching her with eyes full of woeful jealousy, she would torment and provoke her on purpose. When they were alone later and Sara rained reproaches on her, she usually threatened never so much as to look at her again.

Apparently Sara had some inherent need to serve someone out of love and subordinate herself to that person’s every wish, even at the price of endlessly excruciating jealousy. By contrast, Halima took pleasure in life, in her youth, in the sun, like a bird or a butterfly. It struck her as perfectly natural for her to become the center of interest and attention, and to have the world revolve around her.

In her free time she would wander through the gardens, which were growing more and more lush with flowers, draw in the scent of the innumerable roses one after the other opening their sumptuous petals, pick flowers to decorate the rooms, and play tag with Ahriman and the gazelle, whose name was Susanna. She had walked through her domain in all directions, exploring all its hiding places, and she had seen with her own eyes that the gardens were in fact surrounded by water on all sides. And, on the opposite banks, she had seen more gardens and woods stretching as far as the eye could see. Truly, it was as though they were living in the midst of a real paradise.

Soon she even ventured as far as the rocks where the lizards sunned themselves and Peri the yellow snake lived. She kept at a respectful distance, although silently she tried to persuade herself that Miriam was right, and she recited out loud, “How pretty the lizards are, really!” She even tried to whistle like Miriam to summon Peri the yellow snake from its hole. But even before the little creature poked its pointed head out, she went flying in the opposite direction and didn’t dare look back until she was among people again.

It was in that very spot that Adi and Mustafa found her once. They wanted to give her a little scare and tried to sneak up on her. But Halima was like a mouse on its guard. She heard a noise and looked back, and when she saw the two Moors creeping up on her, she ran.

Adi, who lagged behind, called to Mustafa, “Catch her! Catch her!”

And indeed, within a few strides Mustafa caught up with her. He picked her up in his powerful arms and carried her back to Adi. Halima flailed, thrashed, and bit all around her and screamed for them to let her go, while the eunuchs enjoyed themselves and laughed.

“Let’s give her to the lizards,” Mustafa said.

Halima wailed so much they actually got frightened.

“No, let’s play ball with her instead,” Adi suggested. He stepped back several paces, held his arms out, and said to Mustafa, “Throw her to me.”

“Clasp your hands around your shins,” Mustafa instructed her. “There you go! Hold onto your wrist tight!”

Halima was beginning to enjoy this adventure. She did as Mustafa told her, and in the next instant she went zipping through the air like a ball into Adi’s arms. She screamed as though she were being flayed alive, but now it was more out of the thrill of the game and a delight in the sound of her own voice.

The screams lured Ahriman, who came to see what unusual things were going on. He stood next to Adi with his eyes and his entire head following the living ball as it flew through the air from one set of arms to the other. Apparently the game amused him, because he started to purr in contentment.

“Have you noticed how soft and round she’s gotten?” Mustafa asked.

Adi laughed heartily and continued, “My dear little kitten’s paw, my sweet little pastry, hope of my learning and faithful client of my yearning for wisdom. Look how you’ve grown, how you’ve filled out, half-stone.”

When she had completed several of these airborne circuits, they suddenly heard a furious shriek coming from the opposite shore.

“Apama!” Mustafa shuddered, quickly setting Halima back down on her feet. She instantly bounded down the path and vanished into the undergrowth.

“Oh, those abominations! Those debauched animals!” Apama howled from the opposite shore. “I’m going to denounce you to Sayyiduna and he’ll order you both castrated again. You’ve trampled my most beautiful flower, my delicate rosebud.”

The eunuchs exploded with laughter.

“What are you howling about, you loathsome mutt, you aged slut?” Adi mocked her. “Just wait, we’ll grind you with stones and shatter your bones, you vicious witch, you cross-eyed bitch.”

“You stinking wether,” Apama rasped. “So you’ve gotten a yen for young flesh, you castrated goat. Praise be to Allah that they clipped off your manhood while they still could, you broken-horned, black demon! Oh, how satisfying to know you couldn’t, even if you wanted.”

Adi replied amid a renewed barrage of laughter.

“Don’t you see how we scoff at you, you old baboon, absurd old loon! We could have all seven prophets at once, while you’d be falling all over yourself if some lone old dog so much as looked at you.”

Filled with impotent rage, Apama nearly lost control. She went flying to the water’s edge as though she meant to jump in and wade through it. Adi drew out one of the oars that he kept hidden behind a bush, leapt to the water, and skillfully slapped at its surface, sending a large spurt that drenched Apama.

The old woman wailed, while the eunuchs doubled over with laughter. Adi tossed the oar back into the bushes, then took off running with Mustafa. Apama waved her fists at them, swearing vengeance.

For the moment she took all her revenge on Halima. That same day she berated her in front of all her companions for being sneaky and rotten, and she called every punishment of this world and the next down on her head. Halima felt guilty for giving in to Sara, and she really did see herself as rotten, especially now that she dared to look Miriam so innocently in the eyes right after making love with Sara. It was because of this that Apama’s accusations struck her to the quick. She lowered her eyes and blushed deeply.

But when Apama had gone, Miriam reassured her that she shouldn’t take the old woman’s reproaches too much to heart, since everyone knew she was mean and hated the eunuchs; and, moreover, that none of the girls for a minute doubted the perfect innocence of their game. This profession of trust struck Halima as so undeserved and shook her so much that she had to withdraw to a corner where she could vent her tears of self-pity. She swore then to reform and stop giving in to Sara. But giving up old habits is hard, and everything continued as it was.

The days lengthened and the evenings were full of mysterious life. Crickets chirruped in the gardens, and frogs responded from the canals. Bats swooped past the lighted windows, silently catching winged insects. On evenings like these the girls’ most delicious pleasure was to listen to the stories and fairy tales that Fatima told.

Fatima was a remarkable woman in every respect. She knew a thousand wonderful things and never seemed to be at a loss. She knew a hundred riddles, and once she had revealed the answers to all of them, she came up with new ones day after day. She knew all of the songs that were sung from the far south of Arabia to Egypt and Syria and all the way to the north of Turkestan. But she also had other talents. In the midst of a grove the eunuchs had set up for her a longish building made of glass, inside of which, on branches broken off of the mulberry trees that grew at the river’s edge like willows, she raised silkworms. She liked to say that their cocoons would provide enough silk to clothe every girl in the gardens.

The girls most enjoyed hearing her tell stories from the Thousand and One Nights and from Firdausi’s Book of Kings. She was no less inventive than Scheherazade at telling these stories. Whatever the tooth of time had chipped away from her memory she compensated for out of her own imagination. Many stories were her own creation from start to finish.

Of all the stories, the one about the sculptor Farhad and Queen Shirin seemed to affect the girls most. It made them think of Miriam, and they had Fatima tell it to them over and over. It moved them deeply, and each time Halima would dissolve in tears. Like Miriam, Shirin was also a Christian. Her beauty was so great that even flowers would hang their heads in shame and envy whenever she walked through the lawns and gardens. She became the wife of the most powerful king of Iran, Khosrow Parviz. The whole nation rebelled when they learned that their new queen was an infidel. But the king loved her so much that he subdued all his opponents. Yet Khosrow Parviz was not only a strong ruler, he was a wise man too. He knew how fleeting earthly beauty is. And so, in order to preserve the beloved face and exquisite body of his wife forever, he summoned the most renowned sculptor of his time, Farhad, to sculpt her in marble. As the young artist gazed at the queen’s heavenly form day after day, he came to love her with an undying love. Wherever he was, whatever he did, by day and asleep, everywhere, her heavenly face was with him.

Finally he was no longer able to conceal his passion. The statue and the queen grew more and more alike. His work, the look in his eye and the sound of his voice all betrayed the storm in his heart. One day even the king noticed. In a rage of jealousy he drew his sword, but Shirin stepped in front of the sculptor and shielded him with her body. In gratitude for his creation, Khosrow Parviz spared his life, but he banished him to the barren mountains of Bizutum forever. There, Farhad went mad with longing and unrequited love. In his pain and passion he seized his hammer and chisel and began to sculpt an enormous image of Shirin out of the mountain’s rocky ridge. To this day you can see it, a godlike queen emerging from her bath. In front of her is the king’s horse Shebdis, young and muscular.

The king then sent a messenger to the mountains of Bizutum with false news that the queen had died. Farhad had no interest in outliving her. In his unbearable agony he threw himself on an axe, splitting his chest in two. As he fell, the blade stuck in the ground, and behold, drenched in the blood of the sculptor’s heart, the axe handle turned green, blossomed, and produced fruit. That fruit is the pomegranate, which in memory of Farhad’s death is cleft like his breast was, and which bleeds when you wound and open it. And that is why to this day it is called Farhad’s apple.

The girls listened to this story dewy-eyed. Only Miriam stared at the ceiling, apparently indifferent. Her eyes were curiously dry and seemed to be staring into some remote distance. Later that night both Safiya and Jada, who slept in the same bedroom as Miriam, heard Miriam tossing and turning in her bed.

They also liked hearing stories about the ancient Iranian hero Rustam, who in a duel unwittingly killed his own son Suhrab; then the tales of Ali Baba and the forty thieves, and of Aladdin’s lamp, and the ones from the Koran, which Fatima tailored in her own unique way. If she told how Potiphar’s wife, Zuleika, fell in love with Joseph, they all automatically turned to look at their companion Zuleika and smiled at her. In Fatima’s telling the Egyptian wasn’t a wanton sinner, just a tender lover before whom the young Joseph didn’t dare to lift his eyes. Gradually, in Fatima’s stories each of the girls got her counterpart, with whom she privately compared herself or was compared by the others.

Every now and then the girls would organize a banquet, where the food and drink would be exquisite. On those days Apama would be particularly mean-spirited, while Miriam quietly beamed. Among the girls it was rumored that Miriam had obtained Sayyiduna’s permission for these holidays as a solace to her companions. Apama was bitter that she had to do the cooking for these feasts.

On such occasions the eunuchs would bring in a catch of fish, and Moad and Mustafa made a point of leaving first thing in the morning with their bows and falcons to hunt for fowl. They would row off in their boat down a long canal until they reached a stretch of shore where the wild vegetation extended all the way to the sheer cliff faces at the foot of the Elburz. That particular spot was a hunter’s paradise.

On one such occasion Halima asked Miriam if she could join the hunters in the bush, but Miriam thought the journey too dangerous for a girl. She told her to join Adi, instead, who was planning to go to the livestock island for poultry and eggs.

Adi seated Halima in the boat and set off rowing down the canal in the hunters’ wake. Somewhere at the canal’s midpoint he veered off into a tributary and with steady oar strokes began to approach the island where they kept the domesticated and farm animals.

It was a spectacular morning. The sun had not yet reached the valley, but its rays were already gilding the mountain slopes and snow-covered peaks. Hundreds of birds chirped and sang. Others splashed themselves in the water, took flight, and dived for fish. Tall reeds grew up against the shore, as did irises and water lilies. A silver heron stood in water up to its belly and poked its long beak at the bottom. When it saw the boat peacefully gliding over the water’s surface, it straightened up proudly. Bristling its crest, it magisterially lifted its legs out of the water and headed toward the shore.

Halima gazed after it in sheer delight.

“It’s not afraid,” she said, “just angry that we’ve interrupted its breakfast.”

“Yes, all of the animals we keep in the gardens are as good as tame,” Adi agreed. “No one does them any harm.”

They came alongside the heron, but the bird ignored them as it calmly groomed itself with its beak.

Here and there a fish glinted as it snapped at a fly. Dragonflies stirred and darted over the water’s surface. Despite all this animation, the entire scene had something solemn about it.

“How beautiful all this is!” Halima exclaimed.

“Yes, it’s pretty,” Adi said dully. “But freedom is far more beautiful.”

Halima was puzzled.

“Freedom, you said? Aren’t we living in freedom here?”

“You don’t understand because you’re a woman. I’m telling you, a jackal starving in the desert is happier than a well-fed lion in a cage.”

Halima shook her head, not understanding.

“Are we in a cage?” she asked.

Adi smiled.

“I was just talking,” he said. “Let’s forget about it now. We’re there.”

The boat brushed up against the shore and they stepped out onto dry land. A barely discernible footpath led through the thick undergrowth of willows and poplars. They reached a rocky ridge where a variety of strange grasses and rare flowers grew. Then they headed across a broad meadow that ended in a coppice of trees from which crowing, squealing and wild snarling sounds seemed to emanate.

Halima timidly took hold of Adi’s hand. At the edge of the coppice she could see large cages with fluttering birds and pacing animals. When they drew close, some of the birds started flying at the bars in panic, and two large wild leopards charged at them with a furious snort.

This left Halima shaking. Adi set down the big basket he had brought along and began feeding the beasts. Gradually the animals calmed down, each one consuming its food.

“Normally Moad and Mustafa take care of this,” Adi said. “But they’ve gone hunting today, so the work has fallen to me.”

Hidden behind some shrubs was a long, low-slung coop for poultry. Adi crawled into it and began collecting eggs and putting them into a small basket.

“Now go away from here,” he said, smiling awkwardly. “I’ve got some work to do that you shouldn’t see.”

Halima hurried away toward the cages. In the meantime Adi strangled several chickens, ducks and geese. The shrieking of the birds struck Halima to the marrow. In terrible fright she clasped her hands to her ears.

Adi came back from the henhouse. He threw a rag over the dead fowl and then showed Halima some of the animals.

“If those two leopards were free like Ahriman, they’d tear me to pieces, wouldn’t they?” Halima wondered aloud.

“Maybe. Or they might run away. Leopards are afraid of people.”

“Then why do you keep them in cages?”

“Sayyiduna needs them for their offspring. They’re mates, and Sayyiduna wants us to raise him some hunting animals. He has lots of friends who are princes, and those are the people he’ll give them to.”

“Is it true that young leopards are like kittens?”

“Yes, it is. Only they’re cuter and a lot funnier.”

“I’d like to have one.”

“If you’re good, I’ll bring you one to keep while he’s still young.”

“Do you really think Sayyiduna would allow it?”

Adi smiled.

“You have powerful friends.”

Halima blushed. She knew that he meant Miriam.

“Why does Apama hate you?” she asked.

“Oh, she hates the whole world. She fears Sayyiduna, though. But she especially hates me because once I… how can I say this.”

“Tell me, Adi, tell me!”

“It’s stupid. Only please, don’t blab to anyone about this. You see, when Apama first came to the gardens she would constantly drop hints about how she and Sayyiduna had been close years before, and how he had given her his heart in Kabul. She wanted to make it clear to us that, now that Sayyiduna had become powerful, he had summoned her to the castle for those same reasons. She behaved arrogantly, dressed up in silks, decked herself out in jewelry, painted her face, walked around with this mysterious smile, and constantly sneered at everybody else. Even me, who had known Sayyiduna since his days in Egypt, when I guarded him from his enemies with my own body. Completely by accident I caught her one day in the midst of some very human business. She was even more ludicrous and repulsive than usual. I burst out laughing, and from that moment not a day has passed that she hasn’t cursed me to no end. She suspects that I revealed her shame to the others, so it would suit her fine if we all dropped dead. And if she weren’t so afraid of Sayyiduna, she’d have poisoned us all by now.”

“Is she really so mean?”

“She’s mean because she’s a slave to her arrogance, even though she suffers so much. She doesn’t want to be old, but she knows she is.”

They walked still farther into the woods, where they came upon a cage of monkeys. Halima shouted with joy as she watched them chase each other across the bars, swing on ropes, perform gymnastics, and pinch each other.

“We used to have a bear too,” Adi said. “But he ate too much, so Sayyiduna ordered us to kill him. We also have some cattle, a she-camel, four horses and several donkeys on the island. And we have the only dogs and cats. But nobody can come to our island except us. That’s Apama’s doing, through Sayyiduna.”

“Does Sayyiduna ever visit the gardens?”

“I can’t tell you that, dear child.”

“I want to know what he’s like.”

“He’s hard to describe. He has a beard and he’s a very powerful man.”

“Is he handsome?”

Adi laughed.

“I never thought about it, little cat’s paw. He’s not ugly, for sure. I’d be more inclined to call him awe-inspiring.”

“Is he tall?”

“I wouldn’t say so. He’s at least a head shorter than me.”

“Then he must be very strong.”

“I don’t think so. You could probably flatten him with one arm.”

“Then how can he be so awe-inspiring? Does he have a big army?”

“Not particularly. But even in Egypt, where he was all alone and a foreigner, he inspired so much fear that the caliph ordered him arrested one night and put on a boat that took him out of the country. His enemies could have murdered him, but they didn’t dare.”

“Strange, very strange,” Halima thought out loud. “Is he friends with the sultan?”

“No. The sultan is his worst enemy.”

“Oh my, what if he attacked us! What would become of us then?”

“Don’t worry. He’d go home with a bloody head—that is, if he still had one on his shoulders.”

“Does Sayyiduna have many wives?”

“You ask too many questions. He has a son, that much I know, and supposedly two little monkeys like you.”

Halima looked hurt.

“What do you suppose he would think about me?” she wondered, half to herself.

Adi laughed.

“He has a lot of other things to worry about, at least for the moment.”

“I’ll bet he dresses in pure silk and scarlet.”

“It depends. I’ve also seen him wear sackcloth.”

“I’ll bet he only dresses like that so people won’t recognize him. Is he a king?”

“More than a king. He’s a prophet.”

“Like Mohammed? I’ve heard that Mohammed was really handsome and had many wives. Some really young ones too.”

Adi roared with laughter.

“Oh, you… nosey little robin, you! What won’t that little head come up with!”

“Are women afraid of him too?”

“Women most of all. Apama, for example, is as tame as a dove around him.”

“What does he do to them?”

“Nothing. That’s just the point, that everyone is afraid of him despite that fact.”

“Then he must be very mean and bossy.”

“No, not at all. He likes to laugh and joke. But when he looks at you, the world stands still.”

“Does he have such frightening eyes?”

“No, I don’t know. But it’s about time for you to stop asking so many questions. What it is about him that’s got everybody afraid, I don’t know. But if you ever get a chance to see him, you’ll have the feeling that he knows your every thought, even the ones you’ve never shared with anyone. It will seem as though he sees straight to the bottom of your heart, and there’ll be no point trying to seem better or pretending, because you’ll feel in your bones that he sees and knows everything.”

Halima shuddered as all her blood rushed to her cheeks.

“Oh, I don’t think I’d like to meet him. People like that are the scariest of all.”

“What have I been telling you? Now let’s go get the basket and head back home. And you, my little gazelle, keep that little pestle locked up behind those pearls of yours and be as silent as a fish about what we’ve been talking about.”

“I will, Adi,” Halima promised, and hurried after him toward the boat.

That evening the girls gathered around the pool in the great hall. The room was festively decorated, with twice the usual number of candles burning in the chandeliers, and oil lamps flickering with a variety of colored flames set out in the corners. The whole room was decked out with greenery and flowers.

Three of Apama’s assistants served the girls with food and drink. On bronze platters they brought in roasted birds, pan-fried fish with lemon, fruit and pastries, and they poured wine from earthen jugs into cups which the girls dutifully emptied. What began as subdued whispering soon turned into resounding laughter and pervasive twittering. Apama, who for a time observed all this with restrained anger, eventually went away in a rage.

“You’re responsible for this going well,” she shouted at Miriam.

“Don’t worry, Apama,” Miriam laughed in response.

She could hear her still muttering to herself as she walked away down the corridor.

“Shameful. Shameful!”

At this point Asad and Adi joined the meal, and soon afterward Moad and Mustafa too. They also ate and drank, and the revelry became universal.

“Let’s start the show,” Fatima proposed. They all agreed with her.

They began by reciting verses. Some presented excerpts from the Koran, while others offered passages from Ansari and other poets. Fatima recited her own work.

Soon she and Zainab were engaged in a rhyming duel. The eunuchs, who had never witnessed their agility, laughed themselves into tears. Adi praised them profusely. His face shone with happiness and pride.

When the recitations were over, it was time for dancing. Fatima and several of the others went for their instruments, while Miriam, Halima and Zuleika began dancing. When they finished their group performance, Zuleika continued by herself. Slowly at first, in time to the beating of the gong, then faster and faster her body twisted. Finally, she leapt up onto the edge of the pool, spun around in place with such frightening speed that it took everyone’s breath away, and then, like a gust of wind, vanished amid her bed pillows.

The girls all shouted with delight. Halima ran over and hugged her impetuously. The eunuchs filled their cups and they all drank to Zuleika’s health.

The wine had already gone to their heads. They began singing, kissing, and hugging each other. They pulled pranks on each other, exchanging gibes and taunts in jest. But the queen of all this silliness was Halima, whose head began spinning with the first cup of wine. Convinced she had become as light as a butterfly, she had the feeling that invisible wings were lifting her off the floor. Soon after Zuleika’s dance she was overcome with vain rivalry, and she insisted that the musicians play a dance for her. She began twisting and spinning, imitating Zuleika’s movements. Everybody laughed at her, which only served to incite her to even greater buffoonery. Finally she too jumped up onto the edge of the pool. Her companions screamed and Miriam ran to catch her, but it was too late. She had lost her equilibrium and tumbled into the water.

In an instant they were all around her. Adi’s powerful arm reached into the water for her and lifted her out of the pool. She coughed up the water she had inhaled, looked fearfully at Miriam, and started crying and laughing all at once. Miriam scolded her and led her into her bedroom, where she rubbed her down with a towel and changed her clothes. When the two of them returned, she was quiet and tame for a while. But several cups of wine restored her courage. She went to the entrance and struck the gong several times as a sign for everyone to be quiet.

“My companions and lovely family ones,” she began, trying to imitate Adi. “Here you see Halima, young and lovely, whose head the wine has made all muddly.”

The girls and the eunuchs burst out in laughter.

“Don’t go on, Halima,” Miriam said to her. “It’s not working.”

“I just wanted to apologize to everyone,” Halima responded, hurt.

Miriam got up from her bed, went over to Halima, and led her back to her bed pillows. There Halima felt so vulnerable that the tears flowed profusely. She took Miriam’s hand and kissed her fingers, one by one.

That whole evening Sara was unable to assert herself. She was used to having Halima all to herself that time of day, and now she watched her every movement jealously. All evening Halima had paid no attention to her. Now, as she lay next to Miriam, kissing her fingers, she instinctively turned to look for her, and she caught a glance that was full of jealous despair. She smiled at her vainly and defiantly began stroking Miriam’s hair, face and neck. She pressed up close to her, hugged her, and kissed her passionately on the lips.

Sara was suffering the torments of hell. She emptied one cup after the other. Finally she couldn’t take it any longer. She burst out crying and ran toward the door.

Halima pulled away from Miriam and ran after her. Her conscience had stung her and now she wanted to comfort Sara.

In an instant Miriam understood everything. The blood left her cheeks. She stood up.

“Sara! Halima! Come here!” she called out in a harsh voice.

Timidly and with eyes lowered, the girls approached her.

“What is this about?” she asked sternly.

Halima fell to Miriam’s feet, clasped her hands around them, and wailed.

“So that’s it,” Miriam said blankly.

“No, no, it’s not my fault!” Halima cried out. “Sara seduced me!”

Miriam pushed Halima away. She stepped over to Sara and gave a powerful slap to her face. Soundlessly, Sara fell to the floor.

Miriam turned her back on them both. When she saw the half-frightened, half-amused faces around her, her lips formed a faint smile.

“Sara!” she called out. “Collect your things and move to the windowless cell at the end of the corridor, immediately. That’s where you’ll sleep until you reform. Get up and go! And don’t let me see you tonight again!”

Halima already felt infinitely wretched about having betrayed Sara so cheaply.

Sara got up, cast a sad look at Halima, and quietly disappeared from the hall.

Halima scooted on her knees over to Miriam, lifted her arms in a gesture of supplication and looked at her with tearful eyes.

“And you, you little sinner, are going to move into my room,” Miriam told her, “so I can keep my eyes on you. We’ll see if you can mend your ways. Safiya and Jada can move in with Zainab.”

At that instant Halima felt that blue sky had opened up above the hell into which she had just been thrown. She hesitated to believe what she’d heard, but she gathered her courage and lifted her eyes to see smiles on her companions’ faces. She even broke a smile through her tears.

Unobserved, the eunuchs had already disappeared from the hall.

“It’s time for bed,” Miriam said.

One by one, and much subdued, the girls left for their rooms.

Hesitantly, Halima waited in the doorway.

“What are you standing there for?” Miriam said to her gruffly. “Go get your things and bring them back here.”

It was only now that Halima truly believed it. Yes, she was a sinner, outcast and condemned. She had also lost Miriam’s favor. But for all that she had also received the most wonderful gift. She was going to sleep in Miriam’s room, breathe the same air as her, enjoy her uninterrupted presence. And she was going to be in immediate contact with the mystery itself!

She barely noticed her companions smiling at her. They whispered to each other how pretty and sweet she was, and they threw her little kisses. She cast glaring looks at them as she went to her former bedroom for her things. Zainab, Jada and Safiya helped her. She was hopelessly ashamed. She stared at the floor and looked upset. With their help she made a bed for herself in Miriam’s room, quickly undressed, and hid under the blanket, as though she’d already fallen asleep. But her ears picked up every sound in the room. Finally Miriam came. Halima could hear her taking her clothes off and unfastening her sandals. Then—and her heart stood still for an instant—she made out quiet footsteps approaching her bed. She could feel Miriam’s gaze, but she didn’t dare open her eyes. And then—joy of joys—a gentle kiss touched her forehead. She suppressed the shiver that threatened to course through her body, and soon fell asleep.

This was the beginning of magnificent days for Halima. She was no longer burdened by a bad conscience as before. Ever since her transgression had been revealed and she had accepted punishment for it, her heart had become light and joyful. She still felt a bit awkward toward her companions. They would smile at her knowingly and threaten in jest to seduce her. She would make her tiny hand into a fist, shake it at them, and give them nasty looks. She became even more audacious about turning her nose up at people and things, and she didn’t mind if she became the center of attention again as the “little sinner.”

Sara avoided her, and Halima also felt awkward whenever they met. More than once she noticed that Sara’s eyes were red from crying. At meals she was the recipient of her pained and reproachful glances. One day she finally mustered enough courage to approach her and say, “You know, Sara, I never meant to betray you. Really I didn’t. It just came out.”

Tears streamed down Sara’s face, and her lips trembled. She would have liked to say something, but she couldn’t. She covered her face with her hands and ran off.

But all these things struck Halima as trifles against the enormous happiness of being able to sleep in the same room as Miriam. She put herself entirely at her service. She did slightly regret that Jada and Safiya had had to leave Miriam on account of her. They were twin sisters and as alike as two peas. Of all the girls they were the meekest and most submissive. For a long time, whenever she saw one of them by herself, Halima couldn’t tell whether it was Jada or Safiya. The only joke they played was to tease her by each pretending to be the other, which made them laugh till they cried. For some time after being forced to leave Miriam’s room they were visibly dejected. But eventually they bonded with Zainab, and together they formed an inseparable threesome.

As long as Halima still slept with Zainab and Sara, she had remained afraid of the night. Now she couldn’t wait for it to come. On the evening of the second day Miriam said to her, “Don’t ask me about anything and don’t tell anyone anything. I’m here to watch over all of you.”

These mysterious words provoked any number of thoughts in Halima. But for the moment she simply observed quietly. Miriam always came to bed last. Beforehand Halima arranged her bed nicely for her, then undressed and climbed into it, pretending she’d already fallen asleep. But through the barest slit of her eyelids she would watch Miriam come into the room, undress distractedly, and put out the candles. Then she would listen as she approached and gently kissed her. Finally, in a state of supreme bliss, she’d fall asleep.

Once, in the middle of the night, she awoke with the sense that something was amiss. She became afraid and was about to call for Miriam. But when she looked toward her bed, she saw nobody was in it. A mysterious panic seized her.

“Where has she gone?” she wondered. Maybe she’s looking in on the others, she thought. No, she’s with Sayyiduna, something inside of her answered with utter certainty.

With Sayyiduna? Chasms of mystery opened up within her soul. Acutely, she sensed her own frailty. She hunched together into a tight ball and held her breath. And she listened.

But Miriam refused to appear. Sleep abandoned her entirely. She thought, she shuddered with fear, and she enjoyed her shivers of curiosity, since she felt she had finally struck on the nerve of the mystery. The stars began to fade and the first birds began to chirp. Then the curtain that covered the doorway was gently pulled aside. Like a ghost Miriam noiselessly entered, dressed in a cloak that was trimmed in sable. She warily glanced in Halima’s direction, then tiredly unfastened her cloak, letting it drop from her shoulders. Standing before her bed in her nightgown, she unfastened her sandals and sank into her pillows.

Halima was unable to fall asleep until the moment the gong sounded, signaling time to get up. Then for a moment she sank into a brief, deep sleep. When she awoke, Miriam was standing beside her bed as usual, smiling at her.

“You tossed in your sleep a lot last night,” she told her sweetly. “You must have had some bad dreams.”

And at that instant Halima really couldn’t say whether it had all just been a dream or not. She got up, pale and exhausted, and was reluctant to look anyone in the eye all that day.

Since that night Miriam became more trusting toward Halima. In their free time she would teach her writing and have her practice her reading. They both enjoyed this process. Halima would muster all her ability to avoid embarrassing herself in front of her teacher, and as a result she made quick progress. Miriam was generous with praise. As an incentive she would tell her stories from her childhood, about life in her father’s house in Aleppo, about the battles between the Christians and the Jews, about the wide seas and the ships that came from far-off lands. Through all this they grew quite close, becoming like older and younger sisters.

One evening when Miriam entered the bedroom and undressed, she said to Halima, “Stop pretending you’re asleep. Come over here.”

“What? Over there? Me?” Halima asked, startled.

“Or maybe you don’t want to? Come on. I have something to tell you.”

Trembling all over, Halima crawled in beside her. She lay on the very edge of the bed for fear of giving away her excitement, and out of some incomprehensible reluctance to touch her. But Miriam pulled her close anyway, and only at this point did Halima feel free to press close.

“I’m going to tell you about the sorrows of my life,” Miriam began. “You already know that my father was a merchant in Aleppo. He was very rich and his ships sailed far to the west, laden with precious wares. As a child I had everything my heart desired. They dressed me in exquisite silks, adorned me with gold and gems, and three slaves were at my command. I got used to giving commands and it only seemed natural that everybody should submit to me.”

“How happy you must have been!” Halima sighed.

“Would you believe that I wasn’t particularly?” Miriam replied. “At least it strikes me that way now. My every wish was fulfilled immediately. But what kind of wishes? Only those that could be satisfied with money. The silent, secret ones that a girl’s heart loves to dream about so much had to stay buried deep inside me. You see, I’d learned the limits of human powers early on. When I wasn’t yet fourteen, a series of misfortunes befell my father, one after the other. It began with my mother’s death, which sent my father into a period of profound grief. He didn’t seem to care about anything anymore. From his first wife he had three sons who had become merchants in their own right. One of them lost his entire fortune and the other two stepped in to rescue him. They dispatched their ships to the shores of Africa and waited for their earnings. But then came the news that a storm had destroyed their vessels. All three of them turned to their father. He reunited with them and they sent more ships to the Frankish kingdom. But pirates seized them and overnight we became beggars.”

“Oh, you’d have been better off poor from the beginning!” Halima exclaimed.

Miriam smiled. She drew Halima closer to her and continued.

“All these misfortunes struck us before two years had passed. And then Moses, a Jew who was considered the richest man in Aleppo, came to visit my father. He said to him, ‘Look here, Simeon’—that was my father’s name. ‘You need money, and I need a wife.’ ‘Go on, get out,’ my father laughed at him. ‘You’re so old your son could be my daughter’s father. It would be more seemly for you to be thinking of death.’ Moses refused to let himself be put off—at that time, you see, the whole town was saying I was the prettiest girl in Aleppo. ‘You can borrow from me as much as you want,’ he continued. ‘Just give me Miriam. She’ll be fine with me.’ My father took all this talk of courtship as a joke. But when my half-brothers found out about it, they begged him to strike a deal with Moses. Father’s situation was hopeless. He was also a good Christian and didn’t want to give his child to a Jew. But as frail and depressed as he was after all those misfortunes, he finally relented and let Moses take me as his wife. No one ever asked me about it. One day they signed a contract and I had to move into the Jew’s house.”

“Poor, poor Miriam,” Halima said through tears.

“You know, in his way my husband loved me. I would have preferred a thousand fold for him to hate me or be indifferent. He tormented me with his jealousy—he locked me inside my chambers, and because he could tell that I found him disgusting and was cold to him, he’d gnash his teeth and threaten to stab me. There were times when I thought he was crazy, and I was terribly afraid of him.”

Miriam fell silent, as though she had to gather her strength for what she was about to say. Halima sensed a secret approaching and she trembled. She pressed her cheeks, burning like white-hot iron, to Miriam’s breast and she held her breath.

“My husband,” Miriam resumed presently, “had a habit that deeply injured my modesty. The fact that I had finally become his property after all completely impaired his faculties. He would tell his business associates about me, describe my virtues, my modesty, my physical features in the most vivid terms, and boast that he had become master of the greatest beauty far and wide. Obviously he wanted them to envy him. You see, he would tell me repeatedly of an evening about how his friends had gone green with envy when he described my virtues and his enjoyment of them. You can imagine, Halima, how much I hated him then, and how revolting I found him. When I had to go to him, I felt as though I were going to my execution. But he would laugh and make fun of the greenhorns, as he called his younger associates, and say, ‘Ah, but for money everything is available, my dear. Even an old hen won’t look twice at a poor man, no matter how handsome he is.’ All this talking made me terribly angry and bitter. Oh, if I’d known just one of those greenhorns then, I would have shown Moses how much he was deluding himself! But what happened was the last thing I would have expected. One day one of my maid servants pressed a tiny letter into my hand. I unrolled it and my heart began to race at its very first words. Even today I remember it down to the last syllable. Listen and I’ll tell you what it said.”

Halima trembled in rapt attention, and Miriam continued.

“The letter said: ‘Sheik Mohammed to Miriam, the flower of Aleppo, the silver-shining moon delighting the night and illuminating the world! I love you and have loved you endlessly ever since I heard Moses, your accursed jailer, exalt your beauty and virtues to the heavens. Just as wine goes to an infidel’s head and intoxicates him, so has word of your perfection intoxicated my heart. Oh, silver-shining moon. If you knew how many nights I have spent in the desert dreaming of your virtues, how vividly you’ve stepped before my eyes, and how I’ve watched you like the rosy dawn ascending. I thought that distance would cure me of longing for you, but it has only intensified it. Now I have returned and bring you my heart. Know, flower of Aleppo, that sheik Mohammed is a man and does not fear death. And that he comes close to inhale the air that you exhale. Farewell!’

“At first I thought the letter was a trap. I called the servant who had delivered the letter to me and insisted that she tell me everything honestly. She started crying and showed me the silver piece that some son of the desert had given her as payment for delivering the letter to me. What sort of son of the desert? I asked. Young, and handsome too. My whole body trembled. I was already falling in love with Mohammed. Of course, I thought, how would he have dared to write me the letter otherwise, if he weren’t young and handsome? And then I suddenly became afraid that he might be disappointed when he saw me. I reread that letter over a hundred times. By day I kept it next to my breast, and at night I carefully locked it away in a chest. Then came a second one, even more passionate and beautiful than the first. I was aflame with my secret love. And finally Mohammed arranged a nighttime meeting on the terrace outside my window. That’s how familiar he already was with my surroundings. Oh, Halima, how can I explain to you how I felt then? That day I changed my mind a dozen times. I’ll go, I won’t go—back and forth endlessly, it seemed. Finally I decided not to go, and I held to that all the way up until the appointed time, when I went out onto the terrace, as if obeying a secret command. It was a marvelous night. Dark and moonless, although the sky was littered with tiny shining stars. I felt feverish and chilled by turns. I waited on the terrace like that for some time. I was just starting to think, what if all this is just a ruse? what if someone wanted to play a trick on me and taunt old Moses? when I heard a voice whispering, ‘Don’t be afraid. It’s me, sheik Mohammed.’ A man in a gray cloak vaulted over the railing as light as a feather, and, before I knew it, he had me in his arms. I felt as though worlds were being born and I was seeing infinity. He didn’t ask if I wanted to go with him. He took me by the waist and carried me as he climbed down a ladder into the garden. On the other side of the fence I could see several horsemen. They took hold of me so he could scale the wall. Then he pulled me up into the saddle with him. Off we galloped, out of the city and into the dark of night.”

“And all that happened to you?” Halima gasped. “Lucky, lucky Miriam!”

“Oh, don’t say that, Halima. It breaks my heart when I think of what happened after that. We rode all night. The moon rose from behind the hills and shone on us. I felt horrible and wonderful all at the same time, like when you listen to a fairy tale. For a long time I didn’t dare look in the face of the horseman who had me in his embrace. I only gradually relaxed and turned my eyes toward him. His gaze, like an eagle’s, was fixed on the road ahead of us. But when he turned to look at me, it became soft and warm like a deer’s. I fell in love with him so hard that I would have died for him on the spot. He was a magnificent man, my sheik Mohammed. He had a black mustache and a short, thick beard. And red lips. Oh, Halima! While we were on the road I became his wife… They chased us for three days. My stepbrothers, my husband’s son and a whole pack of armed townsmen. Later I found out that, as soon as they discovered I’d escaped, they interrogated all the servants. They discovered Mohammed’s letter, and my husband Moses had a stroke, the pain and humiliation were so great. Both families immediately took up arms, mounted their horses, and set out in pursuit. We had gotten quite a ways out into the desert when we caught sight of the band of riders on the horizon. Mohammed only had seven men with him. They called out for him to drop me so that his horse could gallop faster. But he just brushed them off. We changed horses, but even so our pursuers kept getting closer and closer. Then Mohammed called on his friends to turn their horses around and charge at our pursuers. He set me down on the ground and, saber in hand, led the seven in their charge. The groups of horsemen collided, and superior numbers prevailed. One of my half brothers was killed, but so was Mohammed. When I saw that I howled in agony and started to run. They caught me right away and bound me to the saddle, and they tied Mohammed’s dead body to the horse’s tail.”

“Horrible, horrible,” Halima moaned, covering her face in her hands.

“I can’t tell you what I felt then. My heart became hard as stone and stayed open to one passion alone—the passion for revenge. I still had no inkling of the humiliation and shame that awaited me. When we arrived back in Aleppo I found my husband dying. Still, when he saw me, his eyes came to life. At that moment he seemed like a demon to me. His son tied me to the deathbed and lashed me with a whip. I gritted my teeth and kept silent. When Moses died I felt relieved. It was as though the first part of the revenge had been fulfilled.

“I’ll only briefly describe what they did with me then. When they felt they’d tortured me enough, they took me to Basra and sold me there as a slave. That’s how I became the property of Our Master. And he promised to take revenge for me on the Jews and the Christians.”

Halima was silent a long time. In her eyes Miriam had grown to the stature of a demigod, and she felt that through their friendship she had also gained immeasurably.

Finally she asked, “Is it true that Christians and Jews eat little children?”

Miriam, still lost in her terrible memories, suddenly shook loose from them and laughed aloud.

“It’s not out of the question,” she said. “They’re heartless enough.”

“How lucky that we’re among true believers! Miriam, tell me, are you still a Christian?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Maybe a Jew then?”

“No, I’m not a Jew either.”

“Then you’re a true believer, like me!”

“Whatever you say, sweet child.”

“Does Sayyiduna like you very much?”

“I told you not to ask me questions,” she frowned at her in mock displeasure. “But since I’ve told you so much already, I’ll tell you this. It’s possible that he likes me, but what’s certain is that he needs me.”

“How does he need you? I don’t understand.”

“He’s alone and he doesn’t have anyone he can open up to.”

“Do you like him?”

“You wouldn’t understand. He’s not sheik Mohammed, but he’s definitely not Moses either. He’s a great prophet and I admire him a lot.”

“He must be very handsome.”

“Silly kitten! Are you trying to make yourself jealous by asking me these things?”

“Oh, in spite of everything, you’re so lucky, Miriam,” Halima said, the thought coming from the bottom of her heart.

“Be quiet, cricket. It’s late and you’ve got to sleep. Now go back to bed.”

She kissed her, and Halima quietly slipped into her own bed. But she was unable to fall asleep for a long, long time. In her mind she went over everything she had heard from Miriam. And she imagined the abduction and horse ride in Mohammed’s embrace so vividly that she could feel his breath and the touch of his mustache on her cheek.

She shuddered from some strange sweetness, and she was glad it was dark and no one could see her. But when, in her imagination, she saw the dead body of Mohammed tied to the horse’s tail and being dragged along, she buried her little face in her pillow and sobbed. And, crying, she fell asleep.

Once, not long after that, she came upon a scene that filled her with a strange revulsion. She was roving around the gardens and exploring the underbrush as usual, when she suddenly heard some odd whispering coming from behind a bush. Quietly she approached the place. Sara and the eunuch Mustafa were lying in the grass, doing things that Apama usually talked about in her lessons. She shuddered. She wanted to flee, but some invisible power bound her to the spot. It took her breath away, and she was unable to look away from the pair. She stayed put until they rose to leave.

She wondered if she should tell Miriam what she had seen, to avoid having to keep another secret from her. But hadn’t she already betrayed Sara once before? No, she couldn’t accuse her again. Instead she’d pretend she hadn’t seen anything. It was just an accident that she’d discovered this anyway.

And when, subsequently, she actually managed to keep quiet, she felt relieved. She was able to look Sara in the eye again. It was as though she were settling an old debt to her with her silence.