The idea shocked me with its potency. Instantly, as if a long-sealed vessel were shattered, spilling its contents every which way over the floor, thoughts scattered everywhere. Too long had I been the unwitting victim of fate; too long had I meekly accepted as my due whatever those in authority deigned to give me. Too long had I been the dupe of circumstance, the feather blown hither and thither, the leaf tossed on eventful waves. But no more.
I will be free, I thought. Men may rule me, but from now on I will be my own master. I will act, and not be acted upon. From this moment, I am a new man, and I will do what I want.
What did I want? I wanted to see my friends free, of course, and to see Nikos dead, or in their place. But how to do it? The answer did not emerge at once. Indeed, it took me some time to work out how it might be accomplished. When I finally glimpsed the shape of my ambition, it took a form far stranger than any I could have imagined at the time.
Meanwhile, I redoubled my efforts at learning to speak, as Faysal had it, "like a civilized man." In this I did not suffer alone. Through myriad blunderings, failings, mistakes, errors, and confusion, the patient Mahmoud stood by me, commending my feeble progress and patiently correcting my lapses. It could not have been easy for him to sit with me day after day, often in bitter disappointment over his thick-headed pupil's shortcomings. Nor was it easy for me-I cannot count the times I threw myself down gasping with strangled frustration at the difficulty of making sense.
"It is for your own good, A'dan," Mahmoud would say gently, before adding: "The amir wills it." Then, once I had composed myself anew, we would begin again.
My chief and only solace through this interminable ordeal was Kazimain. She continued to bring me my meals each morning and evening-as I could not speak well enough to attend the amir's table, Sadiq had decreed that I take my meals alone in my room. This was not a punishment, I discovered; he treated his own children the same way. I found this out some time after Farouk departed, pronouncing me well enough recovered to be safely left. Employing my feeble abilities, I spoke to Kazimain one evening when she came with my food.
"The days are growing shorter now," I observed mildly.
She lowered her eyes. "Yes," she agreed. "Soon Lord Sadiq will return and you will begin taking your meals at the amir's table. Then you will see Kazimain no more."
"Truly?" I said. It was the first I had heard of anything like this.
She nodded, her head still bent to her work.
"If my speaking Arabic prevents me from seeing you, then I shall pretend not to speak at all."
She glanced up in horror. "You must not!" she warned. "Lord Sadiq would not be pleased."
"But I do not want you to go away. I like seeing you."
She did not look at me, but placed the tray of food on the tripod, turned quickly, and made to leave.
"Wait," I said. "Stay."
Kazimain hesitated. Then, unexpectedly she straightened and turned back. "I am your servant. Command me."
Her reply, if I understood it correctly, surprised me. "It is tedious eating every meal alone. Stay and talk to me. It will be good for me to speak to someone besides Mahmoud."
"Very well," she agreed. "If that is what you require."
"It is." I sat down on a cushion beside the tray, and gestured for her to join me in my meal.
"It is not allowed," she said. "But I will sit while you eat." She picked up a cushion, moved it further away and sat down. "What would you have me say to you?"
"Tell me about-a," I could not think of the word I wanted, so said, "-Kazimain. Tell me about Kazimain."
"That is a tale soon told," she said. "Your servant Kazimain is kinswoman to Lord Sadiq. My mother was the amir's sister-one of four. She died of fever eight years ago."
"I am sorry to hear it," I said. "What of your father?"
"My father was a very wealthy man; he owned many olive trees and three ships. When my mother died, he grew unhappy and lost interest in his affairs. One night when he did not come to his meal, the servants found him in his room. He was dead," she intoned without emotion. "In our city it is said he died of a wounded heart."
Though I did not understand all she said, I grasped the essence of it, and found it fascinating. I had no words to express my interest, so I merely asked, "What happened then?"
"As the amir was eldest of all his brothers, I was brought here. It is our way," she paused, then added: "Here have I been, and here will I stay-until Lord Sadiq makes a suitable marriage for me."
This last was said with the merest hint of resignation-which I understood well enough, though I did not understand the word she used to describe the marriage. "This would not please you?" I asked.
"My pleasure is to serve my lord and obey his will," she answered mildly, but I sensed a disposition in sharp conflict to her words. Then she gave me a look of such direct and open appraisal, I saw a very different young woman before me than I had known before. "You speak well," she said.
"Mahmoud is an excellent teacher," I answered. "He makes his poor pupil appear better than he is. I am only too aware of how much I do not know, and how much more I must learn. I do not think I shall join the amir's table soon."
She stood abruptly. "Then I will come again tomorrow night so that you may speak to me-if that is your command."
"It is my…wish," I said.
She left the room without a sound, leaving only the slight scent of jasmine lingering in the air. I finished my meal and lay on my bed looking out at the night sky, and whispering her name to the southern stars.
51
Through casual questioning of Mahmoud, I was able to discover that, after one delay and another, Lord Sadiq had given up waiting for Abu's oft-promised return, and had ridden to the south with a company of warriors-his rafiq, I was told; a word which meant companions. These particular companions however, had not been chosen for fellowship's sake, but for other qualities, such as loyalty, courage, and skill at arms.
Although my young teacher did not know why the amir had gone away, I reckoned it was all to do with the information I had given Sadiq regarding the treacherous death of the eparch and the betrayal of the peace treaty. Abu was still fighting the rebellion in the south, and it made sense that the amir would wish to hold council with his superior before attempting to repair the ruptured peace.
Meanwhile, I continued to learn all I could from Mahmoud, a remarkably intelligent fellow, whose knowledge extended far beyond language to include religion and science and music. He could play several instruments and knew many songs, and composed music which he performed and sang. He read whole portions of the Qur'an, the holy book of Islam, and we discussed what he read.
Mostly, however, we talked of ethics, a subject in which Mahmoud was particularly adept, and which the Arabs had developed into a sacred art. Simple hospitality, for example-the ordinary care of visitors observed in some fashion by most peoples-for the Arab faithful imposed enormous spiritual obligations on both host and guest which were transgressed at great peril to the soul. The list of proscriptions, prohibitions, duties, and responsibilities was endless, and the tiniest nuances parsed to the finest hair.