‘Great-Aunt Zahra, Ama told me you’ve been locked up in the maristan in Gharnata for forty years, but you don’t seem mad at all.’
Umar frowned at his son as a wave of nervousness gripped the family, but Hind roared with laughter.
‘I agree with Yazid. Why did you not come sooner?’
Zahra smiled.
‘At first I did not think that I would be welcome. Then I just did not think.’
Ama, followed by two young maids, walked in with towels and clean clothes.
‘May Allah bless you, my lady. Your bath is ready. These girls will help you.’
‘Thank you, Amira. After that I must eat something.’
‘Dinner is ready, Aunt,’ Zubayda interjected. ‘We were waiting to eat with you.’
Ama took Zahra by the arm and they walked out into the courtyard, followed by the two maid-servants. Hind waited till they were out of earshot.
‘Father! Great-Aunt Zahra is not mad, is she? Was she ever mad?’
Umar shrugged his shoulders and exchanged a rapid glance with Zubayda. ‘I do not know, child. We were all told that she had lost her mind in Qurtuba. They sent her back here, but she refused to marry and started wandering about the hills on her own reciting blasphemous verses. I must confess I was never convinced about her illness. It seemed too convenient. My father adored her and was very unhappy at the decision, but Ibn Farid was a very hard man. We must make her last years happy ones.’
Hind was not prepared to change the subject.
‘But Father, why did you never go to the maristan and visit her. Why?’
‘I felt it might be too painful for her. I did think about it sometimes, but something always stopped me. My father used to go and see her, but each time he returned home in such a state of depression that he could not smile for weeks. I suppose I did not wish to reawaken those memories. But she is here now, my daughter and I’m sure that she will answer all your questions. Aunt Zahra was never renowned for her discretion.’
‘I don’t want you to imagine that we ignored her existence,’ said Zubayda. ‘Till last week fresh clothes and fruit were being sent to her every week on our behalf by your father’s cousin Hisham.’
‘I’m glad to hear that,’ said Yazid in a very adult tone, which, much to his annoyance, made them all laugh and he had to turn away to conceal his own smile.
If there had been any doubts left about Zahra’s sanity, they were all dispelled during dinner. She talked and laughed with such ease that it seemed as if she had always been part of their household. At one stage, when the discussion had inevitably moved to the tragedy of al-Andalus, the old lady revealed a politically perceptive streak that surprised Zubayda.
‘Why did we go into decline? We fell prey to the fool’s sense of honour! Do you know what that is Hind? Yazid? Zuhayr? No? Fools regard forgiveness as wrong.’
It was Hind who finally asked the question in everyone’s mind.
‘Great-Aunt, how did you get permission to leave the maristan? What happened?’
The old lady seemed genuinely surprised. ‘You mean you don’t know?’
Everyone shook their heads.
‘We always were isolated from the rest of the world in this place. The whole of Gharnata is talking about what happened in the maristan. I thought you knew.’ She began to chuckle. ‘I’d better tell you, I suppose. Is there anything to sweeten the palate, niece?’
Before Zubayda could reply, Ama, who had been waiting patiently for them to finish the main part of the meal, spoke. ‘Would my lady like some heavenly mixture?’
‘Heavenly mixture! You remembered, Amira?’
‘Yes, I did remember,’ said Ama, ‘but I was going to make some anyway for Zuhayr’s breakfast, except that he did not return from his long ride till after midday. All the ingredients have been ready since the morning. The cornflour is kneaded and waiting to be shaped into cakes and baked. I will not be long.’
Seeing that they were all looking at her expectantly, Zahra realized that it was time to tell them, and so she began to recount the momentous incidents which had brought about a sudden change in her life.
‘Ten days ago some friars arrived and began to enquire about the religion of the inmates. The majority were followers of the Prophet. The rest were Jews and there were a few Christians. The monks told the authorities that the Archbishop from Tulaytula…’
‘Ximenes!’ hissed Zuhayr. His great-aunt smiled.
‘The same. He had instructed his monks to start the forced conversions. What better place to choose than the maristan? They did not need to threaten us, but they did. From henceforth only those who believed in the virginity of Mary and the divine status of Jesus would be permitted to stay. As you know alcohol is not permitted, and when the inmates saw these priests with their flasks of wine, they happily drank the blood of Christ. So the conversions proceeded smoothly.
‘When it came to me, I told them: “Nothing is easier for me than abstinence from things unlawful, but I have news for you. I do not drink the devil’s piss and yet I am already a convert of my own free will. In fact, much revered fathers, that is the reason my family sent me here. They thought I must have lost possession of my faculties when I announced that I had become a devoted follower of your Church.” The poor priests were puzzled. I suppose they could have thought that I was really mad and chosen to ignore my story. For that reason, I pointed to the crucifix around my neck. And do you know something, children? It worked.
‘The next morning I was taken to meet the Captain-General at the al-Hamra. Imagine, an inmate of a maristan meeting the representative of the Castilian King! He was most courteous. I told him what had happened to me. When he realized that I was the daughter of Ibn Farid he nearly fainted. He told me that he had heard stories of your great-grandfather’s valour from his father and he immediately proceeded to tell me some of them. I knew them all, but I did not let him realize that and listened attentively to every word, smiling and gesturing at the right moments. The fact that it was my father’s temper that had landed me in the maristan was somehow ignored by both of us. He asked me what I thought of the situation in Gharnata. I told him that forty years ago I had asked the Almighty to do me a very big favour and I was still praying for my desire to be granted before I died. “What is that favour, madame?” the Captain-General enquired. “To give me strength not to meddle with that which does not concern me.”’
Yazid started giggling at the way she was mimicking both the Captain-General and herself, and everyone laughed, even Kulthum, who had been overawed by the arrival of this mythical figure. Zahra, delighted with the effect of her stories, continued the tale. ‘You may think this was an act of cowardice on my part, and you would be right. You see, my children, I wanted to get out. If I had told the truth… if I had let him know what I felt when that evil Ximenes burnt our books, I might still have been in the maristan or sent to some convent. You know they took all of us from the maristan to witness the bonfire of our culture. I thought then of this house and all the manuscripts in our library — Ibn Hazm, Ibn Khaldun, Ibn Rushd, Ibn Sina. At least here they would survive. I could have told the Captain-General all that, but they would never then have believed that I was sane. And my air of indifference had the effect I desired.
‘The Captain-General rose, bowed and kissed my hand. “Rest assured, my dear lady, that you shall be escorted to your family estates as soon as you wish with an armed guard.” Then he took his leave and I was brought back to the maristan. You can imagine my state. I had not left that building for four whole decades. I was preparing calmly for death and then all this happened. Incidentally, you must send those books away. Ship them to the University in al-Qahira or to Fes. Here they will never survive. Now I have nothing more to say. I only hope that I do not come as a burden.’