‘Great-Uncles Miguel and Walid.’
‘Exactly. Walid’s death was a terrible shock to us all. Just imagine if your Yazid were suddenly to contract a fever and die. You see, even the thought pains you. Lady Asma was ready to bear many more children when your great-grandfather decided to retire from this life. Mother told me that there were many suitors for the widow of Ibn Farid, but they were all refused. Your grandfather Abdallah would not hear of his father’s wife being treated like any other woman. So Lady Asma lived in seclusion surrounded by her family.
‘Your great-uncle Hisham had married just before Ibn Farid died and resumed his trading activities in Gharnata — activities, I may say, which were regarded with displeasure by all except his mother. For a son of the Banu Hudayl to become a tradesman in the market-place was nothing short of sacrilege. An insult to the honour of the family. It had its poets and philosophers and statesmen and warriors, and even a crazed painter whose erotic art, it is said, was greatly appreciated by the Caliph in Qurtuba, but they had all been based firmly on the land. Now the nephew of Ibn Farid was negotiating with merchants and haggling with owners of ships and actually enjoying every minute of his life. If Hisham had only pretended to be unhappy he might have been forgiven. Ibn Farid was livid, but having expelled one child he did not wish to break with another, and in any case the Lady Asma would not have tolerated any nonsense.’
‘But this sounds like madness. Were not the Banu Hudayl descended from Bedouin warriors, who certainly traded and haggled with caravans every day of their lives, before coming to the Maghreb? Do you not agree?’
‘Wholeheartedly. Think of it, my al-Fahl. Descendants of nomadic warriors who marched from Arabia to the Maghreb had lost the urge to travel and become so attached to the land that a member of the family deciding otherwise was treated as a heretic.’
Zuhayr, who was very close to the children of Ibn Hisham, was intrigued by the displeasure their grandfather had incurred.
‘I am not sure I agree with you. I mean, even in the desert our forefathers had contempt for the town-dwellers. I remember Ama telling me as a child how only parasites lived in towns.’
Al-Zindiq laughed. ‘Yes, she would. Amira was always an effective carrier of other people’s prejudices. But you see, my al-Fahl, towns have a political importance which villages such as yours lack. What do you produce? Silks. What do they produce? Power. Ibn Khaldun once wrote…’
Zuhayr suddenly realized that the old fox was about to trap him into a lengthy discussion on the philosophy of history and the interminable debate on urban existence versus rural life, and so he stopped him.
‘Al-Zindiq, how did Lady Asma die? I do not wish to ask this question again.’
The old man smiled with his eyes and his face was wreathed in wrinkles. In the space of a second those very same eyes were filled with a foreboding of disaster. He wanted to change the subject, but Zuhayr was staring at him. His soft bearded face wore a grim expression and suddenly revealed a firmness which surprised al-Zindiq. He breathed heavily.
‘Six years after Ibn Farid died, the Lady Asma became pregnant.’
‘How? who?’ asked Zuhayr in a hoarse, agonized whisper.
‘Three people knew the truth. My mother and the other two. My mother and Lady Asma are dead. That leaves one person.’
‘I know that, you old fool.’ Zuhayr was angry.
‘Yes, yes, young Zuhayr al-Fahl. You feel upset. You knew none of these people, but still your pride is hurt.’
Strange, thought al-Zindiq, how much it has affected this boy. What has it to do with him? The infernal power of yesterday’s ghosts still fuelling our passions? It is too late to stop now. He stroked Zuhayr’s face and patted his back as he gave him a glass of water.
‘You can imagine the atmosphere in the house when this became known. The old ladies of the family, many of whom had been presumed dead from gluttony long ago, suddenly reappeared, descending on the house from Qurtuba, Balansiya, Ishbiliya and Gharnata. Bad news always travels fast. The Lady Asma did not come out of her room. My mother acted as the mediator between her and these old witches. An old midwife from Gharnata, considered an expert in the art of removing unwanted children from the womb, began her work, with my mother at her side. Her operation was successful. The embarrassment was removed. A week later, Lady Asma died. Some poison had entered the stream of her blood. But that was not all. When your grandfather and grandmother went to see her, Lady Asma whispered in your grandmother’s ear that she wanted to die. She had lost the will to live. The shame was unbearable. Hisham and his wife were in the house with their son, who was another great favourite of the Lady Asma and used to spend weeks at the house. That is how Ibn Hisham became so close to your father. As for Meekal, he fell very ill himself. He did not go and see his mother on her death-bed. Nor did she send for him.’
‘But who was, it al-Zindiq? How can pure water in a jug turn overnight into sour milk?’
‘My mother did not see it happen, but the Lady Asma told her everything there was to know. Three weeks later my mother herself was dead. She had never been ill in her life. I had come to the village and asked for permission to attend Lady Asma’s funeral. This was considered improper, but I did manage to speak to my mother. She insisted on speaking in riddles. She would not name the person, but from a combination of what she said to me that night and what Amira had observed with her own eyes, what had happened became clear to us — or so we imagined.’
Zuhayr’s breathing had become heavier, and the blood rose to his face in anticipation as al-Zindiq paused to drink some water.
‘Tell me, old man. Tell me!’
‘You know that house well, Zuhayr bin Umar. Lady Asma was in the rooms where your mother now lives. Tell me something. Is any strange man or even a male servant ever allowed into those quarters?’
Zuhayr shook his head.
‘Which males can come and go as they please, apart from your father?’
‘I suppose Yazid and myself.’
‘Exactly.’
For a minute Zuhayr could not comprehend what he had been told. It hit him like an unexpected blow on the skull. He looked at the old story-teller in horror.
‘You do not mean… you cannot mean…’ But the name refused to trip off his tongue. It was al-Zindiq who finally had to speak the name.
‘Meekal. Miguel. What difference does it make?’
‘Are you sure?’
‘How can I be? But it is the only supposition. Everyone noticed weeks before the pregnancy was discovered that Meekal was behaving in a very strange fashion. He had stopped going to the baths in the village to peep at the naked women. He stopped laughing. His beardless face became heavy and morose. His eyes were heavy with lack of sleep. Physicians arrived from Gharnata, but what could they do? The illness was beyond their cures. So they prescribed sea air, fresh fruits and herbal infusions. Your great-uncle was sent off to Malaka for a month. Just being away from that house must have had a beneficial effect.
‘When he returned he did look much better. But, to the surprise of all those who had no idea of the inner torment which was consuming him, he never went near his mother’s chamber. I think she spoke with him once. At her funeral he was inconsolable. He wept for forty days. After that he fell ill for a long time. His health never returned. The Meekal I knew had also died. The tragedy claimed three lives. The Bishop of Qurtuba is a ghost.’
‘But how could it happen, al-Zindiq?’
‘That is no mystery. Ever since he was a baby, Meekal was the favourite. He used to bathe with his mother and the other ladies. Amira told me that even though he was sixteen, he would walk in while the Lady Asma was having a bath and often took off his clothes and jumped in with her.