husband. She had not been unhappy in the house ofMuhammad the weigh-master, who had fed her, clothed her, and not left her on her own more than two nights on end. And then, after having lived in a city like Granada, even in times of desolation, the prospect of returning to bury herself in a little village near Murcia was not enticing. It could be imagined that such thoughts were running through her head when her brother shook her impatiently:
âAre these children yours?â
She leant unsteadily against a wall, and stammered out a âNoâ, immediately followed by a âYesâ. Hearing the âyesâ, Juan leapt towards me and snatched me in his arms.
How shall I ever forget the cry which my mother let out? She threw herself on the soldier, scratching him, raining down blows upon him, while I wrestled as best I could. But the young man was not put off. He quickly got rid of me and glanced at his sister reproachfully:
âSo only the girl is yours?â
She said nothing, which was answer enough for Juan.
âWill you take her with you or leave her to them?â
His tone was so severe that the unfortunate girl took fright.
âCalm yourself, Juan,â she begged him, âI donât want a scandal. Tomorrow I will take my belongings and I will leave for Alcantarilla.â
But the soldier would not listen to this.
âYouâre my sister, and youâre going to collect your baggage immediately and follow me.â
Encouraged by Wardaâs about-turn, my father came closer, saying:
âShe is my wife!â
He said it in Arabic and then in bad Castilian. Juan slapped him with all his might, sending him flying across the muddy street. My mother began to wail like a hired mourner, while Warda cried out:
âDonât hurt him! He has always treated me well. He is my husband!â
The soldier, who had grabbed hold of his sister roughly, hesitated a moment before saying in softer tones:
âAs far as Iâm concerned, you were his captive, and you no longer belong to him since we have taken possession of this city. If you tell me that he is your husband, he can keep you, but he must be baptized immediately and a priest must bless your marriage.â
Warda now directed her entreaties towards my father:
âAccept, Muhammad, otherwise we shall be separated!â
There was a silence. Someone in the crowd cried out:
âGod is great!â
My father, who was still on the ground, got up slowly, walked with dignity towards Warda and said, in a shaking voice: âI will give you your clothes and your daughterâ before walking towards the house past a line of approving murmurs.
âHe wanted to save face before the neighbours,â said my mother in a detached tone, âbut all the same he felt diminished and impotent.â
Then she added, doing her best not to be sarcastic:
âFor your father, it was at that moment that Granada really fell into the hands of the enemy.â
For days, Muhammad stayed at home prostrate and inconsolable, refusing even to Join his friends for the meals at the breaking of the Fast, the traditional
iftars
; no one begrudged him this however, because his misfortune was known to all the very evening of Mihrajan, and more than once the neighbours came to bring him, as if to a sick man, the dishes which he had not been able to taste at their houses. Salma made herself inconspicuous, only speaking to him to answer his questions, forbidding me to bother him, not imposing her presence upon him but never being so far from him that he had to ask for anything twice.
If my mother was upset, she kept her spirits up, because she was convinced that time would bring her cousinâs sadness to an end. What upset her was to see Muhammad so devoted to his concubine, and especially that this attachment had been so flaunted in front of all the gossips of al-Baisin. When, as a youth, I asked her whether, in spite of everything, she
âAre these children yours?â
She leant unsteadily against a wall, and stammered out a âNoâ, immediately followed by a âYesâ. Hearing the âyesâ, Juan leapt towards me and snatched me in his arms.
How shall I ever forget the cry which my mother let out? She threw herself on the soldier, scratching him, raining down blows upon him, while I wrestled as best I could. But the young man was not put off. He quickly got rid of me and glanced at his sister reproachfully:
âSo only the girl is yours?â
She said nothing, which was answer enough for Juan.
âWill you take her with you or leave her to them?â
His tone was so severe that the unfortunate girl took fright.
âCalm yourself, Juan,â she begged him, âI donât want a scandal. Tomorrow I will take my belongings and I will leave for Alcantarilla.â
But the soldier would not listen to this.
âYouâre my sister, and youâre going to collect your baggage immediately and follow me.â
Encouraged by Wardaâs about-turn, my father came closer, saying:
âShe is my wife!â
He said it in Arabic and then in bad Castilian. Juan slapped him with all his might, sending him flying across the muddy street. My mother began to wail like a hired mourner, while Warda cried out:
âDonât hurt him! He has always treated me well. He is my husband!â
The soldier, who had grabbed hold of his sister roughly, hesitated a moment before saying in softer tones:
âAs far as Iâm concerned, you were his captive, and you no longer belong to him since we have taken possession of this city. If you tell me that he is your husband, he can keep you, but he must be baptized immediately and a priest must bless your marriage.â
Warda now directed her entreaties towards my father:
âAccept, Muhammad, otherwise we shall be separated!â
There was a silence. Someone in the crowd cried out:
âGod is great!â
My father, who was still on the ground, got up slowly, walked with dignity towards Warda and said, in a shaking voice: âI will give you your clothes and your daughterâ before walking towards the house past a line of approving murmurs.
âHe wanted to save face before the neighbours,â said my mother in a detached tone, âbut all the same he felt diminished and impotent.â
Then she added, doing her best not to be sarcastic:
âFor your father, it was at that moment that Granada really fell into the hands of the enemy.â
For days, Muhammad stayed at home prostrate and inconsolable, refusing even to Join his friends for the meals at the breaking of the Fast, the traditional
iftars
; no one begrudged him this however, because his misfortune was known to all the very evening of Mihrajan, and more than once the neighbours came to bring him, as if to a sick man, the dishes which he had not been able to taste at their houses. Salma made herself inconspicuous, only speaking to him to answer his questions, forbidding me to bother him, not imposing her presence upon him but never being so far from him that he had to ask for anything twice.
If my mother was upset, she kept her spirits up, because she was convinced that time would bring her cousinâs sadness to an end. What upset her was to see Muhammad so devoted to his concubine, and especially that this attachment had been so flaunted in front of all the gossips of al-Baisin. When, as a youth, I asked her whether, in spite of everything, she
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