the royal compound. The old Sufi confirmed what Murat had known all along. The heavens embraced their union. No matter that she was a foreigner or a Jew. Islam permitted a man to marry any woman who practiced a monotheistic religion. Tamar, daughter of Don José the Jew, was a perfectly suitable match.
The sound of snapping twigs interrupted his daydream. He spotted Tamar through a thicket of jade and lime-colored leaves. She approached the hollow space hidden by a cascade of branches. Her turquoise caftan wrapped her in a silk cocoon as she ducked under the leaves and made her way through.
They sat enveloped in the tree. Wild flowers rose like a fortress shielding them from view. After several moments of silence, the air took on the pulsating texture of a question-in-waiting. He lifted her veil and looked into her emerald eyes.
“I have something for you.” He passed her a small ring, a ruby cast in yellow gold mined from the rich soils of India. Inset, the inscription read, “To my queen, my sultan, I’ll sing your praises always.”
She examined the stone. Red gleaming facets set in a nugget of gold. “I love you,” she whispered. Her eyes met his and they smiled one smile.
Murat slid the ring over her finger. “In a year, it is my father’s will that we be married.” He kissed her for a long moment. Then he peered through the cascade of branches that enveloped them both into the dimming world beyond. The slender treetops of the forest swept wantonly against the silver sky. A donkey’s trot sounded in the distance before the call to prayer announced the hour.
“Go,” he pulled away reluctantly. “Your parents are waiting.”
She ran her fingers through his hair.
Their eyes glistened and they kissed their last kiss before she said goodbye and slipped away.
12
Jaffar’s dark brows were steeped heavily and his face appeared twisted in the agony of regret. “Not a word of this to anyone or I’ll have that tongue plucked out.”
Tamar smiled obliviously as he escorted her towards her father’s house. Every few minutes, she held up her hand to admire the ruby on her finger. “My prince,” she said aloud and to no one at all. “I’ll sing your praises always.”
They walked for some time stopping only when Tamar insisted, to gather yellow and purple wildflowers that flourished along the path leading up towards the villa. It would be bad form to arrive at her father’s house empty-handed, she reasoned.
That evening, José entered the dining room elegant as always, in new clogs and a spotless white turban. He was finally beginning to show signs of aging, his trim beard boasting a few silver strands, his shoulders and torso thickened with wine and cheese and the complacency that often accompanies too much success.
“Good to have you home,” he said when he sat down beside his daughter. “How long it has been. Are you well? What news do you bring from the harem?”
“You know well, Baba . Little changes in the harem. I’m afraid I don’t have some exciting news to share.”
“Ah, come! You must have some stories for your Baba . How is Nur-Banu? I hear she has lost the favor of the Sultan to a younger, prettier thing from the East.”
“José!” Reyna flashed her husband a disapproving glare.
“Angling for a bit of gossip, Baba ?” Tamar chimed in.
“Gossip? Certainly not!” José threw his hands up and offered his most innocent smile. “You know how I hate the word. Let us call them stories about life…”
“How eloquent you are, Baba .”
“What? In my own home I shouldn’t be permitted to speak? Isn’t that what you ladies spend your days doing anyhow? Chatting amongst yourselves?”
“Now you know all our secrets,” Tamar answered playfully.
“Nur-Banu hasn’t much to worry about anyhow,” José continued between bites of mutton. “She’s positioned herself well, hasn’t she? That son of hers is the smartest of the bunch.” He held his fork in the air to
The sound of snapping twigs interrupted his daydream. He spotted Tamar through a thicket of jade and lime-colored leaves. She approached the hollow space hidden by a cascade of branches. Her turquoise caftan wrapped her in a silk cocoon as she ducked under the leaves and made her way through.
They sat enveloped in the tree. Wild flowers rose like a fortress shielding them from view. After several moments of silence, the air took on the pulsating texture of a question-in-waiting. He lifted her veil and looked into her emerald eyes.
“I have something for you.” He passed her a small ring, a ruby cast in yellow gold mined from the rich soils of India. Inset, the inscription read, “To my queen, my sultan, I’ll sing your praises always.”
She examined the stone. Red gleaming facets set in a nugget of gold. “I love you,” she whispered. Her eyes met his and they smiled one smile.
Murat slid the ring over her finger. “In a year, it is my father’s will that we be married.” He kissed her for a long moment. Then he peered through the cascade of branches that enveloped them both into the dimming world beyond. The slender treetops of the forest swept wantonly against the silver sky. A donkey’s trot sounded in the distance before the call to prayer announced the hour.
“Go,” he pulled away reluctantly. “Your parents are waiting.”
She ran her fingers through his hair.
Their eyes glistened and they kissed their last kiss before she said goodbye and slipped away.
12
Jaffar’s dark brows were steeped heavily and his face appeared twisted in the agony of regret. “Not a word of this to anyone or I’ll have that tongue plucked out.”
Tamar smiled obliviously as he escorted her towards her father’s house. Every few minutes, she held up her hand to admire the ruby on her finger. “My prince,” she said aloud and to no one at all. “I’ll sing your praises always.”
They walked for some time stopping only when Tamar insisted, to gather yellow and purple wildflowers that flourished along the path leading up towards the villa. It would be bad form to arrive at her father’s house empty-handed, she reasoned.
That evening, José entered the dining room elegant as always, in new clogs and a spotless white turban. He was finally beginning to show signs of aging, his trim beard boasting a few silver strands, his shoulders and torso thickened with wine and cheese and the complacency that often accompanies too much success.
“Good to have you home,” he said when he sat down beside his daughter. “How long it has been. Are you well? What news do you bring from the harem?”
“You know well, Baba . Little changes in the harem. I’m afraid I don’t have some exciting news to share.”
“Ah, come! You must have some stories for your Baba . How is Nur-Banu? I hear she has lost the favor of the Sultan to a younger, prettier thing from the East.”
“José!” Reyna flashed her husband a disapproving glare.
“Angling for a bit of gossip, Baba ?” Tamar chimed in.
“Gossip? Certainly not!” José threw his hands up and offered his most innocent smile. “You know how I hate the word. Let us call them stories about life…”
“How eloquent you are, Baba .”
“What? In my own home I shouldn’t be permitted to speak? Isn’t that what you ladies spend your days doing anyhow? Chatting amongst yourselves?”
“Now you know all our secrets,” Tamar answered playfully.
“Nur-Banu hasn’t much to worry about anyhow,” José continued between bites of mutton. “She’s positioned herself well, hasn’t she? That son of hers is the smartest of the bunch.” He held his fork in the air to
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