The Serpent's Daughter

by Suzanne Arruda

  Her mother glared at her until she put her fork down.

  “So, you are a biblical scholar, Mr. Kennicot?” asked de Portillo.

  Mr. Kennicot bowed. “Yes. My wife, Chloe, and I hope to do good work bringing enlightenment to this country.”

  “Ah, you are missionaries,” concluded de Portillo. “Most interesting. I think you might find your task very difficult outside of Tangier. The Arabs are ardent Muslims.”

  Missionaries! thought Jade. That explained the severely tailored lines of Chloe’s tan linen suit and the lack of lace or other frippery. Her interest renewed, she studied Chloe more closely. Jade approved the simple roll with which she’d bound her walnut brown hair. Like her mother’s style, it looked elegant, not austere. Chloe’s sapphire blue eyes took in everything with an interest that bespoke intelligence.

  “Woodard and I wish to preach to the Berbers,” said Chloe. “We don’t believe they are ardent, as you put it, in anything.”

  “If anything,” added her husband, “they still hold to their ancient pagan ways.”

  “How interesting,” said Libby as she clasped her hands together and leaned forward. “And just what sort of pagan rites do they practice?”

  Jade took a deep breath and gritted her teeth. The girl acted as though she expected and reveled in hearing about human sacrifices. Something brushed her legs, one of Tangier’s innumerable cats. Jade smeared butter on a roll and dropped it for the cat to lick clean. It landed on de Portillo’s leather boots before plopping to the side. Jade noticed most of the butter stayed on the boot.

  “I was under the impression that the Berbers are Muslims, ” said Mr. Tremaine.

  “They are whatever they need to be,” said de Portillo. “Some, like St. Augustine, were Christian. I believe some were Jewish, as well. Most have followed Islam, at least superficially, since the Arabs brought it here. Their last holdout was one of their vision-gifted queens. Kahinas, I believe these women were called.” The cat settled in for a meal, licking de Portillo’s boot.

  “So you agree that they can be converted?” asked Kennicot.

  Mr. de Portillo shrugged. “Why should they? It is true that they are not fastidious about praying five times a day, nor do their women veil themselves, but they have at least gained token acceptance among the Arabs. They would lose that if they turned Christian, and possibly gain nothing in the process.”

  Chloe Kennicot put a gloved hand to her face and gasped. “Such shocking commentary!” she said. “To think they would gain nothing. Why, they would gain their souls, Mr. de Portillo. ”

  Woodard Kennicot patted his wife’s other hand to soothe her. “Do not agitate yourself, my dear. I am certain that Mr. de Portillo only meant they would not gain any political or social standing, and meant no offense.” He looked at de Portillo when he said this. Patrido waved his hand and nodded, as if to agree without having to actually say so, and Mr. Kennicot took this as a chance to continue explaining their mission.

  “I subscribe to the idea that the Berber people are the descendents of the Canaanites,” he said, “and they still hold fast to ancient beliefs in spirits and fetishes, making food offerings at springs or to certain trees.”

  “There is evidence that they practice traces of an old worship of a heathen goddess, Astarte,” added his wife. “One can see it in the dreadful henna symbols they tattoo on themselves. ”

  “Evidence,” said Mr. Kennicot, “that they may actually have intermarried with Phoenicians.”

  “More likely they only traded with them,” said de Portillo. “When different people trade in goods, they sometimes trade beliefs, as well.”

  “Imagine, Canaanites in the mountains,” said Libby. “How thrilling.”

  “They were not always in the mountains,” added de Portillo. “These tribes once extended from Libya all across northern Africa—the Maghreb, as they term it. They only retreated there to escape domination by Romans and later the Arabs.”

  “Yes,” agreed Inez. She nodded to de Portillo. “We Spaniards know the extent of Arab domination from when the Moors invaded our country.”

  De Portillo shook his head and leaned forward. “Ah, forgive me for contradicting you, Doña del Cameron. The Moors that entered our beloved Andalusia were Berbers who had risen to power, not Arabs. And I do not think, Mr. Kennicot, ” he said, as he turned his black eyes on the missionary, “that you will find them any more trusting of a Nazarene, as they term a Christian. You will not easily shake them of their belief in spirits.”

  Walter Tremaine’s brown eyes brightened with renewed interest. “Spirits! Now, that is great fun. Don’t they call them genies? Like the genie in the lamp in Arabian Nights?”

  “I believe the proper plural is jnūn or jinni,” said de Portillo. “Jinn is one spirit, unless it’s female. Then it is a jenniya.” He crossed his right leg over his left, tossing the still-feeding cat aside. The resulting bump against the table, hiss, and scrabbling of claws startled everyone but Jade, who’d been watching from the corner of her eye.

  “Sounds like one of them now,” Jade said. Inez closed her eyes and raised her chin, a sure sign to Jade of her mother’s displeasure. Jade resigned herself to the inevitable scolding and lecture on decorum once breakfast was over and they were alone. Not that her mother would go so far as to yell at her, but only because raising one’s voice was as improper as poking fun at the conversation.

  Mr. Tremaine acknowledged Jade’s humor with a weak smile and plowed ahead. “Well, from what I understand, they blame spirits for everything. Run of bad luck—it was an evil jinn. Commit adultery—blame it on a seductive lady jenniya.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Apparently the worst of the lot is some spirit that actually seduced Adam before Eve was created. What was her name?”

  “I believe she was known as Lilith,” replied Mr. Kennicot. He took a deep breath and placed his hand on his chest. “A demon, a veritable daughter of that serpent Satan.” Beside him, his wife gasped in horror.

  Jade felt a shiver run up her spine, though not from any biblical bedtime story. During the war she had been courted by a young British pilot, David Worthy. He died in a plane crash after entrusting her with the task of finding his missing half brother. The search in East Africa revealed that David’s own mother, Olivia Lilith Worthy, was capable of monstrous crimes to prevent even her own husband from finding this lost youth. No, thought Jade, one didn’t need to look to folklore to find something evil. Does Lilith know about this mythical she-demon? Perhaps Mrs. Worthy fancied herself to be a modern version. Jade shook her head as though to clear out the image. Her mother arched one brow and seemed about to ask her if she were all right when Walter Tremaine jumped back into his tales.

  “Well, according to those Berbers,” he said, a big grin on his boyish face, “she still wanders the area looking for new victims.” He licked his lips, caught his bride’s wide-eyed, shocked look at such a risqué topic, and quickly added, “Not that I’d ever fall prey to her, darling.” He rapped on the table three times.

  Chloe Kennicot pounced on the topic. “You have no idea how pervasive this dreadful belief in jinni is, Mr. Tremaine. It governs their lives. One must not whistle, because that’s how these spirits speak. You must fold your clothes at night or they will wear them.”

  “Sounds like a good way to get children to do their chores, right, Mother?” said Jade. Inez did not reply.

  “One must avoid blood at all costs,” added Mr. Kennicot. “It is terribly haunted. Salting meat keeps the jinni away.”

  “But meat in the markets is never salted because some of the butcher’s best customers are jinni and it would not pay to offend them.”

  Everyone turned to see this new speaker. A slender young man of moderate height stood behind Mr. Kennicot and next to Inez. A wayward strand of blond hair peeked out from under his straw hat. It was echoed by a well-groomed brushy mustache that just covered the top of his lips. Jade couldn’t see his eyes behind the darkened glasses, but his face
looked pale.

  “Pardon me for interrupting your charming breakfast,” he said. His voice was hushed and mellow, like a person used to speaking quietly. It reminded Jade of a librarian’s voice. “I could not help but overhear the end of your conversation and had to intrude. It’s a topic I find fascinating.” He nodded to everyone at the table. Libby Tremaine flashed him a broad smile, and Jade could have sworn the girl batted her eyelashes at him.

  “Not at all, Mr. Bennington,” said Inez as she raised her hand to him. He took it and bowed over it, displaying very old school manners that Jade knew would impress her mother. “I was hoping you would join us. But where is your aunt? Is she not leaving her room again today?”

  “Alas, Aunt Viola is not feeling particularly well this morning. She is unused to these warmer temperatures and refuses to go out until evening. Even then I doubt I’ll get her to stir much, since she’ll likely fret over the night air.” As if to comment further on the rising temperature, he pulled a kerchief from his trouser pocket and mopped his brow. A small English coin tumbled out and onto the café floor. Chloe leaned over to retrieve it for him, but Mr. Kennicot stopped her with a solemn shake of his head.

  “I am forgetting my manners,” said Inez. “You know everyone else here, but you have not met my daughter, Jade. Please allow me to introduce you to her. Jade,” she said, turning to her left, “this is Mr. Jeremy Bennington. He is traveling with his great aunt from England to the Continent.”

  “How do you do?” said Jade. She didn’t hold out her hand, as she detested having it kissed or bowed over.

  “Charmed,” replied Mr. Bennington in his breathy whisper. “Your mother spoke of you on board ship, but I see she did not do you justice.”

  “You will join us?” asked Inez.

  “Alas, no. I only came out for a breath of air and a newspaper. I do not get out much. Aunt Viola will be expecting me to read to her over her breakfast.”

  “Sorry you have to stay so shut away, Bennington,” said Mr. Tremaine. “Must be quite a drag.”

  “Yes,” agreed his wife. “We’d just love to have you join our little party.” To Jade’s disgust, the young bride actually pouted at Mr. Bennington.

  He made a delicate shrug. “If the truth be known, I am engaging a hired nurse to escort my dear aunt back to London. It is painfully obvious that her condition is beyond my care. If I do secure this nurse, then I shall only be in the way.”

  “Then perhaps you can come along after all,” said Walter. “We’re thinking of forming a touring party today to the caves or someplace equally haunted by those jinni. Sounds like good sport. I know Libby is very rah-rah about it.”

  “Then you should also go to see Azilah,” Mr. Bennington said. “From what I read, it was built on the ruins of an ancient Phoenician city. I’m told it has delightful old passages running underneath that are, of course, the abode of your jinni, since they are underground. But I fear you must make your plans without me today.” With that parting bit of advice, he bowed to the ladies and walked back toward his hotel.

  “Such a fine young man,” declared Inez. “So devoted to his great-aunt. She is a charming lady herself, although I only saw her at table once. I believe she gave her nephew the evening off to write his own letters. But he has stayed so shut away inside that I imagine such bright light disagrees with him.”

  That would explain the dark glasses and the pale skin, thought Jade.

  Mr. Tremaine signaled the waiter, then took out his wallet from his jacket’s inner breast pocket and extracted a few bills. “Well, I for one intend to see these Caves of Hercules and anything else associated with these so-called jinni, if I can manage to get a guide.” The waiter, a gaunt-looking Moroccan in a white robe, approached. Mr. Tremaine paid for the breakfast and dismissed both the waiter and Inez’s protests with a flap of his hand. “In fact, I might just have some fun and see how many Moroccans I can scare by making them think I’m a jinn myself. Threaten someone with an old evil eye, eh?” He glanced around the table. “Anyone else game?”

  Jade scowled. “That sounds like a childish prank, Mr. Tremaine. We are guests in this country.” She heard her mother gasp.

  Libby edged closer to her husband, as if rallying to his defense. “I hardly see how razzing them hurts anyone. These are ignorant people. They should be shown how foolish their silly belief in genies is.”

  Jade made one huffing snort of disbelief. “Now, there is a perfect example of the unwashed calling another person dirty.”

  “Jade!” scolded her mother.

  “It’s true, Mother,” Jade said, raising her hand to token no more interruptions. “All of you are equally guilty of superstitious belief.”

  A round of disclaimers and affronted gasps went round the table, excepting Mr. de Portillo, who leaned his chin on his folded hands and watched Jade.

  “I am an ordained reverend,” declared Mr. Kennicot. “How dare you accuse me of being superstitious.”

  “Then why did you stop your wife from picking up that coin? I’ll tell you why. It’s because it fell tail side up, and that’s bad luck. And your wife invoked a very old superstition when Mr. de Portillo sneezed earlier. I believe people say ‘God bless you’ because it was thought the soul flew out of the body when you sneezed and a devil could enter in.”

  Walter Tremaine chuckled. “She’s got you there, Kennicot. But,” he added as he turned his eyes on Jade, “just how am I guilty of any hokum?”

  Jade smiled. “You keep a four-leaf clover in your wallet. I saw it when you paid for the breakfast. By the way, thank you very much. You also knocked on wood earlier when you told your wife you wouldn’t be led astray by a temptress. And I saw your wife cross her fingers when you spoke about getting a guide for the caves.”

  “And myself and your esteemed mother?” asked de Portillo. “Are we also guilty?”

  “Well, Mother threw spilled salt over her left shoulder, but to be honest, Mr. de Portillo, I cannot recall any such superstitious expression on your part. So I correct myself.”

  De Portillo’s lips twitched in what may have been amusement or perhaps scorn. Jade couldn’t tell, so well did he mask his emotions. Like her mother, he wore a studied expression of polite indulgence to those around him, an expression worthy of royalty granting an audience to lesser nobles.

  “You are indeed charming, Miss del Cameron,” he said with a bow. “Your mother’s praise did not do you justice.”

  Walter Tremaine rose and held his wife’s chair. “I’m sorry to break up this swell morning, but if we want to see the Caves of Hercules, we must be off to hire a guide.” He tipped his hat to the others, exposing a mop of straight brown hair, long on top and short on the sides as was currently in vogue among young men. “If anyone should care to join us, you will find us in front of the hotel in an hour.”

  “I shall not be in your party, pleasant as it sounds,” said de Portillo, rising from his own chair in deference to Libby Tremaine’s standing. “I must make my own arrangements if I am to carry out my business. I am again in Morocco to see about exporting more of the wonderful leather that they make here. In particular I must make ready to journey to Marrakech.” As the Tremaines left, he walked around Jade with head high and shoulders back and bowed to Inez, taking up her right hand and kissing it. “Doña del Cameron, I trust we will see each other again. I understand you are going on to Andalusia in a day or so. If you remain there for longer than a week, I should be able to join you. I believe you have my card.”

  Inez inclined her head in a graceful bow. “I do, Don de Portillo. And you have mine. It would be a pleasure for us to receive you at my cousin’s estate.”

  De Portillo bowed again to Mrs. del Cameron, to Jade, and lastly to the Kennicots. “Good luck to you both. If nothing else, I’m sure you will have a very interesting experience among the Berbers.”

  The Kennicots inclined their heads in token bows, then rose as one from the table. “Breakfast with you has been most interesting,�
� said Mr. Kennicot with a sideways glance at Jade. “We won’t be leaving Tangier for another day at least. I’m sure we will both see you again. Good day.” He tipped his hat, took his wife’s arm, and they left.

  Jade waited until they were out of earshot for the scolding she knew would follow. She wasn’t disappointed.

  “Jade! How could you be so rude to my guests?”

  “Mother, I was not rude. You wanted me to stay and engage in conversation. I did!”

  “By insulting them.”

  “I didn’t insult them, Mother. I spoke the truth. After hearing Tremaine babble on about fooling the natives, I’m almost ashamed to be an American. Yale graduate,” she said with a snort. “That boy probably majored in dad’s money. And did you see his wife flirt with your Mr. Bennington? Is this your idea of polished society?”

  Inez gasped. “A lady is gracious to any guest. Jade, I sent you away to England to gain some manners, and I am despairing of it ever happening.” She waved her hands in a sweep that encompassed Jade from head to toe. “Look at you in that old brown skirt. It’s hardly suitable for a breakfast engagement. You dress as if you were on safari. You don’t even have a hat or gloves.”

  Jade took a deep breath to contain her mounting exasperation. “I don’t need any polish, Mother. I’m not a floor. And I’m not dressed for a safari. On safari I’d have on trousers and I would wear my big old felt hat.”

  “You embarrassed me in front of these people.”

  “Mother!” Jade took a step towards Inez, her hands outstretched. Inez took a step back and Jade let her hands fall. Right. No public displays of affection. “Mother, these people are a perfect example of our problem. You say a lady would know how to be gracious to them, but I say anyone with sense wouldn’t bother with them to begin with.” She shrugged her shoulders and shook her head, her black waves jiggling around her face. “You are a smart woman, Mother. Why do you insist on inflicting these boors on yourself and,” she added, “on me?”