The Serpent's Daughter

by Suzanne Arruda

“Well, they are awful, and just what did you mean when you said ‘by the time I get back with the amulet’? You’re not leaving without me, young lady.”

  “You cannot come with me, Mother. I can’t do what I need to do and also watch out for you.”

  Zoulikha returned to the well with Yamna and little Lallah before Inez could make a retort. All three wore ornate headdresses of finely woven green and gold fabric wrapped turban style and held in place by multiple silver chains draped across the forehead. Coins and small charms hung from the chains and jingled as they walked, to Lallah’s delight.

  “Come,” Zoulikha said, “it is time to prepare for the feast. All the village joins us, happy that the amulet will be returned.”

  Jade was thinking that maybe they shouldn’t count on their amulets before they were hatched, but kept the thought to herself, wondering what would happen if she didn’t find it.

  Yamna handed Lallah over to Inez, who petted and cooed over the pretty child, while Yamna drew water from the well and poured some over Zoulikha’s and Jade’s hands. Then she motioned for Jade to do the same for her as well as for Lallah and Inez.

  Purified, they returned to the village where everyone had gathered in the kasbah’s courtyard. Many of the men wore their best djellabas and ornately embroidered slippers, but the women were the most impressive. They all sported their dowries in the form of chains of gold and silver across their foreheads and wore necklaces of fat amber beads that hung low over their chests. Every one of them had decorated their slippered feet and palms with intricate patterns in henna so that they appeared to wear ornate gloves and socks.

  They’d also outdone themselves cooking. Even before Jade saw the food, the enticing aromas of cumin, lamb, chicken, onions, and bread greeted her. Platters of couscous topped with cucumbers and other savory vegetables sat amid a wide variety of tajine. Heaps of flatbread and platters of dates and sugared almonds rounded out the feast. Over all was the scent of mint, crushed and steeped with green tea and clumps of sugar for the ever-present beverage. Jade had just about resigned herself to enduring more tea when Yamna presented her with a cup of sweet white liquid.

  “It is almond milk,” said Yamna, “ground almonds mixed with goat’s milk, sugar, and orange-flower water. It is a drink for special times.”

  “Besmellāh,” Jade said, taking the cup. She took a taste, steeling herself for some horrid concoction, but found it to be delicious. It reminded her of marzipan candy. “Thank you.” They feasted together, and Jade was pleased to see that her mother actually seemed to enjoy the festivities. Twice Jade caught her laughing at something Yamna said, which made her wonder if her mother wasn’t perhaps picking up parts of the language after all. She hoped so; it would make her stay here, however brief, more endurable.

  Jade also watched Mohan and Bachir. That the two men did not get along was clear to her. She wondered what their story was and decided to ask Zoulikha at the first opportunity.

  The meal completed, a few of the men went to the raised platform and picked up a type of drum called a bendir . It amounted to little more than a circular wooden frame with what appeared to be a goatskin stretched over it. They formed a small circle on the dais, sat down, and waited. The remaining men and women formed a ring shoulder to shoulder around the courtyard. Several small fires in the middle lit the circle. Jade was initially surprised to see men standing so close to women until she recalled that these people held their own traditions, often distinctly different from the Arabs in Marrakech.

  Uncertain what she should do, Jade waited by her mother, Zoulikha, Yamna, and Lallah. No one moved, no one spoke. Suddenly Yamna raised her chin to the night sky and let out a piercing ululation, a cry that was both joyous and stirring. It ripped through the blackness in a long series of lu lu lus that grew from the back of the throat and swelled into a battle charge. The cry made the hairs on Jade’s arms tingle and she half expected to see an army swell out of the houses.

  Immediately after the call, the men started to drum and chant. As they did, the other men and the women in the chain began to rock to and fro. After a time, as though on an unseen signal, the women, hennaed palms up, stepped in with tiny steps, then withdrew to the men. They repeated this several times before altering the step. Then the women quivered and sank to their knees before rising again. The men continued to rock to and fro, clapping time and chanting. The tempo didn’t change, and the entire dance was very modest and dignified.

  Standing beside her mother, little Lallah imitated the women’s movements with all the serious deliberation a two-year-old could muster. Next to her stood Inez, rocking ever so slightly to the rhythm. Jade pretended not to notice. “What are they singing about?” she asked.

  “They sing about the times of old when the Imazighen and the lion of our tribe roamed all over the Maghreb,” said Zoulikha. “Come, they will continue the dance to call baraka on you. We have other things to do.”

  Mohan, seeing them start to go, left the ring and took his daughter from them. “I will keep her beside me,” he said, looking warily at Inez, “so that she may join the dance.” Yamna nodded her agreement.

  “What about you, Mother?” asked Jade. “Will you come or stay?”

  Inez cast a long look at the dance. “Where are you going?”

  “To a spring,” said Zoulikha, “We will take bread to feed the water spirits there.”

  “I will stay here, then,” said Inez and added quickly, “to help watch Lallah.”

  Yes, and perhaps dance, as well? The image made Jade smile. But she wasn’t surprised at her mother’s choice. The woman didn’t court spirits. Neither do I. The blasted things come to me.

  She followed the other two women by torchlight along a narrow path into the mountains. Jade stumbled and stubbed her booted feet several times in the dark and wondered how these two managed with just the thin leather slippers on their feet.

  “Zoulikha,” Jade began, “tell me about Bachir. Why did he make the long journey to find me? Why does Mohan dislike him?” She couldn’t see their faces, but she saw Yamna’s back stiffen.

  “It is a difficult story,” said Zoulikha after a moment’s silence, “but I will tell you what I can. Bachir traveled to the south and fought in the Great War. Though the French are the newest invaders, he thought they would be strong allies later to help our people. While he was away, his mother arranged a marriage for him with a girl from a neighboring village, a granddaughter of the valley kaid.”

  Jade listened carefully, keeping an eye on Yamna’s back as often as she could spare it from her own feet. The young woman walked on with a stiff, erect carriage as though this tale was difficult to endure.

  “Her parents demanded a very high bride price for their daughter. Bachir’s family is a fine one, but they do not have as many goats as some. Still, his mother felt this was a good alliance for her son, putting him close to a man of power and wealth.” She stopped and caught her breath. Yamna turned and gave her mother her arm to assist her. Zoulikha shrugged her off and continued walking on her own.

  “They were married when Bachir returned from fighting. If he did not go into the marriage with great joy, he did not oppose his mother’s wishes,” said Zoulikha. “But his wife died in childbirth with the baby.”

  “If you had been allowed by the girl’s grandfather to tend to her, she would have lived,” said Yamna.

  “Perhaps. Perhaps not. But it is done. Bachir returned to his parents, the grandfather blaming him for the girl’s death. He is devoted to his village, so when I needed someone to bring you, he would not hear of anyone else going.”

  “Then why does Mohan dislike him? He argued with Bachir this morning and I don’t remember him welcoming Bachir into the house yesterday. It was your husband who did that.”

  “My husband is a proud man,” said Yamna before her mother could reply. “Lallah is very fond of Bachir, and Mohan does not like another man to take any of his daughter’s affections. ”

  Jade thought
the answer came too quickly to be the complete truth. Perhaps that was all there was to it. Mohan obviously doted on his daughter, but she wondered if Mohan was protecting the child, as well. Bachir didn’t seem to be a man who hurt children, but then she hadn’t seen him around very many.

  The opportunity to ask more questions disappeared with the soft sound of gurgling water. After about a twenty-minute walk, Jade saw the source, a bubbling spring. She noted brightly colored strips of fabric tied to the trees growing near the spring.

  “We are here,” said Zoulikha. “This water is sacred and the jinni here are at peace with our people. We will feed them to continue the peace and ask their help.” She pointed to the fabric ribbons. “These are prayer offerings left by many women and men.”

  Zoulikha handed a round flatbread to Jade and motioned her to step forward to the little pool of water formed by a rock wall that looked too regular to be natural, and too hoary to be much newer than the mountain. There in the pool swam five little turtles. Jade obediently broke off bits of the loaf and tossed them into the pool. The turtles paddled over to the bread and nibbled.

  “It is good. They accept your first gift. Now you must hold a piece for one to take from your hand.”

  As Jade stepped closer, torch in one hand and bread in the other, she noticed the spring emerged from a small cave. A design on the far wall caught her eye and she held the torch higher to see. Painted on the wall in red was a Barbary lion drawn in simple lines. Beside it was a handprint in white and the stick-woman figure of Astarte in red, represented as a triangle with a circular head on top and two crooked arms upraised in prayer. A crescent moon crowned her head like two horns.

  “Painted by the first kahina to find refuge in this valley,” said Zoulikha in response to Jade’s unspoken question.

  Jade remembered the turtles and squatted down next to the stone dam. She held out the bread just above water level and all five turtles swam over and began to feed. Several nibbled on her fingertips.

  “That tickles,” said Jade.

  “They bless you. You have great baraka, Jade. Equal to our own. Sit here.” She pointed to a flat stone near the pool.

  Jade complied, handing her torch to Yamna, who stuck all of them in crevices along the cave’s outside. Then Yamna opened up a woven pouch and took out several pots and small goat’s-hair brushes. They pulled off Jade’s boots and began the extensive process of decorating her feet with henna. When they finished with her feet, Zoulikha repeated the process with Jade’s palms while Yamna applied some decorations to Jade’s chin and forehead.

  “Ouch,” muttered Jade as the soft brush was replaced by a pointier stippling device for her upper forehead, just below the hairline.

  The two women worked in absolute silence and the entire process took well over two hours. Zoulikha finished first and took out a strip of parchment from a hidden crevice. She mixed saffron in a bit of water, dipped a stylus into the mix and wrote some symbols on the paper. Next she put the paper into a bowl and poured a ladle of water from the spring over the paper. By now, Yamna had also finished. Jade felt relieved. Whatever the woman had done on Jade’s forehead had hurt. She decidedly preferred feeding cute little pet turtles to being poked on the head.

  “Drink the water,” said Zoulikha as she handed the bowl to Jade.

  “Besmellāh,” said Jade as she drank. The water had a slight tang to it from the saffron. She handed the bowl back to the old woman, who passed it on to Yamna.

  Yamna took the wet parchment from the bowl’s bottom and rolled it into a tiny scroll. Finally she placed the scroll in a little silver box that hung from a silver chain. A silver hand dangled below the box. Zoulikha slipped the chain around Jade’s neck, leaving the box to lie atop her shirt. Jade felt for it and the comforting presence of David’s ring, only to realize her mother still had the ring. An emptiness washed over her.

  “You will be well protected now,” the old women said. She pointed to Jade’s hennaed feet. “Ash leaves and the snake guard your footsteps. The eye of the partridge is on your palms to watch for danger. Barley sheaths on your chin will keep you from eating poisonous foods. And the charm will increase the protection.”

  “What did you mark on my forehead?” asked Jade.

  “You are the lioness. You will need the matched strength of the Barbary lion to join you. There are few left, but one keeps watch over this spring. We have put his paw print on your forehead. Three small spots below and two above. Because the print is made with five marks, it has more baraka.”

  And mother will have a conniption when she sees this. Thinking of her mother, Jade wondered if she’d actually be able to sneak off without her tomorrow.

  “Have no fear,” said Zoulikha when Jade asked. “Yamna will go back now and give her a cup of almond milk, but it will contain herbs. She will also spread the oil of the orange on her pillow to make her sleep. You will be gone with Mohan when she awakens.” She nodded for her daughter to take a torch and return to the village.

  “Mohan?” asked Jade. “Does not Bachir return with me?” She’d grown to trust the man in her own way. At least she knew his tricks.

  “Mohan understands the importance of this amulet. It is his daughter’s birthright. He insisted that he go. And he has been to Marrakech many times over the years to take his sister’s pots and Yamna’s rugs to sell in the market.”

  “You haven’t told me yet what Elishat’s amulet looks like. How will I know it?”

  Zoulikha bent over and traced a two-by-three-inch rectangle in the dirt. “The talisman is a silver box, this big,” she said. “On one side is the kahina’s hand.” She raised her own hand with the fingers splayed. “On the front is the symbol of the first kahina.” She indicated Astarte’s symbol on the cave wall. “Inside is a written charm. The catch to open it is well hidden, so the box appears to be solid. Do not attempt to open it. To do so is to lose the baraka. Do not open the box you wear, either.”

  “I understand,” said Jade. “I will do my best. Take good care of Mother for me. She will be worried and,” she added after a moment’s hesitation, “very angry.”

  Zoulikha grinned. “Such is the way of mothers. Their children will always be their children no matter their age. Come, help my old bones to walk back.”

  “There is more to Mohan and Bachir’s story than you told me, isn’t there, Zoulikha?” asked Jade.

  The old woman made a low hum, as though deliberating how much more to tell Jade. “Yes, there is, but it is not important to this trip.”

  Jade didn’t press the issue any further and concentrated on keeping to the path in the torchlight. By the time Jade and Zoulikha returned to the village, the festivities had ended, and families had drifted to their own homes. Jade found her mother curled on her side in their room, sound asleep on her rug. Inez’s lips twitched and her eyes darted back and forth under the closed lids.

  She’s dreaming. Jade wondered what her mother might dream about tonight. She hoped it was something happy Something with Dad and the Gypsies. Jade felt a rush of pride in her mother. She’d proven very brave throughout this affair, going so far as to attempt her own escape with a single nail. Jade draped part of the rug over her mother’s back and shoulders for added warmth.

  Sweet heavens, I’ve made a hash of this reunion with Mother. It pained Jade to always feel at odds with her. It wasn’t the thought of returning to New Mexico that seemed odious, it was the role her mother wanted her to assume. I definitely need to write to Dad, but in the meantime . . . Jade took out her notebook and jotted a brief note to Inez, then left it by her mother’s shoes where she’d be sure to find it.

  Jade bent down and kissed Inez on the forehead, catching the scent of orange around her.

  “Good night, Mother,” she whispered. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Try to stay out of trouble while I’m gone.”

  CHAPTER 17

  In Morocco it is the hallmark of politeness to serve any visitor hot mint tea.

 
A good rule of thumb: don’t visit too many people in one day.

  —The Traveler

  YAMNA CAME FOR JADE several hours before dawn sent a glow of light over the mountains. While Jade hardly felt refreshed, she wasn’t sorry to break this short night’s rest. Her head throbbed behind her eyes and her temples, and her stomach churned. Blasted dreams. She cast an envious glance at her mother and watched her slow, deep breaths; the sleep of the innocent, or the heavily drugged.

  Zoulikha waited for her outside in the village street. She handed a woman’s tuniclike dress to Jade as well as an older handira and two brass fibula to hold it in place. “You will have need to dress as though you are one of us, I think.” In the gloom, Jade thought she detected a faint smile on the old woman’s face.

  Reading the kahina’s thoughts, Jade replied, “You said that I am one of you.” The throbbing behind the eyes increased. Blast it, but it hurts to talk. Her hands shook as she took the garments from Zoulikha and a pair of low slippers from Yamna. Neither of them moved from in front of her.

  “Tell me,” said Zoulikha as she peered at Jade’s troubled face.

  Jade thought about asking what she meant, or telling her that she ate too much yesterday, but decided there was no use playing dumb with either of these two women, especially Zoulikha. The old kahina was too well versed in human nature.

  She took a deep breath and steeled herself for the pain of talking and recollecting. “I dreamt I was in a garden of some kind, but all the flowers were arranged in rows and rows next to stones. It might have been a cemetery. I saw many . . .” She hesitated before speaking again and decided to use the euphemism preferred by the Amazigh people. “Many people who shun salt and iron. I saw a faceless woman in black. She might have been beautiful; I don’t know. She seemed . . . diseased somehow.”

  Jade’s voice dropped to a hush, filled with empathy for the pain she had witnessed in her dream, the same pain she now carried in her pounding head. “I think she cried. One tear fell, only one. But when it struck the ground, the flower there grew larger. But it was no longer a flower. It became a terrible tree, all twisted but dead. The rocks grew, as well, like walls. There was a man, at least I think he was a man. I think she seduced him because he clung to her like a lover before his body withered. Then the moon came over the sun and eclipsed it, but just before it did, I saw a silver box sticking out of the ground under the rocks. I went to reach for it, but my hand touched something else.” She shuddered as she recalled the image. “I touched the shriveled corpse.”