The Jealous

by Laury Silvers

  Tein pushed back, “We’re ghazis, doctor. We’ve observed more injuries than you’ll see in your lifetime.”

  Judah backtracked and stammered, “My apologies, Ghazi. I only meant to say that, as you know, these injuries are not complicated and my account of them is complete.”

  “How old are the oldest bruises do you think?” Ammar conceded the ground to him.

  “As you know,” he inclined his head, “it depends on his health. At his age, it could be over a month to several weeks.”

  “How many separate beatings does it seem like to you?”

  “I would say three,” Judah answered.

  Ammar looked from Tein to Judah, saying, “With the wife, for now, let’s work with the ifrit story.”

  Tein wondered if Ammar was just saying that so he would not have to admit that he was worried about an ifrit. The three men walked back to the bed where Saliha and the woman were seated. The woman was still tenderly protecting her husband.

  Ammar bowed again and asked, “Ma’am, thank you for waiting for us. Could you tell us your name and your husband’s name?”

  She sat up straight, Tein saw she was careful where her hands were this time and looked back at her husband. “My husband is the renowned scholar, Imam Hashim ibn Uthman al-Qatifi. I am his wife, Hanan bint Sharaf ad-Din.”

  Ammar bristled. She couldn’t know Ammar had no love for the religious elite and this was not the way to impress him.

  Ammar asked, “How did this ifrit come to kill your husband?”

  She shifted her body slightly, her back a bit straighter. “My husband’s slave, Mu’mina. She’s been no end of trouble for him! I tried to persuade him to release her. If only he had listened to me. This woman has no shame! God curse the day he bought her!”

  “The slave. What is her connection to the ifrit that killed him?”

  “I was at the Fruit Seller’s Gate in the Karkh Market with my sister. We saw Mu’mina outside the gate where the soothsayers and cursewriters sell their services. She was with one of them for a long time. The woman was playing an instrument like our jooza. But the way she played it, it sounded nothing like ours. God protect us, it was terrifying. Everyone in the square turned to watch her. As she played, she swayed, slowly at first then she became frantic. Her braids were flying when she ran that bow back and forth across the strings! Then she stopped playing and took up a piece of paper, pen and ink, and wrote on it. She folded the paper and stitched it into one of those flat leather pouches used for paper talismans and threaded it through a thong. Later, I saw my husband wearing the very same thing around his neck! How Mu’mina got him to wear the talisman, I will never know. I tried to warn him. Walla!” She raised one finger in declaration. “I warned him of her from the start. Now look at what happened….” Her hand fell and she broke down into tears again.

  Ammar looked at the body. “There’s no talisman there now.”

  She turned on him, “I ripped it off his neck as soon as he fell to the floor in this attack. Ya Rabb! Not soon enough! I should have cut it off in his sleep as soon as I saw it.”

  Saliha interrupted and said, “You cannot blame yourself for this. Removing the talisman would not prevent the ifrit from attacking. Once called….”

  Ammar stuck his hand out to quiet Saliha. Tein had to hold himself back from back-handing him for it. Her face exposed, she smiled blandly at Ammar and nodded in assent. Tein relaxed. She can handle Ammar just fine. Saliha’s concession was no concession at all, but Ammar didn’t know that.

  Ammar turned back to the woman, “Ma’am, tell us what the cursewriter looked like.”

  “She was old and dark like a withered date. God protect us from these Turkmen mongrels. She was no more than an animal who had lived her whole life in harsh wind and sun.”

  “How did you know she was Turkmen? There are many kinds of people with dark skin in Baghdad.”

  She looked at Tein with disgust and back again at Ammar, “I know the difference between them and him.”

  A small wave of exhaustion washed through Tein, but he remained impassive. Ammar didn’t look to Tein, and he was grateful for it.

  “I meant Turkmen.” Ammar asked, “How did you know she was Turkmen and not Mongol or Tatar, for instance? What I’m asking, ma’am, is how do we recognize her when we go looking for her?”

  She looked him up and down as if he were stupid. “Her clothes. She had on one of those bound-dyed robes they all wear, with lapels, can you imagine such a thing! But not tied under the arm like the Mongol women. It had their embroidery, those thick bright designs around the collar and down the edges. Don’t you know them? My God and you call yourself police? Listen to me! Her robe was black and red. And she wore a cap instead of a kerchief with her grey hair out for all to see in long thin braids.”

  Tein made a mental note to start paying more attention to what people from across the empire wore.

  Ammar asked her, “How did you know the talisman was meant to call an ifrit to harm him? Talismans have many purposes.” Ammar reflexively touched the base of his throat where his own talisman hung under his qamis and leather cuirass. “It could have been for protection or healing.”

  She threw her arms out, her wrap fell open, her eyes glaring. “He is dead! This is how I know!” Then she raised her hands, palms open and up and pleading, “God, how will his death be avenged if this is the fool you’ve sent me!” Hanan looked Ammar up and down, then drew her arms back under her wrap and pulled it back around herself, then looked at him full in the face. “Now listen, you! When I saw the talisman around his neck, I warned him, but he would not take it off. Then he began to be beaten. There were bruises everywhere on his body. Just as they would heal, more would appear! He said he had no idea where they had come from! Despite my demands, he still would not take the talisman off.” She began to weep again, “Oh God, have mercy on my man’s soul. Why did he not listen to me?”

  Tein heard Ammar grunt and take a breath. They were both well used to the frustration families of the dead would hurl at them. Ammar even had a soft spot for the old women; Tein had heard him call a few of them “mother” or “grandmother.” But this one had got off on the wrong foot with her high-handedness about her husband’s station. Tein knew Ammar was restraining his tongue so he could get the interview finished. Ammar finally interrupted her weeping, “Why wasn’t he concerned about the bruises?”

  She sniffed, wiped her nose, and dabbed at her eyes under her niqab. “He said he thought he was sick. He said he knew a man who bruised easily and died of it. But I knew him as his wife. As old as we are, he had the same energy as he always did. His appetite was good in every way.” She fixed her eyes on him. “He was not sick! I told him, ‘You go to see one of these physicians if you think you are sick’. I don’t know if he did. He wouldn’t tell me anything. But then his rib was broken. How does an illness break a rib, I tell you!”

  They heard a commotion toward the front hall of the hospital. Women’s voices were raised and a man’s voice trying to control them. One of the gatekeepers rushed into the ward his voice echoing in the quiet space. “Doctor Judah!”

  Judah hurried to meet him halfway, gesturing to keep his voice down. They could still hear him. “Their family is here. I told them that only the men are allowed in, but the women are trying to push us aside.”

  Judah put his hand on the man’s shoulder, saying something, then pushed him in the direction of the door. Judah came back to them, saying, “I’ve told him to bring in one male family member and those who will carry him to the corpse washer.” He shook his head at the guard’s ineptitude. “They deal with these women all the time. He should know better what to do.”

  Ammar nodded and asked, “Did Imam Hashim come here for treatment?”

  Judah replied, “I’ve never seen him before. But he could have gone to anyone. There are twenty-three other doctors here. He could have seen a doctor privately at a clinic as well. There are also women healers.” He bowed slightly
to the woman, begging her pardon, then turned to Ammar, “If I could speak with you alone for a moment?”

  Hanan glared as the three men stepped aside.

  Judah whispered, “I observed what I could of his symptoms before he died, and the state of his body after death. His bruises and breaks are not new. They did not happen as a result of his convulsions. Now, there are illnesses which would cause such bruising. And coughing can cause a person to break a rib. He may have been ill, not beaten. But now that he is dead, there is nothing I can do to tell the difference short of cutting him open to see if he bears the mark of these diseases.”

  “Can we do that?”

  “It is possible. We do that when we can to understand the workings of the body, but the family must agree.”

  Ammar looked over at the wife. “Not likely in this case.” Turning back to Judah, he said, “Look, there are almost always quick accusations and confessions with this sort of crime. If the girl does not readily confess to killing him, would you testify in a written statement that his cause of death is unknown, and likely an illness?”

  Judah nodded. “Yes.”

  Tein looked at Ammar not believing what he was hearing. The ‘Golden Boy’ of Karkh’s Grave Crimes Section had never once tried to shut down the investigation of a case. He followed them through to the end. But this was their first case involving a jinn. Ammar was scared. This was going to be a problem.

  Tein said, “Can’t we ask her if we can examine the body?”

  Ammar shot back at Tein, “Why would that be necessary? You heard what the doctor said. We’ll have this case wrapped up one way or another.”

  Tein started to object, then thought better of it.

  Judah excused himself and walked to the rear of the hospital.

  They all turned to see a man rush toward the bed. The man had left the house without his turban or even a skull cap. His fine robe was hanging on him at an odd angle with no sash holding it closed. His robe was edged in fine embroidery spelling out something in calligraphic letters. Tein thought, For whose sake did he rush here?

  Two men followed, both in rough clothes. Tein gave them a look and they stopped at a distance from the bed. The wealthy man hurried past Ammar and Judah, didn’t even look at the dead body on the bed before him, not even at Tein, and fell to his knees before the woman. Tein nodded to himself. There you have it. Hanan gasped as the man fell down before her, then said to him in a whisper, “Alhamdulillah, you’ve come.” Tein saw that he wanted to reach out to her but held himself back. Not her brother, then. A cousin, maybe her husband’s brother. Maybe both.

  The man consoled her, “Let’s take my brother to the washers and get you home.” He saw her look for the rest of her family, and answered her glance, “They won’t let them in. The hospital must have its quiet.” He asked Saliha, “Can you help her outside to the women in the family?”

  She asked Tein, “Can she leave?”

  Tein looked over at Ammar who answered, “Yes.”

  Saliha nodded, and went to help her stand, but Hanan had turned toward her husband. She leaned over him, kissing him on the forehead, holding him one last time. Tein watched the brother-in-law as Hanan said her last goodbye. The man wept quietly and wiped his tears away with the edge of his sleeve, then looked to Saliha again to give Hanan a hand. Hanan pulled herself up from her husband’s body and tried to stand, but her legs were weak. Tein could see she was shaking. Saliha said to her, “You need to be strong for a few moments more.” Saliha helped her and they stood together. She put her arm around Hanan’s waist. The woman leaned on her and began to moan again as they walked slowly toward the front hall.

  The brother-in-law indicated to the two labourers who came with him to come to the bedside, but Tein held him back. “Not yet.”

  A deep-throated scream came from the front hall. The brother-in-law turned toward Tein and said, “She’s found the women to comfort her.”

  Tein didn’t say anything, but to him Hanan’s scream sounded more like rage. He looked to Ammar, but he did not indicate that Tein should go and check. No worry, Saliha is there. She’ll tell me and if there’s any trouble, the hospital guard will sound the alarm.

  Ammar turned to the brother-in-law and introduced himself. The man replied, “I am Isam ibn Uthman al-Qatifi. This man is my brother.”

  “Your sister-in-law believes your brother’s slave murdered him.”

  Tein expected him to deny it and apologize for her emotional state. Instead he shook his head. “So that slave of his finally killed him. I feared as much when the news reached us.”

  Ammar asked, “Why?”

  Isam’s head tucked back. “The girl had him cursed. She had him so infatuated with her that he willingly wore the curse around his neck. He refused to remove it no matter what we said.”

  Ammar did not react. “Is the girl at home now? We are going to need to speak to her.”

  “Speak to her? Arrest her! She’s outside. We’ve got hold of her. Not weeping for him, no doubt. Likely gloating!”

  Ammar assured Isam, “We’ll take care of her. Your sister-in-law told us that she took the talisman off him before they left for the hospital. Can you find it when you get home and put it aside for us?”

  “Of course.”

  “We’ll come to get it. We’ll need to speak to you all again.”

  “Whatever you need,” Isam replied.

  “Do you live with your brother and his wife?” asked Ammar.

  “Yes, we share a large home with separate apartments, our mother lives with us as well. You can find us there.”

  “But you weren’t home when this happened? Excuse me, but you look like you just got dressed.”

  The man looked down and adjusted his robe, then felt his bare head, realizing he had forgotten to put his turban on when he left the house. He blushed, stammering, “None of us were there but the two of them and the slave. Poor Hanan. I spent the night at my sister’s home and the servants came this morning to bring some gifts that Hanan had graciously put together for my sister. She is lying in with her fourth child and my mother has moved in with her for the time being to help. We were still eating breakfast when we heard the news.”

  “No household staff were with your brother and his wife at home? Other than the slave?”

  “The housekeeper and the boy who does the heavy chores came this morning with gifts, as I said.”

  “How did you get the news?”

  “The slave brought the errand boy from the hospital to my sister’s house. My sister could not come, of course, and our mother has collapsed with the news. But our other nephews are just outside, the housekeeper and the boy, and some of the neighbours. Do you need to speak to them now?”

  “No, not now. For now, you can take the body to the corpse washers. I assume you want to bring him to the washers in your neighbourhood?”

  Isam nodded gratefully.

  Ammar turned to Tein and said, “Go outside and get hold of the slave.”

  Tein looked at Ammar impassively, despite wanting to offer a strongly worded objection. He knew Ammar had believed in the power of curses and the jinn. And he’d want this case cleared fast, but he couldn’t think the slave could have killed this man with a talisman. If it is murder, anyone in that house could have poisoned him. The brother-in-law is obviously in love with his brother’s wife! What about the beatings? He couldn’t help it, he muttered under his breath, “He’s lost this case before it’s started.”

  Ammar heard him. “What?”

  Tein shook his head and headed to the front hall. Saliha was chatting with Judah, standing too closely to him. Here he had thought Judah walked to the rear of the hospital. He must have walked around through the women’s wards on the other side just to see her. Judah looked up and saw him, his face bearing the mark of a boy who had been caught at something. Tein laughed to himself, Don’t bother with the guilty looks. She’s a wild mare, that one, and I’m not interested in taming her. Saliha looked at him
quizzically and her smile fell. Tein nodded to the two of them as he walked out to the street.

  He expected to see a crowd of women weeping and wailing as he got outside, but there were perhaps ten people huddled across the street. There were women standing or crouching around Hanan and comforting her. Moans rose and fell with Hanan’s own. He heard her call out the name “Hashim,” then the name was echoed by the women surrounding her. Several men stood around them, shielding the women from the curious looks of passersby, although one woman held up her hands in prayer for the dead and the living. Two of the men were young, likely the nephews, the eldest in his teens and the youngest, a small boy, no more than five.

  But just outside of the group, a male servant stood wide-legged with a firm grip on the arm of a slight, barefoot, black girl. Not a child, but not a woman either. She was wearing nothing but a worn linen qamis and sirwal, and a wrap around her waist like an apron. As he crossed the street to her, he saw the scars on her face. Three parallel lines of small bumps in a pattern that traced over her nose to each side defining her high cheekbones. She was hanging off the man’s grip, her knees buckled beneath her, with the terror of innocence in her eyes.

  Chapter Four

  How could this woman be on the path and be so harsh? YingYue bowed her head. Or is it me? Have I done something out of place? She looked up at this tall, extraordinary woman and felt ashamed, her face prickling with embarrassment under Zaytuna’s gaze. She raised her hands to her cheeks, her delicate fingers trembling. Zaytuna looked at her with even more frustration, but what had she done?

  Zaytuna turned away and said, “I’ll get dates from the kitchen.”

  She disappeared into the reception hall rather than walk across the courtyard. She emerged moments later carrying what looked like a large folded woolen wrap, and without a look or a nod to YingYue, walked past her to the two men sitting on the far side. She does everything with so much confidence. But she grew up here, YingYue reassured herself. This is her home. Zaytuna kneeled before one of the men, who had nothing on but a short sirwal and a bit of turban on his head and handed him the wrap. The man took it eagerly and let it unfold in his hands, then pulled it around himself, nodding to Zaytuna in thanks. She put her hand over her heart and bowed her head to him, then rose and entered the kitchen. YingYue shot a quick look at Junayd, then scolded herself, Why did I not see what the man needed?