The Jealous

by Laury Silvers

  Now Zaytuna washed all the clothes in those houses alone. She was busier than before and making less money because she could not even do half the work they had done together. Her friend was tough, but she was never as strong as Saliha, not with all that cursed fasting and praying all night so she never had enough sleep. Saliha had tried to help her find another woman to wash clothes with, but Zaytuna resisted, saying she preferred to be alone. So like her. Donkey of a woman.

  The courtyard was empty. Even Yulduz’s clay cooking pot had been brought inside, the brick stove taken apart and piled in the corner, and the dung ash from the fire swept up. Saliha crossed the small courtyard and pushed aside the curtain covering her door and slumped down on the thin bedroll on the floor. Zaytuna had scoffed at her for the indulgences, new clothes, and worse still, a bedroll to sleep on rather than a mat and blanket on the ground like the rest of them. She’d snidely asked when she’d be bringing in layers of sheepskins to cover her bedroll and sheeting to go between her delicate skin and the itchy wool blankets they used in the winter. “Soon you’ll have so many things, you’ll need to move to a bigger home in a better neighbourhood and leave us entirely!” Zaytuna had taunted.

  Saliha had tried to buy a bedroll for her, but she wouldn’t permit it. Zaytuna nearly spat on the ground in front of her, “Bring me one of those things and you’ll find it under Yulduz and Qambar, not me. Walla, why would you think a gift like that would make what you’ve done any better?”

  Yes, well, Saliha thought, she was willing to eat the meat that the money went to instead, wasn’t she? Fine then, if that is how Zaytuna wanted it. She can lie with nothing but her reed mat between her bony self and the cold hard earth if that is what she wants.

  Saliha wasn’t making that much more money, but it was enough for these personal luxuries and enough to bring meat to the communal pot a few times a week. It was only beef, and not much of it, but it was more meat than the likes of them were used to eating. Her neighbours certainly never complained about the money she made washing bodies.

  Zaytuna, Saliha sighed to herself, why have you left me like this? Why have you left me without my friend?

  She heard movement outside and then Yulduz’s voice, “Saliha, my daughter, is that you?”

  “Yes, Auntie!” Saliha called from her bed.

  Yulduz was at her door. “Are you tired? Many poor to wash today?”

  Saliha laughed to herself, Yulduz would never stop prying even though she had told her she couldn’t share the secrets of the people she washed or the grieving families who stood by waiting for their loved ones’ bodies. “Two today, Auntie. But that’s not why I’m more tired than usual….”

  Getting up from her bed, she went out into the courtyard, grateful for the company. If Zaytuna would not be there, then she would unburden what she could to her neighbour, Yulduz, even Umm Bashir if she were around.

  The old woman was waiting outside and had poured her a cup of cool water from her own jug, and they sat together along the wall where there was some shade. “Come now, you,” Yulduz said. “Tell me all about it.”

  Saliha had just settled down against the wall and had taken the cup from Yulduz when she heard movement from Zaytuna’s room. “She’s home?”

  “She’d a bite to eat after she got back, then went for a nap. I suppose she was tired. She was early at the Shaykh’s, then on to wash clothes. It’s not easy for her, doing the work without you.”

  “There are people other than me who would work with her,” Saliha snapped without meaning to, “but she chooses not to find someone regular, you know.”

  “Layla helps sometimes. But who could replace you?”

  Saliha held her tongue, only letting slip the old woman’s name, “Yulduz…” in a scolding tone.

  “Although with you helping us with food for the pot, she’s got more energy than she used to. We all have, and we’re grateful for it.”

  Acknowledging the concession, Saliha said, “Alhamdulillah.” She watched the curtain over Zaytuna’s door, waiting for her to come out and finish off the difficulty of her day with a sharp word. But when the curtain opened and Zaytuna ducked out her door, she was smiling, happy to see her.

  “Must have been a good nap.” Saliha quipped to Yulduz in whisper.

  Yulduz laughed by way of nudging Saliha’s shoulder with her own, and asked Zaytuna, “Would you like some water, too?”

  “Sit, sit, Auntie. I’ll get it myself.” Zaytuna disappeared into her room.

  “There’s food left over in the pot, Saliha. Did you eat? Go wash your hands.” Yulduz didn’t wait for an answer and got up to get whatever was leftover for Saliha’s meal.

  Saliha pushed herself up and went to the basin of water.

  “I’ve got dates,” Zaytuna came out with a small bag in one hand and a cup of water in the other.

  Leaning over the basin, Saliha began to cry.

  Zaytuna rushed to her. “My sister, what’s wrong?”

  “I’m tired. That’s all.” She shook it off and rinsed her face. “It was a rough day. I didn’t realize how rough until now.”

  “Did you have children today? You always seem so tired after washing children.”

  “No, it wasn’t the washing. Well maybe. Yes, that’s part of it. You know I can’t say. But it was something else, on top of that.”

  “Shhh, no, it’s alright. No need to tell me. Can you talk about the other thing?”

  Zaytuna put the dates down and used her cup to pour water over Saliha’s hands as she rubbed them together.

  Yulduz came back with the leftovers from the midday meal scraped out into a small yellow clay bowl and a wooden spoon.

  Saliha wiped her hands dry on her wrap and they went back to sit by Yulduz.

  “May it bring you good health.” Yulduz said, handing her the bowl. Then said to Zaytuna, “Where are those dates?”

  Zaytuna got back up to get them.

  Saliha took the bowl and put it before her, answering Yulduz, “May you have good health.” It was barley flour stew. Cold. The flour, browned in the grease from frying the meat and onions to thicken the broth, had turned into a jelly. The meat and onions had all but dissolved into it and it was a cold, jiggling, shiny brown mound in the pot before her. Saliha’s stomach turned at the look of it, but she took a spoonful all the same. There was no refusing. She closed her eyes and said, “Bismillah,” forcing herself to put some in her mouth. And then opened her eyes, relieved. It was delicious. Yulduz had added black pepper and the bite of it cut through the cold fat. “Alhamdulillah, it’s good.”

  “Of course,” Yulduz answered with a brisk nod of her head and took a bite out of one of Zaytuna’s dates.

  Zaytuna asked Yulduz, “Where is Qambar?”

  “Y’know that husband of mine. I can’t stop ’im from working even with those swollen hands of his. We’ll go out together tomorrow.”

  Zaytuna nodded, then recited the verses,

  Those who are patient,

  seeking the face of their Lord,

  who stand up in prayer,

  who give to others from what We have provided for them,

  in secret and openly,

  and who push back at ugliness with beauty,

  they will have the final abode.”

  Saliha wondered what was going on in Zaytuna’s head. She was happy, for one. But verses breaking out of her like that? That usually meant something. She’d wait to ask later. Then she put her finger into the bowl and brought out the last of the stew, licking it with a smack and smiled with gratitude at Yulduz.

  “Walla, you’ve a child’s love of life.” Yulduz laughed. “Don’t lose it. Now, tell us about your day. Has that Christian doctor fallen for your wiles yet? Marta has her heart set on it!”

  Saliha was too tired to laugh but she smiled, assuring Yulduz. “You two old gossips. I feel like I live to give you something to chew on! Well, there’s more of that to tell, but later. We’ll wait for Marta.” Zaytuna looked up at he
r, eyebrows raised. Saliha shot Zaytuna a look right back that said, Nothing for you to worry about…yet!

  Yulduz slapped Saliha on her leg. “We’ll have that man a Muslim before long and you two in your marriage bed!”

  Zaytuna was still staring, unamused. “You think Shatha is going to keep you on that job if she hears about this flirtation?”

  Until today, Saliha and Judah had only shared careful looks and, at times, polite words in the company of others. Who would fault them for being so close today when that woman had collapsed in her arms and Judah was treating her? But the conversation in the archway? That conversation was enough to end her apprenticeship right there. The realization gripped Saliha and she froze. Then it grabbed hold of what else she’d been doing and showed it to her. She put her hands up to her face, holding her cheeks. They were hot with shame. She’d also been thinking about Judah, Tein, and arguing with Zaytuna in her head, all while washing that poor woman’s body. Not just that woman’s body. Others, too. This wasn’t the first time. Her mind should have been on helping them to the grave, not on her petty thoughts. She said out loud without realizing it, “God forgive me.”

  Zaytuna tucked her head back in surprise and reached out to her. Saliha took her hand, saying, “Can we go to the mosque together later?” Zaytuna hesitated. She realized immediately that Zaytuna had other plans and said, “It’s alright, I’m fine on my own. I should get to sleep early.”

  “No. It is just that I am going to Uncle Abu al-Qasim’s. There is a gathering tonight. Please come.”

  “Can’t you not go?”

  She didn’t answer.

  Saliha changed direction, hoping to hold her friend there with the news. “A man died today at the hospital. Some well-known scholar from Nahr Tabiq. His wife claims he was murdered.”

  Zaytuna sat up, a look of concern, but also naked curiosity on her face. Saliha thought, She is so obvious. Thank God. “His wife claimed that his slave killed him with a curse.”

  Yulduz and Zaytuna both exclaimed, “A curse!”

  Here was her friend. Maybe Zaytuna would stay with her if she could drag out this story and get to talking through what was weighing on her. Saliha had settled in to tell them everything, slowly, when they heard footsteps running down the passageway and Layla ran in breathless.

  So this is how the day will be. Saliha had forgotten Layla would come for her lesson. She was still covering herself up in her hand-me-down wrap just like the wealthy girls rather than the servant that she was. It was ridiculous, but they loved her for it. At least, she loved the little girl, but she suspected Zaytuna did as well. Layla plopped herself down beside Zaytuna laying her head on her shoulder, ignoring Zaytuna’s discomfort with this gesture of intimacy. She greeted the women in her most dramatic tone, “Assalamu alaykum Auntie Zaytuna, Assalamu alaykum Auntie Yulduz, Assalamu alaykum Auntie Saliha.”

  All three laughed and replied together, just as dramatically, “Walaykum assalam Layla.”

  She sat up and turned to look up at Zaytuna. “I’m sorry I’m late for my lesson.”

  “How are your lessons going?” Saliha asked.

  Layla exclaimed, jumping up, “I’ll show you!” She had got to Zaytuna’s door when she called back, “Auntie Zaytuna, may I enter your room to get the tablet and pen?”

  Zaytuna called back to her, “Yes.” Then she turned to Saliha and said as if she did not care one way or another, “She’s coming along. We’ve moved on to sentences. If she didn’t have to work during the day, she could go to school, or even to Uncle Abu al-Qasim’s to study with the children there. I’d prefer that for her, rather than this,” sighing slightly to indicate that she was put out by the girl.

  Saliha nudged Yulduz. “Why don’t you study along with them? It’s never too late.”

  “What need do I have for reading and writing Arabic? I did my letters in my own language, that’s enough. Look who’s talking, what about you?”

  Saliha put her hands up.

  Smiling at them both, Zaytuna said, “There’s not always a need for it.”

  Layla came out with the tablet under her arm holding the charcoal-ink pot and reed pen in her hands. She sat down on the floor next to Zaytuna again and placed the pot and pen down carefully before her, then tugged the wood tablet out from under her arm. Zaytuna saw there was still writing on it and said, “For shame, Layla, you didn’t rinse your tablet from last class. Go wash it now.”

  “Not yet! I want Auntie Saliha to see what I wrote.”

  Zaytuna tried to take the tablet from Layla, but the girl growled at her playfully, and pulled it back, thrusting it at Saliha.

  Saliha said, “Sweet one, you’ll have to read it to me.”

  “There’s no need, Layla, go wash the tablet.”

  Layla ignored Zaytuna and nearly crawled into Saliha’s lap with it. She pointed at the first word, “I,” then pointed at the second word, “love,” then the third, “Auntie,” then the fourth, “Zaytuna.” She looked up, grinning. “I love Auntie Zaytuna!”

  Zaytuna blushed, while Saliha and Yulduz exclaimed, “Mashallah! Well done!”

  “Now, go wash the tablet,” Zaytuna scolded her lightly.

  Layla got up and went over to the large basin of water in the corner of the courtyard and called back, “There’s no water. I’ll go get some from the fountain, inshallah.”

  Saliha watched the girl go and muttered, “These children, abandoned by their parents to work for food and a place to sleep. They work so hard. They need so much love.” Gesturing to Umm Bashir’s room. “And here we have our little Bashir. He has everything sweet Layla does not and he won’t do a cursed thing.” She turned to Yulduz, “When will Umm Bashir make him help?”

  “The boy is already ruined.” Yulduz replied, with a disgusted shake of her head, “She means to keep him with her always, no doubt. One of those mothers who cannot stand to see their boys love another woman. The poor girl who has to marry him.”

  “Enough complaining about them.” Zaytuna scolded.

  Saliha bit her tongue. How many times had she listened to Zaytuna detail her frustration with Umm Bashir and the boy?

  Yulduz didn’t hold back, “The pious lady speaks!” She turned to Saliha, saying with mock gravity, “Let’s be quiet now so that God does not become angry with us.”

  Zaytuna laughed despite herself, then she put her hand on Saliha’s knee. “Quick, before she gets back, what happened at the hospital?”

  “The wife says her husband was killed by an ifrit called in by a talisman.” Saliha looked between the two of them. “His slave made him wear a talisman that she’d bought outside the Fruit Seller’s Gate. He was beaten repeatedly by the ifrit and it finally took hold of him and killed him.”

  “God protect us from evil things! Do you know who made it?” Yulduz cried out.

  “A Turkmen woman like yourself. The wife said she wore a Turkmen robe, with lapels, a red and black one.”

  “That’s Hajja Tansholpan! May God protect her. Her talismans are powerful. Then he must’ve been a bad man.” Yulduz said, “Marta and I often visit her for a chat after Marta sells out all her soaked chickpeas inside the Market Gate. I’ve seen her work. She’d not hurt a soul, not unless he deserved it. She’s given talismans to me to set things right,” nodding to Saliha, “when it got to that.”

  Zaytuna interrupted, “You say ‘God protect us from evil things’ then admit you’ve used them yourself?”

  “Oh, pious woman control yourself!” Yulduz protested, “I’ve never asked for a person to die or to call the jinn. I’ve only asked for a good curse, something to teach the cruel ones of this world a lesson.” She turned back to Saliha, “And let me tell you, no matter the problem, the issue is resolved.”

  “Do they really work?” Saliha’s eyes were wide.

  The three women looked up as Layla returned with the bucket, dumped the water from the leather bucket in the basin and ran out the passageway to get another.

  “Well,�
�� Yulduz said, returning to her point, “It isn’t that you see what happens, but you feel relieved, and the other person changes. If a woman’s jealous of you, sniping at you, bringing the evil eye, she turns kind and generous.” She finished with another brisk nod of the head. “Then you know she’s been brought low somehow and taught a lesson just as you’ve requested.”

  Saliha sat back up with a snort. “That seems like a cheat! If I am going to pay for a curse, I want to see the person brought low before me. Walla, that seems only fair!”

  Zaytuna asked Saliha, her eyebrows raised. “You’ve never bought a curse?”

  “No! Not protection. Not a love potion. Nothing. God wills what God wills. What’s it to me to steer things one way or another?”

  “Oh please, sister, I have seen you do the steering myself! You steer this way and that and especially in the direction of handsome men!”

  Saliha grinned at her, knowing exactly what she was doing. “If God saw fit to put a handsome man to the right of me and an ugly man to the left of me, and my two hands on the reins of the horse of my desire, why shouldn’t I use those hands to pull to the right?”

  “You do not turn! You ride straight past them!” Zaytuna yelled at her.

  Saliha laughed. “Oh Zaytuna! It is so easy to bait you.”

  Zaytuna stood, angry. Layla returned and dumped another bucket of water into the basin. She was about to turn around for a third when Zaytuna called out to her, a bit roughly, “That’s plenty! Wash your tablet now and let’s get started.”

  Layla shrugged and put the bucket down.

  Saliha thought, Zaytuna’s moods don’t affect that girl and a good thing, too.

  Layla picked up her tablet and began to rinse it beside the basin, letting the water fall into the bricked depression beside it where it would soak into the earth beneath.

  Saliha looked up at Zaytuna. “Zay, I’m sorry. Please sit.”

  Zaytuna sat back down, saying to Layla, “Come work over here.”

  “So what happened to the slave?” Yulduz asked.