The Jealous
Page 22
“Ahmad at-Tarazi. Do you know him?”
“Yes! I do.” He stopped short of mentioning YingYue or Junayd’s community. He wasn’t sure what this man would think.
Ibn Salah talked over him, “It is the most extraordinary thing, he wants to produce a block printed Qur’an. Could you imagine? The work of carving the blocks would be painstaking. If he did accomplish this task, anyone who wished could have a Qur’an in their home.” Ibn Salah shook his head at the wonder of it.
Mustafa sat up in pride, for knowing him personally, and his daughter.
Ibn Salah said, “After lunch today, I will visit Qadi Ibn al-Zayzafuni and ask him for a letter to bring to the Police Chief to indicate that he is willing to have the case moved to his court should a petitioner be willing to do so.” He inclined his head to Mustafa. “You must find the petitioner.”
Mustafa nodded, biting into a second gazelle horn.
Indicating the meal had ended, Ibn Salah said, “With your permission, I will begin preparing for my visit to Qadi Ibn al-Zayzafuni.” He indicated to the servant that Mustafa was ready to leave. They stood, and Ibn Salah directed Mustafa to the reception hall. The servant held open the heavy curtain that separated them, and Zaytuna emerged.
Mustafa knew that face and she was angry. Ibn Salah didn’t seem to notice and chatted about the garden as he walked the two of them to the gate, but Mustafa could not hear a word of it for the worry of what Zaytuna would say. Ibn Salah turned behind him, waiting for the servant to come and open the gate. Two female servants rushed out with packages in their hands, one small, which he hoped were the pastries, the other so large that the girl was holding it like a child against her chest. One handed him the small package, and the other handed the large package to Zaytuna. He looked at Zaytuna, questioning, but she looked even more angry, as if such a thing were possible.
Mustafa bowed his head to Ibn Salah. “Thank you, we will speak tomorrow?”
“Yes.” He said, bowing in return.
The gate shut behind them and out it came.
“Why did you bring me here? Was I supposed to investigate the crime while I was in there with the women and the squirming children? Did they have some information?”
He defended himself, “This was unexpected!”
“And why wouldn’t you answer him about the harm before!”
He looked down, realizing in his worry that he had gripped the pastries too tightly and crushed them. Look what she made me do! Mustafa’s voice betrayed his frustration with her, “He has a point.”
She glared at him.
“Zaytuna, let me ask you this. What is it that you oppose? Do you oppose that he took her while she prayed? Or do you oppose that she must have sex with him at all?” He turned to her, finding a new voice within himself, “Do you oppose that men should have slaves as wives?”
“My God, Mustafa, she was no wife to him!”
“But how different was her situation as a slave to that of a wife? Both must come to their master when he desires.”
Zaytuna spat on the ground. “And you wonder why I will not marry!”
The accusation hit its mark. The resentment he felt for her endless comparisons of him to the Prophet, to whom he could never measure up, spilled out of him, “And the Prophet, did he not have slaves for his sexual use? Did his wives not come to him as his slaves did?”
“All of them chose to be with him. They chose! By God! He withdrew from Asma bint an-Numan when she refused him!”
Her face was mottled red. He thought she would begin bleating at any moment. For the first time in his life, he did not fear it, but stood firm in the face of her fury. He responded calmly, “And this makes you think they objected to his right over them?”
“They came to him willingly!”
“And what about his slaves? Rayhana? Mariya?”
She threw her hand out. “There you have it! Rayhana rejected him when she was made a gift to him. If he asked Rayhana what she wanted, you think he did not ask Mariya, too? He asked them all! He respected them!”
Mustafa smiled coolly. “No, he took Rayhana without asking.”
Zaytuna visibly shook with anger. “You know there is more than one hadith about the Prophet and Rayhana! Some say he kept her as a slave despite her wish to be left alone. Others say she rejected him, so he freed her, and she left to return to her people. Still others say that when she rejected him, he freed her, and they married later at her choosing! She is not here to tell us what she chose, but look at what you choose to tell about her!” She jabbed the air with her finger. “That choice is about you, not about the Prophet’s guidance for us.” Her voice rose, “So don’t you dare say you speak for him!” She looked at him harshly. “Mother told me to never marry a man unless he would be Muhammad to my Rayhana. ‘Only marry’, she said, ‘if you are free to refuse’.” She looked him up and down. “I was right to reject you.”
Mustafa lost control and threw all he had at her, “You say you love the Prophet, but if you loved him, you would love everything that he has done and all that he has shown us. Have you forgotten that he said, ‘None of you will have faith until he loves me, Muhammad, more than his father, his children, and all of humanity?’ That includes more than your opinion about how the world should be, Zaytuna!”
She turned on him, “And didn’t he also say, ‘None of you has faith until he wants for his brother what he wants for himself?’”
“What are you getting at?”
Her voice turned cold, “So then what you want is to be owned by a man who shoves his cock in you whenever he likes, just not when you are praying!”
“Zaytuna!”
“My point made.”
His voice was tight, but clear, “This is what God willed for men and women. You will answer to God for not accepting His will.”
She shook her head at him. “I cannot believe you could become a puppet of these scholars.”
Mustafa became defensive, “Ibn Salah is a good man.”
“How could he be a good man if he has a wife who is incapable of doing anything other than have babies? She sits there all day long with his mother and his sister. His wife says he is so busy that she rarely sees him. Does he not want to talk to his wife? What kind of man is that? What kind of love is that?”
“You don’t know what their life is like! Perhaps he is grateful to have a woman who is not always pushing at him and arguing with him, but someone with whom he can be distracted at the end of his day!”
She looked at him as if he were lost forever. “What would your mother say if she heard you?”
Mustafa reflexively rubbed the back of his head as she turned and walked away, placing the package they had handed her in front of the first beggar she saw, leaving him to walk back to Tutha alone. He stopped and watched as the old beggar woman unwrapped the package, revealing folds of richly embroidered wool and silk.
Chapter Sixteen
The Imam’s widow screeched at Ammar, “Why is that girl still alive!”
Ammar sat on one of the family’s luxurious couches and watched Isam closely, keeping in mind Saliha’s observation that he felt more for his sister-in-law than he should. He could see that Isam wanted to comfort her, but that he held back. If there was no love there, he’d be freer to comfort her without worry that he would betray his true feelings. Saliha was right.
“It’s only been three days, we must build our case, which is why…”
Hanan wasn’t listening. “I told you she killed him!”
“Let’s hear him.” Isam tried to mollify her, “She’ll be executed before long. God’s justice is exacting.”
She looked at Isam. “I told you, we must contact Qadi Abu Burhan, he can have this handled immediately.” She threw her hand out from underneath her wrap, pointing at Ammar. “This man is incompetent!”
“I understand your frustration,” Ammar replied coolly. “We are tying up a few loose ends right now. If I could just ask a few questions.”
“Hanan, they would not put him in charge of Grave Crimes if he could not be fair.”
She shifted her body away from them, so that she was facing the far wall.
Isam sighed almost imperceptibly at this display. He inclined his head. “Please ask your questions.”
Ammar nodded in thanks. “Did you find the talisman for us?”
Still facing the wall, Hanan said, “I found it and threw it into a public well, the ifrit will follow it and never find us again.”
Ammar closed his eyes in frustration. “We needed the talisman for evidence.” He turned to Isam, “Maybe the girl used a poison to kill him, rather than the talisman? Are there any poisons in the house that would have caused his symptoms?”
Hanan turned back to face Ammar, “His symptoms? He died!”
“What herbs do you keep in the house? Any medicines? Anything to kill rodents?”
She waved her hand in the direction of the room beyond them. “Ask the servants. How am I to know what is in this house? I am healthy. I take nothing. My beloved used pennyroyal for colds, but he hadn’t been sick in years.”
Isam looked at her quizzically, then answered Ammar himself, “I use a mixture of rue, dill seed, and belladonna to control my epilepsy. It reduces the incidence somewhat, but I cannot see how it could kill him. I take quite a bit of it,” he spread out his arms, “and here I am.”
“I’ll need to speak to whoever would have access to your medicine.”
Hanan shot back, “My servants did not do this. I have told you. It was the slave.”
“Is there anything else?” Isam asked.
Isam’s face told him there was something Hanan was holding back. Maybe he could prod it out of them. “This may be difficult. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, but she may not be executed if convicted, or, if so, not immediately. As a slave, her punishment may be argued to be half that of a free person. She would be flogged, then sold if you do not want her.”
Hanan’s silk niqab nearly blew open from the force of her words, “Want her?”
“I assumed as much.” Ammar answered, “The proceeds from the sale would belong to you, and the blood money would be paid out of the caliphal coffers. The master would be liable for the blood money paid out for their slave’s transgression, but that obviously won’t work in this case.”
“My God, we don’t want the money!” Isam exclaimed, “Send it all to the poor house.”
“I’ll let the administrator for the Chief of Police know your wishes. But there is another complication.”
The two of them stared at Ammar in disbelief that there could be anything else.
“She is pregnant.”
Hanan screamed and fell back across the couch, flinging her hand over her face.
“Anat Hiia!” Isam yelled, “Come!”
A servant ran into the room. Ammar recognized her name as Mandaean, but she wasn’t wearing any distinguishing clothing marking her as a non-Muslim. It had been a long time since any caliph had enforced these laws, so people had become relaxed in their practice. He thought, God protect us from any caliph who does.
Anat Hiia called out behind her, “Bihrun!” She rushed to Hanan and lifted her up, patting her on the back, saying, “Here, here.” There was an unmistakable look of disgust on her face.
Another servant came in quickly, a boy, he guessed her brother by the Mandaean name, carrying a cup of water. Anat Hiia took it from him and indicated to him to wait, then deftly lifted Hanan’s niqab just enough so she could drink. “Small sips, Ma’am. Small sips. There you go.”
Ammar kept an eye on Isam. He was distressed and watched Anat Hiia care for her as if he wished he could do it himself. This man could have killed his brother to be closer to his brother’s wife. But Hanan’s reactions, and from what Saliha observed, he didn’t think the feeling was reciprocated.
“Take her elsewhere to rest,” Isam said to Anat Hiia.
Anat Hiia gestured to her brother. Both got on either side of Hanan and tried to help her stand. She moaned, her knees buckling slightly. Anat Hiia said gently, “Come now, let’s get to the other room where you can rest.”
The housekeeper ran in. The wiry old woman pushed past Ammar and checked Hanan’s eyes, saying, “I’m back now, Ma’am. Look at you going and fainting when I step out for just a moment. I’ll have something that will fix you right up.” She patted her hand. “You can stand now, they have you.”
Hanan nodded and stood, gripping the arms of Anat Hiia and Bihram tightly, and walked slowly, dropping, then recovering, every few steps.
Isam watched her go. When she was out of the room, he asked, “What will happen now that Mu’mina is pregnant?”
“If she is convicted, and the baby is born alive, there will be no punishment until after the child is weaned. The child is legitimately your brother’s and will inherit from his father’s estate. He will be your family. As I understand it, you will have rights over him at birth. You can take legal custody of him when he is weaned, or even as a newborn with an appeal to the court or a mediator.”
Isam was aghast. “You must realize that she will not allow that child into this house.”
“Yes, I can see that. Then you’ll have to make arrangements.”
Isam leaned in, his voice dropping, “Ghazi, you should know my brother was not a good man. Hanan deserved better. As it became clear that she could not have children, he forgot about her. Her own love for him became more desperate as he moved on. He saw women when he needed to, in addition to his slave, and was a gambler as well. There were tensions recently concerning payments to women and gambling debts. She does not know this. But you should know who he was, for your investigation, and that the child will not come here.”
“We’ll follow it up, thank you. But I must press you on the matter of poisons in the house. If the slave poisoned him, it is the surest way to secure a conviction.”
“Why do you think it was poison?”
“The symptoms, the pain he had in his arm, the clamminess of his face, his difficulty breathing, even seeing a jinn. All of it could have been caused by the ingestion of belladonna or a combination of that herb and others.”
“But he would have to have had ingested so much of it!”
“The pharmacist said it would not take much belladonna to produce these symptoms.”
Isam said, “I do not know the ratio in my mixture. There cannot be much belladonna in it, then, if that is the case.”
“Are your herbs are pre-mixed for you or do they do it here?”
“I do not know. I am also unaware of what other herbs are present in the house. You will need to speak to the housekeeper, Ta’sin. But I do not take them in tea. They are mixed with dates. I take them in filled pastries to mask the taste.”
“I know this is delicate, but is there any chance he took the herbs himself? If what you say about his debts is true, perhaps he took his own life?”
Isam sat back and thought about it, then answered, “Hanan does not know, but I have supported this family from the beginning. I am unable to marry because of my epilepsy. I have supported my mother, my younger brother, Hashim, as he trained to be a scholar, and my younger sister until her marriage. I have continued to support Hashim and will continue to support Hanan now he is gone. The entirety of his income went to his pleasures. As far as I am aware, he never gambled beyond his income until a few months ago. I assured him I would pay this one time, but he never took the money from me.”
“So, he had no need to kill himself?”
“Ghazi, I am certain. But not because of the money, but rather because he had no shame. Why would a man with no shame kill himself?”
It was a reasonable assumption, he had to admit it.
Isam spoke again, unprompted, “H
anan imagines my brother paid for all this.” He waved his hand around the lavishly decorated room, with its couches covered in silk, heavy curtains, embroidered pillows, and low copper tables shining in the light of the oil lamps burning even during the day. “But she need never know the truth. Her stability is the most important thing. It is why I live here. She believes they lived with me because I cannot live alone due to my illness. But, of course, with servants, one is never alone. Rather, I live here to watch over her, not her over me. We grew up with her. She is our cousin.” He inclined his head. “It is my pleasure to care for her.”
Ammar nodded in acknowledgment of the sacrifice. Isam displayed all the resentment of a man unacknowledged for what he does for the woman he loves. More the reason to kill his brother. But why would he dismiss the idea of suicide? If he had killed him, what better way to lay the fault than on his own brother’s despair? The police could keep the suicide quiet. No one need know. The case against the girl would be dismissed. It would be written up, shelved, and forgotten. He’d seen it done before in high profile cases.
“One last thing, sir. Do you import anything that might be considered a poison that the girl could have got a hold of?”
“Anything would be locked in my warehouse,” Isam replied.
“May I interview your housekeeper?”
“Let me see how Hanan is doing.” Isam stood. “Ta’sin might be able to leave her now.”
Ammar watched him leave then stood himself, looking around the room and wondering how many hungry people in the poor neighbourhoods of Karkh could be fed if this upholstery were just a little less luxurious. The housekeeper came in before long, saying, “What can I do for you?”
He looked down at the small woman’s hard face. He asked, “Is there any poison in the house?”
“We have poison for the rodents locked up in a box in a shed in the kitchen courtyard. Mr. Isam’s medicine, and everything else we have that would be dangerous for children, is in a locked cabinet. The family don’t want the little ones getting into anything when they come to visit.” She looked beyond him, then confided, “But the eldest boy, he could use a hard slap now and again or a taste of that poison to teach him a lesson.”