The Fifth Day
Chapter Nineteen
Tein looked down at the stool offered to him to sit at the tavern and shook his head. It was early yet, but they were serving. He decided against sitting in the tavern. She shouldn’t think I’m a drunk. He looked down at the line of stalls nearby selling sliced fruit and unfermented juices. She knows you’re a drunk. Making his way to the closest juice stall, he considered the only open stool. It was too short for him, sized for a woman or a child. He found a bit of wall and leaned against it, tired. He pulled himself off the wall so he wouldn’t look tired to her. Then, he leaned back against it, trying to look casual, one shoulder against the wall, one knee slightly bent, looking down.
He got there early so she would not have to bear up under men’s looks and jibes for simply standing still for too long in the marketplace. God forbid she’d have a cough; she’d be taken as a prostitute signaling her availability to passing men. What was he even thinking taking her with him to the nahariyya?
He reminded himself she was proud of doing as she likes, even at risk to her reputation. Tein didn’t know what to do, caught between wanting to protect her and wanting her wildness. He looked at the men around him. What kind of man was he that he wanted this woman who would never accept a man’s right over her? Look what became of Mother. He wondered then what his mother would think of Saliha. Impious Saliha. Mother would say something incomprehensible to her about God, taunt her openly, and love her fire.
He pushed himself off the wall again and smoothed his robe, tugging it down where it had pulled out a bit around the leather waist strap for his dagger. His hand went up to adjust the blue and green turban he’d bought so he wouldn’t look like police, as Saliha had suggested.
“There you are!”
He swung around at her voice behind him and ended up pushing his turban out of place. He stared at her. She was in a shabby wrap pulled a little too tightly around the curves of her body and tugged just so over her face so that nothing showed but one beautiful, heavily kohled, eye. She coughed lightly and said, “Do you like my disguise?”
His face became hot. Suddenly, heat was all over him. Turban forgotten, he tugged at his robe, looked behind him for the too small stool and sat down hard on it, legs wide, knees almost up near his ears, but at least hiding what she’d done to him. He looked up. Her eye was wide, then crinkled with a smile. She knew. She laughed, pleased with herself. It somehow made him feel more the man for her pride. How did she do that?
She started to reach for his turban to straighten it. He bent his head toward her to meet her touch, but it only made it worse for him, as if that were possible. When she finished, he lifted his head to meet her eye. She winked. “I like your disguise as well.” Then she let the wrap fall away, showing herself to him. She was smiling, her teeth parted, and he thought he could hear her exhale. She waited before speaking, long enough that the hum of the marketplace fell away into the hum of his body. Then she broke the spell. Her eyes crinkled. She ticked her chin in the direction of his lap, and asked, “How long do you think we’re going to need to wait?”
He laughed from deep within himself, letting loose a rumbling roar that made everyone around them look over. Saliha looked as people turned around to see what was going on. She bent over him, laughing again, saying, “Shhhh!”
The boy who served for the stall came over. He looked nervous.
Saliha raised her eyebrows. “Yes?”
“My boss asked if you would leave.”
Saliha gave Tein a questioning look. He stood, his smile still uncontained, and loosened his robe around him. She leaned toward him, saying conspiratorially, “Our disguises are working.”
She pulled her wrap back to cover her face and they made their way through the marketplace, drawing stares now and again, and a tsk from a good woman here and there.
Tein saw the wool sellers up ahead. He looked at her. “According to Khalil, it’s down here.”
They turned at the last of the stalls, packed floor to ceiling with loose tufts of wool, the sellers haggling with weavers, felters, and those looking to stuff their couches. The walls of the alleyway narrowed, then it curved and they couldn’t see beyond it. Tein had to turn sideways at one point. It opened up beyond the curve exposing single-story walls rising to three stories on his right and two on his left.
He flattened his hand against the wall and looked up. It was built with fired brick. Wooden beams stuck out of it at regular intervals to support the upper floors and the roof. There would be no weak reed and plaster second floors that you had to walk on gingerly or fall through. A lot of money was coming in and out of this place.
The alleyway curved again, blocking the view of what came ahead. He turned back to make sure Saliha was alright, then looked up. A boy was watching them over the roof of the three-story building, and then turned his head back and called something out. Tein couldn’t hear it, but he knew they’d been announced.
Tein was ready as he came around the curve. His hand was not on the hilt of his knife, but it could be in a moment if he needed it. A small courtyard opened up before him with two-story rooms around to the left and a three-story complex surrounding the rest of the courtyard.
The three-story buildings were constructed like the great homes on the Tigris. Balconies overlooked the courtyard with gauzy curtains blowing in the breeze. Someone unseen was plucking at a stringed instrument. Three young boys were running around playing khatra in the courtyard. One had a whip made out of rags in his hand and was trying to beat the other two, while they tried to tackle him before he could.
A wiry young man stepped out in front of them blocking their way into the square. His dagger hung off his belt and his hand was on its hilt. “Assalamu alaykum, what can we do for you?”
“Waalaykum assalam. My woman and I would like a room.”
“There’s lodging that’ll rent you a room elsewhere, we don’t do that here.”
“A friend told me you do.”
“Your friend was wrong.”
A few women came out onto the balconies. Their long hair was hanging loose and they had wool blankets thrown over their shoulders, grasped tightly around them. The women looked like the disturbance of their arrival had awakened them. Even sleepy with kohl smeared eyes and wrapped in blankets, they were still beautiful. He looked away quickly, ashamed before Saliha. He took Saliha’s hand, saying to the young guard, “He said to tell you my mother raised me to be an honourable man.”
The young guard nodded. “Why didn’t you say so?” He stepped aside and pointed toward the door at the end of the square. “Rooms for rent by the hour are through there. If you want to use the bathhouse, that’s extra.” He grabbed the arm of one of the boys running past, hauling him up. The boy had thick brown curls down his back, like a girl, and no turban. The guard said, “Go get Afif.” The boy looked at Tein and ran off into the nearest doorway.
“We could use something to drink first.”
“Go in that door over there.” He pointed to one of the two story buildings.
Tein kept hold of Saliha’s hand. He looked at her for any sign she was afraid. She was looking back at the guard quizzically, then turned to Tein with bright eyes. She squeezed his hand in answer.
The door to the tavern was just a bit too low for him and he ducked his head as he went through. The room was empty except for a series of low couches around its edges and two large octagonal tables set in front of them where the three long couches met in the corners. Nothing was on the walls.
There was a doorway leading to another room. He could smell something cooking from within. He stuck his head inside. “Assalamu alaykum.” No one was there. It was a kitchen set up to feed a large number of people, with three hearths for great pots on iron stands, but only one fire was lit simmering a stew. Small windows were cut into the wall to circulate air around the fires. There was another door at the far end of the kitchen.
He looked back at Saliha. “Wait here, but
yell if there is a problem.” He walked through the kitchen and looked out the back; there was a small courtyard with two doors leading off it and a two-story wall abutting a small garden on the other side.
Tein called out again, louder this time, “Assalamu alaykum!”
“Waalaykum assalam! Give me a minute.”
A barrel-chested older man came through the door. Deeply-tanned and craggy-faced, he looked and walked like a man from the Steppes who had lived his life on horseback. He had a long cloth wrapped around his waist. He smiled at Tein while shooing him back through the kitchen into the tavern. “I’m Hushang. Please, have a seat! Are you hungry? A drink?”
He sat down next to Saliha on the couch. “We would like a drink, but I wondered what games you had on.”
“As you can see, no one is here yet.”
Tein faltered at his blunder. “When does that begin?”
“After the sunset prayers. They file straight from the mosque to our doors. But I’ve got nabidh, small beer, and date and grape wine. We’ve also got wormwood wine if you want something stronger. It’s a house specialty.” He gestured to the kitchen. “I’ve also some stew on hand if you haven’t eaten this morning. The broth will be thin still, but it might do.”
Tein turned to Saliha and asked, “Are you hungry?”
She nodded.
“Two bowls of whatever that is you are cooking and a nabidh for me.” He looked at Saliha and took a chance. “Nabidh? Small beer?”
She drew her hand out of his and slapped his arm with the back of it, winking. “What kind of woman do you think I am?” She turned to Hushang, “Water is fine.”
Tein laughed but wondered if he should change his order.
Hushang nodded and disappeared into the back.
Tein got up from where Saliha had chosen to sit and moved to the couch at the farthest corner of the room. She followed, questioning why with her hand, but he shook his head and patted the seat beside him. She looked irritated by the direction, but she did as he said.
He leaned over and whispered, “From here we see out to the courtyard through the window and the door leading to the back of the house. No one can come in and surprise us.”
She nodded, eager to learn. He regretted bringing her here. He didn’t need her as a prop. He could have come later in the day to gamble. Be honest, man. You only let her come so you could be alone with her. He said, “I shouldn’t have brought you here. Let’s go. I’ll come back later by myself.”
She looked out the window at the boys who’d gone back to their game. “Don’t be silly.”
“You don’t know what the risks are.”
She looked him in the eye. “I’m not leaving.”
He put his hands down on the couch and pushed himself up so they could go. He felt her hand on his. Her face was hard. She said, not bothering to whisper, “Sit down.”
He stood instead.
She sighed but did not move.
Hushang walked in with a tray with two bowls of stew, fresh bread, and two small pitchers and glasses. Tein sat back down. The man placed the tray on the table before them. “Eat it with health.” He poured out Saliha’s water, then Tein’s nabidh.
Saliha replied, “And God give you health. Won’t you sit with us?”
The man looked at Tein for direction. Tein nodded, and he sat down on the couch across from them. “Go ahead, taste it.”
Tein took the nabidh and downed it in one gulp without thinking. He looked at Saliha out of the corner of his eye; she didn’t seem to have noticed. The lightly fermented juice didn’t even begin to soften the edges in his mind, even on an empty stomach. Hushang started to get up to pour him another glass, but Tein gestured to him to remain seated and poured it himself. Despite wanting to drink it, he left it sitting in front of him.
He picked up a piece a bread and dipped it into the stew. Fat glistened on top, but the broth did seem thin. Saliha did the same. She held her wrap out before her face to shield them from seeing her as she ate. He took a bit of the bread and meat. The stew was watery, without salt, and was overpowered by too much lemon. He bit into a piece of gristle and moved it around in his mouth until he could swallow it down. He didn’t dare look towards Saliha. Then he heard her moan with pleasure.
“Subhanallah,” she said, “you have a golden hand! This is better than my mother’s. May God have mercy on her soul. I am glad she is not alive to know that someone could make laymunia better than she!”
Hushang grinned and leaned back against the couch, “Even as it is?”
Tein put another bite in his mouth, mumbling, “It’s delicious.”
Saliha broke in, “An old client of mine, Imam Hashim, God have mercy on his soul, told me about this place. I insisted to my man here that he bring me.”
Hushang laughed. “God have mercy on his soul? Must be a different Imam Hashim than visited us! Who would say the obligatory words over that man’s body! I hear he died an ugly death.”
Tein said, “What was the problem?”
He shrugged, as if what he had to say was only the half of it, “We had to beat him for our coin.”
Saliha said, batting her eyelashes, “I always got my coin out of him.”
The man looked outside at the children playing in the courtyard. “You are one of the lucky ones then.” He turned back to her, “And he never liked my cooking, either. I always had to run a boy out to get cookies stuffed with dates and nuts for him and those rolled-up sandwiches baked with caul, egg, and ground meat.” He sounded irritated, thrusting his hand out, “And only the ones from that one shop that adds nard to the meat. The man thought he had rights to the Caliph’s kitchens.” Hushang got up and went into the kitchen.
Tein reached out and squeezed Saliha’s hand.
Hushang came back out with a small pitcher and a glass for himself and sat back down. He poured himself a full glass of wine. He took a long pull on it, drinking half. He raised the glass to Tein. “Sure you won’t have something stronger.”
Tein wanted it, but he shook his head.
Saliha said, “I can’t even begin to guess who gave the Imam those broken ribs and black eyes.”
Hushang took another pull on his wine. “We did. Several times.”
She giggled. “I had to be gentle, don’t you know!”
The old man raised his eyebrows and looked at Tein. “You let her talk like this around you?”
“No one tells this woman what to say,” Tein looked at her, worried, “not if they want her company.”
Hushang finished his wine and poured himself another. “She must be a woman of great skill. Does she sing?” He turned to Saliha, “What instrument do you play? Can you turn a fine line of poetry?”
Tein picked up his glass and drank, worried about how she’d answer.
“I am a turner of bodies,” she said, raising one eyebrow.
At that, Tein nearly spat out his drink and coughed to cover up his laughter.
Hushang merely smiled and brought his hand to his chin. “Perhaps you would consider us your home?”
She nodded graciously in acknowledgement of the offer. “Thank you, but I could not compete with the women you have here.”
Hushang opened his mouth to reply but Tein interrupted, “You said the Imam’s death was ugly?”
Hushang looked at Tein. “Well-deserved,” and said no more. Hushang drank another half-glass of wine in two long sips. He should be at least a little drunk, but he seemed sober to Tein. He knows how to hold it. Let’s see if he can hold his tongue.
“Because he wouldn’t pay his debts?”
Hushang sat forward, putting his glass down awkwardly on the tray edge, then readjusting it. “Much more than that.” He looked outside again at the young boys in the courtyard.
Tein followed his gaze. “What about these children?”
“I shouldn’t speak.”
Tein felt him itching to talk and wondered how he’d ever kept a job in a place like this. He prodded the man, “I
s one of those children his?”
Saliha leaned forward, hand on her chin. “Oh, tell.”
Hushang gave in, relaxing into the wine, “The mother of one of them died. She was his favourite.” His voice caught in his throat, “God have mercy on her soul.” He turned to them, “She was stupid, this girl, Farzaneh. She told many men the boy was theirs just to get more money out of them.”
“Did they give it?”
“Some did. That’s why she did it. It worked. But not all men want to hear this news. They don’t want some boy showing up at their doorstep letting their family know what they’ve been up to. She was warned off it by the other women here, but she didn’t listen.”
Saliha asked, “This Farzaneh, did she threaten Imam Hashim?”
He frowned and took a small sip of wine. “Yes, and he had her cursed for it. The curse brought on a tumour in her womb. It grew to be as big as a baby and killed her. The doctors couldn’t do a thing. We only just buried her.”
Tein felt Saliha move suddenly next to him, then she said, “May God make her whole in Paradise.”
The man and Tein said together, “Amin.”
“Did you report it to the police?” Saliha asked.
“One of the girls here did. They did nothing.” He sighed. “Chandi went every week to demand they act on it. The morning we took her to be washed, Chandi went one last time to accuse him of murdering her. Nothing.”
Tein became angry. So we are willing to chase down and charge an enslaved girl and a talisman writer for murder by curse, but somehow I’ve heard nothing about a scholar doing the same? Ammar better not know about it. He looked at Saliha, his anger showing on his face, and shook his head.
She looked away from him quickly and asked Hushang, “Who did she tell? I have a contact in the police.” She winked. “A friend. I could ask.”
“I don’t know, you can speak to her if you like. She’ll be upstairs.”
“Word is, Imam Hashim died from a curse. Fitting death, I suppose.”
Hushang answered her, “God bless the one who did it. When I heard, I thought Farzaneh’s brother had killed him.”
The Jealous Page 26
