The Jealous

by Laury Silvers

  After she got through the gate, she saw that her things were no longer stuffed beside the well. Her gut tightened. There’ll be another beating for that. She opened the kitchen door carefully. Maryam was there, in her spot by the stove, stirring the dinner pot.

  The old woman said, matter-of-factly. “I put your things back in your room.” She looked her up and down, then said, “Go wash up and get on a clean wrap, then come back down here.”

  Layla did as she was told, but tried to think of a lie that Maryam would believe about where she’d been all morning. Then she shook her head at herself. No more lies. She had stopped being such a child. After she got back downstairs to the kitchen, she said with all the strength she had left, “I went out this morning to investigate poisons.” She picked up a large, unwashed copper pot that had been soaking and carried it to kitchen door to scour it by the well.

  Maryam looked at her sideways. “Poison?”

  Layla was careful how she answered. Maryam didn’t ask the question very nicely. She knew that voice. It was supposed to be patient, but it was not. Layla crouched beside the pot, half in and half out of the kitchen door. Soaking all night hadn’t got all the burnt food from the tinned bottom. It was her fault for not being there yesterday to take turns stirring the pot, and now she had to rub and rub at it with a salt, flour, and vinegar paste. Her fingers slipped off the leather square and the salt scraped her fingers, stinging where she had little cuts here and there.

  “Well?”

  Her head was nearly in the pot. “It’s a long story.”

  Maryam said, “I have time.”

  Layla tried to say it carefully, but once she got started it all tumbled out of her, ending with, “The police, Uncle Tein, could not get any information about who might have poisoned the man because no one trusts the police and so I knew I could ask because everyone trusts a servant girl and no one would think that I was working for the police.” She stopped for a breath, then got to the part where she had no better luck than Tein and didn’t know what to say.

  Maryam started, “And did…”

  Layla interrupted, “I’ll tell Auntie Zaytuna what I found out tomorrow. I can’t tell you. If I did that, it would...” She tried to think of the right word. She learned a lot of smart words from Auntie Zaytuna. “It would devastate the investigation.”

  “And Zaytuna works for the police now?”

  “Uncle Tein is in the police and she helps him.”

  “Who told you to do this?”

  “Auntie Zaytuna.”

  There was a long pause. This was not good. Layla breathed deeply waiting for a scolding and continued to scrub.

  Maryam said, trying to sound kind, “I know you’re fond of that woman like she were family to you, but she’s put you at risk. Family does not do that. If you had asked the wrong person the right question, you could have been killed to cover up the murder. Did she think of that?” Maryam’s voice started to rise, “Did she consider that maybe the person who made the herbs to poison the Imam was a part of the crime?”

  Here we go, thought Layla. She rubbed harder, waiting for a slap. She had nearly got the burnt-on food out of the bottom.

  But Maryam’s voice had lowered when she spoke again, such that Layla had to sit up and pay attention to hear her. The old woman was sitting again on her stool by the fire. Food simmering in the pot nearby, other small dishes meant for the Imam’s lunch set out here and there. Maryam crossed her arms, as if to ward off a chill and said her piece, “Layla, my sweet, that woman does not think of what is best for you. I want you to be safe. When the time is right, I will ask the Imam to help find you an appropriate husband.” She sighed. “It’s good you are learning to read and write. That’s a useful skill, especially for keeping house if you want to rise above the hard work you do now.”

  Maryam got up from her stool and walked over to the door, leaning against its frame. “I’ll speak to the Imam about getting you a tutor here in the house. No need for you to go back to Zaytuna. If you are going to stay here under this roof, my daughter, then you’ll have to follow my rules. You can still go out to do your errands, but just there and back. No talking to boys. No visiting Zaytuna.” She held her arm out to embrace her. “I’d like to put you here under my wing where I can keep an eye on you.”

  Instead of getting up to be held, Layla stuck her head back in the pot. There was nothing left to scrub. She had even got the black soot out from when the fire had smouldered the outside. She put the pot on its side and rinsed it out until she could see it was perfectly clean. She turned it upside down to drain, then stood to get a clean linen rag to dry it so there would be no spots on the copper. Maryam liked it so the copper pots shone. She’d sit at night, after all was clean and put aside to rest, with a cup of apple-ginger juice and survey her kingdom. She said how she liked to see the warm light of the lantern dance off of those pots. Maryam was still standing in the doorway and Layla had to go sideways to get past her. She heard Maryam sigh above her as she squeezed past.

  Layla took a neatly folded linen rag from the pantry and turned to go back and dry the pot, but Maryam was now blocking her way.

  She felt herself start to cry. The tears were coming, but they weren’t making a mess, at least. She wasn’t going to blubber or have a hard time breathing. Her chest was tight, but she had the breath to say what she needed to say. “I know what I am. And no one is coming for me. No boy will ever love me for more than how I can serve his mother. There’s nothing for me but a kitchen or a clothesline. But I look at Auntie Zaytuna and I look at you. And at least she’s got something else other than this. Maybe I can have something else, too.”

  Maryam reached out and took her hand. “My daughter. I’ve got so much. I’ve got my friends. Don’t I go and visit my friends? Don’t they come here? I had my husband and he loved me with all his soul. And I’ve got the satisfaction of this work. More than that, I love all you children as if you were my own. You are my baby. This is a good life and a house with plenty.” She shook her head and her own tears came. “Is this all because I beat you? Oh girl, if so, I wish I never had.” She took Layla in her arms and held her.

  Layla fell into the softness of her ample body, knowing she was loved by this good woman. But she pulled back from her, saying, “It wasn’t the beating, Auntie Maryam.”

  Maryam lifted an edge from the workaday wrap around her waist and dabbed at Layla’s tears, the rough material scratching, but in a reassuring way. Maryam said, “So you’ll tuck in here under my wing?”

  “No, Auntie. I can’t. But can I visit you? Will you always be my Auntie Maryam?”

  Maryam pulled her to her again, so hard Layla felt like she wanted to push away, but she heard her say, “Take your time to think about it. You don’t know what you are doing.”

  “Can I stay here until I know?”

  “My baby, always. You stay with me,” she paused, “If you decide to go, wait until you find a good place. Then you come and see me as often as you like.” Maryam pushed her back, putting both hands on her shoulders, looking at her like she meant business. “You’ll be in trouble with me if you don’t visit me, and Lord knows you don’t want that.”

  Layla started to cry again, “No, Auntie, I don’t want that.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Zaytuna had been listening to Yulduz breathing heavily since well before crossing the pontoon bridge. They’d walked at a pace the old woman was not used to; being a good hand at cutting reeds was not the same as walking as fast as you could for nearly two hours. As they entered through the mosque doors, Zaytuna pointed to her left. “There’ll be pitchers of water by the wall just over there. I saw it when I was here for Friday prayers.” Yulduz nodded, grabbed her sandals, and headed to them.

  The courtroom was set up straight ahead on the far side of the mosque, exactly where Ibn Salah had been sitting on Friday, situated between the women and men’s sections so there’d be a place for all of them to sit and listen. Zaytuna saw Mus
tafa and Ibn Salah seated near the growing line of people who had come to file a petition to have their case heard.

  Zaytuna followed Yulduz to the water, where she was crouched beside the pitchers. “They’ll need someone to refill this after me.”

  She held out her hand for a cup. Squatting, she drank it down in three gulps, then returned the cup over the top of the pitcher. She checked the others, “These are full, don’t worry.”

  Yulduz stood, her knees obviously bothering her, and began to walk directly to the women’s side of the courtroom. Zaytuna caught up to her and tugged her sleeve, “We need to pray first.”

  Pulling her sleeve back with a jerk, Yulduz snapped, “It’s not time for prayer!”

  Zaytuna reminded her, “Two cycles in greeting to the mosque?”

  She tipped her chin up at her, “You do as you like. I’m waiting over there,” pointing to the courtroom.

  Zaytuna sucked her teeth without thinking, then found a spot to pray. She raised her hands to her ears, saying, “Allahu akbar,” and lowered them, placing her hands, right hand over left, across her stomach, her elbows out, and sighed again, this time to focus herself. She let the words, ‘Allahu akbar,’ sit in her heart until she felt the force of them say to her, ‘God is greater’ than anything in this world, no harm, no joy is greater than God. Then, she prayed, God, guide me, let me know what I’ve done wrong. She began to recite the opening chapter of the Qur’an to herself, and at the verse, Guide us on the straight path, it came to her that she had been guided, but that she would not accept it. The guidance was always before her, the most obvious thing, but she looked away. Her heart tightened from the shame of it as she recited,

  …not the path of those who have demanded Your wrath,

  not the path of those who have gone astray.

  Amin.

  Then, she felt a verse come to her and she recited it under her breath,

  You cannot guide the unseeing from their error.

  Then two other verses flowed into her heart. She heard herself whisper,

  They are like those who pay for error with guidance,

  so that they gain nothing,

  so that they were not rightly guided.

  They are like one who has kindled a fire,

  and when it illuminated all that was around them,

  God takes their light,

  abandoning them to their darkness and unseeing.

  She was petrified by the horror of it and not able to bow in prayer. The “tsk” she let out so easily at Yulduz rang in her ears, reverberating until Layla’s tender face was before her, and each cruel word she had said to the girl shook her to her core. Every bit of what she’d done in the past five days since entering onto the Sufi path came rushing to her. She had been judgmental, jealous, cruel, short-tempered, resentful, and high-minded with small pieties. Zaytuna forced herself to face each moment as it showed itself to her. Losing herself in her careful accounting, she forgot that she was standing in prayer, and said aloud, “I did this. I did this. I did this,” as each cold wave of memory slapped her and soaked through her every cell. Then, Mustafa’s face came to mind and she turned away from it to God. How could I have been wrong? How can the rape of women be right? The rest is me. I am mean. I am cruel. I must see this. I must. But that, no. I refuse to believe it. I refuse to believe it of You!

  A bell rang in her ears. The force of it made her raise her hands to the side of her head as if it would shatter from the vibration. Then the waves of sound slowed, and between each, words rose and fell, and she heard Junayd’s voice cutting through. The Lion, Ali, refused to kill in anger. If he had slain the man who had spit in his face that day on the battlefield, it would have been to satisfy his own soul, not the rights of justice. Fight or do not fight, but only with wisdom.

  She fell to the ground and a rush of freezing cold ocean water came up behind her and knocked her under its wave, trapping her beneath the surface. The mosque was gone. Just her arms and legs flailing, her wrap floating around her through the shafts of watery light. The world beneath the water shimmered and moved. Through the light she saw Junayd, her uncle, her shaykh, sitting in his regular spot on the sheepskins. She called out to him, but the water made her voice thick and slow. She called out again. Nothing. Then she took the water in her hands and pleaded as much as prayed, Bismillah, In the name of God the Merciful, the Compassionate. Wash my sin from me. Wash my jealousy from me. Wash my resentment from me. Wash my cruelty from me. Wash away the dirt of this world that obscures my eyes, my ears, my hands, my feet, and my heart from knowing You. She performed the full ablution with the water that surrounded her, rubbing her hands, her face, her body, her hair, her feet, and ended with, Alhamdulillah. The water dissolved around her and Junayd stood before her, holding his hand out. She did not grasp his hand but said instead, “Can you forgive me? Will you still guide me?”

  He smiled. “My daughter, my companion, come with me.”

  She took his hand. “How can I make things right?”

  “You will fail.” He said, “Keep getting up. Keep examining your soul. Address the wrongs.”

  He let go of her hand and she was again in the mosque, standing in prayer, and heard herself say the words, “Allahu akbar.” Her body prayed, as though it were someone else’s. She said the required words as though it were another’s voice speaking through her. She stood for the second cycle, and heard the voice recite the opening chapter of the Qur’an. Then her own voice returned to her, and she whimpered as if she were a wounded animal, saying, amin. And verses from the Qur’an came to her again,

  By the morning hours,

  by the night when it is still,

  your Lord has not abandoned you,

  and does not hate you.

  What is after will be better

  than what came before.

  To you, your Lord will be giving.

  You will be content.

  Did he not find you orphaned

  and give you shelter?

  Find you lost

  and guide you?

  Find you in hunger

  and provide for you?

  As for the orphan,

  do not oppress him.

  And one who asks,

  do not turn him away.

  And the grace of your Lord,

  proclaim.

  She bowed, in tears, stood, prostrated, and quietly wept onto the reed mat beneath her. These were the words that God had revealed to Muhammad after he had thought himself abandoned. She sat back and said aloud, “God forgive me,” with the voice of a seeker forgiven. She prostrated again, proclaiming silently, Glory to God Most High. She came up from her final prostration, turned her head to the right and the left to give the angels her greeting and gratitude, closed her prayer, and looked up at the courtroom in the distance. She held Mu’mina and Tansholpan in her heart out to God, and placed them in His care.

  She found Yulduz easily. There were not too many women sitting on their side of the courtroom and approved of the spot. Yulduz had put them to the side of the courtroom so they could see everyone as they faced the Judge. They watched as men were lined up before a clerk who sat, legs tucked underneath him, behind a small desk taking their names down. Two women got to the front and gave the clerk their names in a whisper. He handed them small slips of paper in return.

  Yulduz asked, “What’s that for?”

  “He calls them by number so their names aren’t said aloud in court.”

  She looked across to the men. Mustafa was looking straight at her, his face drawn and hard. What has become of us? She turned away from him to collect herself, facing the mosque door, and saw Ammar just coming in.

  Zaytuna stood to meet him, coming at him so briskly that he backed up surprised, saying, “What is this?”

  “Ammar, how is Mu’mina? Has she lost her child?”

  “She made it through the night. It looks good.”

  “Do you know who poisoned her?”

  “It had to
be the guard or the servant, neither one of them reported it to the Judge’s house staff. We have someone looking to arrest the guard. He didn’t show up at work. The servant is already in custody but won’t talk.”

  “Was it meant for Tansholpan or Mu’mina? Do you know?”

  “We don’t know until servant talks. But Mustafa passed on what the midwife said about it being meant for the girl despite what Tansholpan thought.”

  “I was thinking…”

  Ammar closed his eyes. “Zaytuna, I need you to…”

  “Why would the guard put the poisoned food in front of Tansholpan, if Mu’mina was meant to eat it?”

  His eyes widened. “Right. Why? Maybe he wanted to protect Mu’mina? Maybe he was afraid of Tansholpan and wanted to kill her? I trust the midwife’s judgment on this.” He shook his head with the realization of it. “Who else would do this but Imam Hashim’s family? They had to bribe someone. So the guard takes the money, but doesn’t follow through? I don’t know, but here is the thing! No one had a reason to poison that girl but them. That means they cursed-well know how to poison and were lying to me. I should have pressed the housekeeper harder.” He looked across the mosque, “I have to go tell Ibn Salah.” Ammar left her, got a few steps away, then turned around, putting his hand over his heart, and said, “Thank you.”

  She mouthed to him, “Go!”

  More women were seated when she returned, but Yulduz had her hand planted in a spot next to her so no one would take it. She picked her way through the women, women like them in their best worn clothing. No upper-class woman would be found here testifying, let alone observing. Only a few looked concerned about the proceedings, maybe waiting themselves on a case. Most were there for the entertainment. They chatted eagerly amongst themselves, waiting for a show to begin.

  Carpets had been laid out. The clerk’s desk was placed closest to the people waiting. There was another desk behind him, perhaps for a scribe. A few sheepskins had been laid out where the Judge would sit. A small desk for papers was beside it. There was no pallet raising him above the people, not even a backrest. Perhaps he would be fair, after all.