Miriam struck Halima as much more serious and strict than the day before. Still, she sensed that the older girl liked her. “I promise I’ll obey you in everything and I’ll do everything just the way you tell me,” she said.
She could sense that Miriam held some favored rank among all the others, and she grew curious about this, but she didn’t dare to ask questions.
For breakfast they had milk and sweet pastries made with dried fruit and honey. Then each of them was given an orange.
Lessons began after breakfast. They went into the glass-ceilinged hall with the pool that Halima had admired the day before. They sat around on pillows, each of them with a black tablet resting on her crossed legs. They got their slate pencils ready and waited. Miriam pointed to a place for Halima to sit and handed her her writing implements.
“Hold it like you see the others doing, even though you don’t know how to write yet. I’ll teach you later, but for now you can at least get used to the tablet and pencil.”
Then she went to the doorway and with a mallet struck a gong that hung on the wall.
A giant Moor holding a thick book entered the room. He was dressed in short striped trousers and a cloak that reached to his feet but was left open in front. He was shod in plain sandals and had a thin red turban wrapped around his head. He let himself down onto a pillow prepared for him and sat facing the girls, his weight resting on his knees.
“Today, my sweet little doves, we continue with passages from the Koran,” he said, piously touching his forehead to the book, “in which the Prophet speaks of the joys of the afterlife and the delights of paradise. I see a new young student among you, clear-eyed and avid for learning, hungry for knowledge and pleasing to the spirit. So that no drop of wisdom and holy learning escapes her, let’s have Fatima, clear-witted and sharp, repeat and interpret what your careful gardener Adi has so far managed to plant and cultivate in your little hearts.”
This was the same Adi who had brought her to these gardens yesterday. Halima recognized his voice immediately. The whole time he spoke she valiantly resisted an urge to laugh.
Fatima lifted her lovely, rounded chin to face the teacher and began reciting in a sweet, almost singing voice, “In the fifteenth sura, in verses forty-five to forty-eight we read, ‘Behold, the god-fearing shall come to these gardens and to the springs: enter in peace, for indeed we shall take the ire from their hearts and they shall sit down on pillows with each other. They will feel no fatigue and we shall never cause them to leave …’ ”
Adi praised her. Then she recited several other passages by heart. When she finished, he said to Halima, “So, my silver doe, fleet-footed and avid for learning, did you hear in the pearls of your companion and older sister what my skill, my depth of spirit has sown in the bosoms of our gentle-eyed houris and nurtured into fulsome buds? You must also blow all childishness out of your heart and listen intently to what my holy learning reveals to you, so that you can be happy both here and in the afterlife.”
Then he began to dictate slowly, word by word, a new chapter from the Koran. The chalk squeaked across the tablets. Moving slightly, the girls’ lips silently repeated what their hands were writing.
The lesson came to an end and Halima caught her breath. Everything had struck her as so silly and so strange, as though none of it had been real.
The Moor stood up, touched his forehead to the book reverently three times, and said, “Lovely young maidens, my diligent pupils, skillful and quick, enough learning and scattering of my wisdom for now. What you’ve heard and dutifully written on your tablets you must now inscribe on your memories and learn thoroughly and by heart. As you do this, you must also instruct this sweet quail, your new companion, in the ways of holy learning and convert her ignorance into knowledge.”
He smiled and a row of white teeth shone brightly. He rolled his eyes portentously, leaving the schoolroom with great dignity.
The curtain had barely dropped behind him when Halima burst out laughing, and some of the others joined her. Miriam, however, said, “You must never again laugh at Adi, Halima. Maybe he seems a bit strange to you at first, but he has a heart of gold and he would do anything for us. He’s expert at many things—the Koran, worldly philosophy, poetry, rhetoric … And he’s equally at home in both Arabic and Pahlavi. Sayyiduna also has tremendous confidence in him.”
Halima felt ashamed and lowered her eyes. But Miriam stroked her cheek and added, “Don’t be concerned that you laughed. But now you know, and you’ll behave differently in the future.”
She nodded to her and went out into the gardens with the other girls to rake and weave.
Sara led Halima into the bath to wash her hair. First she brushed her hair out, then she undressed her down to the waist. Her hands trembled slightly as she did this, which made Halima slightly uncomfortable, but she tried not to think about it.
“So who is our master?” she asked. Her curiosity had finally gained the upper hand. She realized she held some power over Sara, though she didn’t understand why.
Sara was instantly ready to oblige.
“I’ll tell you everything I know,” she said, her voice quivering strangely. “But you’d better not tell on me. And you have to like me. Do you promise?”
“I do.”
“You see, all of us belong to Sayyiduna, which means ‘Our Master.’ He’s a very, very powerful man. But what can I tell you …”
“Tell me! Tell me!”
“Maybe you’ll never even see him. I and several of the others have been here for a year already, and we haven’t.”
“What is this about ‘Our Master’?”
“Be patient. I’ll explain everything. Do you know who is first after Allah among the living?”
“The caliph.”
“Not true. And it’s not the sultan, either. Sayyiduna is first after Allah.”
Halima’s eyes widened in a shiver of astonishment. It was as though she were experiencing a tale from the Thousand and One Nights, only now she wasn’t just listening to it, she was in the very midst of it.
“You’re saying that none of you has yet seen Sayyiduna?”
Sara bent her face right down over Halima’s ear.
“Not exactly. One of us knows him well. But no one must ever find out that we’re talking about this.”
“I’ll be silent as a tomb. So who’s the one who knows Sayyiduna?”
She already had a clear sense who it might be. All she wanted now was confirmation.
“It’s Miriam,” Sara whispered. “The two of them are close. But you’d better not give me away.”
“I won’t talk about it with anyone.”
“Then it’s all right. You have to like me now that I’ve trusted in you so much.”
Curiosity tormented Halima. She asked, “Who was that old woman we met in front of the house yesterday?”
“Apama. But it’s even more dangerous to talk about her than Miriam. Miriam is kind and likes us. But Apama is mean and hates us. She knows Sayyiduna well too. But be careful you don’t let on to anyone that you know anything.”
“I won’t, Sara.”
Sara washed Halima’s hair faster.
“You’re so sweet,” she whispered. Halima was embarrassed but pretended not to have heard anything. There was so much more she needed to find out about.
“Who is Adi?” she asked.
“He’s a eunuch.”
“What’s that, a eunuch?”
“A man who isn’t really a man.”
“What does that mean?”
Sara began explaining it to her in more detail, but Halima rebuffed her irritably, “I don’t want to hear about that.”
“You’re going to have to hear about a lot of other things like it.”
Sara was visibly hurt.
The washing finished, Sara began to massage Halima’s scalp with fragrant oils. Then she brushed her hair out. She would also have liked to hug and kiss her, but Halima cast such a menacing look up at her tha
t she was afraid to. She led her from the washroom out into the sun so that her hair could dry faster. A group of the girls weeding flower beds nearby noticed them and approached.
“Where have you two been all this time?” they asked.
Halima lowered her eyes, but Sara responded volubly.
“If only you’d seen how dirty the poor thing’s hair was! It was as if she’d never had it washed in her lifetime. I barely managed to get it under control, but she’s going to need at least one more thorough washing before we get it to where it needs to be.”
Thank goodness Miriam isn’t here, Halima thought. She would have picked up on her bad conscience immediately, and if she’d started asking, Halima wouldn’t have been able to hold back. She would have seen that she hadn’t been able to keep her promise not to ask questions even for a single day.
When the other girls left, Sara scolded her.
“If you’re going to act like that, everybody’s going to guess that you’ve got secrets. You’ve got to carry yourself like you don’t know anything. That way nobody’s going to start probing … I’m going to join the others, but you stay out here in the sun and let your hair dry.”
Halima was now alone for the first time since she had arrived in this strange world. She didn’t really know anything—neither where she was, nor what her role was to be. She was surrounded by sheer mysteries. But this wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Just the opposite. She had found her balance in this fairy-tale world quite well. For one thing, there was plenty of fodder for her imagination. It’s best if I pretend to be ignorant, she thought. That way people won’t suspect me, and I’ll be able to get on their good side. And then they’ll be more inclined to take care of me.
Sara had provided her with more than enough riddles to keep her mind busy. Miriam, whom she had gotten to know as kind and good, now had another, mysterious face. What did it mean that she and Sayyiduna were close? What was Apama’s power that she could be mean but also know Sayyiduna? And that silly Adi, who Miriam said had Sayyiduna’s complete confidence? And finally, who was Sayyiduna, this powerful “Our Master” whom Sara could speak about only in whispers?
She couldn’t hold out long in one place. She turned down a path and started encountering new things. She bent over some flowers and watched and scared off some colorful butterflies that were perching there. Worker bees and bright-colored bumblebees covered in pollen buzzed all around her. Bugs and gnats flew this way and that, all enjoying the warm spring sun with her. She had already forgotten her miserable former life and the arduous journey that had been so full of fear and uncertainty. Now her heart sang with happiness and the joy of life. It was as if she really had found heaven.
Something moved in a coppice of pomegranates. She listened closely. A slender, lithe-legged animal leapt out of the foliage. It’s a gazelle, she thought. The animal stood still and looked at her with its beautiful brown eyes.
Halima overcame her initial fright. She crouched down and began calling it, instinctively mimicking the strange Koran interpreter.
“Gazelle, my little belle, let’s hear you bleat but don’t retreat, my slender-legged, my lissome-legged … See, I can’t do any more than that because I’m not learned like Adi. Come on, come to Halima, who’s pretty and young and likes the sweet little gazelle …”
She had to laugh at her own eloquence. The gazelle stepped lightly toward her with its muzzle outstretched and started sniffing and licking her face. It tickled pleasantly, and she began to laugh and offer playful resistance as the animal nudged at her more and more forcefully, until she suddenly felt something else just as live touching her earlobe from behind and breathing into it. She looked around and was petrified with fear. Yellow-furred Ahriman stood right up beside her, eagerly competing with the gazelle in expressions of kindness. She fell backwards, barely landing on her hands. She couldn’t scream and she couldn’t get up. Her eyes full of fear, she stared at the long-legged cat and waited for it to leap at her. But evidently Ahriman had no intention of attacking. Soon he began to ignore her completely and tease the gazelle, catching it by the ear or craning with open jaws toward its neck. They had to know each other well and were obviously friends. Halima regained her courage and put an arm around each animal’s neck. The leopard started to purr and knead like an ordinary housecat, and the gazelle put its tongue against her face again. Halima fawned on them with the sweetest words. She couldn’t grasp how a leopard and a gazelle could be friends in this world when the Prophet had said that Allah was reserving that miracle for the inhabitants of paradise.
She heard her name being called. She arose and went in the direction of the voice. Ahriman padded along behind her. The gazelle kept him company, periodically ramming into him like a baby goat. He didn’t pay much attention to it, only from time to time snapping at its ear.
Her companions were waiting for her and told her it was time for a dance lesson. They tied her hair up on top of her head and led her into the glass hall.
Their dance teacher was a eunuch named Asad, a young man of average height with smooth cheeks and supple, almost feminine limbs. He was a dark-skinned African, but not as black as Adi. Halima thought he was cute and silly at the same time. When he came in, he took off his long cloak and stood before them in nothing but his short yellow trousers. He bowed slightly with a gracious smile and contentedly rubbed his hands. He called on Fatima to play the harp, and at the sound of the instrument began to twist and turn expertly.
His art consisted mostly of an expressive belly and a strong command of his muscles. Flourishes with his hands and feet were little more than a rhythmic accompaniment to the movements of his belly. First he showed how it was done, then the girls were supposed to try it after him. He ordered them to take off their halters and bare themselves to the waist. Halima was embarrassed, but when she saw how casually the others undressed, she readily followed them. He designated Zuleika as the lead dancer and placed her in front of the rest. Then he sent Fatima to assume her place, and he took a long, thin flute and began to play.
It was only now that Halima began to notice Zuleika. She undoubtedly had the most beautiful figure of any of them. She was first in dancing and Asad’s assistant at lessons. Whatever he wanted she performed with precision, with the others imitating her. Flute in hand, he went from one girl to the next, expertly evaluating the agility and movement of their muscles, correcting them and showing how it was done.
After the lesson Halima was tired and hungry. They went out into the gardens, but they couldn’t go far, because they had another subject coming up—verse making. Halima complained to Sara that she was hungry. Sara showed her where to wait for her, then slipped into the building and came back in a short while. She put a peeled banana in Halima’s hand.
“We’re not allowed to eat between meals. Miriam is very strict about that, because she’s afraid we’ll get fat. She’d punish me for sure if she knew I’d given you anything.”
Halima had never heard of anyone not being allowed to eat just so they wouldn’t get fat. Just the opposite. The fuller formed a woman or a girl was, the more she was praised, so she hardly welcomed Sara’s news. And what to make of the fact that the meals in this strange place consisted of nothing but delicacies?
It was time for the girls to head back to the classroom, where Adi was about to serve as their poetry teacher. This was a subject that struck Halima as fun, and she was immediately excited about it. This day he explained the short verse system of the ghazel, and all of the girls were supposed to use their inventiveness to contribute. Miriam recited the first verse and was free after that while the girls competed with each other to add verse after verse. After about ten lines they exhausted their resourcefulness, leaving only Fatima and Zainab, who kept doggedly at it until they too finally ran out. Adi left Halima out of both the first and second rounds so she could get the idea of it. She clearly had such a good time listening that Adi called on her to get ready as they moved into the third round. She was a little afr
aid, but also flattered that he already had this much confidence in her, and part of her also wanted to see how she measured up against her companions.
Miriam delivered the first verse.
“If like a bird on wings I flew …” Adi waited for a moment, then started calling on them in sequence. They responded.
Zuleika: “I’d always keep the sun in view.”
Sara: “And follow toward the morning dew.”
Aisha: “I’d help the orphaned destitute.”
Sit: “Would sing them songs of every hue.”
Jada: “And guard that all the notes were true.”
Here Adi amiably nodded toward Halima, calling on her to continue.
She blushed and gave it a try.
“So you and I could fly …”
She got stuck and couldn’t go on.
“It’s on the tip of my tongue,” she said.
They all laughed, and Adi winked at Fatima.
“All right. Fatima, you help her out.”
Fatima completed Halima’s line, “Then you and I could fly, we two.”
But Halima instantly opposed this.
“No, that’s not what I meant,” she said. “Wait, I’ll get it.”
And, clearing her throat, she truly did.
“So you and I could fly to heaven above.”
Her words were met with an outburst of laughter. Red with anger and shame, she got up to run to the door, but Miriam blocked her way.
Then they were all at pains to comfort and encourage her. Gradually she calmed down and wiped her tears away. Adi explained that the art of making poetry was a blossom that could only be attained with prolonged effort and that she shouldn’t despair if she failed the first time. Then he called on the girls to continue, but most of them had already run out of rhymes. On their own, Fatima and Zainab took up a kind of dialogue.
Fatima: “Let what you’ve heard, Halima, be for your education.”
Zainab: “Fatima, you’re the last one to give lessons, in my estimation.”