Granada (33 page)

Saleema was terrified as she sat alone in her cell because she didn't understand what was happening. At first she thought it was Saad they wanted, but now that the investigation started she knew it was she they intended—but why? She wondered if they were going to charge her for failing to attend mass on Sundays and holy days of obligation, but the judge never mentioned anything of the sort. She needed to be clear-headed in order to ponder, reflect, and understand everything that was happening. She needed to remain calm, but how could she be calm with all that humiliation? The woman threw at her a woolen rag that was supposed to be her dress, and then led her into the main hall and forced her to walk in backwards unlike all God's creatures. "Turn," the woman said, and Saleema turned around only to face three interrogators, with their waxen faces, curved noses turned upward, and their scrutinizing eyes piercing her very soul. She couldn't understand what they wanted from her. She was confused, and she felt both utter fear and bitterness. She was seething with an anger that could only be mollified by attacking these men, the scribe and the giant woman, tearing off their heads and shredding them to pieces. But how could she ever erase the humiliation? There was nothing that could undo that.
"The
billy
goat
with
which
you
copulate!"
She wondered whether to laugh or cry, or bang her head against the wall and smash it instead of smashing their heads that she couldn't stand.
"The
billy
goat
with
which
you
copulate!"

As her insides roiled in anger, Saleema not for a moment harbored any illusion that the judge might be a man of integrity, with the sufficient knowledge and learning to weigh the facts judiciously, and the strength of conviction to rein in his colleagues from any belligerence or excessiveness that he might deem uncalled for. And
there they sat taking turns, acting as though they were men of learning, schooled in the textbooks of the Ancients, steeped in the knowledge of the facts and details of theological sciences.

The youngest inquisitor, Alonso Madera, consumed by the fervor of maintaining the sanctity of the faith and protecting it from any harm or injury, spoke in a resounding, passionate voice, and the fiery gleam in his eyes masked his pinched, severe face, his crooked nose, and his thin, tight lips.

"We should seize the little girl since she carries the seed and soul of the devil. There's no doubt or confusion in what the accused said. Her husband went away six years ago, and she gave birth to the girl three years ago. Therefore, the girl is the product of the physical union between the accused and the devil who came to her in the form of the billy goat."

Judge Agapida smiled. All along he was patient and supportive of his two assistants. He never doubted for one moment that their enthusiasm, which at times pushed them to extremes, was deeply rooted in their steadfast faith and an ardent desire to render service to their religion.

"My dear Alonso, the devil is a spirit and not a body. He is incapable of producing one seed of human life."

"But Your Honor, Satan, as is well known and proven, roams the earth and crosses it from one end to the other to gather seeds, including human sperm, to produce whatever he wants. Saint Augustine emphasized that in the third chapter of his book
On
the Trin
ity,
when he said that devils collect human sperm and preserve it in the bodies of humans. In his commentary on the Book of Exodus, the scholar Walahfrid Strabo
¹
wrote that the devils scout the earth and gather all kinds of seeds that they can activate to produce various creatures. Likewise, Your Honor, the commentary on that very work, which has a reference to the sons of God who attempt to se
duce young girls, says that the giants were produced by lecherous devils who shamelessly copulate with women."

1. Walahfrid Strabo, 807—849, was a German scholar who wrote on Biblical exegesis and early Christian liturgy. His evocation enhances the irony in that he wrote extensively on botany and the medicinal use of herbs and plants.

At this point Miguel Aguilar interceded. He was a seasoned lawyer with extensive knowledge and experience, and when he spoke he exuded trust and composure.

"The devil is a spirit, as Father Antonio said, and the birth of a child is a function of the living human body. Despite their extraordinary powers, devils cannot endow with life the bodies they inhabit, nor can they give them the capacity to produce life. Devils can fill the world with plagues, cause storms to happen, inflict men with impotence, and wreck havoc wherever they go. They can enter the bodies of those who cannot resist their temptation and cause destruction in the life of human beings. All these things they can do, but they cannot produce one seed of human life that will create a human being made of flesh and blood."

"Do you mean to say that this little girl is not related to the devil?" asked Alonso with disappointment.

"No, but she must be related to another man whose sperm the devil removed directly, or by way of another devil, because there are many degrees of devils, and the most noble of them are those who see themselves above fornicating with women; therefore, they collect sperm, as they do other seeds, and give it to the lesser devils who consort with women and plant the seed in the right place. In this instance, the devil does what he's supposed to do to impregnate the woman, but the power to impregnate itself does not come from the power of the devil or the body it invades, but rather from the power of life that comes from a certain man in a certain place. Therefore, this little girl is not the offspring of the devil but of a man neither we nor the accused know."

"Then she won't be burned?" asked Alonso with a tone of defeat in his voice.

"She will not be burned," responded Agapida with resolution. A moment of silence passed before Agapida resumed speaking. "This has not been a question of our immediate concern because there are clear answers to it in the writings of both the Ancients and
contemporary scholars. The question that does warrant discussion is, do we torture the woman to extract more information she may be hiding, or does it suffice that we undertake another round of interrogations to secure her confession?"

"Today we have heard from her three confessions. In the first she admitted that she did in fact draw the picture of the billy goat. She stated but then retracted the second one when she said that her husband had been away for six years and that her daughter was three years old. The third proves her unbelief in God and her apostasy, since she openly declared that she does not know whether the devil exists or not."

"This denial alone allows us to condemn her of heresy," said Alonso Madera. "Her statement that she doesn't know whether the devil exists or not is a rejection of one of the fundamental principles of Catholic doctrine. In light of that, I believe that torture is necessary because she most surely harbors other heretical views." He then turned to Father Agapida. "Didn't you say, Your Honor, before asking me to join you the first time in an inquisition, that witches who consort with the devil speak softly and are not prone to tears because they rely on the power of Satan to support them and convince them they have the power not only to withstand the suffering of a trial but to come out of it unscathed?"

"This is correct. And I did observe just that today. The accused did not cry, she did not plead for mercy, nor did she lose her composure. This can only confirm that she is a consort of the devil. Do you recommend that we use torture or undertake another round of interrogation?"

Miguel Aguilar cleared his throat before speaking.

"In my estimation, it would be more appropriate to further the interrogation, to ask her again some of our previous questions and be certain of her answers. We should also ask her some new questions, and in the light of those decide whether or not to impose torture."

This response seemed to satisfy everyone. They all stood up to go and have dinner and to relax their minds and bodies after a long and grueling day.

26

S
aleema tries to calm herself as she sits in solitary confinement. She doesn't sleep because only with open eyes can she keep the rats away from her and repel the nightmares she cannot repel when she's sleeping, only to awaken in a seizure of terror. She lies awake wondering what it is that will give her peace of mind. The giant woman who brings her food told her she was a witch, that it was proven and declared, and like all the hundreds of other such trials conducted by the Office of Inquisition, this one would end with her being burned at the stake. She ran the scene through her mind. They would tie her up, lead her into a public square packed with curious spectators anxiously awaiting the stack of wood to be set afire, like the burning of the books . . . How did her grandfather Abu Jaafar bear to watch the blaze of fire as it ravaged one book after another, to see the pages curl up on themselves as if the fire were warding itself against them and continuing on its path of destruction, consuming, burning, snapping off, and turning into coal everything in its way until nothing remained but dust and ashes? And what was written in them, where did that all go? Saleema wondered. Weren't human beings inscribed sheets, strings of words having meaning that, when put together, connote the whole that a person signifies? She is Saleema bint Jaafar, and in one split second she wanted to defeat death, but then she changed her mind and accepted a mission less impossible. She read books, treated the sick, and deliberately disregarded the injustice of the Castilians. When she walked through the markets, she didn't con
cern herself with the shops like other women did, but rather with the face of a woman she prescribed a remedy for but did not heal, and she would examine the face and the symptoms, and run them through her mind and think of a treatment.

"Saleema bint Jaafar," the inquisitors asked, "why do people resent you?"

They lie. They never asked the people of Albaicin. Will they be able to look her in the eye when they light the fire beneath her? Will they be able to endure what Abu Jaafar endured, but what she could not, the day they burned the books? And Aysha? She tried not to picture her or think about her, pushing away what can defeat the body and soul and bring the mind to the brink of madness. She conjured the image of her grandfather, Abu Jaafar, the grown-up who inscribed the first word in her book. It wasn't her father or mother who did that, but the grandfather who announced that he would provide her with an education just as he would for Hasan, and who whispered to his wife that Saleema would be like the educated women of Cordova. Her grandmother laughed and repeated those words to Saleema. And so it was inscribed. The only person she ever treated severely was Saad. Why, she asked herself, when he loved her and she loved and still loves him? "I made you suffer, Saad. Will you ever forgive me?" she thought to herself. She wondered if he was still alive or had he preceded her there. Was
there
an illusion or a reality? She wondered if she would encounter her grandfather, her little son who died, and her own father, if in fact
there
really existed. She thought about meeting her father. He won't recognize her because the little girl he fathered has become a full-grown woman in her forties. She would probably recognize him because he must resemble Hasan. Poor Hasan! He wanted so much to protect his family, and out of nowhere comes this unexpected catastrophe. But he's not alone. Maryama is with him. She brings life to the house and nurtures his children and Aysha as well. Saleema broke down in tears. Her body shook as she tried in vain to suppress the sobbing.

When Saleema went through the ordeal of the red hot iron and walked with it in measured steps, the inquisitors did not come to the conclusion, as would be expected upon undertaking such a trial, that the accused was truthful in her testimony. In fact, they were as convinced as ever that she was deeply involved with a powerful demon who empowered her to cause injury. On the following day, they resumed their interrogation of her, and she added nothing more to what she had already told them. She may have even aroused more suspicion when the judge asked her if she journeyed long distances at night on the back of a flying beast, to which she replied that she had never heard of any human being able to do such a thing with the exception of the Muslim prophet, Muhammad. When asked to explain and elaborate on her answer, she told them the story of the winged creature who carried Muhammad from a mosque in Mecca to a mosque in Jerusalem. When the judge asked her if she believed that this actually took place, Saleema avoided answering the question directly: "I've been baptized, and I've become a Christian."

These new details drew the attention of the inquisitors to another aspect of the case that had not occurred to them previously, that is, that the accusation of apostasy may not be limited to the accused's consorting with the devil, but could extend to the veracity of her faith. It appeared that despite her baptism she did not relinquish her Muhammadan faith, and therefore her consorting with the devil was intended to cause harm to the Catholic Church. The inquisitors tried to extract a confession from her on this point. When they failed to do so, the judge offered her a choice and a warning. "Do not take this matter lightly, for you will have to hold a bar of burning iron." She answered that she was ready, and they watched as she held the bar with her two hands and walked with it. The inquisitors shuddered at the thought of how she did this, as did the scribe whose writing table was set up in the courtyard so that he could record everything that transpired therein.

When the members of the tribunal withdrew from the main hall, the judge congratulated himself and his colleagues because they did not soften on this woman, and for taking all the necessary
precautions to protect themselves from such a powerful witch. Each one of them had made a talisman of holy salt, and they wrote down the seven words that Jesus Christ uttered on the cross on a small piece of paper and hung them like scapulars around their necks and against their chests, underneath their black cassocks.