The Jewel Of Medina (29 page)

From outside the tent, Umar shouted my name. Safwan’s hands grew cold. “Al-Lah save me!”

“Shhh! He’ll hear you. Come with me,” I whispered. I yanked him behind my screen with me. “Bend down, or he’ll see you.” I could feel his hand trembling in mine.

“You may enter,” I called out.

“What if he comes back here?” Safwan rasped.

“Calm yourself! He’s not going to come back here. Not seeing me is the whole point of this screen.”

“Did you say something,
yaa
A’isha?” Umar’s voice rumbled.

“I said, ‘I hate this screen.’”

“It is for your own protection,” Umar said. “You will learn to appreciate it, in time.”

“I doubt it,” I said. Safwan had stopped trembling, praise al-Lah, but then he did something far more dangerous: He lifted my hand to his lips and began kissing my palm, sending shivers up my spine and into my voice.

“Did you come here to discuss the new rules?” I called out.

“You sound unwell,” Umar said. I pulled my hand from Safwan’s lips.

“I’m … tired, that’s all. What do you want?”

“The Prophet has sent me to tell you we will leave immediately,” he said. “Pack up your belongings, and prepare for the tent to be dismantled.”

“Where is Muhammad? Why couldn’t he tell me this himself?”

“You will learn why soon enough.” I heard the tent flap swish, and when I peered around the edge of my screen Umar was gone.

“Get out of here now, Safwan! Muhammad may be on his way.”

“Will you wait for me tonight?”

I looked up into his eyes, listening for my heart’s answer. Then I knew our time had run out.

“Leave,” I said.

“I will look for you, A’isha. At the Wadi al-Hamd. Under the highest date-palm.”

“We shall see,” I said. “Now, go.”

Safwan leaned down and brushed my lips with a treacherous kiss, then ducked out into the frenzy. I knew he wouldn’t be noticed. After all, he was the one who’d taught me how to spy.

“I’ll see you tonight,” I said softly, when I knew he couldn’t hear. “Maybe.” Then I turned to the bed and began packing up my dreams for another night, with another man.

A
N
U
NPICKED
F
LOWER

W
ADI AL
-H
AMD OASIS
, J
ANUARY
627

As our caravan departed for Medina, my mind wavered with each sway of my camel’s back. Safwan’s offer of escape made my pulse leap in anticipation. With him I’d be able to live out my dream of freedom, for hadn’t we conjured that notion together long ago? Yet my heart trembled at the thought of leaving Muhammad. Would al-Lah strike me dead for abandoning His Prophet?

I leaned back in my seat, dizzy with indecision. Muhammad had been my morning of light for as long as I could remember. We had always had more of a father-child relationship, it was true, but I depended on his friendship. Yet unless he changed his view of me from child to woman, I’d never have the control over my life that I needed. The longer his caravan of wives grew, the slimmer my chances of catching his eye, of conceiving his heir, and of holding my place as number one in his
harim.
How could I endure the dread gathering like a dark cloud in me with each new marriage? Yet—how could I bear losing Muhammad, never to see or touch or talk with him again?

When he came to visit me in my
hawdaj
, I would decide. When I saw his face, I would know what to do. Maybe he would apologize for leaving
me waiting in our tent.
I was disappointed, also, A’isha,
he would say.
I did not want another wife, but I had no choice.

My intentions shifted with my body, back and forth, leave or stay, Safwan or Muhammad, as our caravan rode into the night, torches flaming against the deep, their lights glimmering in the wild eyes of desert rats, the light defining rocks as rocks and not jackals about to pounce or, worse, dagger-wielding Bedouins. We illumined the sands as brightly as if the sun shone in the sky, but peer and yearn though I might, I couldn’t glimpse Muhammad. At last I asked the driver of my camel where he might be.

“He accompanies his new bride-to-be, the princess of the Mustaliq,” the driver said. “Shall I have him summoned for you?” I dropped the curtain and slumped in my seat.

At the Wadi al-Hamd oasis, the caravan stopped for a few hours’ rest—and Muhammad finally came to me. Or, I should say, he walked past my camel and thrust his face through the curtains for barely an instant.

“Greetings, A’isha. I am glad to see you are well,” he said—and then disappeared again.

“Wait!” I pushed the annoying curtains aside and called out to him. “
Yaa
Muhammad, come back!” I saw the flicker of a frown before he summoned a smile and strode over to me. I forced myself to smile, also. Everything depended on these next few moments. I reached for his hand and stroked it gently with my fingertips.

“I’ve been expecting you,
habibi
,” I said as sweetly as possible. “Are we stopping to camp? You and I had plans for the evening, remember?”

His eyes darted to the front of the caravan, where he had been riding with his new princess. “That will not be possible.”

“Muhammad, you hardly slept yesterday. Surely you’ll come and lie down with me for a little while, at least.” I burned with shame at the whine edging my plea.

“I have others to take care of for now,” he said. “Two hundred women and their children have joined us from the Mustaliq camp.”

I flung his hand away. “When did you begin worrying about the welfare of war prisoners? No—don’t bother. I know the answer. When you became betrothed to one of them, isn’t that right? Aren’t you planning to marry a Mustaliq she-dog?”

“She is a princess, A’isha. Juwairriyah, the chief’s daughter. Having her
in the
harim
will be valuable for us. Think about it! Today her people wanted to kill us. When she becomes my wife, the Mustaliq will be our allies.”

I hesitated. For the
umma
, an alliance with the Mustaliq would be very good indeed. For me, though, another sister-wife would be as useful as a hump on my back.

“I saw the Mustaliq fight,” I said. “Wouldn’t you rather have them helping our enemies?”

“They belong to the biggest tribe in Hijaz,” Muhammad said. “They hold much influence. This is the work of al-Lah! First He handed us an easy victory, then He awarded me the chief’s daughter. This marriage will be good for the
umma
, and for
islam
.”

“Praise al-Lah, then!” I said, smirking, although my heart seemed to crumble. “But why do you have to be with her tonight?”

“She is unbelievably beautiful.” His eyes lost their focus for a moment, as though he were gazing into the distance. “As long as she remains with me, she is safe. But if she were to escape, there would be no one to look out for her. And if she were harmed, her father would become a terrible foe.”

“The poor thing,” I said. Rage unraveled my voice, but I knew I’d lose him if I showed my anger. “Send her to me, and I will watch her.”

Muhammad shook his head. “You would watch her run all the way back to Muraysi.”

“Why don’t you come and watch me, instead?” My smile was meant to seduce, but it felt as though hands were pulling it too tight. “Maybe
I’m
planning to run away.”

“I do not have time for this nonsense, A’isha. If there is anything you need to discuss, it will have to wait until we are home. Now I must go and make a place for Juwairriyah to sleep.”

Al-Lah forbid that her soft princess hands should be roughened by unrolling a bed! While Muhammad hurried off to care for his bride-to-be, I lugged my sheepskin to a grassy spot and spread it out, muttering. The sweet fragrance of jasmine wound around me like a vine, choking me. The nighttime breeze heaved a mournful sigh, rattling the heads of the date-palms. The rustle of their fronds made a sound like feet running across the desert sand. The moon blazed a trail of light that obscured the stars.

I shivered under my camel’s-hide blanket and snuggled deep, wishing for Muhammad’s arms to keep me warm. But no, he was busy tonight—again. Just when I’d been on the cusp of his desire, just when he’d begun to glimpse the woman in me! But it was useless. Muhammad would never love me except as a daughter. I’d been a fool to think I could change his love, that I could forge it with my own fire into something deeper and more mature—into something that would produce a child for me and an heir for him.

In his eyes,
I
was a child. How long before my new sister-wives noticed? Then I’d be forced to spend the rest of my days serving, pleasing, smiling, cringing. Caring for their babies instead of my own. Pain twisted my stomach, clenching me like a fist. Then I remembered Safwan, and the pain seeped away. He’d offered to free me from all this, to take me away to a place where we would make our own rules. I sighed and curled around that thought, cupping it like a warm flame in my belly. Safwan would arrive soon, and I would be waiting for him. The rest was in the hands of al-Lah.

Losing the caravan was surprisingly simple. I handed my bedroll to the men packing my camel, then I stepped into the
hawdaj
and, with a clamoring heart, waited for them to turn their backs. As they tied on our beds and amused one another with exaggerated verses about the battle with the Mustaliq, I slipped away across the still-warm sand to hide behind a dune. I weighed so little, I knew the men wouldn’t feel the difference as they lifted the
hawdaj
onto the camel’s back. And since no one but Muhammad was allowed to look behind the curtain, I faced no danger of discovery. He wouldn’t return to me tonight, not if it meant tearing himself away from
her
.

From my hiding place I heard the cry to move forward, and the camels’ belches and the clanking of cooking pots as the caravan resumed its journey home. This afternoon they would arrive in Medina, set down my
hawdaj
, and wait for me to emerge. My pulse surged as I imagined the shock on my attendants’ faces when they realized I was gone. What would Muhammad think then? Would he remember my frown and my words about running away? Would his heart cry out for me? Or would he turn red with rage and leap on his horse, then tear across the desert in search of
me? I looked frantically about for a hiding place. But could I hide from the Prophet of God?

The sister-wives would come rushing out at the news that I was gone. Sawdah would wave her arms and rustle the curtains as if I might be hiding in their folds. Hafsa would weep, fearing that I was lost to her forever. Umm Salama and Zaynab would have to force their tears. Without me in the
harim
, they’d compete only with each other for Muhammad’s heart—unless they found a new rival in the princess Juwairriyah.

As for the men, what an uproar my disappearance would cause them! Umar would burst with fury, especially when Safwan turned up missing, also.
Women are good for only one thing: trouble,
he would say.
That is why I keep mine locked up at home.

Ali would be thrilled to see me gone. He’d goad my father :
It is unfortunate that your daughter has brought such shame upon you, Abu Bakr
. He’d try to push him out of the circle of Companions. And my
abi
, who loved me best, would be so torn with grief he wouldn’t resist. My disappearance would destroy his friendship with Muhammad, for how could he face him after this?

The honor of the entire family depended on its women. My father, mother, sister, and brothers, even Asma’s husband Zubayr and their son, Abdallah—all would suffer because of my actions. They’d endure finger-pointing, whispering, rude laughter, public poems about Safwan and me. They’d become known as the family of the adulteress who’d deceived alLah’s Prophet. My mother would wear dark blue and scratch her face with her fingernails, then try to forget I’d ever lived. In the eyes of the
umma
, I would be dead. No—worse than dead. Speaking my name would be forbidden. No woman would ever name her daughter “A’isha” again.