The Lioness of Morocco(53)

André jumped off his horse and threw the reins to a stable boy. Then he helped the young woman dismount. Aynur watched him hold the stirrup steady with one hand and extend the other. The young woman smiled nervously, slid out of the saddle, and stood close to André.

Aynur grasped the locket with her children’s hair that she wore on a silver chain around her neck. Then she resolutely lifted her chin.





Chapter Twenty-Five

Emily sat next to her father on one of the two sofas in the dining room and tried to look as confident as possible. She was glad that a flat cedarwood table separated her and Aynur, since the lady of the house had given her a cool reception indeed. Now she sat enthroned on the opposite side of the table, demonstrably surrounded by her sons. Cowering on a chair in a corner was a frightening figure: a very old Negro woman, her talon-like fingers clutching the armrests and her gaze unremittingly fixed on Emily. André had introduced her as Tamra, Aynur’s servant. Still, Emily felt uneasy at the sight of the almost-bald old woman, who continually made disagreeable grunting sounds.

The dining room was not furnished in the European style like her home in Mogador. This one had low sofas with colorful throws. A wool rug covered the blue, green, and red floor tiles, bowls of fragrant dried flowers filled in the alcoves, and iron chandeliers threw flickering shapes on the whitewashed walls. The arched windows were large, with elegant colored panes that dated back to the previous owner, the late Sultan Moulay Abd al-Rahman.

The hearth gave off cracking sounds, the old woman in her chair went on mumbling to herself, but everything else was shrouded in explosive silence. Aynur sat very straight on the sofa. With her embroidered blouse, her wide, colorful skirt, and her opulent silver jewelry, she reminded Emily of a pretty doll, if not for her tight lips and the hostility in her brown eyes.

However, Emily was determined not to be intimidated. If she had succeeded in standing up to her own formidable mother, she could surely do the same with this woman.

The door was opened and Emily’s half sister, Malika, entered, followed by two servants. The women brought platters with steaming couscous, fresh flatbread, and tureens from which emanated the tempting aromas of mint, honey, and lemon.

Malika was a younger version of her mother, so small and dainty that Emily felt like a giant. Her skin glistened and her shiny pitch-black hair reached down to her hips. Whenever she moved, the silver bangles she wore on both wrists jingled. Like her mother, she was dressed in a tunic, a wide calf-length skirt, and boots made of soft leather. She reminded Emily of the dancer in the music box her stepgrandmother Mary had sent her from England years ago.

Malika daintily placed the heavy platter on the table and threw an inquisitive glance at Emily with her gorgeous kohl-rimmed eyes. Emily found herself hoping that they would be not only sisters but also friends.

At a nod from Aynur, the servants left the room. André placed his arm around Emily’s shoulder and cleared his throat.

“My dear family, I’m sure you’re asking yourselves who our guest is.”

“I hope it is the wife you have chosen for me,” Frédéric said impertinently.

Emily blushed, Aynur hissed something to her son, and André merely shook his head and laughed. “I’m afraid I have to disappoint you, son, but I am still expecting that you will choose your own bride.” He looked at Aynur and paused for a long moment. “This young woman is Emily. I have known her for a long time, but it was only a few days ago that I discovered that she is my daughter. From now on, Qasr el Bahia will be her home as much as it is yours.”

The room was so still that one could have heard a pin drop. Then the old woman in her corner uttered a whistling sound as though exhaling all her breath.

Emily looked uncertainly at Aynur, who had her hand before her mouth. Her face revealed surprise and pain, but also relief. At least she no longer looked hostile, and Emily felt her confidence return.

Malika was the first to rise. She walked to Emily with her arms wide and kissed her. “Asselama outletsma, welcome, Sister!” she quietly said in her Berber language before switching to Arabic. “I have always wanted a sister.”

The brothers too gathered around their new family member. Christian was a little shy, Frédéric announced grandiloquently that he would be able to show off two beautiful sisters at the next tribal meeting, and the little one shyly touched Emily’s curls.

Tamra’s head wobbled and she grunted something, but Emily couldn’t discern whether it was a greeting or curse.

Now Aynur got up, went to Emily, and embraced her formally. “Welcome to Qasr el Bahia, my husband’s daughter. His guests are also my guests.”



Only much later on that night, when they were alone in their bedroom, did Aynur tell her husband what she felt in her heart of hearts.

“So the Engliziya got herself pregnant by you. I have known there would be misfortune ever since Tamra read the bones of a dove for me!” She turned her back to André, but observed him carefully in her silver mirror while massaging argan oil into her hair.

André was sitting on the edge of the bed, taking off his boots. He grimaced at her words and angrily threw his boots in the space between two carved trunks. “Will you never stop believing that old witch’s nonsense? And another thing: I’ll thank Tamra and you not to characterize Emily as a misfortune ever again, is that clear?”

He longed for peace and quiet and, after a week’s absence, to hold Aynur in his arms again. She looked sensual and seductive in her flowing, floor-length silk shirt. The flickering lamplight outlined her figure in shadow and made her bronze skin shimmer. When she shook out her long black hair, making its ends brush against the curves of her bottom, he became aware of his growing desire.

“Come here,” he whispered to her. “I’ve had an exhausting day. Let’s talk about it tomorrow.”

Aynur turned around, but stayed where she was. Her eyes smoldered in the semidarkness. “Why did the Engliziya wait until now to give you the child? Or did you not want the child?”

André tried not to groan. It was clear Aynur would not drop the subject until she had gotten answers.

“It’s all very complicated, especially for Emily,” he answered tentatively. “I brought her with me so that she could get some peace of mind.”

“I understand. The Engliziya was angry when she saw me at Qasr el Bahia with you. She must have known then that she was expecting a child. I had thought that foreign women were more careful than that.” A catlike smile flashed across her face. “You betrayed her love. That is why you deserve to feel her wrath. I would also let you feel my wrath if you betrayed my love.”

Before André had a chance to answer, she blew out the lamp and darkness engulfed the room. He heard her naked feet softly padding on the floor. When she sat next to him, he could feel her breath on his neck. She smelled like the roses growing outside in their garden.

“Do you share her bed when you are in Mogador?” Aynur whispered in his ear.

In all the years they had been together, she had never asked him this before, but when he heard the quiver in her voice, it dawned on him how much the uncertainty must have tormented her. He felt for her hand. “My bringing Emily here has nothing to do with Sibylla and me. It concerns only Emily and me.”

She withdrew her hand. “You haven’t answered my question.”

“I do not share my bed with her. Never. Not once since you entered into my life!” he answered more vehemently than he had intended. “Are you satisfied?”

Aynur leaned over his ear. “That depends . . .”

He pulled her into his arms. “Don’t worry. You are the best companion I could wish for. Without you, I would not have my other wonderful children and Qasr el Bahia would not be what it is today. Do you think I could forget that?”

Appeased, she placed her cheek on his chest. “I believe you, beloved. Your daughter shall want for nothing here. Please forgive me for violating the holy laws of hospitality. It will not happen again.”

He lifted her chin and kissed her. She deftly pulled his shirt over his head, then kneeled behind him on the bed and began massaging his back. “Hard as a rock. It must be painful, beloved. But I will make the pain go away.”

He leaned forward and surrendered to her even, powerful ministrations. “Ç’est merveilleux. You have magical hands, Aynur.”

Her hands slid over his chest and stomach, slipped under his waistband, and grasped his member. “You want me,” she declared with satisfaction.

Instead of answering, he turned and gently pressed her onto the mattress.



Mogador, end of April, 1861



The crowd in front of the Bab Doukkala grew silent as the funeral procession neared. Four pallbearers entered first, Samuel Toledano’s coffin on their shoulders. They were followed by the mourners: first, the rabbi; followed by Aaron Toledano, the eldest son and new patriarch; Samuel’s widow, who was being supported by her daughters; and the rest of the family. Last came more relatives, friends, business associates, and neighbors from the Jewish community of Mogador.

Sibylla took a deep breath. The long procession of silent, darkly attired people depressed her. André had been in Mogador three weeks earlier. Although he had conveyed greetings from Emily, she suspected that he had made that up in order to console her. At any rate, he had not brought the letter from her daughter that she so longed for.