The house of the Abdul bin Ibrahim family was adjacent to the zaouia. Like Sibylla’s, it was two stories, brilliantly whitewashed, with no windows facing the street and a blue wooden front door.
Nadira knocked. “El Sayyida Sibylla wishes to speak with Sayyida Almaz,” she told the guard looking through the hatch.
He disappeared and, a short time later, they were received by a female slave who led them across the inner courtyard to the women’s quarters.
Unlike the qaid’s harem, this private area was very plain. The living room was square and not particularly large. A stodgy cast-iron chandelier hung from the ceiling and quotations from the Koran on the walls were evidence of the inhabitants’ deep devotion. Woven rugs lay on the dark wood floor, sofas stood along the walls, and there was a low table with a ceramic bowl of dates and candied almonds. The only luxury was an artfully carved cedar table bearing a leather-bound and gold-embossed edition of the holy book. The silk rugs, silver chandeliers, elaborately glazed wall tiles, and crystal mirrors that made Qaid Samir’s harem so decadent and carefree were absent.
Sibylla recognized Sabri’s mother right away by her tawny skin, large brown eyes, and classically beautiful Abyssinian features. Consequently, the plump little Arab woman, whose gold-laden hands belied her demure black garment, had to be Haji Abdul’s first wife. The two wives sat as far apart as the small room would allow and did not deign to look at each other.
Three young women sat between them on a divan. They were wearing colorful garments and watched the visitors curiously with their kohl-rimmed eyes. Sibylla took them to be three of Sabri’s six younger sisters. The oldest was probably Emily’s age. She held a baby on her lap, and a toddler sat by her feet, contentedly sucking on a date. Lastly, there was an old woman wrapped in a blanket sitting in an armchair and staring at Sibylla with opaque, blind eyes: Sabri’s grandmother. Her nostrils vibrated with suspicion.
The women received Sibylla in silence and reservation compared to the exuberant welcome that she was accustomed to in Arab households. After all, standing before them was the mother of the girl who had turned their son’s head so much he had thrown honor and propriety to the wind. But Sibylla was determined not to let the cool reception discourage her.
“Assalamu alaikum,” she said pleasantly and stepped toward the old woman’s armchair to pay her respects. In doing so, she tripped over a baby’s rattle lying on the floor.
Sabri’s sisters giggled behind their hands and, finally, the first wife rose and came toward Sibylla. “Wa-alaikum salam, Sayyida Sibylla. My house is also your house.”
“Please give me the honor of presenting my modest gifts.” Sibylla signaled Nadira to present the silk shawls. She noted with satisfaction that the women’s eyes lit up with interest. It was obvious they would have liked to put them on immediately instead of placing them aside as etiquette demanded.
“Please allow me to share the foods of my home as a way of expressing my thanks.” The first wife clapped her hands and ordered slaves to bring tea and refreshments. Then she invited Sibylla to sit next to her. Nadira stood by the door.
While two slaves served fragrant tea, sweet almond pastry, and fresh labneh with pomegranate jelly, a third brought a basin with water and towels for hand washing.
The women ate, drank tea, and exchanged some small talk, but Sibylla knew that was only because hospitality here was sacrosanct. Once politeness had been established, one would come directly to the point.
And indeed, the first wife soon said, “To what do I owe the honor of your visit, Sayyida Sibylla?”
Sibylla slowly set her tea glass on the table. She had thought carefully about how best to reach her goal and had come to the conclusion that it was best to speak mother to mother, even though it was impolitic to pass over the first wife.
“Honorable Sayyida Almaz.” She turned and looked at Sabri’s mother directly. “My daughter has gone away, and I am afraid that I will never see her again.”
Almaz’s eyes grew wide. She sat bolt upright on the sofa and Sibylla had the feeling she knew exactly what she was trying to say.
“Well, she’s not here,” the first wife said snidely, obviously feeling insulted.
Sabri’s grandmother chimed in as well. “That infidel girl has destroyed our domestic peace!” She beat the armrest of her chair with her bony hand.
The three daughters of the house were silent, their eyes flitting back and forth between Sibylla and Almaz.
At last, Almaz spoke up. Her voice was not loud, but calm and dignified. “No mother should have to give up her child, Sayyida Sibylla. But what does my son have to do with your fear?”
“My daughter and your son boarded a ship to England. I have just learned that they have gotten married on board this ship. They are now in Lisbon and fear the wrath of their families.”
The first wife wheezed in surprise and the old woman lamented, “Oh, that seductress! More treacherous than a mirage in the desert sand, she has lured the son of this house to his ruin!”
Almaz uttered a distraught cry, but one of Sabri’s unmarried sisters sighed longingly, “By God, how great a love that must be!”
Sibylla looked at Almaz. “Did you know about their plans?”
Sabri’s mother shook her head. “My son left a letter for his father in which he told him that he was returning to England to further his medical studies. He wrote that he did not wish to marry the bride his father had chosen for him. But he did not mention another bride.”
“Our lord is very angry about this letter,” the first wife interjected with a hint of triumph in her voice. “It was extremely humiliating for him to tell the qaid. Our lord managed to postpone the wedding, but he had to increase the mahr for the bride by several dirham.”
“Sabri is already married. The wedding to the qaid’s daughter will not take place,” Sibylla countered firmly. “Do you agree with me, Sayyida Almaz?”
“The opinion of the Abyssinian concubine means nothing. The master of this house will decide!” the old woman croaked.
“Then I will never see my daughter again, and you, Sayyida Almaz, will never again see your son. My daughter has written that she and Sabri will return to Morocco only if Haji Abdul accepts their union .” Sibylla signaled Nadira. She gave her Emily’s letter, which she read from aloud.
There was silence when she finished, then Almaz sobbed loudly. Sabri’s sisters sat frozen in their seats. Only the baby gurgled, unperturbed by the general tension, and reached for his mother’s dangling earrings.
Sibylla said emphatically, “Our children love each other, and if we do not show them that we love them too, they will leave us!”
“Love! Such a big word,” the first wife snarled. “But honor is a big word as well. And the honor of the qaid’s own daughter has been besmirched by these two unfortunates!”
“Please, Sayyida Almaz,” Sibylla urged, suddenly fearing that Sabri’s mother might surrender to the first wife. “You want to see your son again, and I don’t want to lose my daughter. Please let us write to our children to assure them that they will always be welcome in their parents’ homes!”
“We do not wish to lose our dear brother,” the eldest sister declared and the other two nodded emphatically.
Almaz wiped her eyes with the corner of her veil. “You’re right, Sayyida Sibylla,” she managed to say at last. “I want to see my son again. We will write this letter at once.”
“The wedding of our son, Sabri, with the daughter of the qaid will not take place, my husband. But there will be another wedding,” Almaz announced that evening. She was heeding Sibylla’s advice to simply present him with facts and doing her best to sound resolute.
Haji Abdul, wearing only a long white shirt, reclined on a cushion-covered bed and smoked shisha, watching appreciatively as his wife undressed.
Now, however, a deep furrow of irritation developed between his eyebrows. “Has God robbed you of your senses, woman? What are you saying?”
He did not wish to think about his son right now. Sabri’s flight had hurt him badly and caused a lot of unpleasantness. In the souk, the hamam, the mosque, no matter where he went, other men gave him contemptuous looks. He had the impression they were whispering behind his back and, in the tearoom on Friday, after the last prayers of the day, the qaid had let it be known that another bridegroom might be more suitable for his daughter.
He had a nerve to say that, considering I doubled the mahr for his daughter, thought Haji Abdul as he sucked grimly on his pipe. And now Almaz was talking nonsense!
“Be silent, woman, and come to me!” he demanded and patted the bed invitingly with his free hand.
But Almaz, his gentle, favorite wife, would have none of it. The flickering light of the candle made her beautiful face appear like a mask of stone. “I had a visit today from Sayyida Sibylla. We spoke about our children and decided that, as soon as they are back from Lisbon, there will be a big wedding celebration.”
“Excuse me?” Haji Abdul was confused. “Who is celebrating a wedding? And why Lisbon? Sabri is in London.”
“Your son and the English girl Emily are going to marry.”