The Lioness of Morocco(80)

When the door swung open and Sibylla entered with Eugenie and Victoria, André’s heart skipped a beat. He thought that Sibylla, with her silvery hair and sparkling blue eyes, was the most impressive person in the room. He was beside himself with joy when she gave him a special smile before greeting everyone else.

“Assalamu alaikum, gentlemen! May I offer you some refreshment?”

She signaled Firyal, who had been waiting by the buffet, and who began pouring tea. A young boy who often helped out in the kitchen offered flatbread, fresh yogurt, dates, and plums.

Eugenie and Victoria fairly gaped at the gifts, Emily’s mahr. They picked up the precious gold jewelry, sniffed the valuable perfumes, fingered the bright fabrics, silk rugs, porcelain, and silver candlesticks. Haji Abdul really had spared no expense, even though, according to custom, he was responsible not only for the mahr, but also for the cost of the feast. André and Sibylla were not allowed to contribute, because that would have called into question the bride’s virtue. Their wedding gift was a house for the young couple. Consul Willshire and his wife were returning to England in a few weeks, and André had used his ties to Sultan Sidi Mohammed to enable him and Sibylla to buy the Willshires’ house.

But for now, Sabri and Emily had no idea.

After the guests had partaken of food and drink and André expressed his thanks effusively to Haji Abdul, Sabri and André left to go to the qadi to sign the marriage contract. Sibylla proceeded to the party tent on the beach in order to supervise the preparations there.



The tent held two hundred guests. It was turquoise like the sea, and with pennants and ribbons blowing in the wind it resembled a fairy-tale palace. It was filled with thick rugs, soft sofas, and leather floor cushions. Coal basins on low tables emitted the scents of frankincense and amber, cinnamon and cloves.

The guests trickled in, listened to the musicians, chatted, or tasted from the overwhelming abundance of delicacies.

Three sheep and a large swordfish were roasting on spits in front of the tent and, for those whose faith did not prohibit it, there was wine and champagne that André had bought from the French consul. For the rest, there was orange-blossom water, almond milk, and tea. The other concession to the Christian and Jewish guests was that men and women would celebrate together. For now, though, there was little evidence of that. The Arab women gathered behind the screens set up for them on the left half of the tent, with most of the Christian and Jewish ladies keeping them company. The men, meanwhile, were buzzing around the bridegroom on the right side of the tent, slapping his shoulder and making jokes about the pitfalls of married life.

Sabri had changed and was now wearing his most resplendent jabador. He sat on one of the two decorated armchairs that had been placed in the middle of the tent and did his best to appear dignified and relaxed. He knew it was the bride’s prerogative to keep her groom waiting, but the tension was almost too much to bear. To calm himself, he counted the eggs that his sisters had arranged in an elaborate pyramid—one of many symbols of fertility and good fortune that were part of the celebration. He could hear the women chatting behind the screen. André paced in front of him in his Chasseur d’Afrique uniform, looking as nervous as if he were the groom himself. Outside the tent, a horde of children ran back and forth, screaming that they still could not see the bridal procession.

“You look like you could use something to calm your nerves.” Thomas held out a porcelain cup to Sabri.

“Thanks, that’s very nice of you, but I really don’t feel like any tea.”

“Take it and drink up!”

“Doctor’s orders?”

Thomas grinned.

Sabri put the cup up to his mouth and sniffed. “Ah, I see,” he said and grinned back at Thomas.

“Hurry up. Your father is right over there.”

Sabri put the cup to the lips and emptied it in one go. “Ah, that feels good. Thank you, my friend!”

The children stormed into the tent led by André Jr. “She’s here! She’s here!” they screeched, dragging Sabri out of his chair. “Come! Emily looks beautiful!”



The negafas had helped Emily into her most precious garment, a takchita consisting of floor-length red brocade, which the embroiderers from Fez had turned into a veritable piece of art with lace, pearls, and trim. It had long, wide sleeves but was form-fitting on the torso and had a broad sash around the waist.

Emily’s black curls fell over her shoulders. She wore heavy gold earrings and the coral necklace given to her by the mother of the little Berber boy with the broken arm.

She was an attraction the likes of which had not been seen in Mogador for quite some time, arriving in the palanquin carried by four splendidly dressed black slaves. The many curious onlookers who had followed her to the beach clapped their hands and cheered. Now Malika and Sabri’s eldest sister were walking directly behind her, singing verses from the Koran, followed by Almaz, Sabri’s other sisters, and Haji Abdul’s first wife.

It’s really happening, thought Emily as the reflecting midday sun seemed to transform the dome of the tent into liquid gold. She took a surreptitious glance at the fine lines on her left palm. Almost two years ago, Malika had read those lines and foretold that she would experience passionate love. Sabri and she had overcome obstacles just as Malika had predicted, but not until today had her prediction really come true.

The four slaves carried Emily into the tent, and now the ladies ventured out from behind the screens to cheer her on. Emily saw her mother and her father, her brothers and Sabri’s sisters, Victoria, Oscar, Eugenie, and Arabella, their many friends and acquaintances. Everyone was beaming at her.

Then she spotted Sabri stretching out his hands to help her out of the palanquin. Next to him stood Nadira with a pitcher of almond milk. After Emily had alighted, Sabri took her right hand and gently turned it over to make a bowl. Nadira handed him the jug and he poured a little almond milk into Emily’s palm, then leaned forward and drank from it. She took his hand and repeated the ritual.

“Now we are forever united,” Sabri whispered to her.

“Ana behibak, I love you,” she replied, deliriously happy.

Next, the negafas helped Emily into another of her ten gowns behind the screens. Meanwhile, outside the roast sheep and fish were taken off the fire and carved. Sabri’s sisters giggled at Eugenie’s and Victoria’s clumsy attempts at eating with pieces of flatbread instead of silverware, and Haji Abdul gave a long speech about the virtues of a married woman. After that, André rose and declared that the moment had come for the bride to receive her dowry according to Christian custom.

He threw a long, loving look at Sibylla and announced, “We, as Emily’s parents, have decided to give the newlyweds a home of their own.”

He paused for effect and to enjoy the look on Emily’s and Sabri’s faces.

“You will not only live in the Willshires’ lovely house,” Sibylla continued, “it will really be yours. Sultan Sidi Mohammed has sold it to us.” She smiled at Sara, who looked almost as emotional as the bride and groom. “When you return from your honeymoon in London, everything will be ready for you to move in.”

“By God, what a wonderful gift!” Sabri muttered, moved.

“You could not have given us anything more beautiful!” Emily was fighting back tears. She had feared having to live under Haji Abdul’s roof, where she would have been under the thumb of not only Sabri’s grandmother, but also his mother and the first wife. But now she would have her own house, in which she could do as she pleased.

Haji Abdul’s expression was sorrowful. I should never have allowed Sabri to travel to the land of the English, he thought sadly. He has adopted the foreigners’ customs more and more. His Christian bride will be a good wife to him, but will she raise his sons in the true faith outside of his parental home?

He was startled to see Almaz standing in front of him, smiling under her thin muslin veil.

“Their own home, how wonderful!” she said dreamily. “I wonder if Emily will furnish it in the European style. I will, of course, gladly be on hand to give her advice—”

“Your place is in my house!” he snapped more harshly than he had intended.

Almaz looked as though she’d been struck. “Do you mean to break my heart? Will you stop a mother from visiting her son’s home?”

Looking sour, he turned away from her to look for his first wife. As one born into the true faith, she, at least, was loyal to God’s laws! Poor Haji Abdul froze in horror. There was his first wife next to the Engliziya, seemingly unconcerned that she was exposed to the gazes of all the men. She was handing the bride and groom a glass of tea with a large cube of sugar.

“Drink up!” she cried for all to hear. “Drink up and let your mouths find sweet words for each other!”

Gnawa musicians were moving through the tent making a deafening clatter with their qarqabas and bass drums. They were a group of freed slaves who lived in shacks outside the city gates and entertained people at festivals and processions. Children swarmed around them excitedly, stuffing silver coins in the pockets of their garments adorned with cowrie shells and crying, “Yalla, yalla! Faster, faster!” as the men turned in circles to the beat.