It was surprising that Ben Attar, who was already enthusiastic about Esther-Minna’s excitement at taking under her wing, without the pain or trouble of childbearing, a full-grown, black-curled, clever child, whom she might take by the hand and promenade through the lanes of the little island without shame or reproach, did not take the trouble to obtain Rabbi Elbaz’s assent to having his young son expropriated in order to buttress the partnership between north and south, which had been renewed by dint of a death alone. Indeed, on the basis of the familiarity acquired in the course of the journey, the merchant suspected that the rabbi he had hired in Andalus would not only be pleased to spare his only child the hardships and dangers of the return sea voyage, but would even seek to join him. But Ben Attar, unwilling to dispense with the rabbi’s company and learned conversation on the ocean waves and unwilling to be left alone with his only consort in the midst of alien Ishmaelites, chose to keep his own counsel for the time being. He spoke not a word to the anxiously waiting Jews, but went first to the ship to consult his faithful old Ishmaelite partner about his new plan.
But Abu Lutfi turned out to be not so faithful, for during the proprietor’s absence he had taken it upon himself to give permission to the ship’s captain not only to prepare the ship for sailing but to embark a new cargo in place of that which had been discharged, so as to stabilize the ship on the ocean. A new cargo? exclaimed the amazed Jew, who since his second wife’s death had let his commercial vigilance slacken. Is there anything fit to buy here in this godforsaken land that might interest people in the South? Abu Lutfi made no answer, but merely winked and led his partner into the hold, from which there rose a strange and unfamiliar smell mingled with a new sound. There, in the darkness of the space that had been cleared of its cargo, Ben Attar saw human beings attached to the timbers of the old guard ship.
Slaves? the Jew whispered in horror, and at once he asked himself whether there were not a disturbing sign here of things to come, for Abu Lutfi, who had begun as a humble assistant in Ben Attar’s shop in Tangier, had never before dared to act on his own initiative without obtaining the blessing of his Jewish master. Was this the price the Ishmaelite was levying for his participation in the vicissitudes of the conflict of the Jews, a conflict that despite its hardships had incidentally broadened and strengthened the Arab’s mind and perhaps his soul as well? Or was it merely evidence of a new contempt or even anger that the Ishmaelite felt for the weakness of a husband who had allowed his young second wife to depart this life in her prime, only to please a new woman, whose hair was fair, her eyes blue, her countenance pale and sad?
Come and see close up, whispered Abu Lutfi to his partner, who was still hesitating to advance into the bowels of his ship, from which a new menace seemed to emanate. But the Ishmaelite relentlessly compelled the Jew to inspect the new, disturbing human cargo, which froze at the sight of the new master, who was wondering about its nature and also its value. As his eyes became accustomed to the darkness, Ben Attar could discern the slaves and distinguish them one from another. His heart pounded as he saw that there were five tall, thin males dressed in long leather tunics. And his breath stopped for an instant as he noticed that the slivers of daylight filtering between the timbers glinted on yellow hair and blue eyes, whose sadness and sub-missiveness the darkness was unable to disguise. With a rush of excitement whose strength caused him real distress, he sighed, closed his eyes, and turned a grim face toward Abu Lutfi, who was smiling proudly, to inquire not only as to the price of the disturbing cargo shackled in the hold of his ship but also as to its faith.
It was remarkable how his natural commercial instincts had led this Jew with no previous experience of slave trading to make precisely the right connection between the two questions. Abu Lutfi proudly recounted how, while the Jews were praying for remission of their sins in Verdun, Abd el-Shafi had made the first contact with a slave dealer, and how after the death of the second wife they had covertly agreed that in return for five sacks of fragrant condiments and ten copper caldrons he would receive five northern slaves, whose modest price was due not to any mental or bodily defect or weakness but purely to a defect in their faith, or, it would be truer to say, in their lack of faith. For their origin was in the wild remote regions in the extreme north of this gloomy continent, where even a thousand years had not sufficed to bring the good news of the birth, death, and resurrection of the crucified god. In simple speech, these were also idol-worshippers, albeit fair northerners rather than dark southerners, whose inscrutable and unsteady thoughts and deeds made them unpredictable and therefore dangerous, so it was no wonder that their price on the local slave market was so low.
Idol-worshippers? Ben Attar whispered despairingly to Abu Lutfi, who nodded his head, his eyes gleaming. And what shall we feed them on? And who will look after them? But the Ishmaelite was so pleased with the deal he had done on his own initiative that he promised his Jewish friend to take full responsibility for the new cargo. Not only would he stay close to them to ensure that they caused no mishap, but during the long voyage he would also try to teach them to speak some Arabic and to understand orders, which would increase their value and their selling price. He had no doubt that their fair and reddish hair and hue, their blue and green eyes, would attract and excite the folk in Andalus and the Maghreb, who would clamor for a further consignment.
Ben Attar said nothing, but a strange sadness overtook him and made him want to escape. He hurried up on deck, where Abd el-Shafi and some of the burly seamen, who had treated him respectfully before, roughly seized hold of his garment and rudely asked him to set sail at once, before the northern winds blew up and turned the ship into a deathtrap. Ben Attar felt that this new violence and impudent speech were occasioned not only by his hesitancy but by the absence of the second wife, for whose death the Ishmaelites held him indirectly to blame. Hurriedly he mumbled a new promise. But it seemed that the Jew’s promises were worthless now, for the men threatened him openly that if he did not assemble the Jewish passengers forthwith, they would weigh anchor at dawn and sail without them, and even without him.
Ben Attar knew that their threat was genuine and that if he did not agree to leave, he would lose his ship. Suddenly he felt lighter, as though the Ishmaelites had managed to trample under their rough sandals once and for all the hesitancy that had been consuming him ever since he had arrived in Paris. He hastened to Abulafia’s house on the left bank to summon his wife and the rabbi urgently back to the ship, and to discuss with Abulafia and his wife not only the conditions under which the supposed invalid might be left in their home but particularly those under which he would be returned the following summer. Ben Attar still could not shake off his doubts and uncertainties touching the patched-up partnership. It was as though the dagger of the ban that had been thrust into him had not vanished or been returned to its sheath on the death of the second wife but had merely been wrapped in a soft old cloth, and on his departure from Europe some pretext would be found to plunge it into his image, which would haunt this gloomy house like a ghost. He suspected that Esther-Minna had not forsaken her hostility to this partnership, which would take Abulafia out of her control once more and set him to wander the distant roads of the south, where he would be reunited with his uncle. Who could guarantee that Ben Attar would not craftily revert, there on the faraway dark continent, even in secret, to the ways of his forebears?