When Saad awoke the next morning recalling the details of his dream, he wondered whether he missed them so much that he dreamed of them and whether this dream was a vision or an omen for a reunion. The thought even occurred to him that they were calling out to him and that his heart had heard the call. He decided it was time to go down to Granada to see them.
Three years had passed since he first went to live among the young freedom fighters in a mountain village far from the eyes of strangers. He crossed the rugged and unpaved mountain roads the Castilians didn’t know about, carrying supplies and letters to the freedom fighters who launched their attacks by sea, inflicting casualties on both the Castilian army and its government. He also helped in expediting the safe arrival to the coastal areas of the villagers who chose to emigrate. When they received word from a certain village, they would sneak off in the dark of night and meet with the elders to make all the necessary arrangements. On the appointed day, Saad and his companions would guide all those who wanted to leave through untrodden mountain passes, like silent phantoms feeling their way under the protection of darkness, as the hearts of the nocturnal travelers pounded in their chests, without a murmur, a song, or a chant. And when the specter of the shore loomed before them, the children grew wild with excitement and jumped for joy, and the grown-ups moved eagerly to load their children and their possessions onto the ships. Their eyes shone with the hope of salvation, and then became clouded by the memory of an olive tree they left behind and basil stalks they’ll never lay at the graves of their fathers. They climbed aboard and are rocked by the small boats that will take them out to the big ships that will take them far away.
Saleema was seated as usual with her head buried in a book, absorbing its every detail by the light of her lantern, when she heard a voice. She turned around and then went back to her book, thinking to herself, “I must be imagining things!” When she heard the voice again, she was certain it was Saad calling out to her. She ran outside the house and saw him in the dark courtyard. He stretched out his arms and embraced her as she embraced him. They kissed, and she took him by the hand, and he followed her into the house as the rest of the household slept.
In her room Saad sheepishly sat facing her not knowing what to say. She was looking at him, clearly ill at ease. He had been gone for thirty-nine months, but it seemed to her like ten years, and she wondered whether it was because she missed him so much or because of the gray hair around his temples and the wrinkles on his forehead and under his eyes brought on by the icy winds or the burning sun. “You’ve been gone for so long, Saad,” she said, breaking the silence.
He went over to her and they connected in a furious embrace, spurred on by a craving in the body and deprivation in the soul that not only sought, but demanded, union. He seized her and she seized him, and the wave of union lifted them high. They gasped between life and death, as one wave crashes into another, bringing to the surface deep, dark blue ripples that blaze with the heat of a hot, burning sun. They gasped as the body jolts, and the soul inside it quickly follows, and when the shore of coming looms on the horizon, the sea gulls burst forth and joyously light up the skies with their whiteness.
At the shore of coming they basked in the calm. They spoke at length, in hushed voices, and when the morning birds began to chirp, they fell into a deep sleep.
Saad’s unexpected arrival brought to the house a feeling of such bliss that it seemed like a feast day. The house filled with happy excitement, and Hasan was by far the most exhilarated, laughing as he hadn’t done in years. He joked with Saad, told him stories, and bombarded him with questions, soaking up every detail. The children and Umm Hasan finally had to protest, as Hasan wasn’t giving them a chance to talk to Saad.
Saad could hardly believe that three years had already passed since he left them. Ruqaya and her younger sister, whom he had left as children, had become young women, and it wouldn’t come as a surprise to him if someone came knocking on Hasan’s door asking for their hands in marriage. And little Hisham, whom he last saw as a toddler and who only knew two or three words, was now talking effortlessly, understanding and responding to everything that was said to him. He told Saad that next year he would be going to school to learn to read and write.
“Will you be learning Arabic or Spanish, Hisham?” Saad asked.
“In school we learn Spanish, but at home my father will teach me Arabic like he taught my sisters.”
Saad laughed, pleased with the boy’s cleverness.
“Light some incense, and protect him from my evil eye,” he said to Umm Hasan.
Hasan laughed, but his mother did not. She started to intone the expression, “God forgive…” but finished it with a mutter under her breath clear enough to be read on her lips.
Neither Saleema nor Maryama joined the men. They decided to go out early and buy food from the market. Maryama had convinced Saleema to go with her, saying that this wasn’t any ordinary day. As soon as they reached some distance from the house, Maryama turned to Saleema and gave her a sly look. “Last night was some night, right?”
Saleema blushed a crimson red in embarrassment and answered, “So, what shall we buy for dinner?”
“I think I’ll slaughter a sheep.”
Just before sunset, the sheep was fully cooked and ready to be eaten. The raucous laughter that accompanied the lavish meal was not on account of Saad’s return and the family reunion only, but on account of the story of the sheep that was yet another episode in Maryama’s hilarious saga.
“When I told Saleema I intended to slaughter a sheep in Saad’s honor, she thought I was kidding, right, Saleema? But of course, I wasn’t joking. It’s true that slaughtering sheep at home is forbidden, and that I could get myself put in jail for it, but I made up my mind and put my trust in God. I went into the vendor at the livestock market with such a depressed look on my face, you’d think I was carrying the burdens of the world all on my shoulder. I said to him, “I have a little boy, my only son. God blessed me with him after five daughters. A week ago he came to me and told me he wanted a sheep. When I asked him what he wanted with a sheep, he told me he wanted to play with it. So, I said to him, ‘God willing.’ But naturally I had no intention of buying him one. I said to myself, are we living in times that allow us to buy sheep for our children to play with? But, O, my poor heart, my son fell ill yesterday.”
Hisham interrupted her story in protest. “But I’m not sick, Mummy, and I didn’t ask you for a sheep.”
His sisters beckoned him to be quiet, and he obeyed. They were following the story on the edge of their seats.
Maryama continued. “My son, O my poor heart, fell ill yesterday, and his forehead sweltered in fever. He spent the night delirious, calling out for a sheep. So you see why I have to buy him a sheep.”