Good Evening, Good Morning

IT WAS LUNCHTIME in Master Imuhammad’s household, and the slaves had set two tables side by side, one for the women and one for the men. Two slave girls were serving the food, busily going back and forth attending to the people having their meal.

Noticing his interest in one of the two girls, Muhammad’s mother gestured to her husband with a wink to look over at his son. He wasn’t taking part in the conversation, as if his only concern was the girl in question. He would stare at her when she wasn’t looking, but avert his gaze if she looked his way. Similarly, he would lower his gaze as she passed, then pursue her with his eyes as she walked away.

Then, as everyone was eating and the two servant girls were standing nearby ready to receive orders, he spilled some soup on his farmala and jumped to his feet. Tawida ran up to him with a napkin, preparing to treat the spot. As he took it off and handed it to her, she saw him direct his eyes meaningfully to a certain part of the garment. She rushed to the kitchen with the farmala and her speculations and filled a tub with water to remove the spots. When Aida brought Tawida the salt, she leaned over and, with an impish grin, whispered, “Smell it first.”

As she brought the garment gingerly to her nose, she remembered the fragrance she’d taken in throughout the long night he’d spent in her room. She remembered how enraptured she’d been by the scent, which she’d never smelled on a man before. So, then, her suspicions had been correct: the master who had once poured hot soup on her in a fit of rage now wanted her in a state of tranquility. The master who had touched her in a state of drunkenness wanted her now in a state of full awareness, to enjoy her and be enjoyed.

As she was about to immerse the farmala in the water, she felt something in its pocket. She took it out and what should she find but a small bundle containing a chunk of musk, some frankincense, a miswak, and a piece of hard candy as well as one other thing that she didn’t recognize.

Realizing instinctively what was to come, she hurriedly concealed it in her bosom, then tied the neck opening to her dress securely closed. She was so excited she nearly floated off the ground.

What’s happening, Oh merciful God? Could a man that handsome really want a simple servant girl like her?

After lunch he wanted to go to the kitchen, where the servants spent most of their day. He had no reason or excuse to do so, though, since the servants were having their own lunch now. So he retreated and lay down on a rug under the grape trellis. He placed his hand on his forehead and closed his eyes. As he and the other masters of the household took their afternoon naps, the servants went about their business in hushed tones. Sensing what he was feeling, Tawida began gathering up some carpets and rearranging them near where he lay. When he heard someone stirring close by, he lifted his arm off his face and, finding that it was she, took her hand briefly without a word before letting her go her way.

That evening she sat in her room with a couple of friends in a state of hopeful anticipation. One of them said he wouldn’t come, while the other one said he might. As for her, she was listening to the voice of her heart and clinging to what stirred there. As she’d said to Aida, “I bet he’ll come!”

Then what should she hear but the sound of soft, leisurely footsteps. Her heart started to race. It was him. He had come. There was a knock on the door. Having prepared herself enthusiastically for this eventuality, she opened the door and came out wearing something notably different than what she wore during the day. She’d uncovered her hair, lined her eyes with kohl, perfumed herself with the musk, and cleaned her gums and teeth with the miswak he had given her. And in her bosom she carried the other thing that she hadn’t recognized.

“Good evening,” he said to her.

“Good evening,” she replied.

They stood there for a while in silence. Then he took her gently by the hand, and she followed, her heart and her body open to whatever the evening would bring.

Neither of them could find anything to say to the other. Instead they shared a silence that breathed back and forth between them. They began by discovering each other’s worlds, which were so strange and different, with their eyes. Then their hands reached out to discover more and more until, when morning came, her head was pillowed on one of his hands, while with the other, he held her hand on his chest. Not a word was spoken until he said, “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Master,” she replied.

Gazing at her tranquilly he said, “You smell good.”

She smiled bashfully.

“Did you like the gift?” he asked, stroking her neck.

“Yes, Master,” she replied, nodding. “God keep you.”

“And do you like me?”

Without a word, she squeezed the hand that held hers.

“Do you know how to apply henna?” he asked suddenly.

“Yes, I do!” came the enthusiastic reply.

“So, then,” he said, “I’ll bring you a bagful. But don’t tell anybody about what’s happened.”

He got dressed and left her wrapped in the blanket with his fragrance, with joy, and with the memory of things she could hardly believe had happened.

Then she went about her day thinking about the henna and what would follow it.