Free Shadows of the Pomegranate Tree by Tariq Ali

anything was left inside. How deceptive existence can be. Her first glance at the house told her that nothing had been erased. As she saw the familiar landscapes she remembered everything so vividly that it began to hurt again. There was the orchard of pomegranate trees. She smiled as the cart-horse slowed down, exhausted by the long journey, and drank some water from the stream. Even though it was autumn she could shut her eyes and smell the orchards.
    ‘Are you sure you weren’t observed?’ His voice nervous and excited.
    ‘Only by the moon! I can hear your heart beating.’
    No more words were said that night till they had parted just before dawn.
    ‘You will be my wife!’
    ‘I want none other.’
    She opened her eyes and drank in the last rays of the sun. Nothing had changed here. There were the giant walls and the tower. The gates were open as usual. Winter was already in the air. The scent of the soil overpowered her senses. The gentle noise and silken water of the stream that flowed through that courtyard and into the tanks that serviced the hammam—it was just as she recalled it all those years ago. And Abdallah’s boy, Umar, was now master of this domain.
    She felt the Christian soldiers with her grow suddenly tense, and soon she saw the cause. Three horsemen, dressed in blinding white robes and turbans, were riding towards her. The cart stopped.
    Umar bin Abdallah and his two sons, Zuhayr and Yazid, reined in their horses and saluted the old lady.
    ‘Peace be upon you, my father’s sister. Welcome home.’
    ‘When I left you were four years old. Your mother was always telling me to be more strict with you. Come here.’
    Umar dismounted and walked to the cart. She kissed him on his head.
    ‘Let us go home,’ she whispered.
    As they reached the entrance to the house, they saw the older servants waiting outside. Zahra disembarked as Ama limped forward and hugged her.
    ‘Bismallah, bismallah. Welcome to your old home, my lady,’ said Ama as the tears flowed down her face.
    ‘I’m glad you’re still alive, Amira. I really am. The past is forgotten and I do not wish it to return,’ Zahra replied as the two ancients looked at each other.
    Then she was escorted indoors, where Zubayda, Hind and Kulthum bowed and made their welcomes. Zahra inspected each of them in turn and then turned round to see if Yazid was following her. He was and she grabbed his turban and threw it in the air. This gesture relieved the tension as everyone laughed. Zahra knelt on the cushion and hugged Yazid. The boy, feeling instinctively that the act was genuine, reciprocated the affection.
    ‘Great-Aunt Zahra, Ama told me you’ve been locked up in the maristan in Gharnata for forty years, but you don’t seem mad at all.’
    Umar frowned at his son as a wave of nervousness gripped the family, but Hind roared with laughter.
    ‘I agree with Yazid. Why did you not come sooner?’
    Zahra smiled.
    ‘At first I did not think that I would be welcome. Then I just did not think.’
    Ama, followed by two young maids, walked in with towels and clean clothes.
    ‘May Allah bless you, my lady. Your bath is ready. These girls will help you.’
    ‘Thank you, Amira. After that I must eat something.’
    ‘Dinner is ready, Aunt,’ Zubayda interjected. ‘We were waiting to eat with you.’
    Ama took Zahra by the arm and they walked out into the courtyard, followed by the two maid-servants. Hind waited till they were out of earshot.
    ‘Father! Great-Aunt Zahra is not mad, is she? Was she ever mad?’
    Umar shrugged his shoulders and exchanged a rapid glance with Zubayda. ‘I do not know, child. We were all told that she had lost her mind in Qurtuba. They sent her back here, but she refused to marry and started wandering about the hills on her own reciting blasphemous verses. I must confess I was never convinced about her illness. It seemed too convenient. My father adored her and was very unhappy at the decision, but Ibn Farid was a very