the street and urged people to walk on them. Other carpets hung on both sides of his stall and covered the walls within, making a cave of luxurious, riotous colour.
Finally, at the end of the market, just in front of the mosque, they came upon the perfume makers. Here Samah stopped. She made her way purposefully to one particular stall. On display were dozens of delicate glass bottles of every size, shape, and colour, from tiny flasks no taller than Angeline’s little finger to flagons bigenough to hold a cupful of liquid. Myriad scents set Angeline’s head swimming. Samah, however, seemed to know exactly what she wanted. Without hesitation she reached for a small flask filled with a golden liquid. She unstoppered it, raised it to her nose, and sniffed, then nodded with satisfaction. She held it out to Angeline. Angeline took a deep whiff. It was the same heady fragrance that Zahra wore. Samah spoke to the vendor. He answered her. She spoke again, more sharply. He raised his hands to the sky as if imploring mercy and let loose a torrent of words. Samah was a match for him, however, and gave him back just as good a flood. Angeline realized what was going on. Just so had she been bargained for and sold.
Finally, Samah reached into a pouch that hung at her waist and pulled out some coins. The vendor weighed them on his scale and, feigning anguish, accepted them. Immediately the two were fast friends. The vendor showed Samah to a stool and shooed a cat off it. He clapped his hands. A young boy appeared bearing a tray with the crimson juice that by now Angeline had learned was made with the blossoms of a flower, not fruit. He offered it to Samah. She sipped it and babbled a stream of words back to the vendor. Angeline picked out “shukran” amongst them. It was only one word,but at least there was something here she could understand.
When the flask had been wrapped in a brightly coloured cloth and handed to Angeline to carry, they turned and made their way home.
Angeline made ready to call out to Stephen as soon as they entered the house. She cared not what Samah would do to her and she was prepared to fight if the woman tried to drag her away again. But Samah led her back to Zahra’s room by a different way. She had no chance.
Chapter Six
One night Zahra did not make ready for bed after the evening prayer. Instead, she beckoned to Angeline to assist her in changing into a soft, clinging gown. Angeline had escorted her to the bath, the “hamman” it was called, earlier in the day. Angeline had grown used to this strange custom of bathing the whole body. The slaves and servants had their own hamman—the smaller bath where she had been scrubbed when she arrived. They were allowed to use it after their duties for the day were done and Angeline had to admit that she actually looked forward to it now. She enjoyed the sensation of being clean, and she certainly enjoyed the absence of fleas.
Zahra had Angeline brush her hair until it stood out in soft waves all around her face. Then she took up a small pot made from translucent, pink stone. It was filled with fine, black powder. Angeline watched, fascinated, as Zahra picked up a short silver stick and moistened it with water in which rose petals soaked. Then she dipped the stick into the powder, and to Angeline’s further astonishment, put the stick in the corner of her eye. She closed her eye over it and drew it straight across. Angeline winced, but it did not seem to hurt Zahra at all. She leaned forward to check her reflection in a silver mirror and was satisfied only when both eyes were nicely black around the roots of her eyelashes. When she looked up her eyes were dark and mysterious. She laughed at the expression that Angeline knew must be on her face.
“Kuhl,” she said, indicating the black powder. Then she went to the door and signalled for Angeline to follow her.
Puzzled, but on the alert as ever for a sight of Stephen, Angeline followed Zahra to a part of
Finally, at the end of the market, just in front of the mosque, they came upon the perfume makers. Here Samah stopped. She made her way purposefully to one particular stall. On display were dozens of delicate glass bottles of every size, shape, and colour, from tiny flasks no taller than Angeline’s little finger to flagons bigenough to hold a cupful of liquid. Myriad scents set Angeline’s head swimming. Samah, however, seemed to know exactly what she wanted. Without hesitation she reached for a small flask filled with a golden liquid. She unstoppered it, raised it to her nose, and sniffed, then nodded with satisfaction. She held it out to Angeline. Angeline took a deep whiff. It was the same heady fragrance that Zahra wore. Samah spoke to the vendor. He answered her. She spoke again, more sharply. He raised his hands to the sky as if imploring mercy and let loose a torrent of words. Samah was a match for him, however, and gave him back just as good a flood. Angeline realized what was going on. Just so had she been bargained for and sold.
Finally, Samah reached into a pouch that hung at her waist and pulled out some coins. The vendor weighed them on his scale and, feigning anguish, accepted them. Immediately the two were fast friends. The vendor showed Samah to a stool and shooed a cat off it. He clapped his hands. A young boy appeared bearing a tray with the crimson juice that by now Angeline had learned was made with the blossoms of a flower, not fruit. He offered it to Samah. She sipped it and babbled a stream of words back to the vendor. Angeline picked out “shukran” amongst them. It was only one word,but at least there was something here she could understand.
When the flask had been wrapped in a brightly coloured cloth and handed to Angeline to carry, they turned and made their way home.
Angeline made ready to call out to Stephen as soon as they entered the house. She cared not what Samah would do to her and she was prepared to fight if the woman tried to drag her away again. But Samah led her back to Zahra’s room by a different way. She had no chance.
Chapter Six
One night Zahra did not make ready for bed after the evening prayer. Instead, she beckoned to Angeline to assist her in changing into a soft, clinging gown. Angeline had escorted her to the bath, the “hamman” it was called, earlier in the day. Angeline had grown used to this strange custom of bathing the whole body. The slaves and servants had their own hamman—the smaller bath where she had been scrubbed when she arrived. They were allowed to use it after their duties for the day were done and Angeline had to admit that she actually looked forward to it now. She enjoyed the sensation of being clean, and she certainly enjoyed the absence of fleas.
Zahra had Angeline brush her hair until it stood out in soft waves all around her face. Then she took up a small pot made from translucent, pink stone. It was filled with fine, black powder. Angeline watched, fascinated, as Zahra picked up a short silver stick and moistened it with water in which rose petals soaked. Then she dipped the stick into the powder, and to Angeline’s further astonishment, put the stick in the corner of her eye. She closed her eye over it and drew it straight across. Angeline winced, but it did not seem to hurt Zahra at all. She leaned forward to check her reflection in a silver mirror and was satisfied only when both eyes were nicely black around the roots of her eyelashes. When she looked up her eyes were dark and mysterious. She laughed at the expression that Angeline knew must be on her face.
“Kuhl,” she said, indicating the black powder. Then she went to the door and signalled for Angeline to follow her.
Puzzled, but on the alert as ever for a sight of Stephen, Angeline followed Zahra to a part of
Similar Books
