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XXX
When I no longer kept to my bed she did not come any more. For three days, as my strength returned, I sought to see my room in its own light and not somehow dimmed. The light of day that entered by my window – the window I had valued so much, which have made me want the room in the first place – fell short of the glory that was desired. And the knowledge grew that this lack would continue so long as I was alone there: the light that was missing could only return with her, with the shrug of her shoulders, the toss of her head, the proud carriage of her body.
During these three days I considered my prospects and possessions; the latter were soon counted, but the former took on lustre as I thought of sharing them with Nesrin. I had the title of knighthood that had been bestowed upon me, though in circumstances very far from those I would have wished. I was in royal vassalage and could count on the King's good will so long I was no danger to him. My fief lay across the water in Calabria, distant enough from this island of Sicily that had brought me to ignominy and shame.
On the fourth day I went on foot to seek her. Where she lodged had been told me by Stefanos and was present in every detail to my mind. I was in via San Cataldo and approaching the shop of the saddler-maker, which was half-way along, when she came out into the street and turned towards me.
I saw recognition come to her face, saw her smile, and I was swept with happiness at this chance meeting, a joy that came as revelation: I had wanted her in my room, to bring back the light, as if it could dwell only there, but here in the open, under the sky, she was clothed with it. And it came to me, as I walked towards her and hoped for other meetings life might give us, that I could be a bearer of light for her also.
Something of this should be said, I felt, as I drew near to her, something to mark the happy chance of this encounter, which had depended so much on the timing of our steps. But no words came to me; I could only gaze at her. She, on the other hand, had something immediately to impart to me, I saw it on her face – I was to learn that she always gave voice, in the first moments of meeting, to what was uppermost in her mind.
"I forgot to tell you," she said. "We Yazidis do not come from seed of Adam."
"Do you not?"
"No, God turned aside from Adam to make the Yazidis. He made us separate."
I looked at her for a moment in silence. The eagerness with which she had spoken was still on her face. She was dressed very lightly in the Arab style, and wore no under-shift – her cotton bliau, slashed at the sides, allowed a glimpse of brown skin beneath. She had blackened her eyelids with kohl and wore small rings of copper in her ears.
"I well believe it," I said, and the fervour in my voice made her smile.
"Why did you not come back."
"I did not think you need me."
"Not need you?"
"When you are sick, yes. But when you are not sick you are the big lord of the Diwan."
Under my guidance, without saying much more, we walked together to the church of San Giova
"I was not such a big lord," I said. "And I am not a lord of any kind now. All that is finished."
I told her then of my knighting, though not the true reasons for it, only that I had earned the gratitude of the King. In truth I could not bring myself to tell her of the tangled courses that had led me to confront Spaventa in the Royal Chapel, all the ugly tale of my weakness and folly, the traitor's part I had played, the ruined world I had wept for, Yusuf's, my father's, my own. All that lay behind me now, or so I wanted to believe, removed by sickness and delirium and corrupted vision, in another land, another life, there where the King had a changing face and hands that hesitated.
"I ca
"We?"
"I want you to come with me. I do not want to go anywhere without you.
Life without you is like my room when you have left it."
I would have said more but she stayed me, raising a hand with great gentleness and laying it for a moment against my cheek. She was silent for a time, looking before her. And this silence disconcerted me, when I was offering my life to her.
"I would go with you anywhere in the world," she said at last. "My heart says so. But I was already in Calabria."
"And so?" I stared at her, feeling my jaw slacken at this unexpected reply of hers.
"I like to go forward, not back. I know you are the man for me the first night I see you, so splendid you are. I know it when I see your eyes, when I hear your voice. I dance for you, you are not a stranger, I recognise you."
Wishing to reciprocate – or perhaps not wishing to be outdone – I said, "Yes, I felt the same when I saw you there in the firelight."
"No, it is not so, you did not see me. Of course, you look at me in a certain way, but many men do that. You do not see me, you make the wrong shape."
"What do you mean?"
She made a quick, impatient gesture in the air before her, using both hands to sketch the shape of a globe. "You make a shape of us, five persons, not one, we will dance for the King, we will get money, you will get good words and praises. I try to make you see me, I try to make jokes, I dance for you when they are trying to make the dress…" She gestured again, this time joining slender fingers and drawing them swiftly apart in a straight line.
"The Dance of the Measurements," I said, and the memory of it came vividly into my mind.
"Measurements? That is the name for it? I dance for you, you begin to see me, yes? God gave me this body of a dancer. Dancing is my life. What is Nesrin in Calabria? Always the same place, every day the same. Do you call her after supper to dance for the Normans with their red necks?"
I was completely taken aback by this speech and wounded by it. I was laying my life before her and she was rejecting it. Perhaps she had a fear of being treated ill…
"Do not be sad," she said, and again she laid a hand against my face. "I do not speak about your neck, it is beautiful."
"They will accept you," I said. "I will make them accept you. It will go ill with any who offer you offence."
"You do not understand. It is not them that does not accept. It is Nesrin that does not accept. You are doing the same again. You make a shape that is not true and you keep to that shape and do not see it as the wrong one. You tell us to bow and count before the dance, that is wrong shape, you know it is wrong, you know it while you tell us, but you keep to it, nothing can change you. Then the dance came to break the shape. Do you not see? If we do not break the bad shape, it will break us."
My hurt had faded as I listened. Looking at her face, which was turned a little away from me as she spoke, at the dark lashes over the lowered eyes, the moulding at the corner of the mouth – features dear to me now, amounting to all I thought was beauty in woman – I knew she was right, though she did not know, perhaps never would, of that wrongest shape of all I had made and obstinately held to against all likelihood until it had broken my truth and fidelity and brought my world to ruin.
"I love the road," she said. "That is another wrong shape you make, here is poor wild girl from a far place, needing shelter and look after and one same place. But that is not my need. I never know one home place since I am a small child. I like to see new places, always moving. Also you, it is the same for you, you have no home place. You are a fine singer, I never heard one like you. I watched you when you sang, you were inside the song, and a song has no home place. You sang for me and you looked at me and saw me, and I knew I was in your heart, I knew it then. Why you think I go with you afterwards? Because you are a big lord in the Diwan?"