Chapter 28: At the Races
Only part of the chapter is excerpted here. To tell you more would spoil the story for those who may later buy and read the whole book. At this point a new slave girl has been acquired, and Ali sends her to be readied for service in the company of Sapphira and a trusted eunuch. Topaz, the new slave girl, increasingly becomes a source of discontent and friction. What else can be expected when two women vie for the attention of the same man.
AT THE RACES (part of)
After the hourglass had run its time, the barber scraped off the darkened and expired balm with an ivory scraper and wiped Topaz down. She dressed, I thanked him, and we hurriedly left for the hammam to relax and wash off the last traces of Ahmad’s smelly concoction, the breeze we created in our haste drying the tears from her eyes and cooling her tormented skin.
“Are you Master Ali’s wife?” Topaz asked, between mouthfuls of falafel that I had saved for her lunch. “The man called him your husband.”
“That is what he would think when he saw Ali’s necklace around my neck. It is most unusual for young slave girls to be in the souk together like this. Ali is very modern in his ways.”
“Why did the man rub my teeth with that stone? He has made them feel smooth and slippery,” asked Topaz, as we hurried on our way.
“You will find out later; it’s better for your Master.”
“Why?” she asked, innocently.
“You will find out in due course.”
“How long does this stinging last for?”
“Not for long once we get to the hammam,” I replied.
To avoid letting the staff know what our mission had been that morning, should they recognize the distinct odor of the balm and know its use, I had Topaz wait outside with Talil and our guard while I checked on the arrangements Ali had made.
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Hammam Bath |
In the hammam the staff treated me with great respect; they, too, thought I was Ali’s wife. I did not enlighten them. I relished the notion of again being mistaken in this way.
In the room that had been reserved for our exclusive use, our attendants, two black women, were adding pitchers of heavily perfumed water to the hot bath. I asked them to bring in a large mirror; Topaz would surely be curious to see how she looked.
I went back to the street for Topaz and hurried her past the staff and into the room as quickly as possible. Topaz, not waiting for permission, slid beneath the soothing water.
Ali had ordered for us a massage, a face and body gommage, and a Lebanese dusting. After a long and luxurious soak, attendants soaped us down with gritty black Moroccan soap, scrubbed us vigorously with loofahs, rinsed off the last traces of soap, and left us to rest serenely in the hot steam of the hammam.
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Hammam Massage |
Our bodies, relaxed by the moist heat, offered no resistance when they returned to knead and massage us from head to toe with fragrant oils on their hands.
One of our attendants left the room and returned shortly with another woman I had not seen before. She looked somewhat aloof and I assumed she was the supervisor of the hammam. “This is for your slave, if you will permit,” said the woman, holding up a small bottle in her hand. “Oil of hamamelis. I always recommend it for first-time girls. With your permission, the attendant will apply it to the smoothed places. It soothes and cools away the redness. There will be a small charge for the oil, five qirsh, but it is well worth it.”
A Lebanese dusting was something unfamiliar to me, and explained why the attendants had not washed our hair. They sat us on stools, draped a cloth about our necks, and twice rubbed sandalwood dust and grain into our hair followed by a vigorous brushing that swept out the soiled grain, and along with it the sand and other natural debris that accumulate in hair. It left only the sweet smelling oils of the wood to glaze and perfume our hair. A dab of rouge, eyes lined with kohl, a smear of lip color and our thoroughly enjoyable indulgence was over.
Topaz slipped a fresh burqa over her head and bundled up her old clothes while I went outside to ask Talil to pay for the oil of hamamelis. After a small diversion to pickup our new clothes from the Indian cloth merchant’s wife, we set out on the short walk back to the tent feeling relaxed, pampered and buoyant.