of Grenada to King Ferdinand. From his place in the crowd, Jorge could
see the Italian, Colombo, who had been sponsored by the Queen to find a
new route to the Orient. He was loco, they said. He thought he could get
there by going the opposite direction.
After he had the key, the King stepped up to the front of the platform to address the crowd. His voice was thin and reedy. “This is a Catholic city once more,” he said. “I am known for my mercy. In accordance
with our agreements with Boabdil, all Muslims may continue to worship
as you please, as long as you swear fealty to me. That is all.”
After the crowd dispersed, Jorge and Ahmed wandered back to
Ahmed’s house. Jorge kicked a stone along the street. They stopped by
a fountain in deserted courtyard. A cluster of sparrows perched on the
lip, dipping their beaks into the water. Ahmed turned to Jorge, his eyes
serious. “I am leaving Granada.”
The stone Jorge was kicking skittered to a halt. “What? Why? The
king is permitting Muslims to remain.”
Ahmed shook his head. “Jorge, I do not know how long that will
last. There are many things I will tolerate, but another man telling me
how to pray, I will not.”
The sparrows took flight from the rim of the fountain. Jorge
watched them flit over the tiled roofs of the surrounding buildings.
“Where will you go?” he asked.
“I do not know exactly. South, probably. I have a cousin in Morocco I could stay with.”
Jorge looked at him. “I could come with you. I cannot stay here
either.”
Silence was the only answer he received. “Ahmed?”
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Ahmed returned his gaze. He eyes burned like amber. “Were you
going to let me die this morning?”
Jorge swallowed. The tone in Ahmed’s voice was unsettling.
“What do you mean?”
“I saw you hesitate, when that man was coming to kill me. Were
you going to let him?”
Jorge looked at Ahmed. His face was hard, and trembling. “No
Ahmed, I only let him think I was. It was part of my plan. To catch him
by surprise.”
Ahmed nodded, and then stepped in close to Jorge, wrapping him
in a firm embrace.
“I am glad to hear that,” Ahmed whispered, fingering the crucifix dangling around Jorge’s neck. “My heart was sick with fear that you
would let me die.”
After a stealthy look around Ahmet planted a kiss on Jorge’s lips,
and then they continued walking to Ahmed’s house.
Jorge tucked the crucifix back into his tunic. He was glad that
Ahmed believed him. It was difficult enough, question his own loyalties.
Losing Ahmed’s faith would be unbearable. He felt the outline of the
cross through this tunic. He couldn’t see it, but he knew there was a new
stain on it, one that would require his attention that night.
“UNTITLED” By: Stephen Lorber
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