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course you don’t, you’ve never been in a harem.”
    “Have you?”
    “Yes, I have, sweet thing. If you only knew. My master was sheikh Moawiya. In the beginning I was his slave. He bought me when I was twelve. Then I became his favorite, his lover. He used to sit on the edge of my bed and gaze at me, just like I’m sitting here now. He’d call me his sweet black cat. He fell in love with me. If only I could tell you what it was like. He was a magnificent man. All of his wives were jealous of me. But they couldn’t do anything about it, because he loved me best of all. Their envy and anger alone made them grow older and uglier by the day. He would take me with him on his expeditions. Then once we were attacked by an enemy tribe. Before our men could set up a defense, their bandits seized me and took me away. They sold me at the market in Basra to a buyer for Our Master. I was miserable.”
    She started to cry. Thick, heavy drops fell on Halima’s cheeks and breast.
    “Don’t be sad, Sara. Things are good for you here with us.”
    “If I knew that you liked me even just a little, I’d feel better. My Moawiya was so handsome and loved me so much.”
    “I like you, Sara,” Halima said, letting herself be kissed.
    Then she started back in on the questions.
    “Was Miriam in a harem too?”
    “Yes, but it was different for her. She was like a queen. Two men were killed because of her.”
    “Why did she come here, then?”
    “Her husband’s relatives sold her to avenge her unfaithfulness to him. She had brought terrible shame on the entire family.”
    “Why was she unfaithful to him?”
    “You wouldn’t understand that yet, Halima. He wasn’t the right one for her.”
    “He must not have loved her.”
    “Oh he loved her all right. He loved her so much that it killed him.”
    “How can you know that?”
    “She told us about it herself when she first came here.”
    “Wasn’t she here before you?”
    “No. Fatima, Jada, Safiya and I were the first. Miriam came after us. At that point we were all still equals, and only Apama gave us orders.”
    “So how did Miriam get to meet Sayyiduna after that?”
    “That I really couldn’t say. He’s a prophet, so maybe he sees and knows everything. One day he sent for her. She didn’t tell us that, but we could sense it. Since then we stopped being equals. She started giving us orders, even opposing Apama. Her power grew and grew, and now even Apama has to obey her, and she hates her for it.”
    “All of this is very strange.”
    Zainab came in and sat down at her dressing table to adjust her hair and put on makeup.
    “Time to go, Halima,” she said. “Apama is our next teacher, and you’d better not cross her. Be careful you don’t come running into the classroom at the last minute. Here’s some blush and black dye for your cheeks and eyebrows. And rosehip oil for perfume. Miriam gave it to me for you. Come on, get up!”
    She and Sara helped get her ready. Then the three of them left for the classroom.
    Apama entered, and it was all Halima could do to keep from laughing. But the look in the old woman’s eyes and the ominous silence that descended at her appearance were her warning to be careful. The girls stood up and bowed deeply.
    The old woman was strangely decked out. Baggy trousers made of black silk flapped around her bony legs. Her halter was red bordered with gold and silver stitching. A small yellow turban with a long heron’s feather covered her head, and giant gold hoops encrusted with gems hung from her ears. She wore a necklace of large pearls that had been draped several times around her neck. Her wrists and ankles were adorned with artfully crafted and precious bracelets and anklets. All of this finery only served to highlight her ugliness and decrepitude. On top of it all, she had painted her lips and cheeks a flaming red and shadowed her eyes with black dye so that she truly looked like a living scarecrow. With a wave of her hand she