Page 40 of Do Not Awaken Love (The Moroccan Empire #3)

Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth.

I try to breathe slowly, open the casket to soothe myself with its familiar contents.

I pull out the ivory rattle that Yusuf gave to Ali when he was a baby.

I shake it and smile, replace it in the casket.

There is a tiny cross that Rebecca gave to me when she married Daniel.

My fingers touch the betrothal necklace I picked up from the ground when Kella left Murakush.

I pull it out and look at it more closely, it has been years since I held it.

It is a simple thing, little black beads interspersed with silver triangles, marked with symbols from her people, which mean nothing to me.

“Where did you get that from?” Yusuf has followed me, he is standing in the doorway, frowning. He has replaced his veil; I can only see his eyes and brows.

“It is nothing,” I say quickly, replacing the necklace in the casket. My fingers are on the lid, ready to close it. My breath, which had begun to slow, comes faster again.

“Show me it.”

His tone tells me I cannot disobey. Slowly, I reach back into the casket and hold up the little necklace.

He crosses the room and takes it. His fingers are shaking. He turns the necklace over in his hands, looks for something I cannot see and then stares down at me. “Where did you get this?”

“I – I found it.” I feel vulnerable, sitting so low down, but I do not have the courage to stand and face him. I try to look away, but it is not a good enough answer. When I look up again his gaze is still on me, the hand that holds the necklace still shaking.

He is waiting.

“I found it after Kella left,” I say. It is clear to me that he knows to whom it belongs, although I have seen other such necklaces. There is something about it that has identified it to him as Kella’s and there is no use denying where it comes from.

“Where is she?”

“I do not know,” I say honestly. “Truly, I would tell you if I knew.”

“You found it where?”

“Outside her home.”

“What were you doing there?”

“I – I saw her leave.”

He stares at me in disbelief. “You knew she was leaving, and you did not call for me? You did not tell me afterwards where she had gone?”

“I did not know where she was going,” I say.

“You did not try to stop her?”

I hesitate. “She was afraid of Zaynab,” I say at last. “She had to leave.”

“No harm would have come to her,” says Yusuf, and his eyes have grown angry. “She was under my protection. Zaynab would not have harmed her.”

“If you say so,” I say.

“What is your meaning?” he asks, his voice tight.

“She set Hela to serve her and Hela saw to it that she lost a child.” I say, standing up. He comes very close to me, looks into my face as though to seek the truth in my eyes. I meet his gaze without flinching, without looking away.

“Why did she leave?” he asks. “She could have come to me for protection.”

I shake my head. “I do not know,” I say. “I do not know all that was in her mind.”

“What else do you keep in that casket?” he asks.

I feel the blood drain from my face, then rush back, my neck and cheeks hot. “Nothing,” I say.

“You will forgive me, but I do not believe you,” he says. “Give it to me.”

“It is mine,” I say.

He holds up the little necklace, the tiny silver triangles dangling. “But this was mine,” he says. “It was mine and I gave it to Kella. It was not yours to keep, all these years. Show me the casket.”

This is the moment then, the moment as I have thought of all the years that I have raised Ali.

This is the moment when all I have done will come to light.

I hold out the casket, my hands shaking so hard that the lid rattles, my knees suddenly weak.

I try to steady my breathing. Yusuf takes it, his eyes never leaving my face.

“What is it?” he asks. He looks concerned now, he does not even look at the casket that he holds, he looks only into my eyes.

I shake my head. “Open it,” I say.

He looks down at the tiny casket, lifts the lid and pulls out the tiny rattle he once gave Ali, looks at me.

“The beads,” I say, my voice almost a whisper.

He looks down again, frowns, then returns the rattle to the casket and instead lifts out the long string of silver beads.

He holds them closer, looks at the engravings on each and suddenly the casket drops from his other hand, hits the floor with a shattered thud, lies broken on the tiles beneath our feet. Neither of us look at it.

“What is the meaning of this?” he asks. “Why do you have the beads I gave to Kella for our son? He died at birth.”

I try to speak, but my mouth is so dry it will not even open. I try to wet my lips, finally manage to open them and whisper. “He… did not die.”

He stares at me. “What?”

I try again, speak a little louder. “He did not die,” I say. “He lives.”

“She took him away with her?”

I shake my head.

“How would you know whether he is alive or dead?”

“She gave him to me,” I say.

He says nothing, only gazes at me for a long moment. “ Gave him to you?”

“To protect him,” I say. “From Zaynab. Kella was afraid of her. She gave Ali to me and left, so that Zaynab would leave him alone.”

“She gave Ali, my son, to you?”

“Yes,” I say.

“And he lives?”

“Yes,” I say.

He is silent. “The child you have raised all these years,” he says at last, “and whom you have called Ali, he is…”

“He is your son,” I say, and the relief of saying it, after all this time, brings tears pouring down my cheeks so suddenly that they surprise me. I put a hand up to wipe them away and Yusuf takes me by the wrist, pulls me close to him, so close that our bodies touch.

“Swear,” he says, and I am almost afraid of him for a moment, his voice is so hard, his grip on my wrist so tight that it is painful.

“I swear,” I say.

We stare at each other. His grip on my wrist does not lessen.

“I swear,” I say, my voice stronger now.

“Your wife Kella gave me her son, your son Ali, to raise, to protect from Zaynab. She left this place and you to protect Ali. She gave me those beads to prove his lineage. I watched her leave and saw the necklace fall. I have kept them all these years. And I have raised Ali, as I promised Kella I would do.”

“You have raised my son?”

“Yes,” I say.

“He is the child I have seen all these years? Now a man?”

“Yes,” I say. He is repeating himself but I can see belief beginning to dawn in his face.

He lets go of my wrist. Slowly, he kneels before me.

I look down on him, uncertain of what he is doing.

He takes the hem of my robe in his hands and kisses it.

When he looks up at me, his eyes are overflowing with tears.

“You have performed a greater service than I could ever have asked of you,” he says.

“I swore I would care for him,” I say, my tears falling down onto his veil. “I brought him into this world and now I deliver him back into your hands.”

He makes me tell him everything, every time that my path crossed with Kella, everything she said, however small.

It should be difficult, after all this time, but such were the events of that time that they are emblazoned on my mind.

I tell him of Ali’s birth and of Kella’s visit to my home, of her desperate request and my promise to her.

I explain how Rebecca came into our lives, and he blesses her name, laughing through his tears.

“I must see him,” he says suddenly, as though the idea has only just occurred to him. “I must tell him everything.”

“He knows nothing,” I say. “Tell him gently, it will be a shock to him. He thinks of Rebecca and me as his mothers. He knows nothing of Kella. But he will be proud to be your son,” I add.

Yusuf is beside himself. He cannot wait to speak with Ali; he paces impatiently about the house until he returns from his studies.

I find myself growing nervous. The son I had is about to be lost to me, he will no longer call me mother.

I find the tears welling up in me and force them back down.

I am not his mother, I remind myself, he has a mother of his own and a father, whose identity he is about to learn.

My promise is fulfilled; I have protected him all these years and I am about to deliver him safely to his father.

When Ali does come home, Yusuf’s face is flushed with joy.

I watch from the upper storey as he takes Ali’s arm and pulls him towards the fountain, the two of them sat side-by-side on the tiled edge, Yusuf’s voice is low, his words rapid.

I keep my eyes on Ali’s face and watch it turn from puzzlement to wonder.

He looks up at me, searching for my confirmation of what he’s being told and when I nod, his shoulders shake, and Yusuf takes him in his arms.

“I must go,” says Yusuf to me, after some time has passed. “I will return tomorrow,” he adds, looking at Ali, whose face is both lit up with the wonderment of what has happened and blotched with his tears.

When he has gone, I stand awkwardly, waiting to hear what Ali has to say to me, but when he comes to me, he kneels at my feet and looks up into my face. “You are still my mother,” he says. “For you and Rebecca are the only mothers I have ever known.”

“I can tell you about your mother if you wish,” I say.

“I would like to hear about the woman who gave me life,” he says. “But I cannot call her mother. You are my mother.”