. The Inquisition.
So weâve been asked to bring him along.
Can you guess what heâs done?â
I canât begin to, but that
does not seem to be called for.
He goes on, barely stopping
for breath.
âHe tried, the poor man, to convert to our faith.
Strange, in these times, is it not?
But he said that the Church, which roasts
men like meat, is no place for him.
So he went to a synagogue in Toledo
and asked for instruction.
The rabbi he talked to was no braver
than we who carry these arms.
Fearing for his life, he reported our friend
to the Office.
âNow it is Jews who must jail him,
adding stranger to strange.
We darenât say no.
And besides, what other work
is there left for Jews in this land?
âBut heâs just passing through us.
A ghost passing through
a wall of more ghosts.
âThough fit enough food
for the Holiest fires.â
Pockets
Iâm astonished.
They bother with autos-da-fé
in the midst of their war?
âOf course! And why not?
The Queen sees the stake and the sword
as tools with one purposeâ
a pure Christian Spain.
And the King says the Inquisition is fireâ
if youâll pardon the expressionâ
for his menâs morale.â
âNot to mention the means
to buy all these toys!â A man
with a button-round nose has piped up.
âNo oneâs buried with full pockets, my friend!
As long as backsliders are burned at the stake,
thereâll be money to grease the costly machine
of this war with the Moors.â
My head reels.
It all seems an endless circle.
I recall Ramonâs words.
This bloodthirsty place .
At this rate, weâll all have to wait
till we die to escape it.
Trade
The captive wonât tear his gaze
from the ground.
I canât seem
to stop staring at him.
His clothes are those of any Christian.
He wears no sanbenito . Not yet.
âTrade up,â the men urge me.
They eye my red Mudejar badge, my turban,
my ankle-length robes.
âYou canât pass the armies
of the King wearing those!â
âArenât you forgetting,â I ask them,
âone little thing? Shall I say
my dark skin is a sunburn?â
The men laugh.
âThere is many a Christianized Moor on the side of the King.
They are prized, in plain fact.
They can talk to the traitors who sneak
from inside to sell news of the city.
Though no oneâs suggesting that you
would do that .â
Still, I refuse. How much worse for this
man if heâs seen in my clothes.
A Judaizing Christian in Mudejar robes!
That night, thereâs a party.
The men drink sweet Juarez wine
from the cask.
The wretch runs. I see him, and pretend
Iâm asleep. But he trips. Someone wakes.
An arrow pierces his back
before he can get to his feet.
âNow will you take his clothes?â
Allah forgive me.
Yes.
Gift
Itâs the last thing I do
with his body.
Iâve already dressed him
in my turban and robe.
But before I depart
I give one final gift.
Beaâs square of white linen
âand her little tooth.
I feel sorry for leaving
this legacy.
I just want it gone.
Praying
After two weeks of wheat fields,
theyâve finally vanished!
Lush vineyards spice the moist air.
Olive trees speckle
the rolling green hills.
These are the banks
of the River Xenil.
Weâre making progress:
the Axarquian Mountains
spike the distance.
As much as we can,
we camp near a stream.
These have extra value for me,
for my prayers.
I plunge hands and feet
in the cool water.
At last, I am clean for my God.
I bring my sack with me, the money I earned.
Some of the men in our party
have little to lose.
But one day while praying
I pay for my doubts.
I turn round as a banditânot one of the Jewsâ
streaks off.
With him, my satchel.
All I have in the world.
Not
So
I still have Hafiz!
He is inside the blanket I use as a pillow,
just where I stowed him last night.
His worn cover mocks me.
This is the sum of your worldly goods now!
I open the