But now she was happy to be home again and was consumed by preparations for her wedding, assisted by all the Hopkins women as well as the bin Ibrahims. This morning, right after breakfast, she had gone with Victoria to the seamstresses and embroiderers to try on her wedding dresses. Victoria had been a bit envious when she discovered her sister-in-law was getting not one but ten dresses for the three-day celebration. Sabri’s sisters had explained it was simply the custom in this country. A bride should feel like a princess out of One Thousand and One Nights on the day of her nuptials.
While Emily was trying on dresses, Sibylla had auditioned musicians. And, after prayers, she was to meet Almaz and Haji Abdul’s first wife in order to taste a few of the abundant dishes that were to be served at the feast. In between, she’d found time to stop by the harbor to bid Captain Comstock farewell.
“Mummy! Here you are!” a voice behind her called out. “We have to hurry if we want to be on time to meet Almaz and Sabri’s father’s first wife!”
She shook the veteran mariner’s hand. “Fair winds and following seas, Captain. That’s what you say, isn’t it? I wish you many happy years!”
He beamed and bowed awkwardly. “Always an honor to work with you, Mrs. Hopkins!”
Mother and daughter headed to the warehouse together. It was almost noon and the muezzin would soon call the faithful to prayer. But for now, the quay buzzed with life. Ships were being loaded and unloaded. Sailors scrubbed decks, mended sails, checked anchor cables and ropes. Workers were hauling sacks and rolling barrels back and forth between ships and warehouses, and the harbormaster was standing next to the captain of an American frigate and checking whether the number of bales of cotton on the paper corresponded with the actual number delivered.
“I miss Sabri,” Emily sighed. Since their return from Lisbon, his family had insisted that they live separately in their respective family’s homes until the wedding. They were not even permitted to visit each other.
“If you hope to have a peaceful relationship with your future family, you will have to endure this yearning, whether you like it or not—watch out!” Sibylla grabbed Emily’s arm and pulled her away from a suspended crate spinning dangerously on its way off a Danish ship.
“I’m so happy that Uncle Oscar and his family are coming for our feast!” Emily said once the danger had passed. “It’s all right if Grandmother Mary finds the journey too strenuous, because I’m going to meet her soon anyway.” Emily and Sabri were planning to travel to London for their honeymoon and stay there for one year so that Sabri could further his medical training and Emily could finally undertake her art studies.
“The rooms for Oscar’s family still have to be made ready. I really don’t know how we’re going to get everything done in time!” Sibylla sighed as they entered the warehouse. “Wait here. I’ll be right down.”
As Sibylla ran up the stairs to the second floor, the muezzin’s call to prayer came from the minaret; the hall rapidly emptied out, as did the entire harbor, with the exception of a few Christian sailors.
Emily leaned against a pallet of leather and dreamily stroked the smooth material. She thought of Sabri and how much she loved him. So much that she would have endured anything, even leaving Mogador forever.
She had sensed it immediately when they first met on his return from London. Now that they were married, she was sure: he was the one. She had never thought that it would be so wonderful to be man and wife—one flesh, as Captain Comstock had read from the Bible when he married them. She closed her eyes and thought back to their first night together in the captain’s quarters, which Comstock had lent them for the occasion. She thought of Sabri’s arms, which had held her so tightly and told her that she belonged to him from now on; of his mouth, which had caressed not only her mouth with his lips and tongue but also all the other areas of her body, especially those where her most overwhelming sensations lay hidden. A strange, greedy desire had taken hold of her when he tenderly touched her in these hidden places . . .
The warehouse gate creaked on its hinges. Emily turned around and watched it being opened slowly, stealthily. A shadow lingered a moment, then entered. A tall man in a black djellaba and a black turban crossed the hall and climbed the wooden stairs so rapidly that he did not notice Emily standing there in the semidarkness. He hurried toward her mother’s office. Emily stayed quiet as a mouse next to the pallet. The hairs on her neck stood on end when she saw that the stranger had covered his face except for a small slit for his eyes. Who was this man? He wore Arab clothing and yet he had not answered the call to prayer. She held her breath and watched as the stranger raised his hand and knocked. She could hear her mother’s muffled voice telling the man to enter. He opened the door and disappeared.
Emily had a tingling sensation in her stomach, half frightened, half curious. Without making a sound, she climbed the stairs and tiptoed to the closed office door. She hesitated, but her curiosity won out. She crouched down and peered through the keyhole. The stranger was standing with his back to the door, so Emily’s view was partially blocked, but even so, she could see the unspeakable terror on her mother’s face.
“Hello, Sibylla. Why are you looking at me like that? Do you no longer recognize your husband?” The stranger removed his scarf.
“Benjamin?!” Sibylla stammered and then again, “Benjamin?” She recognized his voice, that slightly nasal, haughty voice, like an echo from times past, and his icy blue eyes. And still she could not believe it—she had thought him dead for twenty-two years, burned to death in a blaze no one could have survived. But there he was, standing before her, pale and shrunken, his face covered in scars and bulges as though liquid wax had hardened, no eyelashes, eyebrows, or proper nose. She had the feeling a ghost was standing in front of her, and she shuddered with fright.
Benjamin pulled his lipless mouth into a hideous, knowing grin. “I’ve changed a bit, haven’t I, my dear? But the same is true of you. You have aged.” Before she had a chance to react, he was by her side, touching her hair, now more white than blonde, with fingers that resembled claws, bulging and fissured. She recoiled full of disgust, but he quickly grabbed her wrist. “Go ahead and look at me, look at my new skin! It took me one whole year to grow into it.”
“Let go of me at once!” Sibylla freed herself with one lurch and sought refuge behind her desk.
“Oh, calm down, Sibylla! I have always found your money far more attractive than you. But then, you always loved your books more than you did me.”
He stepped over to her abacus, which stood in front of the wall in a large wooden frame on a movable table, and idly moved some beads along the wires.
“How did you survive? I saw the ruins. No one could have made it out alive.” She stared at his back, still struggling to understand that it was really and truly Benjamin standing there.