debt habits go back, ya‘ni, to our grandfathers.”
Midhat had stopped listening, because a dark veiled figure was walking directly towards the store. Forceful strides. Her robe voluminous with air. She stepped from the light into the shadow, and then Midhat saw her strong brown eyes and caught a familiar homely whiff from her body.
“Teta! What are you doing here?”
“Ahlan teta,” said his grandmother. “Habibi listen. We are going to see the Samaritans. Are you ready? Yalla, imshi.”
“What?”
“Hisham, I am sorry we are leaving. This is very important. His father has asked.”
“Of course, Um Taher. God keep you.”
“Yalla Midhat. Get to your feet.”
Midhat slipped off the stool. “But Teta, I’m doing the accounts.”
Already she had turned and was out on the street again. He jogged to catch up. At the limit of the khan the sun warmed his face, dust rose at his feet, and Teta’s dress ballooned out from under her shawl. He reached a level with her as they stepped through the arch.
“What has my father asked for? Why are we rushing?”
“As-Samariyin. It is something he would want, if he was here.”
“The Samaritans?”
He hesitated. She swung down an alley.
“Te—ta,” he called, following.
One more turn and she brought him to the outskirts of the Samaritan quarter, ducking into a clammy, narrowing passage of whitewashed rock. She tapped on a short wooden door to their right and rattled the handle. As she listened for footsteps she looked Midhat in the eyes, and then peered through the darkened window.
“I think we should talk about it.” He could not keep his voice from rising. “I think you’re being hasty.”
A woman appeared from the alley behind them, dressed in pantaloons and unveiled but for a scarf over her hair. At the sight of Um Taher and Midhat, she started.
“Salam,” said Teta. “Can you tell us where the priest is?”
Midhat squeezed the bridge of his noise. A headache was coming on.
“Yitzhak!” the woman shouted down the passage. There was no response; she sighed and considered Um Taher, then gestured for them to follow. Midhat dropped behind with his eyes to the ground, still squeezing his nose. They arrived at an uncovered stone stairway.
Teta thanked the woman and said to Midhat: “Yalla. Up.”
The steps were slippery with wear, and far greater in height than in breadth. At the top, Teta put her hands on her hips and breathed heavily. Ahead was an empty, open courtyard. “I am old,” she muttered.
Midhat’s laugh echoed and reported back sounding far jollier than he felt. It was warm up here; the sun had heated the stone. The domed roofs of the town were visible on three sides over the low walls, and beyond them, the green mountains. Street noises were muffled by the elevation. The third, largest wall of the courtyard was the front of a building: the Samaritan synagogue.
“Why are we here?” said Midhat.
It was not really a question. There were three reasons why a Muslim Nabulsiyyeh would be meeting the Samaritan high priest, and Teta was not enough of a jealous type to set the evil eye on someone, and she could prophesy perfectly fine herself. Which left only one reason. She grasped his shoulder with one hand and with the other reached for her lifted foot.
“I don’t want the magic,” he said.
She met his eye with a shoe in her hand. “You don’t want it?”
“No.”
“But, habibi, you know it won’t harm her.”
“Bihimish, it’s not the point. I don’t want to do magic. Khalas. I haven’t even … decided if I want …”
“Well we are here now, aren’t we? Let us go inside and meet him. Then you can, whatever, it’s up to you. But I’m telling you I am helping. I am on your side. It’s up to you, but if I were you I would do it.”
“I don’t want it, Teta.”
“I heard you. We are here now, we will meet him.”
She removed the other shoe and groaned as she placed them both under the lemon tree. Midhat slotted a forefinger under his own shoelaces, slipped off the heels, and followed her inside.
He may have visited the courtyard before but he was now certain he had never entered the synagogue. Above him a vaulted ceiling; ahead, unadorned walls buttressed by pointed arches, which carved the space into rooms. Damp had left spots at the ceiling joints, and some of the paint was beginning to shred and fall. A large wooden timepiece like a severed grandfather clock was suspended near the high priest’s chair. The minute hand jerked