Heaven

The Man

Summer in the Azara was brutal. They said it was even worse in Kurtuba, but I didn’t think that was possible. I gushed sweat, my clothes adhered to my body and every breath felt like suffocation. The worst part: There was no relief. Being outside was miserable, and being inside wasn’t much better. In the prior months, the small windows kept out the burning sunshine well, but in high summer this wasn’t enough. Everything, even indoors, was warm to the touch, as if it were slowly melting away. 

If there was any hope for the persistence of life, it was early morning. The temperature dropped significantly overnight, only to climb, climb, climb throughout the day, peaking in the evening. It stayed hot well into the night, but by morning the temperature was actually quite pleasant. For this reason most people did their shopping and other errands first thing in the morning, taking refuge indoors for as much of the rest of the day as possible. 

But on one day in particular—the Lord’s Day, no less—even the morning heat was stifling. I woke up earlier than usual in a sweat, my hair plastered to my head. I couldn’t go back to sleep, so I decided to go to Mass a bit early. At the basin I splashed my face and scooped handfuls of water over my head to wet my hair as well as I could. With a towel I dried off, and for a few moments I felt refreshed. Until, that is, the sweat began streaming again. But there was no remedy, and I’d have to live with it. The consolation was that the perpetual sweat seemed to affect everyone in the city, so I wouldn’t appear out of place. Of course, we Sakaliba were famous for our low heat tolerance and the propensity for our skin to turn red in the sunshine—I never heard the end of it—so my fitting in only reached a certain extent. 

I made my way onto the street, where I was refreshed by a slight breeze—if only that cool air could reach the inside of the house. But whatever alleviation the breeze offered was quickly forgotten when I saw two figures in the road ahead: a large man dressed head to toe in black, and a small woman. I recognized them instantly as the mysterious man from the back of the church and my dear Alabana. They were walking close together, and I could hear that they were talking—I couldn’t make anything out, but I could tell that they were in the midst of conversation. They were walking in the same direction as me—toward the church—so I followed them cautiously, from far behind. 

When they had almost reached the church, they stopped walking and turned toward each other. I froze, terrified that they might turn just a little more and see me following them. 

The man handed something in a small pouch to Alabana, and she stuffed it into her garment. What would they do if they saw me? They didn’t seem to be hiding, but everything about the scene had the flavor of secrecy and foul play. After exchanging a few more words, they again turned to face the church and went inside.

How did Alabana know that man? He never talked to anybody! She told me she had just moved to the Azara from Kurtuba, but that man had been here for at least as long as I had. Granted, the Azara wasn’t very far away from Kurtuba, and it was possible that the man lived in Kurtuba and attended Mass in the Azara. But why would he go through the trouble? There were plenty of churches in Kurtuba. 

Who was this man? Was he her master? If so, why did they hide their relationship at Mass? It dawned on me: It would be impossible for a Christian to have a Christian servant; the man must be a secret Christian. That would explain the disguise, I thought. But if he really was a Christian, how could he stomach having a sister in faith enslaved under him—law or not? What a brute. And that they had the audacity to go to Mass together, pretending that they’d arrived separately. But still, something was fishy. 

I turned these thoughts over during Mass. Not that my mind needed any stimulation to divert its attention from the priest: The bulk of the service was in Latina, and it took a great deal of concentration for me to understand it. But I wasn’t alone. As I looked around, I noticed a number of people staring into space or their folded hands, or looking from churchgoer to churchgoer, just as I was. I noticed Alabana looking back at me, smiling as usual. I returned the gesture out of habit, but my heart was preoccupied.