Lit eZine Vol 6 | p-14 | FICTION | Cuellar 1200

SHORT STORY

CUELLAR 1200
by Alex Barr

‘You need new flashings,’ said Pablo El Enano.

The three men listening looked grim.

Usman said, ‘According to the archives, they were renewed fifty years ago. Surely they should last longer.’

The midget pulled a face. ‘Yes, Imam, but maybe with substandard lead. Perhaps one of you gentlemen should go up and look for yourselves.’

The three men looked dubiously at the long ladder part visible through the window. 

Samuel said, ‘Thank you, Pablito. I think we’ll forfeit that privilege.’

The midget bowed. ‘As you wish, Rabbi. So what would you gentlemen like me to do?’

Fabiano sighed. ‘Well, we can’t do our work under a leaking roof. Usman has his Friday prayers, Samuel has a bar-mitzvah on Saturday, and I have confirmations on Sunday. How much will new flashings cost?’

 Pablo frowned. ‘I will need to prepare an estimate.’

 ‘Just give us a rough guess,’ Samuel said. ‘We won’t hold you to it.’

The midget named a figure. Priest, Rabbi, and Imam exchanged glances with wry expressions. ‘I’m sorry, gentlemen,’ he went on. ‘Good quality lead isn’t cheap. I’ll see if I can shave that sum without cutting corners.’

Usman said, ‘Thank you, Pablito. We’ll wait to hear from you. Agreed?’

Samuel and Fabiano nodded. The midget bowed again, replaced his cap, and went out. With a scrape of wood on stone, the ladder disappeared, and the three companions pictured the intriguing sight of it moving through Cuellar balanced low on Pablo’s muscular shoulders.

In Café Hamama, managed by Usman’s cousin Aisha, the three men sat gloomily over their mint tea.

‘We’ll never afford it,’ Fabiano sighed.

Samuel clapped his hands for emphasis. He said, ‘Let’s be positive. Each of us asks the richest member of our flock for a donation. Fabiano can ask Don Diego de Álvarez who has the flour mill on Campo San Martíno. Usman can ask Sidi Hassan the Mayor, and I can ask Noah ben Solomon the goldsmith.’

Usman grimaced, tugging his beard. ‘I’ve asked Sidi Hassan before. He’s saving money to go on the Hajj, the pilgrimage to Mecca. And didn’t you say, Fabiano, that Don Diego is planning to build another flour mill at Campo Arañuelo? So his spare money will be tied up.’

Fabiano turned to Samuel. ‘Do you think the goldsmith will be forthcoming?’

Samuel sighed and shook his head. His sidelocks swayed. ‘On second thoughts I was wrong to mention Ben Solomon. I remember now that last time we spoke, he was concerned about anti-Jewish violence in England. This happened only ten years ago, and English Jews fear being driven out. He said, “Rabbi, the same thing could happen in Spain!”’

Usman said, ‘Insha’Allah, never, surely.’

And Fabiano, ‘It cannot be allowed to happen. We must all go on steadfastly as we are. Meanwhile, the leaking roof. Maybe . . .’ He paused. ‘No.’

‘What were you going to say, Father?’ Samuel asked.

‘That we could raise a loan. But then I remembered a passage from Ezekiel, about someone who lends at interest and takes a profit: “Will such a man live? He will not! Because he has done all these detestable things, he is to be put to death; his blood will be on his own head.”’

Samuel nodded thoughtfully and turned to Usman,

‘What does the Holy Quran say about loans?’

Usman said, ‘If the lender is a Muslim, he is doomed. We call money lending riba. Allah forbids all forms of riba and declares its practice equal to disbelief in Him.’

‘That’s clear-cut,’ said Fabiano. 

‘Indeed. Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, has prohibited riba absolutely, and Muslim scholars agree on its illegality.’

Fabiano sighed. ‘And so no doubt does the law of the Caliphate. Unless perhaps the loan is a private arrangement. Maybe from one of our uncles.’

Usman laughed. ‘Our so rich uncles?’

Samuel drained his tea and stared at the wall with its blue tiles in geometric patterns. Then turned to Fabiano.

‘You did well to remember the passage from Ezekiel, Father. But another passage, in Deuteronomy, says, “Unto a stranger thou mayest lend upon usury; but unto thy brother thou shalt not lend upon usury.”’

‘Meaning?’

‘I think it means a Jew may not lend to a fellow Jew but may lend to a non-Jew.’

Usman frowned. ‘But could it also mean a Jew may not lend to a fellow citizen? Are we not all brothers?’

The Rabbi frowned. ‘Ah, now that’s an interesting point.’

The three men sighed. 

Fabiano said, ‘We seem to have hit an impasse.’

After a long silence, a smile spread over Usman’s face. ‘Not necessarily.’

Samuel said, ‘I can’t imagine  . . .’ 

His voice petered out, and a similar smile lit his face, his teeth very white in contrast to his beard. ‘Aha!’

Fabiano nodded, chuckling. ‘It seems we’ve all hit on the answer, gentlemen. We pray.’

Usman said, ‘Yes! I will pray to Allah, Samuel will pray to Jehovah, and Fabiano to God, but really . . .’

Samuel said, ‘Our flocks may not know it, but we know He is One.’

They asked Aisha to bring more tea with churros to celebrate. 

The sun was lower in the sky and would soon peep through the windows. The angelus would ring, the muezzin mount his minaret, and Samuel go to prepare the weekday service. 

Weeks would turn into months, months into years, years into centuries. After three centuries, the descendants of Usman and Samuel would be driven out of Spain while Fabiano’s church brought in the inquisition. In North Africa, Samuel’s descendants would live in peace among Arabs. As for the prayers of the three companions, history does not record the outcome.