(The Zar is a number of things in Middle Eastern and North African societies. One, it's a ritual of extracting a Demon from the possessed, placating and restoring them into the original body. Two, a Zar is also a Demon or Djinn. Three, the Zar is a bonding or ritual dance among women. And four, the Zar is also a form of Hyperarousal Trance, distinct from meditative trances.)
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"Woman!" said Ahmed with anger. "We are married a year. You behave like a child! You don't speak to my mother. I did not get married for this treatment. You are a terrible wife!"
Ahmed has a reason to be angry with Aya. She does not act the spouse he believed he deserved. He expected a paradise on earth, a wife pliable to his wishes and prepared to serve his wants. But Aya was young, only eighteen years old at the wedding. She came from across the mountain, from a village no different from where she was now. No village in this part of the country was much different, and the mountains bred people repeating the same traditions and habits.
Aya was very young. She was a daughter born in the middle of ten children, not noticed by many. Plus, she was only a shy girl, and not expected to shine. When a matchmaker came from Ahmed's parents, Aya's were relieved to marry her off. Both sets of parents, with the matchmaker in the middle, bargained for Aya much as her father bought sheep in the market. Aya was married and packed off to Ahmed's parents, and that was the last Aya's family saw of her that year.
Aya drooped. Deprived of the only people she knew and thrust into a family of strangers, she became even more timid. The excitement of the honeymoon had passed, and living with Ahmed in only a room apart from the large, noisy family was not much of a change. All brides have hope and expectations, and though she said nothing, Aya still was a bride.
Ahmed's mother smelled trouble. She could tell by the scowl of her favorite son he was not happy. Peace on earth depended upon the contentment of men, and Ahmed's mother had tradition to uphold. She knew the trouble gossip could cause, she had been the generator of much of it during her life. Soon Ahmed's sadness would be common discussion around the well, and the family would lose face. Something had to be done.
Ahmed's mother went and cornered her in the courtyard while she fed chickens.
"Aya, why the long face, my daughter?" Ahmed's mother showed little attention to her daughter- in- law, for she did not understand her. She was quiet, which was proper for a good Muslim woman, but too quiet. She had grown listless and preoccupied with spending time on the roof looking over the dry and rocky countryside. Many times Ahmed's mother caught her up there, a strange look in her eye, and seemingly deaf to her calls. At first she had hoped for a grandchild, but Ahmed was spending more time with the men and less with his wife. Surely the girl should be able to charm her new husband. She must not be trying! Ahmed said little but all in the house knew something was wrong.
Ahmed's mother could get nothing from her. The silly bride bowed her head, and cast her eyes downward, looking at her dusty sandals. Well, the peace of her household was at stake, and if Ahmed was unhappy, Ahmed's mother was prepared to do battle.
But not with the girl. That would be beneath Ahmed's mother.
So in the time honored tradition, Ahmed's mother made a formal visit to the local Sheikha. She would know what to do. Ahmed's mother would at least have the satisfaction of doing her duty by her son. If the Sheikha, named Shakira, was successful, Ahmed's mother and father would be able at least to keep all of the bride price. To return it, or even a part, would be a terrible burden. Anyway, most of the bride price was already spent.
Shakira met with Ahmed's mother and told her to send the girl. She would find out the trouble between Ahmed and Aya. She would fix what was broken.
At the appointed time, Aya showed up with her mother- in- law and a very quiet Ahmed. Shakira of course knew the young bride on sight, her family name and that she was a new bride, but she had never reason to notice her. She sometimes saw her at the village well, washing clothes, or feeding the chickens outside the door of Ahmed's house. But she didn't seem remarkable to Shakira. Just a young bride, nothing special.
Aya was very young, with not much meat on her bones. She would not give much heat next to Ahmed when the winter winds blew down from the mountains and turned the air raw and bitter. Better had Ahmed's parents find him a bride who would fill his bed and warm his feet with her flesh. One could see there was bigger problems than too- thin Aya. The girl looked haunted to Shakira's eyes.
Sending Ahmed and his mother home, Shakira prepared to question young Aya. First she had her sit and served her the sweet tea they brewed in the village and drank on all occasions. Aya was quiet, which wasn't out of line for a young Muslim girl, but she noticed that she kept her eyes cast on the floor. This was more than a normal shyness. The girl appeared deeply disturbed.
"Come, Aya. Do not be shy. You know why you are here. Your husband has made complaints about your behavior in the marriage. Is something wrong, my daughter?"
Aya sipped at her tea and shook her head, but did not raise her eyes to Shakira's face.
The Sheikha Shakira could tell many things by the shine of the eyes, by the carriage of the head, by the shoulders, by the sheen of the skin. Although thin, Aya did not appear sick, just unhappy.
"Aya". Shakira thought a direct approach would get some answers. "Does Ahmed do what a husband should? Do you know what a husband does for his wife?"
Aya blushed, and her hands shook as she put her small glass down.
"Tell me," said Shakira with an encouraging smile. "Does Ahmed put off his own pleasure for yours?" The look on Aya's face told Shakira that Ahmed did not.
Aya's blush increased, giving her dusky skin a bloom of beauty.
