El Patio Spanish

Corrían tiempos difíciles en el recién entrado año de nuestra era de 1492, Boabdil, según todos el débil, el traidor, el desafortunado último rey de Granada, acababa de firmar las capitulaciones con los reyes castellanos. No otra cosa le quedaba por hacer en su reino sino marchar discretamente hacia la Alpujarra, primer destino de su infortunio, donde le esperaba la deshonra y el destierro. Entre el pequeño séquito que formaba su partida, se encontraba una joven renegada, conocida por todos en la corte como “la sierva de la sultana”.  Su nombre converso era Anisa, que en la lengua de los sarracenos significaba “buena compañía”; pues eso era ella para Sitt* al Horra* Morayma, -la noble- y joven esposa de Boabdil.

Ahora, cuando llegaba la angustiosa hora de la partida, Anisa pensó en mandar un último adiós a la que había sido, ha mucho tiempo ya, su familia; no sin antes pedir permiso para tal empresa a su dueña y señora, Morayma, a la que profesaba un profundo amor. Después de pedir pluma y pergamino, comenzó a escribir de esta guisa*: 

Desde mis más humilde respeto, padre mío, madre mía:
ya ha años que la fortuna quiso que me separara de vuestra tutela. Desde entonces siempre os he llevado en mi memoria y en mi corazón. ¡Cuánto hubiera deseado que formaran parte del devenir de mis días y consolaran mi infortunio en aquellos primeros años!  Lo que comenzó siendo un agravio a mi persona y a vuestra merced, padre mío, -ya que fui robada y arrancada de mi linaje contra mi voluntad-, acabó por convertirme en lo que soy ahora. Bien comprendo que mi decisión de pasar de ser fija* de la fe cristiana a convertirme a la fe musulmana, fue punto de desavenencia nunca enmendada con vuestra ahora repudiada fija infiel. Porque lo que nunca pudieron entender vuestras mercedes es que no fui obligada a ello, sino que a través del trato en la corte, el conocimiento profundo de su lengua, de sus costumbres y cultura, el amor hacia la sultana, hicieron que con el paso del tiempo llegara a amar a este pueblo culto y generoso, guerrero y refinado, noble y fiero.

Por tanto, no es mi pretensión que me dispensen los pecados que no cometí, sin que con ello se me acuse de osada y altiva; muy al contrario, ¡in shā' Illah!*, a lo que aspiro con humildad hacia su persona, ¡oh, padre mío!, es que al menos intente comprender -aunque sea por la memoria de la que una vez tuvo por fija- las razones por las cuales decido ahora unir mi destino al destierro de quienes considero mi pueblo y mi familia.

Difficult were the times in the early days of 1492, year of our era. Boabdil, known by all as the weak, traitorous and unfortunate last king of Granada, had just signed the Treaty of Granada with the Catholic Monarchs. Nothing remained for him except to leave discretely for the Alpujarra, the first destination of his misfortune, where dishonour and exile awaited him. In the small cohort that accompanied him on his departure was a young renegade, known by those in the Court as “the servant of the Sultaness”. Her convert name was Anisa, which in the Saracen tongue meant good company; and that is exactly what she was for Sitt al Horra Morayma, - the noble and young wife of Boabdil.

Now, at the anguished hour of departure, Anisa came to write a final farewell to what had been, a long time ago, her family, not without first asking permission for such an endeavour from her owner and mistress, Morayma, for whom she professed a deep love.

Having requested quill and parchment, she started to write in the following manner:

With my most humble respect, dearest Father, dearest Mother:

It has been many years since fate chose to separate me from your care. Since then I have carried ye* always in my memory and in my heart. O how I would have longed for ye to accompany me in the passing of my days and to console me though my hardship in those early years! What began as an affront to myself and to thee*, dear Father – given that I was robbed and ripped from my lineage against my will – ended in me becoming what I now am. I understand only too well that my decision to cease being a daughter of the Christian faith and to convert to Islam was a point of disagreement ne’er* settled with thy now condemned infidel daughter. Because what ye ne’er could understand is that I was not obligated, but that the gentility of the Court, my deep knowledge of its language, of its customs and culture, my love of the Sultaness, saw that with the passing of time I came to love this learned and generous, warlike and refined, noble and fierce people.

And so, it is not my hope that your graces forgive me sins that I did not commit, and as a consequence I be accused of being audacious and arrogant; but very much the opposite, in shā' Illah*! What I beg of thee with humility oh Father of mine, is that thou at least tryest* to understand – even if just for the memory of the one who once was your daughter – the reasons for which I now choose to unite my fate with the exile of whom I consider my people and my family.