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    Dreams Of Andalusia (Three Short Stories)
    Dreams Of Andalusia (Three Short Stories)
    Dreams Of Andalusia (Three Short Stories)
    Ebook54 pages45 minutes

    Dreams Of Andalusia (Three Short Stories)

    By Adrien Leduc

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    About this ebook

    (1) In "Abdul bin Rashid", Alessandro Fuentealba reflects on his time spent among the Moors and under the tutelage of the scholarly Abdul bin Rashid.
    (2) "The Dancing Girls Of Leon" looks at the lives of four young Andalusian women serving as dancing girls in a royal manor house.
    *This story contains adult content
    (3) In "The Andalusian Armband", brother-sister duo, Kevin and Julie unearth a thousand year old treasure.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAdrien Leduc
    Release dateOct 27, 2012
    ISBN9781301443857
    Dreams Of Andalusia (Three Short Stories)
    Author

    Adrien Leduc

    Originally from Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, Adrien Leduc makes his home in Victoria, British Columbia with his family. A lifelong reader and writer, Adrien hopes to write many more books in the years to come. Find Adrien's latest books at www.mongoosebooks.com

    Read more from Adrien Leduc

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      Book preview

      Dreams Of Andalusia (Three Short Stories) - Adrien Leduc

      DREAMS OF ANDALUSIA: THREE SHORT STORIES

      Adrien Leduc

      Copyright 2012. Adrien Leduc. Smashwords Edition. All rights reserved.

      Smashwords Edition License Notes

      This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      (Leduc, Adrien 1987- )

      All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form than that in which it is published.

      (1)

      Abdul bin Rashid

      He was my friend. And I watched him die. Abdul bin Rashid. Third son of Rashid Abdu-Rahman the Wise, and multi-talented courtier at Al-Mooheeb - the majestic palace that once stood atop the hill, overlooking our small city.

      I can still remember the first time I met him. It was early July in the year 1409 - by the Julian calendar. Almarpen was in the grips of a heat wave and our olive trees were shedding their precious fruit earlier than usual, I suppose deciding that the water we gave them was enough for life only - and not production.

      The sudden abundance of olives concerned my mother. We had neither the means nor the resources to preserve them all - nor turn them all to oil. To let the excess spoil would mean a loss of income and with our small farm already struggling to survive, my mother could not afford such a loss. And so, contrary to everything she believed in - for she'd been raised to hate the Moors and would, under normal circumstances, have nothing to do with them - she bade me take two barrels and peddle them at the palace. I hid my excitement - for fear that if she saw that I was happy at the opportunity to visit the Moors - she would send one of the servants on the errand instead. And so, with my donkey, Rodolfo, and our much-used wagon, I set out the following morning for the palace.

      The journey through Almarpen's winding, cobblestone streets, much of it uphill, seemed agonizingly slow - though I suspect this was due largely to my excitement and anticipation. For it wasn't often that my mother allowed me to have interactions with the Moors. Occasionally, if we had company, she would send me to the Abu-Kemer market to buy figs or dates or other fruits we Spaniards didn't harvest. There, Arab vendors were plentiful and eagerly hawked their produce to well-dressed Spanish boys like myself. But that was it. For she genuinely feared the Moors.

      They aren't like us, Alessandro, she would say. They are dirty and uncivilized. They pray to a different god. Respectable people do not associate with such animals.

      To her they would always be invaders. Barbarians. Foreigners. Even though they'd lived in Andalusia for several centuries.

      Her parents, my abuelo and abuela had been of the same opinion as she, raising her to hate and fear the Mohammedan Moors, and my grandfather would often warn me against forming friendships with their children for fear the parents would attempt to convert me to their religion.

      However, like my father - who I am told died at sea when I was still just a baby - I was a curious boy. I was intrigued by these exotic, bronze-skinned

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