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Pru fastened the long-sleeved, ankle-length caftan and arranged her headscarf. Her Tai Chi practice had been, of course, in the privacy of her parents' courtyard, since she was always naked or nearly so when she practiced. Now, after a shower and a leisurely breakfast, she guessed she'd timed her exit from her parents' house correctly when it was clear that Friday morning prayers were over. Small groups of men and a few women wove through the narrow streets on their way to other things. She walked toward the souk, the central market area of the little Moroccan town.
She and her friends here in the village of Qalta took pleasure in occasionally re-creating the old modes of dress and public behavior. They were otherwise women of their time; one where equality and tolerance were the rule and religious strictures were viewed in an un-dogmatic way. The long garment sheltered her somewhat from the hot sun, one of the original, practical reasons for the style. As she walked, she noticed the men looking at her, most surprised and some approving to see the old-style garment she wore. With a grin, she would look down demurely in the old Arab style. Some of the women who saw her frowned; it had taken almost a century to escape the rigid codes, and they really didn't want to go back.
In the souk, Pru saw Jazira looking over the selections at a fishmonger's stall. Her friend wore the more modern kilt with a loose cotton shirt against the sun and her head bare except for a sun hat. Her earring announced that she was married. Pru went over and touched her, and the smaller, darker-skinned woman shrieked a greeting, embracing her.
The market was in the main square of the village, stalls of vendors shaded along the perimeter of the square by awnings and in the center of the square by open-sided marquees. Wares were displayed to catch the eye, and the stall keepers were vigilant for buyers. Except for bits of technology and the eternal evolution of things on offer, the market had not changed in places like this for thousands of years. There were, however, few thieves because the ever-present scanners sensed the CIDs of visitors, and could note when something had not been paid for.
They went the rounds of the market buying various things Jazira needed, for which, even here outside the Controlled Area she paid with a quick scan of the CID implant in her forearm. Towards noon, they settled at a coffee shop for snacks and tiny cups of dark, sweet coffee.
"Tell me how you are," Jazira said to her friend. "And, how long you'll stay. And, why you wear that awful stuff? The Wars are over, by the grace of Al'lah."
Jazira referred to the Hadith Wars of the late 22nd century, several generations of sometimes-bloody strife. They had ended with the acceptance by nearly all Muslims that the Koran should be interpreted in the light of contemporary mores, just as it was when it was revealed to the Prophet. The sweeping changes had included not only interpretation of the Koran and of the Hadith — the sayings of the Prophet — but a New Rationalist approach to all the various means of interpreting the teachings and religious laws of Islam. The result was a reduction of the usually unspoken strife between Sunni and Shia as well as other schismatic sects. Only a reduction, of course, but most Muslims had eventually recognized that continuing the divisive hatreds stemming from something that happened in 643 C.E. did not support the Prophet's goal of ever-widening acceptance of Islam.
At the heart of the changes, of course, were the women. As more women became educated, and as birthrates leveled off, women gained more influence. More and more women became sheiks and imams and in general began to exercise a moderating influence.
It had taken many years to reach a coherent resolution. The change had not been peaceful: the Hadith Wars had claimed many lives. Only the most obvious of the changes Jazira referred to was the position of women in society and the definition of modesty in dress.
Pru responded selectively, "I'm just fine, and I'm here for a couple of weeks. I'm changing jobs and I needed some time off before I start a new one. And, you know as well as I do that a caftan is practical in this climate."
Jazira ignored that, boring to the real issue. "And what is it this time? A new business, a start-up?" she asked. She was the one who now operated the medium-size logistics company her husband, Zahlman, had begun before their marriage. They owned a number of freight lifters, and employed quite a few people to help deliver goods to and produce from local OC farmers and the long-established seaports to the Tangiers-Ceuta CA. The company's growth in the past year or so had largely been her doing.
"I'm going to work for a running and successful training company with locations in 15 countries," Pru said. "I'll be taking the training for a few weeks — an intensive course — then I'll try to be Chief Operating Officer. The company's about three times as big as my old one, and I'm excited."
They talked for a half-hour, then, carrying Jazira's parcels in their net bags, walked through the narrow streets toward her home.
The aged wooden gates opened into a small courtyard paved in stone. An ancient, gnarled tree stood at one corner of the building, with well-tended beds of local grasses and plants at the foundations. Near the entrance, a pool of water, fed by a constant inflow of water over a small channel, glistened. A few carp moved lazily in the shade of a strategically placed bush.
They crossed the sun-warmed paving to enter the old-style stucco and stone residence. Inside the thick walls, the rooms were high, dim and cool with wide, well-shaded windows, furnished with rugs and sofas and chairs in the Moroccan fashion of a bygone era. But, it was all tasteful, clean and new. Only the concept spoke of another age.
Jazira took off her hat, shirt and kilt and hung them on a hook near the door. Typically, she did not remove her knife. Pru hung up her caftan and headscarf. Underneath she wore only a short, sleeveless, scoop-neck shift that barely covered her. She had found the undergarment served to absorb the sweat caused by the relatively heavy traditional garb. Her knife hung at the back of her neck, since the caftan restricted access at the sides. She re-fastened it at her waist. Few people went anywhere without these conventional, though deadly, weapons.
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