Once they were gone, she turned to Hutia, who sat in a corner looking as if he hoped to remain unnoticed.
“Hutia, you must speak up if there is anything you need. You too have had a long journey and survived many dangers and sorrows. Will you spend the day with me and my daughters?”
Hutia leaped to his feet and bowed with a flourish he had learned from Signor Bianchini in Ancona.
“Doña Elena, I thank you for this invitation and for your kindness and hospitality.”
Mama smiled with pleasure at this form of address, while Rachel laughed.
“Hutia, you bow like an Italian. It goes better in doublet and hose. Mama, how do people greet each other here?”
“Rachel, do not be rude to our guest. One says, ‘Asalamu alaykum,’ and if you are greeted, you may respond ‘Alaykum asalaam.’”
“But not at breakfast,” Susanna said, spreading honey on her bread and licking her fingers.
“I do not mind Rachel’s teasing, Doña Elena,” Hutia said. “I am used to it.”
“Anyway, I already know that greeting,” Rachel said. “We heard it everywhere in the Balkans. It is Arabic for ‘God’s peace be upon you,’ and the response is, ‘And upon you also.’ It was the first thing our Turkish tutor taught us.”
“You studied Turkish?” Elvira asked. “Why? Most of our Jewish women do not learn it.”
“Why not?” Rachel said. “Wherever I go, I like to be able to speak to the people I meet.”
“Rachel speaks several languages fluently,” Hutia said, “including Turkish, Italian, and Taino, my native tongue.”
“Huh.” Susanna’s tone indicated that she would rather not be impressed. “Say something in Taino, Rachel.”
Rachel grinned at Hutia. Her face softened as she said tenderly in Taino, “You will never forget your native tongue, nanichi, as long as I am alive to speak with you.”
“Well, if Hutia says it is really Taino, so it must be,” Susanna said. “What does it mean?”
“Nothing much,” Rachel said. “What are we going to do today, Mama?”
“Would you like to go shopping?” Mama asked.
“Oh, Mama!” Rachel flung her arms around her mother and did her best to twirl her around. “Yes, yes, yes! I have not had a new dress in so long, unless you count the dress that Signora Bianchini gave me in Ancona, but nothing of my own, not for years.”
“I will come too,” Susanna said. “I love the bazaar.”
“I had better go along,” Elvira said, “to keep you all from being too extravagant. You too, Mama! I know you are dying to shower Rachel with pretty clothes.”
“Hutia, will you come?” Rachel asked.
“No, thank you,” Hutia said. “I would only be in the way.”
“You mean you would be terrified,” Rachel said, “to spend the day in the bazaar with four women bent on a bargain.”
“Truly,” Hutia said, “I find Istanbul itself overwhelming. You know that I am not used to cities. I can best conquer my unease by exploring the town on my own until I become accustomed to it.”
The Bedestan was a massive stone edifice of domes and great arched passageways, thronged with shoppers haggling over a dazzling variety of wares: silks, brocades, and velvets, gold and silver jewelry set with pearls and rubies, spices, glass, and weapons, leather goods, luxurious furs, elaborately carved wooden furniture and chests, embroidery and carpets, ribbons, buttons, and shoes.
“The Bedestan is only the covered market,” Susanna said, skipping along beside Rachel. “The Grand Bazaar itself is far larger. We can go to the sweetmeat seller’s, Mama, can we not, the one who makes the best Turkish delight? Rachel has never tasted it.”
“We’ll see.” Mama linked her arm in Rachel’s, as if she feared she would wander off and disappear. “Most of the Jewish shops in the Grand Bazaar are in the uncovered market, but gradually more Jews are being allowed to rent shops in the Bedestan.”
“The shops are called trunks,” Susanna said. “The vendors keep their goods in trunks that are locked at night, with guards to make sure that none disturb them.”
“Elvira!” Mama said. “Do not get too far ahead.”
“We will not get lost, Mama,” Rachel said. “The girls obviously know the bazaar well, and I have been to the Indies and back without getting lost.”
“Oh, my sweet girl!” Mama exclaimed. She stopped and embraced Rachel, oblivious to a group of turbaned men who were trying to get past. “I thought I had lost you forever.”
“Even folk who know it well get lost in the Bedestan,” Susanna said. “Mehmet the Conqueror, he who took this city from the Byzantines, designed it to be a city in itself. There’s a mosque, though of course we can never go into it, and public fountains from which all may drink.”
“I will not leave your side, Mama,” Rachel promised. “Of course, when I sailed to the Indies, I had Admiral Columbus to make sure I did not get lost! Whatever his flaws, he is a very great navigator.”
“I had forgotten you knew Christopher,” Mama said. “He was a friend of Papa’s, you know, when we were all young. How is he?”
“Mama!” Rachel cried. “Are you blushing?”
“What’s this?” Susanna cried. “Elvira, come! We must hear this. Mama, was the Admiral your novio? Were he and Papa rivals for your hand?”
“Don’t be silly, Susanna,” Elvira said. “Columbus isn’t Jewish. But do tell us more, Mama.”
“He had bright red hair,” Mama said, smiling reminiscently, “and a strong Genoese accent. But he had presence. You could tell he would do great things. And so he has, though I assure you, girls, I would never have married anyone but Papa. What is he like now, Rachel?”
Rachel grinned.
“He has lost the accent,” she said. “His hair is white, and he forgets to comb it, for he always has some great work in hand: a town to build, a course to chart, or a letter to write to the queen. And he suffers from the gout.”
“Oh, no!” Mama said. “Ah, well, nobody stays young forever.”
“The first time I met him, Rachel said, “in Seville, he said that I reminded him of you.”
“Ask Papa,” Mama said. “He will say the same. You spoke of flaws, and I do not think you meant a neglect of grooming.”
“He was always very kind to me, Mama,” Rachel said. “Indeed, he kept me safe. And he was fond of Diego, showing him much favor. But Hispaniola changed him. First, he wanted to make all the Taino Christians. You may talk to Hutia about it, if the Jews’ experience is not sufficient proof of what is wrong with that! But then he came to believe that there was gold in Hispaniola. Well, there was, but only in the rivers. The Taino do not value it. Their whole virtue is generosity, and they gave it to us freely, once they knew we liked it. The Admiral came to believe there was a mine and that the Taino were keeping it secret from him. But there was not! He had them tortured, Mama, so they would tell him where to find the gold. And then he became obsessed with what he owed the king and queen for supporting his explorations and how he must repay them by sending the Taino as slaves to Spain, since he could not send sufficient gold.”
Mama pinched her lips together and shook her head.
“Slavery is a cruel practice,” she said, “and I am afraid you will see much of it here. Even some Jews have slaves, which Papa and I deplore deeply. Papa says what he can to make the congregation speak out against it, but so far, without success.”
“You must be very kind to Hutia, Mama, and so must Papa. We have lost much, but we still have each other, and here in Istanbul, the Jews as a people have a chance to rebuild. Hutia has lost everyone, Mama! The Taino are no more.”
Mama kissed her.
“We will do all we can to help your friend make a new home here, my dear, for Diego’s sake and for yours.”
“I want to talk to you about that,” Rachel began.
Susanna had flitted off to browse among the wares on display in the nearest shops. “Rachel!” she called out. “Y
ou must see this.”
The moment was lost. Susanna was holding up a pair of oddly shaped objects made of leather on which strips of silver leaf had been laid in intricate patterns around an inlay of mother of pearl, with pegs extending downward.
“Are they shoes?” Rachel asked. “They look like tiny six-legged tables.”
“They are shoes,” Susanna said, “made for ladies of the harem.”
“You know about the harem, do you not?” Elvira said. “The Muslim ladies do not go out but live in special quarters, where they are not allowed to see any men except their fathers and brothers, and of course their husbands when they marry.”
“In the inn where we stayed the night before we found you, I slept in a sort of harem, except that there were not only Muslim women, but Christian women as well, besides me. I found it very relaxing. I have not been much in the company of women since I left the convent in Barcelona, except for a few months in ’93 with a family in Seville that had many daughters. I did not realize I missed it.”
“And now you have us!” Susanna said, beaming.
“I see women in the market who are completely veiled,” Rachel said, looking around her. “So Muslim ladies do go out.”
“They are probably servants or the poorer class of women,” Elvira said. “Shoes like these, raised high above the ground so the wearer’s feet never get wet or dirty, are for the sultan’s wives and concubines or the wives of the very rich. You will not see such ladies in the market, even in the richest quarters of the Bedestan.”
“Come, girls,” Mama said. “We must move on. Rachel needs shoes, but less expensive ones.”
“Oh, Mama,” Rachel said, “may I have a pair of red leather slippers with pointed toes? I saw them at the inn, and they are adorable. It is so long since I wore something pretty.”
Mama being inclined to indulge her newly restored daughter, Rachel soon owned two pairs of flat slippers with pointed toes, the second in a sensible brown leather, and three dresses with gathered waists and buttons. Two were plain but dyed a deep ochre and a rich red, with silk buttons. The third was blue and heavily embroidered in a floral pattern. Mama had said a firm no to a cream-colored silk gown embroidered in gold thread, calling it unsuitable for an unmarried girl who was not a princess.
“Or a sultan’s concubine,” Rachel said. “That’s all right, Mama, I didn’t really think you would let me have it. It is beautiful, though.”
“We need to get you several of the long-sleeved underdresses, Rachel,” Mama said. “Everybody wears those, Muslim and Jewish women alike.”
“It is as well you did not fall in love with the green gown,” Susanna said. “Green is a color that only Muslims may wear.”
“You must have a hat or two,” Elvira said, “perhaps a couple of these cup-shaped caps in the colors of your gowns, with a twist of scarf around it like a sort of turban.”
“Can I have a şalvar? They are not only for men. Look, there is a Turkish woman with the trousers showing under a shorter overdress, more like a tunic.”
“We don’t usually—” Mama began.
An unveiled woman with a dark cloak and scarf over her hair stumbled into her. Mama reached out to keep her from falling.
“Malka! Is it you?”
“Elena! I am so sorry. I tripped and lost my shoe.”
Rachel started forward, recognizing the mother of a childhood friend from Seville, though much altered by suffering. She was Mama’s age, but she looked twenty years older. Elvira held Rachel back, grasping her arm in an iron grip.
“Don’t ask about Naomi!” she whispered. “In fact, come. We will look at hats while Mama talks to her.”
“But won’t she want to—”
“No! Come away. I’ll explain later.”
It occurred to Rachel that Malka must be their neighbor here as well and a member of the Seville congregation. Susanna had also recognized their former neighbor. Rather than greeting her, Susanna too had turned away and was making a great show of shaking out silk and satin scarves and holding them up against the bright-colored caps to see if their colors complemented each other.
“Is there some reason we must shun her?” Rachel asked. “If so, why is Mama being so friendly?”
A quick look over her shoulder showed her that Mama had turned her back on her own daughters as if to protect them from the sight of Malka, or perhaps Malka from them, since she was talking to the woman in what seemed to be a sympathetic fashion, nodding and reaching out now and then to touch her arm.
“It’s not that,” Elvira said. “You might as well pick out your scarves and caps. We’ll tell you once Malka is gone.”
Fifteen minutes later, Mama joined them.
“Poor Malka!” she said.
“Why were we not to speak with her, Mama?” Rachel asked. “What happened to Naomi?”
“I did not want to cause her pain,” Mama said, “by reminding her that I have beautiful, healthy daughters who are a source of pride and comfort to me. Naomi is dead, and so are her brothers and her little sister.”
“All of them? How terrible! What happened?”
“Poor Malka! She and Avram went first to Portugal in ’92, to Lisbon, as many Jewish families did, thinking it would be more like home than Italy. The Portuguese took them in, but then they changed their minds, and the king sent the children to the lizards—all four little ones, and Naomi was killed trying to stop them. She was too old to be taken herself, the same age as you, but she tried to intervene. The soldiers killed her right there on the docks. Malka is half mad with grief and Avram not much better.”
“How terrible! Sent to the lizards! Is that the same as the Isle of Crocodiles? We met an old man in Ancona who had lost his children. It had driven him mad as well. He could hardly speak sensibly. He kept quoting Bible verses: ‘Thou hast sore broken us in the place of dragons and covered us with the shadow of death.’ Psalm 44. I asked Rabbi Gershon, and he told me. He said it was as pertinent a comment on the situation as any a rational man could utter.”
“Rabbi Gershon is a good man,” Mama said. “We might none of us have gotten here without his help. But now you will see why you must be betrothed immediately and married as soon as possible. Even Papa no longer thinks early betrothals a bad thing—not that yours would be an early betrothal, you are as old as some of the widows in our congregation. We have lost so many children! We must rebuild, or Israel will be lost and forgotten. It is your duty, all of you, to regenerate the Jewish people. Family has always been important to us, the most important thing after love of Adonai. Indeed, they are the same. I have been meaning to discuss this with you ever since you arrived. We must lose no time, for all the parents feel the same, and the rabbis agree that it is a matter of urgency. There are several nice boys in our congregation. Some of them are children you played with in Seville. You must meet them all as soon as possible. Papa and I are prepared to respect any preference you have, for we want you to be happy.”
Rachel listened, appalled. She could not wait for a quiet moment to break her news to Mama. She must speak at once.
“Mama! Stop! I too have meant to talk with you. If I had known you and Papa had such ideas about my betrothal, I would not have delayed one second. Hear me now, and please, please try to understand. Hutia is not only Diego’s friend and mine. He is far more. He is the man I plan to marry, and I will not—I cannot—have another.”
“Rachel!” Susanna screeched. “Are you out of your mind?” She clapped a hand to her mouth, eyes round with shock.
“You cannot disappoint Papa with such a mad idea.” Elvira frowned in disapproval. “If you drop it now, he will not even need to know. Akiva, too, would be shocked. I will not tell him. You are my sister, and I do not wish to see you shamed.”
Mama shook her head and reached out to smooth Rachel’s hair off her forehead. Rachel’s heart sank to see her look of sorrow. Anger she could have braced herself against.
“Rachel, oh, my darling,” Mama said. “What
have you done?”
Chapter 25: Diego
“Sh’ma Yisrael, Adonai Eloheinu, Adonai echod.”
I felt a thrill run through me as the strong male voices rang out. I had kept faith with Adonai for so long without a minyan. In the crow’s nest of the Santa Maria in the uncharted Ocean Sea, in the depths of a tropical paradise in Hispaniola when it put my life at risk, in the shadow of a ruined castle on the dry plains of Spain, I had prayed alone. Whispering or crying aloud to God, I had counted on the raging winds to conceal my voice from men to whom my Jewish faith was an abomination. My blood sang to hear my brethren declare so boldly that the God of Israel is One.
Papa and I sat to one side of the crowded room, where we could see both the Ark of the Covenant and the teba, the platform from which the rabbi conducted the service and from which the weekly portions of the Torah and Haftorah were read. It was my first Shabbat in Istanbul, but I recognized some of the men from the daily minyan and others, familiar faces I had never thought to see again, from my boyhood in Seville. I let the familiar prayers wash over me, feeling for a moment Adonai’s presence and a deep sense of home.
The gabbai made his way down the rows of congregants as the rabbi and cantor approached the Ark. He stopped beside us, leaned over, and whispered in Papa’s ear.
Papa turned to me and murmured, “You are being honored. The rabbi invites you to help carry the Torah. Our sons do not often return from the dead.”
He stood so I could squeeze by him. I followed the gabbai to the front of the sanctuary, where the rabbi and the cantor were gently lifting the holy Book out of its resting place. I kissed one corner of my tallit and touched it to the Torah. The whole congregation did the same as we carried it around the room. I wondered if the other men felt the same joyous awe that I did. Women were not allowed to touch the Torah, so we did not carry it to where they sat, a side room from which they could hear but not see the rabbi. I wondered how Rachel felt about that.
Every morning after we had prayed with the minyan, Papa showed me more of the many sights of Istanbul. These hours of walking and talking were precious to me. One day, he took me to see the sultan’s palace, a vast complex of buildings and courtyards, domes and towers. Set high on a hill overlooking the Bosphorus, it looked more like a European walled city than a residence.
Journey of Strangers Page 16
