Journey of Strangers

by Elizabeth Zelvin

  “Have your daughters come here with you?” Rachel asked. “Do they not want to take over your job when you wish to work no more?”

  “Believe it or not,” Kira Chana said, “neither of my daughters has any interest in becoming a kira. Both are married to good men and interested only in raising their own families. And I have no nieces, only nephews, so there is no one in the next generation to take the position on. I am afraid that all my knowledge of the harem and the network of connections I have built up between the ladies and the outside world will be lost when I am gone.”

  Rachel sparkled.

  “Oh, they must not! They will not, if you are willing to make me your apprentice. I can imagine no more fascinating job.”

  Kira Chana laughed.

  “I like your spirit,” she said, “and I will certainly consider it. But let us first see if you like it as well as you imagine you will, before either of us commits herself.”

  “That is just what Mama would say,” Rachel said.

  A slender, fair-skinned young man clad in red and white came to escort them across the first courtyard and a succession of others, while servants lifted the heavy trunk from the cart and showed Solomon where he and the mules and wagon might wait.

  “Is he a eunuch?” Rachel whispered.

  Kira Chana nodded almost imperceptibly and held a warning finger to her lips.

  Their beardless guide looked no different than any other clean-shaven young man to Rachel’s eyes. He led them past well-armed janissaries on guard through a second imposing gateway.

  “The Gate of Salutation,” Kira Chana said.

  “It is a town within a town!” Rachel exclaimed. “Please, sir,” she said to the impassive eunuch, “will you tell us what the buildings are?”

  “It is not permitted,” the eunuch said. The note of regret in his high, clear voice suggested that he was not entirely immune to Rachel’s charm.

  “I believe it houses the janissary barracks,” Kira Chana said, “as well as stables, a hospital, and kitchens.”

  “Were I permitted to speak,” the eunuch said, relenting, “I would tell you that the imperial council meets in the middle courtyard, and that the sultan himself sometimes holds audience here.”

  “Thank you,” Rachel said, “you are very kind. I will ask you no more. I do not wish to get you into trouble!”

  “Here I must leave you,” the eunuch said when they had crossed the vast courtyard. “You stand before the Gate of Felicity. Beyond it is the enderun. Here you must wait, for this is the home of the Sovereign of the House of Osman, Sultan of Sultans, and Emperor of the Three Cities and the lands beyond.”

  Seated on a low marble bench, they waited. Two janissaries stood by them, while a black eunuch was sent to report their arrival. Half an hour later, Rachel had inveigled the janissaries into a lively discussion of cereed when two eunuchs, more elaborately dressed than any they had yet seen, glided up to them, soft-footed on pointed slippers embellished with red embroidery.

  “The Kizlar Agha comes,” one of them announced.

  The janissaries sprang to attention.

  A mountain of a man with skin of deepest ebony approached them with dignified tread. He wore a dazzling white silk underrobe and turban, with an overrobe so thickly embroidered with gold thread that only a glimpse of the white satin beneath it could be seen. Its full sleeves and long folds were trimmed in fur of a hue almost as dark as his skin. His white satin turban added a foot to his height, with a red velvet cap peeking out of its upper folds. He wore elevated sandals that flashed with rubies, pearls, and diamonds. Rings of the same jewels covered his hands. Rachel thought that even without the embellishments above and below, he must be more than six feet tall. His massive body would have seemed grossly fat had he not carried himself with such an air of authority, even menace.

  Kira Chana bowed and indicated with a lift of her eyebrows that Rachel should do the same.

  “Kira,” the Kizlar Agha said. His voice was pitched high but full and resonant. “Who is your companion?”

  “This is Rachel Mendoza, effendi,” she said. “If she proves pleasing to your excellency, she will be my apprentice.”

  “I would hear her speak,” the Kizlar Agha said. “Account for yourself, Rachel Mendoza.”

  The kira nodded encouragingly.

  “I am Jewish, effendi,” Rachel said, “born in Spain and lately come to Istanbul with my family, drawn here by reports of the benevolence of Sultan Bayezid, Sovereign of the House of Osman, Sultan of Sultans, and Emperor of the Three Cities and the lands beyond.”

  “Are you married?” the Kizlar Agha asked.

  “No, effendi,” Rachel said.

  “Or betrothed?”

  “No, effendi.”

  “Why do you wish to enter the harem as a kira?” the Kizlar Agha asked. “Is it out of curiosity, or do you seek riches and advantage for yourself?”

  “Neither, effendi,” Rachel said. “I seek to be of service.”

  “And why,” the Kizlar Agha demanded, “is marriage to a man of your people, keeping his home, and bearing his sons not service enough for you?”

  “My father and mother, effendi,” Rachel said, “have asked me the same question. I was brought up to use my mind and value the qualities of a man, such as courage and responsibility, as well as the virtues of a woman. In order to respect myself, I seek occupation beyond being a wife and mother, though indeed I wish to fulfill my woman’s destiny as a wife and mother too. I believe that Kira Chana’s service here has merit, and I would learn from her.”

  “Very well,” the Kizlar Agha said. “You may enter the enderun and visit the seraglio, where only women and eunuchs may go. We shall see how you comport yourself. Do not think the harem lacks its own dangers. Never forget that you serve neither the kira nor any of the seraglio’s inhabitants. You serve the sultan.”

  Without farewell, he turned and made his stately departure. Rachel drew a deep, shaky breath. She held out a trembling hand to Kira Chana, who clasped and squeezed it, her own hand cool and firm.

  “You did well,” the kira said. “If you can keep your wits about you in the harem as well, you will be on your way to becoming a kira yourself.”

  As the janissaries wheeled and headed back the way they had come, two more black eunuchs appeared, bearing the kira’s trunk. A third eunuch, more richly dressed, led them deep into the inner courtyard to the entrance to the harem.

  Not knowing what to expect, Rachel had told herself not to be surprised if the ladies of the harem were naked, like her Taino friends in Quisqueya. But they were not. Most were clad in şalvar, the loose trousers that both men and women wore, of varying degrees of transparency, with bodices and overshirts ranging from a twist of sheer silk supporting the breasts to tunics elaborately embroidered in gold thread. Several wore loose silken robes and sashes. The floor of the room into which the eunuch led Rachel and Kira Chana was covered with what seemed like acres of carpet so thick that their feet sank into it as if they walked on grass, dyed in rich shades of blood red, indigo, and ochre. The carpet had been cut away to reveal tile in brighter shades of the same colors surrounding a series of marble basins in which fountains played. The insides of the basins were lined with chips of tile arranged in mosaic patterns of flowers, vines, and leaves in emerald, gold, black, and the turquoise blue that Rachel knew was the Ottomans’ most favored color.

  None of the women were veiled. Some had blue or green eyes and white or rosy skin, their long hair falling to their waists in glossy waves from palest flaxen to gold to a coppery red. A few had creamy skin with a golden tinge and hair as straight as Hutia’s, though shining where his was coarse, and of a black so deep it was almost blue. These had black eyes shaped like almonds and set in demure folds that concealed their lids. Others ranged in tones from golden to rich brown of skin, hair, and eyes, while several had the midnight skin of Africans, their tightly curled black hair arranged in elaborate braided patterns with pearls, diamonds, or
rubies threaded into the braids.

  Framed by the ornamental fretwork around the arched doorway, they made a highly decorative picture. Several were having their hair combed or their fingernails and toenails filed and painted by slave women more scantily clad than the ladies, though wearing no less than Rachel had on certain occasions in the yucayeque. Some were singing, playing musical instruments, or reading. Two were playing chess. A group of girls who looked years younger than Rachel were laughing at the antics of a monkey decked in a red turban and a little coat with pearl buttons. When Rachel and her companion entered, followed by two eunuchs bearing the kira’s wares, the women all dropped their activities and converged on the newcomers, laughing and squealing with delight.

  “Kira Chana! Kira Chana! What have you brought us today? Did you bring the lovebirds I asked for? Did you deliver my message? Did you find ivory bangles in the bazaar? Who is this? Has she come to entertain us? Does she sing? Is she your daughter?”

  The eunuchs set down the trunk, bowed, and withdrew. The kira flung back the lid, and the women fell upon its contents with glad cries.

  “They are like finches squabbling over a pan of millet,” Kira Chana said. “Don’t be alarmed. We can say what we wish here. Neither the women nor the eunuchs speak Hebrew.”

  “I am glad to know that there are no Jewish women in the harem,” Rachel said.

  “We do not sell our children,” the kira said. “Nor do we have villages that can be raided and burned, like those of the Balkan peasants.”

  “That is where the janissaries come from, do they not?” Rachel said.

  “And the eunuchs as well,” the kira said.

  Rachel looked around the room, which had become as lively as a bazaar, the contents of the trunk strewn all over the carpet as the women tried on the clothing and jewelry and snatched up treasures ranging from books to mirrors.

  “I see only blacks,” she said, “other than the women.”

  “Ordinarily, only black eunuchs serve the harem,” the kira said. “White eunuchs serve the sultan. If you return to the palace, you will eventually meet the Kapi Agha, who is the chief eunuch of the Gate of Felicity.”

  “Is he as frightening as the Kizlar Agha?” Rachel asked.

  The kira laughed.

  “You have nothing to fear from either of them,” she said, “as long as you remain vigilant.”

  “Vigilant against what?” Rachel asked. “What did the Kizlar Agha mean when he warned me of dangers?”

  “The ladies of the harem will charm you,” the kira said. “They are trained to be charming in the best school in the world. Do not make friends of them.”

  “May I not be friendly, when they themselves are so friendly?” Rachel asked.

  “Of course. Be friendly to all, but guard your heart against attachment to any one of them. It could be fatal to become involved in their intrigues. Believe me, they will try to draw you in.”

  “What kind of intrigues?” Rachel asked.

  “The most dangerous would be a love affair, which is punishable by death for both parties as well as anyone who abets them. If one of them asks you to carry a message or a token to a lover, you must refuse. There are jealousies and rivalries among the women too. Each of them wishes to be highest in the sultan’s regard and in favor with the Kizlar Agha. Their sole ambition is to bear a son to the sultan and for that son to become sultan in due time. If you are asked to buy poison in the bazaar, make any excuse you must. Say you could not find the herb or root they sought.”

  Rachel looked at the ladies, who were chattering with much merriment and animation. Some sat with their arms around each other’s necks. One fed sweetmeats to her companion, who opened her mouth like a baby bird and licked honey off her lips. As she watched, the latter licked the other’s fingers. Both laughed hilariously.

  “You are saying they would kill each other out of jealousy or ambition? It is hard to believe.”

  “Believe it, for it has happened. Many would kill one who rises too high, first in the sultan’s bed and then if he shows too much favor to the son she bears. Or they might kill a rival’s children.”

  “That is terrible!” Rachel said.

  “What do you think happens to a new sultan’s brothers and nephews,” Kira Chana said, “once he gains the throne?”

  “My brother has met a nephew of the present sultan,” Rachel said. “It is said that his father, the sultan’s brother, was held in captivity by the Christians for many years with the sultan’s consent.”

  “Then he has been exceptionally merciful to this youth,” the kira said. “When you Sephardim have lived here long enough to know more Ottoman history, you will no longer be surprised. But we must not talk of these matters here. I have already said too much.”

  “One more question,” Rachel said, “and I am done. What exactly would befall a woman here who took a lover?”

  “If the sultan were particularly fond of her,” Kira Chana said, “she might be strangled with a silken bowstring. Ordinarily, she would be bound, placed in a sack weighted with rocks, and thrown into the Bosphorus. If you wish to be a kira, you must harden yourself to such things.”

  “I understand,” Rachel said. “I have much thinking to do.”

  Chapter 31: Diego

  “Diego, I have a serious matter to discuss with you,” Hutia said.

  “Very well, my friend,” I said. “I am listening.”

  It was some time since Hutia and I had spent a whole day together. He was usually busy with his studies, which went more slowly than they would have had the rabbis allowed him to join the congregation’s class of boys who were preparing to become bar mitzvah. Or else he was slipping off to spend time with young Hasan and the cereed players at the palace. He did not say much about these excursions, beyond mentioning that the janissaries who had befriended him had received a remarkable education in the palace school. Perhaps he thought the family wished him to devote the whole of his mind to Judaism. But I thought someone must have been giving him riding lessons, because he sat his mule with a careless ease that I had not observed before. We both rode mules, horses being forbidden to us, for we had decided to pass beyond the city walls into the countryside that lay inland from Istanbul. The farmlands we saw looked well tended and prosperous. I observed with special interest that they included numerous olive groves, the low trees, with their silvery leaves and twisted trunks and branches, heavy with fruit. It was a pity that Bayezid, more conservative than his predecessor, enforced such rules as forbidding the dhimmi to purchase land. The Romaniot Jews who had lived here during the reign of Mehmet the Conqueror said that such infractions had been winked at, the transactions sweetened with bribes to local officials.

  “I ask you to listen,” he said, “with an open heart. Do not speak until you have heard me out.”

  “Now I am getting worried,” I said.

  For once, he did not make the usual joke about my worrying too much that both he and Rachel still found amusing. I began to worry in earnest.

  “It concerns my marriage to Rachel,” he said.

  “You have not changed your mind, have you?”

  “Never,” he said. “I love Rachel with all my heart. I have been patient and striven to please your parents and the congregation by becoming a man they can give her to without reservation: in short, a Jewish man. I know many of your stories now. If I had to, I would wait seven years for her as Jacob did for his Rachel.”

  “We will not make you take her older sister first, you know,” I said. “Susanna is already pledged to her printer and has her wedding plans well in hand.”

  “Why must you jest?”

  “I do not know,” I said. “Perhaps because I am afraid I will not like whatever it is you wish to tell me.”

  “I share your fear,” he said. “But I must tell you. Diego, I do not think the rabbis will relent. They do not wish me to become a Jew. Or rather, they believe that no matter how hard I study, no matter how sincerely I pray to Adonai, I
will never truly be a Jew.”

  “They are wrong!” I said. “Their narrow minds cannot get past their prejudice against you.”

  “They are not wrong,” Hutia said, “for I have come to agree with them.”

  “What are you saying?”

  I reined in my mule, and he did the same. We had reached the summit of a grassy hill overlooking the domes and minarets of Istanbul, with the sea a misty ribbon of blue beyond it.

  Hutia dismounted, and I did the same. We loosed the mules to crop the sun-warmed grass, well seasoned with wildflowers, and stood gazing out at the view.

  “I have been studying your Torah and your laws. It has become clear to me that what makes a Jew is not only what he believes, but what he is. You are a true son of Abraham and Isaac. I am not. You are Jewish in the same way that I am Taino. I will always be Taino, even if, as seems probable, I am the sole Taino left in the entire world.”

  “I cannot claim that I do not understand what you are saying,” I admitted. “We have always been a people as well as a religion. Perhaps it is that duality that has helped us survive being scattered and hounded from place to place, generation after generation. But what is the alternative?”

  “I must become a Muslim,” Hutia said.

  I was at a loss for how to respond.

  “I see I have shocked you speechless,” he said.

  “I promised I would hear you out,” I retorted. “Have you mentioned this to Rachel yet?”

  “No,” he said. “I thought it might be easier for her to accept if you already had some understanding of my plan.”