“You mean that you are more afraid of Rachel than you are of me,” I said, “and wished to practice on me first before explaining it to her.”
“If you can still joke,” Hutia said, “I hope it means that you are not so angry that you no longer wish to be my friend.”
“I would never deny our friendship!” I said. “But I admit I do not understand.”
“I met an imam at the palace,” Hutia said. “He has encouraged me to study the Quran.”
“I thought you were only playing cereed,” I said.
“I have already said good-bye to the gods whose voices my people could hear,” he said. “Adonai or Allah, Torah or Quran: are they so different? It is you who taught me, you and Rachel, that God is One. Think about it, Diego. Muslims come from every race and people. The first Muslims, those who heard Muhammad preach and followed him, were Arabs and Turks and Berbers, the ancestors of the Moors of Iberia, Christians and perhaps even Jews. Instead of distrusting its converts, like Christianity, or refusing to accept them, like Judaism, Islam welcomes its converts wholeheartedly. It has no Inquisition expecting them to backslide and eager to destroy them if they do. In Portugal, Jewish children were converted and sent away to be slaves. Here, Christian children, the boys of the devşirme, are converted and treated like young princes, educated to rise to the highest positions of trust. ”
“I don’t know what to say,” I said.
My mule, tiring of cropping grass, came up and nuzzled me. I stroked its nose and gazed at the distant city.
“What do you see out there?” Hutia asked.
“A great city,” I said. “Istanbul.”
“What kind of city is Istanbul?”
“A city that welcomes folk of many races and religions,” I said.
“A city,” Hutia said, “in which Muslims are superior by law to even the richest and most elevated dhimmi. I have been studying şeriat law and talking to the kadi.”
“You surprise me once again,” I said. “Our kadi?”
The kadi was the judge of the Ottoman district court. Our local kadi was a man with a reputation for integrity and fairness. The rabbis and the men of the Seville congregation, including Papa, held him in such esteem that from time to time, when some dispute brought before the rabbis was not resolved to the satisfaction of both parties, they would take the case to the kadi for another ruling.
“You know the kadi will hear cases between one Jew and another,” Hutia said, “and his rulings are considered fair. Did you know that if a case is brought before the court in which the dispute is between a Jew or Christian and a Muslim, he is required by law to rule in favor of the Muslim? Do you not think I will be in a better position to protect and provide for Rachel if I belong to the favored faith? Do you not think that having a Muslim in the family will be to the advantage of the Mendozas and all their kin?”
“If there is a flaw in your logic,” I said, “I cannot detect it.”
“Think, Diego,” he said. “If I were a Muslim, there is so much I could do for you all. Jews are not permitted to buy land, but I could. Jews are not permitted to add a second story to their homes or live in one of the pleasant Muslim neighborhoods, but I could. Why would I wish to do these things, if not to share them with your family? I could buy olive groves and give them to you. I could buy horses, and you and Rachel could ride them, at least outside the city, on our own land.”
“You could ride them yourself and even play cereed,” I said.
“I have been playing cereed,” Hutia admitted. “As a Muslim, I could join a team.”
“Really? I was only teasing you. Have you overcome your dislike of horses to such an extent?”
“Do not mince words, Diego. I feared horses and loathed the part they played in the destruction of my people. But the horses here are of a different breed and put to a different purpose. I have missed playing batey since we left Quisqueya. It was so much more than sport. It gave me a sense of balance, a way of being a man. When I play cereed, it is somehow similar.”
“It is a pity that we no longer have the batu,” I said. The ball had been a casualty of our encounter with Amir’s corsairs. “We could organize a game, janissaries against Jews.” I flung out my hands in a gesture of frustration and bafflement at my own impulse to jest. “I am sorry, Hutia. A demon has taken control of my tongue today.”
“You are disappointed,” Hutia said. “I understand. But to me, continuing to fight to become Jewish makes no sense, while I keep thinking of more and more benefits to becoming Muslim.”
“At least I know you are not rejecting Judaism to avoid circumcision,” I said, “since you will have to be circumcised in any case to follow Islam.”
“I am not looking forward to it,” he said. “But consider this. As a Jew, I would be circumcised by a disapproving mohel who is more accustomed to cutting babies who may bawl for a moment but then fall asleep and have forgotten it by the time they wake. For Muslims, the rite is a coming of age, since boys are not allowed to pray in the mosque until they are circumcised. The imam has assured me I may participate in a circumcision festival at the palace, in the company of princes as well as the future governors, viziers, and janissary captains of the empire. I might even share the experience with a future sultan, since no one knows which son of the present sultan will be his heir.”
“Now I understand,” I said. “The Muslims give a better party after the brit.”
Hutia grinned.
“I cannot deny it, for the festivities will last for several weeks, and the sultan himself takes a keen interest in the magnificence of the celebration. Do you not think all doors of the palace will be open to me then? Truly, Diego, I am not ambitious on my own behalf. I wish to serve the family.”
“And you wish to stop knocking your head against a wall,” I said, “as you have been doing with regard to these obdurate rabbis. I cannot blame you for that.”
The afternoon light was waning, turning the fields and groves to gold and giving the city the lambent aura of a mirage. I drank from the water skin at my saddle and tossed it to Hutia, who tilted it to his mouth, draining it.
“We had better head back,” I said, “if we wish to get home before dark.”
I took a final look at the view before turning my attention to the road. The great dome of Hagia Sophia with its attendant minarets glowed as gold as the setting sun. The mules began to clop along, having no inclination to hurry.
“You have not mentioned the greatest obstacle to your plan,” I said. “Rachel will not turn Muslim.”
“I know that,” Hutia said, “and I would not ask it of her. I have discussed it with the kadi.”
“And?”
“A Muslim man may take a non-Muslim wife. There are restrictions. She will not be able to inherit from me, nor I from her. But we can settle all that when we marry. Of course I will provide for her! In fact, where a Jewish bride must bring her husband a dowry, it is a Muslim man’s duty to pay a mehr, a bride-price, to the woman’s family.”
“And what about the children?”
“By law, they must be raised Muslim,” Hutia admitted. “But we have overcome worse obstacles.”
“I am not so sure you have,” I said. “Obtaining my parents’ blessing may be the most daunting task you have yet undertaken. They have journeyed far and suffered much for Adonai. They would wish their grandchildren to share their faith in Him.”
“I know it will be a blow.”
“I do not envy you the task of telling Rachel of this plan, much less my parents. In Judaism, the children follow the religion of the mother, so it will be unexpected.”
“I fear greatly that she will not consent,” he said, “but it is the only solution that I see for us. As you and Rachel have often told me, Adonai does not wish for new worshippers, but only for those He already has to remain faithful.”
“When you break the news to Papa and Mama, ” I advised, “give them some time to grow accustomed to it before mentioning that the chi
ldren must follow Islam. The prospect of one Muslim in the family will be shock enough.”
“I pray constantly for their consent,” Hutia said. “I cannot bear to lose Rachel.”
Hutia had already lost so much. It was unthinkable that their love might break upon the rock of their unborn children’s religion. But I could not find within myself enough certainty to reassure him.
“To whom do you pray?” I asked.
“To Allah,” he said. “To Adonai. If God is indeed One, perhaps He will listen.”
Chapter 32: Rachel
Before long, Rachel was accompanying Kira Chana to the harem twice weekly. She looked forward to these visits, for she liked the women, even sulky Adile, vain Gülizar, and volatile Nesrin, who had hysterics if she broke a fingernail or could not find her pet kitten. They called her Kira Rachel and soon started coming to her with their small commissions and demands. She was called upon to hunt for Seyhan’s scattered pearls when the string snapped, hold up a mirror so Melike could see her back hair while she preened, and search the Bedestan for an inlaid gold button to replace one that had been lost from Ulviye’s favorite vest.
The Kizlar Agha ruled the harem, but he seldom appeared when Rachel visited. The chief wives, those who had borne the sultan’s eldest sons, dominated its daily life. Bülbül Hatun, the mother of the eldest, Şehzade Ahmet, was aloof. The younger women stood in awe of her. When she needed to transact business outside the palace, she dealt with Kira Chana in a dignified fashion. She never spoke to Rachel. Nigar Hatun, the mother of Şehzade Korkut, loved to relive the period of glory when she had produced the sultan’s son.
“Do not listen to Nigar,” Hanöm, whose name meant “merry,” whispered the first time Rachel heard Nigar describe in great detail the birth pangs and all she had thought and felt through every moment of her labor. “She will tell it all again tomorrow; it is her great topic of conversation.”
“How old is Prince Korkut?” Rachel asked.
“He is eighteen!” Hanöm disclosed on a cascade of giggles.
Rachel found Ayşe Hatun, the mother of Şehzade Selim, as intimidating as the Kizlar Agha. She doted on her son, and it was believed throughout the harem that she would do anything to assure his succession to the throne. The more spiteful girls swore that Ayşe was not above poisoning her rivals, if they threatened her ambition, and counseling her son to do the same. Those more inclined to think the best of everyone scoffed at this, saying she might seek to protect Selim and weaken his brothers through the use of amulets and charms, but no more. All the ladies set great store by talismans. The nazar, the blue and white glass ward against the evil eye, was one of the most popular items in the kira’s stock in trade.
“Would Ayşe really poison anyone?” Rachel asked Kira Chana.
“I would not put it past her,” the kira said, “if she found a way to do it without getting caught. But the true obstacles to Selim’s becoming sultan one day are his brothers, not their mothers. The women do not have much access to each other’s sons, for the young men are forbidden the seraglio. Ayşe may go unveiled in the haremlik when her own son and the sultan are present. But to allow any of his other sons to behold her beauty would be to put the fox in the henhouse, as they see it. Nor would a woman, even heavily veiled, ever be permitted to converse privately with another woman’s son. Still, you must be on your guard. If Ayşe ever asks you to visit the seller of herbs and medicines for her, tell her that I have said I would dismiss you if you took such a commission without first consulting me. She knows better than to try such tricks with me.”
When Ayşe did have a commission, she summoned Kira Chana to attend her in an inner room of the seraglio.
“You had better come along,” the kira said. “She might as well get used to dealing with you as well as me. It is likely that she has a large commission rather than a dangerous one today. Ayşe Hatun has expensive tastes.”
So it proved.
“I wish to have a sword made as a gift for my son Selim,” the lady woman said. “It must be of the highest quality. More, it must be magnificent and unique. I do not wish it to be made in the palace, for it must be a surprise.”
“That is not the true reason,” Kira Chana told Rachel later. “The sultan wants his sons raised to be warriors who will fight his enemies. But if they show too great an interest in weapons or have a gift for leadership that might seduce the loyalty of the pashas or the troops, he will suspect them of plotting to usurp his place. The gift of such a sword as Ayşe Hatun asks for might displease him, but it will send a message to her rivals and Selim’s.”
Having visited the best sword maker in the Bedestan, Rachel arrived home bubbling with excitement about the magnificence of the sword that the kira had ordered and the life story of the artisan who would create this work of art.
“Two of Mustafa’s sons are armorers in the palace,” she told Diego and Hutia, “and both began as his apprentices, so he is very proud of them. It will be a beautiful sword! The blade will be made of Damascus steel, the hilt of ivory. The guard and scabbard will be gold, set with jewels and worked with patterns of curvetting horses and verses from the Quran. Mustafa had a casket as wide as my forearm is long filled with pearls and diamonds, rubies and emeralds. Kira Chana let me help her choose the jewels for brilliance and lack of flaws and match them for size. Ayşe Hatun must approve them, so next time we visit the palace, we will ask for janissaries to escort us from the bazaar to the palace and back to the sword maker’s when she has made her selection. Hutia, you are not listening. Are you not interested?”
“Speaking of the Quran,” Diego said, “Hutia has something he wishes to tell you.”
Rachel heard Hutia’s proposal first with disbelief, then with dismay.
“I do not understand,” she said. “How can you suddenly believe that Allah is the only God?”
“Rachel, nanichi, you know better than that. If God is One, then it does not matter by what name I call him. And if I still believed, as the Taino do, that there are many gods, I could not help observing that Allah, not Adonai, is the stronger in this place and better able to protect me and those I love.”
“And what about me?” Rachel said. “Does this mean you wish me to bow down five times a day and spend the rest of my life immured in a harem or so wrapped in cloth that I can barely move? Will my face and my hair and my limbs belong to you instead of to myself?”
“No!” Hutia said. “I would never ask you to turn your back on Adonai, and I know how much your freedom means to you. You would still be Jewish. It is permitted. The kadi says so.”
“I do not like my future happiness depending on the kadi’s opinion,” Rachel said, “no more than I do the rabbis muttering in their beards about us. Would marrying me not mean that you remain an outsider in the eyes of other Muslims? Being an outsider is very wearing.”
“I know that, my love,” Hutia said. “It seems to be our destiny, all three of us, to be outsiders: you and Diego among the Christians, I among the Europeans and the Jews. But I believe that Islam offers me the best chance to belong somewhere, to be accepted to some degree. And I will have no wife but you.”
“I should hope not!” Rachel said. “Muslims may have two wives or even more, I know, but do not even think of it!”
“I swear I never will,” Hutia said.
“Papa and Mama will never agree,” Rachel said. “They would be more likely to accept our marriage if you remained a Taino whose gods are far away.”
“I hope to make your father understand,” Hutia said, “that having a Muslim in the family will greatly improve the family’s position in Istanbul.”
“I would never let material advantages weigh with me,” Rachel said, eyes flashing, “and neither would Papa. I am surprised that you would suggest it.”
“I am thinking of your safety,” Hutia protested. “If you do not know by now that I care nothing for material things, then you were deaf and blind in Quisqueya.”
“Stop, both of
you,” Diego said. “It will not serve either of you to become angry at the other, and it makes me profoundly uncomfortable. We have talked enough about this for today. Tomorrow will be time enough to discuss it with Papa and Mama.”
“Such a discussion would be premature,” Rachel said. “I need time to think about whether I care to marry a Muslim. Until I support this plan with equal conviction, there is no point in Hutia pleading his case to Papa and Mama.”
“You will not marry anyone else, will you?” Hutia looked miserable and sounded uncertain.
“Will you convert to Islam even if I refuse to marry you?” Rachel countered.
“I refuse to consider that possibility,” Hutia said.
“Do not bait him, Rachel,” Diego said. “You know that Hutia adores you.”
“Then it is a shame that so many rabbis and imams have been dragged into our private business,” Rachel snapped.
She burst into tears and ran out of the room.
Chapter 33: Diego
As the streets of Istanbul, its waterfront, and its many beauties became familiar to me through my wanderings, I ceased to regard them with wonder. To my shame, my sense of gratitude for this safe haven and the restoration of our family diminished. All the industry and purpose around me came to seem but a chorus of reproach for my own lack of these essential qualities. The great shipbuilding yards, the caravans departing east along the Silk Road or west through the Balkans to Ancona and Venice, the merchants in the Bedestan, the Jewish scholars poring over Talmud: all men had goals and occupation, pride and satisfaction in their work. Only I had none.
I thought often of Admiral Columbus, not the ailing, gold-obsessed destroyer of the Taino, but the fearless visionary who had first ventured on the Ocean Sea. “Adelante! Onward!” he had cried, inspiring us to press on regardless of whatever lay ahead, danger or reward, but above all, the unknown. The tragedies and terrors of the past still haunted my dreams: Tanama with the Spanish soldier’s knife in her breast as I struggled to reach her, Rachel in the cruel grasp of the Inquisition, the emaciated, naked bodies of Taino captives hitting the water, discarded like so much offal while I looked on, powerless to prevent or even to honor their deaths. But Jewish memory, not only mine, was haunted by specters such as these and a thousand more. My sufferings were slight compared with those of Moshe Nahman and Malka, whose children had been snatched away and sent to the Isle of Crocodiles. Why could I not move on?
Journey of Strangers Page 21
