by Roberta Rich
Hannah dipped her hand in the fountain and patted cool water on her forehead. Suppose Ezster and Tova could not come? Suppose they had decided the risk was too great? Suppose, and this was the most absurd of her fears, they went to the Valide and turned Hannah in for treason? As Hannah walked through the Gate of Felicity, her legs trembled. If she did not cease these gloomy thoughts, terror would cloud her thinking and render her as witless as a chicken. As she walked toward the harem entrance, Mustafa approached, keys dangling at his waist.
He greeted her warmly and said, “Ezster told me to expect you. Of course, you will have tea with me after Ezster’s storytelling?”
“I would be delighted.” She smiled. Her stature at the harem had grown in the months since her first visit. Hannah had become—what was the correct word? Not exactly a friend to the Valide. The word friend implied a relationship of equals, and of course one could not be an equal to so august a presence. But Hannah sensed she amused Nurbanu, a woman who seemed to consider the most ordinary goings-on in the Venetian ghetto as exotic as a jungle in Afrika, and regard Hannah, because she was a Jewess, as equally exotic.
Mustafa lumbered in front of her, ordering the workmen plastering the walls of the new kitchen ovens to retreat. Men must not be present when a woman passed through the garden into the harem. One hapless young worker with a board of mortar on his head dropped his implements in his haste to depart. Hannah tripped over a trowel and stumbled. Mustafa grabbed her arm and chastised the young man. Poor fellow. Later, he would be beaten for his carelessness. She persuaded Mustafa to linger at the menagerie to watch the monkeys even though she disliked their skinny arms and clever, pinched faces. She didn’t wish to arrive in the harem before Ezster and Tova.
Suddenly, from the other side of the walls of the harem, as welcome as the music of a lute, Hannah heard the colicky bray of Fikret, Ezster’s donkey. Fikret always carried Ezster’s bundle of candles and trinkets slung over his back, the sack as round and taut as Tova’s belly. In a few hours, when they left the harem, Ezster’s bundle would be empty.
It was not difficult to guess why Mustafa permitted a donkey in the gardens. Oh yes, Ezster peddled small luxuries to the ladies, and yes, she was the wife of a respected man, but it was her talent as a storyteller that gave her privileges others did not enjoy. Who could resist her sagas of Anatolia in the days before Osman I swept down from the plains—tales of daring and love, of warriors, horsemen, battles, and love matches? And, as if that were not enough, she knew tales from One Thousand and One Nights, and the adventures of the donkey-riding philosopher Nasreddin. Ezster always held everyone spellbound.
Hannah and Mustafa passed through the hamam on their way to the reception room. Around the pool were a series of small rooms furnished with divans and cushions for changing clothing, for depilatory treatment of female parts, for private gossiping and giggling. And dallying. Naturally, these healthy girls grew wanton and childlike without any responsibilities in their lives except to remain docile and beautiful. Of course, there were rumours about their lasciviousness. It was often jested that the cooks in the harem kitchens were under strict orders to send in no uncut cucumbers, carrots or long radishes because of how they would be used by these lusty young ladies. Hannah did not believe the gossip, which seemed to her nothing more than the fantasies of those who kept these girls in their gilded cages.
In the reception room off the hamam the audience had gathered—the Valide, the ladies, and the eunuchs. There were twenty or so girls fanned out in a semicircle around Ezster, who was settled into her cushion like a hen in a straw nest, her chicks huddled around her.
The young girls, about twenty in all, perched on cushions. Their kaftans of shimmering green and yellow and purple silks moved like butterflies in the breeze. Ezster was mid-story, gesturing as she spoke. Tova held Ezster’s props—her scarf and her cane—ready to hand them to her mother when the time came to illustrate the dramatic points. Mustafa stood to one side, leaning against the door leading to the baths. The Valide sat above the rest of the women on an elevated divan. She wore a white silk gown embroidered with black horses, their tails picked out in green and purple thread, so finely done that had it not been for the colours, they could have been real. The Valide smiled in response to something Ezster was saying, but everyone knew the Valide’s moods could change from benevolent to furious as quickly as a falcon changes the direction of its flight.
On her right side, in the place of honour, sat Leah. The Valide personally supervised Leah’s wardrobe, or so reported Ezster. The Valide had made good her promise. She had given Leah her necklace of diamonds—each one as perfect a stone as could be found in the Empire. Leah wore the necklace over a black velvet kaftan. The rise of her pregnancy pushed at the loosely bound sash around her waist, a sash of silk studded with semi-precious jewels.
Hannah felt a stab of fear. She caught Leah’s eye and mouthed in Hebrew, Have courage. Hannah felt protective of Leah and of the small being growing within her. She hoped the baby would inherit Leah’s bravery—if it survived.
The Valide finally noticed Hannah and nodded to her, her fine black eyes dancing with life. When Ezster finished her tale, the Valide said, “Come and sit. Ezster is about to begin a new tale.”
By the Valide’s outstretched hand, Hannah understood there was no need to crawl before Her Highness this time.
Hannah approached and bowed, then kissed the Valide’s hand and pressed it to her forehead. Mustafa did the same and took his place on one of the cushions near Ezster. One would have thought that the Valide had enough drama in her own life to keep her imagination forever satisfied, but she never missed one of Ezster’s sessions.
The ladies of the harem had evidently been listening to Ezster for some time before this pause. The sticky lokum had disappeared from the platters, the fried dumplings lay in crumbs, and the yufka pastry was broken and scattered. Of the pomegranate pulp, which had been beaten into sheets, then dried, cut into pieces, and dredged in sugar, all that remained on the silver serving trays was a piece the size of Hannah’s little finger.
Ezster turned in Hannah’s direction but did not acknowledge her. The sack by Ezster’s feet sagged, no longer stuffed with her merchandise. Tova walked through the group of women, only her eyes showing above her silk yaşsmak, as she silently collected coins for the payment of her mother’s wares. Her pelisse was uniquely vibrant—stripes of yellow, pink, and green. Her belly was even more protuberant than it had been last week when Hannah had seen her in the mikvah. Hannah would not have been surprised if Tova began her travail right before her eyes. One more thing that might go wrong.
Ezster took a sip of tea and began a new story. “This legend of a young maiden and her lover has no beginning and no end. The maiden’s lover was killed at war. After his death, the girl was transformed into a white swan, rather like the one who swims in the garden pond over there.” Ezster gestured toward the fountain in the garden outside. “Did the lovers find each other again in the hereafter? I like to think they did.”
The Valide’s eyes were fixed on Ezster. “Was the maiden very beautiful?” she asked.
Kübra, the slave girl, entered and, bowing low, offered Nurbanu a tray covered with balls of ground pistachio nuts and honey flavoured with saffron. Nurbanu waved her away.
“Was she beautiful, you ask, Your Highness?” Ezster repeated. “Is there a heroine in the world who was not thought more beautiful after leaving this earthly world for the next? There are no plain heroines or homely heroes.”
There was a murmur of agreement among the girls.
Ezster held up a finger upon which she wore a ring set with a citrine—not a valuable stone, but one that brought the bearer good luck. Hannah hoped it would work today. Ezster went on to tell the story of the beautiful maiden, but Hannah was too anxious to pay close attention. Before she knew it, Ezster had begun another tale.
“Now for a story about one of our illustrious neighbours from Araby. We have seen
such types many times traversing the city in their caravans,” she said. Then, remembering these girls had never been permitted to leave the harem, she added, “Or you would have seen if you had ever shopped in the markets.” They all waited while Ezster swallowed a piece of lokum. “An Arab and his camel were crossing the desert with a cargo of spices,” she began, dusting powdered sugar off her hands. “The Arab pitched his tent one cold night and went to sleep. The camel put his nose inside the tent and said, ‘Master, it is so cold outside that icicles are forming in my nostrils. May I please keep my nose in your tent tonight?’ The Arab agreed and went back to sleep.
“A short while later, he heard a voice say, ‘Beloved Master, my forelegs are numb from cold. Can I put them in the tent as well?’ The Arab agreed and went back to sleep. A dark shape pushed through the tent flap, and, bending its head low, nuzzled him with soft lips.”
Ezster paused long enough in her recitation to accept from a servant a bowl of beet soup, fragrant with ginger and cumin. “In the middle of the night,” she said, “the camel once again awakened the Arab. ‘Good sir, my hind legs are frozen. Can I place them in the tent?’ The Arab agreed. With a grunt, the camel collapsed next to him, squeezing the Arab so vigorously that the Arab was forced through the flap of the tent and pushed into the desert. For the rest of the night, the poor man froze outside.”
Everyone laughed—everyone, that is, except Hannah. It was as though Ezster were speaking directly to her about Grazia, warning her that Grazia would shove her out of her own house and take possession of everything Hannah had ever cherished—Isaac, Matteo, her livelihood.
Ezster took a taste of soup and smacked her lips. Every eye in the room was upon her. After patting her mouth with a cloth, she continued. “The Arab rose with difficulty the next morning because he was stiff from sleeping out in the cold all night. He prepared a soup of dried lamb in a watery broth. The camel started to plead, ‘Kind sir, just a taste. I have been having terrible dreams and crave the solace of some of your fine soup.’
“The Arab, furious with the beast, picked up the pot of soup and hurled it at the camel, covering him from head to chest in the boiling liquid.” Ezster rose from her cushioned stool and approached the Valide’s divan. Pulling back her arm, Ezster tipped her bowl of beet soup over the Valide’s gown. The Valide leapt to her feet. “‘There!’ the camel-driver shouted. ‘Have the only thing I have left and then leave me in peace. It is better to starve alone than to be harassed by such a creature!’”
The bodice of the Valide’s lovely robe had turned a shocking red. “What have you done?” she screamed.
Hannah gave a cry, ran over to the Valide, and, with a cloth from a nearby table, began to mop at the stains. The Valide pushed her away and signalled for Mustafa.
Ezster, looking as though she were about to burst into tears, said, “I am so sorry, Your Highness. I do not know what possessed me. I was caught up in the story.” She was performing her role as the shamed storyteller perfectly. Her hands, usually never still, lay as motionless as a pair of dead doves.
The Valide stood stock-still, her mouth compressed into such a grim line that her lips disappeared. The women around her grabbed cloths and began rubbing her kaftan, which only made the stains grow larger. While everyone was thoroughly distracted, Hannah nodded in the direction of Leah, who slipped away from the Valide and toward the hamam.
The red stain on her bodice made the Valide look as though she had been stabbed. She glared at Ezster. “I have had enough for one day. Leave this instant. You shall return another day with better stories, and a new white gown to replace this one that you have ruined.” She turned and left the room, Mustafa following in her wake.
No one looked at Ezster. The odalisques moved uneasily away from her. Many drifted to the hamam, where they commenced bathing. Through the archways and pillars, Hannah could see a few moving in twos and threes toward the private dressing rooms that ringed the pool, supported by a slave on each arm to keep them from falling off their pattens.
Seeming to recover herself, Ezster called out, “Tova! Where are you, my daughter? We must be going.”
A pregnant figure dressed in a brightly striped pelisse—yellow, pink, and green—emerged from the area near the hamam, eyes downcast, a veil covering her face. The girl walked over to Ezster, picked up the empty sack by her feet and slung it over her shoulder.
Ezster reached for her cane. The girl then took Ezster by the elbow and the pair made their way to the door. No one gave them a second look. To do so would be disloyal to the Valide.
Arm in arm they walked, the pregnant girl and Ezster, through the hamam to the gardens. Hannah allowed them a head-start and then followed several paces behind. Once in the garden, the two women proceeded to an orange tree, where Fikret’s reins had been tossed over a branch. The pregnant woman took Fikret by the bridle. The donkey jerked its head and gave a little buck at her touch. Ezster offered him a turnip from her bag and slapped his hindquarters, sending up puffs of dust. Two eunuchs, decorative swords tucked in their sashes, led the women past the Sultan’s menagerie toward the First Courtyard, never once daring to meet their eyes.
Hannah followed from a distance as they marched along, moving through the rose gardens and past the marble fountain jetting rainbows of water into the air. For a moment, the women and the donkey resembled an exquisite Persian miniature. Finally, they disappeared through the gate.
What a performance! By the time the muezzin issued the cry for evening prayers, they would all be together at the hoca’s stall in the market, ready to make their way home.
Hannah returned to the reception room to gather her belongings. Mustafa, back from escorting the Valide to her apartments, unlocked the harem gate for Hannah. “Such a terrible thing. The Valide is so upset,” he said. “But she will recover. In a few weeks, the harem ladies will clamour for Ezster and the Valide will welcome her again.”
Hannah felt a stab of guilt. Ezster was indeed a true and loyal friend to sacrifice several weeks’ earnings for the sake of Hannah and a girl she did not know.
“Shall we have tea?”
Hannah put her hand on Mustafa’s arm. “I am too upset.” That much at least was true. “May we have tea another time?”
“Of course,” Mustafa replied. “But let me send you home in a carriage, Hannah. It is unwise for you to be wandering about on your own.”
“A walk will do me good.”
Mustafa raised an eyebrow.
“I need fresh air,” Hannah said, wrapping her yaşmak around her face, leaving only her eyes uncovered.
“Peace be with you, then.”
“Goodbye, Mustafa. Let us forget this afternoon as soon as we can.”
A few minutes later, having exited the palace, Hannah was walking along Seraglio Point. She smelled the breezes coming off the Bosporus. As she neared the markets, the fragrance of flower blossoms turned to the smell of fish. Cobblestones bit through her sandals, horse and camel dung clung to the hem of her skirts. She felt faint at the stench of the wool-makers street lined with rancid sheep fleeces spread out on airing racks to dry in the sun.
No matter. Everything was going according to plan. Kübra had been bribed with a garnet ring to lie about Leah’s sudden disappearance. She would say that the girl, overcome by melancholy for her murdered family and convinced she was carrying a princess and not a prince, had flung herself from the highest palace walls. There would be no way to verify her story since Leah’s body would be dashed on the rocks below. Robbers would strip her body of its silk clothing and jewels, then toss her into the sea.
Hannah hurried through the spice market, her skirts brushing against the glass bottles filled with wriggling leeches, powdered toadstools, and ginger soaked in the urine of pregnant camels—cures for fever, catarrh, and madness. She dodged piles of merchandise—copper cook pots, pottery dishes, wooden spoons. The gnarled, beseeching hands of beggars plucked at her, and she was overwhelmed at the sight of mothers with
babies more dead than alive, and lepers missing fingers and toes. She emptied her pockets of small coins, knowing that even if she managed to sleep tonight, these scenes of human misery would haunt her dreams.
Through a series of intricate twists and turns, she reached the hoca’s stall. The old woman was bent on her rush mat, telling a young woman’s fortune. Pieces of molten lead simmered in a pot of boiling water. The old woman scooped them out with a ladle and tossed them in a pot of cold water. They sizzled. Steam rose. The lead hardened into twisted pieces. From these shapes, the old woman could divine the future of the young woman who squatted before her—whether her husband would be unfaithful, how many sons she would bear, and how she could cure the persistent sty in her eye. The old woman peered up at Hannah, grinned, and gestured by pinching two fingers together to signify that she should wait a moment so that she too could have her fortune told.
Hannah looked around, allowing her eyes to grow accustomed to the dim light. Young tea boys rushed by, serving from brass trays; merchants shouted out the virtues of their wares. From the minaret of a nearby mosque came the keening of the muezzin, calling the faithful to evening prayer. Fear began to rise in Hannah. She had not felt so frightened since she was a child and fell into the Rio de la Sensa in Venice, nearly drowning before a gondolier fished her out. She searched the area around the hoca’s stall, only to be greeted by a sea of unfamiliar faces.
