The Debt of Tamar

by Dweck, Nicole

  “Tamarciğim.” Reyna drew a ring with her finger across the girl’s cheek and nose. “You shine for me like a gold ducat.”

  Wide-eyed, Tamar studied her mother’s face. After a moment, she lowered her chin, slipped off from Reyna’s lap and headed away with Murat the way they had come.

  “May I visit again?” Reyna asked the Sultana once Tamar had run off.

  “As often as you’d like.” Nur-Banu looked up and smiled. “And since we’re speaking candidly, do try and get a bit more sleep before your next visit. You look dreadful.”

  “Sultana?”

  “A bit more cheer, a little less pout.” She poked Reyna’s nose playfully. “Nobody likes a frog-face.”

  “Yes, Sultana.”

  Tilting her head to one side, she examined Reyna with a kind of child-like fascination, then frowned disapprovingly. “You do understand that if I’m to look upon it, it must always appear pleasant.”

  “Sultana?”

  “Your face,” she said with an air of instruction, “Must always appear pleasant. Have I made myself clear?”

  Reyna pulled her knees to her chest. Like a mutilated stump she sat there exposed, rooted in place and cut down to size. “Perfectly clear, Sultana.”

  “I’m glad we understand one another.” She clapped her hands and chuckled delightfully. “How I do love being candid. You must introduce me to some of your other foreign ideas. Tinkering with this one has been such fun.”

  Reyna was silent while the tears streamed down her face.

  The Sultana winced. “I suppose you can practice for next time.”

  “Practice?”

  “Yes practice,” the Sultana snapped. “Holding your face together.” She looked away and waved in Reyna’s direction. “It seems to be coming apart. I think I’ve had enough for one day. You may go now.”

  And so it was that Tamar was raised in the harem, alongside the Sultan’s many children, nieces and cousins. She was reared by an army of harem women that included the Sultan’s favorite concubines and relatives. It was known all throughout, this was the child of the Sultan’s most trusted confidante, adviser and friend.

  She received a royal education, becoming well-versed in poetry, dance, embroidery, and art. Only, she was not schooled in Koranic studies. The Empire’s policy of religious tolerance extended throughout the land and was accordingly upheld even in the dank corridors of the Imperial harem.

  11

  Ten Years Later

  Murat rested the oars in their holsters and let their canoe drift aimlessly. The shore was just a faraway cluster of miniatures now. He hung his arm over the side of the boat and slapped the water playfully.

  “I don’t see you enough,” Tamar said matter-of-factly.

  “And I don’t see you at all.” He nodded towards her veil. “This thing, it doesn’t seem right.” He wiped his wet hand on his silk caftan. “I’ll never get used to it.”

  “What’s the difference? You know what I look like.”

  “It’s not the same.”

  “Murat, it’s not proper.”

  “Proper? We used to bathe naked together in the fruit fountain. Don’t talk to me about proper,” he quipped.

  “We were seven,” she shot back.

  He leaned in close. “You’ve never been in trouble a day in your life, have you?”

  “I don’t think so. Is that a problem?”

  “Not at all.” He leaned back against his elbows. “Don’t ever change.”

  She smiled awkwardly.

  “I don’t like talking to you through this, but I’m grateful we at least have this time together.”

  She smiled a smile he could not see. Then, she pulled a few pins from her veil and let the fabric fall away exposing auburn hair that fell loose in long, waving pleats.

  Yellow specks of sun glinted off the water’s surface dotting her Mediterranean complexion with a smattering of white light.

  He just looked at her for a time, as if this were a gift he could not quite believe he had received.

  Suddenly, the buzzing of a wasp came between them. Murat instinctively reached for the veil (now set off to the side) and swatted the insect away, and as he did, accidently flung the muslin fabric overboard.

  “Murat!” Tamar stood in her place.

  He shrugged apologetically.

  “How am I ever going to explain this!” Her emerald eyes narrowed to slivers as her veil sank away beneath the water’s surface. “I’ll marinate you!” She shoved him hard.

  “I’m truly sorry! Let me dive in and get it,” he offered sheepishly, then stood up and removed his shoes.

  “Do you see it?” She stepped forward causing the boat to sway dangerously.

  Murat grabbed hold of her outstretched arms, falling forward as he did.

  The fall seemed to happen very slowly. An invisible force exerted a downward pressure on them both, plunging them deep through the hard, sharp surface of the river and into the dark waters below. A kind of water-wind jettisoned them to some unknown depth, at which point, they spun around and examined one another through the watery lens that engulfed them both. Suspended in that place with their clothes and hair weightless, their eyes were wide and their lungs still. It was a quiet world, a world without veils or rules or rituals. A world without any noise except for the sound of one’s heart thumping in one’s chest and one’s blood coursing through one’s veins.

  Tamar looked upwards toward what could only be the sun, a runny, yellow mark on the far end of the water world. When she kicked her feet Murat followed suit, and the force of their kicks shot them skyward.

  In an instant, they had surfaced in a ring of ripples and gasps and were taking huge gulps of air into their lungs.

  Murat swam towards her. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” She coughed up some water.

  “Look what I managed to find!” He held out her soaking veil and flung it onto the canoe. When she didn’t respond, he took a closer look at her. “You’re shivering.” He pulled her towards the boat. “Let’s go.” He unhinged a small ladder on the side of the canoe and helped Tamar up before boarding himself.

  “Take off that robe before you freeze.”

  She obliged and slipped off her caftan, laying it flat in the back of the boat to dry.

  Murat shed a few layers himself exposing his thick, muscular arms, bare from shoulder to wrist.

  They sat there baking dry under the warm, steady sunshine.

  After a time, he spoke up. “They’re going to send me away.” The thought had weighed heavy on his mind for some time.

  She glanced up.

  “Soon.” He answered the question she hadn’t asked. “Feel this.” He took her hand and brought it to his face.

  She moved her fingers across the length of this jaw. “So rough?”

  “I’ve been shaving for months now.” He pulled away.

  “Shaving? But how?”

  “I hide the razor in my mattress and shave before the sun comes up. It’s only a matter of time before someone catches onto it. I know Jaffar has his suspicions already.”

  “Murat.” She moved a few inches closer to him.

  “Most of us are sent away by the time we’re thirteen. I know Mustafa managed to stick around until he was fourteen, but I’m already fifteen. I have no idea how I lasted in the harem this long.”

  She suddenly shed her cool demeanor. “So they’re sending you away?”

  “You know they will.”

  “When will I see you?”

  Murat lowered his chin and turned.

  She nodded, then reached for her sopping veil and flung it back into the sea. They watched it as it sank away beneath the water’s surface.

  “So that’s it? You’re just going to leave because they tell you to?”

  “What choice do I have?”

  “We can fight this.”

  “We can’t fight it!”

  “There has to be a way.”

  “Y
ou know very well. No men inside the harem.”

  “If you have to go,” She lowered her voice, “I’ll go with you.”

  He leaned back and scoffed at the suggestion. “And your father?”

  She rubbed her hands together and rocked in her place. “I think he would be pleased.”

  “Are we talking about the same person? The man they call Don José the Jew? They say you’d be hard-pressed to find a Hebrew more fervent in his faith.”

  “My father is an enlightened man, an educated man.”

  “You can add zealot to the list.”

  “He cares about freedom!”

  “Have you spent so much time away from your father’s house that you no longer know him at all? Your father doesn’t care for freedom, he cares only for his faith!”

  “My father is a great man! He risked his life to practice a faith forbidden to him. No one knows the importance of freedom more than he does.” She shook her head and reached for the oars. “Don’t talk about my father. You don’t know him at all.” She fumbled with the oars, then began rowing in the wrong direction. “I want to go back now.”

  “Tamar—”

  “It’s getting late.”

  “Now just wait a minute—”

  “I need to get back,” she snapped. “If you’re not going to help me turn this boat around, I’m happy to swim.”

  He locked his eyes with hers then leaned in close until he could feel her breath on his lips. “I’m sorry,” he said after some time. “I want us to be together.”

  Reluctantly, she softened her stance and put her arms around his neck. “I’ll go where you go.”

  “And your people?”

  She looked up and turned her gaze toward the place where the sea met the sky. “You are my people,” she said without glancing back.

  Murat nodded.

  There were no more words, nothing left to say or do as they drifted further from the shore. The moment was complete, sealed only by the weight of the silent oath between them.

  *

  As the months passed, Murat began to take notice of the eunuchs, who eyed him suspiciously as he and Tamar rode out on their horses or took long walks in the gardens. It had become impossible to hide the shadow of a beard that crept up along the length of his cheeks and above his lip. He had grown tall—a head taller than his father—and was towering over every boy, lady, and eunuch within the harem. How he had managed to remain in the women’s quarter longer than any prince before him was somewhat of an open secret.

  For years, his mother, Sultana Nur-banu, had agonized about the day she would be separated from her son. Every few months, rumors would circulate that Murat was finally to be sent away. It was during these times that the Sultana retreated into her chambers locking the door from the inside with an iron bolt. When the Sultan would call on her late in night, she had the audacity to refuse him her bed. He was left standing in the cold, like a common beggar at her stoop. He would threaten and shout and pound on the door, but it was all in vain. The most powerful man in the world was rendered powerless. His heart was in her hands.

  It was only after assurances were made that her son would remain with her for a few more months, a few weeks, a few days, it was only then that she let the Sultan enter her chamber.

  But one cold night, frustrated by the obstinance of the woman that he loved, he had his men break down her door. Shouting was heard as the shattering of clay pots and vessels sounded throughout the quiet compound. The next day, Nur-Banu’s door was replaced with a thick, velvet curtain, and Murat was informed that he was to be sent away. He was a man and could no longer live among women and boys.

  Murat said goodbye to his mother and sisters then gathered his things from the Sultana’s apartment. He was given his own quarters with servants, butlers, and beautiful slaves. And yet he thought only of Tamar. He had to find a way to see her again.

  *

  As he walked along one of the servants’ paths, Murat spotted Jaffar not far in the distance. The Ethiopian eunuch had just rounded the corner disappearing behind a thick wall of tall hedges leading up towards the kitchen quarters. “Jaffar!” Murat called out as he quickened his pace. “Jaffar!”

  The eunuch spun around to face Murat. “Effendi, what are you doing here?”

  “How are you, Jaffar?” Murat attempted to sound casual.

  The eunuch’s expression stiffened. “Is there something I can help you with, Effendi?”

  Murat took a step back and cleared his throat. “I just thought you might have some news from the harem.”

  “It’s only been a month, Effendi.”

  “Much can happen in a month’s time.”

  “You know, most boys can’t wait to graduate from the harem and live their lives as men, but you, you’re different, aren’t you, Murat?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand—”

  “You want to find a way to sneak back in. To see the girl. You’re plotting and scheming this very instant, and you think I can help.”

  “Can you?” Murat leapt at the suggestion.

  “Of course not,” said Jaffar. “Are you trying to get me executed?”

  Murat’s posture withered.

  The eunuch shook his head and dug his walking staff into the dirt. “There may be another way.”

  Murat looked up with pleading eyes. He was sure his heart had skipped a beat.

  “Soon the girl will turn fifteen. Her education in the harem is coming to an end. She’s going home, Effendi, so there is no point in trying to sneak your way back in.”

  “When is this happening? When does she leave?”

  “In seven days time, I’m to escort her back to her father’s house.”

  Murat looked around. “Here.” He pointed to a tall pomegranate tree than pushed away its branches and disappeared beneath it. “Can you see me?” Murat called out from behind the wall of leaves.

  “You are well hidden, Effendi. No one can see you there.”

  Murat emerged and was standing by the eunuch once more. “Then this is where I will wait. Bring her to me.”

  “You know that I can’t.”

  “Do me this favor. I’ll remember your kindness one day when I am sultan.”

  Jaffar seemed to mull it over. “All right. Just this once. After the sun goes down, at the time when it is no longer day, but not yet night.”

  Murat clasped his hands together loudly. “Thank you, Jaffar! I won’t forget this.”

  The eunuch turned away and frowned. “I already wish you would.”

  Seven days later, just before sundown, Murat took his place in the brush of the tree and waited for Tamar. While he waited, kitchen staff bustled past with rattling, silver trays. Sacks of rice and grains were transported towards the imperial kitchen in wagons pulled by donkeys and servants. To pass the time, he began to count the heels of servants and princes passing by. When he reached sixty, he looked up. The moon was bright but he couldn’t make out even a single star in the pale sky.

  Somewhere in the heavens, his and Tamar’s star signs overlapped. He’d just come from Sheik Suca’s dark sanctuary in the second courtyard of the royal compound. The old Sufi confirmed what Murat had known all along. The heavens embraced their union. No matter that she was a foreigner or a Jew. Islam permitted a man to marry any woman who practiced a monotheistic religion. Tamar, daughter of Don José the Jew, was a perfectly suitable match.

  The sound of snapping twigs interrupted his daydream. He spotted Tamar through a thicket of jade and lime-colored leaves. She approached the hollow space hidden by a cascade of branches. Her turquoise caftan wrapped her in a silk cocoon as she ducked under the leaves and made her way through.

  They sat enveloped in the tree. Wild flowers rose like a fortress shielding them from view. After several moments of silence, the air took on the pulsating texture of a question-in-waiting. He lifted her veil and looked into her emerald eyes.

  “I have something for you.” He passed her a small ring, a ruby
cast in yellow gold mined from the rich soils of India. Inset, the inscription read, “To my queen, my sultan, I’ll sing your praises always.”

  She examined the stone. Red gleaming facets set in a nugget of gold. “I love you,” she whispered. Her eyes met his and they smiled one smile.

  Murat slid the ring over her finger. “In a year, it is my father’s will that we be married.” He kissed her for a long moment. Then he peered through the cascade of branches that enveloped them both into the dimming world beyond. The slender treetops of the forest swept wantonly against the silver sky. A donkey’s trot sounded in the distance before the call to prayer announced the hour.

  “Go,” he pulled away reluctantly. “Your parents are waiting.”

  She ran her fingers through his hair.

  Their eyes glistened and they kissed their last kiss before she said goodbye and slipped away.

  12

  Jaffar’s dark brows were steeped heavily and his face appeared twisted in the agony of regret. “Not a word of this to anyone or I’ll have that tongue plucked out.”

  Tamar smiled obliviously as he escorted her towards her father’s house. Every few minutes, she held up her hand to admire the ruby on her finger. “My prince,” she said aloud and to no one at all. “I’ll sing your praises always.”

  They walked for some time stopping only when Tamar insisted, to gather yellow and purple wildflowers that flourished along the path leading up towards the villa. It would be bad form to arrive at her father’s house empty-handed, she reasoned.

  That evening, José entered the dining room elegant as always, in new clogs and a spotless white turban. He was finally beginning to show signs of aging, his trim beard boasting a few silver strands, his shoulders and torso thickened with wine and cheese and the complacency that often accompanies too much success.

  “Good to have you home,” he said when he sat down beside his daughter. “How long it has been. Are you well? What news do you bring from the harem?”