"So is blindness, madness, folly—"
"Hey! Can't you think of something nice?"
"That's easy. Sweetness, pleasure, delight.…" He paused as she snugged the satin robe around her slim waist. "You."
Beth looked at him. The sunset light cast him in bronze. She bit her lip. "Oh, Karim...'
"First, we'll have dinner in the courtyard here, and afterward I'll show you the Sultan Ahmet Mosque—it's lit at night; in fact we can see some of its six minarets from our front windows—then a stroll around the Hippodrome." He smiled. "It's all quite close; we'll be home in plenty of time.…"
A white-jacketed waiter seated them at a table under the spreading branches of a mimosa tree. Water trickled from the wide baroque pink marble shell of the fountain that graced the courtyard's center, its tinkling sound a pleasing counterpoint to the string trio playing beside it. In consultation with the waiter, Karim suggested choices from among the large selection of hors d'oeuvres offered them.
"Which is the ispanakli borek?" Beth asked, her tongue tangled by the unfamiliar spellings.
Karim pointed to a small flaky pastry. "This one has a spinach filling. The peynerii borek has cheese, and the tavuklu borek is chicken. They're all hot, and all good. And you must try the eggplant and parsley in olive oil... it's called Imam bayaldi, which translates as 'the imam fainted.' "
As the waiter slid their filled plates in front of them, Karim ordered the main course. "Grilled bluefish suit you, Beth?" She nodded. "Lufer,” he told the waiter, "and a shepherd's salad," he told her. "It's a mixture of chopped peppers, tomatoes, cucumbers and celery."
"Your command of Turkish is very impressive, Mr. Donovan."
"Strictly traveler's Turkish, Beth. I can order you dinner, buy you a shawl and get us tickets for a ferry, but a discussion of politics or history? Forget it." He grinned. "I can, however, carry on a flirtation...or make love."
She looked at him askance. "We don't need words for that."
He leaned closer. The candle glowing at the table's edge highlighted the planes of his face. "No, we don't, do we?"
Their eyes met and held. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the mimosa and wafted up the scent of the roses blooming at the fountain's base. A thread of smoke spiraled between them into the soft twilight air.
They started as the waiter, arriving soundlessly at Karim's elbow, poured a clear golden wine into his glass, stepped back, and waited for his judgment. At his nod, the waiter filled both glasses.
"Are you surprised your mother didn't put up more resistance to going to Valley Fields?" he asked.
Beth swirled the wine in her glass. "Yes and no. She didn't care for the idea of being at the mercy of a hired caregiver."
Karim raised his eyebrows. "At the mercy of? That seems a bit strong."
Her smile was rueful. "I think paranoid is what you really mean, but under the circumstances, a bit of paranoia is understandable. Mother can't drive anymore; she can't tend her garden, and she even needs help to move about her own house. In short, she's losing control of her life, and it scares her." Beth looked up with a wry smile. "And she wasn't all that crazy about me being underfoot all the time."
"Really? I thought you two saw a great deal of each other."
"Visits and outings aren't the same as living together, Karim. She treated me like a spinster daughter in a Victorian novel, then accused me of being bossy if I asked if she'd taken her medicine." Beth couldn't tell if Karim suspected there was more to it than that. "Actually, Dana resented the move to Valley Fields more than Mother did." She reached across to touch his hand. "I have you to thank for helping me deal with that.”
"Me? I'm glad to hear it, but—"
"That first night at Polly's? You warned me not to allow my children to define my life." She grasped her fingers in his. "I have lot to thank you for, Karim."
He smiled into her eyes. "Well, then," he murmured, "we'll have to come up with an appropriate reward, won't we?"
By the time they finished dinner, the high stone walls were lost in purple shadows. The time-polished carved white marble fragments set here and there within them—dating back to the Byzantine Empire, Karim said—reflected the glow of the gas-lit lanterns set on posts throughout the courtyard. Although all the tables were now occupied, the conversation had muted. An occasional laugh, a tinkle of crystal, and the sonorous sound of the string trio accompanied the honey-rich baklava and small cups of thick, dark Turkish coffee. Beth, enchanted, sighed.
"Tired?" Karim asked.
"Yes and no." She laughed. "I guess so, but it's all so new and exciting." Looking around her, she waved an encompassing hand. "I still can't believe I'm here!"
Karim signed the bill presented him. "It's a lovely evening—are you still game for a stroll?"
Beth nodded. Arm and arm, they made their way across the cobbled street to stand in awe before the vast domed stone bulk of the Sultan Ahmet Mosque, whose six slender gilded minarets glittered in the bright rays of light.
"Tomorrow we can go inside," Karim said. "It's not my favorite of the Istanbul mosques, but it's the one everyone asks if you've seen."
Beth looked at him, amused. "And you think that's sufficient reason?"
"No, but I don't want you to lose face with your friends."
She laughed. "My itinerary will be the last thing on their minds, I can assure you."
"Your children, then."
She nodded. "I'll buy that."
Beyond the mosque was the site of the ancient Hippodrome. The Egyptian Obelisk was erected at its northern end; the Serpent Column at mid-point and the Colossus, the largest of the pillars looming ahead of them, seemed unimaginably old. As they circuited the ancient site, Beth fancied she could hear the roar of the crowd as dusty chariots plunged around the earthen course, now paved and all but deserted in mid-evening.
"It makes our lives seem like mere pinpoints in time," Beth mused.
"They are, my darling," Karim said, hugging her close. "All the more reason to make the most of our fleeting bit of it."
She lifted her face for his kiss. How many other lovers had stood like this, just here, and kissed? It was beyond calculation. Karim was right: it was the here and now that mattered.
"Let's go back," she whispered.
* * * *
The days that followed were dreamlike. They walked the cobbled streets of the old city, resisting the imploring cries of the merchants, sipping tea in sidewalk cafes, prowling through the tree-shaded book stalls near Istanbul University. The third day, after becoming hopelessly lost in the crisscross of the Grand Bazaar's arched passageways—I thought you said you knew the way, Karim!--they taxied across the Golden Horn in a small boat and walked up to the Galata Tower for lunch. It was, as Karim had warned, wall-to-wall tourists, but was worth it for the panorama of the busy city. Ferries chugging across the Bosphorus left glittering trails on their watery highway, and at noon the haunting cry of the muezzin spiraled up from the minarets of mosques set high and low among the enfolding hills. Beth, lost in counting the spires piercing the gold-hazed sky, had to be reminded to eat.
They spent one showery morning inhaling the scents of the Spice Market where ground spices and herbs in a rainbow of colors were set out in kegs to tempt the passersby. A short distance away, on a high terrace above a complex of vaulted shops, an interior flight of steps led to the beautiful courtyard of the Rustem Pasa Mosque, Karim's favorite. Its location, all but hidden among the secondhand clothing market's stalls, allowed Beth and Karim to enjoy the ravishing richness of its tiled interior undisturbed by the flashing of cameras and the chatter of tour guides.
When they emerged, showers had given way to a steady downpour, signaling a retreat to the hotel. They arrived drenched, and hurried to their room and undressed, their chilled bodies ghostlike in the dim light. After draping the window sills with their damp clothing, Beth joined Karim under the hot spray of the shower. They stood embraced, eyes closed, in a warming cloud of stea
m, the slide of soap-slicked skin soon suggesting an afternoon's activity abetted by the rosy glow spilling from the silk-shaded bedroom lamps.
" 'The pleasant land of counterpane.…' " Beth murmured. Her fingers idly traced Karim's dark eyebrows and the furrows from nostril to mouth. "My grandmother used to recite that to me when I was sick and complained of being sent to bed."
Karim turned his head to kiss her forehead. "Robert Louis Stevenson," he said. "And am I 'the giant great and still that sits upon the pillow hill?' "
"My dear giant." She chuckled and tweaked his nose. "You weren't so still a little while ago."
He grunted contentedly, slid one arm around her and tugged her closer. She nestled her head in the hollow of his shoulder and smoothed his broad stomach with the flat of her hand. If there was any slackness, she didn't see it. All she knew, all she wanted to know, was the feel of his flesh against her hand, the movement of it against her body, the thrust of it inside her. Recalling it, she experienced an echo of the delicious tremors that he, and he alone, had unleashed within her.
The next day was sparkling, the golden haze displaced by bright blue. They ate in the courtyard at what they had come to think of as their table, a lover's whimsy the waiters were happy to indulge. Sliced tomatoes, wrinkled black olives and cheese now seemed quite normal breakfast fare to Beth. She smiled at the waiter as he refilled her cup with tea.
"Today is a day for adventure," Karim exclaimed, "and seeing it's Sunday, I suggest we take the ferry out to the Princes' Isles, and tour Buyukada in a horse-drawn carriage. Except for a few service vehicles, cars aren't allowed there."
"Sounds idyllic," she murmured. Crumbs scattered across the white cloth from the crusty end of the bread Beth broke beside her plate. "Is Sunday the only day the ferries run?"
"No, but the Sunday boats cater to Istanbul families off for a day's outing: hiking, picnicking—swimming, too, if they can find a cove in which someone hasn't already staked a claim. It's crowded but great fun: everyone's in a party mood--some even bring musical instruments along."
Beth shook her head. "Eastbury's going to seem awfully dull after this, Karim."
His brow creased in thought. "Different maybe, but dull? Home has its virtues." He smiled. "Besides, we can always return for more Turkish delights. This is just a sampling."
* * * *
Sampling or not, it was a wonderful day. The pleasures were simple ones: the tour of the island's rolling unspoiled terrain at a clip-clop pace; lunch on a vine-shaded cafe terrace overlooking the busy harbor; Karim's dancing, in the company of fellow passengers who took him as one of their own, on the return trip.
How splendid he looks, Beth thought. His steps, uncertain at first, grew bolder, encouraged by the shrill blare of the wooden flutes and the clattering tambourines accompanying them. The faster the pace, the wider his smile flashed. His eyes glinted with pleasure; his body moved with a sureness and dignity that made the breath catch in her throat. A final blare, a burst of laughter, and he rejoined her on the slatted wooden bench, wiping his forehead with the cotton scarf she pressed upon him. Her hand rested on his darkly tanned forearm, warm, sinewy, alive, below the rolled-up sleeve of his white shirt.
"A new profession awaits you should you tire of your college presidency, Mr. Donovan."
He looked at her with disbelief but she could tell he was pleased. "Really? I felt like a fool."
"Well, you looked like the real thing. Of course, I imagine the opportunities for Turkish folk dancing are fairly limited in the States, so I wouldn't advise making any hasty decisions."
He brought her hand to his lips. "Not only beautiful, but wise."
They smiled, their intertwined gaze confirming what their fingers and hands conveyed throughout those magical days together: contact with the precious other.
Karim pronounced the following day, also clear, as ideal for a ferry ride up the Bosphorus to the Black Sea. Munching on pistachios and dried apricots bought at a stall near the terminal, they leaned on the boat's rail, arms linked, shoulders touching, watching the astonishing skyline float past. Karim pointed out the pretty towns nestled among cypress and umbrella pines along the narrow hill-bordered strait, chuckling at Beth's effort to repeat their exotic names.
"Tomorrow evening we could take a taxi to Cubuklu and have dinner at the former palace of the Khedive of Egypt."
"And where shall we eat tonight?" Beth asked.
"I think at the hotel, don't you? Today will be a long day, and we have an errand to do in the Grand Bazaar before it's over."
Beth, remembering their wanderings earlier in the week, looked apprehensive. "In the Bazaar? Suppose we get lost again?" Her blue eyes opened wide. "Suppose we get locked in overnight?"
He laughed and hugged her close. "The section we'll be visiting is easy to find." But no matter how she coaxed, he wouldn't identify it. "You'll see soon enough—and if we should get lost, I promise that this time I'll ask directions."
By the time they reached the entrance to the Bazaar, the sun was low in the sky. Bright lights beckoned from within the high stone arch of the entrance, a different one, Beth thought, than the one they had entered through before. Tourists thronged the wide corridor, and the shop windows lining it glittered with gold jewelry of every description: chains, bracelets, charms, pins, rings. Beth was dazzled.
"Now I know what's meant by a king's ransom," she said.
"In this case, I think sultan's would be more appropriate," Karim said. He led her towards one of the larger shops, whose smiling proprietor leaned eagerly over the counter as they entered.
"Sir? Lovely lady? What is your pleasure?"
Beth looked up at Karim questioningly.
"Your rings, please. Wedding bands."
Beth gasped.
"We are, aren't we?"
"Going to be married, you mean?"
"Yes, my divorce will be final soon, and--" He looked at her, suddenly stricken. "Have I presumed too much?"
"No!" she blurted. "But I never thought of marriage as a...a condition for.…" She broke off, flustered, aware of the merchant eavesdropping on their conversation. "You know."
Karim laughed. "Heaven forbid I should try to make an honest woman of you!" He turned his attention to the merchant, who deftly slid a couple of trays of rings out of the case behind him onto the counter. "The Turks are famous for the quality of their gold jewelry, Beth. Do any of these strike your fancy?"
The rings on the trays, conventional in design, were much like those Beth had seen in jewelry shops back home. Peering past them to a jumbled group of rings and bracelets on the glass shelf below, Beth suddenly pointed.
"That one!" she exclaimed. "The wide band with the star and crescent motif."
"Ah! An Ottoman piece," the merchant said. "Very fine, very old." He brought it out and laid it on black velvet cushion.
"It is handsome," Karim agreed, "but look here...is that a dent?"
"It gives it character," Beth said. The merchant slipped it on her finger. The wide gold band fit as if made for her.
"Kismet," Beth said.
"Kismet," the beaming merchant agreed. The lights flickered, once, twice. "In ten minutes the Bazaar closes," he informed them.
As Karim pulled a packet of traveler's checks from an inside pocket, the merchant selected a pretty little leather box from a drawer.
"Allaha ismarladik!" Karim said.
"Gule gule!"
What did you say?" Beth asked as they hurried out into the twilight.
"Goodbye."
"And his reply?"
"Goodbye."
"But what you said and he said didn't sound at all alike!"
"The phrase one chooses depends on who says goodbye first."
Beth shook her head. "It's all very confusing!"
He grinned. "Good. Then you'll always need me for a guide."
It was not yet fully dark. The dome of the great Aya Sofya, by turns a Byzantine church, an Islamic mosque and now a nation
al museum, was floodlit.
"Think of the bloody history it's seen," Karim said.
"And yet it endures, lifting the heart of everyone who sees it...mine, certainly," Beth said. She slowly turned in place, as if engraving the vast, foreign, beautiful square on her memory. To her right, the six spires of the Sultan Ahmet mosque were silhouetted against a copper-banded purple sky. "I don't know how I can ever thank you, Karim."
Later, after dinner, in their room, Beth asked to see the ring again.
"You're sure it won't bring bad luck?" Karim teased.
"I don't think so, but then I haven't had all that much experience with wedding rings."
He took the box from his pocket and slipped the ring on her finger. "For better for worse, for richer or poorer.…" His voice was deep and strong.
"In sickness and in health," Beth continued, blue eyes fixed on his, "to love and to cherish—"
Groaning, he gathered her in his arms. Practiced now, their clothes fell away as if by magic. Easing her panties from her thighs with one hand, Karim shed his confining trousers. Beth turned to him, her legs already open, her breathing shallow. He nudged her damp warmth, feeling her quiver at his touch. He entered her gently, stroking slowly, until, clasping him frantically with her thighs, she pleaded for release, her husky cries a softer version of his as she arched to meet him. Satisfied, their breathing evened; still naked, they nestled together and slept.
Much later, a knocking on their door roused them.
"Mr. Donovan?" a muffled voice called. "A phone call for you, from America. Mr. Donovan?"
"Be right with you!" Karim called. He blinked at the little traveling clock on the bedside table. Three in the morning.
Beth sat up beside him, the bed covers clasped to her breasts. "Oh my God, my mother...the children.…"
Karim reached for his robe on the floor beside him. "Stay here, Beth. I'll be back as soon as I can. Try not to worry—it's probably just a case of someone forgetting to allow for the time difference."
When he returned, he found Beth sitting in her satin robe waiting for him. The light from the table lamp spilled across the disordered bed clothes, its rosy glow in shocking contrast to the grimness of his expression.
And Be My Love Page 25
