by Rose Fox
It seemed to Abdul that he heard a baby crying. He stopped, frozen to the spot and listened. It was quiet but then, he heard the sound again. Yes, he heard a baby crying.
Abdul gazed around, searching among the many dead bodies. The crying burst out from right beneath him and he kneeled down, cleared away branches and stones and discovered some dirty checkered fabric. A dust-covered infant stretched out his tiny arm and rested it on the breast of his dead mother and tried to suck it. He released the dark nipple and gaped as he emitted a thin, high-pitched sob.
Abdul tried to pick up the infant, but the dead woman gripped him like a vice. He had to struggle to release the baby’s arm and leg from her lifeless fingers, which were like a fossilized spring that had lost its flexibility. He found a stick in the sand and used it to release her grip and picked up the recently born infant. The baby was naked, and Abdul pulled the fabric that covered the dead mother out of the sand and wrapped her orphaned child in it. Gold embroidery glinted from the ends of the collar of the torn garment and Abdul stopped to examine it. The artistic gold embroidery on the fabric led Abdul to think that perhaps, it had some distinctive mark that could be identified. He laid the child on the ground, dug around the body of the woman and released the fabric that had enwrapped both of them.
The infant was hungry, something even Abdul could recognize from the sucking of his toothless gums. The babe tried to suck Abdul’s dirty fingers, and he held him to his chest and studied him from close up. His tiny hands embraced his neck and aroused an instinct in him that he did not know he possessed. The sweet smell of the small body, its softness, and the silky curls made Abdul open the buttons of his shirt and press the infant close to his perspiring chest and embrace him.
He folded the embroidered cloth and put it under his arm and, with broad strides, made his way back to his family’s tent. He gave the orphaned child to his wife, Nazim, who embraced him and rested him on the rounding belly of her new pregnancy and extricated a breast that was always full of milk. She was currently nursing her older child, who was still less than a year old.
Their new baby daughter arrived almost three months later, and Nazim transferred the orphaned nameless adopted child to the care of her mother, the amazing and wise Nana Kahit.
She decided to name him Karma, which means ‘fate.' She believed in reincarnation and decided that fate had sent this sweet baby to their tent.
Almost a year passed by, and little Karma learned to walk on the small stones and the hardened earth. Everyone knew that he was an orphaned child without lineage, but persistent rumors floated among the tent dwellers. Talk and rumors abounded as to the identity of the dead woman, who had held on to him and wore a garment made of an embroidered fabric that attested to her elevated status.
When Karma turned one-year-old, Abdul traveled to the big city, with the embroidered clothing under his arm. He wandered around the market places, showed it in the stalls and went back home with a story. It was the tale of a beautiful young woman called Naziah, the daughter of a distinguished family in the city of Wan. She had born a son to a celebrated and respected merchant by the name of Sallah the Great.
*
Sallah was a great and prosperous merchant whose abundant wealth included herds of sheep and cattle. He cared for his many employees and paid them generously. Sallah owned a large home in Istanbul, where he also housed his workers in a building he erected especially for them. He lived with his family in a two-storey house, with his beautiful wife whom he had married according to Sharia Law and the Qadi’s ruling. She bore his five sons and two daughters. His eldest son, Sallah, was fifteen years old and already considered joining his father on his business travels.
Sallah, the father, would journey to faraway cities in the course of conducting his business ventures. After contracting and finalizing his deals, he would return home and send his workers to execute the transactions. They would transfer the herds that Sallah purchased and paid for in advance and bring equipment and fodder for the flocks he raised and nurtured in the large pen on his land.
Occasionally he was compelled to lengthen his stay in a distant place for several days, and there were times when he even had to remain for several weeks. Then Sallah would arrange and find himself a woman for his enjoyment and pleasure. He would wed her in a deceptive celebration of the temporary marriage with a Qadi’s blessing. Some unmarried women agreed to such an arrangement and everything was done according to the custom and laws of the place. He would leave them and return to his home and family, compensating them according to what their agreement dictated.
There was one incident when he traveled to a large city, to Bushehr, and remained there for five whole months. Here, he married one of the women who pleased him so that she would take care of him and pamper him. And he compensated her with more than double the amount that had been agreed on because she had pleased him greatly.
His wife never knew about the temporary wives and Sallah did not think it was a matter that concerned her. Only, Mustapha, his major Domo, who handled all his workers, was involved and knew where to locate his boss, when he departed and when he was expected to return. Sometimes, he even made the purchase of the agreed compensation between Sallah and his temporary spouse for him.
One day, Sallah came to the city of Wan, where he had arranged to meet another wealthy dealer called Akai. They met three times to settle an unusually large transaction. When they concluded the deal, they shook hands and Akai invited Sallah to join his family for the evening meal at his home.
At the table, he saw the man’s beautiful young daughter and was unable to resist her charms. She glanced at him briefly over the line of her veil and immediately lowered her gaze. Enthralled, Sallah felt he was drowning in her enormous amber colored eyes. He knew that it was not polite to approach her directly, especially as no one had introduced them, so he turned to her mother instead.
“Your daughter closely resembles her father. She inherited the color of her eyes, from him, didn’t she?”
The daughter looked briefly at her father, who narrowed his eyes but did not react.
“I imagine that she took her beauty from her mother,” and added at once: “With your permission, I am enchanted and permit myself to address her.”
And, without waiting for a response from the parents, he turned to the girl.
“What is your name, my dear?”
“Naziah, Sir,” she replied and modestly lowered her long lashes.
Akai did not miss the sensual glances that passed from Sallah to his daughter, and when they finished the meal, he urged her to clear away the dishes and leave.
Sallah was not someone to pass up on a girl like this, and he waited impatiently for the moment when they would retire, he and Akai, to the living room and partake of coffee and cake. When they were seated in the lounge, Sallah addressed Akai.
“Allah has blessed you with beautiful children, Sir.”
“Thank you, kind Sir, but I am too insignificant to take credit for that.”
There was silence, and Sallah leaned back in the seat of honor and regarded his host, as he considered how to approach the matter.
“The meal was excellent and helped me appreciate that you have been blessed with a good wife.” To allow his compliment to sink in, he gave his host time to thank him and continued:
“I presume that your daughters learned to cook from her and, in time, will serve their spouses.”
“Of course, as is the custom in a self-respecting Turkish family.”
Once again, they did not speak, and only the clinking cups and the sounds of drinking coffee broke the silence.
“I am very pleased with our cooperation,” Sallah began, “it seems we operate in one mind, as a team.”
“That’s right. Let us hope that it will benefit both of us, with Allah’s help, of course.”
“I am wondering if it would be impertinent of me to offer you an additional deal.”
Akai looked at him quizzically.
“I would thank you for respecting your wife and sharing this with her,” Sallah proposed.
It was an unusual request and not the accepted custom. He stood up and disappeared into the kitchen and, after quite a long while, returned accompanied by his wife, Andar. Her eyes shone and from the wetness of her lashes and her reddened eyelids, it appeared she had been crying. Sallah ignored this and addressed her immediately.
“I would be delighted if you would grace us with your presence, with your husband’s permission, of course.”
Akai nodded in approval and Andar sat beside them, but her stiff-backed posture indicated her uneasiness.
Sallah considered how to say things indirectly but found himself saying the first thing that came into his head.
“I wish to marry your daughter.”
The parents were aware of his status and wealth and, in spite of the game they played for the present, they both regarded the fact that the man wanted to marry their daughter as a high honor.
”Did you mention a deal?” Akai inquired.
“Yes, of course. In a fair deal, both sides profit, right?
“I am told Sir, that you have a family in Istanbul.”
“That is correct, a wife and children.”
Andar rose, but Akai looked at her sharply and she sat down, her brow reddening above the veil that hid her face.
“When I said a deal, I meant it,” Sallah repeated what he had said. “I intend to marry your daughter in “an illusory marriage,” a temporary union.”
Andar, the girl’s mother, threw her husband a glance showing her shock and Akai hurried to respond.
“I trust you, Sallah, my friend, and presume you know what you are saying. From my point of view, it is alright; only please explain what you said to the mother of the bride.”
“Fine,” Sallah countered, “the relationship between your daughter and me will be consecrated and approved by the religious officials of this city.”
“Does that mean that our daughter will be like a second wife?”
“Eh… not exactly. In an ‘illusory marriage,’ we agree that I may return her to you.”
“Divorce?” Akai exclaimed.
“I promise in that case I will compensate you with a sum that equals the sum of our recent deal.”
Akai had a coughing fit and raised his hand to his mouth because their deal had been worth millions of Turkish pounds for a herd of two thousand head of sheep and goats. He glanced at his wife and hinted with his eyes.
It never occurred to either of the parents to consult with or share the details of the deal with their daughter. Akai looked at Sallah, stood up and excitedly shook hands with his new partner.
“Signed and sealed!” he said decisively.
They arranged and signed the papers and the matter was closed. The marriage was solemnized the next day in the courtyard of one of the religious leaders of the village.
Their beautiful daughter, Naziah, obeyed her parents and married Sallah in an “illusionary wedding” and went to live with her new husband in a building on her parents’ property.
Two months later, Naziah informed him that she was pregnant, and Sallah winced. He spread his arms out wide, embraced her but was angry with himself for not being as cautious as he had been with his temporary wives who had preceded her. Truth to tell, he had begun to feel homesick for his wife and seven children in Istanbul and had intended to set off for new business that week.
Of course, Sallah remained to await the birth of his child.
Time passed idly until the day one of his employees, Aslan, came to the city and knocked on the door of the family’s home.
“Mustapha sent me to you, Sir, on a matter concerning the herd.”
“Oh, what happened to the livestock?”
“Disease broke out and many sheep have fallen ill and died.”
“What did you do in the meantime?”
“A veterinary doctor came and prescribed medicines, which we added to their drinking water. He instructed us to burn the dead, separate the healthy lambs from the rest and take them to a different field. Everything was fine, but yesterday we found new cases of illness among the healthy ones.”
“I understand. You will spend the night here.” Sallah announced as he thought. “Have you eaten?”
Sallah clapped his hands and his servant, Oran, entered the room.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Take Aslan to eat and call Naziah.”
Naziah was in the seventh month of her pregnancy.
She entered, energetic and beautiful, her swollen belly concealed under the loose galabiya she wore, and Sallah’s heart ached when he saw her.
“Come to me, my beloved. Come here.” He said, and when she was close, he spoke to her belly:
“How are you, my little boy?”
He always hoped for boys.
“Everything is fine, my Lord. He is strong and kicks his mother mercilessly.” She announced and pulled Sallah’s hand to her swollen belly. Her stomach was taut, and he caressed her lovingly as he laughed with pleasure.
“Naziah, my beauty, it’s important that you tell him who his father is.”
“Certainly,” She whispered as he drew her close in his embrace. “Why tell him? After all, he’ll grow up and see his father, with Allah’s help.”
“But, his father will be far away from him so how will the child know?”
“Heaven forbid, may Allah have mercy! No, no,” she cried out and pulled away a little to look into Sallah’s eyes. “You mustn’t speak or even think like that.”
Sallah straightened up in his armchair and pointed to the chair beside him, but she remained standing.
“My beloved, you know how important you are to me.”
Naziah was silent, but her heart pounded. She held her belly in her hands as if trying to distance her unborn child from what she was about to hear. She stared at Sallah with her amber eyes as her breathing grew shallow and rapid.
“When you give birth to Sallah, with Allah’s help, I believe he will be surrounded by love and receive the best possible attention from his beautiful mother and wonderful grandparents.”
Naziah lowered her gaze. She was obedient and acquiescent and listened to her husband without saying a word.
“I have to return to my flocks in Istanbul. A disease has infected them, and they are dying in the dozens.” He said tenderly, “it’s important to me that you understand.”
He gazed into her eyes, seeking her understanding. Not a single tear appeared in them as she pursed her lips. She curtsied very briefly and quickly left the room in a flurry of rustling skirts, and the sound of her footsteps echoed her protest in his ears.
Faithful to his promise and according to the agreement between them, Sallah compensated Naziah and her family with nine million, five hundred Turkish pounds and released her from their marriage.
“Perhaps I will return to this city, to my beloved wife and the son, she will give birth to,” he told her parents. And when there was no response from them, he added:
“If she is still available, I will take her back.”
Sallah ignored the fact that after Naziah bore him his son, no one else would ever marry her.
Sallah set out with Aslan, his employee, and they traveled to the markets. He purchased embroidered clothes and expensive jewels for Naziah and after taking leave of her parents; he called for her and pointed to the packages.
“I leave my heart here, with you and the child in your womb.”
This time, he noticed the tears welling in her eyes but what he did not know was that they were tears of rage.
“I will beseech, beg and pray to Allah that this child will have a long life,” he said without looking at her. “I will ask that he grows up to be a hero among heroes and honor the name of Sallah that you will bestow on him.”
He had glanced at her again before he departed.
Naziah gathered up her new clothes and moved back into her parents’ home to awa
it the birth of her child.
When she gave birth to the child, she called him Sallah, as his respected father requested.
She could not have known how Sallah’s words had reached the heavens or the extent to which his prayers would be answered but not in her lifetime.
Tough times befell the region where they lived.
The thunder of cannon fire echoed endlessly, together with the war cries of the Kurds that were heard everywhere and reverberated in their houses. The battles spread to the cities around Wan and the warriors could be seen in the distance as they descended from the surrounding mountains and clashed with the forces of the Turkish army.
One day, Naziah and her mother traveled to the big city, to Teheran, to purchase equipment for the infant. The double decker bus reached the station and they climbed to the top deck. Naziah wrapped her infant Sallah and held him close to her heart.
They rode for about ten minutes in silence when the driver suddenly stopped the bus in the middle of the road.
Naziah pointed at places where fire and smoke could be seen and they heard the cries of enraged crowds. All around, the rioters chanted as they torched everything in sight.
Groups of people, waving smoldering rags and burning sticks could be seen through the bus windows. They yelled slogans about the Kurds’ right to independence and against the Turkish army and crowded in front of them on the road and surrounded their bus. The driver opened the door and fled, leaving his passengers at the mercy of the Kurdish rebels.
The terrified passengers began to escape, some of them jumped off the top deck of the bus and fled in all directions, screaming in fear and within two minutes the bus was empty. Naziah climbed down the interior stairs clutching her baby in one arm and Andar, her mother, with the other. Their legs trembling, they ran through the open spaces, to the fields in front of them, among the masses of people fleeing for their lives.
Two huge trucks suddenly arrived and stopped near the empty bus. Turkish soldiers, wearing military fatigues, jumped off the trucks and, some standing and others kneeling, began firing indiscriminately at the backs of the fleeing crowd.
