Turkish weddings were quite different from anything Mariam had ever experienced, and Ede took it upon herself to explain the intricacies to Mariam. The men and the women stayed segregated throughout. Even the ceremony itself was performed without the bride.
For the women, the highlight of the wedding preparations was the Gelin Hamami — the Bride’s Bath. The women from both the bride’s and the groom’s households were expected to attend, and that included Mariam.
Carriages of women arrived at the public bath on the appointed day. Guluzar Hanim had paid in advance to ensure that only the women of the bride’s and groom’s families were allowed to enter. She had sent her servants early to scrub everything down until the walls and floors shone bright and smelled faintly of lemon. She also arranged for platters of special delicacies to be delivered at specified intervals throughout the day.
Mariam and Ede arrived in one of Guluzar Hanim’s first carriages, and then waited with anticipation for the arrival of the bride-to-be. When the first carriage of Halah Mustapha’s household finally arrived, the women of Rustem Agha’s household tittered in excitement.
Mariam watched as the carriage door opened. An older woman stepped out first. She reached in and grabbed the hand of a frightened-looking girl who looked no more than a child.
“She is very nice,” whispered Ede to Mariam. “But shy.”
Halah Mustapha wore the traditional bridal bath costume that had been delivered to her house from Rustem Bey’s house a few days earlier. The costume consisted of a beautifully embroidered vest and a pair of loose felt trousers known as shalvar. Over top of this was a silk caftan, ankle length and open at the front. The cuffs and front border and bottom edges were embroidered with intricate geometric designs. Mariam thought that she looked like a child dressing up in her mother’s clothing.
Halah walked towards the entrance of the bath, followed by a woman banging rhythmically on a drum. After the drummer came women from the Mustapha household. Ede grabbed Mariam’s hand and they followed behind the other women.
The women cheered and chanted as Halah stepped into the bathhouse. She walked through the big reception area and was led to the cold room, where she removed all of her clothing behind a veil held by women in her family. Once she was naked, the women wrapped her in the veil and led her to a smaller warm room where a platform had been set up. Mariam noticed that the girl was flushed pink. Was it embarrassment or excitement? she wondered. Halah climbed onto the platform and sat down. The bath attendants came in and dumped buckets of hot water on her one at a time.
Halah was then asked to lie down, and one of her aunts scrubbed her skin with a coarse cloth until it glowed. Another member of her family washed her hair, all the while Ede, Mariam, and the other ladies in the room chanted and sang in rhythm with the beating of the drum.
Once the bathing was finished, Halah’s mother came forward with a beautiful pair of high jewelled pattens. Halah sat up and put these on her feet, and then she was draped in the veil and led into the reception room.
A high throne-like chair had been set up for her, and her mother led her to it by the hand. She sat down, still wrapped in the veil, and then a henna artist came forward to decorate her hands and feet.
Mariam watched with fascination as the henna artist applied the mud-like substance to the girl’s eyebrows, and then her hands. An attendant came forward with strips of cloth and carefully wrapped the girl’s hands. When that was finished, the attendant removed the girl’s pattens, and the muck was applied in intricate swirls to her feet. When that was finished, her feet were wrapped in strips of cloth. Throughout the procedure, Halah watched the henna artist with detached interest. It was as if the girl were watching henna being applied to someone else.
“Let us eat while the henna sets,” announced Halah’s mother.
Platters of food were brought in, and the guests helped themselves. Halah couldn’t eat because her hands were wrapped up, so her mother chose some delicacies and put them on a plate and then sat by the girl’s side and fed her. Halah took small bites and smiled gratefully at her mother.
The singing and eating lasted for several hours, and the henna artist checked under the strips of cloth from time to time to see if the henna had set. “It is ready,” she announced finally.
An attendant brought a bowl of water and a cloth and unwrapped the girl’s hands and feet. She carefully rubbed off every last bit of dried muck, and as she did, a beautifully intricate design of swirling red emerged on the girl’s hands and feet. When the muck came off of her eyebrows, Halah looked older and more serious. Not so much a little girl.
“I can hardly wait until I get to wear the henna,” said Ede.
Now came the time to put makeup on the bride, and so the makeup artist approached with her heavy bag of supplies. Mariam watched with fascination as Halah’s face was covered with a luminous powder and her eyes were outlined with kohl. Her lips were lined with dark red paint and then filled in with a lighter red. The result was startling. Halah looked like a porcelain doll.
As if she were a doll and not a girl, Halah stood obediently as the women from her family dressed her back up in the vest and trousers and the beautifully embroidered caftan. She sat back down on the throne-like platform and candles were passed around to all the guests. With great solemnity, the candles were lit and one woman grabbed a tambourine. Halah stood up and followed the woman beating the tambourine. All of the other women lined up behind the bride, their candles lit. The women marched around the bathhouse pool behind the bride, singing songs and holding their candles high.
After several circuits around the pool, the bride’s mother unfurled the wedding veil and covered her daughter’s head with it. When Halah’s head was covered, it was time for all the unmarried girls to throw coins into the pool and make their wishes. Mariam could hear Ede whisper her hope for a kind husband. What Mariam wished for was the safety of her family.
Halah walked out of the bathhouse to her waiting carriage. The woman with the drum and all of the other women followed, chanting as they marched. The carriage drove her back to her own house.
“Why isn’t she going to the groom’s house?” asked Mariam.
“She is not needed yet,” answered Ede. “She will spend the rest of today and all of the night alone in a room. The men will hold the wedding ceremony and one of Halah’s male relatives will act as her proxy. When it is all over, the men from both families will come and get her.”
Mariam didn’t say it out loud, but she thought it very strange that a bride wouldn’t be at her own wedding.
It wasn’t until they got back to the haremlik that Mariam realized Ani hadn’t been at the bathhouse, and she wasn’t at the haremlik. She found Parantzim sound asleep with Rustem’s two younger sisters, but Taline was missing, too. She looked in every room, and she scoured the garden, but Ani couldn’t be found, and neither could Taline. On her way back in from the garden, she encountered Guluzar Hanim.
She bowed deeply, then asked, “Have you seen Ani?”
Guluzar Hanim hesitated, then answered. “Rustem Bey has sent Ani to Canada to be with her relatives. She took Taline with her.”
“That’s wonderful!” exclaimed Mariam. “I wonder why she didn’t come to say goodbye to me first?”
After the wedding, Halah Hanim settled into the daily routine of the haremlik. As Rustem Bey’s first wife, she held a senior position, so Guluzar Hanim kept her at her side and let her assist as Guluzar Hanim supervised the kitchen and the laundry and went over the food purchases for the week. Halah was also given a large private bedroom of her own, and as part of her wedding gift, Guluzar Hanim had it completely refurbished with a Western-style bed and dresser.
Mariam noticed that the girl was friendly to Ede and everyone else in the haremlik. Everyone but herself. If only she would talk to me, thought Mariam. Then I could let her know she had nothing to be jealous about.
Deep down, Mariam knew that wasn’t quite true. Each time she
looked at Halah Hanim, she had an undeniable twinge of jealousy. Rustem Bey’s private visits to Mariam stopped with his marriage. It surprised Mariam that she missed talking to him as much as she did.
One day, about six months after his marriage, he came upon Mariam as she was walking in circles in the garden. She was so intent in her own thoughts that she almost bumped into him as he stood in her path.
“Have you been well?” he asked, looking into her eyes.
“Well enough,” replied Mariam. “It is kind of you to keep me here. And Parantzim too.”
Rustem Bey nodded. “I know that you are anxious to leave, and soon you may be able to.”
“What do you mean?” asked Mariam.
“The Turkish government has capitulated to the Allied forces.”
Mariam gasped. She had been living in a vacuum for so many months that it was hard for her to grasp the implications. How wonderful it would be to leave this place. Perhaps find her sister.
“Are you so anxious to leave my house?” asked Rustem sadly. “I had hoped that you were happy here.”
“You have been kind,” said Mariam. “But I don’t belong here.” She was about to turn from him and continue her meditative walk, but then she added, “I have not had the opportunity to thank you.”
“For what?” he asked.
“For sending Ani to live with her relatives in Canada. She was so sad here, after all. And to send Taline with her. It must have cost a fortune.”
Rustem looked at her in confusion. “I did not send Ani and Taline to Canada.”
“But your mother told me you did,” replied Mariam.
Rustem paled. His mother was cold and calculating, and she always got what she wanted. “I … I have to go,” he said. And then he turned and walked away.
She was in her bedroom lying on the divan with a damp cloth over her eyes. Halah Hanim, plump with child, was sitting on a cushion at her feet, working intently on a piece of embroidery.
He didn’t sit down and he said nothing to his wife. Instead, he stood in front of the divan with his hands on his hips. “What did you do with Ani and Taline?” he asked.
He saw a faint smile form on his mother’s lips. “It took you long enough to notice,” she said.
“What did you do with them?” he asked.
“Too many Armenians,” said Guluzar Hanim. “I had them killed.”
Rustem Bey swore under his breath. He walked out of her room without saying another word.
He walked back to the garden and grabbed Mariam by both arms. “You and Parantzim are leaving right now,” he said. “Pack up your bags and I’ll take you to the orphanage myself.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
While Kevork was happy to have gained Ibrahim Hassan’s favour, he also realized that it meant he would soon have to leave. To fully be accepted as a son, Kevork would have to become a Muslim, and that was something he would never do. In addition to the religious ceremony, there was a physical requirement for all Muslim men: circumcision. It was the one physical difference between Christians and Muslims. Aside from the fact that Kevork did not relish the thought of having his privates operated on in a very public ceremony, he knew that if he went through with the circumcision, he truly would be leaving his heritage behind. If he ever found Marta again, what would she think of him?
Fortunately, the Maulvi Bakar, the spiritual leader of the clan, was away on an extended trip. Kevork would not have to act until he returned.
Not one bit of work was done at the camp on the day after the feast; even the women spent the day relaxing and digesting their big meal.
That night, a man from the neighbouring camp came over to talk to Ibrahim.
“Did a cow wander down this way last night?” he asked diplomatically.
“No,” replied Ibrahim with a belch and a smile. “We have seen no lost cow.”
The man looked around and saw people resting on mats in the shade, round-bellied and greasy with contentment. Kevork watched as his eyes rested on the charred remnants of the barbecue pit, and his nose crinkled at the rich aroma of cooked meat that still hung in the air.
The man from the other camp frowned in annoyance and turned to leave. Ibrahim’s expression softened. “I assure you,” he said, “if a cow happens to wander off again, it will wander from another encampment, not yours.”
The man’s frown disappeared. “That is satisfactory,” he said. And he left.
Kevork’s long-term goal was to escape, but his short-term goal was to get clean. At the orphanage, he had grown accustomed to a weekly bath and periodic lice checks, but in the desert the lice ruled supreme. He was itchy all over, especially his eyes. Every morning when Kevork woke up, his eyes would be glued shut with mucus. He would have to use a bit of his precious drinking water just to unglue his eyelids each day. Kevork also longed for a bath, but he knew enough not to ask for a bath in the desert. Water was too precious a commodity to be wasted.
What surprised him was that others in the encampment didn’t seem to be as bothered by the bugs as he was. It wasn’t that they were more used to the lice, they just didn’t seem to get them. One day, he asked Huda about this.
She looked at him in amused surprise. “Do you mean to tell me that you have been living with us all this time and you still don’t know how we kill lice?”
He looked down at his feet in embarrassment.
“When you’re out watching the camels,” she said, “wait until the sun is directly overhead, and then take off your clothing and lay it out in the sun. The lice will fry up and die.”
The next day, Kevork did just that, ensuring that he had a place in the shade to wait while his clothing baked in the sun.
“I am still covered with lice,” he complained to Huda when he brought back the camels at the end of the day.
“They can’t be coming from your clothing,” she said, her brow creased in thought. “I should cut your hair.”
She had him strip down to nothing but a piece of cloth around his waist and then she cut his hair. As it fell into the sand around him, lice skittered away. Kevork remembered when he was Kevork and he had cut Marta’s hair. The memory made his heart ache.
“Now your beard,” she said.
The dirty hair and beard blew away in tufts. Kevork started to feel like the person he used to be.
But he stayed Khedive for another year. He was treated just like Ibrahim Hassan’s other son, Aman. And a year of fresh air and sorghum helped him grow strong. He longed to get back to Marash and reclaim his old life, but life as Ibrahim Hassan’s son was so comfortable and secure that he kept putting it off. Then Maulvi Bakar came back.
“Khedive, my son,” said Ibrahim Hassan. “We can now make your place in this family official. The Maulvi Bakar can perform the circumcision ritual and you shall be a full Muslim.”
Kevork had no intention of being circumcised. Wearing Arab clothing and living like an Arab was reversible, but circumcision? That was for life.
He did not want to hurt Ibrahim, who had been so kind to him, but what could he do? The only thing to do was to buy himself a little bit of time and then think of some way to leave.
“Father,” said Kevork as convincingly as he could, “it is my desire to be an obedient son. When will the circumcision take place?”
“Today,” said Ibrahim Hassan with a smile. “The Maulvi Bakar is preparing himself for you now.”
The time for dallying was gone. Kevork knew that he had to leave his adopted family immediately. But he couldn’t leave without saying goodbye to Huda. He found her, standing at a distance from the encampment, gazing out at the desert.
“It’s time for me to leave.”
She turned to him with tears in her eyes. “I know, my son,” she said. “You must live among your own people.”
Kevork dried the tears from her cheek with the sleeve of his thwab. “Thank you for everything,” he said. “You have been a mother to me.”
Huda took one deep breath to contro
l her sobs, and then she looked him in the eyes. “You must leave quickly,” she said. “My husband will be deeply hurt when he realizes that you do not wish to be his son.”
She hugged him fiercely for an instant, then pushed him away. She fumbled with the folds in her robe and pulled out a skin of water and a packet tied with a thin strip of cowhide. “Take these,” she said. “Walk towards the setting sun.” Huda pointed out the direction. “Aleppo is a week’s walk away. It is a mostly Arab city, so the Armenians are safe. Perhaps you’ll be able to build a life for yourself there.”
He tried to give her one last hug, but she pushed his arms away. “Go,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion. “Get out of here!” Then she turned and walked back to the encampment.
As he walked away from the group of desert wanderers, his mind was in a turmoil. “Am I mad? Leaving behind the security and anonymity of desert life and walking straight back into Turkey?”
He also felt guilty about deceiving his adopted father. Ibrahim Hassan had accepted him with open arms and had treated him exactly the same as if he had been his son by birth. But there was a difference, and Khedive — no, he was Kevork — Kevork knew the difference: Ibrahim Hassan only loved the lie. Kevork could not live the rest of his life pretending to be someone else. Better to die an Armenian than live a lie.
Kevork also had the slim hope that Marta was still living. Seeing Huda alive and well after decades of Muslim life also gave him hope that Mariam still lived, that perhaps even his mother was still alive and he might find her one day. But he would never be able to find any of them if his own identity was hidden.
When he was several hours away from the encampment, Kevork sat down for a few minutes’ rest. He took a tiny sip of water, then opened the packet Huda had given him. She had filled it with thin strips of sun-dried beef — a precious treasure indeed!
Nobody's Child Page 17
