“My mother bowed. Yes, she would prepare Sophie.”
Ivan Postivich could not sleep that day. He felt some sense of bother, like a worm digging deep in his soul, that left his mind unquiet and incapable of taking his rest. He blamed the boys who swept the rooms as if it were they who disturbed his sleep. He cursed the straw mattresses, he cursed the heat. Sweat beaded on his forehead and ran rivulets into his eyes, stinging them with salt.
He could not stop thinking about Sophie. He arrived early in the audience hall and paced the tiled passage, waiting for Esma Sultan to call for him.
Esma Sultan saw the harrowed look on his face when he entered. He sighed and bent down on his knees to approach her.
“Stand, Corbaci Kadir. I cannot abide seeing you crawl to me like a insect.”
Ivan Postivich nodded and rose to his feet.
“I have been busy all day, making preparations for my brother the Sultan’s birthday celebration. It shall be a fête to equal no other. Ah, and the cirit—”
Ivan Postivich’s eyes opened wide. “Cirit?”
“Ah, now I have your attention. Yes, a game of cirit amongst the Kapikulu Cavalry to start off the festivities.”
Esma Sultan watched the drowning guard’s face fall as he realized he could not ride.
“What would you give to play again?” asked Esma Sultan.
“Forgive me, Sultaness. You play with me, like a cat with a mouse.”
“Anything is possible if I will it,” she answered, her eyes lingering on his face. She looked up at the painting of the Persian princess and harem girls playing polo.
“Do I bore you with my stories of little girls?” she asked.
“No,” he said quietly. “No.”
Esma Sultan drew in her breath and slowly exhaled.
“I am pleased. I cannot say why, but as I unburden my memory of such miserable memories, I breathe more calmly and sleep as if I were a child again.”
She then took a sip of barley water and continued the tale of Sophie.
“When Sophie emerged from the hamam, her wrists and hands were colored with fine, curving lines and dots of henna. We dressed her in silks and braided her long blond hair with pearls, pinning it up with clips of sapphires and diamonds.
“Every now and then, her body shook and the pearls clicked against one another. She was beautiful, but she was still very much a child.
“ ‘Esma, send the servants away and open the fountain. I must speak in confidence.’
“I ordered the eunuch and slaves attending us to leave. Knowing that my mother must speak of the Sultan’s bed, they complied quickly. I opened the fountain pipes myself, so that no one could eavesdrop on our conversation.
“It was then I gave my mother the embroidered handkerchief. She clasped it to her heart and praised Nakshidil as if she were her sister.
“ ‘This shall give all of us strength,’ she said, tracing the delicate threads of the linen.
“She sat beside Sophie. ‘Calm yourself, daughter,’ she said. ‘It is really not bad and the old Sultan does not linger in finishing his task. It will be over before you can recite the full rosary.’
“ ‘Mother!’ I exclaimed in horror. ‘What blasphemy! Say a prayer to Allah before you are cursed forever.’
“My mother’s eyes flashed at me and I could see their depths. How could I have lived my life with this woman and not known?
“She smiled wearily as if relieved to finally share her secret.
“ ‘Esma, I was cursed when I was kidnapped at your age from my home in Circassia. I have brought you up to be a good Muslim and an Ottoman princess, but you must grant me the comfort of my own religion. And this girl is being forced to become a woman before her time, which is a sin in the eyes of any god. She shall take her religion in her heart to comfort her, or she shall die of shame. If you love me and you love her, you will allow us to speak to our God of birth and baptism.’
“I, who was brought up reciting sura after sura of the Koran by heart, merely gaped. I was torn between my love for Sophie and the religion that was as much a part of me as my bones and blood. I could not believe that my mother still clung to a pagan faith and I was embarrassed for her ignorance, but hungry for the secrets she had buried so well in her heart.
“ ‘But Mother! You will not enter heaven!’ I wailed.
“ ‘What heaven does the Ottoman faith promise for woman? I shall die a Christian as I was born and another woman, the Virgin—be she virgin or not, for certainly I do not care—shall comfort me in death in a way that no man could.’
“Without hesitating further, my mother took Sophie’s hand.
“ ‘When you enter the Sultan’s room you must remove your clothes slowly and gracefully, taking time to turn so that he may see you entirely. His eyes are weak so stay close to him but not so close that he grabs you.
“ ‘When you are finally undressed, bow and kiss his feet. Linger there, for he has a weakness for that touch, and you will make quick work of his arousal and pleasure. He may beg you to move up his body, but ignore his pleas until he takes you by the hair.’
“Then my mother went on to explain to Sophie how she should proceed in the Sultan’s bedroom. She explained secrets no child should ever know.
“I heard her say, ‘You are to take it in your mouth.’
“I stood as still as marble, repulsed, fascinated.
“ ‘At this time, you are to move it between your lips as if you were savoring a sherbet. This will quickly arouse him, so the ugly deed will finish more quickly.’
“Sophie was pale, but she listened, unblinking. I stared in horror, marveling at her composure and her concentration on my mother’s words
“ ‘I know this will repulse you, terrify you. You must begin the rosary in your heart. This is your silent strength that will see you through this hour.
“ ‘Imagine the Holy Mother above you, forgiving and blessing you, for she loves most dearly women in desperate need.
“ ‘And you will endure, Sophie. We all do. I will bathe you myself when you return.’
“I covered my mouth. I whispered ‘Allah,’ as my stomach convulsed and then stared silently at my own mottled vomit on the marble floor.”
Chapter 8
The janissary listened to Esma Sultan’s tale and although he was aroused, he was also bewildered.
“And so women of the Royal Serail approach the Sultan like whores in a brothel?”
Esma Sultan lifted her chin, her eyes challenging him.
“Did you not expect it? They are slaves, after all, no matter how many jewels they possess or how many eunuchs serve them. Slaves to men. My knowledge of sex before this moment was confined to gossip—and watching the eunuch and the fat woman in the hamam. I could not imagine my little friend Sophie subjected to such filth at the hands of my own father.”
Ivan Postivich grunted. “What happened to the girl, then?”
Esma Sultan lifted an eyebrow.
“At last I have your attention, Biscuit. Sophie just stared, wide-eyed, as if she had realized the horror in her nightmares already. She nodded and did not cry at all as my mother finished her instructions. Then my mother did one more thing to amaze me.
“Kneeling on the carpets of our apartment, my mother sought a crack in a loose tile near the fountain. She tugged at it, bringing up crumbles of clay and mortar. In the space beneath the tile, she found a small piece of red silk. Untying the bundle, she picked up a tiny crucifix dangling on a pure gold chain.
“ ‘This is for you, Sophie,’ she said. ‘I no longer need it to remember my faith. But you may.’
“She replaced the tile and dipped her fingers in the fountain, scrubbing away the dirt on the tips of her snow-white fingers. Then she held up the white linen handkerchief from Nakshidil and spoke in Serbo-Croatian so that Sophie could fully comprehend.
“ ‘Long ago, the faith of the pagan Arabs, Persians, and those of this land embraced women and thei
r gentle natures; some deities were female. Mohammed spoke highly of women. He honored them and made the Arab men pledge to protect them.
“ ‘The Prophet was born in Mecca, but they rejected him there. He fled to Medina, forming his own religion and followers. But his heart always belonged his his homeland.
“ ‘With his success in Medina, the Prophet longed to persuade the people of Mecca to leave their worship of Diana of the sun and of Al-ilah, the moon, and embrace Allah. The Arabs of Mecca were steadfast in their adoration of the female and especially the three stars that accompanied the moon, the three gentle daughters of Diana and Al-ilah. It was the star Al-Lat who interceded for them in their prayers to Al-ilah.’
“ ‘The crescent moon and the star,’ I thought. It was at that moment that I realized there was some bone of truth to my mother’s ravings. The sliver of moon and its adjacent star are the symbols of our land, even today, despite religion’s every attempt to purge them.
“My mother turned towards me with those clear blue eyes of hers. She saw that I was beginning to understand her at last.
“She continued speaking to Sophie, although I knew now that she was speaking for me to hear as well. ‘The people of Mecca cast Mohammed out, for he was provoking unrest. He was banished from Mecca and settled in Medina with his followers. Still he could not abide the loss of his homeland and longed to bring the people of Mecca into the fold of his newfound religion, so that they might hear the word of the true God.
“ ‘It was then that Gabriel came to him and spoke words that praised the deified women. The angel said’—and now my mother read the words embroidered on the handkerchief—‘These are the exalted Females, and verily their intercession is to be hoped for.’
“ ‘When Mohammed spoke Gabriel’s good words to the people of Mecca, they rejoiced, for it seemed his faith embraced their own sacred daughters and Diana herself. Had not an angel of God pronounced as much? They feasted and kissed the earth, swearing their allegiance to him, for this prophet had surely spoken the words of Allah himself. An old man, too crippled to prostrate himself, took dirt in his fists and rubbed it over his chest, declaring allegiance to Allah.
“ ‘When the Prophet returned to Medina and told his men about his encounter with Gabriel and the words spoken of Al-Lat, they were aghast. They had pledged themselves to Mohammed the Prophet, and the one God Allah, but the idea of women interceding in the matters of men challenged the patriarchy. Before the appearance of Gabriel to the Prophet, there had been no talk of a goddess that would come between them and Allah, the Father. What talk was this of heavenly women, of intervention? Surely the words that Mohammed had heard were a trick of the devil and not the words of God’s Angel, but of Satan himself.
“ ‘What happened then is unrecorded. But it is clear that men’s pride and outrage eroded the word of Gabriel. We believe the men who surrounded the Prophet convinced him to retract his own words, despite his deep love of his wives and women of the world.’ ”
Esma Sultan turned and smiled in scorn. “The pressure of politics can change the course of history, and even the word of God.
“ ‘According to my mother, very little time passed before Mohammed retracted his words. He declared he been tricked by Satan, for how could women ever be elevated to a status equal to the male? Women were clearly to be governed under the rule and guidance of men.
“ ‘The new converts in Mecca must now obliterate these verses from their hearts and creed and forget the gentle star of Al-Lat. There was no God but God and the female deities must be purged. The people, having bowed to Mohammed’s god, were obliged to accept his retraction, for they were now of the Faithful and had sworn allegiance to the new God. These words extolling the virtue of women were struck forever from most versions of the Holy Koran, and only whispered from mother to daughter, passed generation to generation. And the holy hadiths, which recorded Mohammed’s life and included the verses, were scorned as blasphemous.
“ ‘It was that day that ambitious men pulled a dark veil around womankind, rejecting the word of Gabriel and their own Prophet Mohammed. The Prophet ensured that women’s security and some legal rights were respected in the Ara world. But Mohammed could no longer laud the shining star of Al-Lat and the intercession of womankind. The old ways and customs were buried under the new code of Islam, Woman subject to Man’s mercy and patriarchy, forever more.’ My mother allowed herself a weary smile.
“ ‘These words, that could have given such comfort to all womankind were branded as “The Satanic Verses” to drive away any man or woman who would dare embrace them. Yet it is this very comfort and wisdom that we so urgently seek, when men take our sons to the battlefield and carelessly spill the lifeblood of our wombs in hatred and violence.
“ ‘What irony that Gabriel—that same angel—had announced great tidings six hundred years earlier to Mary of Bethlehem. But now the men of Medina swore it was Satan who had spoken through Gabriel’s voice when the Prophet first heard the suras that praised women as men’s equals. Perhaps only a woman can really hear and receive with glad tidings an angel’s good news.
“ ‘And the faithful still circle the great moonstone of Mecca to this day.’ ”
Ivan Postivich tilted his head. He clenched and unclenched his hand in the silence.
“But what of Sophie?” he said finally.
Esma Sultan nodded.
“My mother pressed the handkerchief into Sophie’s hand, closing her fingers around the girl’s little fist.
“ ‘Take these words, my child, and remember the truth. For we women are here to comfort you and intercede as best we can. You are one of us, now.’
“And so Sophie was escorted to my father’s bedchamber a little past midnight. She appeared calm and clear-eyed. As she was led away from the Serail, I placed her favorite horse carving in the fold of her tunic and looked away.
“It was the last time I saw her beauty.”
There was a long moment of silence.
“I grow tired, Ahmed Kadir. Such sorrow wearies me.”
“Shall I go, then?”
The Princess smiled thinly.
“It is nearly morning. I think the end of this story will have to wait for another night, for I find I do not have the courage to finish it now.”
She looked at him carefully, studying his eyes.
Ivan Postivich said nothing but returned her gaze. Such eyes, she thought. The blue of freedom.
“I promise I shall finish the story of Sophie another night. I will find the time, even though we have to prepare for the celebration of my Angel brother’s birthday, an elaborate day and night of feasting and sport.
“I just cannot bear to tell you now, when it is such a soft night. Now you must rest, or else you will not be your best on the cirit field on Friday.”
The corbaci’s eyes flashed.
“Cirit? But the Sultan has forbidden me—”
“He banished you from your orta to my palace. But I command you to play cirit Friday for the honor of his party. Hundreds of guests will attend and you will have an eager audience for your games.”
Before he could answer, the Sultaness clapped her hands and the Head Eunuch appeared.
“See that Ahmed Kadir is escorted to his barracks after refreshments. Have Nazip prepare a jasmine bath for me. Good night, Ahmed Kadir. I look forward to the match two days hence.”
That night, Ivan Postivich dreamt of Peri. He rode her on the battlefield, dodging the arrows of an opposing army as they charged into the fray. Her neck bulged, muscles taut. He smiled down at her pumping hoofs, graceful but strong, covering the ground twice as fast as any other steed.
And then an arrow plunged into her heart and she faltered. She rolled on the ground and his foot was caught under her as she gasped and whinnied in pain.
He looked up and saw the Sultan, his hands covered in blood, preparing another arrow—this one for the janissary’s heart.
“Ahmed! Ahm
ed Kadir! Wake up!”
The janissary jumped to his feet, lunging at the voice.
“It’s me, Recid. Calm down! You wake the palace with your shouts!”
“I was—dreaming.”
Recid grunted. “Your nightmares frighten the entire city. Hear the sentry call?”
A Solak appeared at the door.
“What is the cause of these screams?”
“It is nothing, only the giant dreaming.”
“Wake him more quickly next time. His shouts have disturbed Esma Sultan.”
The Solak left and Recid clapped Kadir on the shoulder.
“Perhaps she is not able to concentrate on her lover.”
“What?” said Ivan Postivich, pushing the soldier’s hand away. “What do you say?”
Recid wrinkled his forehead.
“Calm yourself, giant. I only jest. Does the Sultaness herself interest you now or is it that you don’t want to drown a man tonight? Is that what you dreamt of?”
“No, I dreamt of—dying horses.”
“Horses,” said a janissary in the adjacent cot. “My mother spoke to spirits. Horses are spirits when they come to you in dreams. A spirit is trying to warn you.”
“The Sultan’s hands were bloody. He tried to kill me. I was pinned under my mare.”
The Janissaries were all listening now, for dreams were significant.
“Have you made a decision, Ahmed?” whispered Recid.
“I need more time to consider.”
“Our men grow weary. It is dangerous for all of us.”
“A few days will not change our destiny. I need to think.”
When Ivan Postivich arrived at the hamam for his bath, Emerald brought his afternoon tea and a light repast. He greeted the soldier with a broader smile than normal.
As the corbaci reclined in the cooling room after his steam and scrub, the eunuch spoke, his fat pink tongue licking his lips in enjoyment of the news he was about to impart.
The Drowning Guard: A Novel of the Ottoman Empire Page 15
