by Sara Pascoe
‘Bryony, we made it! We’re back in London!’ Raya cheered. She put the woozy cat down and literally jumped for joy. ‘You did it. You saved us!’ The girl was as surprised as she was thrilled. She hugged the air out of Bryony, who looked less enthused.
‘I’m not so sure we’re…’
‘I can’t wait to have a shower and clean clothes. Won’t that be heaven? But wow, doesn’t that kebab smell great?’ She laughed and dug in the pocket of her filthy jeans and extracted the pound coin the old man walking the dog had given her what seemed like ages ago. She’d been holding onto it for good luck.
‘Excuse me, sir, and I know this is an odd thing to ask, but my auntie and I have had a bit of bad luck, and we lost our money, but I’d… we’d be ever so grateful if you might find it in your heart to give us whatever you could for this pound. I’ll come back tomorrow and pay you the rest–’
The kebab man put his hand up to stop her and had a rapid conversation with the customer.
‘Raya,’ said Bryony. ‘This definitely isn’t–’
‘I wish I knew what they were saying,’ Raya said.
The men argued back and forth, gesturing towards the odd threesome. Oscar settled against the kiosk and started what would need to be a heroic tongue bath. Then, Raya started understanding a few words here and there. The kebab seller elbowed the customer and said something about ‘Come on, Musta. Why don’t you give your…’ Weird. Then weirder, more and more words became clear. They must have been speaking English all along.
Grateful to be back with regular people, Raya interrupted their ribbing each other. ‘I really will bring more money tomorrow. Please! You have no idea how hungry we are.’
The men looked at her, each other, and shrugged. Funny. Maybe it was her accent. She stepped closer, offered the coin. The kebab seller examined it, shook his head, and returned it.
The customer, Musta, tore off a corner of his kebab and tossed it to Oscar, who gulped it down. A queue had formed.
‘All right, all right.’ The kebab seller sighed. ‘I will do the right thing by these poor women.’
The kebab seller quickly made two kebabs and handed them to Raya.
‘One for you and one for your auntie,’ he said, nodding towards Bryony who was a few steps away, looking around.
The customers bantered with the seller. Raya burst into tears of happiness while thanking him profusely.
‘That’s OK,’ the kebab seller said and he tossed Oscar a few more scraps. ‘Let him eat, too. Your lovely cat is welcome at my kiosk any time – keep away the rats,’ the seller said then turned back to his customers.
Raya and Bryony settled against the outer wall of the archway and sank into their food. Raya’s stomach jumped at the sudden rich influx. Something told her this might not be such a good idea, gobbling down a luscious kebab in one go after starving for over a week, but she couldn’t stop herself. After they finished they sat in silence and watched the passing parade of people mostly going in or out of the market, some carrying things, others pushing carts, some leading animals, all wearing a variety of long, colourful clothing. Oscar sauntered over, licking his lips. The stripe on his back was thicker again. Maybe all this back and forth for the poor cat would be over for good. Raya crouched down and stroked him.
‘Raya?’ Bryony interrupted the girl-cat moment. ‘Can you understand what people are saying?’
‘I didn’t at first, but it kind of came on. Not every word. Must have got used to their accents, I guess. Why, can’t you?’ Raya said.
Bryony looked right at Raya, in a way that made her nervous.
‘What’s the matter?’ she said.
Bryony didn’t answer but asked another question. ‘Raya, tell me what you were thinking, what was going on in your head, right before we landed here.’
Raya laughed. ‘He started it. That cat put the idea of kebab in my head, thought he could smell it.’
‘I’m right here, you know,’ Oscar said. The women ignored him.
Bryony stood up and took a few deep breaths. She looked worn out, frustrated, maybe even mad.
‘Come on – relax, already. We’re home and alive!’
Bryony looked around carefully then spoke slowly, methodically, ‘Raya, we’re NOT home – look around. Does this look like the twenty-first century London to you?’ she snapped.
Raya wiped her mouth with her filthy sleeve and stood up. ‘Don’t get mad at me. I didn’t do anything wrong. You’re the time travel expert, right?’
Bryony didn’t answer, pursed her lips and studied their surroundings. A couple of camels laden with goods were led past and through the gate. The market beyond beckoned. ‘I’ll be right inside there, OK? Come get me when you’re ready,’ Raya said and wandered off.
Raya wove through the swarm in the market, more crowded than Oxford Street on Boxing Day – men, women and children, in billowing trousers, jewel-dotted dresses, embroidered coats, scarves laced with gold, and white turbaned heads like so many seabirds bobbing on the surface. Donkeys carrying goods wove their way behind their drivers.
Raya slowed down, almost to a stop, as though the sumptuous kaleidoscope of the market made the air itself thick. Stalls lined the cobbled street, stuffed with rows and piles of all sorts of glorious things: colourful fabric; strings of glass lanterns hung like oversized gems; rugs unfurled for display, others rolled in stacks; metal pots; carved jugs; some sort of pipe contraptions; clothing; jewellery; knives; rifles; even watches. Shopkeepers sat in front of their stalls, either on low stools or plush cushions. Some sipped from small cups, some chatted with other sellers or customers, although none of them seemed fussed about selling things.
Customers, both men and women meandered in and out of the shops. Raya noticed some women had gorgeous, soft leather, yellow shoes. She wondered where they got those. A man wandered around with a fancy metal jug on a leather strap around his back and a tray of small cups around his neck. He stopped every so often and sold a cup of whatever it was. The market had a perfume of its own; a blend of wool, wood and spices. She inhaled deeply.
Bryony and Oscar caught up with her. ‘I’m sorry I snapped,’ Bryony offered. Raya didn’t want a whole conversation right now. She walked on to the next stall, fingered the luxurious stack of folded dresses. She wanted to just be. Just be a teenage girl in this amazing mall. She didn’t want to think about mind-bending things like time travel, being a witch, or how to escape death. She shuddered.
Bryony followed her, spoke to her back. ‘Raya, you’re right – I’m upset I couldn’t save us.… More than upset. Mortified and well, stymied. But never mind about all that.’ She took Raya by her slim shoulders and turned her around to face her. ‘You saved us. I know it was you because of the kebab connection, and with your understanding the language – that cinches it – it’s called “time traveller’s advantage”.’
‘Whatever,’ was all Raya gave her and returned to her browsing.
Bryony grabbed her by the wrist. Raya wriggled to get away, then gave in with a huff and a glare. ‘What? What do you want me to say?’
‘Oo, I like a good cat fight – especially when it doesn’t involve me,’ Oscar said.
‘Shut up!’ Bryony and Raya said simultaneously. A hairline crack formed in the ice between them. Raya wished she could pop her headphones in and listen to her music good and loud, watch a bad film – anything to blot out whatever complicated truth she could feel coming. She was exhausted beyond comprehension. She touched her neck where the noose had been less than an hour ago and looked around wherever and whenever this wonderful place was.
‘We’re in Istanbul – this is the Grand Bazaar. I know because I’ve been here, but a few hundred years later, on holiday,’ Bryony interjected, a smile creasing lines around her eyes Raya hadn’t noticed before.
‘Agh! Stop eavesdropping on my thoughts – I just need some space!’
Oscar sat at their feet watching them, his tail twitching. People swarmed by, taking no n
otice. ‘OK you two. It’s been great. Well actually, it hasn’t, but I’ve done my bit. And from what I’ve seen with that nice kebab man, the Turkish are really nice to animals. So, bye you guys.’ He trotted away from the woman and girl. ‘Have a nice life,’ he called out over his shoulder as he wove amongst the sea of legs, and was gone.
Bryony looked panicked. ‘We’ve GOT to go get him. Come on.’ She darted after him.
‘Does it really matter?’ Raya said to Bryony’s back as she disappeared into the crowd. Maybe they should let Oscar have his own life – it’s what he wanted all along, and being with them certainly hadn’t done him any good.
She sauntered along the market, keeping her eye out for those luscious yellow shoes, and those cheeky fascinators when she saw Bryony stopped ahead. As Raya walked towards her, she started to feel heavy, tired. Maybe Oscar was right. Maybe they should all go their separate ways now. After all, if it was she who saved them and not Bryony, then maybe Bryony would only hold them back, or even hurt their chances of anything good.
Raya caught up to Bryony at an intersection with a square stone fountain in the centre. People collected water in jugs, washed their hands and feet. Bryony was holding Oscar in a tight grip – he looked less than thrilled. She was gesturing and pantomiming to three shopkeepers who seemed to be upset or concerned on her behalf. She looked haggard.
Another messed up grown-up in my life, Raya was careful to lock-down her thoughts this time. She didn’t hate her, didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but didn’t want the responsibility of trying to help her as well. Maybe it was time to strike out on her own again. That had been her plan all along, too.
‘I am sorry. I’ll get proper clothing as soon as I can,’ Bryony said to the shopkeepers, even though they couldn’t understand her – such was the human inclination to try to communicate. They looked a combination of nosey, curious, and concerned, but not menacing. They wore long coats, white baggy trousers, and turbans. One stroked his beard. They obviously didn’t understand Bryony. They gestured and spoke over each other. Raya figured it wouldn’t hurt to help with translation.
‘They’re worried you’re not wearing a veil and that your head is uncovered. One of them says you’re likely Christian and maybe even foreign, and should be excused, at least for now,’ Raya continued summarizing for Bryony although it was hard to tease apart who said what because the men talked at the same time. One of them argued that Bryony needed to cover her ‘private parts’, which made the other two laugh. Another retorted that this may explain the first guy’s lack of luck with women. Then the first man said, ‘What could be more private than a person’s face – giving away her emotions at all times?’ This made the other two stroke their beards and look thoughtful.
A fourth man walked up to the little group and joined them. It was Musta from the kebab stand. Raya smiled. He nodded to Bryony and Raya. The three men already knew him, which made for cacophonous greetings. Like water around rocks, people streamed around them as though this sort of interaction, noisy and involving foreigners, was nothing unusual.
‘Don’t listen to these gibbering fools,’ Musta said to Bryony and Raya.
Oscar had wriggled out of Bryony’s grasp and was weaving figures of eight around Musta’s legs. Musta reached down and stroked the cat while continuing to debate with his friends. After another few minutes of enthusiastic discussion about philosophy, religion, politics, and coffee (coffee?), they agreed on a plan. Musta would take the two women to another friend’s shop where they sold women’s clothing. Surely that friend could give his zakat, which Raya now understood meant charity. After they got their new clean clothing (but before they put it on), Musta would bring them to the hammam, the baths, because one thing they could all agree on was these two stank. Bryony laughed when Raya translated that part. Raya decided to stick around a little longer – the baths and new clothes sounded all right.
Musta strode down one of the crossroads away from the fountain. Raya, Bryony, and Oscar followed him – he seemed to really like this Musta. Raya rubbernecked as they turned through more, crowded market streets, each street lined with mostly one sort of good.
After a few more turns, they stopped in front of a stall overflowing with women’s clothing. An older man with a grey beard sat on a wooden stool in front of the shop. He wore a long mustard-coloured cloak with embroidered lapels, a leather belt gathered under his generous belly, and leather shoes embossed with gold. His white turban had a black cord running through it.
‘Well hello, my good friend,’ he said as he leveraged himself up with a carved walking stick inlaid with mother of pearl and silver. He nodded towards the women, ‘I can see you brought me two customers. They look like they have a lot of money to spend,’ he said and winked.
‘Wow these people are really kind,’ Raya said.
‘Nice for a change, isn’t it,’ Bryony replied. Raya could see Bryony was relieved that she was sticking around. Maybe she hadn’t locked down her thoughts so well after all – or maybe it had been all over her face.
‘These women barely escaped with their lives – look at them, Tahir,’ Musta told his friend the shopkeeper.
As Tahir looked at the two women, great sadness washed across his face. Raya thought he might cry. ‘Who would do this? And this young one, not much more than a child – chopping off her hair like that?’
Oscar jumped on a pile of folded scarves and started to settle in for a nap.
‘I thought you were striking out on your own, mate?’ Raya intoned.
‘Just checking out my options.’
Bryony swooped him up of the clean clothing and held him.
‘Don’t worry. I don’t mind, but Melek might,’ Tahir said. Then, what had looked like a poorly folded, fluffy white scarf at the end of the table came alive – a cat. She stretched and meandered up to Tahir, rubbing her head against his hand. The Turkish certainly did seem to like their pets.
‘Please, let them choose anything they like,’ Tahir said to Musta as he bustled about the shop, agile for a man of his size.
Tahir held up different long dresses for Bryony and Raya. They were somewhere between a coat and a dress. Raya startled, opened her mouth at his generosity but didn’t say anything, remembering she couldn’t speak the language. Tahir seemed to take this as disapproval of his initial offerings and looked a little hurt.
Bryony tried pantomiming an apology.
Tahir shrugged and pulled out more dresses for them to consider. Bryony agreed to a dark cranberry one and pantomimed a big thank you. Tahir held out a deep teal one and an orange one.
Raya smiled and pointed to the teal-blue dress. Tahir was pleased, then shuffled sideways between the crowded table and shelves to another part of the shop where he gathered some other things. He bundled everything together, tied it in string and handed it to Musta.
‘The jinn should be pleased with me tonight, maybe even for the rest of the week,’ Tahir said to Musta. Sweat glistened on his brow.
‘Gin?’ What is he talking about?’ Raya said.
‘No, jinn, with a ‘j’ – they’re a type of spirit being in the Islamic world. People leave food for them at night, to appease them, so these jinn don’t make any trouble,’ Bryony said.
Musta gestured for them follow him out of the shop. Bryony and then Raya pantomimed their thanks to Tahir, who smiled and told them to stop by anytime. Bryony nudged Raya and Oscar to follow Musta.
‘You know, I’d actually like a warm bath, too. Don’t want to have to lick all this disgusting old English grime off me,’ Oscar said.
Raya raised an eyebrow, ‘Really?’
Bryony scooped the cat up and he climbed onto her shoulders. ‘Good thinking, Oscar. Glad to have you along,’ Bryony said and gave Raya a look to say they should encourage the cat to stick around.
Musta barrelled ahead as they retraced their steps through the market, back through the arch they’d first entered. The street was lined with wooden buildings, most no more
than two storeys. They followed as he took a couple of turns.
They joined Musta across the street in front of a grand, domed, stone building. He was talking to a woman at the entrance. He gave the parcel of clothes to her while explaining Bryony and Raya’s predicament and great need of a full going over. Women brushed by, going in and out, some alone, others in small groups. Some had attendants who carried boxes and bundles. Warmth, steam and perfume rolled out from inside. The woman who had been speaking to Musta gestured for Bryony and Raya to enter. Bryony pointed to Oscar and made a questioning expression on her face.
‘Of course, pets are welcome. Everyone knows that,’ the woman said.
‘What did I tell ya?’ Oscar said.
Raya was so drawn into this place she had already stepped inside. ‘Definitely worth sticking around for, this.’ It was a huge room. The high ceiling had intricate designs. There were women everywhere, all wrapped in plain cloth, chatting as they poured water on themselves from fountains. It was warm, humid and misty. Some women had the water poured over them by other, topless women. Raya automatically put her arm across her own chest.
The woman who brought them in took her veil off. Another one of these topless women joined her. Don’t look, don’t look, Raya tried to act nonchalant and relaxed. The two women and Bryony laughed. Bryony was stepping out of her clothes. Oh no. Naked with your social worker – maybe even weirder than time travel!
The two women workers tugged at Raya’s filthy clothes until she gave in. The topless one made a face at the state of them before walking off with the garments. The first woman gave them each one of the thin cloth wraps and a pair of odd wooden slippers. Some sort of clog with two rectangles of wood on the bottoms. Maybe these were their idea of platform shoes.
The first woman realised only Raya understood them, so told her that she and Bryony should rinse themselves thoroughly, stressing the thoroughly part, with the hot and cold running water from the fountains. She was already walking away when Raya called after her, ‘What about our clothes?’ but the woman had no idea Raya was talking to her.
