The Islam Quintet

by Tariq Ali

  “Do you think he knows that I am...”

  My mother placed her hand on my mouth. “Shh. He never asked. I never told him. This doesn’t mean that he is ignorant. I simply don’t know. Even if he did know, his affection for you would not alter in the slightest. He has never been possessive of me in the least. What are you intending to do about Selim? It seems he is not really a barber at all, but a singer.”

  “I will speak of him some other time, Mother. We have had enough surprises for one day.”

  NINE

  Nilofer and Selim learn to know each other and she realises that her emotions are out of control

  I PANICKED WHEN I first looked out of the window that night. It was past midnight. Dark, ugly clouds had disfigured the sky. Behind them I could see the very faint outline of the full moon. A summer breeze was blowing across the sea and might yet clear the sky. The chimes of the big clock in the entrance hall had woken me up about half an hour earlier. How would Selim determine the time of our tryst?

  My room was in a wing of the old house which, in the past, had been used to entertain princes and noblemen. It looked out in the direction of the mountains and the road, which led to the entrance. When we were children, Zeynep and I would quarrel over who had this room, because Salman had told us that when the Grand Vizier came to stay, this was where the captain of the janissaries slept so he could keep an eye on arrivals and departures. Later Salman confessed he had been teasing, but the room remained invested with military authority: his joke made sense.

  The Baron and Uncle Memed were in the old royal suite below me, but here on the top floor I was alone. Orhan, by special request, slept in his grandmother’s dressing room. I was trembling slightly as I wrapped a shawl round myself and left my room. The last time I had left the house clandestinely was to meet Dmitri in the orange grove. Why had I insisted on meeting Selim at the same spot? Was it to drive out the past or to debase the present?

  I left the house by a side entrance. Selim had been unnerved by the moon’s absence and had decided to wait for me in the garden. We held hands in complete silence as we walked in the direction of the orange grove. I was slowly getting used to the darkness. Selim was smiling. It was the innocence that appealed to me. I did not want to take him to the orange grove. Perhaps we could go to the cave overlooking the Stone Woman. If she saw everything I would not need to repeat it to her, but there were snakes and lizards in that cave and fear of them would undoubtedly throttle my passion. He sensed my hesitation.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked in a whisper, which sounded really loud.

  “Nothing,” I answered. “The breeze has cooled the ground and I’m feeling slightly cold. I thought it would be warmer.”

  And then I knew what had to be done.

  “Come with me,” I said to him as I started walking back towards the house.

  It was his turn to tremble. “Nilofer,” he said, “this is madness.”

  I did not reply. We reached the side-door and he stopped, refusing to move forward. I pinched him hard on his buttock, which made him laugh, and pushed him through the door. We climbed the stairs, trying hard not to laugh even though the situation was anything but funny. I entered my bedchamber and pulled him in behind me.

  “Now, my nightingale,” I said in a normal voice, “should we retire to bed, or has the danger muted the excitement?”

  “I want to marry you.”

  “Don’t be foolish. I’m married to someone else.”

  “I want you to have my children.”

  “I’ve got two and they’re enough.”

  “Just one more, then... just for me.”

  Outside the breeze had done its work. The sky had cleared and the room was bathed in moonlight. I threw down my clothes and undressed Selim. We began to explore each other’s bodies.

  “Is this what the dervishes have taught you?” I whispered in his ear.

  “No, but should I tell you what they did teach me?”

  “Yes.”

  He sat up in the bed, unconcerned that he was naked. Without ceasing to caress my body, he began to sway a little and started to mutter some Sufi invocation.

  “If they ask: what is there on your head, your eyebrow, your nose, your breast, the answer must be: on my head is the Crown of high estate, in my eyebrow is the Pen of Power, in my nose is the fragrance of paradise and on my breast the Koran of wisdom.”

  “I could not lie, Selim. My reply would be different. I would have to say: on my head the burden of being a woman, the eyebrow we could agree on, but in my nose there would be the smell of poverty and on my breasts the hands of Selim.”

  After we had taken our fill of each other, I asked him about his mother. He was surprised at my interest.

  “She lives with us in my grandfather’s home. My father, as Hasan Baba has told you, is lost to our world. He lives what he preaches and we see him, but rarely. My mother was once part of that world. The order to which my father is attached does not permit women to whirl and dance. Their role is simply to prepare the food and supply the needs of the dervish. My mother was given permission to leave after she had agreed to marry my father. You should hear her talk of what happens when they go into a trance.

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  I nodded.

  “They say that your marriage is finished.”

  “Do they? Who are they?”

  “The maids who serve your mother.”

  “They’re not far wrong, but they gossip without knowing the whole truth and they share the prejudices against Greeks. Listen, Selim, my husband has been a good father to his children and, for that reason, I will never humiliate him. We are separated now and once the summer is over, I will return to Istanbul. Orhan and Emineh must be educated in a proper school. I will let my husband see the children whenever he wishes and he will always have a bed in our house, but will never share mine again. I think he will accept these conditions. A messenger was sent to Konya with my letter and he should be returning soon.” I asked him of his future and he laughed.

  “When Hasan Baba leaves this world I will sell my barber’s shop. I could do it now, but it would upset the old man a great deal. Our family has, after all, been cutting the hair of yours for many centuries. How can we stop now? Hasan Baba has still not forgiven my father for betraying our profession. I will wait.”

  “You could become a world-famous singer. You could sing in the operas of Donizetti Pasha. You could...”

  “No! I have no desire to sell my voice. Let it give pleasure to everyone. I will continue to sing at our own festivals and in the streets when the mood takes me, but what I would really like to be is a photographer, like the Signor Bragadini.”

  “But why?”

  “I’ve surprised you, haven’t I? I’ve surprised Nilofer with the green eyes and the beautiful nipples. Why? Answer me truthfully. Is it that you could not imagine a future for me other than that dictated by my past and my origins? Do you think only Italians can be photographers? This new art is beyond the reach of a poor boy from Anatolia?”

  “Are you angry?”

  He laughed and kissed me on the lips for the first time. I admired his confidence. How could he be so self-assured, so oblivious to the impediments that lay ahead of him, especially in our world, which was still closed to people like him? Perhaps he had inherited his optimism from his mother. Perhaps she had inculcated him with the belief that everything was possible. All that was needed was determination and inner strength. As if to prove that this was the case he spoke again.

  “I know that one day we will be together. I feel this in my blood. Your Uncle Memed has already recommended me as an assistant to Signor Bragadini, which is what he says I will have to call him. One day I will be famous and then you will come with me. Is this impossible?”

  “No,” I lied. “Why should it be impossible?”

  “Because I come from a poor family and you are the daughter of a Pasha.”

  If only he knew the truth. Pe
rhaps I would tell him one day. I decided to change the subject.

  “I’m three years older than you.”

  “Still not old enough to be Mother,” he laughed.

  “I am sure you will find many beautiful young maidens ready to fall in your arms the minute they have heard your voice.”

  “That would not be a new experience for me.”

  He said this in such a serious voice that we both burst out laughing. Even near the sea, the first time we made love, I had not felt that he was a novice. What puzzled me was the degree of sophistication that he had acquired.

  “Did you learn to read at home or in a medresseh?”

  “Why do you ask, princess? Are you surprised that I am not a yokel?”

  “No. Intelligence has nothing to do with a formal education. But I get the feeling you are both inside and at the same time removed from our culture.”

  “Now you’re saying that I’m not simply a singer of Sufi verses, but someone with an imagination of my own. Perhaps someone who might even one day become a photographer and a more talented one than Signor Bragadini.”

  “Why are you so sensitive?”

  “Because I still sleep in the servants’ quarters and that fact colours your picture of me.”

  “Tonight you’ve slept in this house. In my bed.”

  “Wrong again, princess. It is now too late to sleep.”

  “You still haven’t answered my question.”

  “I learnt to read our language in a medresseh, but I learnt to read French from my grandfather and to speak it from a French diplomat whose hair I cut regularly and who shares my admiration for the work of Monsieur Balzac.”

  “My favourite is Lost Illusions.”

  He began to recover his clothes and dressed quickly.

  “Sometimes French novels can become a terrible distraction. I would recommend the work of a philosopher. Auguste Comte. He has much to offer this country. He could stop our future from becoming a bottomless pit.” Selim slipped out of the door without the sentimentality of a last embrace.

  I covered myself and rushed to the window. The very faint first light of dawn had begun to change the colour of the sky. Selim was walking across the garden. He must have felt my gaze because he suddenly turned around and looked up in my direction. I blew him a kiss. He smiled and walked away.

  I had always thought Selim’s emotions might get out of control, that he might start to sing underneath my window, deliberately embarrassing me in front of the family. His serenity surprised me. I realised I was the one in an agitated state. An image of his naked body flashed through my mind and I began to feel weak with pleasure.

  TEN

  A Greek tragedy in Konya; Emineh arrives at the house; Nilofer is enchanted by Iskander Pasha

  I AWAKENED TO THE noise of wailing women. At first I had thought it was part of my dream, but the sound became louder and louder and my dream had been free of any disaster. What catastrophe had occurred? Had someone died? I jumped out of bed, slipping yesterday’s discarded clothes over my half-asleep body. My first thought was that something terrible had happened to Iskander Pasha.

  I rushed down the stairs and into the vast, virtually unfurnished and rarely used reception room to find it filled with sad faces. My mother was weeping as she hugged Emineh and Orhan. Something had happened to Dmitri.

  Emineh ran towards me. I lifted her off the ground. She did not say a word, just put her arms round my neck and sobbed. I walked towards Orhan. His face, too, was wet with tears, but he stepped back when I tried to include him in my embrace. He gave me an angry look.

  “Perhaps,” he said in a broken voice, “if we had stayed in Konya, they would not have dared to kill my father.”

  “What happened?” I asked nobody in particular as the tears began to flood my face. My mother placed a finger on her lips. This was not the time.

  Emineh clung to me even tighter. I took her upstairs to my room. She had been travelling all night and was exhausted. I stroked and kissed her cheeks and I laid her on the bed.

  “Would you like some water?”

  She nodded, but in the short time it had taken me to lift the jug, pour out the water, fill a glass and return to the bed, she was already fast asleep. Gently, I took off her dusty shoes and removed the socks from her feet. I covered her with a light quilt and sat down beside her to feast my eyes. I had not seen her for a whole month. Her face grew calm, and I was about to go downstairs when my mother appeared in the doorway. Seeing Emineh asleep she signalled I should join her.

  We went into the adjoining room, which had not been dusted for at least a hundred years, and sat on the bed, after we had removed the covers.

  “Where is Orhan?”

  “Your friend Selim has taken him for a walk by the sea. The boy likes him. I suppose that is a good thing.”

  “Mother!” I almost shouted at her. “This is not the moment. What happened? Will someone please tell me what happened to poor Dmitri?”

  It was a sad story. There had been trouble in Konya. Its purpose was to drive the remaining Greeks out of the city. The instigators had been under the influence of the Young Turks, who saw all Greeks as the agents of Britain, Russia and France. These were the people who wanted to recreate a pure and modern empire. There had been few enough Greeks in Konya in the first place, if one compared the town to Smyrna and Istanbul, but the supporters of the Young Turks wanted to create an impression. Messengers were despatched to each Greek household warning them that if they did not take their belongings and leave town, their houses would be taken over and the rest of their property confiscated. Everyone had left, except Dmitri. He refused to part with his books.

  The messenger arrived with my letter the very next day. He read it carefully and then took Emineh to the house of a Turkish neighbour. He embraced her and kissed her eyes and then her forehead. Then he sat down and wrote a reply. He handed it to the messenger, but told him that he should wait till the next morning and return with Emineh. The neighbours pleaded with him to take the child and bring her to me, but he refused.

  That night they came into the house silently and slit his throat. His books were untouched. Dmitri was the only casualty. My mother handed me his letter. I wept again as I broke the seal. It was difficult to imagine that he had gone for ever. My love for him, if it had ever existed, had not been very deep, but he was a decent man and, as I never tired of telling my family, he had been a loving father. The thought of my children made me cry out aloud. My mother clasped me to her chest and stroked my head till I had recovered. After drinking some water I read the letter from Konya.

  My dear wife,

  I have reached the end of the road. The future threatens and the past has already condemned me. The rogues of the town, who now dress themselves in the garb of Young Turks, claim to be supporters of reform and modern ideas. In reality they are nothing more than criminals who wish to occupy our houses and increase their own status in society. As you know this is a modest house, but my family has lived here for over a hundred years. I feel a strong sense of attachment to this town and this locality. I refuse to be swept out of here like a piece of filthy rubbish. If they actually attempt to carry out their threats, I will look the assassin straight in the eye, so that he can remember the face of at least one of his victims. I fear for the future, Nilofer. The omens are not good. They who are driving us out will destroy much that has been good in the Empire.

  I do not wish you to regard yourself as responsible for my decision in any way. I realised a long time ago that we were not well suited to each other. I was the frog who remained a frog and you were always a princess. I always felt that if you had not been of such a proud disposition, you would have returned home long before Orhan was born. I think you realised at a very early stage that our marriage was a mistake but could not admit this to your parents. Your pride condemned you to a life with me, which must have been unbearable. I always felt this to be the case, but could never bring myself to say it to your face.
It hurt too much.

  I know that, like me, you are proud of the children we produced. I’m very sad that I will not be able to follow the story of their lives as they grow older or one day hold their children in my arms, but I know they will be safe with you. If it is not too much to ask, speak to them sometimes about their father. When they are old enough to understand, please explain to them that their father died with his dignity intact. He refused to live in the shadow of fear.

  I once began to tell Orhan the story of Galileo, but stopped because he was too young to appreciate the dilemma. Galileo held the truths he had discovered to be of very great significance, but as soon as they endangered his life he recanted with the greatest ease. He felt that whether the earth or the sun revolved around each other was not worth his life. He may also have felt that it was more important for him to live and work so that his students could spread the truth. He was probably right to make that choice. I am but a humble school teacher. My refusal to submit is a political act. Tell Orhan and Emineh that I’m sorry, but there was truly no other way for me.

  Dmitri

  As I went to wash the tears off my face my mother began to read the letter. It was noble of him to absolve me of all responsibility, but I knew that if I had loved him he would never have given his life away so easily. Orhan’s anger was justified. If I had stayed behind in Konya none of this would have happened. He had taken the decision to die without consulting anyone else. It was an act that could only be carried out within the silence of the heart. The mind could not be allowed to interfere. If his emotional life, in other words the hurt he felt at my decision to withdraw from it completely, had not become too much for him, he would still have been alive. He did not want to admit this to himself or the children, but I knew it was the truth. He found the daily pain of life unbearable and suffering it was useless since hope itself was dead. Nothing he could do would have brought me back to him. Suddenly an awful thought crossed my mind and I screamed, bringing my mother rushing to my side.