The Islam Quintet

by Tariq Ali

  After Uncle Kemal left I tried to discuss her behaviour with her, but my remarks only provoked a tirade against my family. She spoke of why she did not want her children to be taken over by the Pashas of Istanbul; of how there was degeneration and madness in my family and she manufactured numerous other complaints. Given the extent of my own alienation from the family, I found her conduct pathetic and unreasonable.

  Even at this stage I made excuses for her irrationality. I convinced myself that she was merely being extra possessive because having lost her mother, she was now fearful of losing the children. Who knows how long I would have continued deluding myself, Stone Woman? But fate took pity on me.

  One day, while taking my afternoon walk by the sea, I was approached by a European woman dressed in black and wearing a hat with an attached veil. She was clearly distressed and asked if I was “Signor Salman Pasha, the son-in-law of Hamid Bey”. I acknowledged my identity, whereupon she insisted on speaking with me urgently and immediately. I asked her to accompany me to a less crowded section of the promenade. We sat down and she began to sob. The memory still upsets me and I will not dwell on it too long, but she told me the truth, Stone Woman, even though I only half-believed her at the time. I may sound calm now as I talk to you about all this, but at the time what she told me made me want to die. The sky and the sea went dark. The people walking in front of us became shadows. My mind became numb. The Italian lady told me that I was not the father of our children. Her husband was their real father. It emerged that she was married to the son of the furniture-maker who supplied the needs of the rich in Cairo and Alexandria. The furniture in Hamid Bey’s house had been made by them and I now remembered the young man, Marco, who had measured our villa and who visited our house often till the job was done.

  His wife described in every painful detail how Mariam had seduced Marco away from her. She knew because she had taken her suspicions to her father-in-law, who had expressed amazement, but instructed an old carpenter to follow his son discreetly. They used to meet in the early afternoon in my little secret cove, where Mariam and I had first tasted each other. I screamed aloud on hearing this detail. She must have been far gone in her depravity that she took such a risk, knowing that I often went there to read and write. Was she hoping I would see her?

  Marco’s father had forced him to confess this and every other detail. He had been sent first to the confessional and then despatched to work in his uncle’s shop in Genoa as a penance. His wife told me that she and her two young daughters were preparing to join him within a month. He now pretended to be remorseful and claimed it was Mariam who had taken the initiative and enchanted him. He had become a slave to her passion. He did not see her before he left, but he told his father that she wanted him to give her another child. Marco’s wife referred to Mariam as a loose and crazy woman and said she had come to me with the truth because she had heard that I was also suffering. I doubt that this was her real motive, but I took my leave of her and wished her well in the future.

  I have no recollection of what I did after that encounter. When I reached home it was past midnight. I went into my room and sank on the bed. She was in her room but not asleep. Will it shock you, Stone Woman, if I say that my love for her was so strong that even at this stage I was prepared to forgive her? It was, after all, my seed that had failed to sprout. I told myself that if she was so desperate for children, what else could she have done? She came into my room wearing my old grey silk dressing gown and asked why I had been out so late. I looked at her face and found myself overcome with rage. I wanted to hit her, but I controlled my anger.

  “Mariam, I knew we had employed the best furniture-makers in town to supply us with tables and chairs and beds. I had no idea that you had asked their carpenter, Marco, to furnish you with children as well.”

  She was shaken, Stone Woman. Her face became pale and she began to tremble. I spoke to her again. “If only you could see your lying, hypocritical face in the mirror! Are you trembling with fear and guilt? Good! Before I finish with you...”

  I stopped because she had begun to weep. The sight of her tears had always touched me deeply. I walked to her and began to stroke her face. She reacted to my touch as if I were a leper. Her face was transformed completely. I no longer recognised her as the woman I loved. A strange, scornful smile appeared on her face, a smile of triumph. She was actually pleased at the sight of my misery, glad that I had been humiliated and betrayed. She looked at me with real loathing and said, “My true feelings for you have long been those of disgust and contempt. It is not just that your seed was infertile, but your love had become a punishment for me. I needed to free myself from you and the restraints of this life.”

  I did not sleep that night. Her pitiless cruelty left me with no choice. I thought of the two beautiful children I adored. It was difficult to think of them as not belonging to me. I was tempted to see their little trusting faces for the last time, but I resisted the urge. I packed a little valise and walked out of the house at the first sign of dawn.

  The streets were empty. The only noise was that of the seagulls scavenging for food. The beautiful sky was red at the edges and slowly turning pink. I couldn’t help contrasting the beauty of nature with the ugliness of what Mariam had done to my life. I walked to Hamid Bey’s house. Maria the crone opened the door, clutching her rosary. For the first time she looked at me with sympathy and patted my back as I entered the hall. Perhaps the pain etched on my face attracted her sympathy. Perhaps she knew. Hamid Bey came down the stairs, took one look at me and realised what had happened. He embraced me warmly and asked Maria to bring us some coffee.

  I sat down on a large sofa, whose frame had probably been constructed by Marco, and told Hamid Bey the whole story, just as I am telling you, Stone Woman. I hid nothing. I did not spare his feelings. I did not care that she was his daughter. I was bitter and angry. He heard me in complete silence and then said, “She has turned out just like her mother. Leave Alexandria today, my son, and think of Mariam as dead. It will take a few years, but you will recover. I will make sure all your affairs are in order. I do not know what will become of Mariam, but she remains my child and I will provide for her. Perhaps she will move back here with her children. Let that not concern you any longer. Consider yourself free of any responsibilities and re-make your life somewhere else, Salman Pasha.” And with these words he embraced me once again. There was sadness in his eyes as we parted and he muttered a few words almost as if to himself: “She who was the wife of a prince has become the keep of a carpenter.”

  I left Alexandria the next day on a boat bound for the East. I spent a year in Tokyo, which was so different from our world that it distracted me from the pain and grief I had left behind in Alexandria. The mind has a capacity to relegate unwanted baggage to its most secret recesses. I was never fully cured. Memories of those early days of happiness sometimes came flooding back and I fought hard to drive them away by recalling the ugliness of the last week or the cruel words that she had deployed to kill our love.

  My Uncle Kemal was also in that part of the world, expanding his fleet of merchant ships, opening new offices in Tokyo and Shanghai and seeking solace in the arms of his numerous mistresses. I had met one of them in Tokyo. He had decided that there should be no secrets between us and introduced me to her. She was beautiful and, on the surface, submissive in her exquisitely embroidered red silk kimono.

  She had prepared a meal for us and I was, frankly, horrified when she sat cross-legged with us on the floor, but did not touch her food till she had fed my Uncle Kemal. She did so with some delicacy. The fish never escaped from the little sticks as she dipped it in a tasty sauce and popped it into my uncle’s mouth. I could see why he spent so much time in the East. He had never been happy with his wife. How could such a good-looking man with a passion for finery and a strong sensuality have married a woman with no redeeming qualities? He could never understand why I was puzzled by his choice and would say, with a touch of irritatio
n, “Do you think I would have agreed to the marriage if her dowry had not been able to finance my shipping company? I always loved boats and the sea. So I thought if I had to marry this midget and fertilise her with my sperm, I must make sure the means of escape was always nearby. There are times, Salman, when one is forced to sacrifice long-term happiness in favour of short-term gain. What is really annoying is that all my daughters have inherited their mother’s shape, size and stupidity. It will require three very generous dowries to have them removed from the house. I mean, can you imagine anyone, and I really mean anyone, falling in love with any of them? The pity is that I love Istanbul more than your other uncle and your father. Iskander loves Paris. Memed is besotted with Berlin. I have remained faithful to my Istanbul, but the beauty of the city has become associated in my mind with the never-ending ugliness that greets me at home. So I escape and, as you can see, I am happy here. I prefer Tokyo to Shanghai. Here I can submerge myself in the landscape. Shanghai is too noisy and too filthy. I never feel safe in its streets.”

  I was keen to visit China, Stone Woman, and for many reasons, but Uncle Kemal suggested I return to Istanbul. “They worry about you,” he said. “They imagine you are still in Egypt. I think you need them a little now. Solitude cannot help you any more. You can always come back to me later. You have always been like a son to me, but now we have also become friends and this is a rare pleasure at this stage of one’s life.”

  I followed his advice and returned to Istanbul. I was there when my father suffered a stroke and I rushed here with Halil. Remember Halil when he was little? Full of mischief. Who would have thought he would be a general?

  When I first came here I was gripped by a severe depression and unable to focus on anything, but the clouds have lifted at last, Stone Woman. My father and I have never been as close as we are now. I love Nilofer’s children and soon I will tell her my story so that she knows why I do not speak of “my children”. And as for General Halil Pasha, what can I say? He, of all people, has reawakened my youthful interest in politics and history. We are on the verge of big changes, Stone Woman. Everything could be different. The inertia that has always marked our lives could be swept away by a tidal wave of reform. It is in times like these that one realises that there are other joys in this world apart from those of love and union with the beloved.

  All will change, Stone Woman, and it will change soon, but I hope you will always remain to provide comfort for those who find it difficult to tolerate pain in silence.’

  FOURTEEN

  Nilofer is overcome by longing for Selim and decides to marry him; the Baron refuses to discuss Stendhal on love

  NEWS THAT ISKANDER PASHA’S speech had miraculously returned and he was speaking again without impediment had reached Istanbul. Letters and messages from friends and officials began to arrive here at an alarming rate. Some saw in his recovery the invisible but omnipresent goodness of Allah. Others felt it was a strong omen.

  The Grand Vizier himself despatched a special messenger with a letter congratulating Iskander Pasha on his recovery and inviting him, on behalf of the Sultan, to attend an audience at the palace as soon as he returned to the capital. The letter ended with the following sentence: “You will no doubt be amused to hear that the Austrians are running into serious trouble in Serbia. When I informed His Majesty, he smiled and remarked, ‘May Allah help those ungodly Serbs to drive the Emperor’s soldiers back to Vienna.’ I told him that you would appreciate this remark and he very graciously gave me permission to repeat it to you.”

  After we had all read the letter in turn, Salman rose to his feet and began to mimic the Vizier’s servility with exaggerated and slightly vulgar gestures, common to sycophants the world over, while all the time he kept repeating the last sentence over and over again. Everyone present began to laugh, with the exception of poor Zeynep. Her husband worked at the palace as a secretary and was, everyone supposed, loyal to his masters. Even if he had been secretly disgusted with what was taking place he had not informed his wife. Zeynep had been growing more and more alarmed by the goings-on in this house. I think that is why she decided to leave immediately for Istanbul—or it may have been that she was missing her children and felt that since Iskander Pasha had recovered fully, there was no need for her to remain here any longer.

  She left the next day after an emotional farewell. She hugged Halil with extra warmth, whispering words of warning in his ear and advising caution in whatever he had undertaken. Out of all of us Zeynep was the easiest to please. She was happy with her husband, whom we all regarded as dull beyond endurance and whose premature baldness was a source of great amusement to my father. She was happy with her children and her home and she was even tolerant of her mother-in-law, regarded widely as one of the most poisonous women in Istanbul. Her malicious lies were so well known that her name had become a byword for mendacity in the bazaar. Shopkeepers hated her because she continued to haggle long after they had reached their lowest price. Even my brother Halil, the mildest of men, was heard to remark that he would contribute generously to make up a heavy purse in order to hire a few bandits to kidnap and lose her in Albania. To his horror and my father’s delight news of this remark, too, spread in the city and Halil received three letters from the richest shopkeepers offering to pay any amount of money if he would take on the responsibility of organising the actual abduction. Zeynep knew all this, but preferred to maintain a discreet and slightly sad silence. She knew that if she had joined us, life at home would become unbearable. She had to face this woman every single day.

  I was preoccupied with my own problems. While the children were beginning to recover from the shock of their father’s death, helped by the love of my mother, Halil and, even more, my lovely brother Salman, I had become very deeply involved with Selim. I had never known anything like this before and there were times when I was frightened by the intensity of the relationship. Frightened not by him, but myself and how dependent on him I had become. I longed for his presence. I yearned for his passion. There were days when we could not meet and I would think of him all the time. Sometimes, to reassure myself that I was in control of the situation, I would neglect him quite callously and we would squabble. He would get very upset and the anguish lengthened his face. It may sound cruel on my part, but sometimes I preferred to see him sad rather than happy. It was the only way I could assert my power over him. He could never understand that my behaviour was intended to test myself and not him. Was I really in love with him or was it simply his sensual presence? I was sure his love for me was real, even though I had no idea where it would lead us and how it would end. I had never swum in such a sea of love before and I was frightened that I might drown.

  The children alone were capable of distracting my attention. They had to be loved, looked after and settled in bed every night. At these moments nothing else mattered to me. Orhan and Emineh were the two most important things in my life. But the minute I left their presence, Selim would instantly enter my head and I would be overpowered by longing.

  He had already been here for three weeks and Hasan Baba had begun to grumble and moan and had berated him for leaving his shop in Istanbul untended. Selim would argue that the children were freshly orphaned and Orhan, in particular, needed his company. This was true. Orhan had become very attached to Selim and the two of them would go for a long walk every day, while my mother and her maids fussed over Emineh, doing and redoing her hair in several different styles and showing her the mirror to get her approval. But Hasan Baba was not convinced and threatened to request Iskander Pasha to instruct Selim to return to Istanbul.

  He had told me all this a few nights ago. He had never felt any fear at the prospect of being discovered. It did not bother him at all. He would laugh at the thought and tell me that if ever we were caught in flagrante, there would be no choice for me but to marry him. I was not yet convinced that this was the best solution. Orhan and Emineh might react badly. My mother might withhold her permission. The romance of
elopement begins to fade when there are children involved.

  What could I do in this situation? I knew from my own experience with the unfortunate Dmitri as well as the experiences of a number of my women friends that, often, grand passion burns itself away and the couple who mistook it for a deep and lasting love realise one day that they have nothing to say and do after they have briefly enjoyed each other’s bodies. The discovery discomfits them because they had always believed their love to be unique and special. They were not like other people. When they finally admit that there is nothing left, they run away from each other and the place where the love originated, as rapidly as the coachmen can drive them. All the letters written late at night but never posted are now hurriedly destroyed. If, some years later, they run into each other by accident at a wedding or funeral or in a shop buying presents for their children or lover, the only emotion they feel is one of embarrassment.

  I say all these things to convince myself that this time I must not rush into anything and yet I know that it was never like this with Dmitri and that if I push Selim aside, I might be punishing myself rather than him. I doubt whether I could feel such a love for anyone again. There are times when I am bewildered by the calm he exhibits in the present situation. There are other questions which for him are more important than our love and, in a curious way, I find that reassuring.

  The last time we made love, he stayed in bed afterwards discussing the dangers of a military uprising against the Sultan unless the ordinary people were aroused to defend their own interests. I did not know what he meant. The bewildered look on my face silenced him. He held me very tenderly in his arms and explained. “Nilofer, there are rich and poor in this world. The poor are many and the rich are few. Their interests have never coincided. Both rich and poor need to get rid of the Sultan, but what will happen after they succeed? Will we find another Sultan whom we will call a President, but who will wear a uniform? Or will we found a party as they have in Germany and France which fights for the poor?”