“I changed the course of destiny. We were never meant to marry.”
“You can’t change your destiny. This is all G-d’s plan.”
He turned away and settled his gaze on an obscure spot ahead. “It’s like I’m an impostor in my own home. I can’t stand it any longer.”
The doctor stood abruptly from his place and pulled José up with him. “We’re leaving.”
“Doctor?”
“You’re going home to take care of your wife—Take care of your family. This is the responsibility of a man.”
They walked besides one another taking the backstreets in order to avoid the hustle of the market.
When they arrived at the villa, Doctor Hamon turned to José. “I need to be heading back to the palace now.”
José nodded. “I suppose it’s time I met my daughter.”
Doctor Hamon nearly gasped. “I think so,” he said quietly.
José turned abruptly and made his way along the cedar-lined path toward the entrance of the grand villa. Without stopping to remove his shoes, he climbed the staircase to the second story landing and headed toward the nursery. He could hear Reyna singing soft lullabies as he entered the room. When their eyes met, she did not stop her song, but turned her attention back to the infant cradled in her arms.
He approached gently, his measured step in perfect rhythm to Reyna’s slow, soothing lullaby. When her song came to an end, she looked up at José. Her face was pale but her eyes radiated light.
“Reyna.” He took a few quick steps towards her.
“Shhh.” She ushered him close with one hand. “Come see your daughter.” She tucked the edge of the blanket around the baby. “Here she is.” Reyna’s voice was calm and steady.
José came to one knee and examined his baby girl. Around her neck lay a long strand of blue beads.
“To protect her,” Reyna explained.
He looked about the room. Swords and daggers hung from the walls, along with garlic bulbs and onion bits.
“And those are to ward off evil spirits,” she continued.
José examined his daughter.
Her eyes were as green and glistening as the Mediterranean waters that had carried them to Istanbul. She uncurled her fingers and reached out to José’s bearded chin. Her pink lips puckered as she looked about the room.
“She’s beautiful.” José leaned forward and kissed the tiny button of her nose. “Tamar,” he said the name aloud. “How very much your baba loves you.”
Reyna turned to José. “Does this mean that you are happy?”
He swallowed the bitterness he felt inside. Could he ever be truly happy, going through life, knowing that he would never father a son? He glanced down at his daughter. She was beautiful and perfect in every way. He had loved her from the moment he first laid eyes on her. And yet, he was not happy, not yet anyhow. Perhaps in time he would come to accept his fate. Perhaps in time, he might even be content.
He looked deep into the eyes of the woman that he loved and forced himself to say, “Yes, my dear. I am happy.”
The next morning, he awoke early to the healthy cries of his newborn daughter. José rinsed his hands and said the blessing over washing. Then he dressed for the day and headed through town to the synagogue, where he joined the minyan of men readying themselves for the morning prayers.
He was greeted by friends and neighbors who congratulated him on the birth of his daughter. Along with the other men, he recited the blessing for the teffelin, while wrapping the black leather bindings around his arm and forehead. The men all prayed the silent portion of the morning service alongside one another. Facing toward Jerusalem, they were a sea of rocking bodies cloaked in blue and white prayer shawls. In his prayers, José gave thanks to the Lord for giving him a healthy baby girl. After the service, the rabbi offered him some shisha bits to chew on and wine to celebrate. Encouraged by the enthusiasm of all the well wishers, and feeling gay from the fog of wine, José made a sizable donation to the synagogue, in memory of La Señora, the late and the great, Doña Antonia Nissim.
Then, he stumbled out of the building into the narrow alley below. He turned back toward the crowd of men exiting the synagogue. “Hayim! Shall we head to the coffeehouse?” José called out to a young man with a flowing red-beard.
“Sorry, José.” The man shrugged apologetically. “I have to head to the market and get my vegetable stand ready for the morning rush.”
“What about you, Simon?” He turned his attention to a flat-faced man with protruding ears. “Perhaps a trip to the bathhouse, eh?”
“I wish I could!” The man playfully slapped José’s back. “But spices don’t trade themselves.”
“All right.” José stumbled forward. “Goodbye then!” he called out to his friends as he made his way back home.
He was rounding the corner leading into the piazza when two young men wearing cone-shaped hats moved swiftly toward him. These were hats unlike any an ordinary Ottoman civilian might wear. He immediately recognized these men to be the Sultan’s janissaries by the signature mustaches they wore. Each wielded a falanga, the infamous whip unleashed on civilians who were found to be publicly drunk or inciting a raucous. Could they have noticed José stumble? Was it possible that they were able to detect his drunkenness? No, he tried to calm himself. After all, he had only had a glass or two of wine. José straightened his posture and tried to compose himself.
“Are you Don José Nissim?” One of the Janissaries spoke up.
“I am.” José swallowed hard. “What’s this about?”
“You’ll have to come with us. We’ve been instructed to escort you to the palace.”
“Topkapi?” His palms began to sweat. He was sure he could hear the beat of his heart echo in his chest. “What was the reason given?”
“Please come with us, Effendi.” The two men escorted José around the corner and into the sun-drenched piazza where their chariot was stationed.
“Please, I have an infant daughter at home. My wife will be worried.”
“We will send word to your wife that you will be home later today.”
“Later? How late? Gentlemen, if you could just tell me what this is about.”
“You will find out soon enough.” They took hold of his arms and led him towards the chariot.
It was the second time in his life that he’d been summoned to Topkapi, only this time, he could not fathom the reason.
8
Unlike the majestic grand gates he’d passed through on his first visit to the palace some five years earlier, José was now escorted to a side entrance and through a nondescript door that blended seamlessly with the slate-grey walls surrounding Topkapi. He was led through a windowless maze of narrow halls that zigzagged for some time, until finally, the dark maze opened into a small, sun-drenched courtyard walled with terraced gardens.
He stepped out into the space. “Will you now tell me what I am doing here?” He spun around, only to find that his escorts had vanished. He was alone. José took a few cautious steps forward and examined his surroundings. Then, he climbed a few steps leading up towards a breathtaking view of the Bosphorus. On a stone bench beneath the shade of a vast chestnut tree, he sat looking out at the sea for what seemed to be eternity.
“So you are Don José the Jew!” a voice sounded after some time.
José winced. He forced himself to his feet.
Before him stood a strapping young man with yellow hair and eyes the color of sand. Perched on the leather sleeve of his bulging forearm was a beady-eyed falcon with a grey spotted coat.
“Yes, I am Don José Nissim.”
The two men stood eye to eye. José cleared his throat but the man said nothing. He just stood there for a moment, before proceeding to examine everything about José, from his fingernails to his physique, from his shoes to the way he wrapped his turban.
“Have you been drinking?” the man sniffed.
“Effendi, it was just a small amount earlier today, to celeb
rate the birth of my daughter.”
“The birth of a child!” the man exclaimed. “Yes, certainly an occasion worthy of celebration.”
“Can you tell me what this is about?” José spoke up against his better instincts.
“This is an unofficial visit,” the man replied. “I am Selim. I believe you met with my father, the Sultan, several years ago?”
Dumbfounded, José fell to his knees. “Your Highness, please excuse my ignorance.”
Selim laughed and tossed back a whip of his yellow hair. “Come on. Get up.” He thrust his arm into the air sending his falcon into flight.
Within an instant, the bird was making vast circles in the sky overhead.
“You’re probably wondering why you’re here.”
José came to his feet.
“I hope I haven’t startled you. It’s just that, I need someone I can trust, and Doctor Hamon tells me that you are a man that can be trusted.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“Come, José. Sit.” He took a seat on the bench and gestured for José to do the same. “You see, my father the Sultan is getting old. He will step down soon and I will be crowned emperor.”
“Effendi?”
“When I inherit the throne, I will also be inheriting the tangled mess of international diplomacy that comes with it. I’m going to need someone who is familiar with European affairs.”
An awkward silence passed between them.
“Me?” José questioned.
“Naturally!”
“But I’ve never worked in politics.”
“And I have never been outside the Empire!” Selim threw his hands in the air. “I don’t know how to deal with these Europeans. We could rule all the world, bring our citizens peace and bounty for ten thousand lifetimes, and they’d still call us barbarians.” He leaned toward José. “But you, you have lived among them. You understand them. You’re one of them.”
“That may have been true, a long time ago, but—”
“Doctor Hamon tells me that you were a frequent visitor of European courts before your arrival in Istanbul, that you are acquainted with many of the powerful ruling families throughout Europe. Is that so?”
“I suppose it is. I was just a child, raised alongside Spanish and Portuguese nobility. At times I was sent further off, to the Low Countries, where I held court with a few lowly princes.”
“So you have seen much of Europe?”
“It was a very long time ago.”
“And what of William of the Netherlands? Is it true you spent time as a child at Dutch court? Did you happen to come across him then?”
“He taught me how to play cricket.”
“Cricket?”
José shook his head. “So much time has passed. I doubt he would even remember me. Why do you ask about William?”
“My sources tell me there is a deep discord in Antwerp. The people are tired of the Spanish ruling over them. Collecting taxes but offering nothing but tyranny in return. After this year’s bad harvest, talk of a rebellion is brewing.”
“Yes, but how can I be of service?”
“A Dutch envoy will arrive shortly in Istanbul, led by your boyhood friend, William. You are to convince him to stage a revolt against Spain and in exchange, we will provide any military support the Dutch may need. He knows you. He will trust you. Let us strike at the very heel of the Spanish Empire, so that it may fall hard like Achilles.”
“And these princely people you speak of, I am not so sure they will accept me now, after all, we have been branded as heretics throughout Europe.”
“Exactly my point! Your people have suffered under Spanish rule. The Dutch suffer under Spanish rule. You’re European. They’re European. You understand the way they think. That’s the kind of adviser I will need moving forward.”
“But—”
“José! How many languages do you speak?”
“A few, I suppose. I’m fluent in Latin, French, Spanish, Portuguese, Dutch, and well of course, now Ottoman.”
“An educated man.” The prince slapped his knee and came to his feet. “You Jews never cease to amaze me.”
The falcon suddenly swooped down from the sky and landed gently on Selim’s outstretched arm. “My father has been good to your people?”
“Most definitely.”
“Rescuing your family from certain death?”
“Yes, Your Highness. I would not be here if it were not for his kindness.”
The prince nodded. “Gratitude.” He seemed to be talking to the falcon as he spoke. “Gratitude breeds loyalty.” Selim snapped his fingers and a servant suddenly came forth presenting a tray of raw meat bits to the bird. He smiled as the bird devoured the juicy bits. Turning his attentions back to José, he continued. “Loyalty is why I want a Jew. It’s why I want you.”
José nodded.
“Now, Doctor Hamon says you are a man to be trusted. Tell me, José. Can I trust you?”
He slid off the bench and bowed his head to the ground. “I am your servant.”
“Yes, yes, that’s all well and fine, but what I need to know is, can I trust you?”
“Your Highness.” José lifted the edge of Selim’s cloak and brought it to his lips. “You can trust me.”
“Good. Now get off your knees. You’ll report to the palace tomorrow morning and the morning after that.”
José could hardly believe what he was hearing.
Selim clapped his hands, eliciting the prompt return of his servant, who wrestled the falcon from his possession.
“Here comes my boy!” Selim turned towards a teetering infant wrapped in purple velvet. He was taking small, clumsy steps towards his father with hands raised high in the air. Selim bent over and scooped the child up into his embrace. “This is my son.”
“A handsome boy,” José remarked.
“And one day, you will be able to say that you have met three sultans of the empire.”
“Your Highness?”
“After my reign, he will rule. I have chosen him. See his porcelain skin? That is the skin of his mother. A Venetian noblewoman. I call her Nur-Banu.”
“Princess of Lightness.” José said the name aloud.
“That’s right.”
José examined the child prince. He had fair skin and chestnut eyes, with rosy cheeks and a crop of thick black hair. He could not have been any older than a year.
“His name is Murat,” Selim explained. “Murat the III.”
José was unsure of the proper protocol for being presented to a royal prince, let alone an infant at that. Certainly he should not coo or reach out to touch the child. Whatever the proper conduct, he had managed to get this far without insulting Prince Selim.
“See how intelligent he is?” Selim went on. “You can tell, just by looking at his eyes. He’s observing us right now.”
José nodded.
“And you will bow to him one day,” Selim continued. “You will bow to him along with all the empire.”
The boy began to gurgle as tiny bubbles began to foam from his lips.
“That day is still far off.” Selim smiled and handed the boy back to his servant. “Now that we’ve settled our business,” he turned his attentions back to José, “how about we celebrate with a drink?”
José looked up, not sure if he was being tested, or if the Prince Selim was actually serious about breaking one of Islam’s more serious prohibitions.
“Stop gawking, José. It doesn’t suit you. Even a Muslim prince needs to have some fun once in a while. And telling from the purple stain on your tongue, I can tell you are a man who likes to have a good time too.”
“Your Highness, I…” José stuttered.
“Let’s keep this our secret.” Selim winked as a tray was presented to them with two silver goblets. The prince smiled mischievously, before taking a swig of wine. He smacked his lips then squinted. “I think I like you, José.” He took a moment to consider his own statement, then nodded in agr
eement with himself. His eyes twinkled with delight and his smile was warm and playful. He slapped José on the back before turning and heading away from the garden. “See you tomorrow!” he called out as he disappeared from the courtyard.
José lowered his face to his palms and felt warm tears of gratitude against the inside of his hands. Standing alone in the middle of the Sultan’s garden, surrounded by fluttering tulips and the smell of the sea, José gave thanks. He brought his fist to his heart and lowered his chin to his chest. With his eyes closed tightly, he recited a prayer of thanksgiving to the Lord.
“Blessed are you our G-d,
Ruler of the World,
Who has granted us life,
Sustained us,
And enabled us to reach this moment.”
He stood motionless for some time, overwhelmed by gratitude and remorse. He had been blessed with so much and yet he had been blind to it all.
He would recite that same prayer once again, later in the day. He would return home and take his daughter in his arms, recite those same words of gratitude, and give thanks to the Lord for the miracle of life.
9
Several years had passed before Suleiman the Magnificent retreated from palace life and his son Selim ascended the throne. José’s wisdom and aptitude became increasingly apparent as the young sultan sought out his advice on various matters, from how to deal with quarrelling concubines to more serious issues regarding political dealings abroad.
While the family had been condemned as heretics throughout all of Europe, José’s wealth, wit, and charm still opened many doors. When visiting the palace, European diplomats were intrigued and completely taken in by this strapping Portuguese exile. He looked and spoke in the same manner they did, and yet he was a Jew living an exotic life in a faraway land under the protection of the Sultan himself.
After five years of service, José was granted a small Dukedom and raised to the status of official Ottoman nobility. He was gifted a permanent villa on palace grounds where he and his family were to reside.
*
The Debt of Tamar Page 6