The Stone Woman

by Tariq Ali

  A few minutes later, on my own, I reflected on Salman’s tragedy. There were aspects of it that would haunt me for a long time. Everything had turned out wrong for him and yet, despite the grief, he had recovered his life. He had reverted to being the thoughtful and generous person I had known as a child. His own mother had died giving birth to him. He had been unable to give his wife a child. Was his seed infertile or had something else, deeper in him, forced him to hold back? Was it a fear that the woman he loved might also die giving birth? I became desperate on his behalf. I wanted him to meet a woman who might bring some real happiness into his life. I wanted him to have at least one child of his own. I did not like the thought of my dearest brother Salman growing old and lonely. There are limits to solitude. Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps he did not need a fixed companion. Perhaps he would take over Uncle Kemal’s mantle and travel for the rest of his life, a free spirit, finding comfort wherever it became available and not thinking too much of the past or the future.

  After the children were safe in bed, I went to my mother’s room. I told her of my decision to marry Selim. The news did not shake her serenity.

  “I knew this would happen. I hope this one works better for you, though you are still young and might yet have a third chance.”

  When I saw she was serious I burst out laughing. “I appreciate that your confidence in my judgement has been shaken, Mother, but please give me some credit. I would not make the same mistake twice. I have thought about it very carefully and asked myself the most searching questions. I am not drifting into this in a trance. My head and my thoughts are clear. I know I will be happy with Selim. I just know, Mother. I’m sure this time.”

  “I hope so, my child. You are not alone. There are two children whose lives are involved in your decision. I don’t want you to be like the camel who went to demand horns and found instead the ears he already had were shorn from him.”

  I had never heard Sara talk like this before. “Where in heaven’s name did you get that from?”

  “My grandfather used it a great deal when my mother was a child. He was a Talmudic scholar and often spoke in this language. The camel was always brought into the conversation to stop my uncle taking risks and finding he had no money left. It never happened like that, of course. My Uncle Sifrah is one of the richest private bankers in Europe. The Sultan often borrows money from him.”

  “Then he won’t be rich for too much longer, Mother. Better warn him to get his money back and move to Paris or New York.”

  “Why do you talk like that? It’s not my business. Now tell me, Nilofer, will you talk to Iskander Pasha about Selim or should I?”

  “Iskander Pasha has already been informed and has come to give his blessing.” My father, wearing a broad smile, had walked into the room. He hugged me and kissed my cheeks. “This time you have made a good choice.”

  “Are you sure, Iskander?” asked my mother. “At least the Greek was a school teacher.”

  Iskander Pasha laughed. “This young man will go far if he learns to control his tongue and doesn’t expect the moon to fall into his lap immediately. I am truly pleased. Hasan Baba is almost a member of the family and, as you know, I have been very close to him for many years. The news has made him weep with joy. Nilofer, you must please go downstairs. Your brothers are questioning Selim, and the Baron and Memed are already celebrating with another bottle and are waiting to congratulate you. I need to speak with your mother alone.”

  A full-scale discussion was in progress when I reached the library, but my entrance froze them. The Baron rose and proposed a toast to Selim and me. Hasan Baba came and kissed my head. Halil put his arms around me and whispered.

  “At least we’ll all be present this time.”

  Salman waved from the corner. Selim appeared to be embarrassed and averted his eyes from mine. His over-confident demeanour had momentarily disappeared. I had surprised him. He never really believed I would go this far so soon. Now he was confronted with a decision I had made. It was the Baron who was the first to speak.

  “My dear Nilofer, we have been discussing when you two should get married. There is a great difference of opinion on this subject and a fierce argument was raging when you appeared on the scene like a Greek goddess. Memed was for October, which he says, and here I agree with him, is a beautiful month in Istanbul. Salman is indifferent. Halil prefers September since he is on military manoeuvres later in October and naturally assumes that his new Adjutant Selim will be at his side. Have you a preference?”

  I assumed there might be many difficulties to negotiate before the ceremony and for that reason I had not thought of an actual date. I decided to surprise them all, including myself.

  “Why not tomorrow afternoon in this very room? I will tell the children in the morning.”

  The Baron roared. “The girl has courage. Let us agree!”

  Uncle Memed smiled. “Fine. Then, at least, I will not be disturbed at an unearthly hour every night as some young blade tries to tiptoe his way up to your bedroom. Let tonight be a night of rest and tomorrow we will dance and sing.”

  I felt myself blushing and looked in the large mirror to confirm that this was indeed the case. The Baron and Memed had known all along. No matter how large the house, it could not hold any secrets. Selim was standing near the window. As I joined him we looked at each other and began to laugh. Uncle Memed’s voice interrupted our tiny moment of privacy.

  “Have you ever read Stendhal on love, Baron?”

  “No,” said the Baron. “And I do not intend to do so. I’m amazed that you have wasted your time on Stendhal. He wrote too much and at too great a speed. His books were not in our house in Berlin. The only French novelists permitted in our library are Balzac and Flaubert and of the two, Flaubert is the true genius.”

  “What about Rimbaud and Verlaine, Baron?” inquired Salman. “Are they permitted in your library?”

  “I was speaking of novelists, Salman Pasha.” The Baron’s tone indicated that he was not in a mood to be trifled with today. “Of course the poets you mention are present, but I find Verlaine too luscious for my taste. The English romantics, Shelley and Keats, have produced much better verse. Forgive an old man his prejudices, Salman, but we Germans are terribly spoilt. After Goethe, Schiller, Holderlin and Heine it is difficult for us to take the French versifiers too seriously. There is Pushkin, of course, and he is a totally different matter, though I do sometimes wonder how much of the music in his verse is inherited from his African forebear and how much has been inspired by that cursed primeval darkness they call Russia.”

  Before we could discuss Stendhal’s exclusion from the Baron’s library in Berlin, Iskander Pasha entered the room to ask if we had decided on a date for the wedding. He was greatly amused by the suggestion that the event was planned for the following day. When he realised we were serious he remained unruffled and turned to Hasan Baba.

  “Do we need a beard to officiate or can you manage on your own, Hasan? I doubt whether anyone else present knows the words of the prayer for the occasion.”

  Hasan Baba’s face was wreathed in smiles. “You know as well as I that our religion was not made for priests and monks. In fact they could be married without the prayer that was instituted much later. These things were invented so we could compete with the Christians. If they had priests, we needed our own. In our faith there is no divide between the spiritual and the temporal.”

  “That has been a big problem,” said Halil.

  “I do not want a debate on theology tonight,” Iskander Pasha intervened rapidly to guillotine the discussion. “All I want to know is who will perform the marriage ceremony. It’s a practical question. If a beard is needed we shall have to send a messenger tonight.”

  “I will marry these children,” said Hasan Baba. “Provided we have two reliable witnesses I don’t need anything else. I would suggest Iskander Pasha and General Halil Pasha as the witnesses. That will suffice.”

  I ran to tell Sara that w
e had agreed on a day and time, but she was already fast asleep and snoring gently. I went to my room in a slightly uneasy mood. I was sure of Selim, but something still bothered me. Why? I should be jubilant, singing tunes of infinite rapture, just like the celebrated birds in Sufi poetry. Everything was being done so that it accorded with my needs. I was puzzled as to why none of them had objected to Selim’s pedigree. Ten years ago edicts would have been issued. Disdainful eyes would have looked at me across the breakfast table accusingly for polluting our family by marrying a barber whose family had cut our hair for centuries. What had changed them all? Was it their own life experiences and the passage of time that had mellowed them—or was it something much greater than any individual? Was it the impending collapse of the Empire and the Ottoman civilisation of which we had been a part for a very long time and without which we would be sucked into a vortex of uncertainties?

  I now realised that it was the ease with which my family had agreed to the match that made me uneasy. Whatever the reason, I was pleased and my mood changed. I was looking out of the window in a slight daze when I felt two gentle hands cupping my breasts. I screamed and the hands covered my mouth.

  “Selim!”

  “Did you think that I would be so overpowered by sentimentality that I would really stay away tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, you were wrong. Are you glad you were wrong?”

  “Yes. But before you take your clothes off I want to know why you agreed to join the army.”

  “To make it easier for everyone. They can say that Nilofer is married to a young officer under Halil. It sounds better than saying: ‘Nilofer is marrying our barber’s grandson. Yes, he’s a barber too and it will be so convenient for us because, from now on, we won’t need an outsider for the circumcisions.’”

  I couldn’t help laughing, because he was mimicking my mother’s voice perfectly, but I knew instinctively that the joke was designed to conceal the truth. He would never have agreed to join the army to help preserve our family’s pride. On the contrary, he would have used the very words he put in my mother’s mouth himself whenever we had company simply in order to shock their sensibilities.

  “I don’t believe you, Selim. I want the truth.”

  “The officers are planning to get rid of the Sultan, his court, the clergy, their privileges, and who knows what else will fall when we push him off his throne? There is no political party in our country like the German Social Democratic Party or the French Socialist Party. Perhaps there never will be such a party, but till one comes into existence the army is a good place for me.

  “But Selim,” I shouted at him, “what if there’s a war? You might be killed!”

  “We’re too weak and poor to fight in any stupid war,” he laughed. “We won’t fight against our foreign enemies. If they attack, we’ll surrender quietly and quickly. The war we’re planning is against tradition and obscurantism at home. If we get rid of them, then we can build up our strength again.”

  I was relieved. If he had agreed to Halil’s request simply in order to please me and appease my family, he would have become bitter sooner or later. The decision was his and taken for reasons of his own.

  “Now you can take your clothes off and come to bed.”

  He did as I asked.

  “Nilofer,” he whispered as he put his arms around me, “tomorrow is an important day in both our lives and I think we should refrain from feeding our passions tonight. Let us just lie like this for some time and dream. Then I will leave so that we can both sleep well tonight. What do you think?”

  I put my hand between his legs and felt an old friend rise. “I fear, Selim, that your mind is incapable of controlling your body. This is not good for a young officer.”

  He began to laugh as his lips sought my nipples and I mounted him.

  FIFTEEN

  Nilofer sends Selim to clear his head by talking to the Stone Woman; he is surprised by the experience

  ‘MY NAME IS SELIM, O Stone Woman. I am Nilofer’s new husband and she has sent me here to meet you. She has told me about you, the secrets you guard, the effect you have on people, including some who are so private that they are unaware of their own problems. Is it true that for hundreds of years this was a place only women came to? I wonder why?

  I know we are living in a time when everyone is unsure about the future and men also need to discuss their problems and worries. This used to be the case in the village where my father was born. Hasan Baba talks of the old days in our village, and how during the winter afternoons, men would gather once a week in a circle, blankets held tight around their shoulders, warming their hands by a fire as they spoke of their problems to each other and waited for someone to offer them sage advice. At these gatherings, they rarely spoke of their crops or the lack of water in the village or the rapacious tax-collectors, who, in lieu of money, insisted on other goods, including young women. These were not special problems. It was part of their everyday life.

  The winter circles were organised to discuss personal problems and the younger men, too shy to speak in one particular winter, might none the less be emboldened to speak a few years hence. Hasan Baba says that there were very few inhibitions.

  It was a mixed village with Armenians and Kurds, though we Turks were in the majority. The Armenians had some of the best land and, last year, the Kurds burnt their houses and drove them out of the village, though thankfully nobody was killed. After the Armenians had been driven out the winter gatherings came to an end. My grandfather says it disrupted the solidarity of the village and those who remained could not look each other in the eye. They had done something so terrible to their fellow-human beings that it was difficult to pretend they could solve each other’s problems.

  I’m really surprised that anyone comes here at all, Stone Woman. From a distance you look like the remains of a pagan goddess, but from where I am you’re just a giant rock and it’s very uncomfortable sitting on this stone. Hundreds of delicate and well-cushioned posteriors have sat in the same place for many years. They should have made this stone smooth and soft. It is not easy for me to speak with a stone. I have never found it necessary, but Nilofer wanted to share you with me. The only thing I would not discuss with a close friend or my grandfather is the intimacy between Nilofer and me. That is our own precious secret. It is something so beautiful that we discuss it with each other every day. If, for some reason, I could not tell her certain things, I can see you might be useful, but not now.

  There is one small problem. Young Orhan was a bit taken aback when Nilofer told him about us and for the first few days after the marriage ceremony, he became quite distant. He refused to speak with me or come for a walk on the cliffs as we often did during the day. He is getting better now and I’m sure he will be fine. His behaviour is not unnatural. No child wishes to see its father replaced, even if the father is dead. And if the father is alive and tormenting his wife and children, it is difficult to be disloyal. When I was Orhan’s age, I would sometimes hear my father beating my mother. I would put my fingers in my ears to banish her screams.

  One day I came home unexpectedly and found my mother coupling with a stranger. Even though I knew my father was cruel, I still resented this man’s presence. When he left, I became very angry with my mother. I abused her and shed many tears of rage. My mother’s face was filled with terror. She thought I would tell my father. She said if ever I told my father of what I had seen, he would kill her without pity. She threatened me with fear.

  I believed her, Stone Woman. My father claimed to believe in Sufi philosophy and he could certainly get intoxicated, sing the songs and dance all night, but it never affected his inner being. He may have been a dervish, but he was also an ignorant and a cruel man. I may have been upset at seeing my mother with another man, but that did not make me love my father. Naturally, I kept quiet and till this day I have never recalled that incident to anyone. Why have I told you?

  It was at this time that my grandfa
ther, with their approval, took me away from my parents and began to educate me in earnest. I learnt to read and write and later started to attend the medresseh. I have never seen my parents since that time. Eighteen years have passed and they showed not the slightest interest in me. I think of Hasan Baba as both my mother and my father.

  One thing does worry me, Stone Woman. When my father learns of my marriage to the daughter of Iskander Pasha, he might decide to take advantage. He could arrive at the house on the pretext of paying his respects and seeing his new daughter-in-law, but in reality, to demand money. I have not mentioned this to Nilofer. She would laugh and treat it as inconsequential. You must understand that it is not my father’s poverty I am ashamed of, but his character. He is a disgusting and evil creature and I do not wish him to come to this house or visit us in Istanbul. I have mentioned this to Hasan Baba. It troubles him as well, but he is old and helpless now. He does not offer advice, but shakes his head despairingly and looks up towards the heavens.

  I think I will mention my father to Nilofer and her mother, just in case the scoundrel arrives while I am away from the capital with General Halil. In a sober mood he can appear normal and even charming, but they must be on their guard.

  I’m going now, Stone Woman. I’m surprised my visit was not wasted. I did reveal a secret and it was helpful. Nilofer will be pleased.’

  SIXTEEN

  The Committee for Union and Progress meets to discuss a conspiracy to overthrow the Sultan; the Baron unveils a spy; Nilofer would rather be an Ottoman than a Turk

  WE HAD BECOME SO used to each other’s company over the last few weeks that it came as a slight shock when I first noticed the dust rising in the distance. The men on horseback heading in our direction were not unexpected. Halil and Selim had been awaiting their arrival with a mixture of excitement and anticipation. I rushed to inform them that their guests had been sighted and the three of us went to the front terrace to watch their arrival.