I bowed to her words and made my way back to the eunuchs’ quarters by the gate where I joined a crowd of my colleagues, watching anxiously from the windows. We heard a shout and a groan from the firefighters, but what caught their attention escaped us, the angle of the wall blocking our view.
We didn’t have long to wonder. The head eunuch soon came running in. “To our charges, khuddam. They tried to hold the flames back at the gate, but it’s breached now. Come, to the ladies.”
In some respects, it was good the head eunuch’s quarters were on the outer side of the gate; he had already lost his possessions to the flames and was now able to think clearly about other things. When his seconds stopped by their cubicles to gather what they valued most, he was able to knock silk robes, fine ceramics, and books from their hands, saying, “Put that down, my friend. You will need your arms for the children.”
“But where shall we take our charges?” someone asked.
“The garden,” the head eunuch said. He answered on the spur of the moment. Nonetheless, given all the time in the world, anyone would have come to the same conclusion; the garden was the only sanctuary.
“But we can’t take them into the garden. It’s not ladies’ day in the garden. The Sultan is there, entertaining friends.”
“I’m sure the men will be circumspect enough to look away if they realize the only alternative is the flames. And if they are not—well, then, you will have to work harder, won’t you?”
We were met at the harem vestibule by several ladies who had been drawn by the smoke and came to wonder.
“Into the garden. Into the garden, ladies,” the head eunuch said, and set one of his seconds to accompany them. They stood at the door to the outside, blinking and hesitating, as skittish as horses when the stables are on fire. Inside was safety. Outside was something worse than pain or death—a loss of honor.
“Come on, come on,” the eunuchs encouraged.
“We’ll have a time of this,” I warned the head. “I know many women have gone up to the second floor to watch from the windows. You’ll have to get them down.”
“Yes, thanks for the word,” he said, and went up the first staircase we came to with half of his staff following.
When I opened the door of the room where I’d left my lady, the smell of smoke followed me quite strongly and gave force to my words. “Come, lady. It’s too late to leave by the front in the sedan. That way is already in flames. We must go out the back on foot, into the garden. Come, I’ll help you.”
I’d given all my seconds the day off because I’d assumed, in the Serai, I wouldn’t need them. I cursed that assumption and the lack of another pair of strong arms. But three of her maids and I managed to half carry, half support Esmikhan out of doors. Our task was made even more difficult by the fact that, as soon as she saw we were in earnest, as soon as she saw the smoke, and caught the panic of the fleeing women passing us, my lady remembered her daughter.
“Gul Ruh!”
“I’ll go for her when we’ve got you safe, lady,” I promised.
She called out her daughter’s name again and began to struggle, making our task more difficult.
Gul Ruh no less than her mother was my responsibility to see safe. I knew that, but I couldn’t be two places at once. To calm her, I spoke to Esmikhan as if I were already working on that problem.
“Where is she, lady? Do you know?”
“With Muhammed, her cousin. I haven’t seen them since this morning. They went off to play together. Allah knows where that might be.”
Allah knew indeed.
XVIII
Anywhere in the palace was possible, for the girl was only three, and if the Prince’s school was not in session, under few restrictions of honor. It was proverbial how those two had been found, hand in hand, gaping at the sick in the infirmary, watching the boats from the wall, dropping pebbles on the turbans of petitioners as they passed beneath the Sublime Porte, stealing (Allah forbid they were there now) dates from the kitchen stores. This spunk was mostly the girl’s doing, for it was known that by himself or even with other playmates, the Prince tended to be quiet and pouty.
Once they had even wandered into the Sultan’s baths when he was sporting with his favorites. Neither of the children had ever seen a naked man before, and one erect had been a sensation. Investigations on their own persons were found wanting and their questions continued to be the scandal of the harem. My earlier attempt at an explanation of the will of Allah paled by comparison.
“That is what will happen to me when I am circumcised,” I overheard the little Prince tell his cousin.
“You will grow big like that?”
Muhammed nodded soberly. “That is what it means to be a man.”
And Gul Ruh was duly impressed.
But though their nurses and tutors slapped them and the less conscientious merely hid their faces and tittered, no one thought of prohibiting the children’s rambles. The Sultan merely doubled his guard when he wanted to indulge.
“I’ll stay here,” Esmikhan said firmly now. “Now you go find Gul Ruh.”
“Lady, you’re too close yet. The roof of this kiosk could easily fall down on you if it should catch.”
“Then here. I’ll go no further without my baby.”
“Lady, I still fear if this wing goes, you may get scorched.”
“I can make it on my own from here. Please, please, my baby.”
“Here. We’ve given you that expanse of lawn as a break. Allah willing, the flames will not leap to these trees across that. Unless, of course this wind keeps up. Here, then. I’ll leave you with these ladies here.”
“Abdullah.” She caught my hand. “I’ll go with you. I’ll help you look.”
“By Allah, there isn’t time!”
I had never shouted at Esmikhan before and instantly regretted it, for she fell to helpless weeping. Had she been any other mistress on any other day, I might have gotten a beating for it. But I didn’t even take time to apologize, only to tell the girls beside her that if they were not Allah’s greatest fools, they would do all in their power to see that she did not try and follow me.
Tears were infectious. Either that, or things had reached the boiling point and there was overflow. Everywhere were women weeping and their discomfort was added to by the fact that many men were also in the garden, either having no place else to escape to or trying to fight the fire from this angle with water from the fish ponds.
It was a difficult task to keep veils on demurely and yet watch the fire, or watch for children and friends, at the same time. For most, the choice finally fell with keeping honor, perhaps because all who were going to get out safely must surely have done so by now.
One face I did see, and that was Safiye’s fair one. She didn’t even care to keep her hair covered, so any firefighter might feast on what was Prince Murad’s property alone. Perhaps it made them fight harder, but their success seemed no greater.
“Lady,” I heard Safiye’s Ghazanfer pleading, “we cannot go back into the kitchens. The kitchen is the heart of the fire. Are we like Indian mystics that we can walk on flame?”
“But I must know if they are safe,” she insisted, wringing her hands.
By Allah, I thought. The two children had gone to rifle the kitchen storerooms.
I bowed and asked for confirmation of a thought that was too terrible, almost, to think, let alone speak.
“No,” Safiye replied curtly.
She had been asking after the precious dates. She had no idea where Muhammed was. She had assumed his nurse—but even as she spoke, that woman came sailing across the lawn towards us, almost unveiled so the grey grief was very plain. I think she was so distraught that she had no idea there were men present.
“Lady, lady, I’ve looked everywhere.” Her sobs stumbled her and brought her to her knees at Safiye’s feet. “I cannot find the young Prince. Oh, Allah, Allah, I shall die. Oh, Merciful One, I pray take me instead!”
Safiye di
d not bother to remind the woman that it was her baby, as she had always taken care to do before lest this nurse become as attached to him as the ill-fated first one had. Now Safiye realized that her dates would be of precious little use if there was no Prince to give them to. And her status—well, she couldn’t stand idly thinking about that. Against protests, she insisted on joining Ghazanfer, myself, and the others in the search.
It was too hot now to get very close to the harem at any door. As I circled around the building, looking for a way in, the sea breeze blew that heat upon me in gusts. I saw the copper dome over the great harem throne room glowing orange as if newly forged. I wondered what the ravenous fire could find to consume in that room that was mostly mirror and tile, but I smelled burning wool and silk—an awful stench—and remembered the thick rugs, cushions, and hangings. Then the very air inside seemed to catch in little explosions. Squares of copper crumbled down like no more than bone left buried in a trash heap for many years.
The flames shot up as in a giant potter’s kiln, higher than the three stories of the palace at any point. They ran along the rooftops like flood waters; the afternoon was warm for that time of year and against that natural heat, the flames appeared clear and shimmering as if they were water indeed. Above the conflagration, seven or eight minarets and lookout towers still stood, reaching heavenward like hands imploring aid.
Among the other smells of things that should not be burned billowed that of human flesh. I hurried on.
So effective was the division between selamlik and haremlik that even the fire could not breach it. The firefighters had managed to cut off the flame at the Divan and kept it there throughout the day. This men’s part of the palace, then, I searched thoroughly from the Eye of the Sultan to the grooms’ quarters until I was satisfied that the children were not there.
After that, I looked throughout the outer palace, trying to see everything with a child’s eye so as to catch a clue as to what might have attracted them. The crowd of firefighting men around the Fountain of Execution remained the most noticeable thing: They were weary now, black with smoke, washed with sweat, and short of patience. No child could pester them long without being swatted on his way, even if he were a prince.
Above the fountain and behind were the blocks on which malefactors’ heads were displayed as example. Two were there now, their faces melted by the heat and by a day or two’s decay into grins that seemed to mock those who’d thought it was punishment to mete out death.
The Church of St. Irene across the great yard had been turned into an armory when the Turks had conquered. All those empty weapons and uniforms made me think myself a witness to a battlefield when all the living had gone home. Perhaps the church had looked just so on the morning after the Turks’ conquest when the thousands who had crowded there hoping either heaven or the enemy would see in it some sort of asylum had been disappointed. And the Turks had left it just as they found it at the end of the battle for these hundred years.
“Gul Ruh Sultan!” I called. “Prince Muhammed!”
But my voice echoed without reply off the polished brass of a wall of shields.
I thought I would save time in the infirmary, because the sick could reply if they had seen a little girl and boy that day. But they would hardly answer, grabbing my clothes and demanding news of the fire. All their doctors and attendants, as well as any who could walk, were out carrying pots of water, and those left behind had suffered the greatest anxiety, smelling the smoke for hours.
Had the children gone beyond the Imperial Gate, then, out of the palace altogether? To Aya Sophia, perhaps, whose great domes were even now casting long shadows over the wall? They were not allowed there, but it was better to think they had the whole wide world to wander in rather than that they were still somewhere in the harem.
I had gone so far, close to running all the time. It had been several hours, through one call to prayer at least. And my heart, which fear sent racing even faster than my pace would actually have caused, begged for rest. Who knows? I rationalized. Someone else may have already found them. I should at least check with my lady to see how she fares.
I took the long way round through the Gate of the Dead (“Allah shield us,” I said for protection against the restless souls, louder than usual). The shorter routes were blocked by flames. I met Ghazanfer on my way and he told me, in no more than eight words, that they’d found nothing, that his mistress had gone one more to look in the Eve of the Sultan and sent him to look in the garden again. His face, which was as tight and as hard as a mustard seed, told me he was blaming himself, as he always did when things did not go well for Safiye.
Some enterprising soul had set up the division of haremlik and selamlik there in the garden—a row of cypress and a rose hedge were the demarcation—so at least there was the relief of modesty. How they had moved my lady to this place I do not know, for she was too prostrate now even to take the water her ladies were offering her, and she had to take it on her wrists and temples with a cloth instead. One glance at her was enough to tell that she had had no news, either.
Esmikhan met my eyes with her huge brown ones and I shrank from them. I remembered the night of the lovers’ nightingale in Konya, how those eves had fixed me in that same way and demanded a miracle. And I had given it to her, given her a man’s love in the only way I knew how, given her the blessed wonder of that child.
Even the cuckoo has fled this garden this afternoon. There will be no nightingale in the smoke tonight. I can work no more miracles.
I tried to pass that message to those eves, but they would not hear it. If I offered no comfort, they would not let me near. So I left with just that glance. I must appear to still be full of hope in the search. I must.
XIX
I stumbled across the men’s section, unseeing, unconscious of where my feet were. Someone, I became aware, was giving the call to prayer. At this point no one thought carrying one more pot of water could be more important than an appeal to the One Without Equal. All around me, men instantly dropped what they were doing and, rugless, turned to face across the ashes of the kitchen, across the Sea of Marmara. They faced that City which for most would always remain only a dream, but which, at that moment, was more real than anything else in between.
My mind was in such confusion that I remained standing, and might have stayed so, a scandal and, to some, a curse to all the proceedings. But fortunately a tug at my hem brought me to my knees in time for the first prostration.
The slow, rhythmic movements of the ritual brought a calmness to my heart I had almost forgotten. We progressed through the form—but progress is not the right word unless going around in a circle and ending up where one started is progress. But as we followed our cycle, I began to see that it was grass into which I buried my face. There were tulips blooming beside me with the dull black scent of their anthers. And overhead were trees. Trees! Plane trees with their new yellow-green foliage! And I had begun to feel as if all life had ceased. The end of the sunlight filtered through those leaves and came down upon us like a shower of gold coins. A shower of gold coins, the ancients said, brought the god to a maiden and gave her new life. These coins, too, would buy nothing in the market. Only in one’s soul did they purchase the love and peace of God.
At the final prostration my ransomed soul at last looked out for others. I noticed the man beside me, the one who had tugged me down, and then I saw I knew him. It was the long-headed overseer of the kitchen supplies.
Why is he not still by the fountain in the fire line? I asked myself, but immediately received the answer: Both of his hands were swathed in rags. He must have burned them quite badly. How careful he was, even laying them on his knees as he prayed. With those hands he had tugged me down, saving me blasphemy, bringing me peace. What pain had it caused him? I was grateful.
We smiled at one another in the peace at the end of the prayer, and when that was past, I asked him politely how he’d got his hurt.
He made a brave atte
mpt to smile, though the memory tinged it with grimace as he replied, “Those damned Arabian dates.”
My heart leapt to panic pace again as I heard those words and recalled what my hopeless, before-prayer task had been. It was only with the greatest effort that I beat my heart to a calm and made myself stand and hear the end of his tale.
“After I fled the building and was already lending a hand with the water,” the fellow said, “I remembered them. The storeroom was thick with smoke when I got there. The smells—I cannot tell you. It was as if a Bedouin were cooking—no art, they cannot keep from burning everything. Scorched rice, blackened joints. The jugs of very fine oil in the corner leapt to a blaze that water would only spread.
“But I found the casket and brought it out. The closest exit, towards the kitchens, was now totally engulfed in flames. Like a straw sucking up a lemon-orange colored sherbet, they came so fast I could hardly turn before the smoke was affecting me terribly. Just at the door, I tumbled to the ground. A janissary-—may Allah forever favor him—saw me and pulled me feet first from the flames. But not until the casket I clutched in my hands like life itself became so hot that it took my baked-on skin with it.”
I winced and murmured some blessing upon him.
He braved another grimace-smile, and continued, “But, praises to Him, it has pleased Allah to send a favorable outcome to this little history. The physicians have great hope for my hands, and the dates, though somewhat melted as if they’d been baked inside a pastry, are sound—or at least they were when I left them. Still, knowing with whom I left them—-”
I interrupted here, as calmly as possible, to tell him why his story did not have a happy ending. “The young Prince will never enjoy those dates at the hand of his mother,” I said, “and your brave sacrifice was in vain.
To my surprise, the man laughed. “Well, from his mother, yes...” Then he stopped himself because here in the open with the harem just a rose hedge away, one couldn’t gossip as freely as in the closed storeroom of the kitchen. “Let me tell you what I did then.”
The Reign of the Favored Women Page 12