by Sara Pascoe
‘OK, Abbas, I’m ready to go.’ She stood in front of him as was agreed, and he would document everything he saw to tell Musta for his study. He looked ever so pleased to be involved in a project with Musta. And she could see he enjoyed this intellectual challenge – running the han must be dull work compared to being a janissary. She was glad she could at least give him this.
She closed her eyes, imagined the coffee house. It wasn’t particularly vivid, so she walked her way through her memory of when she peered inside and it looked like the inside of a jewellery box. Sweat trickled down her back with all these clothes on and her thoughts went to the baths. She reasoned that it couldn’t hurt to start there – it would still be good practice. She saw the third room with all the women lounging and chatting. Wondered if any of them would like a coffee cup reading and POP – she was there. With Oscar.
‘Hey, I won’t tell if you don’t,’ Oscar offered. Raya was about to argue his logic, but then thought better of it. She was past the bathing rooms and thought it best not to spend the time it would take to go through the whole process, before going on to the coffee house, but a few readings here couldn’t hurt.
‘Ah, the girl from London with Light Eyes, the one the Karatays discovered,’ a woman said to her friend, when Raya asked them if they’d like a reading. Raya worked extra hard to give a good reading, and to let herself be overheard by the nosey women around. They jostled for their position in the queue but Raya explained she could only do a few more today. A cluster of women formed around her. They were all very curious about her and life in London. What was the weather like? Had she ever met the King? What were the English men like? Oscar snoozed on a couch. This was fun. A lot of fun. She’d been the new girl a million times before, but this time she was the cool new girl everyone wanted to know.
One of the girls in the group shrieked in excitement and dragged another teenager into the circle. ‘Helena, here she is – the one you discovered!’ It was the Karatay daughter.
‘Come on, you knew this was going to happen sooner or later,’ Oscar said, apparently not as asleep as he looked.
Raya stared, her smile frozen. ‘What do I do?’ she asked the cat, but he didn’t answer. She almost started to giggle – unusual for her, not being the giggly sort. But it was so weird for her to be the one with the edge rather than on it, when it came to this sort of teenage girl – one of the über-kids for sure. Then things got weirder. Mrs Karatay appeared behind her daughter’s shoulder. From her expression, she clearly had not forgotten how they really met. Raya flushed.
‘Work it, baby,’ Oscar said.
‘Oh, so now you’re talking? What? Work what?’ Raya was annoyed at having to drag him around if he was only going to be a pain.
‘Only you and the Karatays seem to remember what really happened. So YOU can keep the secret, or not – that’s power, sistah.’
‘Stop with the lingo already.’ But then she got it. She smiled warmly and cleared off the cup from the last reading on the small table in front of her.
‘Mrs Karatay, Helena, how lovely to see you again. I can’t thank you enough for being so generous with your kind words. I’ve done quite a few readings, thanks to you.’
Mrs Karatay gave her a look of wary relief.
‘Please, let me do a reading for you – on the house,’ Raya said and everyone clapped.
‘Oh, Mother, let’s have her at my party!’ It was Helena.
Her mother worked hard to hide her startle; her stage smile looked well-practised.
‘We’d be the first to have her at a party, Mother. Please?’ the daughter implored. ‘And Rachel, it is Rachel, right?’
Raya nodded.
‘It’s for my sixteenth birthday. There’ll be henna tattoos and women to do our make-up. There’ll be dancers, jugglers, musicians, the most amazing food and of course all the girls can use the hammam there,’ Helena said. The girl was trying to convince Raya to come to HER party?
Surely the world had turned upside down. But here she wasn’t the outsider Goth foster girl with an attitude – the type other kids’ mothers warned against. She wondered for a split second how different her life might have been if she’d played it differently. Surely it couldn’t be that simple.
‘Well, I don’t see why not,’ Mrs Karatay changed her mind, obviously one with a good nose for self-preservation and status.
Popular – so this is what it felt like.
* * *
After surveying Raya as though she was a wall in need of painting, Mrs Karatay insisted they treat her to a new outfit for the party. Raya played along that this was mere generosity and not a comment on her wardrobe. They hurried into the bazaar with Oscar trotting next to Raya. As time was getting tight now, she needed to find Musta and carry on with her day’s assignments, she agreed to the third dress they suggested – she didn’t want to seem too compliant. A filmy gold affair with lots of beads and brocade. Amazing, but not Raya’s usual sort of thing. Certainly wouldn’t go with Doc Martens.
Then they stopped at a shoe sellers and there they were. The leather was as soft as the yellow colour was buttery – the wonderful shoes she’d seen on her first day.
Without hesitation, Mrs Karatay signalled to the seller that she wanted three pairs, one for each of them. Wow, these were those people who SO didn’t have to think about money.
‘Of course, madam. Three pairs of the yellow shoes for you three good Muslim women,’ the seller said and raised an eyebrow at Mrs Karatay. She nodded, and he went to the back of his stall.
Raya gave Helena a questioning look. Helena whispered, ‘You’re supposed to be Muslim to wear yellow shoes, but no one really cares. The seller’s just covering his butt.’
‘Helena, please,’ Mrs Karatay said, as though her daughter had made some bodily noise in public.
She agreed to meet them in front of a particular fountain the next day before the party. They offered to keep the new clothes and shoes for her, which was perfect. That way Raya wouldn’t need to explain anything to Bryony. She thanked them and hurried to Musta’s usual coffee house, Oscar running behind her.
Raya hovered at the entrance, with no time for readings there today she didn’t want to go in – respecting the no working woman thing. Musta could see she was distracted and excited, but she put it off on getting all this support around her learning to transport. She could see he didn’t believe it, but he didn’t pry either. She wondered if this is what it was like to have a real uncle. He warned her from getting too caught up in the excitement of being here.
‘Be careful, Rachel. It is dangerous to fall in love with any place, the one where you’re born, or one you choose. There are good AND bad things about every place and everyone.’ He looked hard at Raya. ‘Don’t get too carried away too soon. You have plenty of time.’ Adults were always telling young people ‘not to rush’ and to take their time. She didn’t know what he was on about. Everything was lovely and people seemed really good to each other. Whatever his motivation, he seemed genuine and earnest. And for all of everyone’s affection and kindness she was grateful.
‘Thank you, Uncle Musta. I do appreciate everything you have all done for me. But I need to get back to the han. My auntie wants me to do some more studying after my transport practice.’ Musta wanted to see her actually leave, transport, but then another man at the coffee house called him over, to resolve some argument about politics. She waved goodbye and skittered away, bidding Oscar to follow. She found an empty alleyway between two buildings, hugged the cat, imagined the han and without any problems, popped them both back ‘home’.
‘You’re late,’ were Bryony’s first words. Raya landed back in their room as was her aim. Bryony was gathering her few things together. She looked resigned and defeated. Oscar excused himself to check out what the cat ladies might be serving up.
‘What’s going on?’ Raya asked.
‘Macide’s giving me my own room.’
As odd as it was at first to be living wit
h your social worker, she’d got used to it. This felt crummy.
‘Did I do something?’ It came out meeker than she intended.
Bryony stopped what she was doing for a moment and looked at her. ‘You really have to ask that?’ her tone was sour, but she immediately looked sorry and said so. ‘It was Macide’s idea. She could see there’s tension between us, and anyway, if I’m going to have to… to make a life here, I might as well get on with it.’
Raya picked at a tassel on a pillow. ‘I’m sorry I’m late,’ but she meant she was sorry for everything – for getting them all in this mess. ‘I bumped into that mother-daughter pair I insulted the first day, and we kind of made up.’ Raya found that partial truths often made for the best lies.
Bryony plunked down on what had been her bed. ‘Well how did that go? And how did your transporting go today? Abbas said things seemed to go pretty well as far as he knew.’ She was back to normal Bryony mode. Raya exhaled a private sigh.
She spun a version of her day, underscoring that she did transport successfully and on purpose (leaving out that this was to the baths… again), and omitting her agreement to go to the Karatays’s party and do a few readings – as a sought after guest of honour. No need to rub it in. She was glad Oscar was out, in case he might have reneged on his oath of silence. But she couldn’t see how holding herself back would do any good for anyone, here or in twenty-first century London. Raya wondered if it was hard for Bryony to see a young witch like herself excel so quickly. She couldn’t wait until tomorrow.
The next day, Raya went through her practice transports at the han, with and without Oscar.
‘Take me!’ Abbas meant it, his playful eyes gleaming.
Raya choked on her own saliva. ‘Oh no, I couldn’t. I mean, I’d be too worried something might go wrong – I’d never forgive myself.’ This was the truth. His face fell.
‘Then promise to take me before you take Kâtip Çelebi? I know he’ll ask.’
‘Promise.’
When it was time to leave, she imagined the bazaar and the particular fountain where she was to meet the Karatays. She slowed her breathing, relaxed, but nothing. She tried again, bringing up the smells and sounds and the sights, but again – nothing. She opened her eyes to Abbas and Macide’s expectant faces. She would have excused herself to try from the privacy of her room, but she knew Abbas was doing the ‘lift-off’ observations for Musta’s study, and Macide could talk of nothing else but wanting to see for herself after Abbas’s description yesterday. This was all starting to feel a bit much – all this doting attention.
‘Hey, you were liking it before. This is part of the package,’ Oscar told her.
Oscar was right of course, she couldn’t let a little love put her off her game. Transporting all three of them back home would be a lot harder than this. So she tried again, imagined the spot where they were to meet, imagined Mrs Karatay and Helena, heard them gossiping, then BAM – she was there.
Raya held Oscar while she looked for Helena and Mrs Karatay, and after what felt like a long time she saw them walking away from the fountain through the bazaar. Raya rushed up to them like an excited puppy. Mrs Karatay acknowledged her, but seemed bored and impatient. She hurried the girls along, out through a stone arch.
‘Why did you bring your cat? Does he help with the readings?’ Helena asked as they walked as fast as their skirts would allow.
‘Yes, he does – he keeps away the bad spirits.’ Raya was relieved to have an easy answer – she hadn’t been sure how to explain bringing Oscar along.
A two-horse carriage was waiting for them in the next street and as Mrs Karatay ushered them inside, Helena jabbered away about the people she expected at the party and gossiped about them.
By this time, they’d reached the banks of what looked like a very wide river.
‘I don’t know about this, Raya. Why don’t I wait for you some place?’ Oscar grumbled. She held the cat firmly.
‘I thought you liked water – remember the baths?’
The cat huffed, ‘Um, yeah – the baths and the Bosphorus are just a TAD different, don’t you think?’
‘Oh, don’t look. Here, I’ll cover your eyes,’ She tucked his head under her arm. He dug his claws in, through her dress. She was glad it wasn’t the fancy one they bought for her yesterday.
They were helped down the steep staircase to the bank by a man in short billowy trousers, cuffed below the knee, wearing a waistcoat but no shirt. Bobbing on the water was a large, ornately painted rowboat. The man who had helped them down the stairs leapt into the boat like a graceful frog and joined another man already in it. Both men were young, tanned, bearded and, of course, turbaned. Their well-muscled arms made long, even strokes that sped them across the water.
‘So this is the Bosphorus Strait?’ Raya asked. The mother and girl nodded. Wow, that really would be something to fly over this on wings you made yourself. It had to be more than a mile wide. It was brimming with wooden boats of all shapes and sizes.
Some of the small boats looked a little weather worn, stacked with piles of fish. And then there were the big boats, huge and beautiful with sails as tall as buildings. Men were crawling all over them. It must have been hard work making those ships sail by the way they ran around, yelling, climbing, and pulling on the ropes.
The men in their boat took sudden, hard strokes backwards, bringing the vessel to a halt. One of the big sailing ships skimmed past, leaning towards them. Raya gasped, thinking it might tip over. Waves smacked the side of their boat, rocking it each time. Raya grabbed the side. The others laughed. ‘That’s not kind,’ Helena said, ‘None of us can help where we’ve come from.’
‘Biatch,’ Oscar said. Raya squeezed him hard, even though no one else could hear him.
* * *
They moored on the other side of the Bosphorus where they got off onto a wooden platform. They ascended steps to the top of the bank. Helena and her mother marched up, chatting away. Raya squinted and shielded her eyes against the incessant sun. There were two monumental, gracious wooden buildings. They were largely square, reaching out over the banks on stilts, with peaked roofs. Large windows lined the walls. The views must be stunning. The entrances were on the inland sides with paths leading out and lush gardens beyond. They looked like two posh hotels. One of the men encouraged her up the steps, a bit unbalanced holding Oscar, while the other tied up the boat. The Karatays and Raya headed to the building to their left and entered a doorway on the side away from the Bosphorus.
It was much cooler inside. Her eyes adjusted as they reached the end of the short, arched entryway. In front of her was an amazing room, some sort of grand lobby. Oscar scrabbled against her hold.
‘You can let him down if you like. I trust he knows how to behave?’ Mrs Karatay said.
‘Thank you, Mrs Karatay.’ Then to Oscar she said, ‘Stick around except for going to the loo, OK? No looking for kedi et around here. There’s going to be plenty of food, I’ll get you stuff – deal?’ He agreed, almost as gobsmacked with the surroundings as the young witch was. It was heaps nicer than anything she’d ever seen, but then again, she’d only ever been to a Travelodge once with her nan.
It was a huge space with alcoves that led off the main room. The walls were lined with sumptuous couches in wonderful greens and purples, with deep red cushions all along. There was gold braid on the edges of everything.
Above the couches were gigantic windows, giving you views of the magical gardens, the Bosphorus and Istanbul beyond. Above the windows the walls were covered by gilded panels painted in geometric patterns. Raya craned her neck, her mouth open. Above the panels was an equally exquisite ceiling with a dome in the middle. Even the hammam, as beautiful as it was, paled next to this.
Helena sniggered at Raya’s sense of wonder.
‘Now, Helena,’ her mother said, sounding bored. ‘Don’t be rude. You don’t remember the first time you saw the divanhane. You were just a baby.’
‘So you c
ome here a lot? Is that the name of this hotel? Maybe I could show my auntie sometime,’ Raya said.
This brought more giggles from Helena. ‘It’s not a hotel. It’s our house,’ she said.
‘Actually, it’s our summer home, that’s what divanhane means,’ Mrs Karatay said. Then she excused herself to see to the party preparations, but not before reminding the girls to have their baths now, before the guests arrived.
‘I’ll be here,’ Oscar told her and hopped onto one of the couches.
After their luxurious baths, complete with staff to scrub them, Helena went to her room to get dressed. A servant showed Raya to a guest room. There, the new dress and the long-coveted yellow shoes were waiting. The dress was a matching gold colour with small beads and embroidery at the neck, hem and sleeves. Over this was a long, sheer over-dress of the same colour that opened in the front and was edged with a wide band of gold brocade. No veils or headscarves would be needed because there would only be girls, of course.
‘Why’s that?’ Raya had asked when the servant told her this. The servant was a bit impatient with Raya’s lack of knowledge. She answered by nodding out the window, towards the other building. ‘That’s the haremlik over there for the men; and this is the selamlik, for the ladies.’
* * *
The party was marvellous. There must have been at least three hundred guests, all girls with their mothers, aunties or grandmothers; a noisy, happy, colourful, bejewelled and perfumed bunch. Servants brought endless trays heaped with the most amazing food, both savoury and sweet. They circulated with the sherbet, coffee, tea and juices. Musicians played throughout, sometimes with a singer. The girls danced when there weren’t professional dancers for them to watch. There were jugglers and clowns as well.
Raya was given a special table covered with a beautiful cloth. They’d made a sign that stretched between two poles behind where she sat, presumably saying Rachel of London, but it was in Arabic, which she couldn’t read. She hadn’t realised she would be doing quite so many readings. She needed a break. But the staff told her she’d only be allowed ten minutes.