The Silence of Scheherazade Page 17

  Edith squirmed. Silence hovered over the women’s quarters of the house on Bulbul Street like a cloud in the sky. Seeing the trace of a smile on her visitor’s face, Sumbul took a deep breath.

  Just then, her elder son, Cengiz, burst in. ‘Mother! Mother! Granddad has woken up!’

  His shaven blonde head was huge, his eyes as round as Muscat grapes.

  In the room there was a flurry of activity. Mujgan and her daughters embraced. Aunt Makbule grasped her beads and murmured a prayer. Edith stood up, then sat down again.

  Sumbul pulled Cengiz to her breast and kissed him. Her son was enjoying being able to move comfortably between the two parts of the house. ‘I’ve come from downstairs,’ he bragged. ‘Great-Aunt, Grandfather has woken up.’

  ‘Why are you shouting so much, son? I am not deaf. I am able to hear, thank the good Lord. Stand up properly when you’re speaking.’

  Keeping one hand on Sumbul’s purple velvet skirt, Cengiz directed his grape-like eyes at each woman in turn.

  ‘The infidel doctor came with a great big black bag full of instruments and tools. There was a knife, a saw… I even spotted a razor blade. Then there were some things made out of beeswax. And brown bottles like Auntie Aybatan’s. The doctor drew out some elixir with an injector and a needle. Then he stuck the needle into Granddad’s arm and injected all the elixir into his skin. The needle was this big’ – he demonstrated with his fingers – ‘but Granddad didn’t make a single sound.’

  Little Dogan raced over from the edge of the room and jumped onto Sumbul’s lap. Munevver and Neriman, sitting on cushions beside the samovar in order to see Edith more clearly, laughed.

  ‘There was this big tool like a hammer. He hit Granddad’s knees with that. Then he took out something else and listened to his lungs and heart with that. He raised his eyelids, opened his mouth. I held the torch when he looked down his throat. Then he—’

  Suddenly, as if he’d forgotten what he wanted to say, he stopped and looked at Edith.

  ‘Cengiz, what happened? For God’s sake, speak up,’ Mujgan said.

  ‘Cengiz, son, Dr Agop gave your grandfather an injection. Then what happened?’

  ‘Nothing,’ the boy said absently. But it was unclear to what he was referring. He pulled on Sumbul’s purple skirt. ‘Mummy?’

  ‘Son, do not stare at our guest like that. You are behaving rudely. Look, if you won’t speak, we’ll send Dogan downstairs, get him to tell us what’s happening.’

  Cengiz looked worriedly at his mother.

  ‘What did Dr Agop do to your grandfather?’

  ‘He did… uh… He hit him really hard.’

  ‘The devil!’

  Mujgan took off her slipper and waved it at Dogan.

  ‘The infidel doctor slapped Granddad a few times. Granddad’s cheeks turned the colour of a rosebud. We all saw it. The he woke up. At first he said something confusing. Dr Agop explained that it was normal for him to sound like he was talking in his sleep. He was just waking up, he said. But he said… uh…’

  ‘What did he say?’

  Cengiz was enjoying knowing that all the women’s eyes were on him. Keeping his silence, he made the most of his newly discovered power. In the meantime, he gave Edith an appraising look.

  ‘This son of yours tests a person’s soul, Sumbul! Speak up, boy!’

  ‘He said… uh… that Granddad might not be able to remember certain things.’

  ‘What kind of things would that be?’

  Edith spoke for the first time. ‘Hafiza kaybi? Memory loss?’

  They all turned and looked at her, as if her knowing such terminology in Turkish was a cause for worry. What should she have done?

  ‘I’ve heard that being struck on the head can lead to partial memory loss,’ she murmured.

  ‘Yeah, the infidel doctor said it could be that,’ said Cengiz. ‘Mummy, who is this European woman?’

  ‘Shhh. Hold your tongue.’

  A short while later, Ziver’s curly black head appeared at the bottom of the stairs. He still wasn’t wearing his fez. Kosta was waiting for Edith in the hall downstairs. As it was inappropriate for a woman to enter the men’s quarters, Edith was not able to see Mustafa, but she met Dr Agop at the door. The doctor was a small man with a large nose and a bald head. When he saw Edith, he bowed and kissed her hand.

  ‘Mademoiselle Lamarck, for a lady like you to venture all the way here on such a day requires true courage. I will definitely not allow you to return home by yourself. I will accompany you there.’

  It was obvious that he didn’t know about the motor car, but if they walked together to where she had parked it, Edith would be able to gather detailed information about Mustafa’s condition. She had taken Dr Agop’s arm and was going into the garden when Sumbul ran downstairs with Dogan in her arms and the purple cloak that was so becoming on her swirling behind her. Reaching their sides, she said, ‘Lady, Edith, you are so kind, so thoughtful. To come all the way here, especially on such a day, shows great courtesy, and courage too, of course. Certainly, when my father-in-law hears of it, he will be most grateful. As a family we are all very thankful to you.’

  Edith mumbled some words, then leaned into Kosta’s ear and requested that he run down to Ali’s sister’s house on one of the lower streets to check that they were safe and ask if they were in need of anything. Years before, she had once knocked on Saadet’s door to ask about Ali, who had vanished into thin air. Saadet had shouted at her, ‘You infidels made my brother a plaything then threw him away!’, and chased her all the way to the cemetery. For hours afterwards, tears had streamed down young Edith’s cheeks. It was on that day, as she cried there beside a mossy tombstone, that she realized that her mother had had a hand in Ali’s disappearance.

  Sumbul looked deeply into Edith’s eyes, hoping in vain to be invited to the house on Vasili Street for tea or coffee. But the Levantine woman seemed distracted. Sumbul was only able to hear her say in the butler’s ear, ‘Be sure to tell her Edward sent you.’ Then she stroked Dogan’s chin, took Dr Agop’s arm as far as the bakery on the corner, left him, and walked towards her motor car, vanishing from sight. She didn’t notice Sumbul’s downcast face, as she watched Edith from behind, in her purple cloak.

  This was the first and last time that Sumbul saw Edith.

  And then she went and hanged herself, my darling Sumbul, before she could learn that for years she had nourished under her roof the true daughter of this Levantine woman, the star of Gypsy Yasemin’s stories, whom she had so adored.

  What a shame.

  Such a great shame.

  Part III

  BORROWED TIME

  Insistence

  ‘Dear Mama, look, this is where we’ll be getting the boat from – right here. It’s not some stranger’s boat, it’s Niko’s father’s. And I swear I’ll be back before midnight. You won’t have to worry about me the tiniest bit. All my friends from the neighbourhood are going. If you want, you can ask Uncle Christo – his grandchildren are going. We’ll all go together and come back together. Okay? Manoula mou, dear Mama, please, I beg you. Se parakalo. Please!’

  ‘We’ve arrived now. Let’s get down,’ said Katina in answer. The horse tram had stopped in front of the Sporting Club. With baskets on their arms, mother and daughter got off. Panagiota’s face was tanned from the sun, her lips were burned and her long black hair was white with salt.

  ‘Let’s go over there and drink a lemonade – what do you say, my beautiful daughter?’

  ‘I’m not interested in doing anything until you say you’ll give me permission.’

  For almost two weeks, Panagiota had been trying to convince Katina to let her go with her friends to the fairgrounds at Agia Triada. First she had shouted and stomped. When that didn’t work, she tried reasoning. When that didn’t work either, she shut herself in her room and declared she would eat nothing all day long. Today she had left the house for the first time, but she still hadn’t given up.

 
‘Daughter, where did the idea to get in a rowing boat and go to Agia Triada come from? You’re only children. From the dock, it would take an hour of rowing to get there. At your age, how can you think of going on a moonlit outing without having an adult along?’

  Panagiota rolled her eyes. She would soon be entering her fifteenth year. Some of the friends going to the fair, for example Stavros, were seventeen already. But reminding her mother at this critical moment that Stavros would be coming with them could be dangerous. Her eyes filled with tears. Adriana’s mother and Elpiniki’s mother had both given permission, and they were the same age as Panagiota, but there was no point reminding Katina of this, for her answer was always the same. Those mothers had many other children to busy themselves with, whereas Panagiota was the only one, her mother’s treasure, her soul, her heart. If something should happen to her, what would her dear mother and her elderly father do?

  ‘If you don’t want a lemonade, carry the basket and walk in front.’

  ‘What? We’re going to walk home from here? It’s so hot. Why did we get off the tram so far away?’

  ‘We’ll stop at the pharmacy first. Your neck and face are bright red. We’ll get Fotini to prepare some cream for you. Ah, paidi mou, my child! You’re a big girl, vre, but your head is still in the clouds. You don’t even know how to protect yourself from the sun and you up and ask to go on a moonlight outing!’

  Dragging her feet behind her mother, Panagiota and Katina turned into Alambra Street, known to everyone as Limanaki, the little port. The schools had just closed and the sunbathing season had begun, but the heat was driving people crazy.

  ‘At least after the pharmacy let’s get a carriage.’

  ‘Aah, what a lot of bargaining, Panagiota. We don’t have the means to take a carriage for a fifteen-minute walk. The breeze will pick up soon and we’ll be able to enjoy the cool evening air. I must buy some pickling salt from Marko. When we get home, you can pour cool water over yourself – you’re covered in sea salt. This year it ends, daughter – this dipping in and out of the sea. When we go to the beach, you must wear your hat and sit with us on the terrace. You’re old enough to be a bride.’

  ‘Old enough to be a bride but not old enough to go to the fair with my friends, is that right?’

  Katina hurried forwards on her short legs, looking at the ground as she spoke. ‘Daughter, the issue is not the fair. If you wish to go to the fair, let us take you there and leave you. You can wander around with your friends, we can enjoy the fresh air, and then we can return home together. But you are saying you must go by rowing boat; these are the habits of a big spender.’

  As they reached the old plane tree in Fasoula Square, the rising wind interrupted their conversation for a moment and dried the sweat on Panagiota’s forehead. One of the butchers was leaning over the chopping board in front of him, beating meat for stew. An old uncle sitting at a coffeehouse table under the plane tree tipped his hat to them in greeting. This was the pharmacist Yakoumi. He was wearing a dark green suit with beige stripes and had a straw hat on his head. He had hung his jacket and his walking cane over the back of his chair and was sitting by himself.

  Slipping between the horses and carts, Katina pulled Panagiota over to his table. ‘Kalispera, good afternoon, Kyr Yakoumi. How are you?’

  ‘Kalispera, daughter Katina. Thank you, I am well. And you? How is your husband, Prodromakis? I see our little lady has grown tall, praise God.’

  ‘Thank you, Kyr Yakoumi.’

  Katina glared at Panagiota. The stubborn little donkey had her head down and was staring at her sandy shoes out of the corner of her eye.

  ‘We are getting by, thank goodness. We’re on our way to your shop actually. “Let’s go and see Fotini,” we said.’

  ‘Of course. Fotini is at the shop. She’ll be happy to see you.’ Picking up the folded newspaper on the table, he began to fan his wrinkled face. ‘The heat has begun early this year. We’ll be boiling in the summer.’

  ‘It seems so.’

  Panagiota shifted her weight from one foot to the other. What empty talk! The elderly pharmacist opened the newspaper he’d been fanning himself with and pointed to a news item on the front page. ‘The army is again calling for volunteers. They’re going to end up taking all the boys.’

  Panagiota felt herself grow tense. She was always nervous when the subject of war, the army or military service was brought up in her mother’s presence. As if she herself were responsible for Katina’s emotional state and should prevent any subject that might upset her from being mentioned.

  Katina, oblivious of the storm about to burst inside her daughter, smiled as if to calm the old man. ‘I do not think so, Kyr Yakoumi. There are so many volunteering to go. Particularly after Metropolitan Bishop Chrysostomos made that speech in the spring, thousands of young men went and volunteered for the army. Won’t that be enough?’

  ‘It might not be enough, my daughter. Fotini’s son will turn eighteen next year. If this situation continues, God help us, we will look into taking Italian citizenship. May God prevent it from turning into a serious war.’

  Katina was confused. ‘Are you afraid that those with Ottoman citizenship will be forced to join the Greek army? Is such a thing possible?’

  The old man took a handkerchief from the pocket of his waistcoat and wiped away the sweat that had gathered under his hat. ‘We are in such times, Katina mou, that anything is possible. Those who lead us are saying that all men between the ages of eighteen and fifty should undergo military training in the mornings and evenings. If this situation continues, they will even send me to the front, regardless of my age and white hair.’

  There was silence. All around them, people were anxiously rushing by. Panagiota breathed in. Everywhere you heard talk of politics, of Venizelos, of the Paris peace talks, of whether or not Smyrna would be annexed to Greece. It had been a year since the Greek army had taken over the administration of the city and life had still not become properly settled again. Now they were rounding up soldiers from among the Ottoman Greeks of Asia Minor in order to protect the borders. She thought of Stavros and her mouth went dry. How many days was it since he’d disappeared from sight?

  ‘Please, let me not delay you further, Katina mou. I see the little lady has become bored.’

  Katina turned and looked crossly at Panagiota. Bidding the old man goodbye, they set off for the pharmacy. Just as they were about to enter the shop, a breeze blew Panagiota’s skirt up. Without taking their lips off their hookah pipes, the men in the coffeehouse looked sideways at the girl’s exposed calves. Katina grabbed her daughter’s arm and pushed her into the shop.

  The white curtains of the pharmacy windows overlooking the square were drawn to keep out the sun; inside, they were greeted with scented coolness. Since her childhood, old Yakoumi’s shop had aroused a mixture of fear and pleasure in Panagiota. The aromas emanating from the brown bottles lined up behind the counter – lavender, lemon, coconut oil, alcohol – were like doors into a mysterious universe. For a moment she forgot the struggle for the fair and approached the counter with curiosity. Fotini was about the same age as her mother, beautiful, with pale skin, honey-coloured eyes, and hair the colour of polished brass. She smiled as mother and daughter entered the shop.

  ‘Geia sas, ladies. Greetings! I see the sunbathing season has begun. Where have you come from – the Eden Baths in Punta?’

  ‘Geia sou, Fotini. Of course, we’ve not come from Punta. What business would we have there? We went to Karatash. They’ve refurnished the terrace, put out more chaises longues. It’s not bad. Next time you should come with us.’

  ‘Hopefully, Katina mou. Makari.’

  ‘Yes, that’s where we’ve been, and look how sunburned this daughter is! While I was sitting on the terrace, she dived into the open sea and swam all the way over to the men’s side. I swear, even I was barely able to save her from that fat-assed baths manager, Nesibe. Because of her so brazenly showing herself to the boys, they
were almost going to ban us from the Karatash Baths. Meanwhile, of course, her neck and face are all burned.’

  Fotini looked lovingly at Panagiota’s sweaty pink cheeks and sparkling black eyes. She spent all day in the back room of the pharmacy she ran with her father preparing creams, elixirs and oils to beautify women. The dream of the women who came to her was to regain the radiance of a fifteen-year-old. Seeing the source of that radiance that no cream could produce right in front of her always gave Fotini joy. Pretending to scold, she said, ‘Ah Panagiota mou, what did you do, my beauty? Why didn’t you sit under your parasol? If that beautiful skin turns brown, no one will want you, darling.’

  Then, seeing Panagiota’s face fall, she added, ‘I’m just joking, dear. You don’t seem very happy today – you’re pouting.’

  Panagiota’s eyes filled with tears. Someone else recognizing her sadness made her feel her mother’s insensitivity even more. In a voice that was almost inaudible, she answered, ‘It’s nothing.’

  Katina made a dismissive gesture with her hand to the pharmacist. While waiting for the cream to be prepared in a glass mortar, they drank the cherry sherbet Fotini had offered them in the cool, dimly lit pharmacy. Neither of them said a word.

  Panagiota was sick and tired of hearing the same thing! She was a miracle, God’s blessing, her mother’s treasure. She wished she weren’t. If only she could have been like Adriana, the fifth child of eight. If only her father went from tavern to tavern playing the baglama, the traditional stringed musical instrument, and her mother was a washerwoman. If only no one cared about her and there was no ‘miracle’ burden on her shoulders. If only… If only, instead of a mother who was so afraid of losing her, she had a mother who got her name mixed up in a crowd of children.