“My dearest Shekure； I cannot open the door either；” I said。 “You know as
well as I that this would mean I’ve meddled in your affairs。 They’d bitterly
avenge such meddling。”
I could see from her eyes that she understood。 “Then no one will open the
door；” she said。 “Let’s wait for them to break it down and take us by force。”
I knew at once this would be the best alternative for Shekure and her
children； and I was afraid。 “But that means blood will be spilled；” I said。 “If the
judge isn’t involved in this affair； blood will flow； and a blood feud will last for
years。 No honorable man could stand by and watch as his house was broken
into and raided to abduct a woman residing there。”
I once again understood regretfully how deceptive and calculating this
Shekure was as she embraced her two boys and wailed with all her being
rather than answer。 A voice was telling me to forget everything and leave； but I
could no longer walk back through the door； which was being battered to the
breaking point。 Actually； I was afraid of both what would happen if they broke
down the door and came through and what would happen if they didn’t； I
kept thinking that Black’s men； who trusted in me； were worried about going
too far and might retreat at any moment； which would； in turn； embolden the
father…in…law。 When he went to Shekure’s side； I knew he’d begun to cry fake
tears； but what’s worse； he was trembling in a way that couldn’t be feigned。
Stepping toward the door； I screamed with all my strength； “Stop； that’s
enough！”
The motion outside and the wailing inside ended in a heartbeat。
“Mother； have Orhan open the door；” I said in a moment of inspiration and
in a sweet voice； as if I were speaking to the boy。 “He wants to go home； no
one will take issue with that。”
The words had hardly left my mouth when Orhan freed himself from his
mother’s loosening arms； and like somebody who’d lived here for years； slid
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open the bolt； lifted the wooden bar； then unfastened the latch； and moved
backward two steps。 The cold from outside entered as the door yawned open。
There was such a silence that all of us heard a lazy dog bark off in the distance。
Shekure kissed Orhan； who was back in his mother’s lap； and Shevket said；
“I’m going to tell Uncle Hasan。”
I saw Shekure stand； take up her cloak and prepare her bundle to leave； and
I was so greatly relieved； I was afraid I might laugh。 I seated myself and had
two more spoonfuls of the lentil soup。
Black was intelligent enough not to e anywhere near the door of the
house。 For a time； Shevket locked himself in his late father’s room； and even
though we called for Black’s help； neither he nor his men came。 After Shekure
agreed to let Shevket take along his Uncle Hasan’s ruby…handled dagger； the
boy was willing to leave the house with us。
“Be afraid of Hasan and his red sword；” said the father…in…law with genuine
worry rather than an air of defeat and vengeance。 He kissed each of his
grandchildren； sniffing their heads。 He also whispered into Shekure’s ear。
When I saw Shekure gazing one last time at the door； walls and stove of the
house； I remembered once again how this was where she spent the happiest
years of her life with her first husband。 But could she also tell that this same
house was the refuge of two miserable and lonely men； and that it bore the
stench of death？ I didn’t walk with her on the way back for she had broken my
heart by ing back here。
It wasn’t the cold and blackness of the night that brought together the two
fatherless children and three women—one servant； one Jewess and one
widow—it was the strange neighborhoods； the nearly impassable streets and
the fear of Hasan。 Our crowded pany was under the protection of Black’s
men； and just like a caravan carrying treasure； we walked over out…of…the…way
roads； backstreets and solitary； seldom…visited neighborhoods； so as to avoid
running into guards； Janissaries； curious neighborhood thugs； thieves or
Hasan。 At times； through blackness in which you couldn’t see your hand
before your face； we groped our way； perpetually bumping against each other
and the walls。 We walked clinging to one another； overe by the sensation
that the living dead； jinns and demons would surely emerge from
underground and abduct us into the night。 Just behind the walls and closed
shutters； which we felt blindly with our hands； we heard the snoring and
coughing of people in the nighttime cold as well as the lowing of beasts in
their stables。
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Even Esther； no stranger to the poorest and worst districts； who’d walked
all the streets of Istanbul—that is excluding those neighborhoods wherein
migrants and the members of various unfortunate munities
congregated—occasionally felt that we would vanish on these streets； which
twisted and turned without end through an endless blackness。 Yet I could still
make out certain street corners that I’d patiently passed in the daytime toting
my satchel； for example； I recognized the walls of Head Tailor’s Street； the
sharp smell of manure—which for some reason reminded me of cinnamon—
ing from the stable adjacent to Nurullah Hoja’s property； the fire…ravaged
sites on Acrobats Street and the Falconers Arcade that led into the square with
the Blind Haji Fountain； and thus I knew we weren’t heading toward the
house of Shekure’s late father at all； but to some other； mysterious
destination。
There was no telling what Hasan would do if angered； and I knew Black had
found another place to hide his family from him—and from that devil of a
murderer。 If I could’ve made out where that place was； I would tell you； now；
and Hasan tomorrow morning—not out of spite； but because I’m convinced
that Shekure will again want to have Hasan’s interest。 But Black； intelligent as
he was； no longer trusted me。
We were walking down a dark street behind the slave market when a
motion of cries and wails erupted at the far end of the street。 We heard
the sounds of a scuffle； and I recognized with fear the clamorous start of a
fight： the clash of axes； swords and sticks and the bellow of bitter pain。
Black handed his own large sword to one of his most trusted men； forcibly
took the dagger from Shevket； causing the boy to cry； and had the barber’s
apprentice and two other men move Shekure； Hayriye and the children a safe
distance away。 The theology student told me he’d take me home by way of a
shortcut； that is； he didn’t let me stay with the others。 Was this a twist of fate
or some cunning attempt to keep secret the whereabouts of their hideout？
There was a shop； which I understood to be a coffeehouse； at the end of this
narrow street we were passing down。 Perhaps the swordfight stopped as soon
as it’d begun。 Crowds of men were hooting as they entered and left； at first I
thought they were looting； but no； they were destroying the coffeehouse。 They
carefully took out all of the ceramic cups； brass pots； glasses and low tables
under the light of the torches of the onlookers and destroyed them all as a
warning。 They roughed up a man who tried to stop them； but he was able to
get away。 Originally； I thought their target was only coffee； as they themselves
claimed。 They were condemning its ill effects； how it harmed the sight and the
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stomach； how it dulled the intellect and caused men to lose their faith； how it
was the poison of the Franks and how Exalted Muhammad had turned down
coffee even though it was offered to him by a beautiful woman—Satan in
disguise。 It was as if this were the theatrics for a night of instruction in moral
etiquette； and if I finally made it home； I thought I might even scold Nesim；
warning him not to drink too much of that poison。
Since there ing houses and cheap inns nearby； a
curious crowd formed in no time； made up of idle wanderers； homeless men
and no…good mongrels who’d snuck illegally into the city； and they
emboldened these enemies of coffee。 It was then I understood that these men
were the henchmen of Preacher Nusret Hoja of Erzurum。 They intended to
clean up all the dens of wine； prostitution and coffee in Istanbul and punish
severely those who veered from the path of Exalted Muhammad； those who；
for example； used dervish ceremonies as an excuse for belly…dancing to music。
They railed against the enemies of religion； men who collaborated with the
Devil； pagans； unbelievers and illustrators。 I suddenly recalled this was the
coffeehouse on whose walls drawings were hung； where religion and the hoja
from Erzurum were maligned and where disrespect knew no bounds。
A coffee maker’s apprentice； his face spattered with blood； emerged from
inside； and I thought he might collapse； but he wiped the blood from his
forehead and cheeks with the cuff of his shirt； melded in with our group and
began to watch the raid。 The crowd pulled back a little out of fear。 I noticed
Black recognize somebody and hesitate。 By the way the Erzurumis began to
collect together； I knew that the Janissaries or some other band armed with
clubs was on its way。 The torches were extinguished and the crowd became a
confused mob。
Black grabbed me by the arm and had the theology student take me away。
“Go by way of the backstreets；” he said。 “He’ll see you to your house。” The
student wanted to slip away as soon as possible and we were almost running
as we departed。 My thoughts were with Black； but if Esther’s taken out of the
scene； she can’t possibly continue with the story； can she now？
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I AM A WOMAN
I can hear your objections already： “My dear Storyteller Effendi； you might be
able to imitate anyone or anything； but never a woman！” Yet I beg to differ。
True； I’ve wandered from city to city； imitating everything into the wee hours
of the night at weddings； festivals and coffeehouses until my voice gave out；
and thus it was never my lot to marry； but this doesn’t mean I’m
unacquainted with womenfolk。
I know women quite well； in fact； I’ve known four personally； seen their
faces and spoken with them： 1。 my mother； may she rest in eternal peace； 2。
my beloved aunt； 3。 the wife of my brother （he always beat me）； who said “Get
out！” on one of those rare occasions when I saw her—she was the first woman
I fell in love with； and 4。 a lady I saw suddenly at an open window in Konya
during my travels。 Despite never having spoken with her； I’ve nursed feelings
of lust toward her for years and still do。 Perhaps； by