The Abyssinian Proof (9 page)

“Not yet, Huseyin, but you’ll be the first to know.”

Huseyin laughed too heartily and pounded Kamil on the shoulder. “Come and sit.” He pulled out a chair next to his.

The woman turned her head toward Feride and a smile appeared on his sister’s face. Kamil liked Elif already. He saw opposite him a delicate blond woman with chin-length hair and clear blue eyes. She looked tired and thin. The planes of her face were angular, her cheeks hollow, and there were deep circles under her eyes. She appeared to be in her late twenties, although her ordeal might have aged her. A small silk kerchief was pinned to the top of her head, almost as an afterthought, concealing little. Her face and hands were tanned like a peasant’s, but her neck was pale.

There was something intriguing and elusive about her. She wore no jewelry and her vest was unornamented. Even the kerchief on her head didn’t have the usual fringe. She was trembling. Kamil remembered what Feride had told him about the young woman’s experiences. He had heard stories about the fighting in the Balkans, some brutal beyond his imagining. He thought again of Marko’s childish face as he’d pulled the trigger. How much horror the boy must have seen to have met death so serenely.

Feride watched him, and he thought he saw an element of calculation enter her eyes.

“Kamil, this is Elif.” She turned to Elif, who sat with her eyes down, hands clasped tightly in her lap. “I’ve been telling Kamil about you.”

“I’m pleased to meet you, Elif Hanoum.”

Elif nodded her head in acknowledgment, but said nothing.

Servants bustled around the table, filling everyone’s bowls with fragrant leek soup. Kamil realized he was hungry.

“Watch out, Elif. Feride’s mission in life is to get her brother married off.” Huseyin pointed his spoon at Kamil. “You’re better off a bachelor. Wives are trouble.” He was already halfway through his soup.

Feride placed her hand briefly on Elif’s arm, then pretended to busy herself with her food.

Elif, Kamil noticed, was not eating. He caught her looking at him before her eyes slid away. “Elif Hanoum, Feride told me something about your tragedies and difficult journey. May the worst be over.”

Elif inclined her head, but still said nothing.

“It will be,” Huseyin grumbled, waving his spoon, “now that Macedonia has an Ottoman governor again. I don’t know how the Russians managed to grab it from us ten years ago, but I tell you, it won’t happen again. They’re like magpies, snatching territory here and there. Greater Bulgaria. What the hell is that, I ask you? It’s a good thing we got Macedonia back. Now at least there’s a chance it’ll become civilized. A slim chance.”

“I’m not so sure,” Kamil responded, thinking of Marko. “The Christians of Macedonia have tasted independence. It’s not surprising that they feel betrayed—by their own leaders, by the Russians who gave them back to us, and by the British who brokered the deal. One people’s just cause is another’s lost territory.”

“We gave them a Christian governor, for Allah’s sake. What more do they want?”

“They want control over their own land. They feel betrayed and now they’re attacking their Muslim neighbors. Have you seen the refugees in the streets?”

Huseyin nodded. “I’ve seen them, but I tell you the Christians are busy killing each other too. Take the Bulgarians. They had Macedonia for only the briefest moment, but to them, that still makes it part of Bulgaria. Now they cut out the tongue of anyone who even says the word Macedonia.”

Feride was puzzled. “But surely the Bulgarians are Christians.”

“Bravo, my dear. The Bulgarian Christian guerillas are fighting the Macedonian Christian militias. I say let them kill each other and save the governor the trouble.”

“How can you say that?” Elif cried out in an anguished voice. “You have no idea what it’s like there. Ordinary people are caught in the middle and slaughtered like sheep.”

“Couldn’t our army protect you?” Feride asked with concern.

Elif’s eyes flew up and met Kamil’s. In their blue depths he saw an ocean of grief. “The Ottoman army isn’t blameless,” she said softly.

“We should just give the province up.” Huseyin gestured to a servant to refill his raki glass. “We don’t have control over it anymore. It’s just a hole in our pocket.”

“You can’t let the province go now.” Elif’s voice was shrill. “Thousands of people would be killed.”

“What do I care about Christians who want to kill each other. Let them, I say.” He shrugged. “Whoever’s left can try to run things without our help. They’re so primitive, they wouldn’t know how to govern themselves. They’ll be barking in the trees like monkeys.” He chuckled, spearing a piece of meat. “Monkeys,” he repeated, shaking his head.

“You don’t understand, Huseyin. Most of the people don’t want to fight,” Elif insisted. “They’re ordinary people with families. All they want is peace.” She appealed to Kamil. “Our neighbors were Christians. Our children played together. When there’s someone to keep order, people do get along. You can’t just say, ‘We’ve had enough trouble,’ and walk away.”

“We wouldn’t abandon Macedonia without making sure there’s a government in place, Elif Hanoum,” Kamil said soothingly.

“Don’t be an ass, Kamil,” Huseyin interjected. “We’ve already gone. Look what happened to her.” He indicated Elif with his fork. “They shot her husband. There’s no law and order there. It’s a sham. So it’s better that we call it a sham and save ourselves the effort.”

Elif grimaced and pressed the palms of her hands against the table.

“What about the Muslim population?” Kamil countered. “We just abandon them to be slaughtered?”

“Well, let them join the Ottoman army or get out. They’re all coming here anyway.”

Elif sprang to her feet, swaying as if she might fall. Feride put her arm around her, but Elif pushed her away. She glared at them.

“You know the roads aren’t passable.” Tears ran down her cheeks. “There are bandits everywhere.”

Kamil remembered that her son had been killed on the road.

“Elif Hanoum,” Kamil began.

Feride reached out, but Elif shook her off again. “The empire has a duty to protect its citizens,” she said in a harsh voice.

Huseyin looked amused and waved his fork at her. “Sit down, Elif. Allah protect us. We have to be realistic.”

Before Kamil could object, Elif fled the room. Kamil noted with surprise that she was wearing men’s trousers and a loose white shirt under her brocaded vest. Feride followed her out.

Kamil stood, unsure what to do. Huseyin seemed not to notice.

“So, are you working on any interesting cases?” he asked, peering at Kamil over the rim of his raki glass.

“Why did you taunt that poor woman, Huseyin? Hasn’t she been through enough?”

Huseyin shrugged. “She’s got to get over it. It doesn’t do her any good, treating her like a victim. She arrived here half dead. I’m just helping to pull her back into life. Of course, it’s not going to be easy. You know, sometimes I think people prefer to sink in their well of misery. Everyone else runs around and does things for them. Nobody challenges them. They live in a fantasy world in which the only thing that counts is what happened to them. You see how she’s dressed. That’s how she arrived, dressed as a man. I suppose it helped her to get here, but it’s time she put on a skirt. I won’t let her out of the house in that getup. She’ll be arrested. Hell, we’d all be arrested. I don’t think her attitude is healthy and I won’t stand for it in my house. If she wants to be coddled, she can go elsewhere.”

Kamil sat back down and lit a cigarette, offering one to Huseyin. Much as he hated to admit it, what Huseyin said made a certain sense. “Give her time, Huseyin. Go too fast and your cure might kill her.”

Huseyin clicked his tongue. “She’s as tough as camel hide, Kamil.” He drew on his cigarette. “She’s a member of my family, and as you well know, we’re all tough bastards.” He grinned mischievously.

Feride came into the room and heard the last sentence. “That’s certainly true,” she agreed, prompting a guffaw from Huseyin.

Elif returned to the table. “I apologize,” she said softly to no one in particular.

The servants replaced the untouched food with plates of warm rice, lamb, and eggplant puree.

“Eat,” Huseyin ordered Elif.

For a while, the only sound was the clink of cutlery.

When he had eaten all he could, Kamil pushed his chair back. “You asked about my cases, Huseyin. I have a challenging one.” He told them about the antiquities thefts in the Old City and, to amuse Elif, he added the story of the policeman Ali’s discovery of a cistern beneath his house. She smiled when he described Ali fishing through his floorboards.

“So all these Byzantine structures are still there. What happened to the people?” she asked.

“They survived,” Huseyin explained dryly. “Mehmet the Conqueror allowed his soldiers three days of looting, and then there was peace. The Byzantines became Ottomans. End of story.”

“That’s horrible,” Feride exclaimed. “Why punish a population that has already surrendered?”

Huseyin shrugged. “That’s war. The Byzantines lost and that’s how armies paid their soldiers in those days. Anyway, it was only three days. After that, he built the empire we still have four hundred years later.” He swept his hand expansively around the room. “Civilization. You don’t know a thing about gardening, Feride, but let me tell you, the best roses bloom in shit.”

Feride ignored him and asked Kamil about Balat and Fatih, where she had never been. Kamil tried to describe the districts, leaving out the filthy streets and gangs of thieves.

“I would love to see those places,” Elif said, surprising everyone.

“Not in that outfit,” Huseyin growled.

“You could draw them,” Feride said with excitement. “I could come with you.” She turned to Kamil. “She’s a wonderful artist. You should see her drawings.”

“I’m not having my wife and cousin drag themselves like whores around the worst areas in the city,” Huseyin interrupted. “But Elif,” he pointed at her with his elbow, “no one can tell her anything.” He grinned. “Isn’t that right, Elif? The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. The rest of you might have come from monkeys, but our family is descended from a goat.” He laughed so hard, he nearly choked.

Feride hurried over and patted him on the back. “Definitely a goat, my dear,” she agreed, trying to smile.

“Where did you learn to draw?” Kamil asked Elif, sensing that this was a safe topic and one that might engage her.

“Paris. My family sent me there as a child when the troubles started. I lived with my aunt and uncle. Have you been to Paris, Kamil Pasha?”

“No, regrettably. I’ve been to London and Cambridge, but no further. I’d like to see more of Europe someday. Perhaps when you have the time you would consent to tell me more about Paris.”

“I’d be delighted. In exchange, you will tell me about the Old City?”

“Agreed.” Kamil could see Huseyin’s point about a stubborn streak. It had probably helped her survive.

Feride followed the exchange with a satisfied smile on her lips. Huseyin also observed them closely over his spoon of pudding, but said nothing.

“Show him your drawings, Elif,” Feride urged.

“They’re nothing special,” she demurred.

“Don’t be so modest. That’s not a family trait.” Huseyin turned to Kamil and said jovially, “If I say her drawings are good, I know you’ll believe me because I never say anything good about anyone.” He looked at Feride. “Isn’t that right, dear? Why don’t you go get them, Elif, and let Kamil have a look?”

“I’m sure he’s not interested,” Elif responded shyly.

“On the contrary, I’d be honored if you would share them with me.”

Elif rose from the table, but then just stood there. She had begun to tremble again almost imperceptibly.

Feride put a hand on her arm and said, “Sit, Elif, dear. I’ll go and get them.”

Elif nodded and sat back down, her face the color of chalk.

Huseyin caught Kamil’s eye and raised an eyebrow.

After Feride left, Huseyin pushed himself to his feet and led the way into a sitting area just off the dining room. A fire crackled in the fireplace.

“Join us, cousin,” he called to Elif. “It’s warmer in here.”

As Elif came around the table, Kamil saw she was barefoot. Her clothing was a striking combination of East and West, with no ornamentation at all beyond the carnelian-colored vest. Still, dressing as a man was unacceptable and dangerous for a woman. He understood his brother-in-law’s concern.

Huseyin cut the end from a cigar. “Whatever the evidence to the contrary, Elif, you’re still young and accommodating. Just wait till you bloom and then see how many thorns you have. Right, Kamil?” He took a couple of shallow puffs. “My brother-in-law is an expert on flowers.”

“Only orchids,” Kamil replied, smiling at Elif. “I like to read about them. I used to go on botanical expeditions. There are so many varieties of orchids in the empire, but you rarely hear about them. I have some rare specimens in my winter garden. Occasionally,” he added shyly, “I try to capture one on paper.”

“What medium?” She took a seat by Kamil’s side, crossing her legs, her bare foot arched like a Roman bridge.

Kamil could see her leg pulsing with each heartbeat.

Huseyin was in the chair opposite him, cigar clamped between his lips, engrossed in a newspaper.

“Pardon?” Kamil asked Elif.

“Watercolor? Paint? Charcoal?”

“Watercolor mostly. I like watercolor because the delicacy of tone and transparency of the color allows me to capture those qualities in the flower.”

They talked in this way for a few minutes before Feride returned and laid a battered binder on the side table.

They gathered around the table, watching as Elif paged through the drawings and watercolors one by one. “This is all I managed to save,” she explained.

Rather than the usual facsimiles of life through detail, the landscapes pulsed with shape and motion brought alive by color. They reminded Kamil of the French Impressionists. He had seen several of Monsieur Monet’s feverish and intensely colored paintings in the London drawing room of a wealthy Ottoman collector. These were easily as good. There were also studies of a young boy’s head, some quick sketches, others more detailed, showing his delicate lashes and the seashell of his ear.