The Stone Woman (27 page)

She did not laugh as I had hoped. She smiled. “Go to bed now, child. You’re very tired.”

“N
O, IT WAS NOT
as you say, Iskander.”

We were still at the breakfast table and the three brothers who, I had to remember, had not been around the same table since their father’s death nearly thirty years ago, were dominating the conversation. Petrossian stood in the corner, listening to every word and permitting the odd smile to lighten his face.

My father had just suggested that Uncle Kemal had been such a self-sufficient and solitary person even as a child that their father had been impressed and thought he might become a great thinker or philosopher. Kemal Pasha denied this assertion. “I suppose that was one possible interpretation. The reality was otherwise. I learnt to depend on myself from an early age not because I was morose or preferred my own company, but because Memed and you demanded so much attention from everyone all the time. I remember our mother saying to me on one occasion how nice it would have been if I had been born a girl, so that she could have dressed me in her clothes and jewellery. It was her way of wishing she had paid me more attention.”

Memed smiled affectionately. “My memory is somewhat different. I remember being reprimanded quite severely for ignoring you. Father once asked me whether I was jealous of your arrival. The question bemused me and he must have seen that on my face. He explained that the property, apart from this house, which thanks to Yusuf Pasha’s insistence could only be inherited by the oldest son, would now have to be divided three ways. I think Father did not believe it when I said the thought had never occurred to me. I suppose when he was growing up these questions dominated discussion in their household and the arrival of every new son was greeted by the elder brother as a catastrophe.”

“That may all be true, Memed,” said Kemal, “but the fact remains that you and Iskander left me no other option but to amuse myself. What was really irritating was that your self-importance had infected the servants as well. Petrossian was devoted to Iskander and accompanied him everywhere. Isn’t that the case, Petrossian? Well, answer me, man.”

Everyone’s gaze shifted to the old man with the red beard who stood near the door. He did not answer.

“Please answer him, Petrossian,” my father pleaded. “Otherwise your silence will count against us in the ledger he has been preparing for twenty years.”

Petrossian smiled. “I was ordered by the master to make sure that Iskander Aga did not get into trouble. They were always worried for him. He was considered very impulsive. That is why I went with him everywhere.”

Kemal was not impressed. “He only replied because Iskander asked him to do so. All of you have witnessed it. Nothing changes. I have no doubt that Father gave him the instructions, but so what? It doesn’t change anything as far as I’m concerned. Hasan Baba, bless him, shaved Memed and cut his hair with such delicacy that from a distance it seemed as if he were painting a portrait. With me it was always in a hurry. I was a permanent afterthought in this family.”

My father burst out laughing. “I’m so glad you’re here, Kemal. We hear of your amazing life from people who have run into you in the strangest parts of the world. Welcome home.”

Kemal Pasha softened. “It is nice to be here, but let me get the last complaint off my chest. It has burdened me a long time. Have I your permission, sister Hatije?”

My mother smiled. “You don’t need my permission, Kemal. This is your house and you must treat it as such.”

Petrossian came to refill our cups and though he usually went first to Iskander Pasha, on this occasion he served Uncle Kemal before everyone else with a look of exaggerated servility. The three brothers exchanged smiles.

“I will speak my last bitterness,” warned Kemal, “and then move on to more pleasant subjects. When it came to our future lives, what happened? Memed was allowed to settle in Berlin with the Baron. And I was pleased for him. Iskander went into a Sufi phase and married the lovely Zakiye. And I was pleased for him.”

Everyone knew what was coming and laughter began to spread even before he had finished.

“Oh, yes, it is very funny for all of you. I was forced by Father to contract an arranged marriage. He was straightforward. The dowry was phenomenal. I was not even allowed to see the woman. I’m not surprised they didn’t permit that...”

“Kemal,” interrupted my father. “You could have spied on her in the baths.”

“I tried. She never went to the cursed public baths. You think those women are unaware that we spy on them? They know. I don’t think Leyla liked baths! So I was compelled to marry her, sight unseen. And as Allah is my witness I shut my eyes very tight and did my duty. Three children. All girls. Mother was delighted, till they began to develop and grow. When the youngest of my three graces turned six, our mother realised that the game was over. It was unfortunate that each of them had inherited their mother’s features, but even that did not bother me. I could have ignored that if just one of them had been intelligent or, at least, not completely stupid. It is not a nice thing to say of one’s own children, but it is even worse to engage in self-deception. To be bovine in appearance and half-witted at the same time is too much of a punishment for one person to bear. Did I ever tell you what our mother said to me a few months before she passed away? She had just finished her card-game with our aunt and had won some money. She was, as a result, in a generous mood that day. She kissed my cheeks and apologised to me. She’s the only person who ever acknowledged the weight of my burden. She said to me: ‘I’m sorry, my little sparrow. We knew your wife was no fairy, but your father and I had hoped the children would be like our side of the family. We were wrong. Terrible fate. It has dealt you such a repulsive hand.’ I decided that it was pointless to bemoan my misfortune any longer. I decided to become a seafarer. Contrary to what you imagine, I have rarely been on my own. Each ship has a crew of fifty sailors and they are never of the same nationality. They speak different languages. They have different gestures to express the same thing. Some nod their heads when they mean ‘no’ and others will shake their heads when they mean ‘yes’. Their customs are never the same. Then there is the captain. He may be the silent type who thinks only to himself and rarely speaks unless it is to issue a command or he could be loquacious to the point of irritation, talking of his adventures and presuming on the politeness of his listeners. There may be anything up to fifteen passengers. They may be adventurers in search of a fortune, traders, women escaping from misfortune, younger sons from wealthy families whose father has died and the house has gone to the oldest brother. They need anonymity in a remote corner of the world. I always have company on the boat. I have learnt a great deal in this way. Some of the conversations have been very rewarding. One does not have to cultivate insincerity as in the society we all keep in Istanbul or Berlin or London or Paris or any other big capital. My ships have made me truly cosmopolitan. I have learnt to flow like a wave and sometimes, when I am lucky, I find a wave-brother in the captain or his first mate. I am pleased to be here with all of you, but of one thing I am sure. I could never live in Istanbul again. Now if you will excuse me, I will go and shave, evacuate my bowels and take a bath. These routines are universal. Only the timing changes. Did I ever tell you that in Japan they regard you as odd unless you excrete at least three times a day? I never managed more than twice.”

Later that afternoon he was in a more relaxed frame of mind. Having painted the darkest possible picture of his boyhood and youth and the bitternesses that married life had imposed on him, he decided to conclude the chapter of his miseries. He spoke now of the new worlds he had seen and how they had changed his life and his world-view. He had become adept at reading the sky and the sea. He knew why sailing ships avoided the Red Sea, why it was the prevailing winds and the currents that determined the length of each journey and not the distance. He explained why it was sometimes quicker to travel twice the distance in order to catch the right breeze rather than proceed directly to the destination. With the exception of Salman, whose face remained impassive, none of us had any knowledge of these subjects and it was like entering an enchanted world.

It was when he spoke of the night sky that his face changed, as if the memory alone was sufficient to restore some peace and harmony in his life. He had learnt to read the sky, to recognise the stars and their place in the firmament and, as the years went by, he could do so from different parts of the world.

As I listened to him speak that day, I understood why he now found it difficult to contemplate a sedentary existence. He had simply outgrown the conveniences and comforts that the ready-made world of the big city had to offer him. Each of our lives is a journey. By the time we have arrived halfway, our life, on every level, has developed its own singular routine. We do not question how we live any longer. We accept our failures and our successes. We become settled in our views. Sometimes we think if we had made a different turning in our lives so many years ago we might now be on a different road. But we accept that nothing is now likely to change. If anything, we start to look backwards. Since time and biology have circumscribed our own future, we simply stop thinking of it.

I know Selim disagrees with me very strongly on these matters. He accuses me of adopting a conservative outlook on life. He argues that just as big events can transform everything in society as a whole so they can change our lives regardless of our age. Perhaps they can and will, but is it always for the good? I know our Empire is crumbling and that is something positive, but in the end will the result be good? Unlike Selim, I am not so sure. He insists that history always moves forward. It can never regress, but he is wrong on this and Salman and I often argue with him, citing many examples from Europe and the history of our own religion. We have been regressing now for nearly two hundred and fifty years.

My Uncle Kemal may not have found real happiness in the sense that my mother meant by this phrase, but he was certainly not unhappy. He had not loved and lost someone as both Sara and Iskander Pasha had done, which meant that, for them, at least, the memories of the past never ceased molesting the present. This was not my Uncle Kemal’s problem. He was escaping from the present and in his journeys had discovered his future. Salman had talked of the woman who shared Kemal’s life in Tokyo and it did not seem to me that there was anything missing in his life. If anything, it was too crowded. I mentioned this last fact to the Baron, who roared with delight at this observation.

“Well judged, Nilofer. If he could push the Istanbul passengers in his life off the boat altogether, he would be even happier. How we live our lives does not, unfortunately, depend on us alone. Circumstances, good or bad, constantly intervene. A person close to us dies. A person not so close to us carries on living. All these things affect how we live. If Memed’s father, for instance, had lived another twenty years would Memed have taken a decision to move to Berlin? I really do not know. Sometimes, if you are even moderately happy, it is better not to ask too many questions. That way lies unnecessary torment.”

After the evening meal was over, the Baron produced a bottle of what he proclaimed to be very fine, old French cognac. On subjects such as these, I have learnt to accept his word. Kemal sniffed the glass, took a sip, and exclaimed that it was simply the best cognac he had ever tasted in his life. This pronouncement delighted the Baron, who beamed expansively at his brother-in-law.

“Tell me, Kemal,” my father asked him. “how is your company doing? Will the new canal in Egypt cut down the length of your trips to the Far East?”

Kemal frowned. “I wish you hadn’t mentioned that bloody canal. It is true what you say, but the canal is designed to help British trade. It is not designed for sailing ships. As I told you this morning, the Red Sea is too dangerous for us. You need fixed routes and steamships. Then the canal will be useful.”

“Why not get a few steamships?” interjected Memed.

Kemal looked at his brothers and sighed. “Who would have guessed that all this time, while I’ve been away at sea, back at home maritime geniuses have been lying dormant in our family? Perhaps I should surprise all of you by preparing a manual on conjugal intimacy. Why on earth do you think I’m back here? I’m on my way to London to collect my first steamship. They have charged me a small fortune, but I will get my revenge sooner than they imagine. I will take it to Yokohama and we will see if the Japanese can build me ten more at half the price. If they can, I will build a steamship company that will rule all the oceans. London to New York on the Ottoman Line. Istanbul to Tokyo via Alexandria. All becomes possible. I have raised all the money myself, some of it with the help of Nilofer’s Great-uncle Sifrah. Everything is about to change and, unlike our Sultans, I am not going to wait till everyone else has overtaken me. Does that answer your questions?”

Everyone became very excited and the talk began to take on a surreal dimension, as even my mother felt obliged to intervene. The fact that nobody present except Kemal and Salman had even the vaguest idea as to what was needed made little difference. It was the sort of discussion that contributed nothing very substantial, but did have the effect of making Uncle Kemal feel that he was the only person present who was at the centre of real progress. Halil did not count since none of them realised how close the Committee was to taking power. In fact Halil and Selim had spent most of the day on horseback and had arrived just in time for the meal. They had pretended to go hunting for quail and wild duck, and a leather bag containing many dead birds had been deposited in the kitchen, but I knew better. It was a feint. They had gone to meet the young officer from Salonika in a nearby village to hear how the eunuch-general had been despatched, the reaction in the palace to his disappearance and the latest plan for action.