An Evil Eye

66

“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” the valide snapped; but she shifted a little uneasily on the divan.

The egg rolled across the surface of the oil.

The soothsayer drew a sharp breath. “I see… blood.”

“Your eggs are not fresh enough,” the valide sniffed.

“But it is not your blood, valide efendi,” the soothsayer replied, comfortably; then, in a rapid singsong voice, she began to recite:

“This is mine eye, the eye of fate, the eye of seeing.

See all, break our bread, show all, and the first shall be last.

Three of three is ninety-nine

And these are the names by which we ask our way.”

She passed a hand across the plate and settled back on her heels.

“Well?”

“I cannot see until it is over.” As if to prove her point, the egg yolk slipped to the edge of the plate. “Ah.” She studied the plate for a few moments. “There is change, but nothing for you to fear. Someone else arranges it. Not a woman. Nor a man?”

“A eunuch, evidemment. Everything around me is in the hands of such people.”

“You have not traveled recently, hanum?”

“ Tiens! Your question is absurd.”

“What is done and what is to come can be very close-especially when I make a reading of a long life, like yours.”

“Tchah! So I am to start traveling, am I? At my age?”

“Perhaps traveling is the wrong word. A journey, yes.”

“I think I can believe that,” the valide replied, drily. “I am very old. You shake your head?”

“I do not see death, hanum efendi. But it is not clear. I see someone close to you, who needs you.”

The valide arched her eyebrows slightly. “My grandson?”

“Perhaps. That is all I can see.”

“Pouf! It is not much. I had expected- eh bien. Nothing more.” She plucked the shawl that lay around her shoulders. “Now I am a little tired.”

She closed her eyes. A greenish vein throbbed in one of her fingers.

An hour passed. When the valide awoke, she found Tulin sitting on a cushion at the foot of the divan.

“Have I slept long?”

Tulin smiled, and put aside her embroidery. “No, valide. But perhaps you are hungry?”

The valide shook her head, and mouthed a silent “No, no.” She took a deep breath. “Tulin, get rid of that disgusting plate of egg.”

“I have already done so, hanum.”

“Ridiculous, all that prognostication. What would a chicken know about the future of a queen? If it were the other way around, I could understand.”

Tulin laughed. “Nobody ventures to tell a chicken’s fortune.”

The valide champed her teeth. “Of course not. All chickens go the same way, into the pot. Who put such a silly idea into your head?”