An Evil Eye

81

At the door he found Hyacinth. The old man looked gray.

“Is it true?”

“True?” Yashim echoed.

“Do you, too, think I am some kind of fool?” Hyacinth whispered with sudden fierceness. “That I sleep and eat and smile like a child?”

His long fingers clamped around Yashim’s arm. His hold was strong, and Yashim checked himself.

“It’s a suggestion, that she should go to Besiktas. I’m sorry,” he added. He had not thought of Hyacinth.

The old eunuch nodded, turning his head from side to side; his nostrils flared. “It was in the air, Yashim efendi.” He spread the fingers of one hand in Yashim’s face. “I felt it, here. The harem, I breathe. You understand? I watch its breath like a mother watches her child. Every breath. Every word. Each tiny glance. When they took the women-” His fingers tightened into a ball. “And now she goes.”

His eyes glittered, and his grip tightened on Yashim’s arm. “And will I go, or stay?”

Yashim bit his lip. The valide had spoken of her body slave, the girl-Tulin. “I don’t know, Hyacinth. I’m sorry. I wish I knew.”

“Ah.” Hyacinth let out a ragged sigh and closed his eyes. Without another word he released Yashim’s arm and turned, shaking his head. Yashim watched him shuffle away along the corridor, his slippers slapping on the polished cobbles.