The Stone Woman

TWENTY

The confessions of Petrossian; the murder of Great-great-uncle Murat Pasha; the agony of Petrossian’s family

‘IS AN OLD MALE servant permitted to address you, O Woman of Stone? I know that in years gone by it was the custom for many women in the employ of this household, after their honour had been violated by the masters, to come and weep here and tell you of their woes. Nor was this confined to the maids. In the time of Iskander Pasha’s grandfather there were many young men — gardeners, watchmen, footmen and from different backgrounds, Kurds, Albanians, Armenians, Serbs, Arabs, Bosnians, Turks — who were all taken against their will. Did they come and shed tears at your feet as well, Stone Woman, or had pride forced them to erase the memory altogether?

Did the man who, sixty years ago, murdered Iskander Pasha’s lecherous great-uncle, Murat Pasha, ever come to you and confess his crime? They never discovered his identity, did they?

Some of the servants must have known, but nobody betrayed the assassin. My grandfather used to say that, in secret, everyone prayed for the courageous killer never to be found. Whoever it was he must have carried on working here because, in those days, nobody left unless they were dismissed. My grandfather used to tell my father that if ever he had seen evil it was the face of Murat Pasha and not simply when he had consumed too much wine or was overpowered by lust. He was an unpleasant person in every way. His own children grew up to loathe and fear him.

It is said, Stone Woman, that he deflowered his own seventeen-year-old daughter. They say that on that occasion he was in his cups, as if that excused the crime. Did that poor child ever come and tell you her story? Did she come here and show you her blood-stained tunic, before they quickly married her off to a Bedouin from Syria? Nothing was ever heard of her again. She never returned to Istanbul. I hope she found some solace in her new life and that her children helped her to forget this world.

Stone Woman, I have something to tell you. I know who killed Murat Pasha. He told me so himself and he was always proud of what he had done. It was my friend, Hasan Baba. That is why the throat was so perfectly slit and the penis and testicles removed with expert care. Who else could accomplish this except the trained hand of a young barber? Mercifully, the finger of suspicion never pointed in his direction because he always used to help his old father shave Murat and trim his beard. The two of them were often observed in the courtyard, laughing at Murat Pasha’s jokes and on the surface there was no enmity.

Hasan Baba told me that on a personal level, Murat was very nice to him, even when, in his father’s absence, he had to shave him and was so nervous that he cut his cheek. Hasan feared the worst, but Murat Pasha simply laughed and muttered, “You will learn in time, young cub. Just watch your father closely.”

Why, then, did he kill him? He told me that he could no longer bear the tears of the men and women whose bodies had been so brutally misused by Murat Pasha. I was never convinced that this was the whole truth. I mean, Stone Woman, Hasan Baba was a Perfect Man, but you do not take a risk such as killing Murat Pasha unless you have been personally affected by something he has done. Hasan did confess to me, after I pressed him strongly, that Murat had forced a young Kurdish washerwoman to pleasure him against her will.

Hasan had loved this girl from a distance. He would sit and watch her as she carried bundles of dirty clothes to the stream. He would notice how her body moved as she dealt with the clothes, washing them, beating them, wringing them and then standing on her toes to hang them out for drying. He had not yet summoned the courage needed to inform her of his feelings, but he was sure she knew. When unaccompanied by her mother, she would smile at him. I was not born then, but Hasan Baba at the age of eighteen must have been a very fine specimen. Before he could do anything, Murat Pasha had carried away the girl on his horse and assaulted her. When she was returned home, her mother hugged her and wept, but pleaded with the girl to remain silent or else they might both be dismissed. The daughter heard her mother’s plea and wept in silence. They consoled each other. The girl promised she would not speak of the crime to anyone.

Overnight she had decided on the best way to remain silent. Early one morning, just before dawn, she made her mother’s breakfast, kissed her warmly and said she was going for a walk to watch the sunrise. She jumped off the cliffs, Stone Woman. They found her broken body a few hours later. How people summon up enough courage to take their own lives is something I will never understand. Loud were the mourning wails that rent the servants’ quarters that day. The young woman had been greatly loved for her defiant spirit and her beauty.

That was the day that Hasan Baba calmly decided to kill Murat Pasha. He knew he could not trust any other person. He planned everything on his own. Three weeks later Murat was found dead. His penis had been severed from the body and stuffed down his mouth.

I did not ask Hasan Baba for the details, Stone Woman. It was enough that he had done what he did. I think the whole family was relieved. Certainly no tears were shed for the monster. He was buried in the family cemetery, but very few turned up to pay their last respects. His own sons and wives stayed away.

A few months before he died, Hasan Baba was thinking of telling Selim. I am not sure whether or not he did so. I have lived with this secret long enough, Stone Woman. Over the years I often heard Iskander Pasha’s father wondering who could have killed his uncle. Memed once remarked that whoever had done the deed was a modern hero to be sought out and awarded a purse posthumously. I wonder what they would have done had they known it was Hasan Baba? I think Iskander Pasha would have been proud.

I did not come here to talk of the past, Stone Woman, but your presence has the effect of dragging old secrets out of us. I came to talk of what is going on in my village. Over two hundred years ago this family gave us money to buy land in a village, close to where they themselves owned a large amount of land. As happened in those days, other Armenian families began to move in so they could be close to us and live under the protection of this family. It was Iskander Pasha’s grandfather who could not bear sharing anything with his brother Murat, and therefore began to sell his land. Fifty years ago the family had sold off all its land and bought properties in Istanbul and Damascus and heaven knows where. Many Armenian merchants looking to spend their money bought some of the land, but it was the Kurds who arrived to work as seasonal labourers. Some of them settled.

Four years ago the Kurds warned my brothers and other relations that unless they moved out of their own accord, their houses would be burned and their families killed. One doesn’t need more than a single warning of this nature and, as a result, many Armenians took what belongings they could and left. My sister and her husband refused to leave. She was always stubborn. She told them they could kill her, but she would never leave her home of her own accord. I informed Halil Pasha of all the happenings. He was so enraged that he did not send a subordinate to deal with the situation. He took some soldiers and went himself. He warned the Kurds that if anyone else was touched he would personally return and drive them off the property they had stolen and inflict severe punishments. He told them that if they touched my sister or her family, the punishment would come very soon. Halil was very angry, Stone Woman. The Kurds believed him. Nothing more happened.

Last week my sister’s house was set on fire in the middle of the night. As her sons and their wives rushed out to escape the fire they were ambushed and killed. The same thing happened to all the other Armenians in the village. I told Halil Pasha last night. He sat at the table with his head in his hands and moaned. “The Empire is crumbling, Petrossian, and everyone is trying to get something for himself before a new order is restored. I am truly sorry, but there is nothing I can do at the moment.” When Halil Pasha, who is a general, says he can do nothing to stop the killing of my people, what hope is there for us? I am an old man and will die soon, but my sons and grandsons want to make a new life.

Everyone is beginning to make stupid politics. Now my own sons want to engage in politics. They say it is the only way. What good has that ever done? My oldest boy has joined a group newly formed to fight for the creation of our own country. He says Armenians all over the world will support us. His older brother has already fled across the border to Russia.

My son-in-law says we must fight but stay within the Ottoman lands, fighting for our own vilayets in Anatolia to be given the status of a self-governing province with our own governor. He says a complete separation between the Ottoman lands and Armenia is impossible. Our people and lands are mixed everywhere.

He wants us to become Dashnaks. We must join the Dashnakzouthion, which is in favour of working with the Committee to defeat the Sultan. In Russia, he tells me, the Dashnaks are on the side of the Social-Democrats, whoever they may be, and against the Tsar. I have never heard talk of this sort before. If my own family is in politics something must have changed.

What is going to happen, Stone Woman? The whole world is falling apart.

All my life I have lived in this house. I have been treated well. My sons refused to stay here. They asked me many times to leave the house and come and live with them. They said that the world had changed and they had earned enough money for me to live in peace for the rest of my days. I told them I felt safe in this house. If I had been in that village with my sister I, too, would have died. Now my sons want me to leave Istanbul. One of them sells carpets in Cairo. He wants me to go and live with his family, but I don’t know his family, Stone Woman. This family in this house is the only family I really know. I do not wish to leave Iskander Pasha. Am I wrong?’