The Sultan's seal

27

I felt numb and somehow relieved. After I had stumbled out of the forest onto the grounds, the women who had gathered for the picnic led me to the pasha’s garden house and laid me on a chaise. They crouched around me, their whispering voices lilting with concern, hissing with curiosity. I remember Violet’s brown face leaning over me. One of the women sprinkled my hands and face with rosewater. The smell of roses made me feel ill and the rosewater, as it fell, burned my skin. I remember twisting violently to get away from it and the silver ewer crashing to the ground. The smell became overpowering and I vomited. Then I finally slid into the blackness that had been waiting invitingly at the edge of my vision.

I woke to a man’s face by my chest and started back with fear. The man drew away, but continued to sit in the chair by my side. Violet sat grimly on my other side, clutching my hand. I turned and smiled at her. The world was only as deep as the people standing beside me.

The man was clean-shaven, making his face look like that of a child, but his voice was low and assured. He spoke with a pronounced French accent.

“I am the pasha’s physician. You need not be concerned. You are safe now.”

I stared at him. I was safe? I began to remember. Had they found him? Would I be arrested?

“Can you tell us what happened?”

Would anyone believe me?

“Amin Efendi.”

“He has been taken to hospital. He was unable to tell us anything. Were you attacked by thieves?” His face betrayed anxiety that brig-ands were nearby and had penetrated the pasha’s pleasure gardens.

The pain spread outward from my loins until I glowed with it. It made me feel strangely powerful. I told him everything.

I was brought home, put directly to bed, and sedated with a tincture of opium. Violet lingered downstairs. The pasha himself came, she told me, along with his doctor. Papa stood frozen by the door. Aunt Hüsnü leaned against the mantelpiece. The pasha apologized that such a terrible thing had happened while Papa’s family had been under his protection. Violet said that when they finished, Papa tried to say something in response, but was unable to speak. The two men helped him to a chair and brought him a glass of brandy. Aunt Hüsnü’s expression, however, did not change, Violet noted. When the men had settled Papa into his chair and had managed to calm him somewhat, Aunt Hüsnü offered them refreshments. They declined and, embarrassed and confused as to what else to do, took their leave.

When I woke, I found Papa sitting on the divan, looking out my window, smoking with a soldier’s intensity. The glass tray beside him was full of cigarette stubs. When he heard the bedcovers rustle as I attempted to sit up, he turned his face to me, but it was shadowed and I could not read his expression. Did he believe me? Blame me? What would he do now? I was too inexperienced to know what repercussions this would have on Papa, but knew well enough that the honorable standing of a man’s family always affected his career.

“I’m sorry, Papa.”

He did not seem to hear me, so I repeated it more loudly.

“I’m very sorry, Papa. Please forgive me.”

Papa stood and walked slowly toward me. He settled himself with a sigh onto the chair next to my bed. His big body in its uniform of dark blue worsted looked too large and out of place in this room of delicate pastel embroideries and doilies. Lace fringe from my bedsheet clung incongruously to his woolen trousers.

“Jaanan.” He stopped, embarrassed. He took a cigarette from his pocket, lit it, and inhaled deeply.

“Jaanan, I haven’t been able to provide you with a good upbringing,” he said into the smoke. “You’ve grown up wild. I blame myself for that.”

“But Papa-”

“You must listen.” His voice had regained the familiar clipped tones of authority, but I could hear the urgency in it. “This family has acquired a formidable enemy. Amin Efendi.” He choked at the title. Efendi is not only a title of honor, but implies an exemplary lifestyle, a man of honor. “He has lost his position at the palace and the support of his patron, but he still has other powerful friends. And he has lost an eye.” Here Papa looked at me curiously. The cigarette dangling between his fingers released arabesques into the air.

I did not respond, but waited for him to continue.

“He is not a man to forgive these things. He will work to destroy us.”

I could not imagine what it meant to be destroyed. I thought of the fish hung by a rope. I began to cry.

His eyes swept the room as if an object there might rescue him, but saw only the delicate, fragile weavings of a girl’s life, nothing to hold on to. When he turned back to me, I thought the corners of his eyes were moist.

“It’s not your fault, my daughter. I shouldn’t have forced this marriage on you. I had no idea of this man’s low character. He was highly recommended by all who knew him professionally. Hüsnü Hanoum made inquiries into his character among the women. She assured me they all said he was a kind and generous man.”

He paused as if something had just occurred to him.

Frowning, he continued, “I think it best if you went to your mother’s side. You can rest there, while we decide how to proceed.”

He patted my hand without looking at my face, then got up and strode quickly out of the room.