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are the eyes of some women trained not on the ground or on some thing in
the illustration—oh； I don’t know； let’s say a lover or a goblet—but directly at
the reader。 I’ve long wondered about that reader。
I shudder in delight when I think of two…hundred…year…old books； dating
back to the time of Tamerlane； volumes for which acquisitive giaours gleefully
relinquish gold pieces and which they carry all the way back to their own
countries： Perhaps one day someone from a distant land will listen to this
story of mine。 Isn’t this what lies behind the desire to be inscribed in the
pages of a book？ Isn’t it just for the sake of this delight that sultans and viziers
proffer bags of gold to have their histories written？ When I feel this delight；
just like those beautiful women with one eye on the life within the book and
one eye on the life outside； I； too； long to speak with you who are observing
me from who knows which distant time and place。 I’m an attractive and
intelligent woman； and it pleases me that I’m being watched。 And if I happen
to tell a lie or two from time to time； it’s so you don’t e to any false
conclusions about me。
Maybe you’ve noticed that my father adores me。 He had three sons before
me； but God took them one by one and left me； his daughter。 My father dotes
on me； though I married a man not of his choosing。 I went to a spahi cavalry
soldier whom I’d noticed and fancied。 If it were left to my father； my husband
would not only be the greatest of scholars； he’d also have an appreciation for
painting and art； be possessed of power and authority； and be as rich as Karun；
the wealthiest of men in the Koran。 The inkling of such a man couldn’t even be
found in the pages of my father’s books； and so I would’ve been forced to pine
away at home forever。
My husband’s handsomeness was legendary； and I gave him the nod
through intermediates。 He found the opportunity to appear before me as I was
returning from the public baths。 His eyes were as brilliant as fire； and I
immediately fell in love。 He was a dark…haired； fair…skinned； green…eyed man
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with strong arms； but at heart； he was innocent and quiet like a sleepy child。
Nevertheless； it seemed； to me at least； that he also had the tang of blood
about him； perhaps because he expended all his strength slaying men in battle
and amassing booty； even though at home he was as gentle and quiet as a lady。
This man—whom my father looked upon as a penniless soldier； and hence；
disapproved of—was later allowed to marry me because I threatened to kill
myself otherwise。 And after they gave him a military fief worth ten thousand
silver coins； a reward for his heroism in battle after battle wherein he
performed the greatest acts of bravery； truly； everyone envied us。
Four years ago when he failed to return with the rest of the army from
warring against the Safavids I wasn’t worried at first。 For the more experience
he had on the battlefield； the more adept and clever he became in creating
opportunities for himself； in bringing home greater spoils； in winning larger
fiefs； and in enlisting more soldiers of his own。 There were witnesses who said
he fled to the mountains with his own men after he became separated from a
division of the army。 In the beginning； I suspected a scheme and hoped he’d
return； but after two years； I slowly grew accustomed to his absence； and when
I realized how many lonely women like me with missing soldier…husbands
there were in Istanbul； I resigned myself to my fate。
At night； in our beds； we’d hug our children and mope and cry。 To quiet
their tears； I’d tell them hopeful lies； for example； that so…and…so had proof
their father would return before spring。 Afterward； when my lie would
circulate； changing and spreading until it found its way back to me； I’d be the
first to believe the good news。
When the main support of the household vanished； we fell upon hard
times。 We were living in a rented house in Charsh？kap？ with my husband’s
gentlemanly Abkhazian father； who’d never lived an easy life； and his brother；
who had green eyes as well。 My father…in…law； who left his mirror…making
business after his oldest son made his fortune soldiering； returned to take up
his trade at a late age。 Hasan； my husband’s bachelor brother； worked in
customs； and as he prospered he made plans to assume the role of “man of
the house。” One winter； fearing they wouldn’t be able to pay rent； they hastily
took the slave who saw to the household chores to the slave market and sold
her； after which they wanted me to do the kitchen work； wash the clothes and
even go out to the bazaars to do the shopping in her stead。 I didn’t protest by
saying； “Am I the type of woman to take on such drudgery？” I swallowed my
pride and went to work。 But when that brother…in…law of mine Hasan； now
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without his slave girl to take into his room at night； began forcing my door； I
didn’t know what to do。
Of course； I could’ve immediately e back here to the home of my
father； but according to the kadi judge my husband was legally alive； and were
I to anger my in…laws； they might not stop at forcing my children and me back
to my husband’s home； but humiliate us further by having me and my father；
who had “detained” me； punished。 To tell the truth； I could’ve loved Hasan；
whom I found to be more humane and reasonable than my husband； and who
was obviously very much in love with me。 But if I were to do this without
careful thought； I might find myself； God forbid； his slave instead of his wife。
In any event； because they were afraid that I would demand my portion of the
inheritance and then abandon them and return to my father with the
children； they； too； weren’t eager for a