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neighbors at the last minute； that’s all。 While you’re inviting them； say that
this was Enishte Effendi’s last wish…It won’t be a joyous wedding； but a
melancholy one。 If we don’t see ourselves through this affair； they’ll destroy
us； and they’ll punish you as well。 You understand； don’t you？”
She nodded as she wept。 Mounting my white horse； I said I’d secure the
witnesses and return before long； that Shekure ought to be ready； that
hereafter； I would be master of the house； and that I was going to the barber。 I
hadn’t thought through any of this beforehand。 As I spoke； the details came to
me； and just as I’d felt during battles from time to time； I had the conviction
that I was a cherished and favored servant of God and He was protecting me；
thus； everything was going to turn out fine。 When you feel this trust； do
whatever es to mind； follow your intuition and your actions will prove
correct。
I rode four blocks toward the Golden Horn from the Yakutlar neighborhood
to find the black…bearded； radiant…faced preacher of the mosque in Yasin Pasha；
the adjacent neighborhood； broom in hand； he was shooing shameless dogs
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out of the muddy courtyard。 I told him about my predicament。 By the will of
God； I explained； my Enishte’s time was upon him； and according to his last
wish； I was to marry his daughter； who； by decision of the üsküdar judge； had
just been granted a divorce from a husband lost at war。 The preacher objected
that by the dictates of Islamic law a divorced woman must wait a month
before remarrying； but I countered by explaining that Shekure’s former
husband had been absent for four years； and so； there was no chance she was
pregnant by him。 I hastened to add that the üsküdar judge granted a divorce
this morning to allow Shekure to remarry； and I showed him the certifying
document。 “My exalted Imam Effendi； you may rest assured that there’s no
obstacle to the marriage；” I said。 True； she was a blood relation； but being
maternal cousins is not an obstacle； her previous marriage had been nullified；
there were no religious； social or moary differences between us。 And if he
accepted the gold pieces I offered him up front； if he performed the ceremony
at the wedding scheduled to take place before the entire neighborhood； he’d
also be acplishing a pious act before God for the fatherless children of a
widowed woman。 Did the Imam Effendi； I inquired； enjoy pilaf with almonds
and dried apricots？
He did； but he was still preoccupied with the dogs at the gate。 He took the
gold coins。 He said he’d don his wedding robes； straighten up his appearance；
see to his turban and arrive in time to perform the nuptials。 He asked the way
to the house and I told him。
No matter how rushed a wedding might be—even one that the groom has
dreamed about for twelve years—what could be more natural than his
forgetting his worries and troubles and surrendering to the affectionate hands
and gentle banter of a barber for a prenuptial shave and haircut？ The barber’s；
where my feet took me； was located near the market； on the street of the run…
down house in Aksaray； which my late Enishte； my aunt and fair Shekure had
quitted years after our childhood。 This was the barber I’d faced five days ago；
my first day back。 When I entered he embraced me and as any good Istanbul
barber would do； rather than asking where the last dozen years had gone；
launched into the latest neighborhood gossip； concluding the conversation
with an allusion to the place we would all go at the end of this meaningful
journey called life。
The master barber had aged。 The straight…edged razor he held in his freckled
hand trembled as he made it dance across my cheek。 He’d given himself over
to drinking and had taken on a pink…plexioned； full…lipped； green…eyed
boy…apprentice—who looked upon his master with awe。 pared with
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twelve years ago； the shop was cleaner and more orderly。 After filling the
hanging basin； which hung from the ceiling on a new chain； with boiling
water； he carefully washed my hair and face with water from the brass faucet
at the bottom of the basin。 The old broad basins were newly tinned with no
signs of rust； the heating braziers were clean； and the agate…handled razors
were sharp。 He wore an immaculate silk waistcoat； something he was loath to
wear twelve years ago。 I assumed that the elegant apprentice； tall for his age
and of slender build； had helped bring some order to the shop and its owner；
and surrendering myself to the soapy； rose…scented and steamy pleasures of a
shave； I couldn’t help thinking how marriage not only brought new vitality
and prosperity to a bachelor’s home； but to his work and his shop as well。
I’m not certain how much time had passed。 I melted into the warmth of
the brazier that gently heated the small shop and the barber’s adept fingers。
With life having suddenly presented me the greatest of gifts today； as if for
free； and after so much suffering； I felt a profound thanks toward exalted
Allah。 I felt an intense curiosity； wondering out of what mysterious balance
this world of His had emerged； and I felt sadness and pity for Enishte； who lay
dead in the house where； a while later； I would bee master。 I was readying
myself to spring into action when there was a motion at the always…open
door of the barbershop： Shevket！
Flustered； but with his usual self…confidence； he held out a piece of paper。
Unable to speak and expecting the worst； my insides were chilled as if by an icy
draft as I read：
If there isn’t going to be a bride’s procession； I’m not getting married—Shekure。
Grabbing Shevket by the arm； I lifted him onto my lap。 I would’ve liked to
have responded to my dear Shekure by writing； “As you wish； my love！” but
what would pen and