The Stone Woman (10 page)

Sara paused. The memories had stirred old passions and she was upset. She poured herself some water from the jug near her bed. I saw her now in a completely different light. I still could not believe that she had permitted Suleman to make love to her. If that were the case, why had they not run away together? He could have taken her with him. But why should it have reached that stage in the first place? Had my grandparents forbidden her to marry Suleman? Why?

“I can hear all the questions going through your mind, child. You want to know the exact degree of intimacy we enjoyed. Why we didn’t marry or run away like you and that Greek with ugly eyes. As you know, I have never spoken of these matters to any living person. It is not easy speaking of such things to one’s children. There is always an innate desire to conceal, but I feel like telling you everything. There is too much secrecy in our world, and concealment usually hurts more than the truth.

“If I was dead and buried and one day, by accident, you heard this story from one of Suleman’s brood, you might or might not have believed it, but you would be upset at your ignorance. You might think badly of me. You are the only treasure I have left in this world. I want you to know so that one day you can tell Orhan and Emineh about their grandmother. Who knows but that it might even help them live a better life. Press my feet, child. I’m beginning to feel tense and tired.”

I had never pressed her feet before, but, over the years, I had observed so many maidservants at work on them for hours at a time that the task posed no mysteries for me. I pressed each toe in turn, then moved to the soles, kneading them gently with my knuckles. Slowly, I felt Sara beginning to relax again.

‘Suleman and I fell into each other’s arms so naturally that evening it did not feel as if it was the first time. It had always been intended. The passion that we had hidden from ourselves poured out of us. We did make love then and on many other days. Sometimes our longing for each other became so great that we would rush out of the house in search of safe spots, but these were not easy to uncover. Often we had no other alternative but to hire a covered boat, oblivious to the world as the boatman, pretending to be blind, took us first to one continent and then another. This was always risky because the boats were often used for these purposes by the lower classes and I was always nervous lest one of our maids, who had confided in me regarding her adventures on a boat, should catch sight of us. In fact, that was how I knew that love-boats existed in the first place.

My mother Beatrice was beginning to look at me with suspicion. “There is something different about the way you walk, Sara. Something has happened to give you a new confidence. It is almost as if you have been fulfilled as a woman.”

The day after I reported this remark to Suleman, we informed my mother that we wished to be married. Suleman had already written to his parents informing them of this decision. I thought my mother would be pleased that I loved someone from her side of the family. I thought this would reassure her. My father was always grumbling that he did not have enough money for a dowry. Even though this was not the case, I was relieved that no such expenditure would be necessary.

Your grandmother’s doe-like eyes narrowed and her lips tightened when she heard the news. “I feared this might happen,” she said, “but I hoped your affection for each other was that of a brother and sister, especially since you are an only child. That is why I agreed so happily that he should come and live with us for as long as he wished. How foolish I was, how blind not to see what was happening before my eyes and in my house. This marriage is impossible, Sara. I know this sounds cruel, but both of you must face the weight of reality.”

We were shocked. We looked at her in disbelief. What reality was she speaking of, and what did it have to do with our love for each other? She refused to speak any further till my father returned home after his visits. She left the room saying that they would both speak to us after the evening meal. Suleman and I sat holding hands and looking at each other in bewilderment. He thought that the hostility could be related to his relative poverty; my parents would probably want me to live in style. I did not think this could be true, for Suleman was learning my father’s trade and it would be natural for him to inherit the practice which the family had built up so carefully over two centuries.

In fact, Father had already begun to reveal some of the secret prescriptions for treatments that had travelled with us from Spain long, long ago. They had been written and copied in big books bound in black leather, which long use had faded years ago. I remember Suleman’s excitement when he was first shown one of these books. My father had assumed that Suleman would succeed him and therefore I did not think that lack of money could be the problem.

When he finally returned home that night, I heard Mother whispering anxiously as she dragged him into her room. We ate the evening meal in total silence. I knew they weren’t angry because occasionally both of them would look at us affectionately, but with sorrowful eyes. It was my father who spoke that night and explained the reasons that lay behind their opposition.

It made no sense to me. He spoke of a mysterious disease that had developed in Suleman’s branch of the family after centuries of intermarriages. Since my mother belonged to that family there was a serious danger that our children would be born with severe deformities and afflictions and die young. It had happened too often for the risk to be undertaken lightly.

Suleman’s face had paled as he heard my father speak. He knew that this disease had claimed the life of one of his own cousins several years ago, but surely, he pleaded, the blood relationship between my mother and his was so distant that the chances of our children suffering must be equally remote. My father rose and left the room. When he returned it was with another bound volume. This contained our family tree. He showed us that the great-great-great grandmothers of my mother and Suleman’s mother had been sisters. The link was far too strong to take any risk. He was moved by our love for each other and he embraced Suleman with genuine affection, but shook his head in despair.

“It will only bring you unhappiness, Sara. However much you resent your mother and me for this, I cannot as your father and as a physician permit both of you to destroy your lives.”

I began to weep and left the room. Suleman stayed behind and talked with them for a long time. I had no idea what they said to each other.

Neither of us could sleep. I went into his room later that night and found him sitting cross-legged on his bed. He was weeping silently. We made love to calm ourselves. I told him very firmly that I was prepared to take the risk and that if my parents objected we could run away. But the sight of the family tree had shaken him. He described his cousin’s death at the age of seven. He did not wish our child to die in that fashion.

I pleaded with him, Nilofer. I threatened I would take my own life if he dared to leave me. Nothing would shake him. He left the next day.

I was desolate. I went searching for him everywhere. I visited the cafes we used to frequent. I went to the boatmen to ask if they had seen him, but there was no trace at all. My parents denied all knowledge of where he might have gone, though, later, my father admitted he had given him a purse to help him on his way. I never stopped mourning for Suleman. Nothing else mattered to me any more. Life could go on or it might stop. It was a matter of complete indifference to me.

It was ten days after Suleman had deserted me that my father returned home one evening with an offer of marriage from Iskander Pasha. I was to be his second wife. This, too, did not bother me a great deal. I remember saying to my mother: “Here, at least, there is no danger of any affliction.” I was told I would have to convert to the faith of my husband and acquire a new name. This change of identity was the only thing that amused me at the time. It would not be Sara who would enter Iskander Pasha’s bed, but Hatije. I was named after the first wife of the Prophet Memed, peace be upon him.

I was married in the house in Istanbul. There were no festivities since I was only the third wife. The first, as you know, had died giving birth to Salman. This was also convenient since I was not in the mood for any celebrations. Iskander Pasha was very kind and, mercifully, he soon departed for Paris with Petrossian and Hasan Baba, but not me. This, too, suited me greatly. Naturally, before his departure he had entered my bed and convinced me that he was a man. I did not particularly enjoy the experience, Nilofer. It did not even comfort me. The wounds created by Suleman’s betrayal were still bleeding. You were born eight and a half months later.’

Something in my mother’s tone had told me that this was not the end of her story. An unusually complacent smile had crossed her face when she mentioned my birth.

“Sara!” I said to her sharply. “You promised the whole truth.”

“Can’t you guess?”

I shook my head.

“You were the proof that my parents were wrong. Suleman’s cowardice was totally unjustified. That made me really angry. My sadness began to disappear. He was a traitor. My love began to drain away and I was filled with contempt for him. You were the healthiest and most beautiful child I had ever seen.”

“What are you saying, Mother? You’re sick! You’re mad! This is just your imagination. You wanted it to be so, but it is not so. Iskander Pasha
is
my father!”

I began to cry. She hugged me, but I pushed her away. My first reaction was disgust. I felt my whole life had been taken away from me. I sat there and stared at her. When I spoke, it was in a whisper.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, my child. If I had not been pregnant, I would never have married Iskander Pasha. If I had told my parents they would have attempted to get rid of you. Never forget your grandfather’s profession. He had some experience in removing unwanted infants.”

“But why didn’t you tell Suleman?”

“I only discovered my condition the week after he left. I would have told him the next day, but he had gone.”

“How can you be sure?”

She went to a cupboard and brought out a box I had never seen before. It contained a photograph of both of them. They looked so happy. My mother covered Suleman’s nose and lips. The eyes were exactly the same as mine.

“You never told your parents?”

She shook her head.

“Why?”

“They would have been very upset. They were fond of Suleman. I was their only child and I did not wish them to feel that, with the best of motives, they had wrecked my life.”

“And you never told him?”

“No. When he wrote to me, you were already eight years old. His letter was brief, its tone distant and cold. It had been designed as a cruel farewell. It informed me of three important developments in his life. He was a successful painter. He was happily married. He had three children. How could I ever hope to compete with such bliss? The effect of his message was to kill off all my dreams. I wished then that the boat that had taken him to New York had encountered a storm and I wished that all the passengers in it had survived except him. He should have fallen off the edge and never been recovered. I would rather he had died. It would have stopped him writing these stupid letters.

“I had thought that one day, before death claimed either of us, I would visit him in New York. I wanted so much to see him again, Nilofer. Just once. After his letter I felt futile and betrayed. But there was one consolation he could never take away from me. I had you, the child of our love. In order to survive, he had to rebuild his shattered life, construct an inner wall that could not be breached and obliterate all memories of the love we had once given each other. All I had to do was to look into your eyes and be reminded once again of happiness. I pitied him.”

Silence. Neither of us could speak. I kissed her hands. She stroked my face and kissed my eyes. I had never felt so close to her in my whole life. I wanted to be alone to think of all she had told me. I had to decide the course of my life. It could not be determined by this household.

I took my leave of Sara and went to my own room. It was strange to think that none of them were related to me any longer. Salman and Halil were not my brothers. Zeynep was not my sister. Iskander Pasha was not my father. How absurd my world had become. I felt tears beginning to make their way to my eyes.

“Why are you crying?” Orhan’s voice brought me back to reality. “Are you missing Emineh?”

I nodded, grateful to him for providing me with an excuse, and dried my face. Orhan was cheerful.

“Tomorrow, Hasan Baba will cut my hair himself. He says he cannot return without making sure that my hair is properly cut. Then he will have cut the hair of four generations in our family.”

I smiled inwardly. Our family? The words held a new meaning for me.

Orhan had been filled with such excitement when he met his uncles and his grandfather that the truth suddenly made me fearful. Orhan and Iskander Pasha communicated with each other on paper every day. Both of them felt useful. Orhan felt he was helping his grandfather and Iskander Pasha had begun to teach the child the French alphabet. How could I ever tell my son that we had no right to be here, that his real grandfather was a painter in New York, that we belonged to a different world? I looked out at the sea. It was silent today as it shimmered in the dazzling light of a July afternoon. Its calmness helped to settle me.

I lay down on my bed and shut my eyes. I was pleased that Mother had told me the truth. Orhan’s presence had made me feel that life would go on as before. I might not be related by blood, but this was my family. These were people I loved and would always love—despite the past, despite the future. I heard Orhan laughing outside my window. I got up to see the cause of the merriment.

It was Selim. The sight of him aroused me. I knew then that I would want him for a long time.