"Where is Mama?" I asked, looking past him into the dim interior beyond the doors.

He took my hand. "Come inside, my dear."

Violet was waiting in the entryway. An egg-yolk-yellow kerchief tied around her head emphasized her black eyes screened by long lashes, eyebrows like an archer's bow laid across them. She moved toward me and we embraced. I inhaled the familiar smoky scent of her skin. Her cheeks under my lips tasted of salt and milk. But the tinder did not kindle into joy. The cook's boat had been cut adrift, then burned.

I pulled from her embrace and went to Ismail Dayi. He led me to his study, where we had spent so many happy winter evenings. Now the windows to the garden were open and the familiar scent of jasmine twined into the room.

Ismail Dayi lowered himself onto the divan. Violet adjusted the cushions behind his back. He waved his hand to indicate that she should leave. With obvious reluctance, she backed out of the room. For some moments we sat silently, our limbs wrapped in the scented warmth from the garden.

Finally, Ismail Dayi spoke.

"My daughter." His voice was husky-with illness? I did not know and I was suddenly ashamed of how much I had tested him.

"My dear dayi," I said, "you're the one who has worried and suffered for all of us. I'm so sorry to have been an added burden to you."

"My daughter, there was never a burden as sweet as you. I thank Allah for bringing you into my life."

He paused for a moment, then continued.

"Jaanan, I'm sorry, but I must tell you. Your mother has pa.s.sed away."

I felt nothing. Or rather, only a rushing sound far away, as if a monumental wave were coming closer, but was still too far away for me to run for cover. How did I know about such waves? They were there in Violet's sea, in the lost fingers of Halil the gardener. They were the crushing, grinding behemoths that tortured Hamza's sea gla.s.s on their forges of sand until the stones glowed from within like blue eyes.

I was speechless. What opportunities had I missed? My hand remembered the feel of cold satin like a ghost limb.

Ismail Dayi tried to take my hand, but I pulled it away.

"What happened?" My voice sounded too steady, too matter-of-fact, and I felt ashamed of that too.

"She caught a draft and it went to her lungs. It was very rapid. May your life be spared, my dear."

He squeezed my arm. His touch opened a channel through which a current of sorrow began to flow. But I resisted it. Another vein of weakness when so much of me had run dry.

The waves were nearer. I bowed my head and let them rage through me, but said nothing.

Ismail Dayi stared sadly into the fire. "I never told her you were lost. I told her you had gone to your father's. I didn't want to worry her. She loved you greatly, my dear daughter."

36.

Sea Gla.s.s It was late spring that year when Mary finally came to visit me. I hadn't seen her since the fall. I took her hand and led her into the harem reception room. Now that Mama had cut the thread that bound her to the world, I was mistress of the cool blue and white tiles and splashing water. My body moved to a different music learned in Galata. I felt powerful. I wondered whether something in Mary would stir in response.

We sat on the divan. I signaled Violet to bring us tea. Mary was dressed in a loose white gown embroidered with red flowers that echoed the enamel blossoms in the gold cross she always wore at the base of her throat. It had been her mother's, she told me when I admired it. A lace bodice hid the mole on her shoulder.

Violet stood by the door, silver tray balanced in her hands.

"Put it here, Violet," I called, my eyes studying Mary. She seemed absorbed in the movement of the tray, following it to the low table, watching Violet's strong hands pour the coffee into tiny cups.

We waited for Violet to leave.

"I'm sorry about your mother's death. I thought, I must come to see you."

"Thank you, Mary. That is kind of you."

I said nothing to her about about my stay at Madame Devora's. It was a willing union that undid the other, unwilling one. I had found Hamza's sea gla.s.s necklace at the bottom of my jewelry casket and now kept it close to my breast.

Our cups chimed in the awkward silence.

"You know, I tried to come see you before, but your maid told me you weren't here. She wouldn't tell me anything more. Where did you go?"

"I was at my father's house in Nishantashou," I quickly improvised.

"Of course." She looked at me curiously and I was suddenly afraid she had also sought me there. "I wish I had known. It's much closer. Why didn't you send me a message? Didn't you know I was back?"

Seeing my look of confusion, she spat out, "Violet, again."

I glanced quickly at the door, then nodded. "I've received no letters since winter."

I could see Mary fighting down her anger. "Well, we're here now. I know you haven't gone out much since you speared that b.a.s.t.a.r.d Amin last year. I'm sure a stay in the city did you good."

I was surprised that the mention of his name no longer affected me.

"Well, I haven't been invited to many society events since then. I suppose people blame me, and perhaps they're right to. I was very stupid. I always thought I should be able to move about without a chaperone like any modern woman."

"In England, young women of quality"-she worked the word uneasily in her mouth, like a moldy fruit-"also are guarded by female watchdogs. It has nothing to do with being modern. We still hold the leashes of our own s.e.x."

Women of quality. Mary did not seem to be quality in the English way, which I presumed to mean much the same as here-wealth and indolence. Was I still a woman of quality? I was wealthy, was I not? And inactive, again imprisoned in my golden cage at Chamyeri.

"You must have been bored out here," she continued. "That Violet can't be a very pleasant companion. She's so sour she'd curdle milk." I didn't tell her that the object of her scorn was probably listening on the other side of the door. Her description of Violet irritated me.

"She was my companion when we were younger, and she has been a good and loyal servant to my family. There is no cause to disparage her."

She reached over and took my hand. "I meant no offense. Forgive me."

My small hand nestled inside hers like a young bird.

"I've missed you, Jaanan. We haven't seen each other for a long time, but I haven't forgotten." She smiled at me uncertainly. "I wrote to you often. And I had to go back to England for a while. I hope you don't blame me for not coming to see you after I returned. It was impossible to get up here. The roads were impa.s.sable and none of the delivery boats would take me. Believe me, I tried. And then, when the roads were open, I thought you went away. I wish I had known you were in Stamboul," she added fiercely.

I looked into her light blue eyes, the color of beads used to ward off the evil eye. When I didn't respond, her hands parted the gauze panels of my veil and lifted them behind my shoulders. I felt suddenly naked, as I had never felt in the room in Galata.

To cover my confusion, I said in a polite voice, "Please have some more coffee." I rang the silver bell by my side.

We sat silently until Violet arrived with the coffeepot. She looked at us slyly from under her lashes.

Had I changed in some fundamental way? People project themselves onto the screen of society like shadow puppets. Perhaps the lamplight was too low and I was no longer recognizable. Had I forgotten my lines? Was there a plot at all? I no longer believed so.

Violet spilled some coffee on Mary's arm, then tried to wipe it away with her hand. Embarra.s.sed, I pushed her away from Mary and asked her to leave. I dabbed gently at Mary's arm with an embroidered cloth. Violet had been a restless shadow to my every movement since my return. I asked her to sleep in her old room at the back of the house, but found her waiting for me wherever I came and went. I understood that she must feel guilty about leaving me in that coach, but explained to her that no harm had come of it. I had asked Ismail Dayi to find her a husband, as was his duty as her patron. I suppose she knew of this, since she listened at doors.

Violet still stood by the door, her black eyes intensely following every move of my hand as if she were devouring it. Mary too noticed and shifted uncomfortably.

"Make fresh coffee." I couldn't hide the annoyance in my voice. While I was away, she had slipped out of my control.

Mary's stockinged feet dangled uselessly from the divan, her slippers fallen to the carpet. I had hoped to please her with Mama's reception room, but she didn't seem to notice her surroundings. I straightened the gold bracelet on her wrist that Violet had knocked awry, my affection relearning its accustomed channels. I was reminded of her great kindness, and my body relaxed toward her.

"I came to tell you I was leaving."

"Leaving Istanbul?" I felt regret and relief. I pulled my veil across my b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "When?"

"In a few days."

It was too soon. "Has something happened?" I shivered with dread at losing my friend. The strength of my feeling surprised me.

"A good thing, Jaanan," she said with a grin. "I still can't believe it." "Tell me," I demanded. "I am full of suspense."

"Well," she began, drawing it out, "I am now a woman of means."

"Means?"

"Rich, Jaanan. I'm rich!" She bounced on the divan.

"Why, that's wonderful." I laughed with relief. "I'm so happy for you, my dear friend. Congratulations."

"It means I can do as I please. When you have money, no one can tell you how to live."

"How did it happen?" I had a.s.sumed that since Mary worked, she belonged to a family without wealth, but I realized then that she had never told me anything about her family.

"My father died."

"Oh, I'm so sorry. Health to your head, my dearest." I reached out to comfort her, but she leaned back so she could see my face, grasped my arms, and beamed at me.

"I'm not sad, Jaanan. Not sad at all. My father threw me out when I was young. That's how I ended up in a boardinghouse, exchanging kitchen work for rent."

I gasped. "How is such a thing possible?"

"He said I had unnatural inclinations, as he put it. And he didn't like my friends."

"But had you no other family to turn to? Your mother? Your siblings?"

"My mother died when I was born," she explained, a flicker of sadness pa.s.sing through her eyes, her finger caressing the gold cross at her neck. "I have no brothers or sisters. It's not like here where you can fall back on dozens of people you call family. In England, you're on your own."

"And your friends?"

"Well, I told you about my friends. They turned out less than worthless. On that account, my father was right."

"That's terribly sad, Mary, dear. You have a family and friends here, though. I am here for you, and all my family is yours."

Mary's eyes fell to one side. "I know," she whispered. "Thank you.

"Actually, Jaanan"-quickly, almost shiftily, the pink tip of her tongue moistened her lips-"I came here to ask you something."

There are moments when you understand that something is going to happen before you know what it is. There is an unpleasant weightlessness at the back of your neck. Time yawns as if to show its unconcern, then rushes toward you at breakneck speed.

"Would you come with me to England?"

I was speechless.

"It would be great fun. We could live in a grand place, much nicer than here." She waved her hand around the reception hall.

She leaned closer and stroked back my veil again.

"We could be together, Jaanan. You and me. We wouldn't have to sneak off to that shack on the water." Her lips brushed my ear. "We could be together all the time."

I admit to confusion and knowledge chasing each other through my heart. Mary was my friend and I loved her. Now she was offering me a new life, a life of novelty and adventure, as had been foretold. I considered carefully. What life was left to me in Istanbul? Perhaps this was my kismet.

Mary mistook my silence for refusal. "If you're worried about missing your family, Jaanan, you could travel here whenever you like. The Wagons-Lits Company is building a direct rail line. Before long you'll be able to get on the Orient Express in London and get off in Stamboul." She clapped her hands. "Wouldn't it be wonderful? We could have such a life together."

Hamza, I thought. My hands toyed with the sea gla.s.s dangling from my neck. Hamza would never leave here. England would be exile.

"I don't know, Mary." I said slowly. "Let me think about it."

Mary leaned closer to read from my face what she could not read from my words, but I'm certain my confusion made me illegible.

She stroked my cheek, then pulled my veil back across it. "I'll wait patiently until you decide, Jaanan."

AFTER MARY LEFT, I found Violet in the kitchen wrestling a bucking fish from the pail at her feet onto the cutting board. She pierced its neck with the point of her knife and it stiffened.

"Where is the cook?" I asked her.

"Her mother is ill, so she went home early. I told her I'd prepare the meal."

The scales sprayed from beneath her knife as it sc.r.a.ped across the firm blue flesh. I watched as she held the fish down and, entering at the throat, slid the knife delicately down the chest and along the belly. Its ruby secrets spilled into her hand.

I FOUND THE letter under a pile of ma.n.u.scripts on a shelf in Ismail Dayi's study. I had been looking for an ill.u.s.trated copy of Fuzuli's romance, Leyla and Mejnun, that Ismail Dayi had found for me at the bookseller. It was to be a gift for Mary, in remembrance of our friendship, a celebration of her new life. The letter was on ordinary parchment of the kind used by clerks in government offices, but I immediately recognized Hamza's handwriting. It was dated two days after I had arrived in Djamji Street. The message began with a standard formula of greeting, then, in a kind of convoluted eloquence: The honorable Hodja is advised that certain necessary actions must be taken promptly in order to alter to everyone's advantage the unfortunate circ.u.mstances prevailing today. If you succeed in turning minds toward the good and only possible path toward a modern society, this will benefit many, but especially someone close to you.

ISMAIL HODJA SAT stiffly on the divan, the tea on the low table before him untouched. I sat beside him, holding the letter in my hand.

"Why did you never tell me about this, dayi?"

"It seemed an innocuous letter, on its face. It says nothing about kidnapping. I wasn't even sure the writer was asking me to do anything. I brought it to the kadi because it was an odd letter, dropped on my doorstep, while you were gone. Possibly it was an appeal to me to support the reformists. But whoever wrote it was too clever for his own good. He disguised his intention to such a degree that I couldn't make it out. Nevertheless, I believed there may have been an implied threat in the letter, that if I did not do this, harm might come to someone close to me. I didn't want to take any chances, my lion. You were missing and I had no idea where you had gone."

"But you knew who I was with."