“Come up the back then. Like before. Don’t just go.”
“I can’t go to the Pera.”
“Somewhere else then. Please. Just tell me.” Her voice catching, some nerve finally snapping.
He glanced again at the taxi. Not Laleli. Georg’s in Nisantasi? A story for the neighbors, a photograph Georg wanted him to have, and how was the dog? Assuming they had a key. Wondering who the lady was. The whole maze of Istanbul and nowhere to hide.
“Leon-”
“I’m thinking.” A movie, anonymity in the dark. But not where a new widow would go. Somewhere in plain sight. That would make sense to them. Outside, the cabbie flicked away the end of a cigarette. Leon followed its arc, a few sparks, to the gutter. “Okay,” he said quickly. “Go to the concierge.” Methodical now, as if he were laying down cards. “Ask him to recommend a good shop in the Bazaar. For copper, silver work. He’ll know one, they all do. Then take a taxi to the Beyazit Gate. There’ll be a lot of gold shops just inside. Keep going straight. I’ll find you.”
She was quiet for a second. “I’m going shopping? Leon-”
“For an urn. For Frank’s ashes. Be sure to tell the concierge that. They’ll ask him what you wanted.”
“My god,” she said, her voice squeamish.
“I know. But it’s something you’ll have to do, sooner or later. They might even give you a little room, out of respect. I doubt it, but they’ll still want to keep their distance. And it’s something you wouldn’t be doing with me.”
“No.”
“So they won’t be looking for that. Give me fifteen minutes, then go downstairs.”
“Why the Bazaar? Why not somewhere over here?”
“Because it’s easy to get lost in the Bazaar. Everybody does. So they won’t be surprised when they lose you.”
Leon waited in a stall a few doors down from the entrance, back half turned, fingering necklaces, while the salesman scurried around the shop, bringing out more trays. Every inch of wall space seemed to be covered in gold, dangling and shiny. Who bought it all? The line of stores stretched for at least a mile, all crammed with jewelry, shimmering with reflected light. In a few hours the market would be locked, only night guards in the empty shuttered streets, but now it hummed, the noise of a thousand voices rising up to the domed ceiling.
When Kay came through the gate she stopped for a minute, dazzled, trying to get her bearings. A winter coat and hat, the western clothes like a magnet to the shopkeepers, inviting her in as she walked down the passage. Leon waited a few more minutes, watching the people. The salesman brought out another tray. And then Leon spotted him, a man in a suit who could have passed for a relative of Gulun, maybe actually was. Stubbly cheeks, eyes fixed ahead, keeping Kay in sight. Two more minutes. No one else. Not a team. Leon left the shop and began to follow, tracking Kay’s hat in the stream of bobbing heads. She passed Feraceciler Sok, the first big cross street, and then began to loiter, gazing into shop windows, waiting for Leon to appear. The policeman stopped too, turning away slightly.
Leon went over to one of the tea boys who darted through the market like mice, appearing around corners with trays and vanishing behind rolled carpets. He handed him a coin. The woman in the hat, say my name and lead her toward the Ic Bedesten, then take the first left, the coin disappearing into a pocket, the boy gone almost as quickly, something out of
“Kay.”
She started for the shop.
“Don’t come in, just look at the window. He’ll have to stop.”
She raised her eyebrows, who?
“You’ll see him. He looks like Gulun. Probably a cousin. Go up two streets, then left and duck into a stall. Wait till he passes and then come out. Now he’ll be looking for you. When he sees that you’re behind him, he’ll have to keep going. Stay behind. Let him get a street or two ahead, then take a quick right. There’ll be a lot of leather shops. Bags and things. Just follow the street. Ready?”
She began walking. Leon stood out of sight until the policeman went by.
The shopkeeper looked at Leon.
“Her husband,” Leon said.
The shopkeeper’s eyes widened, an unexpected drama. Leon handed him another note.
“If he comes back, you never saw her.”
The shopkeeper dipped his head, the note gone as quickly as the boy’s coin.
Leon hurried toward the narrower streets with leather and clothing, everything hanging on hooks in tiers, almost blocking the light. Where he’d told her to turn. A few minutes, people offering him wallets and belts, then finally a glimpse of the hat.
“This way. Did he turn back?”
“I don’t know.” Flushed, slightly out of breath.
They took the curved passage back toward Beyazit Gate, a circling the policeman wouldn’t expect as he wandered through the aisles looking for her.
Outside, they crossed into the square, scattering pigeons, and went through a plain door that opened onto a cloistered courtyard with a marble fountain in the middle.
“What’s this?”
“A library. He probably doesn’t even know it’s here. It was an inn for the mosque. See the doors? That’s where people stayed.”
Kay exhaled, as if she’d been holding her breath. “Can we sit down? It’s okay?”
Leon led them to one of the low walls surrounding the courtyard. After the Bazaar the air seemed eerily quiet, the only sounds a few birds drinking at the fountain pool. The last of the afternoon sun. He thought of the crowded benches on the
“We don’t have much time.”
“Will he keep looking?”
“For a while.”
“All this just to see you. It’s serious now, isn’t it? How long can you do this? Before-” She looked at him. “I had the feeling, at the hotel, I might not see you again.”
“No,” he said, brushing her cheek with his hand. “What’s wrong? You look-”
She smiled a little. “Makeup never works when you need it, does it? Am I all blotchy?”
He shook his head.
“Don’t be nice,” she said, taking out a handkerchief. “I’m probably a mess. Well, it’s the right day for it. It’s not as if I didn’t have feelings for him. I mean, I married him.” She blew her nose, nodding to some question. “And cheated on him. Not a very good wife, was I? So maybe it’s not just for him. Maybe me. Everything.” She wiped the corners of her eyes. “You think crazy things.” She took a minute, looking over toward the market. “What happens when I don’t bring an urn back?”
“You were overwhelmed. You couldn’t go through with it. Not today.”
She looked down. “Another one of your stories. You like it,” she said, cocking her head back to the Bazaar. “The cat and mouse. It’s easy for you.”
“Losing someone’s easy. The rest isn’t.”
“But you enjoy it.”
“Sometimes,” he said, turning it over. “It’s seeing if you can stay up there.” He pointed to some imaginary balance beam. “Not fall. Anyway,” he said, taking a breath. “We can’t stay long.”
“One more minute.” She touched his hand, then moved hers back. “It’s like a church, this place. If somebody sees-” She twisted her ring. “Are you leaving soon?”
“Tonight.”
