I was too sure of myself to be hurt by their words. I was sure and, though the others missed it, Esmikhan must have felt my confidence. She opened her eyes and met mine with the first look of interest I had seen from her in days. I replied to that look with one of calm—one might almost say pious—resolve and she sensed that, too. She found the strength to raise to her elbows and, when her attendants tried to stop her, to push them away.
“Leave us. Just a few minutes,” she begged of them. “I will certainly call you back if I need you.”
The women left with many doubting and grumbling glances backward. The maids, too, were waved out of the room, then my lady sat right up and asked, “Will you, Abdullah?”
“It is not a question of my will but of Allah’s,” I said. “But I will do what I can.”
I left her then at once and found Ferhad sitting with our host in the selamlik.
“Why, Abdullah!” the governor greeted me. “You are just in time. Ferhad has finally agreed to join me in a glass of wine. He actually asked for it. I did not press him at all. Will you join us?”
Ferhad raised his goblet to me, giving me all the credit for his fall from perfect discipline like a naughty boy blaming his comrades. When he took a sip, I could tell he did not enjoy the burn of alcohol, but he thought it might help him face what the morrow would bring. Even at the rate he was going, I knew I had to stop him soon or he would be of no use to himself or to my lady. I politely declined our host’s invitation, and then I was inspired to say, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just had a small request. It is such a little thing, it can wait ‘til we get to Constantinople. My master has a good knowledge of Persian.”
“What is it, Abdullah?” the governor demanded.
“Nothing, really. Only my lady was reading some poetry and the poet makes too many classical Persian allusions for her to manage it on her own. The poem is very beautiful—an old one about the nightingale and his beloved rose—but unfortunately we can’t quite make sense of it. I have the manuscript in my room and..”
“I’m afraid my Persian was all learned in the barracks.” The governor laughed.
“But I have had experience with the poets,” Ferhad said. I had guessed both answers before I asked.
“But I can see you are not in the mood,” I said.
“I don’t know...” Ferhad began.
“If sometime tonight you do feel you could spare the time. I’ll be awake all night alone in my room with the manuscript. I have packing to do…”
I bowed to leave but even as I did, I saw that the young spahi, so used to making cryptic love messages of his own, had had no trouble reading through mine. He set down his goblet and was abruptly his former, stalwart, hopeful self.
Back in the harem, I discovered that my lady had put on a fresh gown of deep pink and red that became her so well. She had also washed her face and fixed her hair. Had I not seen her just half an hour before with my own eves, I would have found it hard to believe such a drastic change could come over anyone. But still, she was not altogether of one mind. The same thoughts and fears that had been plaguing me for months were now transferred to her.
“What if... “ she said, and that beginning was finished in the pause by everything from…he should not come or coining, should not find me to his liking? to...we should be discovered? It is death to commit adultery. But such thoughts only added to the thrills that swept cold up her back and then fired her cheeks at intervals.
For my part, I was calmer than I had been in all those months. The decisions were now all out of my hands and I felt wonderfully free. I took her hand and pressed it, and she surprised me with a little kiss on the cheek. Then I left the room as if to use the lavatory. When I returned, Esmikhan’s room was empty. I thought I would be nervous, waiting up like a mother whose daughter is undergoing the test of virginity on her bridal night. I thought I would start at every sound, expecting any moment to be discovered. But I blew out the lights, unwound my sash, set aside my dagger, and climbed into the bedding as if I were in my own room. I fell asleep almost instantly, exhausted with relief, and I do not think I have slept better since.
I returned to my room when I awoke in the morning. My bedding was neatly folded as if it had not been touched, but in the air was the definite, though delicate smell of sex, so incongruous in a eunuch’s room. I opened the window and it faded at once without a trace—like dew before sunlight. The nightingale gives way to the morning lark.
Never have I seen my lady so radiant as when I held the curtain for her to climb into her sedan to begin our long trip home. That that night had been one of a kind did not matter. She had been loved and cherished truly and completely and that was more than she had ever hoped to enjoy in her life. Our hostesses must have been somewhat insulted by the cheer with which she could leave them now it was day. Esmikhan was so full of joy that she sang. The notes carried through the sedan walls and lightened the porters’ steps. I think it was even heard by Ferhad who, on pretense
