But to see her running and laughing as if she were a child again, and to see the old bloom come back in her cheeks—I hadn’t the heart to forbid her. The grown-up sobriety of the last few years was all very well, I thought. Indeed, it was probably necessary. Like the green sheath of a rose, it would be good protection against the sorrows and hardships of life that were bound to fall. But it was heartening to see that in sunlight and pure water, she could still bloom.
Umm Kulthum had had her slaves set up the camp in a broad hollow into which an arm of the waters curled for a moment’s privacy before rolling on about its public business. It was the perfect spot because, even by the time it reached our ears—we khuddam perched on the surrounding hillocks in a protective cordon—even the most frantic squeal had all but faded. And as no man with any self-respect would take another step towards the first glimpse of a eunuch’s robes he saw, the girls’ games, delicious like stolen fruit, would always remain our secret.
I regaled in the sight—pitying all mankind for whom it must ever be forbidden—of the beautiful girls more beautiful still in their jewels, their bright yellows and pinks and deep reds, both on shalvar and cheeks. Their carefully braided hair now working its way loose like the linen of their undershirts. They flashed into sunlight, vanished into shadows, as if that hollow had a pulse and they were it.
Over their heads, the leaves of both chestnut and plane were as vet fragile and thin, but clouds of the lesser Judas trees in pink-violet bloom were like spun-sugar mist and hid magical worlds of fairy tale. In the rain of their petals, I forgot the myths of my childhood that were beyond redemption. I felt pure joy.
Only when the sun was directly overhead did the muezzin from the nearby Eyüp Mosque call the party to more sober pursuits. A quiet time was something it would be foolish to do without in the heat of the day. But the girls were so exhilarated they would have ignored that need were it not for the all-wise Word of Allah.
Eyüp is the burial place of the standard bearer of the Prophet who died in 672 of the Christian era during the first Muslim attempt to take Constantinople. It is such a sacred place that no man can be considered Sultan until the Sword of his ancestor Othman has been girded on him with those blessed walls.
Eyüp is a popular place for the living to come as pilgrims and for the dead to come and await the Day of Resurrection. Their tombs clustered at the feet of his who first made the ground holy. Some of the girls, my young lady among them, expressed their desire to go and visit the shrine themselves. But that would have to wait for another day. A woman would have to be desperately poor, old, and mad to attempt to jostle with the crowds of men on a Friday. Wealthy young ladies whose griefs could never be allowed a depth to shatter sanity must make other arrangements. The girls knew it was true.
A curious look of satisfaction came to Umm Kulthum when, naturally but regretfully, she had to refuse the request with a “Maybe next month sometime...”Although I saw the satisfaction, I soon dismissed and forgot it as no more than a simple woman’s delight at all outward shows of piety.
In about two hours, the Friday sermon was over and the mosque emptied itself. Then we khuddam made an attempt to shake off our drowsiness. A good number of the males decided, having come so far out in the country, that they would take advantage of the pleasant air and visit the Sweet Waters as well. We ruffled ourselves like threatened cocks and stood to attention so we would be more visible. And all the men did stay removed from our hollow. Why mar newly gained sanctity from the shrine of Eyüp by contact with strange women?
One party, however, did not immediately take the hint. As my colleagues and I moved closer to answer the threat, however, aw understood that it was not ignorance on the part of the men but knowledge that drew them. The leader of the small group of young scholars was Umm Kulthum’s youngest son Abd ar-Rahman. Soon Umm Kulthum’s eunuchs were carrying the remains of our picnic to them, After a while, when the young men were refreshed, Abd ar-Rahman himself came halfway up the hillock and his mother and sisters came halfway down to exchange formal, heavily guarded greetings.
Abd ar-Rahman was full of the day’s sermon. The imam he found brilliant and learned. He thanked his mother for the suggestion to come there that day and he would try and do so as often as he could in the future to learn more from the man.
Now his youngest sister Betula, a girl not much older and about the same size as Gul Ruh, stamped her foot angrily “Oh, Brother, why must always be so tedious? It’s spring! It’s a beautiful day and here we are in this park with the birds singing like mad. Can’t you for once be just a little romantic?’
“And you are such a silly girl!” her brother retorted with self-righteous indignation. “So brazen in that color. I should be ashamed to give
