Saba squatted by his side. “What do you mean?” She wanted to tell him about the infection, but she was paralyzed by embarrassment and fear. She tried to think what her mother would want her to do.
“I don’t know. It’s a violent attack on her body. What happened today or yesterday? Did she eat something and become sick? Did something happen to her?”
“She seemed very fatigued, more than usual. She said her muscles hurt.” Saba tried to remember. “She’d never complained about that before…” She grasped the quilt. “And there’s a…”
Gudit broke in defensively, “I gave her boiled barley and camomile and willow extract. It brought the fever right down.”
“That may be, Gudit. You’re not wrong. But this is something much more serious. She’s burning up and her breathing is labored.” He lowered his voice. “She might, I beg your pardon, Saba…she might pass away.”
Saba froze at his words. “No, that can’t be. She was fine before. It’s just a fever.” She pulled back the quilt, revealing Balkis in her thin chemise. Saba was dismayed at the unpleasant odor rising from her mother’s body again, even though she had just washed it.
Gudit ran over and pulled the quilt back over Balkis. “You can’t,” she yelled at Saba. “It’s not proper.”
Saba tried to yank the quilt out of Gudit’s hands. When she wouldn’t let go, Saba slapped her across the face.
Gudit retreated across the room. Courtidis looked on in consternation.
“There’s an infection here,” Saba folded the quilt back again and pointed. “I’m sorry, Mama.” She cradled her mother’s head.
Courtidis lifted Balkis’s chemise. “Beg your…” He stared down at the circumcision scar, then looked at Saba. He followed her eyes to Gudit standing against the wall.
“There are lots of ways to kill someone,” he said softly, his eyes never leaving Gudit’s face, “but the slow ways are the most merciless.”
He examined Balkis, then gently tucked the quilt around her.
“What is it?” Saba asked desperately. “Is that what’s making her ill?”
“Possibly, if it’s infected her blood or if there’s something wrong internally.” He startled Saba by pounding his fist on a chest of drawers. “Why didn’t you tell me about this? If I had caught it earlier…”
“I didn’t know myself until today,” Saba whispered. “Mama never told me. But if it’s an infection, surely there’s something you can do. Even now.”
“Saba, I’m sorry, but my skills fail me here. I know of no powders or techniques that can bring down such a high fever and bring order back to her heart and lungs. But I can tell you that whatever it is, it couldn’t just be the infection of her lower parts, since that appears to have happened some time ago.” He glared at Gudit. “Her condition is much worse than the last time I saw her.”
“She can’t die, Constantine,” Saba begged. “Please don’t let her die.” What else could she have done to help her? Saba asked herself. Her mother had never countenanced interference from her family. At least she had let Constantine treat her. Could he save her now? He must.
“This must have been brought on by something. Think.”
Saba struggled to focus. She went to the storage room and brought out the monstrance. “She cut herself on this.” She held up the discolored gold tine.
Courtidis took it. “Show me the wound.”
Saba pulled her mother’s arm from beneath the quilt and pushed back her sleeve, revealing the bandage. Courtidis examined and cleaned the wound, then instructed Saba on how to care for it and bind it properly. Saba was glad to follow orders as it allowed her mind to go numb.
He took the tine over to the window. “This is dirty,” he observed.
“That’s Mama’s blood.”
“No, I mean there’s older dirt underneath, see?” He pointed to the sheath of granular black material beneath the streaks of fresh blood. “Do you know what that is, Gudit?”
Gudit’s face was gray. “Her mother’s blood. She never let me clean it.”
Courtidis waved the tine in the air. “Come on, Gudit. Let’s have it all at once. Why was Balkis’s mother’s blood on here?” Saba noticed the authority in his tone, so different from his usual shy manner.
“She scratched herself.”
“And?” Courtidis said with elaborately mimed patience. Saba could see he was sweating.
“Well, she died a day later. A red line crept up her arm and then she was gone. I never saw anything like it.” Gudit stepped back toward the door. “Do you think there’s some kind of bug on there that gets under people’s skin? It was seventeen years ago.”
“An insect? Was she stung?” Saba asked.
“Sounds like blood poisoning.” Courtidis studied the tine again. “This might have been contaminated with something. It would explain her rapid decline.”
“You mean it was on there for seventeen years and then poisoned Mama?”
“Nature has a thousand ways of betraying us. I wish I knew.”
He took a small vial from his bag. Seeing the compote, he poured a small amount of the yellow syrup into a glass, then added the contents of the vial.
Saba watched his every move, as if by sheer will she could infuse his hands with the power to heal her mother.
“I beg your pardon, but I don’t know what else I can do,” he admitted. “This will relax her.” He felt Balkis’s forehead and shook his head. Suddenly he dropped the glass.
Balkis had started to choke. Her face turned bright red and her tongue swelled, blocking her throat. Her eyes protruded with the effort to get air.
Courtidis lifted her head and turned it to open her airway while a frightened Saba held on to her mother’s shoulders. Finally, in desperation, he pushed his finger into her mouth to depress her tongue, but nothing helped. Saba watched in anguish as her mother’s body bucked beneath her hands.
Finally, the violent writhing ceased and Balkis’s arms fell away. Saba kept her arms around her mother as if the connection through her own body could somehow fool death. She felt an intense bitterness toward the midwife, blaming her for keeping her mother’s condition secret for so long, for putting her mother’s life in danger. Gudit had killed her mother. Saba turned her head, but there was no one in the room besides Courtidis.
“Mama,” she said in a thick voice, “don’t go. I need to talk to you.” She began to sob.
Courtidis put his arm around her. They sat like that for a long time. When Saba finally stood, she had made a decision about Courtidis. She needed him now, for many reasons.
She went to find Amida.
34
It was dark and had begun to rain heavily by the time Kamil arrived at the Imperial Museum, a dull, leaden rain that insinuated itself into the collar of his waterproof cloak.
The museum was housed in a two-story structure built into the west slope of the hill above the Golden Horn. Hamdi Bey had already arrived, having received Kamil’s message, and had lit the lamps. The light glanced brilliantly off the turquoise and dark blue mosaic tiles that covered the walls. The tiles were partially hidden by glass-fronted cabinets, within which Greek, Roman, early Christian, and Byzantine objects were neatly laid out, categorized, and labeled.
Hamdi Bey led him to the room he used as his office. Despite being roused from his home at a moment’s notice, he looked dapper in a neat wool suit and pressed fez. His gray-streaked beard and mustache were freshly trimmed. He peered at Kamil through his spectacles.
“Hang your cloak over there. I apologize for not offering you tea. There’s no staff here at this time of night except the guards. I’ve tasted their tea, and I’m not sure I can recommend it to ordinary mortals.”
“I just wanted to make sure this is in a safe place,” Kamil said and took out a bundle wrapped in oiled cloth. He unwrapped it and placed the silver box on Hamdi Bey’s desk.