My father did not reply. He waved his stick in the direction of Halil.
“It was my idea that we meet tonight.” Halil’s soft voice compelled Hasan Baba, who was getting more and more deaf with each passing day, to move close to the speaker and cup his good ear in the direction of the sound. “For the last few days I have been discussing matters of some importance with my father and brother. They concern the future of our Empire.”
“What future?” the Baron interrupted. “If we’re going to speak frankly let us confront reality.”
Halil smiled. “Baron Pasha! You have stolen my words. It is because the Empire has no future that we need to speak and not simply that, but to act. I am a simple soldier. I am not a philosopher of history or a political thinker, but even I have come to realise that if we do nothing, if we simply sit still and watch our country being devoured, everything will be lost. Our people will wake up one morning and find themselves, like our Sultan, enslaved by Britain, France, Russia and the new Germany. It is our good fortune that these powers are not in agreement. Each needs us alive in order to prevent its rival from eating us whole. There is deep unrest in the army. The young officers want to act now. They wish to depose the Sultan and establish a republic.”
He paused to see if anyone had reacted. Memed clapped his hands in delight.
“It has to be done, Halil, but we are already a hundred years too late. We should have learnt from the French much sooner.”
Hasan Baba frowned and shook his head. “No good will come of it. It is not possible for a fly to lift an eagle and dash it to the ground.”
Selim disagreed. It was the only time he spoke that evening. “Halil Pasha speaks the truth. It is we who are the eagle, Hasan Baba. The Sultan and his corrupt courtiers are the fly. They are the parasites who have clipped our wings and lived off us for centuries. Now we want our wings back and there is no height that we cannot reach.”
My brothers smiled. I simply felt like kissing his lips.
“I agree with young Selim,” said Salman, whom I had not seen with such shining and alert eyes since he had first arrived here. “I agree with Uncle Memed that we should have acted a hundred years ago. But let us not forget that the French, too, have been playing musical chairs with their history. They execute the King and crown Napoleon. The English and Austrians topple Napoleon and the French restore their King. Another revolution gives us another republic and then we get an imitation Napoleon, who calls himself the Third, and so the circus goes on. When we act — and act we must — let us do so in such a way that there can never be a restoration. These cursed Sultans have let us decay for far too long. Let them take their jewel boxes and go and live on the French Riviera.”
Iskander Pasha had been listening intently to the discussion. He tapped his stick gently on the floor to demand attention and then, to the amazement of everyone present, he began to speak, low and stuttering. But it was speech! It had returned. We all rose spontaneously, amazement and happiness written on each face, and moved towards him. Tears shone in Hasan Baba’s eyes as he threw his arms around Iskander Pasha.
“Allah be praised. This is nothing less than a miracle. How could this happen?”
“The human body remains a mystery,” said the Baron. “If he could walk again, I suppose we should not be surprised that he can talk again. This calls for a real celebration.”
Iskander Pasha told us all to sit down. Hearing him speak again was unreal. I found it difficult to contain my happiness. The first thing I will do tomorrow, I told myself, is bring Emineh to him so she can hear his voice.
“Please,” he said in a slightly hoarse voice, “I did think of remaining silent and announcing the return of my speech tomorrow, because what we speak of tonight is much more important than our individual lives. Let us continue. The question we confront is not the Sultan or the Caliphate. All that is over. What will we put in its place and will we have a place or will they carve us into tiny slices and share us out? My speech returned a couple of days ago when Nilofer asked me whether I had heard of Auguste Comte. I was relieved to hear that she had heard the name from young Selim, who I knew could only have got it from Hasan. After Nilofer left the room, my lips repeated the name Auguste Comte and to my astonishment I realised I could speak. It was Comte, you see, and not Allah. So, my dear Hasan, from now on I want you to say ‘Comte be praised’ or ‘There is only one Comte and he is Comte and we are all his prophets.’”
Everyone laughed, including Hasan Baba, though he could not resist muttering dire warnings. “The first thing you do with your recovered tongue is to speak blasphemies. Careful lest it be taken away from you again.”
“Speaking of tongues, Father,” said Salman with a glint in his eye, “do you recall the remark attributed to Yusuf Pasha, the glorious builder of this beautiful house?”
Iskander Pasha shook his head.
“One day, he was visited by a group of courtiers from Istanbul. They had brought him gifts and honeyed words fell off their tongues with great facility. Yusuf Pasha knew they had come to spy on behalf of the Sultan. The Ruler of the World wanted to know whether his old friend had truly repented so that his exile could be ended. The courtiers, who feared our ancestor’s influence, wanted to prevent such a calamity. At first, Yusuf Pasha refused to receive them, but after many entreaties he agreed that they should be allowed into his library, this same room where we have all assembled today. He looked at them sternly and warned them that if they did not repeat his exact words to the Sultan, he would ensure that they were all punished. The courtiers trembled a little, but nodded obsequiously. Then he told them: ‘Your visit today has been very welcome, but I have an important piece of advice for you. If you value the life of our Sultan and Caliph, act on it the moment you return. As you all know, I revere and love the Sultan since we grew up together. I am seriously worried about his health. Since your tongues spend so much time up the Sultan’s posterior, I am worried that you might infect him with some dangerous disease. I have discussed the matter with my physician and he insists that courtiers in your important positions must have their tongues circumcised without any further delay.’”
I have never seen Iskander Pasha laugh in such an abandoned fashion as he did that night on hearing Salman’s joke. Even the Baron, momentarily, lost his poise.
Salman, too, had changed. Like his father, he appeared to be a very different person these days. When he had first arrived here he gave the impression of suffering from a deep inner despair. His whole being had been infected by a cynicism of the coarsest variety. His father’s affliction and recovery had rekindled something in him or perhaps it had been his long discussions with Halil or perhaps both had played some part in his recovery. Whatever the cause, the result was a joy. Yesterday he had spent the whole afternoon playing with my children, without once mentioning his own.
The Baron cleared his throat and the room became silent again.
“Iskander has posed your officers an important question, Halil. After the Sultan, what and where? I fear you will lose everything. Ultimately you might be left with Istanbul and Anatolia. Do you agree? Are you prepared to accept a truncated but compact country?”
“No!” said Halil. “We will not lose the Hijaz or Syria. Egypt has already gone. Our Albanian viceroy, Mohammed Ali, saw to that and his Beys control the cities, but the British navy controls the sea and he who controls trade determines how new countries are made. We must keep Damascus at all costs.”
“History does not believe in ‘musts’, my dear man,” replied the Baron. “A lot will depend on the British. I think they want it all. The whole region is a route to their most prized possession, India. There, too, the wretched Mughal Emperors failed to lay stable foundations. The story is not as dissimilar to the situation here as one might think. This weakness in statecraft lies at the heart of your religion. We shall see whether or not you retain the Hijaz and Damascus. The tribes will go with whoever offers them more money and less trouble. Your real problem lies in Istanbul, the heart of what is left of the Empire. If no history happens where you are, you forget what history is. You lose all sense of direction. Look at Italy and Germany in the long period before they were unified. That is the fate I foresee for the Ottoman Empire unless you act.”