I sat up cross-legged directly opposite her and looked straight into her eyes.
“Don’t do that, Nilofer. It reminds me of him.”
She was in an impossible mood, but I persisted. “Listen, I know what you felt about him and why you’re still angry, almost thirty years later, but that is not what I am asking you. You still talk as if it happened yesterday. The wounds can’t possibly still be hurting, Mother. I was asking you something else. Five or ten or twenty years after I was born, you could still have tried and made Iskander Pasha love you. He’s such a lovely person and—”
“Stop it, Nilofer! I’ve had enough of this nonsense. My husband is a good and generous man and I am attached to him. There is no tension in our relationship, but nor is there much passion. Neither of us wants anything else. So spare me your matchmaking at this stage of my life and concentrate on your own happiness. Sometimes I think there is too much romance in you. You are too impulsive. Too instinctive. You don’t think before you act.”
I began to laugh at her. “And where do you think I inherited that from? Not him! It couldn’t be him, because he accepted Grandfather’s gold pieces — and I’m sure it was gold, not silver — and deserted you and every instinct in his own body. Isn’t that correct, Mother? Whom do you think I take after? You, or that rat?”
She did not laugh as I had hoped. She smiled. “Go to bed now, child. You’re very tired.”
NINETEEN
The fragments of Kemal Pasha’s life and his ambition to create the world’s largest steamship company; Nilofer reflects on happiness and the meaning of life; the death of Mariam
“NO, IT WAS NOT as you say, Iskander.”
We were still at the breakfast table and the three brothers who, I had to remember, had not been around the same table since their father’s death nearly thirty years ago, were dominating the conversation. Petrossian stood in the corner, listening to every word and permitting the odd smile to lighten his face.
My father had just suggested that Uncle Kemal had been such a self-sufficient and solitary person even as a child that their father had been impressed and thought he might become a great thinker or philosopher. Kemal Pasha denied this assertion. “I suppose that was one possible interpretation. The reality was otherwise. I learnt to depend on myself from an early age not because I was morose or preferred my own company, but because Memed and you demanded so much attention from everyone all the time. I remember our mother saying to me on one occasion how nice it would have been if I had been born a girl, so that she could have dressed me in her clothes and jewellery. It was her way of wishing she had paid me more attention.”
Memed smiled affectionately. “My memory is somewhat different. I remember being reprimanded quite severely for ignoring you. Father once asked me whether I was jealous of your arrival. The question bemused me and he must have seen that on my face. He explained that the property, apart from this house, which thanks to Yusuf Pasha’s insistence could only be inherited by the oldest son, would now have to be divided three ways. I think Father did not believe it when I said the thought had never occurred to me. I suppose when he was growing up these questions dominated discussion in their household and the arrival of every new son was greeted by the elder brother as a catastrophe.”
“That may all be true, Memed,” said Kemal, “but the fact remains that you and Iskander left me no other option but to amuse myself. What was really irritating was that your self-importance had infected the servants as well. Petrossian was devoted to Iskander and accompanied him everywhere. Isn’t that the case, Petrossian? Well, answer me, man.”
Everyone’s gaze shifted to the old man with the red beard who stood near the door. He did not answer.
“Please answer him, Petrossian,” my father pleaded. “Otherwise your silence will count against us in the ledger he has been preparing for twenty years.”
Petrossian smiled. “I was ordered by the master to make sure that Iskander Aga did not get into trouble. They were always worried for him. He was considered very impulsive. That is why I went with him everywhere.”
Kemal was not impressed. “He only replied because Iskander asked him to do so. All of you have witnessed it. Nothing changes. I have no doubt that Father gave him the instructions, but so what? It doesn’t change anything as far as I’m concerned. Hasan Baba, bless him, shaved Memed and cut his hair with such delicacy that from a distance it seemed as if he were painting a portrait. With me it was always in a hurry. I was a permanent afterthought in this family.”
My father burst out laughing. “I’m so glad you’re here, Kemal. We hear of your amazing life from people who have run into you in the strangest parts of the world. Welcome home.”
Kemal Pasha softened. “It is nice to be here, but let me get the last complaint off my chest. It has burdened me a long time. Have I your permission, sister Hatije?”
My mother smiled. “You don’t need my permission, Kemal. This is your house and you must treat it as such.”
Petrossian came to refill our cups and though he usually went first to Iskander Pasha, on this occasion he served Uncle Kemal before everyone else with a look of exaggerated servility. The three brothers exchanged smiles.
“I will speak my last bitterness,” warned Kemal, “and then move on to more pleasant subjects. When it came to our future lives, what happened? Memed was allowed to settle in Berlin with the Baron. And I was pleased for him. Iskander went into a Sufi phase and married the lovely Zakiye. And I was pleased for him.”
Everyone knew what was coming and laughter began to spread even before he had finished.
“Oh, yes, it is very funny for all of you. I was forced by Father to contract an arranged marriage. He was straightforward. The dowry was phenomenal. I was not even allowed to see the woman. I’m not surprised they didn’t permit that…”
“Kemal,” interrupted my father. “You could have spied on her in the baths.”
“I tried. She never went to the cursed public baths. You think those women are unaware that we spy on them? They know. I don’t think Leyla liked baths! So I was compelled to marry her, sight unseen. And as Allah is my witness I shut my eyes very tight and did my duty. Three children. All girls. Mother was delighted, till they began to develop and grow. When the youngest of my three graces turned six, our mother realised that the game was over. It was unfortunate that each of them had inherited their mother’s features, but even that did not bother me. I could have ignored that if just one of them had been intelligent or, at least, not completely stupid. It is not a nice thing to say of one’s own children, but it is even worse to engage in self-deception. To be bovine in appearance and half-witted at the same time is too much of a punishment for one person to bear. Did I ever tell you what our mother said to me a few months before she passed away? She had just finished her card-game with our aunt and had won some money. She was, as a result, in a generous mood that day. She kissed my cheeks and apologised to me. She’s the only person who ever acknowledged the weight of my burden. She said to me: ‘I’m sorry, my little sparrow. We knew your wife was no fairy, but your father and I had hoped the children would be like our side of the family. We were wrong. Terrible fate. It has dealt you such a repulsive hand.’ I decided that it was pointless to bemoan my misfortune any longer. I decided to become a seafarer. Contrary to what you imagine, I have rarely been on my own. Each ship has a crew of fifty sailors and they are never of the same nationality. They speak different languages. They have different gestures to express the same thing. Some nod their heads when they mean ‘no’ and others will shake their heads when they mean ‘yes’. Their customs are never the same. Then there is the captain. He may be the silent type who thinks only to himself and rarely speaks unless it is to issue a command or he could be loquacious to the point of irritation, talking of his adventures and presuming on the politeness of his listeners. There may be anything up to fifteen passengers. They may be adventurers in search of a fortune, traders, women escaping from misfortune, younger sons from wealthy families whose father has died and the house has gone to the oldest brother. They need anonymity in a remote corner of the world. I always have company on the boat. I have learnt a great deal in this way. Some of the conversations have been very rewarding. One does not have to cultivate insincerity as in the society we all keep in Istanbul or Berlin or London or Paris or any other big capital. My ships have made me truly cosmopolitan. I have learnt to flow like a wave and sometimes, when I am lucky, I find a wave-brother in the captain or his first mate. I am pleased to be here with all of you, but of one thing I am sure. I could never live in Istanbul again. Now if you will excuse me, I will go and shave, evacuate my bowels and take a bath. These routines are universal. Only the timing changes. Did I ever tell you that in Japan they regard you as odd unless you excrete at least three times a day? I never managed more than twice.”