Mika Waltari - The Wanderer

We embarked in my boat, and as the stars came out and sparkled like silver sand against the blue of the night sky I saw far away my beautiful house and garden, and the high walls rising in terraces above the shore. So unreal did all things seem to me that life itself appeared but as a dream, a flower, a song. I drove my nails into the palms of my hands in an effort to control myself, impatient for the moment when I could once more hold my wife Giulia in my arms. The slaves had hardly raised their oars to let the boat glide noiselessly to the marble landing stage before I leaped out, and on winged feet sped up the steps to my house. Seizing the first lamp I saw I hastened to the upper floor, calling out Giulia’s name in the hope that she might yet be awake. Hearing the noise, the faithful Alberto came rushing to meet me with his hair on end, breathless from astonishment. He hastened to fasten his yellow coat and threw himself at my feet weeping for joy at my return, and embracing my legs with his powerful arms. Not until he heard Giulia calling to me in a faint voice did he come to his senses and release me.

Giulia was lying limply on her bed, her hair curling over the pillow.

“Oh, Michael, is that you? I thought by the noise that thieves had broken in. I can’t think how it is you’re here so soon, for Sultana Khurrem and I agreed that it should be tomorrow. Someone has been negligent or taken a bribe, and deserves severe punishment for the fright you’ve given me. My heart is still thumping and I can scarcely draw breath.”

She sounded indeed so breathless and frightened that I raised the lamp to look at her, and although she quickly drew up the coverlet and hid her face in her hands I could not but see that her left eye was bruised and that there were red weals across her shoulders as though from a cane. Aghast, I snatched off the coverlet and beheld her shivering, naked body covered with red blotches.

“What is this?” I cried. “Are you ill, or has someone beaten you?”

Giulia began to sob, and wailed, “I slipped and fell on those treacherous stairs, striking my eye and rolling right to the bottom. By a miracle I broke no bones. Can you wonder that I’m bruised and shivering? Alberto helped me to bed and when he had gone I drew off my shift to look at my bruises and rub them with salves. I hoped to be quite well again to welcome you tomorrow-and then you come storming in like a wild beast with no consideration for me whatever.”

She was talking so excitedly that I could not get a word in, and as I had often slipped on those stairs myself, especially after drinking wine, I had no reason to doubt her word and was aware only of a deep thankfulness that she had suffered no worse injury. Yet somewhere in the depths of my heart that evening-though I would not admit it even to myself-the vile, scorching truth was revealed.

Having humbly begged Giulia’s pardon for my thoughtless behavior, I called Abu el-Kasim to enter, since owing to her injuries Giulia could not leave her bed. But Abu was out of humor because Giulia had allowed the Russian nurse to go out with the other servants to celebrate the Sultan’s victories. He fidgeted about the room for some time, scratching himself, and at length set forth in search of the woman to protect her virtue from the mob.

I was not sorry to see him go, for now at last Giulia and I could be alone. Inflamed by wine and my own suspicions I could not master myself, but embraced her to deaden my thoughts, though she begged me to spare her bruised body. My passion only burned the hotter as the agonizing truth forced its way deeper and deeper into my heart. Giulia submitted ever more willingly and at last began to respond faintly to my caress. Artlessly she asked me whether I still loved her, and I could only grit my teeth and declare that of all women on earth I loved only her-that no other could satisfy my desire. This was the hideous truth and I hated myself for submitting to her spell.

At length I sank to rest beside her, and she began to chide me gently. “What an unnatural father you are, Michael! You’ve not even asked after your daughter. Would you not like to peep at her while she’s asleep? You could never guess how she has grown and what a beautiful girl she promises to be.”

At this I could control my thoughts no longer and said, “No, no, I won’t see her. I won’t even think about her. She has Alberto. All I ask is to bury my thoughts, my will, my hopes, my future, and my bitter, bitter disillusionment in your arms. I love you only and can do no other.”

At my violent and despairing words she raised herself quickly on her elbow. Her face was strangely flushed and there was a cruel look about her lips as she stared at me in the yellow lamplight. But dissimulation came easily to me now, and presently she shrugged her white shoulders and lay down calmly at my side, saying, “You talk very foolishly, Michael. You should not neglect your own child for my sake. Mirmah has often asked after you, and tomorrow you shall walk with her in the garden, to show both her and me that you’re a tender and thoughtful father, though I know you care little for children. So much at least you can do for me, when I ask you so prettily.”

Next morning she brought Mirmah to me and I took the child into the garden to look at my red and yellow Indian fish. For a while she held my hand obediently, as no doubt Giulia had bidden her, but soon she forgot me and began throwing sand into the water with both hands to scare the fish. I cared little for the fish, but narrowly scrutinized the child that Giulia called mine. She was in her fifth year-a capricious, violent child who went into convulsions if her smallest wish was opposed. She was beautiful; her features were regular and faultless as those of a Greek statue, and her complexion was so smooth and dark as to make her eyes seem strangely pale. While we strolled in the garden Alberto followed us like a shadow, as if fearing that I might throw the little girl into the pool. But how could I have harmed her who had no share in the sin or in the death of my heart? When she had tired of teasing the fish Alberto took her quickly away and I sat down on a stone bench that was warmed by the sun. My head was empty and I did not want to think.

I was not many years over thirty, but the gnawing uncertainty of my’ imprisonment had led me to doubt the purpose of my life, and on my return the corroding truth took up its dwelling in my heart. I was overcome by a desperate longing to flee from the city of the Sultan and find somewhere-as far away as possible-a peaceful corner where I might live out my life like other men and in quietness increase my knowledge.

Yet how could I give up Giulia and my beautiful house, my comfortable bed, the good food served in porcelain and silver, my friends the poets and dervishes and above all the Grand Vizier who trusted and needed me? I could not desert him-least of all now, when despite his brilliant successes the shadows were clustering thick about him. I strove to make a bold decision, but I could not tell what was best for me. Time slipped by like a swift stream, the worm gnawed at my heart, and vainly I sought comfort in my cups and oblivion in cheerful company.

To all appearances, the Ottoman Empire had never known so golden an age. The conquest of Tunis had brought with it control of Africa’s ancient caravan routes over the desert from the Negro lands; along these routes poured gold dust, black slaves, ivory, and ostrich feathers. Tunis was also a base for the conquest of Sicily, and already the Knights of St. John-the greatest menace afloat-were thinking of withdrawing from Malta to the security of the Italian mainland.

From Tabriz the united armies of the Sultan and the Grand Vizier embarked upon an arduous march to Bagdad, and news of the bloodless capture of the holy city of the caliphs came as a climax to many victorious tidings. Yet these successes could not provoke Shah Tahmasp to a decisive encounter, and the march on Bagdad claimed more than its share of victims. I received a letter from the Grand Vizier of which the very handwriting betrayed a disturbed state of mind, commanding me to join him in Bagdad.