Tariq Ali - The Stone Woman

She left the next day after an emotional farewell. She hugged Halil with extra warmth, whispering words of warning in his ear and advising caution in whatever he had undertaken. Out of all of us Zeynep was the easiest to please. She was happy with her husband, whom we all regarded as dull beyond endurance and whose premature baldness was a source of great amusement to my father. She was happy with her children and her home and she was even tolerant of her mother-in-law, regarded widely as one of the most poisonous women in Istanbul. Her malicious lies were so well known that her name had become a byword for mendacity in the bazaar. Shopkeepers hated her because she continued to haggle long after they had reached their lowest price. Even my brother Halil, the mildest of men, was heard to remark that he would contribute generously to make up a heavy purse in order to hire a few bandits to kidnap and lose her in Albania. To his horror and my father’s delight news of this remark, too, spread in the city and Halil received three letters from the richest shopkeepers offering to pay any amount of money if he would take on the responsibility of organising the actual abduction. Zeynep knew all this, but preferred to maintain a discreet and slightly sad silence. She knew that if she had joined us, life at home would become unbearable. She had to face this woman every single day.

I was preoccupied with my own problems. While the children were beginning to recover from the shock of their father’s death, helped by the love of my mother, Halil and, even more, my lovely brother Salman, I had become very deeply involved with Selim. I had never known anything like this before and there were times when I was frightened by the intensity of the relationship. Frightened not by him, but myself and how dependent on him I had become. I longed for his presence. I yearned for his passion. There were days when we could not meet and I would think of him all the time. Sometimes, to reassure myself that I was in control of the situation, I would neglect him quite callously and we would squabble. He would get very upset and the anguish lengthened his face. It may sound cruel on my part, but sometimes I preferred to see him sad rather than happy. It was the only way I could assert my power over him. He could never understand that my behaviour was intended to test myself and not him. Was I really in love with him or was it simply his sensual presence? I was sure his love for me was real, even though I had no idea where it would lead us and how it would end. I had never swum in such a sea of love before and I was frightened that I might drown.

The children alone were capable of distracting my attention. They had to be loved, looked after and settled in bed every night. At these moments nothing else mattered to me. Orhan and Emineh were the two most important things in my life. But the minute I left their presence, Selim would instantly enter my head and I would be overpowered by longing.

He had already been here for three weeks and Hasan Baba had begun to grumble and moan and had berated him for leaving his shop in Istanbul untended. Selim would argue that the children were freshly orphaned and Orhan, in particular, needed his company. This was true. Orhan had become very attached to Selim and the two of them would go for a long walk every day, while my mother and her maids fussed over Emineh, doing and redoing her hair in several different styles and showing her the mirror to get her approval. But Hasan Baba was not convinced and threatened to request Iskander Pasha to instruct Selim to return to Istanbul.

He had told me all this a few nights ago. He had never felt any fear at the prospect of being discovered. It did not bother him at all. He would laugh at the thought and tell me that if ever we were caught in flagrante , there would be no choice for me but to marry him. I was not yet convinced that this was the best solution. Orhan and Emineh might react badly. My mother might withhold her permission. The romance of elopement begins to fade when there are children involved.

What could I do in this situation? I knew from my own experience with the unfortunate Dmitri as well as the experiences of a number of my women friends that, often, grand passion burns itself away and the couple who mistook it for a deep and lasting love realise one day that they have nothing to say and do after they have briefly enjoyed each other’s bodies. The discovery discomfits them because they had always believed their love to be unique and special. They were not like other people. When they finally admit that there is nothing left, they run away from each other and the place where the love originated, as rapidly as the coachmen can drive them. All the letters written late at night but never posted are now hurriedly destroyed. If, some years later, they run into each other by accident at a wedding or funeral or in a shop buying presents for their children or lover, the only emotion they feel is one of embarrassment.

I say all these things to convince myself that this time I must not rush into anything and yet I know that it was never like this with Dmitri and that if I push Selim aside, I might be punishing myself rather than him. I doubt whether I could feel such a love for anyone again. There are times when I am bewildered by the calm he exhibits in the present situation. There are other questions which for him are more important than our love and, in a curious way, I find that reassuring.

The last time we made love, he stayed in bed afterwards discussing the dangers of a military uprising against the Sultan unless the ordinary people were aroused to defend their own interests. I did not know what he meant. The bewildered look on my face silenced him. He held me very tenderly in his arms and explained. “Nilofer, there are rich and poor in this world. The poor are many and the rich are few. Their interests have never coincided. Both rich and poor need to get rid of the Sultan, but what will happen after they succeed? Will we find another Sultan whom we will call a President, but who will wear a uniform? Or will we found a party as they have in Germany and France which fights for the poor?”

I had never thought of these matters before and I found them dull, but for him they were the subterranean dynamos that charged every fibre of his body.

For over an hour, I had been sitting outside on the terrace watching the changing colours of the sky, while my mind was whirling with ideas and possibilities. When Zeynep left that morning it had just begun to rain. Even now, though the sky remained cloudy, the tiny strip of blue that had marked the horizon since the morning had been growing by the hour. I had observed it at various intervals throughout the day. The clouds had now begun to disperse in strange shapes and the setting sun at the edge of the sea was painting them different shades of pink, red and purple. The effect was sensational, and suddenly this raw natural beauty made me want to share my life with Selim. The thought grew stronger and stronger, till I went in search of Salman. I found him strolling in the lower section of the garden, where steps lead to the sea. He, too, had been admiring the sunset. I did not pause for reflection. I told him the story of my love as we walked up and down the terraced garden. He did not interrupt me, not even once, but waited till I had finished telling everything, which I did, including the fact that Selim often entered the house in search of my bedroom and my body.

Salman smiled as he embraced my shoulders. “I think it is dangerous to continue in this fashion any longer. I will talk to Halil to see if our young friend can be recruited into the army as an officer this week. Then I shall talk to Father on your behalf and you must tell your mother at the same time. I think that through such a combined operation we could achieve instant success. But tell me something, my little one. Are you very sure this time?”