Tariq Ali - The Stone Woman

Later that afternoon he was in a more relaxed frame of mind. Having painted the darkest possible picture of his boyhood and youth and the bitternesses that married life had imposed on him, he decided to conclude the chapter of his miseries. He spoke now of the new worlds he had seen and how they had changed his life and his world-view. He had become adept at reading the sky and the sea. He knew why sailing ships avoided the Red Sea, why it was the prevailing winds and the currents that determined the length of each journey and not the distance. He explained why it was sometimes quicker to travel twice the distance in order to catch the right breeze rather than proceed directly to the destination. With the exception of Salman, whose face remained impassive, none of us had any knowledge of these subjects and it was like entering an enchanted world.

It was when he spoke of the night sky that his face changed, as if the memory alone was sufficient to restore some peace and harmony in his life. He had learnt to read the sky, to recognise the stars and their place in the firmament and, as the years went by, he could do so from different parts of the world.

As I listened to him speak that day, I understood why he now found it difficult to contemplate a sedentary existence. He had simply outgrown the conveniences and comforts that the ready-made world of the big city had to offer him. Each of our lives is a journey. By the time we have arrived halfway, our life, on every level, has developed its own singular routine. We do not question how we live any longer. We accept our failures and our successes. We become settled in our views. Sometimes we think if we had made a different turning in our lives so many years ago we might now be on a different road. But we accept that nothing is now likely to change. If anything, we start to look backwards. Since time and biology have circumscribed our own future, we simply stop thinking of it.

I know Selim disagrees with me very strongly on these matters. He accuses me of adopting a conservative outlook on life. He argues that just as big events can transform everything in society as a whole so they can change our lives regardless of our age. Perhaps they can and will, but is it always for the good? I know our Empire is crumbling and that is something positive, but in the end will the result be good? Unlike Selim, I am not so sure. He insists that history always moves forward. It can never regress, but he is wrong on this and Salman and I often argue with him, citing many examples from Europe and the history of our own religion. We have been regressing now for nearly two hundred and fifty years.

My Uncle Kemal may not have found real happiness in the sense that my mother meant by this phrase, but he was certainly not unhappy. He had not loved and lost someone as both Sara and Iskander Pasha had done, which meant that, for them, at least, the memories of the past never ceased molesting the present. This was not my Uncle Kemal’s problem. He was escaping from the present and in his journeys had discovered his future. Salman had talked of the woman who shared Kemal’s life in Tokyo and it did not seem to me that there was anything missing in his life. If anything, it was too crowded. I mentioned this last fact to the Baron, who roared with delight at this observation.

“Well judged, Nilofer. If he could push the Istanbul passengers in his life off the boat altogether, he would be even happier. How we live our lives does not, unfortunately, depend on us alone. Circumstances, good or bad, constantly intervene. A person close to us dies. A person not so close to us carries on living. All these things affect how we live. If Memed’s father, for instance, had lived another twenty years would Memed have taken a decision to move to Berlin? I really do not know. Sometimes, if you are even moderately happy, it is better not to ask too many questions. That way lies unnecessary torment.”

After the evening meal was over, the Baron produced a bottle of what he proclaimed to be very fine, old French cognac. On subjects such as these, I have learnt to accept his word. Kemal sniffed the glass, took a sip, and exclaimed that it was simply the best cognac he had ever tasted in his life. This pronouncement delighted the Baron, who beamed expansively at his brother-in-law.

“Tell me, Kemal,” my father asked him. “how is your company doing? Will the new canal in Egypt cut down the length of your trips to the Far East?”

Kemal frowned. “I wish you hadn’t mentioned that bloody canal. It is true what you say, but the canal is designed to help British trade. It is not designed for sailing ships. As I told you this morning, the Red Sea is too dangerous for us. You need fixed routes and steamships. Then the canal will be useful.”

“Why not get a few steamships?” interjected Memed.

Kemal looked at his brothers and sighed. “Who would have guessed that all this time, while I’ve been away at sea, back at home maritime geniuses have been lying dormant in our family? Perhaps I should surprise all of you by preparing a manual on conjugal intimacy. Why on earth do you think I’m back here? I’m on my way to London to collect my first steamship. They have charged me a small fortune, but I will get my revenge sooner than they imagine. I will take it to Yokohama and we will see if the Japanese can build me ten more at half the price. If they can, I will build a steamship company that will rule all the oceans. London to New York on the Ottoman Line. Istanbul to Tokyo via Alexandria. All becomes possible. I have raised all the money myself, some of it with the help of Nilofer’s Great-uncle Sifrah. Everything is about to change and, unlike our Sultans, I am not going to wait till everyone else has overtaken me. Does that answer your questions?”

Everyone became very excited and the talk began to take on a surreal dimension, as even my mother felt obliged to intervene. The fact that nobody present except Kemal and Salman had even the vaguest idea as to what was needed made little difference. It was the sort of discussion that contributed nothing very substantial, but did have the effect of making Uncle Kemal feel that he was the only person present who was at the centre of real progress. Halil did not count since none of them realised how close the Committee was to taking power. In fact Halil and Selim had spent most of the day on horseback and had arrived just in time for the meal. They had pretended to go hunting for quail and wild duck, and a leather bag containing many dead birds had been deposited in the kitchen, but I knew better. It was a feint. They had gone to meet the young officer from Salonika in a nearby village to hear how the eunuch-general had been despatched, the reaction in the palace to his disappearance and the latest plan for action.

“And here I was, Kemal,” said Iskander Pasha, “almost convinced that you had come to visit your ailing brother. Instead it was the lure of Mammon!”

“If you have problems in Yokohama,” suggested the Baron, “bring your steamship to Kiel. We might give you a better price than the English.”

Kemal Pasha looked thoughtful. “Thank you, Baron. What I think I really need is for Salman to rejoin my company and start helping his old uncle again. The office in Istanbul needs a strong presence. Perhaps we can discuss this on our own a bit later. I must return to Istanbul tomorrow and sail for London.”

This remark was taken as a hint that we should leave the room to the two men. We all took our leave of each other, but as I began to walk away, Salman drew me back.

“Stay with us, dear Nilofer. There are no secrets from you. Unless you are desperate to be with your husband.”

I stayed.

“Well, Salman?” asked my uncle. “Are you ready to return to work?”

“I am, but one thing worries me.”