Orhan Pamuk - My Name is Red

“He destroyed our home with a thoroughness that clearly reveals anger and hatred. I don’t think his work is done either, I don’t expect this devil will calmly retire to some corner now. He stole the final picture. I’m calling on you to protect me-protect us-and keep my father’s book from him. Now tell me, under what arrangement and conditions will you see to our safety? This is what we have to resolve.”

He made an overture to speak, but I easily silenced him with a look-as though this were something I’d done countless times before.

“In the eyes of the judge, it is my husband and his family who succeed my father as my guardians. This was the case even before his death, for according to the judge my husband is still alive. It was only because Hasan tried to take advantage of me during his older brother’s absence, a failed assault that embarrassed my father-in-law, that I was allowed to return to my father’s home though not officially a widow. But now that my father is dead and I am without even a brother, there is no question that my only possible guardians are my husband’s brother and my father-in-law. They’ve already been scheming to have me returned to their home, coercing my father, and threatening me. Once they hear my father is dead, they won’t hesitate to take official action. My only hope to prevent this is to conceal my father’s death. Perhaps in vain, for they may be the ones behind the crime.”

At that very moment, a thin beam of light gracefully filtered through the broken shutters and fell between Black and me, illuminating the ancient dust inside the room.

“This isn’t the only reason I’m hiding my father’s death,” I said, fixing my gaze into Black’s eyes, in which I was gladdened to see attentiveness more than love. “I’m also afraid of being unable to prove my whereabouts at the time of my father’s murder. Though she’s a slave and her word might be discounted, I’m afraid that Hayriye is involved in these machinations, if not against me, then against my father’s book. And as long as I remain without a protector, the announcement of my father’s murder, while initially simplifying matters at home, might well, solely for the reasons I’ve enumerated, cause me great misfortune at her hand; for instance, what if Hayriye is aware that my father didn’t want me to marry you?”

“Your father didn’t want you to marry me?” asked Black.

“No, he didn’t, he was worried that you’d take me away from him. Since there’s no longer any danger of you doing such evil to him, let’s assume my dear unfortunate father has no further objection. Do you have any?”

“None at all, my darling.”

“Fine, then. My guardian has no claims of money or gold on you. Please excuse the impropriety of my discussing marital circumstances on my own behalf, but I have certain prerequisites that I must, unfortunately, explain to you.”

As I fell silent for a while, Black said, “Yes,” in a manner that suggested an apology for his hesitation.

“First,” I began, “you must swear before two witnesses that if you behave badly toward me in our marriage, to a degree that I find unbearable, or if you take a second wife, you will grant me a divorce with alimony. Second, you must swear before two witnesses that if for whatever reason you are absent from the house for more than a six-month period without a visit, I will also be granted a divorce with alimony. Third, after we are married, you will of course move into my home; however, until the villain who has murdered my father has been caught or until you find him-how I’d love to torture him myself!-and until Our Sultan’s book, completed under the guidance of your talents and efforts, has been honorably presented to Him, you will not share my bed. Fourth, you will love my sons, who do share my bed with me, as if they were your own children.”

“I agree.”

“Good. If all of the obstacles that still lie before us disappear this quickly, we’ll soon be wed.”

“Yes, wed, but not in the same bed.”

“The first step is marriage,” I said. “Let’s see to that first. Love comes after marriage. Don’t forget: Marriage douses love’s flame, leaving nothing but a barren and melancholy blackness. Of course, after marriage, love itself will vanish anyway; but happiness fills the void. Still, there are those hasty fools who fall in love before marrying and, burning with emotion, exhaust all their feeling, believing love to be the highest goal in life.”

“What, then, is the truth of the matter?”

“The truth is contentment. Love and marriage are but a means to obtaining it: a husband, a house, children, a book. Can’t you see that even in my state, with a missing husband and a deceased father, I’m better off than you in your isolation? I’d die without my sons, with whom I spend my days laughing, tussling and loving. Moreover, since you long for me even in my present predicament, since you secretly ache to spend the night with me-even if not in the same bed-under the same roof with my father’s body and my unruly children, you’re compelled to listen with all your heart to what I now have to say.”

“I’m listening.”

“There are various ways that I might secure a divorce. False witnesses could swear that before my husband set out on campaign, they witnessed him grant me a conditional divorce; for example, that he’d pledged that if he didn’t return within two years, I should be considered free. Or, more simply, they might swear they’d seen my husband’s corpse in the field of battle, citing various convincing and descriptive details. But taking my father’s body and the objections of my in-laws into consideration, to rely on false witnesses would be an unsound way to proceed, as no judge of any intelligence or caution would be persuaded. Considering that my husband left me without alimony and hasn’t returned from war for four years, even judges of our Hanefi creed couldn’t grant me a divorce. The Üsküdar judge, however, knowing how the number of women in my situation is increasing each day, is more sympathetic and so-with a nod from Our Excellency the Sultan and the Sheikhulislam-the judge occasionally allows his proxy of the Shafü creed to rule in his place, thereby granting divorces left and right to women like me, including conditions of alimony. Now, if you can find two witnesses to testify openly to my predicament, pay them off, cross the Bosphorus with them to the Üsküdar side, arrange for the judge, making certain that his proxy will sit in for him so the divorce might be granted by virtue of the witnesses, register the divorce in the judge’s ledger, obtain a certificate testifying to the proceeding, obtain written permission for my immediate remarriage, and if you can accomplish all of this and get back to this side of the Bosphorus by the afternoon, then-assuming no difficulty in finding a preacher who might marry us this evening-then, as my husband, you could spend this night with me and my children. Thereby, you’ll also spare us a sleepless night of hearing in every creaking of the house the steps of that devilish murderer. Moreover, you’ll save me from the wretchedness of being a poor unprotected woman when we announce the death of my father in the morning.”

“Yes,” said Black with good humor and somewhat childishly. “Yes. I agree to make you mine.”

You remember how only recently I declared I didn’t know why I was speaking to Black in such a high-handed and insincere manner. Now I know: I’ve come to realize that only by assuming such a tone might I convince Black-who has yet to outgrow his childhood muddle-headedness-to believe in the possibility of events that even I have a hard time believing will come to pass.

“We have a lot to do in fighting our enemies, those who would obstruct the completion of my father’s book and those who could contest my divorce and our marriage ceremony-which will be performed tonight, God willing. But I suppose I shouldn’t further confuse you, since you are already even more confused than I.”