The Winter Thief (36 page)

V
AHID WALKED THROUGH
the gardens of Yildiz Palace, unseeing, trying to understand what Huseyin Pasha had meant by “Rhea’s fiancé.” How could she have become engaged without his knowledge, and to whom? Turning down the drive leading to Akrep headquarters, he quickly halted. Dozens of gendarmes surrounded the building. Vahid ducked behind a shrub. Through the window he was outraged to see men moving about his office. He was certain they were there to arrest him. But on what charge? They had no evidence that he killed Sosi or anyone else. He would brazen it out, he decided, and almost moved from his hiding place. But what if the vizier had concocted evidence against him? He clutched his bandaged hand. Kamil Pasha had seen him with the girl in Karakaya. That must be it.

Seized by an unreasoning terror, no longer able to see where the threads connected, Vahid stumbled through the wooded palace grounds. If news of his arrest hadn’t reached the guards at the back gate, he might still escape. He had never told anyone where he lived, so he calculated that he had time before anyone noticed he was not at the palace and managed to track him down in the backstreet warren of Fatih.

Less than an hour later, Vahid sat at the table in his room at home and, fumbling slightly with his left hand, opened the velvet-covered box. He could hear his mother snoring down the hall. He lifted out the swatches of hair and the torn drawing of his father’s Greek mistress and his half brother, Iskender. Beneath it, in the folds of satin lining, his fingers found a pin with a narrow piece of satin attached. He pulled it out, licked his thumb, and rubbed at where it had begun to rust, although that just made it flake more. It was his award for graduating first in his high school class. He remembered that his father had received the news silently, nodding once, and gone back to reading his paper.

Later his father had gone to the coffeehouse, returning home long after he and his mother were in bed. Vahid, though, had been awake and saw his father pull the award from his shirt pocket and place it on the table. Vahid had felt a piercing joy at knowing that his father had shown the pin to the men at the coffeehouse.

“Baba,” Vahid whispered, gently replacing the award in the box. He added Rhea’s hairpin and the other objects and closed the lid. Then he went into the kitchen and shoved the box into the stove, waiting until the flames had bitten securely and were devouring it. He went back to his room, pulled a suitcase from the top of the wardrobe, and hastily packed.

T
HE SIX OARSMEN PULLED
in unison, sending the caïque skimming over the water north to Sariyer. Kamil and Huseyin sat in the bow deep in conversation, while Elif and Feride and her daughters nestled on a platform of carpets and cushions in the stern under a velvet awning that kept out the wind. Another boat followed with their luggage, but Elif had insisted on keeping her painting materials with her. Her boxes, canvases, and the easel filled most of the space. The two women sat close together, Elif’s head resting on Feride’s shoulder. Her eyes were closed and she seemed to be asleep. Alev and Yasemin trailed ribbons in the water.

Feride’s eyes focused on Huseyin with a greed and desire that shocked her. She had always prided herself on keeping an even keel, while others rocked the boat around her. Now that she felt herself coming frighteningly alive, Huseyin seemed to recede from her in equal measure. At the summerhouse, she was determined, they would find each other again.

When the yali came into view, she roused Elif. They excitedly commented on its attributes, pointing out to each other the peaked gables, the balconies traced in lacelike fretwork, the tower, and the terrace right on the water.

“I wonder what plants are in the garden. It will be wonderful to draw them, like the gardens in France.” Elif’s eyes were crystal-clear ponds.

“Kamil will be able to tell us, no doubt,” Feride responded, feeling suddenly chilled and wrapping her cloak more tightly around her shoulders. The women, with the twins, planned to spend the spring and summer at the yali, Kamil visiting on weekends.

They disembarked, Kamil helping Huseyin climb from the boat. Yakup, his mother, Karanfil, and some other servants from both households had come ahead. The servants helped the women and children ashore and carried their belongings to the house.

Doctor Moreno was to come up the following week with the paperwork for the foundation Feride was setting up to support the Eyüp Mosque hospital and fund a new children’s wing. Kamil was bringing an Austrian nun, Sister Hildegard, who had some ideas for establishing a children’s hospital in Galata.

To Feride’s surprise, Huseyin had been interested in her new project and pledged a considerable amount to supplement her own portion. She had seen the pleasure in his eyes when she told him what she planned to do. There had also been pride. Then he had kissed her cheek and gone to his own bedroom that night, as on all the other nights since his return.

Their entry into the new summerhouse was festive and full of laughter. Elif, Feride, and the girls dashed into rooms and leaned from windows, giddy with delight. The men watched them, bemused, but Feride could tell that they too were bewitched by the light reflected from the strait through the tall windows and the charm of the place.

She saw Kamil join Elif on the balcony overlooking the garden and put his hand on the small of her back. Elif stepped closer until her body touched his, yet she remained distinct, straight-backed. Feride wondered what the relationship was between Kamil and Elif. She knew that they had been intimate with each another before they left for the east. The thought pleased her but also made her uneasy. Kamil had never been interested in marriage. Would he marry Elif now? And she was no longer sure whether Elif, so unpredictable and sometimes so frighteningly violent, would be the ideal partner for her brother. Elif was saying something to Kamil and pointing. Feride wondered what had happened between them in the east. It was as if their connection had snapped apart and been replaced by a different kind of understanding. They were always together, yet she sensed that their pleasure in each other was restrained by wariness.

Feride turned and caught Huseyin looking at her, and before he could look away, she winked at him inexpertly and stretched out her arms.

M
ARTA AND
G
OSDAN’S
wedding was held at Father Zadian’s church late that spring. Vera ground out the cigarette beneath her shoe and entered the cool dimness of the church. All of Kurtulush seemed to be there. Gosdan stood beaming by the altar. Roses spilled from every vase, scenting the air.

Marta wore a white lace gown with a long veil that covered her face and billowed behind her. Vera thought she saw Marta nod in her direction as she passed. The bride held a bouquet of white roses, and when Gosdan lifted the veil, Vera saw a young, vibrant woman whom she barely recognized as the rectory housekeeper. They placed crowns on each other’s heads and drank wine from the same goblet.

Father Zadian blessed them, “Christ protect them under the shadow of thy holy and honorable cross in peace.” Guests tossed rose petals over the new couple as they swept from the church down the street toward the taverna where they were to have their wedding meal.

As Vera stepped out of the church into the light, she felt faint. Gabriel’s dying face interposed with that of Victor. She thought of Siranoush Ana’s corpse clinging to her daughter’s back. Vera’s heart began to race, trying to outrun all the horror it had witnessed.

She sat down on the steps of the church and began to cry. She was crying for them all, for herself, for the rage that now resided within her. When Vera looked up, she saw Marta hastening toward her, the veil billowing in the breeze so that she seemed a marvelous, iridescent creature.

This is what I will cling to, Vera promised herself, when I’m in Tiflis with Apollo.

K
AMIL WATCHED
E
LIF
put down a dish of food for the kittens that stalked about the gardens of the yali. Knots of them lay in every sunny spot, their fur a tapestry of shade and light. Elif had put on some weight, and Kamil appreciated her shape as she bent over. He went to her, laid his hand around her waist, and pulled her to him. She unbent slowly in his arms. There was always the initial resistance, then he felt her relax. We’ve learned the way there, Kamil thought, his chest tight with compassion. If only we didn’t have to walk the same stretch every time. Time, he scolded himself. She needs time.

Arms around each other, they wandered through the garden to the door that led into Kamil’s part of the house. He felt Elif tense, then soften as they crossed the threshold. When they entered his bedroom, they drifted apart. He locked the door and drew the curtains. By the time he turned around, she had slipped off her pants and tunic and was already under the duvet in Kamil’s bed. He wanted to see her body, but she had never again allowed it after the first time. He slid beneath the covers, reaching for her pliant warmth, then dived into the darkness that held her secrets.

When he woke, Elif was still in his arms, breathing evenly. In the shadowy room, he could see that her eyes were open. “Elif,” he whispered against her head, his heart beating hard with trepidation at what he was about to do.

“Yes?”

“Have you reconsidered about marriage?” Kamil was furious with himself at this awkward start. “I mean, would you consider marrying me?”

When Elif didn’t answer, Kamil began to despair. She had refused him the previous year. What made him think that just because she had given her body, she would now be willing to tie herself to him? He drew away. His hands were slick with sweat.

Elif turned so that their faces were almost touching. He couldn’t see her expression. “Will you take me as I am? Half a woman?” Her voice was gravelly with emotion.

“What do you mean?” Kamil exclaimed. “You’re not half of anything. In fact, you’re more of everything than most women are.” He wasn’t sure what that meant exactly, but he believed it, and it seemed to satisfy Elif.

“Then we should try it.”

Kamil was grateful for the dark that hid his tears of relief. They remained silent for a long time, entwined like the kittens. The enormity of what he had just done expanded in the room about him. Soon he would have to tell Feride. Arrangements would have to be made. Elif would need her own studio, apart from his precious winter garden. The sitting room by the garden had good light and could be adapted. He should tell Yakup to hire workmen. He lay on his back, eyes wide open, increasingly anxious, assailed by the consequences of his proposal.

T
HE FOLLOWING DAY
, Yorg Pasha arrived at the yali in a gaily decorated caïque rowed by eight men. They showed the pasha around the house and garden, and then, over a festive luncheon on the shaded terrace, Kamil took Elif’s hand and announced their engagement, aware that the words were irrevocable and glad of it.

The twins squealed with delight and then ran into the garden. As he listened to the assembled group—Feride and Huseyin, Yorg Pasha, Sister Hildegard, and Doctor Moreno—cheer and call out congratulations, Kamil felt relieved. He no longer had to worry about whether it was the right decision or not. He had found over these past few months that the calculus that decided whether or not decisions were right was unreliable and predicted nothing. What was precious and right was life and the joy one was able to give to others as well as partake in oneself. He leaned over and kissed Elif on the cheek. Just then Alev and Yasemin returned with fistfuls of flower petals that they strewed over the couple. Kamil laughed and hugged the girls. Then he walked to where Feride was sitting and, leaning over, cupped her head in his hand and kissed her forehead, letting his thumb linger like a benediction.

He saw Huseyin’s smile, the happiness and pride in his eyes when he looked at Feride, and he was glad that his sister and brother-in-law had reconciled and recovered whatever had been lost between them after the accident. Feride was radiant. She had spent the afternoon closeted with Doctor Moreno, Sister Hildegard, the family accountant, and an architect, drawing up plans for the renovation of the Eyüp Mosque hospital and discussing the seed money needed to draw donations to build a children’s hospital in Galata on the site of Sister Hildegard’s infirmary. The property for the hospital, Sister Hildegard explained over lunch, had been donated by the Austrian Embassy. Feride planned to ask the wealthy women in her circle for donations to construct the building. Once the hospital was built, the embassy would maintain it.

Elif spoke little, but Kamil could tell that it soothed her to sit at the center of her new and unexpected family.

After luncheon was finished, Yorg Pasha motioned Kamil over to a carpet spread under a blooming Stewartia tree. Kamil helped Yorg Pasha sit and arranged the cushions behind him. Yakup handed them tiny china cups of coffee, then withdrew.

Yorg Pasha took a sip. “We haven’t found him,” he announced. “His mother has been no help.”

Kamil wished he had stopped Vahid in Huseyin’s office. What had tipped him off? Kamil had gone through the conversation in his mind a hundred times but could find nothing. “You said Vahid’s mother is blind. Who’s looking after her?”

“He paid the daughter of a neighbor to look in on her. Their agreement was that if his mother became unwell, the girl would move in and take care of her. He gave her some money and promised her a lot more.”

“And you’ll be watching when it’s delivered.”

“The house is under surveillance. When the payment comes, they’ll trace it, hopefully back to Vahid.”

“Do you think he left the country?”

Yorg Pasha thought for a moment. “This is his habitat. I doubt he’d stray far from it.”

“So Akrep is going after its own chief?”

“The sultan has disbanded Akrep, although he still has his own secret police. He’s moving ahead with an even bigger secret organization, the Teshkilati Mahsusa.”

“An intelligence service,” Kamil observed. “I understand they plan to send spies abroad.” He set down his cup and stretched his legs out. “If it’s run well, it might benefit us. We need better information about what the British and the Russians are planning.”

“And the French, Germans, Armenians, and Greeks. Just spit in Istanbul and you hit a foreign spy. We need our own sources.” Yorg Pasha focused on Kamil’s face. “Your father would be proud of you.”

“What do you mean?” A breeze ghosted through the branches of the Stewartia tree, dislodging a torrent of white petals.

“The hero of Trabzon, celebrated in European capitals. Wouldn’t that be the perfect front for an intelligence chief? Sultan Abdulhamid has mentioned your name in connection with the position.”

Kamil was taken aback. “I’ve heard nothing about that. I’m not sure I’m interested.” His eyes strayed to the terrace, where Elif sat beside Feride, stroking a white cat in her lap.

“You may not have a choice.”

Kamil closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the trunk of the tree, his lips pressed tightly together. Petals drifted down and cooled his cheeks like the false promise of paradise.