Part 26 (1/2)

”And did they find her?”

”The one that found her was her own father.” Spyro shook his head. ”Terrible, it was. He jumped in and hauled her out. Kept saying she was all right, just had to get her warm. 'She's sleeping,' he said. Over and over. 'Just asleep.'” He looked at Yas.h.i.+m. ”It broke us all up. I think it was the saddest night of my life, when the old man brought his daughter back. It took him ages to understand. He wouldn't let go. n.o.body wanted to be the one to say it.

”Fevzi Ahmet came in, white as a sheet. Wet, swollen-eyed. He'd been searching, too, hadn't he? He looked at his little sister in his dad's arms, and he said: 'She's dead.'” Spyro pinched his lips together, and shook his head. ”Just straight. 'She's dead.'

”It was like the old man suddenly understood. He laid Gul's body on the ground and he lifted both his arms. I don't know what was in his head, but it was something terrible, to hear a man curse his own son. The lad just stood there and let him go on, in front of the whole village. Never said a word.”

The caiquejee shook his head. ”People talk about tragedy, don't they? Fevzi left. His mother died soon after that. They said it was a wasting disease, but it was what happened that night that killed her. Fevzi's old man went a bit strange. I'm sorry to say it, but people avoided him. Everyone felt sorry for him, but there was something, I don't know, just terrible about the way he'd cursed his son. And some people felt sorry for Fevzi Ahmet, too, though there were plenty of others who blamed him and said the old man had been right.”

”And you, Spyro? What did you believe?”

”I couldn't say. The old man was out of his wits. And Fevzi had loved that little girl, so I suppose that drove him another way.” He shrugged. ”But I believed in the curse, if that's what you mean.”

Spyro dabbed at the paintwork, then dipped his brush again and wiped it carefully on the rim of the pot. ”Like a fish, she is. Safe in the water, vulnerable in the open air. You know how it is, with all these sheds crammed up together. And not everyone, efendi, as careful as I like to be.” He began to paint.

”There was a fire at the yali along the way,” Yas.h.i.+m said. ”It was the Kapudan pasha's place, wasn't it?”

”That's right, efendi.” Spyro paused for a moment. Yas.h.i.+m wondered if he was thinking about the work Fevzi Pasha did then, before he became a naval man; the way he made people afraid. ”I don't know why he came back here. Perhaps-I don't know, efendi. Perhaps even he couldn't keep away, in the end. But it couldn't be like the old times. He kept himself to himself, and the family, too.”

”What happened?”

”Well, the fire, of course. It was in the night, efendi-only the women in the house, too, and the little girl. And the old gentleman who was a lala. He used to do the shopping, so we'd seen him about. Dear old thing, my wife said.” He hunched his shoulders tight for a second. ”It had got ahold, to be honest, while everyone was asleep. The noise woke us-me and the wife. We had to burst the gate down, to get in. By the time we got in, there wasn't much left.”

”And the little girl died.”

”An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.” Spyro straightened up. ”It's in the Bible, and it shouldn't be.”

”The curse?”

Spyro nodded. ”I saw him that night. Ran by me as we were coming in to help, bundle of something in his arms. He just looked at me, efendi. Cold as ice, it was, that look. I think-he knew. He sent us each a gold piece, efendi. I gave it back.”

”He was never extravagant.”

”That's it,” the caiquejee said slowly. ”Not an extravagant man, Fevzi Pasha. But I wouldn't take a piece of gold for doing what I thought right, efendi. There, I'll leave it to dry now.”

He picked up a cloth and took the pot of sh.e.l.lac off the heat.

”It haunts me, fire,” he said.

Yas.h.i.+m was a long time in replying. ”I worked for him, all those years ago,” he said at last.

Spyro turned, and Yas.h.i.+m could see the sullen pouches in his face. ”I thought you were interested in the boat. Forget we spoke, efendi.”

”I just wanted to talk.” Yas.h.i.+m wondered how to allay the man's fears: it was like sc.r.a.ping mud from a boot. ”I just wanted to know, that's all.” He paused. ”I don't have to remember your name. I don't need to know.”

He could see the caiquejee working his jaws. ”I'm Spyro. As you remembered. I'm a caiquejee, same as he was once.”

He stared down at the hull of his boat. ”That's it,” he said. ”I'm finished, now.”

91.

TALFA was enjoying herself.

One of the old lady housekeepers had bowed very low and burst into tears.

”Come, come, Ayesha, dry your tears!” Talfa smiled kindly, and reached out to take the woman's hand. ”You must remember what a distinguished life you've had. What a boon you have been to us all, and to my brother, of course, especially. You should be thanking G.o.d, not crying for what is done.”

The former housekeeper nodded, and dabbed a handkerchief to her eyes. ”You are right, my lady. Of course what you say is true, and I must try to be happy with what G.o.d has chosen for me. But-oh!”

She crushed the handkerchief to her lips.

Necla hung her head. She found it all too sad, and dull, and awkward. With each bleak encounter she sensed her mother's spirits rise, as if the spectacle of the rejected women's grief and abandonment sharpened her awareness of her own good fortune. The sadder they were, the happier her mother sounded.

”Necla, my dear, do try to sit straight. That's better. Now, say h.e.l.lo to your auntie Pevenna.”

Necla remembered some of them, as they flitted forward with tears and brave smiles, bowed low, and pinched her cheeks.

”How well she looks!”

”Such a treasure, little Necla! I wonder, do you remember your auntie ... ?”

”You'll be filling out soon, little one! You will make us all so proud ...”

Her mother, gayer than ever, ordered noses to be blown, eyes to be wiped. The valide had been something of an ordeal; but here Talfa had brought life and warmth back into these women's benighted lives.

Talfa's quick little eyes darted everywhere.

”And who is that, Hyacinth? There, beside the divan-the girl with the mandolin?”

”The mandolin? That is Melda, my lady. She is staying with us for a short while.”

”Melda? Our Melda?”

”She belongs to the ladies' orchestra, mama,” Necla said quietly.

”I am aware of that.” Talfa sniffed. ”I'm afraid, Necla, it does not explain what she is doing here.”

Hyacinth bent forward. ”Her nerves, my lady,” he fluted apologetically. ”She needs rest.”

”Rest?” Talfa frowned. ”Bring her to me.”