“Melda? What was the matter?”
The elderly man cracked his long knuckles and looked unhappy. “She hasn’t been doing very well,” he said.
“She’s been sick,” another man added. “And Hyacinth lala was concerned. That’s right. He wanted to talk to you.”
“And he said I was coming? To see him here?”
The old men exchanged glances. “I thought that’s what he said,” the first ventured.
“Do you remember?” He appealed to the others, who considered.
“That’s right,” one of them said finally. “He said you were coming later on, and he’d be glad to see you.”
Yashim nodded and bit his lip. “Has the valide been informed?”
The eunuchs glanced at one another. They’re rudderless, Yashim thought. All their lives they have deferred to others, to a Kislar aga, to Hyacinth, to the valide. But the valide had grown old, and the Kislar aga was no longer there.
And Hyacinth was suddenly gone.
“I take it none of you have spoken to her yet.” It was a statement, not a question. The eunuchs looked sorrowful, and faintly relieved. “I’ll tell her myself,” Yashim added.
The old men thought that would be best. Yashim left them all nodding solemnly and stroking their beardless faces, and went to find the valide.
101
He found, instead, the valide’s slave.
She put a finger to her lips and let him through the door.
“She’s sleeping, Yashim efendi,” she whispered.
Yashim nodded. He had momentarily forgotten the young woman’s name.
“Perhaps I should wait,” he said.
The girl’s head bobbed. Her eyes were wide. “It’s Hyacinth, isn’t it? He’s dead.”
“Yes, I’m afraid so, Tulin,” he added, remembering her name. For a moment he had felt like one of the old men. “He must have fallen on the ice. He died instantly.”
“Hamdullah,” the girl mumbled: by the grace of God.
“Hamdullah,” Yashim repeated. “He was an old man.”
She said gently: “I can tell the valide about it, if you’d prefer.”
“I don’t think so, Tulin. The valide has known Hyacinth for a very long time.”
It came out as a rebuke, more emphatically than he’d meant. He glanced across and saw a slight flicker in the girl’s eyes as she registered what he’d left unsaid. That she was less significant than Hyacinth. That she was less to the valide than Yashim himself.
He flashed her a brief, friendly smile. A girl of her age could scarcely comprehend what Hyacinth embodied: the shared experience, the years of enclosure and drama and ennui.
He turned from Tulin and stood looking into the fire that smoldered in the vestibule.
“Hyacinth was important to the valide in a way that might be hard to understand,” he began. He would have added that the old eunuch was like a lovely vase given to her years ago to keep, which was now lost and broken; but at that moment a bell tinkled faintly in the room beyond.
“Tulin! Tulin!”
She brushed past him swiftly, with a glance he found hard to interpret, and before he could say another word she had gone in to the valide.
Yashim sighed, wondering whether he should stay. If he waited, it was at Tulin’s pleasure: he could hardly blunder into the valide’s chamber unannounced. He cocked his head. He could hear the valide muttering something next door, and the lower, soothing tones of Tulin’s voice; but farther off he could hear, too, the sound of the muezzin calling the Friday prayer.
He started, surprised it had grown so late.
At the door he brushed past a damp cloak hanging on a peg; the coldness made him shudder. He noticed a pair of galoshes on the floor, surrounded by a little muddied pool of meltwater, and the sight suddenly brought tears to his eyes. It was, he thought, just the sort of little thing Hyacinth would have fussed over, in his punctilious way.
Yashim considered it the proper time to offer up his prayers.
102
The man with the knife walked down into the valley, looking for water.
When the path crossed a stream he took off his jacket and his shirt in spite of the cold and washed his arms, his hands, scrubbing at congealed gore with his fingernails.
When his hands were clean he washed his face, drenching his neck and shoulders with the icy water.
He rubbed his wet hands over his chest, and flinched. The dog had gotten closer than he’d thought-not a cut, quite, but a red welt over one breast. He splashed it with water, and massaged it beneath his hands. He reached for his shirt and looked it over. The thick linen was not damaged: only when he held it to the light could he see a tiny hole.
He rubbed the welt again. Then he washed his knife.
103
The little mosque of the harem was half empty, but Yashim was sure that everyone in the diminished harem population was there: the retired women weeping for Hyacinth, and the bewildered old eunuchs he had met earlier. The corporal of the halberdiers was there, too, very correct in his manner, keeping his eyes fixed to the ground. Yashim watched the women carefully, out of the corner of his eye, but he did not see Melda; nor, of course, did Tulin or the valide make an appearance.
The imam, himself very old and frail, made a short and scarcely audible reference to Hyacinth’s death, and more confidently led a prayer for his soul.
Afterward Yashim found Tulin waiting for him in the vestibule.
“I guessed you had gone for prayers, Yashim efendi. I told the valide you would come.” Her eyes crinkled as she smiled. “I haven’t said anything, you understand. I thought-”
“Quite right, yes.” Yashim nodded.
He stepped through the doorway and found the valide sitting up on the divan. She was wearing a bright silk jacket, so finely quilted that it hung loosely on her thin shoulders; under it a scarf and a fine lawn chemise. She looked exquisite.
“Mysteries, Yashim.” She lowered the pince-nez with two fingers and inspected him over the rim. “Tell me all.”
He inclined his head, gravely. It was just his luck to find the valide in this mood, sportive and light: she was dressed, he thought, to charm-not to receive bad news.
He approached the divan, and she held out a hand indicating that he should sit.
He took her hand. “There is no mystery, valide. It’s Hyacinth. It seems that-”
“Hyacinth!” She pulled back her hand and fanned herself with it. “ La! I desired intrigue. I’m disappointed. Go on, Yashim.”
“He’s dead.” Yashim paused. “He fell from the balustrade, in the Court of Favorites.”
The valide said nothing.
“He cracked his head on the floor of the pool,” Yashim continued. “He must have died instantly, hanum efendi.”
The valide lifted her chin and glanced at the window. “It’s been snowing,” she said.
Yashim followed her glance. “It snowed yesterday. The ground was very slippery, with ice.”
“I told him to have it swept. He never liked the snow. Did you know that, Yashim? It used to frighten him, as a little boy. That’s why he was called Hyacinth.”
“I’m very sorry, valide,” Yashim murmured.
“Yes, yes. Et moi aussi.” She paused. “He fell from the balustrade, you say?”
“Yesterday. They found him this morning.”
“The question is, Yashim, who pushed him? An old man…”
Yashim shook his head. “The balustrade is low, and the ground was slippery. Hyacinth was not so steady anymore.”
“Rubbish,” the valide snapped. “I have never heard such a thing. When Hyacinth arrived he could barely see over the top of that rail. C’etait un nain, pratiquement.”
Almost a dwarf? She was going a little far, Yashim thought; but yes, Hyacinth was never quite full size.
“He could have simply slipped through the gaps,” the valide added. She looked thoughtful.