Amida looked uncomfortable but didn’t apologize. “The Charshamba families are working for one man now. That’s why they don’t need us. He has his own shop, so he can buy with one hand and sell from the other. We could start working with him.”
Balkis had suspected the families had found new channels that bypassed the Habesh, but she had thought they were selling to the shops in Beyoglu. She hadn’t realized her competition was a single person. “You know this man?”
Amida shrugged lightly.
“What’s his name?”
“He keeps that to himself.”
“How can you trust him if you don’t know who he is?” Balkis asked, incredulous.
“He’s legitimate, not small trash like the Charshamba people,” Amida answered defensively. “This is business. We don’t always have to do things the old way. The modern world lets us reinvent ourselves. In fact, we don’t have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice. Even the blind man can smell. Business has to be honorable.”
“A choice between starving and going hungry. Where’s the honor in that?”
Balkis decided she had nothing to lose with a meeting. At the very least, she’d learn something about her competitor.
“Alright. If he wishes to speak with us, bring him.” She saw the light in Amida’s eyes and was glad.
“Mama,” Saba asked in a soft voice. “Have you heard about the killings in Charshamba? Maybe we should get out of the business altogether and do something else? I don’t see that there’s anything honorable about associating with men like that.”
“Like what? Let our young men become porters carrying burdens on their backs like snails? We’ve invested many years in our trading connections. Why throw that away? Our men have to work.” Balkis thought Saba was sounding more and more like Malik with his useless idealism. “If you were priestess, we’d all starve,” she added irritably. “You don’t know a kurush from a stone.”
Undeterred, Saba told Amida, “You overlook our true wealth, brother. After all, we’re custodians of the Proof of God.” She spoke the name reverently.
Amida rolled his eyes.
“But it’s our greatest strength,” Saba insisted. “The community needs an income, that’s true, but its spiritual center is what holds it together.”
“Just look at this place. You think we’re special? We live in a hole in the ground! At least half the people have no teeth because there’s no hygiene. People get sick and die because no doctor will come down here.”
“Constantine Courtidis comes here,” Saba corrected him.
“That quack! We all know what he wants.”
Saba’s face flushed. “You’re wrong about that.”
Balkis knew why the young Greek surgeon bothered with a small village like theirs, but she didn’t know whether Saba reciprocated his interest. Saba had always kept her feelings to herself, even as a child.
“I’m worried about the young people too,” Balkis said, hoping to draw Amida back in. “Are they really as disengaged as you say? I know there isn’t much for them to do. There used to be all kinds of jobs related to the rituals, but now only Gudit knows how to do them.”
“She’s so unpleasant, Mama,” Saba complained. “Why have you put up with her for so long? When I was little, she used to pinch me when you weren’t looking, but now it’s worse. A few weeks ago, I saw her in the laundry room, sniffing my dirty clothes. That’s disgusting. And she spies on me, even in the hamam.”
This worried Balkis. Was Gudit preparing to initiate Saba? Surely she wouldn’t do so without her permission. Saba hadn’t yet borne an heir. “There are a lot of important things only Gudit knows how to do, my dear. But you must come and tell me your concerns, not keep them to yourself.”
“I’d feel better if you retired her. Let some of the girls apprentice to her so they can learn her skills.”
“The girls only last a few weeks, then leave. It’s a hard job. There’s a lot more to being a Melisite midwife than delivering babies. The tattoos, for instance.”
“Why does it have to be the midwife who does the tattoos? I’m sure you could get apprentices from Charshamba,” Amida suggested. “They’d jump at the chance to learn a trade.”
“The tattoos aren’t just for decoration. They’re part of our ritual. Some things have to remain within the sect. You forget who we are.”
“Please, mother. I’m whoever I make myself.”
“You’re the caretaker, Amida. You will always be the caretaker, and your son will be the caretaker.”
“You talk about becoming caretaker as if it’s like becoming the grand vizier.” Amida got up and began to wander around the room. “Malik doesn’t seem to have a say about anything.”
“Malik has never cared about leading the community,” Balkis said. “He thinks being caretaker means sitting in his library reading or daydreaming under his linden tree. That’s why we’re in such a sorry state.”
“That’s not fair, Mama,” Saba broke in. “He’s very well known. People all across the city read his dawah, his calls for ecumenical discussion.”
“While he’s holding theological debates, no one’s leading our young people,” Balkis said, her eyes intent on Amida. “That’s why we need you, my son. You’ve got the energy and the ideas to revive the community. But you have to respect the traditions.”
“How much power does the caretaker have, then, in the tradition?” Amida asked, pointedly emphasizing the last word. “And none of this happens until Uncle Malik dies, right?”
Balkis was taken aback by his unsentimental inquiry. “Once people in the community learn to trust you, they’ll follow your lead.”
“I understand that, but what I want to know is how much power the caretaker has. If the caretaker is someone who can really do his job, unlike Uncle Malik, then he’s in charge, right? The priestess is just a figurehead.”
Saba’s head jerked up in surprise.
“The priestess is the equal leader of this community,” Balkis told him, aghast. “She’s joined to it forever, so you should never underestimate her.” The last thing the community needed was a power struggle between her children. “Think of the priestess as a cornered animal,” she added in a low voice. “Reach out your hand and she’ll reward you. But never, ever cross her.”
Amida looked at her open-mouthed. “So a woman is the leader and the caretaker’s some kind of servant? I’m supposed to feed the animal?” He laughed. “I’m in a zoo!”
Balkis got to her feet. “Watch your tongue,” she barked.
Saba rose from the floor and faced her brother. “There have been women leaders before,” she scolded him. “It’s nothing new. The Queen of Sheba. Mary, the Mother of Jesus. There was our founder, Saint Melisane.”
“Melisane is just a legend, like her ridiculous reliquary. I’ve never seen this Proof of God, have you? Who knows if either of them ever existed. And even if they did, so what? We live in the modern world. Where do you see a woman in charge of anything?”
Balkis was speechless. If this was what Amida thought, then her plans for the community were as likely to succeed as a fish in a poplar tree. She wished there were more young men in her line who could be trained as caretaker. But Amida was the last. It was him or no one.
“There must be some truth to the stories if they’ve held the community together for so many years,” Saba insisted. “If we could show people the Proof of God, it would revive their faith, but it’s forbidden.”
“I bet if I went through that gate into the Holy of Holies, there’d be nothing there. What about that box Malik found? He says it’s the Proof of God, but how can that be if it’s in our prayer house like you claim,” he taunted his mother. “It’s all just a bunch of lies.”
“It’s true that the Proof of God is a mystery,” Saba admitted, “but there’s a miracle behind it.”
Amida looked at his sister with exasperation. “There is no Proof of God, Saba. It’s all just a story. And the reliquary is just an empty box.”