Kamil shook his head. “It doesn’t add up.”
“You’re right. There’s something wrong with Remzi’s holier-than-thou story. He didn’t look scared enough, even after I let some of the men take out their disgust on him. It’s like he knows he’s got Allah on his side.”
“What else did he say?”
“That Amida had hired him and some other men from Charshamba to run the shipment that night.”
“So he’s deflecting attention away from his real boss by pinning everything on Amida.”
“Which is like trying to pin an elephant on a flea.”
“What about the tunnel?”
“He claims he wasn’t there on the docks when the men were killed. He was the innocent lookout at the other end of the tunnel.”
“You found it?” Kamil’s voice betrayed his excitement.
Omar looked disconsolate and shook his head. “He said it was in a house in Sunken Village, but they went there at night, so he couldn’t tell us where, just that it was dark and you had to go down a stairway into the ground. That’s all we could get out of him. Believe me, we tried.”
“How did he get there if he doesn’t know where it is?”
“Apparently Amida led them there.”
“Why would he do that? From what I’ve learned, the Habesh are very protective of their secrets. And it puts his whole family at risk. I can’t believe Amida wouldn’t know what kind of men these are.”
“The young look at a desert and see an oasis.”
“Any way we can loosen their tongues?”
“I think they’re more afraid of their boss than the bastinado. He must be the devil himself!”
“Amida is giving away Habesh secrets and attracting busybodies like us snooping around. Someone must want to stop him enough to talk to us.” Kamil picked up his riding gloves. “I think I know who that might be. I just need to find a way to speak with her privately.”
Omar raised an eyebrow and gave Kamil a knowing look.
Irritated, Kamil asked, “Don’t you ever think about anything else?”
Omar shrugged. “I’m a married man,” he said. “Imagination is my only refuge.”
13
Feride met him in the hall and whispered enthusiastically, “Hamdi Bey is here, Kamil. What a nice, gentle man. Do you know he studied art at the same academy in Paris as Elif. They’ve been talking nonstop since lunch. Would you like some…” She stopped in midsentence and took a closer look at Kamil’s face. “My brother, are you ill?”
“Just tired,” Kamil answered gruffly, annoyed that the conversation would now be monopolized by art instead of the more serious business of the antiquities thefts. Huseyin had sent a message saying Hamdi Bey, the director of the archaeological museum, would be coming to their house at five that afternoon. It was now after six.
Feride took Kamil into the parlor, a room rarely used except when Huseyin entertained important visitors. It was furnished with Frankish sofas, tables, and chairs. Heavy blue drapes kept the room in semidarkness.
Elif was dressed in loose black trousers and a long white tunic, less masculine but uncoventional attire. She sat on the yellow sofa, talking to a bearded man with a prominent nose and receding hairline who sat opposite her. His hair and beard were flecked with gray, and a pair of spectacles lay on his knee. They were speaking French, Elif leaning forward and gesturing. She had dispensed with even the token scarf, and her bare feet seemed white and vulnerable against the blue and red carpet. A stack of drawings lay on the table beside them.
Huseyin rose from his armchair. “Well, brother-in-law, glad you could make it.” He looked over at Hamdi Bey, who had also risen. “My brother-in-law’s a busy man, but he’s been anxious to meet you.”
Elif smiled up at Kamil. He bowed graciously, then turned to Hamdi Bey. He saw a kind man in an old-fashioned suit, quick to smile. He was anxious to consult with him, but could see that Elif wanted to continue her discussion. In any case, it would be unthinkable to impose his own agenda on this gathering without first playing the role of guest. He reached for the glass of water a servant held out to him and tried to relax.
Elif told him excitedly, “Kamil, did you know that Hamdi Bey also studied at the Académie Julian? Under Gustave Boulanger. Before me, of course, but we know many of the same people. It’s so exciting to find someone here who knows what it was like.”
Hamdi Bey beamed at her and said to Kamil, “I know the passion for art that animates those who are drawn to that life. I was sent to France to study law, but Paris was such a paradise for creativity, I could do nothing else but paint, paint, paint.” He turned to Elif. “Although I’ve recently taken up photography. It’s a remarkable thing, like painting with light. Have you tried it?”
“I haven’t had the opportunity,” Elif responded, “but I’d love to see how it works.” Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes blazed.
“You will have to come to our house at Eskihisar and meet my wife. She’s French. I’d like her to see your sketches.” He thought for a moment, then asked, “Would you be interested in teaching at the Istanbul Academy of Fine Arts? I’d have to look into it, but I think it might be possible.”
Clearly stunned, Elif responded, “I didn’t know you had an academy here. I would be honored.”
“Hamdi Bey founded it four years ago,” Huseyin interjected. “Are you still the dean?”
“No longer, Huseyin. A man has just two arms and two eyes. Being director of the archaeological museum takes most of my time and this year I’m directing the excavations in Sidon.”
The look of sheer pleasure on Elif’s face moved Kamil.
“Thank you, Hamdi Bey.” She reached out to kiss his hand, but he withdrew it gently and patted her on the arm.
“This is a remarkably talented young woman,” he said to the room. “It is I who am grateful for the opportunity to take advantage of her talent for our school.”
Elif wiped her eyes, unable to stop smiling.
Huseyin broke in. “Well, enough good news. Let’s hear the bad, Kamil. Tell Hamdi Bey about the thefts.”
Kamil flashed him a grateful look and began to recount the problem of the stolen antiquities and the London dealer. When Kamil finished, Hamdi Bey shook his head. “I’m not familiar with Rettingate and Sons, but I’ll make some inquiries for you. I presume you want to know the names of the current owners and any connections they might have here.” When Kamil nodded, he continued. “I’ll see what else I can discover, Kamil. Thanks be to Allah for devoted servants of the state like you.”
Kamil expressed his gratitude and added, “We need more guarded locations to store antiquities, like your museum.”
Hamdi Bey sighed. “Think of the empire as a plump piece of baklava. Each layer is studded with artifacts, entire civilizations,” he gestured broadly with his hand, “ancient cities, temples, enormous stone sarcophagi, friezes, mosaics, statues, an endless array of objects. The layers near the top have preserved clothing, carpets, inlaid wood, documents. Those near the bottom are littered with clay tablets and bones. The layers in between are endless, each as replete as the next. There aren’t enough museums in the world to house all our treasures.” He smiled in a self-deprecating way. “We are embarrassingly rich.”
“Isn’t it better to leave the things in the ground then, instead of digging them up so people can steal them?” Feride asked.
“That’s a good point,” Hamdi Bey conceded. “I wonder that myself sometimes. But our curiosity is too great and we keep excavating. It’s a wonderful thing to know about the people who lived on this earth before us. I think it helps us be more tolerant toward our neighbors. The fact that they speak to God rather than to Allah is a minor difference, a matter of semantics, really, compared to the lives of the Romans and Greeks who lived on this very same spot.”
“Didn’t they feed their Christian neighbors to the lions?” Huseyin asked with a laugh.
Hamdi Bey stood. “Unfortunately, I must depart. I leave for Sidon tomorrow. But I’ll be in touch with you, madame,” he bowed low to Elif, “and with you, Kamil, about the thefts. It’s rare that in one afternoon I am allowed to contribute, even if in a minor way, to two such important projects.”