“The city of Urfa had nothing but Barbara to talk about. Mehmet asked me if I had slept with the crazy English maiden. Hagop wondered if it was true that she walked around naked in the house. The boys wanted to know if her father had his way with her every Wednesday. The English, her mother and father, were of course the last to know.
“Barbara finally did the unthinkable. She waited until Murat finished his duties, and, in full view of all the other boys, she walked up to him and declared her eternal love. And he listened. Now, Barbara was not the most attractive of girls, but she wasn’t ugly, either. It wasn’t about beauty for the boy. I assume he was flattered: not many boys are chosen. Being the honorable person he was, he informed her that there was no hope for love. He was a Muslim and she a foreigner. She said he didn’t have to do anything other than allow her to gaze at him. Even if she could not possess him, even if she only walked beside his shadow, she would die fulfilled.
“The following day, Barbara resumed her passion and her position. And now he paid attention. Soon they were seen walking together. Soon they were walking unseeing. They paid naught but each other any mind. Soon the tongues of Urfa walked as well, and the scandal of all scandals erupted. And so did our house. Her perplexed father tried to talk to her. When her mother found out, she caned Barbara and locked her in her room. Her mother left the rattan leaning outside the door to remind the household that Barbara was in for another round. But Barbara, crazy Barbara, wouldn’t bend. She yelled and wept in her room. Apparently, that was nothing compared with what happened to Murat. He began to turn up at watch with black eyes and was unable to stand erect for the duration of the sacred guard shift. He neglected his studies of the Koran. He no longer had time for friends. He stopped twirling.
“What is it about unfulfilled love that turns its flames to infernos? No lock, no house, no rain, no sandstorm, no parent, and certainly no religion could keep the boy from being seen on certain nights atop the stone wall only paces away from her window, declaiming his obsessive love for Barbara in verse. She was seen in the streets not too far from her house, her mother dragging her back by any means at her disposal. ‘Why?’ Barbara was heard to wail. ‘Why am I forbidden one glimpse of my beloved?’
“This went on for months and months. Barbara and Murat were seen holding hands in the ruins of the Crusader castle. They stared forlornly into each other’s eyes behind the great mosque. I admit that I once carried a letter from Murat to Barbara. As I was leaving home to wash after feeding pigeons all day, he approached me and pleaded. I couldn’t refuse. Barbara forgave me all my past sins.
“ ‘I can’t keep her in chains,’ her mother said. ‘Begin packing,’ her father replied. ‘We’ll leave by the end of the year.’
“The leaves of my familiar life had begun to yellow.
“That year — I was eleven — it became obvious early on that it was to be the year of the great pigeoneer Eshkhan again. He was dominating the war. His peşenk seemed invincible. Short orange feathers rose in odd angles on the top of his head — hence his name, Bsag, which means ‘crown.’ He led attacks into other flocks that caused chaos worthy of Judgment Day. Veterans of the wars lost more birds that year than in all ten previous seasons combined. Eshkhan’s flock would ascend into the skies, and descend with twice their number. In one memorable battle, three pigeoneers lost their peşenks, which was a first as far as anyone could recall. Envy reared her poisonous head. How was he doing it? What was his secret? At the Çardak Café, the pigeoneers moaned and groaned. It wasn’t fair. Half of them could no longer compete, and the other half had no chance of winning. And the great Eshkhan laughed at all of them.
“By the time March came along, Mehmet had lost almost half his team. He pretended that he wasn’t upset, but he beat the assistants at the merest provocation. If one of his pigeons fell out of the sky, he beat me because I didn’t feed it well. If the coop wasn’t spotless every second of the day, he beat the shit-cleaner. One afternoon, Eshkhan’s peşenk attacked Mehmet’s team, and Mehmet flew into a rage. He began to scream across the roofs, ‘How could you? I have nothing to fight you with. It’s over. What’s the point if not to humiliate me?’ And, of course, that was the point — that was the point of any war.
“And Mehmet remembered that war is never meant to be fought fairly. The next day, he searched and searched and bought the comeliest hen in the land. It was an old trick, a very old trick, and Eshkhan’s peşenk fell for it. When Eshkhan’s team flew above Mehmet’s roof, Hagop, grasping the hen by its tiny legs, raised his hands in the air. The pigeon fluttered its wings. Bsag saw the bait. He broke out of formation, circled above the roof, and landed on the ledge to investigate: Is this a beauty I see before me? Now, having a pigeon land on your roof and capturing it are two different things, especially a cock as wily as a peşenk. You can’t allow him to see the net that will capture him, and since Bsag landed on the ledge, we couldn’t approach him from behind. Still, the first assistant tried. He jumped clumsily and fell on his face, and the peşenk flew back up to the clouds. Of course, the boy received a beating.
“But — before Bsag escaped, I saw his secret. I discovered the source of his power. On the pigeon’s white-feathered chest hung the most beautiful ornament I had ever seen: a tiny turquoise Fatima’s hand that warded off any evil.
“There was a big fight at the café. Eshkhan called Mehmet a lowlife, among other things. Mehmet returned the insult. Eshkhan punched Mehmet and bloodied his nose. Mehmet was unable to return the blow, because he was held back. Eshkhan yelled, ‘Let’s see you try that again. Do you think my cock will fall for that old trick a second time?’
“He did. Bsag landed on the ledge, and the same thing happened. When the first assistant tried to capture it, the bird flew away. There was another brawl at the café. On the third night, three veterans with their own nets joined our group. Everybody wanted Eshkhan to lose. They waited for the peşenk to land. He did, on the ledge again. No one moved, for fear of frightening him. The veterans stalked. I whistled. I whistled exactly the way Eshkhan whistled, exactly the way he directed his peşenk. I didn’t know what the signals were, but my whistling was enough to confuse the poor bird. Bsag looked at me, uncomprehending, and a net descended upon him. The veteran who captured him unleashed a victory cry up to the skies.
“Mehmet took Bsag out of the net, cut off his head with a serrated knife, and threw the still-shuddering body onto the street.