But I heard no joyous voices and the women squatted like crows in that silent house, avoiding my eyes. I feared the worst when Solomon came to me with a child in his arms and said in a tone of compassion, “It was not Allah’s will, Michael el-Hakim. It’s only a girl. But mother and child are well.”
I bent forward fearfully to look at the infant, and to my unspeakable joy perceived that she was no defective embryo, but fully developed and healthy, with a little dark down on her head. She opened her deep blue eyes and gazed at me from her paradise of innocence with a look that made me clap my hands and praise Allah for this miracle.
When Alberto saw how great was my relief he too smiled happily and wished me joy. Until then, no doubt, he had feared that being a Moslem I should find no delight in a daughter. When I again expressed my wonder at Giulia’s short pregnancy he assured me that he had heard of many similar cases, and cases also where the opposite had occurred. There had been for example a distinguished lady in Verona whose child was born eighteen months after the death of her husband. Therefore, said Alberto, not the most eminent physician could predict these events with certainty; so much depended on the physical structure of the woman and other circumstances, and perhaps even on the husband. Lowering his eyes respectfully he went on, “Voyages, campaigns, and pilgrimages, which impose long abstinence on a man, seem to increase his virility so that children engendered after such journeys come sooner into the world than most. Such at least is the opinion commonly held in Italy.”
In my great happiness I lost all my antipathy for Alberto, and indeed secretly pitied him because I had forced him to shave and assume the yellow robe of a eunuch. I therefore spoke kindly to him and let him admire the child in my arms. He pointed out how strongly she resembled me, until I soon saw that she had not only my chin but also my ears and nose, though what most delighted me was the perfection of her eyes. Both, like Giulia’s left one, were sapphire blue.
I care to say no more of this little daughter of mine, the touch of whose tiny fingers melted my heart as if it had been wax. For her sake I spoiled and pampered Giulia as she lay scolding me for all the things I forgot or left undone.
Because of some lingering weakness and to preserve the youthfulness of her breasts she insisted on my finding a wet nurse for the child, and from a Tartar in the bazaar I bought a Russian woman who was still suckling her year-old son. My mind misgave me that she would neglect my daughter and save most of her milk for her own boy, but when the Tartar offered to knock the child’s brains out without extra charge I could not agree to so godless an action, and consoled myself with the thought that I could keep the infant and train him up as a houseboy.
The purchase of the nurse was not the only great expense incurred at that time, for when the house that Sinan had designed, with all Giulia’s alterations and additions, began at last to rise on the sloping shore of the Bosphorus, I was appalled at its size. All unknown to me it had grown and grown until now it was almost as large as the palaces of the agas. Giulia’s vanity further demanded that the whole property should be enclosed by a high stone wall-the principal mark of distinction in a house. I went in deadly fear as Sinan presented even longer and longer reckonings, though he employed young azamogh- lans from the janissary school for the work and I was permitted to buy the building materials through the Defterdar’s treasury at the Sultan’s price.
Long before we moved into our mansion I had to buy two Negroes as boatman and gardener’s boy, and of course a Greek head gardener. Giulia dressed the Negroes in red and green with silver belts, and as the gardener swore by all the Greek saints that he had never encountered two such lazy and impudent blacks as these I had also to buy a meek Italian boy to help him. So large a household required a cook, the cook required a slave girl, and the slave girl needed a woodcutter and a water carrier to help her, until at last I felt as if I were being sucked down into a whirlpool.
When after two and a half years’ absence Abu el-Kasim returned from Bagdad his house was so full of yelling, squabbling servants that he did not recognize it, and had to go out into the street again to make sure he had come to the right place. And truth to tell I had long forgotten that I was a mere guest in his house and was making use of what belonged to him. But the deaf-mute, half starved, ragged, verminous, and long since banished to the obscurest corner of the yard where he dragged out a miserable existence beneath a roof of woven withies, at once recognized his lord. He squealed and scampered about and fawned upon him, like a faithful dog welcoming his returning master.
At first I hardly knew Abu. He wore a large turban and a kaftan with jeweled buttons, and on his feet were slippers of red leather. With a gesture of command he bade his three donkey drivers unload the bales of merchandise from the backs of their beasts. The donkeys were gray, sturdy creatures; silver bells jingled on their harnesses and from the great bundles they carried floated a fragrance of musk and spice. Abu el-Kasim himself smelled of musk and rose water and had even pomaded his sparse beard. It was clear that he had prospered on his travels.
Before I hurried out to greet him I glanced about me and to my shame observed the hideous confusion prevailing in his house. His cooking pots were dented, his pitchers chipped, and his costly rugs worn threadbare. Baby clothes hung out to dry in the yard, the two Negroes lay snoring on the porch, and in the midst of all sat the Russian woman with knees apart and eyes half shut, suckling my daughter and her son. The scales fell from my eyes at last and I perceived how neglectful Giulia had been of Abu el-Kasim’s house. She was not even at home now, but had gone to the Seraglio or the bathhouse, “to attend to her work,” as she would say whenever I questioned her.
My fingers were ink stained. I had slept badly and was worn out with trouble and anxiety, but despite my weariness and shame a wave of warmth swept through my heart as I embraced Abu el-Kasim and with tears of joy welcomed him home after the hardships of his perilous journey, from which I had feared he would never return. Abu looked about him with his monkey eyes and was on the point of tearing his beard, but recollected himself in time and said bitterly, “I can see for myself that my return was unexpected. But I’ll endeavor to control my tongue if you will at once fetch me a little water that I may perform the lesser ablution and repeat the prayer of homecom- ing.”
While he was engaged in his devotions I contrived by savage imprecations and blows to restore a measure of order. The slaves cleared part of the house by throwing out our own belongings and helping the donkey drivers to carry in the bales. Having ordered the cook to prepare a meal instantly, I accompanied Abu el-Kasim ceremoniously into the house and led him toward the place of honor. But Abu paused before the Russian woman, who had never learned to veil her face in the presence of men, and gazing enchanted at her and the two children at her breast he said, “I see that you have taken another wife, Michael el-Hakim, and evidently not a moment too soon, since Allah has already blessed your household. Never have I beheld a finer boy. He is fairer than the moon and the image of his father.”
He took the child in his arms and wept with delight when the boy clutched his beard with his little fingers. The Russian was delighted at this condescension; she modestly covered her bosom and even drew a veil over her round face as she gazed moist eyed at Abu el-Kasim. I snapped, “She’s no wife but a bought slave. It is my daughter who is fairer than the moon and out of regard for the Sultan I have whispered the name Mirmah in her ear, after the Moslem manner, since the Sultan’s own daughter has been given that name. But I forgive you, Abu el-Kasim, for no doubt you have not yet rubbed the dust of travel from your eyes.”