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carriages full of elderly harem women chattering about the extravagances of
days bygone。 But Shekure’s wedding lacked even the four pole bearers to hold
aloft the red silk canopy that ordinarily protected rich maidens from prying
eyes; for that matter; there wasn’t even one servant to lead the procession
bearing large wedding candles and tree…shaped decorations ornamented with
fruit; gold; silver leaf and polished stones。 More than embarrassment; I felt a
sadness that threatened to fill my eyes with tears each time the disrespectful
hand…drum and zurna players simply stopped playing when our procession got
swallowed up in crowds of market…goers or servants fetching water from the
fountain in the square because we had no one clearing the way with shouts of
“Here es the bride。” As we were nearing the house; I mustered the courage
to turn in my saddle and gaze at her; and was relieved that beneath her pink
bride’s tinsel and red veil; far from being saddened by all these pitiful
shortings; she seemed heartened to know that we’d concluded our
procession and our journey with neither accident nor mishap。 So; like all
grooms; I lowered my beautiful bride; whom I would shortly wed; from her
horse; took her by the arm; and handful by handful; slowly emptied a bag of
silver coins over her head before the gleeful crowd。 While the children who’d
followed behind our meager parade scrambled for the coins; Shekure and I
entered the courtyard and crossed the stone walkway; and as soon as we
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entered the house; we were struck not only by the heat; but the horror of the
heavy smell of decay。
While the throng from the procession was making itself fortable in the
house; Shekure and the crowd of elders; women and children (Orhan was
glaring suspiciously at me from the corner) carried on as if nothing were
amiss; and momentarily I doubted my senses; but I knew how corpses left
under the sun after battle; their clothes tattered; boots and belts stolen; and
their faces; their eyes and lips ravaged by wolves and birds smelled。 It was a
stench that had so often filled my mouth and lungs to the point of suffocation
that I could not mistake it。
Downstairs in the kitchen; I asked Hayriye about Enishte Effendi’s body;
aware that I was speaking to her for the first time as master of the house。
“As you asked; we laid out his mattress; dressed him in his nightclothes;
dre and placed bottles of syrup beside him。 If he’s giving
off an unpleasant smell; it’s probably due to the heat from the brazier in the
room;” the woman said through tears。
One or two of her tears fell; sizzling into the pot she was using to fry the
mutton。 From the way she was crying; I supposed that Enishte Effendi had
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