The Architect's Apprentice Part 26

The next day, shortly after dawn, the sky bleeding into the city, there they stood, the six of them Sinan, the apprentices and the elephant, ready to destroy what they had erected. Not a pigeon ruffled its wings in the eaves, not a breeze stirred. Jahan noticed tears in Sancha's eyes. No one uttered a word.

All day long, in charge of the teams of labourers who arrived with their sledgehammers and mallets and powder, they smashed up the doors and windows, caved in the walls. Chota pulled with all his might at the ropes tied to the wooden posts. People came to watch. Some of them cheered and clapped; most stood in stunned silence. Five days later, as the last stone was hauled away, there were prayers, just as there had been three summers ago when Sinan's apprentices had laid the foundation stone. Only this time the spectators were thanking G.o.d for knocking down an edifice of sin.

Something inside Jahan shattered along with the observatory. If it weren't for his love of Mihrimah and his loyalty to Sinan, he would have abandoned this city of broken bricks and burned wood. Go away, whispered a voice within but where? He was too old to undertake adventures new. Go, implored the voice but how? Much as he took umbrage at her ways, Istanbul had seized hold of his soul. Even his dreams did not happen elsewhere. Go, warned the voice but why? The world was a boiling cauldron, the same stew of hopes and sorrows near and far.

For years on end he had devoted his life to a city where he had been and still was a stranger; his love to an unattainable woman; and his youth and strength to a craft that, though valued, was dismissed at the slightest change of events. What they raised in years, stone upon stone, could be destroyed in one afternoon. That which was treasured today was treated with contempt tomorrow. Everything remained subject to the whims of fate, and by now he had no doubt that fate was whimsical.

The ensuing weeks were his most sombre days in Istanbul. He could not help asking himself why they worked so hard at small details when no one not the Sultan, not the people, and surely not G.o.d minded how much effort they expended. They seemed to care for nothing but the size and the stateliness of the buildings and not offending the Almighty. Why did Sinan pay this much attention to the finest details when only a few noticed, and fewer appreciated them?

Nothing ruins the human soul more than hidden resentment. Outwardly, Jahan kept doing the things he always did toiling alongside his master and feeding Chota, even if he did not attend to his every need any longer. Inwardly, however, numbness seized his heart, wiping away signs of joy, like melting snow erasing the footprints of life. He was losing his faith in his workmanship. Little did he know, back then, that the worth of one's faith depended not on how solid and strong it was, but on how many times one would lose it and still be able to get it back.

The coldest day in forty years, they called it the day Mihrimah died. Street cats in Scutari froze while jumping from one roof to the next, hanging in the air like crystal lamps. The mendicants, the pilgrims, the roaming dervishes and those of no fixed abode had to seek refuge in alms houses for fear of turning into ice. Why she chose such a day to leave this world, Jahan would never know. She was born in spring and loved flowers in bloom.

She had been ill for months, her health declining despite the number of physicians around her increasing every day. Jahan had seen her six times during those dire months. On each occasion she was a bit thinner. More often he had seen Hesna Khatun, the reluctant courier. The old woman would come to the menagerie bringing messages from the Princess and wait to one side while Jahan composed his answer. Jahan would take his time, choosing his words carefully, despite the nursemaid huffing and puffing beside him. Finally, with a glare she would take his sealed letter and vanish.

Thus it was a letter Jahan was expecting that January morning in 1578 when the nursemaid appeared in the menagerie, wrapped in a fur cloak. Instead she said, 'Your Highness would like to see you.'

Closed gates opened wide before him; hidden halls were illuminated. The guards who saw him coming turned their heads, pretending not to notice. Everything had been arranged. When Jahan reached her chamber he fought hard to keep his smile intact. Her face was inflamed, her body swollen. Her legs, her arms, her neck, even her fingers were bloated, as though she had been stung by the wasp she had been running from as a girl.

'Jahan, beloved ...' she said.

Jahan stopped feigning equanimity and buried his nose into the tr.i.m.m.i.n.g of her bedspread. That was where he had been all this time somewhere on the edge of her existence. Seeing him crying, she lifted her hand and said softly, 'Don't.'

Immediately Jahan apologized. Again, she said, 'Don't.'

The air in the chamber felt stale, because of the closed windows and the heavy curtains. Jahan had a sudden urge to open them but he stayed put, motionless.

She ordered him to come close, closer, despite the burning gaze of Hesna Khatun. She placed her hand upon his hand and, though they had touched before, always on the sly, this was the first time he felt her body open up to his. Jahan kissed her on the lips. He tasted the earth.

'You and your white elephant ... have brought joy into my life,' she said.

Jahan tried to utter something to raise her spirits, but he could find no words that she would allow. A while later a servant brought her a bowl of custard, flavoured with rosewater. The sweet scent that any other day would have whetted her appet.i.te now made her retch. Jahan gave her water instead, which she drank thirstily.

'When I am not around you may hear things about me that you might not like.'

'No one may dare to say such things about your Highness.'

She gave a tired smile. 'Whatever happens after I am gone, I want you to think of me with warmth in your heart. Will you promise to take no notice of gossip-mongers and slanderers?'

'I shall never believe them.'

She seemed relieved but instantly frowned as a new thought crossed her mind. 'What if you doubt me?'

'Excellency, I'll never '

She didn't let him continue. 'If you ever have suspicions about me, remember, behind everything there is a reason.'

Jahan would have asked her what she meant had he not just then heard a shuffle of approaching feet. Her three children were brought in, walking in single file. Jahan was surprised to see how tall Aisha had become since the day he had last seen her. One by one they kissed their mother's hand. A deferential silence hung in the air, the youngest boy pretending to be composed, though the tremble of his lower lip betrayed him.

Once they had left, Jahan gave Hesna Khatun a painful look. He could see from her constant fidgeting that the nursemaid wished him to leave. He didn't want to go. It was a small relief when Mihrimah, sensing his discomfort, said, 'Stay.'

As darkness descended, her breathing turned shallow. Jahan and Hesna Khatun waited on each side of her, she praying, he remembering. Hours pa.s.sed in a haze. Well past midnight Jahan fought to keep his eyes open, seized by an irrational conviction that so long as he watched over her she would be fine.

The call to prayer woke Jahan up. There was no movement in the room, not a sound. Seized by a cold panic, he staggered to his feet. He stared at the old woman, who looked like she had not slept a wink.

'Gone,' Hesna Khatun said acidly. 'My gazelle has gone.'

Ten months later Sinan and the apprentices put the finishing touches on Sokollu's mosque. A central dome, eight arches, eight piers and a two-storey courtyard. An enclosed portico bathed with sunlight from copious windows adjoined the nigh-on square prayer hall. The minbar was of pure white marble framed with turquoise tiles. Around the interior of the mosque ran a balcony, dainty and elegant. Though not as majestic as a Sultan's mosque, it had a strong character, like the man himself.

The Grand Vizier Sokollu arrived to view the construction, escorted by advisers, sentinels, lackeys and flatterers. He inspected the building that would make him immortal, asking endless questions, impatient for the labourers to finish. He carried himself with dignity, the most far-sighted man in the empire, always astute. By now he had served under three Sultans: Suleiman, Selim and Murad. How he had survived for so long, when many a statesman had lost his head for the slightest failing, was a question many asked. He was rumoured to be a.s.sisted by a female djinn who was besotted with him and whose name no earthling could p.r.o.nounce. Whenever Sokollu was in danger, this djinn warned him.

Jahan watched the fuss from a distance. He had not forgotten that faraway day in Szigetvar, when they had placed into Chota's howdah the body of the deceased Sultan Suleiman, all the while pretending that he was alive. Since then, like a dedicated carver, time had chiselled Sokollu's features, giving his face a stern look. It was in that moment, as Jahan was thinking how much the man had aged, that the Grand Vizier stopped and turned back. His eyes gleamed when he saw the mahout.

'The elephant-tamer,' the Grand Vizier exclaimed with a contemptuous snap of his fingers. 'Why, you have white in your hair. You have aged!'

Jahan bowed respectfully and said nothing. Since Mihrimah had gone, he felt his years more heavily than ever.

Sinan joined in. 'Jahan is one of my best apprentices, my Lord.'

Sokollu asked Jahan how he was doing and where the elephant was, though he did not pay attention to the answer to either question. In an hour the Grand Vizier galloped away. Jahan did not take his eyes off him until he became no more distinct than the shadows along the road and was, eventually, swallowed by the dusk. That same night a storm blew down the staves, bent over the trees and flooded the pits, leaving everything in disarray.

Next morning Jahan found the site covered in mire. Dirty rivulets ran on all sides. Ahead of him a dozen labourers were pushing to dislodge a cart stuck in sludge. Another team was erecting a ma.s.sive timber with the help of steel pulleys, shouting in unison Allah, Allah, as though the construction was a holy war to be won. On the sloped roof there were workmen mending the damaged parts. Wherever he looked he saw people working away to fix things. The only one not working was Chota, wallowing in a brown pool, delighted.

There was a makeshift shed outside the mosque, opposite the narthex, where the master retreated whenever he needed to rest. On that day, suffering from back pain, he spent the afternoon there, lying on a flat surface, wrapped in warm towels. A Jewish physician arrived and drew two bowls of blood from him to release the malignant humours. He then applied poultices to his aching joints.

After the evening prayer the door was opened and the master walked out, pale and drowsy but otherwise fine. He waved at Jahan, and was about to mouth a salute when something strange happened. One of the workmen on the roof who was pulling up the lead sheets lost control of his load. The rope he was holding snapped, sending the entire load plummeting just as Sinan was pa.s.sing by.

A cry pierced the air. Loud, sharp and distinctively female. It was Sancha. Three words spilled from her lips, 'Master, watch out!'

The lead sheets came down with a horrible crash. Sinan, having miraculously veered aside, was spared. Had he not moved, they would have sliced him in two like the Sword of Damocles.

'I'm fine,' Sinan said when they ran to him.

That was when, one by one, all heads turned to Sancha. She blushed up to her ears under their prying stares, her lip sagging.

Into an awkward silence Sinan said, 'How blessed we are to hear Yusuf's voice. Fear loosens tied tongues, they say.'

Sancha, trembling, lowered her head, her body that of a rag doll. During the remaining hours of work she avoided everyone. Jahan dared not go near her. The workers were suspicious. There is a hunsa among us, they whispered with sidelong glances. Someone who was half woman, half man, forever stuck in limbo. The possibility that Yusuf was a woman had not occurred to anyone.

The next day Sinan's Chief Apprentice was absent from the site. And the day after that. It was explained that, feeling unwell, Yusuf had to go away for a few weeks. Where or how, no one inquired. Somehow all and sundry, having stumbled upon a secret, had sensed that it was better, safer, to know nothing. Only Jahan understood that this was the end Sancha would not be working with them again. She would be putting herself and the master in peril if she were to return. She had gone back to the life she abhorred: the life of a concubine.

The same week Jahan was wending his way through the site, lost in thought, when he glimpsed a rope that Chota had trampled in the mud. Unthinking, he picked it up. As he inspected it, his face sank. The two strings on the sides had snapped, leaving the fibre splintered, while the strings in the middle were shorter and straight, as if slashed by a blade. Someone had thinned the rope by cutting its core. Outside it looked like an ordinary rope; inside it was weak as an eggsh.e.l.l.

Straight away Jahan went to see his master. 'Someone laid a trap.'

Wordlessly, Sinan squinted at the rope. 'Are you saying this was no accident?'

'I don't believe so,' Jahan said. 'Why did you come out of the shed, master?'

'I heard someone call for me,' said Sinan.

'Must be the same person who planned this. He knew the rope would break because he cut it. Poor San ... Yusuf tried to save you. And now he is doomed!'

'Since you know so much already ...' Sinan said, his eyes infinitely sad, 'you should know she is at home with my family.'

'Master, working with you is her only joy. You ought to bring her back.'

Sinan shook his head. 'I cannot have her here any more. It isn't safe.'

Jahan pursed his lips, trying to bite back words that he might regret afterwards. 'Are we not going to investigate who did this?'

'What can be done? I cannot interrogate every man on the site. If the workers suspect I don't trust them, they'll lose their will to work.'

Uneasiness came over Jahan. He, on the contrary, believed that Sinan should question everyone until the culprit was found. He said, in a voice he didn't know he was capable of, 'Michelangelo mourned his a.s.sistant like his son. Whereas you ... don't even care for us. Gla.s.s, wood, marble, metal ... Are we not like these in your eyes, mere instruments in your constructions?'

Into the ensuing silence Sinan said, slowly, 'That's not true.'

But Jahan was no longer listening.

Even with one apprentice missing the master finished Sokollu's mosque on time. Prayers were chanted; hennaed sheep and rams were sacrificed. Sokollu, glowing with pride and joy, gave baksheesh to the labourers and freed a hundred of his slaves. Shortly afterwards, at a meeting of the diwan, a man dressed up as a dervish asked to see the Grand Vizier. Like Sokollu, he, too, came from Bosnia. For a reason n.o.body could fathom, then or afterwards, Sokollu gave him permission to come in, to come close.

He was stabbed by the stranger, who was caught and killed before anyone could discover the reason behind the bloodshed. Sokollu, Sokolovic, the Grand Vizier and one of the last patrons of architecture, was gone. The female djinn, if there was one, had failed to warn him this time.

After Sokollu's a.s.sa.s.sination the Sultan would appoint a succession of viziers, one after the other, none coming close to their predecessor. All at once, it was as though a lid had been lifted and the boiling cauldron underneath exposed. The imperial treasury was empty, the coins not worth their value. The Janissaries were furious, the peasants upset, the ulema dissatisfied, Master Sinan too old and too frail, and his mute apprentice no longer by his side.

In his dream Jahan was in his village. He trudged through the path leading to their house, the sun hot on his neck. Finding the gate open, he strode in. There was no one in the courtyard. Then he noticed a faint movement under a tree a tiger. Not far from it a peac.o.c.k strutted, a deer grazed on a scrubby tuft of gra.s.s. He plodded with the utmost slowness so as not to draw attention to himself. A vain attempt since the cat had already noticed him. Its eyes flicked to his, uninterested. At each step he came across other animals a rhino, a bear, a giraffe. In his absence his family had built a menagerie.

Their house had been enlarged with more rooms, additional floors. Desperately, he searched for his mother and sisters, trotting along the marble corridors. Upstairs, in a room that resembled the Sultan's palace, he stumbled upon his stepfather, sitting by himself. The man pointed towards the back garden only there was no back garden any more. In its stead ran a rowdy river. Far ahead in a boat being dragged by the current was Sinan.

Jahan shouted. At his voice Sinan stood up and lost his balance, fluttering his arms like a bird about to take flight. The boat capsized, sending him into the water. Someone was shouting next to Jahan's ear, poking him on the shoulder.

'Wake up, Indian!'

Jahan did, his heart beating fast. Staring at him was the last person he expected to see: Mirka the bear-tamer. Jahan scowled at him, the memory of that night years ago returning as fast as a sword pulled out of its sheath.

Mirka took a step back, his hands raised in a gesture of defence. 'Something happened. We had to tell you.'

Only then did Jahan notice the boy standing beside him. It was Abe, Chota's new tamer a young, slender, black African, no older than sixteen. A kind soul but so inexperienced Jahan wouldn't trust him with a rabbit, let alone an elephant.

'What happened?' asked Jahan.

Mirka averted his gaze. 'The beast's gone. He ran away.'

Kicking off the blanket, Jahan leaped to his feet and seized Abe by the arm. 'Where were you? Why didn't you keep an eye on him?'

The boy went limp, an empty sack in his hands. Mirka pulled Jahan away from him. 'It's not his fault. The beast went on a rampage, snapped his chains. Never seen him this mad.'

'Something must have irritated him,' Jahan said. 'What did you do to him?'

'Nothing,' Abe answered, his voice dripping with fear. 'He was possessed.'

Jahan changed into his shalwar and splashed water on his face. They tiptoed past the dormitories. Upon reaching the menagerie, they stopped at the entrance of the empty barn, looking for clues that weren't there.

'Which way did he go?' Jahan asked.

A glance pa.s.sed between Mirka and Abe. 'He went out the main gate. The guards could not stop him.'

Jahan's heart sank. In a city so vast how could he find Chota before he got himself into trouble?

'I need a horse and a letter of permission,' Jahan said to Mirka.

'We'll ask the Chief White Eunuch. He'll be furious when he hears. But we've got to find the beast.'

In a little while Jahan was outside the palace gates, riding with no idea about which way to go. The streets sprawled in front of him, opening like fans. His horse an aged, pale brown steed was reluctant to gallop, though it soon gained pace. They pa.s.sed through squares and bazaars.

Rounding a corner, Jahan came across a watchman with two Janissaries on his heels. The watchman lifted a cudgel, yelling, 'You, stop!'

Jahan did.

'Are you a djinn?'

'No, effendi, I'm a human like you,' Jahan said.

'Then get off your horse! What are you doing outside at this hour, defying the Sultan's rules? Come with us.'

'Effendi, I'm from the palace,' Jahan said, as he held on to the pommel of the saddle with one hand and gave him the letter of permission with the other. 'An animal escaped. I have been sent to fetch it.'

Reading the letter, the man mumbled, 'What sort of an animal?'

'An elephant,' Jahan said. When there followed no response, he added, 'The biggest creature on land.'

'How are you going to catch it?'

'I'm his tamer,' Jahan said, his voice breaking. 'He'll do as I say.'

Jahan wasn't sure about this but luckily they did not press him further. He felt their eyes on his back even after he had left the street.

It was only when he saw a muezzin on his way to a mosque for the morning prayer that he realized how long he had been out searching. He remembered the ancient graveyard overlooking the Golden Horn and the talk that had pa.s.sed between him and Sangram a lifetime ago. I heard a strange thing about these beasts. They say they choose where they'd like to die. This one seems like he has found his place.

When Jahan reached the site he was looking for, a wisp of cloud was hiding the moon, and a tang of salt was in the wind. He caught sight of a large shadow ahead, perhaps a boulder. Jumping off his horse, he approached. 'Chota?'

The boulder shifted.

'Why did you come here?'

Chota lifted his head and let it drop immediately. His mouth, most of his teeth gone, opened and closed.

'Naughty boy! Don't do this again.' Jahan hugged his trunk, weeping.