Chapter Text
No one had offered to buy Bulent. I would go home with sore news, but it was difficult to say that the ache in my belly stopped. Father had tasked me with selling our goat, for that was what Bulent was, with the hopes that none would see the limp in his leg. He had gone lame in his old age, too old to keep up with his routine, and too thin to do much for a meal. But Bulent was my friend-- I had made this clear well before my thirteenth year, and now, two years more, I still could not call him anything but.
His leash in my hand, a beaten cord of rope, I decided to leave the market then. Dusk was upon us, and the vendors were closing shop, their plaza transformed into a sea of shimmering cloths within minutes of the sun’s last rays. Fate is a tricky thing. One step more and I too would have disappeared into the night. Perhaps Bulent would have been slaughtered the next day.
Then I heard a laugh. It slipped through my ears like a blossoming petal. It was not quite a giggle, but lighter than a chuckle, something not unlike a whistling bell. I turned my head.
And that was when I saw them.
There was a man haggling with a peddler. I had never seen either man in my life. But in Gawar, that was not such an uncommon thing, for we sat between the Ottoman and Persia. It would be far more peculiar to go a day without seeing a new trader from the east or west. From their tongues, I could hear Farsi, the peddler’s tone far rougher than the man in front.
The peddler looked to be a man of average height, shorter than me by at least one head. His hair was a greasy black, pressed down by a scruffed hat, and sacks of burlap lay upon his broad shoulders. If nothing else, he had the look of a man who would purchase and sell, and never return for perhaps the next ten years.
The other man was taller, his figure built strong, as if he had the spine of an imperial guard. Under a keffiyeh stained with sand, he boasted a pair of jade green eyes, their color so sharp that even the sweep of his lashes could not hide their piercing gaze. His nose bridge was straight and fine, resting above a neatly trimmed beard of black. And as he spoke, I could see a crooked tooth or two, but he was without a doubt, the handsomest traveler I’d yet seen.
“Please, good sir,” he told the peddler, “we’ve traveled for days, and my poor wife has fallen ill. If you could spare a packet of your spices-”
“I’ve told you before and I shall say so again,” the peddler cut in, “my products and mine alone. You buy for the price I offer, or go to someone else.”
“Please, good sir.”
I heard the laugh once more. Behind them, a horse stood still, its legs covered in dirt and mane in dusty tangles. It looked like a mare, though I could never tell up front. Regardless, it must have been a handsome horse some time ago but those better days were long gone. Atop the horse, a woman sat, head tilted left and legs hanging from the saddle’s side. She was by no means a slight woman, but there was a distinct lack of weight in her bearing, like a ghost that would have gone unnoticed if not for that laugh. In place of curves, her body seemed built of bone but graced with a cat’s reflex nonetheless.
She was covered from head to toe in dark cloth, bundled in a tattered black shawl and ebony scarf. Her foot poked out from beneath the dress, and in place of sock or skin, only gauze covered the exposed part. But of her face, I could see nothing. It was hidden behind a piece of silk, and when she tilted again, I caught a glimpse of bright amber under that cloth.
“My love,” she said in a low hum- and my heart rather stopped, for it was the singular loveliest thing I’d e’er heard, “leave him be. If good sir does not wish to help, who are we to force him? It’s not like you can arrest him.”
“Please, dear , do not jest in a time like this,” her husband replied, much more stiffly than his wife.
“I wouldn’t dare.” And I imagined her smile, an impish curve of rosy lips. “My love, perhaps I could persuade our friend?”
Her hand went to a band around her waist, as if digging in for a piece of string, but her husband stayed that wrist. Roughly.
“You will do no such thing,” he ordered.
“Quarrel with your woman all you’d like,” the peddler jeered, “the sun’s set and I need be on my way.”
The husband called after him, but he took no heed, and in his frustration, the man clicked his teeth and hissed at his wife, in some tongue I could not quite catch (“ Erik, can you not compromise for once!? What should we do now, you ingrate?” ). She laughed once more, and it compelled me to nudge Bulent forward. I did not care for her man, but I wished to ease their plight, if only to let her know that I would be the gentleman her husband was not.
“Hullo sir,” I said. Bulent bleated. My Farsi was not perfect, but I knew more than most. Mother was Persian after all.
Upon hearing my voice, the traveler stumbled around, so shocked that his throat swallowed those foreign words.
“I heard that your lady was ill,” I went on, though I was not too sure if that was true, “are you looking for a doctor?”
The wife stilled, and for a moment, I wondered if she was holding her breath. The horse’s reins in his hand, her husband shook his head.
“We’re just passing through, boy. Is there an apothecary nearby?”
“Not for more steps, sir. But it’s getting late, and I-”
For a second, it crossed my mind that father would not take kindly to what I was about to say. But all I could think of was her comfort.
“I want to invite you to stay the night with my family. It’s not safe so late at night.”
The traveler took a beat to consider this, no doubt new concerns passing through his chiseled face. He looked to his wife and she nodded. And back to me, he said, “That’s true. Then how can we thank you for this hospitality, my boy- your name?”
“Ibrahim. Think nothing of it, sir. Mother may want help for supper, but I’m sure she won’t care if the lady’s taken ill.”
“Bless you, child. We will repay this kindness, Ibrahim, in full.”
Then she spoke again, words so soft and tempered that I felt knees quiver. “Young Ibrahim, what shall we call your friend?”
I grinned. “His name is Bulent.”
“He is a dashing goat,” she told me. Oh!
But sir was not amused. He scowled, as if his wife was up to some insufferable trick. But he did soften when he looked at me. He clenched the horse’s reins and asked me to show them the way. Bulent at the lead, I walked on, and it took every part of my self-restraint not to look back. The beautiful traveler and his beautiful wife occupied my every thought.
I recall asking him what the desert was like, for I had never been. I told him it was brave of them to travel alone, with so few provisions and so few coins. She did not speak again, try as I might to incite her speech. When we reached my father’s home, I’d learned that the traveler’s name was Darius and his shrouded wife, Rookheeya. They had been married for only ten days. They hailed from Mazandaran and they were en route to Constantinople to visit the lady's brother. Once there, perhaps they would settle.
“Constantinople is a lovely city,” I told them, though I’d never been.
Our abode was simple, large enough to house my parents and sisters two, but a far cry from the structures of Constantinople no doubt. With little fanfare, the horse clopped through the grass leading up to the stable behind, and once I helped Darius tether his mare, he released the reins.
“I’ll get my father now,” I said.
“Thank you,” he answered, moving to help Rookheeya down.
I trekked away, but could not help lingering for a few moments more. I watched, with some slight envy, as Darius lifted his love into his arms. She slipped in as easily as a bird and wing. They were of similar height, but perfectly matched, as if one was sculpted by heaven to embrace the other. And then Darius smiled, relief washing over his green gaze, a glow in his skin now that he was convinced they were alone. Rookheeya stayed within his grasp, her face still lost to that black cloth, but I could picture the woman behind- lashes downturned, cheekbones shy, mouth yearning to touch his.
It was an eternity before I resumed my task. As I walked, I heard them follow, and when I looked from the corner of my eye, I saw that Darius still kept his wife in his embrace. He very well meant to carry her for the rest of our night.