long trek and the terror of fleeing out of Russian Turkmen, and should be allowed to rest and wash up for a day."
"But where is she?" I demanded.
"Probably in one of those trunks," he said.
"You don't know?" I said, incredulous.
"When I was talking to her this morning, she said not to pry because it made her blush."
"You've seen her then! What does she look like?"
"You really can't tell through her veil but I'd say she looked just like the photograph I showed you when you bought her. She is very shy. She not only had a veil on but she was also just peeking out of a truck tarp. Oh, yes, here's her bill of sale."
It was all in Turkish and it had a lot of seals and a notary stamp. It said one Utanc was the property of one Sultan Bey. My hands trembled as I took it. I owned a real, live, Turkish dancing girl! Body and soul!
"Maybe she'll suffocate in one of those trunks," I said.
"My advice," said the taxi driver, "is just to let her rest. She is a flower of the desert. A wild thing, really. Fragile, frail. Unused to men and a total stranger to civilization. I would just let her rest." And he left.
About ten minutes later, there was a loud clank inside the room. Then another clank. I recognized what it must be: the iron door bars were being dropped into place. I sighed with relief. She had gotten out of the trunk and locked the doors.
Well, needless to say, I wasn't much good for anything the rest of that day.
I listened at the door and once I thought I heard the shower running.
I spent hours walking about the yard and patio.
It was late evening. I became concerned that the girl had had no food. I thought I could hear some stirrings from the room. I went and got Melahat Hanim and had her prepare a tray with nice things on it.
Melahat knocked at the door of the room. An iron bar slid aside. The door opened the tiniest crack and then slammed quickly.
The housekeeper turned to me, perplexed. Then she apparently heard a whisper from the other side of the door. Melahat left the patio. The iron bar clanked back in place.
Then there was another clank!
The garden door! She had let Melahat in the garden door! Oh, of course. When Utanc had opened the patio door, she had seen a man—me. And naturally, she had withdrawn.
There were whisperings in the room and it was hard to tell they were indeed whisperings, even though I had my ear pressed to the door.
The garden portal opened and closed. I saw Melahat in the yard. She was beckoning. Two of the small boys ran up to her. She bent over and whispered to them.
The boys ran to the other side of the house. There was a clank and the garden door opened and then a clank as it was closed and barred.
Melahat came to me in the patio. "She said..."
"You've seen her?" I demanded. "How does she look?"
"She was behind a drape," said Melahat. "She said there were no servants provided for her and she'd seen the two small boys through the garden window and she wanted them to be assigned to her as servants."
"Oh, of course," I said. "A wild desert girl. She would feel lonely without servants."
"I knew you would approve," said Melahat, "so I assigned them for now."
"Oh, assign them permanently. She will be here a long time." And, indeed, she would. I owned her, body and soul.
The shower seemed to be running again. "She seems to be taking another bath," I said.
"I think it was the small boys," said Melahat. "They were pretty dirty."
And, indeed, it must have been. In about ten minutes, one of the small boys went out the garden door and came around to the patio. It was the one I had kicked most. His hair was plastered with water and he looked two shades lighter. He was wearing a pair of embroidered pants and an embroidered jacket. Where had those come from? Turkish national dress! Oh, of course, the wild people of the desert!
"Utanc," said the boy, impudently, "says that Sultan Bey better take a bath and put a turban on. That he looks too scruffy to be sung to!"
I started to kick
"But where is she?" I demanded.
"Probably in one of those trunks," he said.
"You don't know?" I said, incredulous.
"When I was talking to her this morning, she said not to pry because it made her blush."
"You've seen her then! What does she look like?"
"You really can't tell through her veil but I'd say she looked just like the photograph I showed you when you bought her. She is very shy. She not only had a veil on but she was also just peeking out of a truck tarp. Oh, yes, here's her bill of sale."
It was all in Turkish and it had a lot of seals and a notary stamp. It said one Utanc was the property of one Sultan Bey. My hands trembled as I took it. I owned a real, live, Turkish dancing girl! Body and soul!
"Maybe she'll suffocate in one of those trunks," I said.
"My advice," said the taxi driver, "is just to let her rest. She is a flower of the desert. A wild thing, really. Fragile, frail. Unused to men and a total stranger to civilization. I would just let her rest." And he left.
About ten minutes later, there was a loud clank inside the room. Then another clank. I recognized what it must be: the iron door bars were being dropped into place. I sighed with relief. She had gotten out of the trunk and locked the doors.
Well, needless to say, I wasn't much good for anything the rest of that day.
I listened at the door and once I thought I heard the shower running.
I spent hours walking about the yard and patio.
It was late evening. I became concerned that the girl had had no food. I thought I could hear some stirrings from the room. I went and got Melahat Hanim and had her prepare a tray with nice things on it.
Melahat knocked at the door of the room. An iron bar slid aside. The door opened the tiniest crack and then slammed quickly.
The housekeeper turned to me, perplexed. Then she apparently heard a whisper from the other side of the door. Melahat left the patio. The iron bar clanked back in place.
Then there was another clank!
The garden door! She had let Melahat in the garden door! Oh, of course. When Utanc had opened the patio door, she had seen a man—me. And naturally, she had withdrawn.
There were whisperings in the room and it was hard to tell they were indeed whisperings, even though I had my ear pressed to the door.
The garden portal opened and closed. I saw Melahat in the yard. She was beckoning. Two of the small boys ran up to her. She bent over and whispered to them.
The boys ran to the other side of the house. There was a clank and the garden door opened and then a clank as it was closed and barred.
Melahat came to me in the patio. "She said..."
"You've seen her?" I demanded. "How does she look?"
"She was behind a drape," said Melahat. "She said there were no servants provided for her and she'd seen the two small boys through the garden window and she wanted them to be assigned to her as servants."
"Oh, of course," I said. "A wild desert girl. She would feel lonely without servants."
"I knew you would approve," said Melahat, "so I assigned them for now."
"Oh, assign them permanently. She will be here a long time." And, indeed, she would. I owned her, body and soul.
The shower seemed to be running again. "She seems to be taking another bath," I said.
"I think it was the small boys," said Melahat. "They were pretty dirty."
And, indeed, it must have been. In about ten minutes, one of the small boys went out the garden door and came around to the patio. It was the one I had kicked most. His hair was plastered with water and he looked two shades lighter. He was wearing a pair of embroidered pants and an embroidered jacket. Where had those come from? Turkish national dress! Oh, of course, the wild people of the desert!
"Utanc," said the boy, impudently, "says that Sultan Bey better take a bath and put a turban on. That he looks too scruffy to be sung to!"
I started to kick
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