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was, unveiled and openly with a man. Their stern faces made me feel I was being judged by some standard I could not understand. I tried to be discreet in my glances, but it was hard to take my eyes from their odd and unfamiliar dress.
    Graham said teasingly, “You must not think these people are in costume.” He proceeded to explain how much one could tell about a man from what he wore. He adopted the manner of a bachelor uncle giving his country niece a day in the city. He was jolly and patient, producing little treats of information for me like twists of toffee. It was only when he thought my attention was elsewhere that he stole a look at me with something more than amusement—as though I were a book that might contain some scrap of interest if one could just get to the right page.
    When we came to the mosque, Graham said, “We’ll enter here. You must put these covers over your shoes.” Heapproached a Muslim man who seemed to be guarding the door and spoke to him in Arabic. At first the man, looking in my direction, shook his head, but after a bit he saluted Graham in the Muslim way, moving his hand from his chest to his forehead in a graceful arc. Graham returned the salute, looking only a little self-conscious.
    â€œI feel like I am living five hundred years ago,” I said.
    â€œAnd further back than that. According to the Muslim faith it is not 1907, but the year 1325. The Muslims mark their year from the time the prophet Muhammad fled from Mecca to Medina, thirteen hundred and twenty-five years ago.”
    While I stole glances at Graham, thinking him exceedingly handsome, he continued his lecture as he led me into the mosque. “You must not expect too much of this mosque; it’s far from the best of its kind. The Muslims who captured it had to be satisfied with making over the Church of St. John, built by crusaders.”
    I thought of Hagia Sophia in Istanbul. “The Muslims turn Christian churches into mosques?”
    â€œIn Spain the Christians turned the Muslim mosques into churches. It’s a resourceful world.”
    There were arcades and colonnades and little chambers and walls decorated with rough paintings of twining foliageand flowers. Hidden beneath the arabesques I could almost see the Good Shepherd and the image of Christ on the cross. Everywhere I looked, there was a feeling of one faith forever trying to elbow out the other.
    After a while Graham said, “It’s stuffy in here. We’ve done what you wanted; now it’s my turn. What is needed is fresh mountain air and a view. I know just the place.”
    As we were leaving, Muslims began to stream into the courtyard and cluster around the fountain. I looked questioningly at Graham, who drew me into the shadows. “They are making their ablutions,” he whispered. In a moment the men had disappeared into the mosque. “Listen and you will hear the imam call out.”
    â€œAllah!” Through the open arch we watched the men in the mosque kneel and touch their foreheads to the ground. The imam called out again, and Graham translated for me. “‘The creator of this world and the next, of the heavens and of the earth. He who leads the righteous in the true path and the wicked to destruction. Allah!’”
    In their eyes I was the infidel, and I felt it. Graham whispered that the imams once had not only been priests but served as commanders in chief of the conquering Muslim armies. “A sobering combination.”
    He ushered me outside, and I was aware of his holdingon to my arm a bit longer than necessary. There was some arguing over the fare with the driver of a two-horse carriage, but very soon the driver shrugged and saluted, and we climbed into the yayli .
    â€œThese people are so poor,” I said to Graham, “I think you should pay what they ask.”
    â€œIf you did, you would insult them,” he said. “This fellow takes as much pleasure in our