lonely women like me with missing soldier…husbands
there were in Istanbul； I resigned myself to my fate。
At night； in our beds； we’d hug our children and mope and cry。 To quiet
their tears； I’d tell them hopeful lies； for example； that so…and…so had proof
their father would return before spring。 Afterward； when my lie would
circulate； changing and spreading until it found its way back to me； I’d be the
first to believe the good news。
When the main support of the household vanished； we fell upon hard
times。 We were living in a rented house in Charsh？kap？ with my husband’s
gentlemanly Abkhazian father； who’d never lived an easy life； and his brother；
who had green eyes as well。 My father…in…law； who left his mirror…making
business after his oldest son made his fortune soldiering； returned to take up
his trade at a late age。 Hasan； my husband’s bachelor brother； worked in
customs； and as he prospered he made plans to assume the role of “man of
the house。” One winter； fearing they wouldn’t be able to pay rent； they hastily
took the slave who saw to the household chores to the slave market and sold
her； after which they wanted me to do the kitchen work； wash the clothes and
even go out to the bazaars to do the shopping in her stead。 I didn’t protest by
saying； “Am I the type of woman to take on such drudgery？” I swallowed my
pride and went to work。 But when that brother…in…law of mine Hasan； now
50
without his slave girl to take into his room at night； began forcing my door； I
didn’t know what to do。
Of course； I