The Black Tulip

Leyla

The next morning, a girl only slightly older than Laleena comes to fetch her, stealing a shy peek at her on the way to a crowded infirmary. There, a woman examines her for diseases, defects, and imperfections, then inspects her teeth, eyes, ears, hands, and feet all over again. Laleena has never been examined so thoroughly, though it feels less humiliating than Cafer Efendi’s examination had been.

Afterward, the girl leads Laleena through a maze of corridors and staircases, with too many stairs and identical hallways to memorize, and she gives up trying. Along the way, girls pass carrying laundry or trays of bread and flowers.

A large door opens onto apartments that clearly belong to someone important, where a stern-faced man lets them in. Inside, a large woman sits on a carpeted divan, smoking a water pipe, gold bracelets jingling up her arms and henna covering her hands and bare feet.

“Come here,” the woman says. “And turn around. Let me see.” Laleena obeys, feeling awkward under yet another inspection. The woman demands she see Laleena’s hands. She kneels and holds them out, embarrassed by her bitten nails and by how rough gardening and outdoor chores have made her palms.

The woman says they are too small for housework, so she hopes Laleena has some skills. Laleena doesn’t understand what she means, so the woman says skills like sewing, cooking, making sherbets, playing an instrument, healing, dancing… Laleena admits she has none of those.

The woman notes that Laleena speaks Turkish, though it plainly isn’t her first language, and asks if she can also read and write. Laleena says she knows the Arabic alphabet and can read and write Turkish, as well as Georgian, and adds that she paints, too, briefly mentioning the icons Father painted.

The woman’s eyes go wide. Laleena must never mention painting again, especially the likenesses of human beings, since that is Allah’s work alone and to attempt it is sacrilegious. The woman pauses, composes herself, and draws on her pipe before asking whether Laleena has no other useful talents.

Laleena struggles to understand what the woman means, and the woman clarifies that a talent is a gift a person is born with, while a skill is something learned through practice. Laleena stammers that she may have some talent for growing things, like plants and flowers, which catches the woman’s interest at once. When Laleena mentions she can also grow hyacinths, lilies, carnations, and tulips, the woman laughs, delighted, and calls her a little tulipist, since tulips demand real patience and skill to cultivate.

As she stands there watching the woman think, Laleena realizes she shouldn’t have mentioned painting. Father, devout as he was, always warned that imitating Allah’s work was forbidden, even though he never stopped painting icons himself, telling her the gift had come from Allah, too.

Finally, the woman asks Laleena her name. She seems unimpressed by Laleena’s response. She says it sounds like a gypsy fortune-teller’s name, la-la-la. From now on, Laleena will carry a proper Turkish name for a Turkish girl: Leyla. The woman adds there are no buts. Every girl’s name is changed here so she can forget her past and become someone new.

Going forward, Leyla will study in the medrese, the religious school, and take lessons in the Koran. She’ll learn to move gracefully, like a willow, to sit properly, and to speak without her accent. The woman warns Leyla against hunching forward like a cow chewing grass. She’ll also garden under the Mistress of the Flowers.

When she’s dismissed, the same girl who brought her leads Leyla back out. Walking beside her, the girl remarks that Leyla is a lucky name to be given. It means a dark night full of stars. Laleena, no, Leyla, asks what she should call the girl in return. She introduces herself as Belkıs.

Belkıs explains that the woman is the kahya, the chief housekeeper, who assigns every new girl to a department based on her looks, talent, or skills. Belkıs herself was assigned to the Mistress of the Flowers, and now she’ll help Leyla learn the ropes, tending the vast interior harem gardens, which include kitchen gardens, healing gardens, scented gardens, and flower beds. Leyla feels a flicker of excitement; landing with the gardens seems like a sign of good luck for an acemi, and doing well could mean a promotion.

Belkıs did not start out so fortunate. She was first assigned to the household of the haseki sultana, the padishah’s number one wife, and found the work exhausting, since other women were forever scheming against the wife and her son. She’s far happier among the flowers now.

Leyla asks where they even are. Belkıs explains that they stand inside Topkapı Palace, home to Sultan Ahmet, ruler of Turkey and the Ottoman Empire, and that they live within its harem, where the sultan’s wives and children reside. No men are allowed inside except the sultan’s sons and the eunuchs. When Leyla says it feels more like a cage than a palace, Belkıs agrees. Some call the harem the golden cage, since the women inside have great riches but no freedom at all.