The Black Tulip

Beyond the Gate of Felicity

Three days into the journey, worn thin from uncertainty, Laleena dozes off in the carriage as the late autumn sun weakens over the city. When she stirs, the two men are leading her on foot through an enormous gate. She asks where they are, and the man doesn’t answer, saying only that there’s no going back. When she asks what lies beyond, he tells her they’re entering the Gate of Felicity, at Topkapı Palace. Curious, she asks what “felicity” means. “Happiness,” he explains, this gate brings happiness to others. She asks if that includes him, and he smiles oddly, telling her she’ll soon discover for herself that part is true.

A dark, quiet man leads her through a large ornate door and down a corridor lined with carved and painted calligraphy, a style so fine it reminds her of Father’s own craftsmanship. A kilim runner much like the ones from home guides her toward another door, then another corridor gilded even more richly than the last. At the end of it, the man hands her over to an old woman waiting there, skeletal, very tall, and faded, clutching a box of wooden clogs inlaid with mother-of-pearl.

The old woman leads Laleena through corridor after corridor unlike anything she’s ever seen, past marble stairs, crystal chandeliers, and stained glass windows splashing color everywhere. In a hall built entirely of wood, the woman explains that this is the dormitory of the acemis, the novices. Every new girl becomes an acemi and is assigned to a department to begin an apprenticeship, training until she masters her craft. When Laleena asks how long that takes, the woman only says it depends on her talents, leaving Laleena wondering what talents she means.

The woman points out a cabinet stretching along the wall where girls keep their mattress and bundle, pulling it out each night and stowing it again each morning. Then, as though noticing Laleena for the first time, she asks her name. “Laleena,” she says, “what a sweet name. Enjoy it while it’s still yours, since it won’t belong to you for much longer.” She hands Laleena a pair of very tall wooden clogs, and Laleena wonders how she could ever find her way home again through so many identical corridors.

The hamam smells of sulfur and blooms with light through a star-shaped domed ceiling, its walls sheathed in white marble and geometric tile. Laughter and chatter echo everywhere. A cluster of girls giggles at Laleena as she teeters and nearly slips in the tall clogs. An attendant tells her kindly that she may leave her chemise on if she likes, then turns to mind her own business. All around, girls of every age bathe completely undressed, scrubbing one another’s backs and hair without a hint of shyness, something Laleena has never witnessed among strangers. Not wanting to stand out or lose her dignity, she decides to follow their lead rather than draw more attention to herself. Left alone, she settles by a low marble sink and watches the others, gathering that bodies change many times over a lifetime and that there’s nothing shameful in that.

The steam thickens as the girls wash at the sinks, then move into a deep pool that draws gasps and squeals, clearly frigid. An attendant scrubs each girl with a paste that looks like oatmeal, rinses her, and pours hot water over her, prompting shrieks before a final dousing of cold water to finish.

Afterward, the old woman returns and leads Laleena not to the dormitory but to a small, closet-sized room, explaining that she’ll sleep alone here under quarantine until she’s interviewed the next day. Laleena wonders who will interview her but doesn’t dare ask, remembering how angry Cafer Efendi grew whenever she asked too many questions. She reasons she’ll learn soon enough. The woman tells her to try to sleep well, if she can. And to remember her dreams. They say a girl’s first night at the palace is prophetic.

The windowless room is pitch black, and Laleena imagines ghosts dancing around her. To calm herself, she thinks instead of Cengiz, the twins, Mother, and Father, wondering if he has made it home, and of little Lena, wondering where they’ve taken her. She feels nearly as frightened as she did aboard the slave ship, yet everyone keeps calling this place a palace. Amid such beauty, she wonders whether things can truly be so terrible. Eventually, the bath’s warmth soothes her, and she slips into sleep.

Laleena dreams that Father is alive and has returned home, that Mother collapses sobbing into his arms, and that the twins dash around chattering in their private twin language. Cengiz has grown a mustache and a deepening voice. Father looks utterly forlorn, having come home only to learn that Laleena is gone, sold into slavery, with no one in her family knowing where she is or what has become of her.