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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
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