Free The Stone Woman by Tariq Ali Page A

the old. And if the Western powers try and prevent us, we shall fight them with all our might. In this regard we shall not mimic the Roman Empire. Italy has only just emerged as a unified state, many, many centuries after the fall of Rome. We will not make the same mistake.”
    The Baron replied, but this time he said nothing new. They talked of ancient Rome and Istanbul. I began to lose the thread of their argument as they became more and more repetitive. Throughout this conversation, Salman had given me the impression of a person completely detached from his surroundings. His heavy eyelids and languorous movements reminded me of a dervish who had smoked too much opium. At one point I thought he was fast asleep. Perhaps Halil had awakened him.
    “What does this mean, Halil? Should I warn my friends to evacuate their families and their trade from Alexandria? Should they move to Damascus or are we going to lose everything?”
    “I’m not sure. Egypt is already out of our control, but I am nervous on behalf of your friends. I think the Bedouin will go with whoever promises them the most money. We are too weak to control that world. The fact that we are all of the same faith matters the least when power and money are at stake. The Arabs have never been sentimental in this regard. He who will pay, will have his say. Come back to Istanbul, Salman. Everything is about to change.”
    Salman smiled at his brother. “If someone like you has become infected with the new ideologies that are sprouting all over Europe, then perhaps there is still reason to hope. Perhaps change will come like a hurricane or an earthquake. When the wind has died down and the tremors have ceased, then I shall return to Istanbul. Not a day before. And I expect you to receive me with all the respect that I deserve. Now, if you will excuse me, I will retire. All this talk of the rise and fall of Empires has given me indigestion.”
    Halil laughed as he stood up to embrace Salman.
    “Even I would not be so crude as to blame the short-sightedness of our Sultans for your interminable flatulence. You move too little and you eat too much. The East has not been good for you. When you return I really would not recommend Istanbul as a residence. There you will only get bigger and slower, like a female elephant about to give birth. The indigestion, as you so delicately put it, will get much worse. The city I would suggest for you is Ankara. The air is clean and vices are few.”
    Salman stroked his brother’s cheeks affectionately. “You can bury me in Ankara, if you please, Halil, but not till I’m dead. It will cost you to shift this carcass from Istanbul, but you have my permission. The Baron is our witness.”
    Salman’s departure brought the evening to a close. Iskander Pasha was very pleased with himself for having manipulated the discussion so successfully. There had been no personal reminiscences of the family, no discussion of our past, and this pleased him. His speech had been paralysed, but his memory had not weakened and there were recollections with which he wanted no contact at all. I felt close to him again. He had once told us that whenever he returned to Istanbul after a stay in Paris or Berlin, he found the odour of stupidity at home extremely reassuring, but was terrified that it might suffocate him if, for whatever reason, he was never able to travel again. I would ask him about that before the summer was over, but not tonight, when he looked so happy. I kissed his head and took my leave.
    Silently, I followed the Baron and Uncle Memed to the moon-drenched terrace. We sat down at a table beautifully laid with silver bowls filled with almonds of three different varieties, walnuts and fruits. Petrossian uncorked another bottle and served the two men. Memed told him they would help themselves and instructed him to retire for the night.
    I looked at the stars in the sky and wondered whether I would ever find true happiness and be content with my