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Q:
Symfony 3 unit tests pass locally but not at Travis
I have a Symfony 3 project with tests that pass in php 5.5 & 5.6 but fail in 7.0 and 7.1. All the same tests pass when using Symfony 2.8. All tests pass locally but some fail on travis.
shows failing tests: https://travis-ci.org/zikula/core/builds/257745627
travis file: https://github.com/zikula/core/blob/master/.travis.yml#L40
I’m hoping someone here will have some insight. I’m pretty much at a complete loss.
originally in the Travis file I just ran phpunit and it was passing until very recently where I started to get errors like reported here (https://github.com/symfony/symfony/issues/19532) e.g. YamlFileLoader - Undefined class constant 'PARSE_CONSTANT'
so I tried both ./src/vendor/symfony/symfony/src/Symfony/Bridge/PhpUnit/bin/simple-phpunit and bin/pnpunit (current setting) and they both fail (but differently!)
as it is currently set up I get these errors before the tests fail:
$ ./bin/phpunit
PHP Warning: PHP Startup: Unable to load dynamic library '/home/travis/.phpenv/versions/7.0.7/lib/php/extensions/no-debug-zts-20151012/apc.so' - /home/travis/.phpenv/versions/7.0.7/lib/php/extensions/no-debug-zts-20151012/apc.so: cannot open shared object file: No such file or directory in Unknown on line 0
Warning: PHP Startup: Unable to load dynamic library '/home/travis/.phpenv/versions/7.0.7/lib/php/extensions/no-debug-zts-20151012/apc.so' - /home/travis/.phpenv/versions/7.0.7/lib/php/extensions/no-debug-zts-20151012/apc.so: cannot open shared object file: No such file or directory in Unknown on line 0
PHP Warning: PHP Startup: Unable to load dynamic library '/home/travis/.phpenv/versions/7.0.7/lib/php/extensions/no-debug-zts-20151012/memcache.so' - /home/travis/.phpenv/versions/7.0.7/lib/php/extensions/no-debug-zts-20151012/memcache.so: cannot open shared object file: No such file or directory in Unknown on line 0
Warning: PHP Startup: Unable to load dynamic library '/home/travis/.phpenv/versions/7.0.7/lib/php/extensions/no-debug-zts-20151012/memcache.so' - /home/travis/.phpenv/versions/7.0.7/lib/php/extensions/no-debug-zts-20151012/memcache.so: cannot open shared object file: No such file or directory in Unknown on line 0
So I am guessing this is related because I do not get those errors locally or in php 5.5/5.6
any ideas how to solve this? Thanks in advance!
A:
Firstly, composer run on PHP 7 might bring different versions of dependencies than if it was run on PHP 5. This is because many packages are dropping PHP 5 support these days. Perhaps you're fetching a dependency that behaves differently on PHP 7.
Another option is that your code behaves differently on PHP 7. For example, if failures you're getting are related to sorting, it might be that your algorithm sorts in a slightly different way depending on a PHP version it's run on.
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Oviraptorosaurs are some of the most unusual dinosaurs. These bird-like, feathered theropods diverged dramatically from their close cousins, evolving shortened toothless skulls with a staggering diversity of pneumatic cranial crests in derived forms[@b1]. Unlike the stereotypical view of theropods as stealthy carnivores, oviraptorosaurs probably had more varied diets. Previous studies have suggested that oviraptorosaurs may have eaten such foods as eggs, mollusks, plants, shellfish, and nuts[@b1][@b2][@b3][@b4][@b5][@b6][@b7][@b8][@b9][@b10][@b11], but these hypotheses remain to be more conclusively tested. The bizarre body plan and diets of oviraptorosaurs were clearly successful, as these dinosaurs were highly diverse in the Cretaceous of Asia and North America, where they ranged from the size of a turkey to nearly the length of 7 meters[@b12]. These theropods, once so poorly understood, are now recognized as important components of terrestrial food webs in the northern continents during the final \~15 million years of the Age of Dinosaurs[@b13].
Our understanding of oviraptorosaur anatomy and evolution has greatly increased with a bounty of new discoveries over the past decade. In total, more than 35 oviraptorosaur genera are now known. Many of the recent discoveries have come from China, particularly from three areas of the country: northern China (including Inner Mongolia and western Liaoning Province[@b8][@b12][@b14][@b15][@b16][@b17][@b18][@b19][@b20]), central China (Henan Province[@b21][@b10]), and southern China (including Guangdong and Jiangxi provinces[@b9][@b22][@b23][@b24][@b25][@b26][@b27][@b28][@b29][@b30]). The southern Chinese oviraptorosaurs are especially diverse. Over the last five years alone, five distinct taxa have been described from the Ganzhou area of Jiangxi Province, all of which are highly derived, toothless oviraptorids represented, thus far, by a single holotype individual. Because of these discoveries, the latest Cretaceous (Maastrichtian) deposits of the Ganzhou area becoming critical for understanding the evolution of this aberrant dinosaur subgroup.
We here report a sixth diagnostic oviraptorosaur from the Ganzhou area ([Fig. 1](#f1){ref-type="fig"}), represented by a remarkably well-preserved specimen in an unusual posture with its limbs splayed to the side, its neck outstretched, and its head raised. This specimen is described as a new species, *Tongtianlong limosus* gen. et sp. nov., based on its unique dome-like skull roof, highly convex premaxilla, and many additional features setting it apart from other oviraptorosaurs, both from Ganzhou and globally. The discovery of yet another diagnostic specimen from Ganzhou begs the question of why so many oviraptorosaurs are found here. We argue that the high variability of oviraptorosaurs documents an evolutionary radiation of these dinosaurs in the very latest Cretaceous of Asia, perhaps enabled by differences in skull morphology related to feeding. This flurry of evolution helped establish some of the final dinosaur faunas before the end-Cretaceous extinction.
Results
=======
Systematic Paleontology
-----------------------
Dinosauria Owen, 1842[@b31].
Theropoda Marsh, 1881[@b32].
Maniraptora Gauthier, 1986[@b33].
Oviraptorosauria Barsbold, 1976[@b34].
Oviraptoridae Barsbold, 1976[@b34].
*Tongtianlong limosus* gen. et sp. nov. ([Figs 2](#f2){ref-type="fig"}, [3](#f3){ref-type="fig"} and [4](#f4){ref-type="fig"})
Etymology
---------
Tongtian, Chinese Pinyin, refers to Tongtianyan of Ganzhou, the first grotto south of the Yangtze River. Tongtian also means the road to heaven, a fitting epitaph for a deceased dinosaur preserved with outstretched arms. Long, Chinese Pinyin for dragon. Limosus, Latin for muddy, refers to the holotype specimen being found in an unusual posture in a mudstone ([Fig. 5](#f5){ref-type="fig"}).
Holotype
--------
A nearly complete, three-dimensionally preserved skeleton with skull and lower jaws (DYM-2013-8). The specimen is accessioned at the Dongyang Museum, Dongyang City, Zhejiang Province.
Type locality and horizon
-------------------------
The building site of the No. 3 high school of Ganxian (GPS coordinates are provided on request from the first author); Nanxiong Formation (Maastrichtian, Upper Cretaceous)[@b35].
Diagnosis
---------
Oviraptorid dinosaur with the following unique combination of characters, with autapomorphies among all oviraptorosaurs indicated with an asterisk and autapomorphies among oviraptorids indicated with a double asterisk (these latter features are present in some caenagnathids): dome-like skull roof with highest point located above the posterodorsal corner of the orbit\*; anterior margin of the premaxilla highly convex in lateral view\*; distinct process at the middle of the anterior margin of the parietal on the skull roof\*; plate-like lacrimal shaft that is anteroposteriorly long in lateral view, with a flat lateral surface\*; foramen magnum smaller than the occipital condyle\*\*; absence of symphyseal ventral process of the dentary\*\*; absence of distinct lateral xiphoid process of the sternum posterior to the costal margin\*\*.
*Tongtianlong* differs from other Ganzhou oviraptorids with preserved skull material (*Banji*, *Huanansaurus*) in that the anteroventral corner of the external naris is far above a horizontal line tangent with the posterodorsal corner of the antorbital fenestra, an unusual feature otherwise only seen in *Nemegtomaia*[@b36][@b37][@b38] and *Rinchenia* (Barsbold[@b39]) (=*Oviraptor mongoliensis*[@b1][@b40]). *Tongtianlong* also differs from other Ganzhou oviraptorids in numerous ways that are encapsulated in the character scores in our phylogenetic analysis. *Tongtianlong* differs from *Banji*[@b26] in possessing a postorbital process of the jugal that is posterodorsally inclined relative to the ventral ramus (not perpendicular), lacking a downturned symphyseal portion of the dentary (see also [Supplementary Information Fig. S1a](#S1){ref-type="supplementary-material"}), lacking a prominent process on the posteroventral surface of the dentary symphysis, and possessing a more anteroposteriorly elongate external mandibular fenestra.
*Tongtianlong* is distinguished from *Ganzhousaurus*[@b27] in lacking a downturned symphyseal portion of the dentary, possessing a more anteroposteriorly elongate external mandibular fenestra, having a dentary that contributes to the ventral border of the external mandibular fenestra (not excluded from the border by the anterior extension of the angular), lacking a depression on the lateral surface of the dentary immediately anterior to the external mandibular fenestra, and possessing a metatarsal III that is anteroposteriorly flattened with a concave posterior surface (not ovoid or subtriangular in cross section).
*Tongtianlong* is different from *Jiangxisaurus*[@b28] in lacking a downturned symphyseal portion of the dentary. Furthermore, the ratio of radius length to humerus length (78%) and the height-to-length ratio of the lower jaw (34%) are greater than those of *Jiangxisaurus* (70% and 20%, respectively).
*Tongtianlong* differs from *Nankangia*[@b9] in lacking a prominent process on the posteroventral surface of the dentary symphysis, lacking a deep fossa on the lateral surface of the dentary, having a dentary that contributes to the dorsal border of the external mandibular fenestra (not excluded from the border by the anterior extension of the surangular), and lacking a depression on the lateral surface of the dentary immediately anterior to the external mandibular fenestra.
*Tongtianlong* differs from *Huanansaurus*[@b29] in skull morphology and forelimb proportions. There is a crest in *Huanansaurus* but not in *Tongtianlong*. The dorsal margin of the lower jaw, from the anterior tip to the coronoid eminence, is smoothly convex in *Tongtianlong*, whilst it is wave-like in *Huanansaurus*. The antorbital fenestra is sub-oval in *Tongtianlong*, but triangular in *Huanansaurus*. The ratio of radius length to humerus length in *Tongtianlong* (0.78) is much smaller than that of *Huanansaurus* (0.97). The anteroventral corner of the external naris is slightly below the horizontal line projected through the posterodorsal corner of the antorbital fenestra in *Huanansaurus*, whilst it is far above this line in *Tongtianlong* ([Fig. 6](#f6){ref-type="fig"}).
Description
===========
The specimen is very well preserved in three dimensions, with the bones in natural articulation ([Figs 2](#f2){ref-type="fig"} and [3](#f3){ref-type="fig"}a; see also [Supplementary Information Table S1](#S1){ref-type="supplementary-material"}). The limbs are splayed out sideways relative to the trunk, and the neck is curved upwards, such that the head is elevated relative to the remainder of the body. Because the specimen was collected by a farmer and construction workers, and it was not mapped *in situ* while being excavated, it is difficult to interpret what biological and/or taphonomic processes caused this strange posture. Judging by the fine state of preservation, the specimen probably was originally complete or nearly complete. However, some portions of the skeleton are missing, such as the distal regions of the arms, the right pelvic girdle and hind leg, and parts of the tail. This is because the specimen was collected by workers at an active construction site. The specimen was exposed after workmen blasted away some of the surrounding rocks with TNT; a drill hole where TNT was placed can be seen near the pelvic girdle.
The skull is almost completely preserved. It is missing only small portions of the anterior end of the premaxilla and nasals, and a small part of the right lower jaw. The most salient feature of the skull is that the cranial roof is dome-like, with its highest point above the posterodorsal corner of the orbit. Many other oviraptorosaurs possess cranial ornaments, which in some cases are elaborate and highly pneumatic ([Fig. 4](#f4){ref-type="fig"}). However, in other taxa these crests are usually thinner (such as in *Nemegtomaia*[@b36][@b37][@b38], it is 6 mm) than the dome-like condition in *Tongtianlong*. Furthermore, in other taxa these crests are peaked further anteriorly relative to *Tongtianlong*, either at the anterior end of the snout above the external naris and antorbital fenestra (as in *Banji*, *Citipati*, *Oviraptor*, and *Nemegtomaia*), or at approximately the midpoint of the cranium above the orbit (as in *Rinchenia*, *Huanansaurus*, and caenagnathids like *Anzu*[@b41]) ([Fig. 6](#f6){ref-type="fig"}). Therefore, the posteriorly-peaked dome-like crest of *Tongtianlong* is autapomorphic among oviraptorosaurs, and a novel type of cranial ornamentation in this highly variable clade. The fine three-dimensional preservation of the specimen ensures that the shape of the dome-like crest is not an artefact of crushing or deformation.
There are five main openings in the cranium, as is standard for oviraptorosaurs and other dinosaurs. Anteriorly a large, oval-shaped external naris is positioned above a slightly smaller, triangular antorbital fenestra ([Fig. 4](#f4){ref-type="fig"}). The anteroventral corner of the naris is located far above the level of the posterodorsal corner of the antorbital fenestra, which is also the case in *Nemegtomaia* and *Rinchenia*, but differs from the condition in most other oviraptorosaurs, in which the naris extends further ventrally so that it reaches past the posterodorsal corner of the antorbital fenestra ([Fig. 6](#f6){ref-type="fig"}). The orbit is large and nearly circular, as is typical for oviraptorosaurs. The lateral temporal fenestra is the largest opening in the skull. It is rectangular, with a long axis that extends slightly anteroventrally, which differs from the more circular or square fenestrae of many other oviraptorosaurs. The supratemporal fenestra is positioned above the lateral temporal fenestra and is partially visible in lateral view. It is much smaller than the orbit and lateral temporal fenestra.
The premaxilla is toothless like in all derived oviraptorosaurs. The left and right premaxillae appear to be unfused to each other, based on open sutures in the region of the broken dorsal surfaces of both bones, but the premaxilla and maxilla are fused together without a clear sutural trace. The anterior margin of the premaxilla is highly convex, which is an autapomorphy of *Tongtianlong*. Most other oviraptorosaurs have a straight anterior premaxilla (e.g., *Citipati*[@b42], *Khaan*[@b42]), and this is also the case in the Ganzhou oviraptorid *Huanasaurus*[@b29]. *Yulong* and the Ganzhou oviraptorid *Banji* have a slightly rounded anterior margin of the premaxilla in lateral view, but it is not nearly as convex as in *Tongtianlong*. The premaxilla is divided into two branches, both of which extend posterodorsally. The upper one forms the anterodorsal margin of the external naris, whereas the much wider lower one forms most of the anterodorsal margin of the antorbital fenestra, thus separating the naris from the antorbital fenestra and completely excluding the maxilla from the narial border. The posterior end of this branch overlaps the lateral surface of the lacrimal. The divergence of the two branches defines the shape of the external naris. Anteroventral to the naris, a deeply concave fossa extends on the lateral surface of the premaxilla, as in *Huanasaurus*[@b29], *Yulong*[@b10], and *Nemegtomaia*[@b37][@b38], but unlike the slightly concave surface in *Citipati*[@b6]. The maxilla is very small and exposed only as a tiny sliver of bone in lateral view. It forms the ventral margin of the antorbital opening and lacks teeth, but has a small triangular 'tooth-like' process on its ventral surface.
The lacrimal is divided into three branches: a short anterior process that is covered by the premaxilla, a bulbous posterior process that extends dorsally to define the anterodorsal corner of the orbit, and a large ventral shaft. The shape of the shaft is unique: whereas in other oviraptorosaurs the lacrimal shaft is gracile (thin anteroposteriorly) and has at least a partially convex lateral surface ([Fig. 6](#f6){ref-type="fig"}), in *Tongtianlong* it is robust (thick anteroposteriorly) with a flat lateral surface ([Fig. 4](#f4){ref-type="fig"}). In effect, the lacrimal shaft of *Tongtianlong* is plate-like, which is considered an autapomorphy of the taxon. In the region where the three processes meet, the lateral surface of the lacrimal is penetrated by a large opening (called the nasopharyngeal canal by Balanoff and Norell[@b43]) that leads into an internal recess, which is further subdivided internally. Anteroventral to this pneumatic opening is an ovoid fossa on the lateral surface of the lacrimal, which is probably also pneumatic in origin, and which may also invade the bone internally, although poor preservation makes this difficult to confirm. Complex pneumaticity in this region is common in oviraptorosaurs[@b6][@b43]). However, the pneumatic openings in *Tongtianlong* are much larger and more elaborate than the corresponding pneumaticity in the two Ganzhou oviraptorids with well-preserved cranial material, *Huanansaurus*[@b29] and *Banji*[@b26].
The postorbital is triradiate, with short anterior and posterior processes and a very long ventral process that projects anteroventrally, terminating at the floor of the orbit. The slender and elongate jugal is divided into three branches. The rod-like anterior process contacts the lacrimal and maxilla. The short ascending process extends posterodorsally to make up approximately half of the postorbital bar separating the orbit and lateral temporal fenestra. The posterior process contacts the quadratojugal underneath the lateral temporal fenestra. Here, the jugal overlaps the quadratojugal laterally, and the two bones are sutured but not fused. The quadratojugal is tightly appressed to the lateral surface of the quadrate, and it does not appear that the two bones could move relative to each other. There is, however, a small fenestra between the small dorsal process of the quadratojugal and the lateral margin of the quadrate. The dorsal part of quadrate is bent backwards, and there is an opening on the anterior surface of the quadrate which indicates that the bone is pneumatized.
On the skull roof, the dorsal surface of the posterior portion of the nasal is smoothly convex. The left and right nasals are fused, without any sign of a suture between them. The lateral surface of the nasal is strongly concave, and although the surface is not well preserved, visible regions of original bone texture indicate extreme pneumaticity in this region, as is standard for derived oviraptorosaurs. The nasal-frontal suture is V-shaped in dorsal view. The frontals are short anteroposteriorly, and the left and right elements are not fused on the midline. The two parietals are fused to each other, but not to the frontals and there is no parietal crest (see also [Supplementary Information, Fig. S1b](#S1){ref-type="supplementary-material"}). The frontal-parietal suture is mostly straight, but there is a distinct process extending forwards from the middle of the anterior margin of the parietal ([Fig. 3d](#f3){ref-type="fig"}, pp). This process is wedged between the frontals. It is considered an autapomorphy of *Tongtianlong*, as it is absent in other oviraptorosaurs.
Portions of the braincase are visible in lateral and posterior view. The supraoccipital is triangular, which a concave posterior surface. The exoccipital-opisthotic forms the dorsal margin of the foramen magnum, thus separating the supraoccipital from the foramen margin. The exoccipital tapers as it extends lateroventrally. The occipital condyle is larger than the foramen magnum, a condition that is seen in some caenagnathids (e.g., *Anzu*[@b41]), but differs from the proportionally smaller occipital condyles of other oviraptorids. The occipital condyle is located posterior to the articular condyles of the quadrate.
The mandible is nearly complete. In lateral view, the ventral margin of the lower jaw is straight. The anterior end of the dentary is not as strongly downturned as in other derived oviraptorids. There is no depressed fossa on the lateral surface of the dentary immediately anterior to the external mandibular fenestra, and there are no articular grooves for the dentary on the ventrolateral edge of the angular and the dorsal surface of the surangular. The dentary contributes widely to the dorsal and ventral margins of the external mandibular fenestra, which is more anteroposteriorly elongated than the circular fenestrae of many other oviraptorids. The posterior part of the surangular is strongly concave laterally, and is pierced by a small opening.
Postcranially, the neck is comprised of 11 cervical vertebrae. The first nine of these are preserved in natural articulation, with their dorsal surfaces exposed. In dorsal view the anterior-middle cervicals are roughly square shaped, as defined by lines drawn between the posterior margins of the postzygapophyses, the anterior margins of the prezygapophyses, and the lateral edge of the vertebra ([Fig. 3e](#f3){ref-type="fig"}). They become more rectangular in shape, longer than wide, more posteriorly in the neck. The neural spines are very small, as they are reduced to tiny peg-like projections at the center of the neural arches. The epipophyses are well developed in the second, third and fourth cervical vertebrae, but they become smaller in the middle cervicals and then disappear posterior to the sixth vertebra. There is a pneumatic opening (=pleurocoel) visible on the slightly exposed lateral centrum surface of the second cervical, but the lateral surfaces of the remaining cervicals are covered by matrix. The isolated posterior cervical vertebra, which is not in close articulation with the rest of the neck and therefore more widely exposed than the others, has a concave anterior articular surface of the centrum and a slightly convex posterior articular surface.
The dorsal vertebrae were heavily damaged during collection, so few details of their morphology can be observed. The neural spines of the posterior dorsals are tall and slightly expanded anteroposteriorly. Some dorsal ribs are present on both sides of the specimen, none of which exhibit any pneumatic openings on their proximal ends. The sacrum is not well preserved, but the anterior neural spines are clearly unfused to each other and were closely appressed to the medial surface of the ilium in dorsal view. There appears to be a pneumatic foramen (=pleurocoel) on the final sacral vertebra, and the lateral ends of the fused transverse processes and sacral ribs are strongly expanded anteroposteriorly, with rounded dorsal surfaces. Part of the distal tail is missing, but there are at least 19 caudal vertebrae. The caudals are rectangular in dorsal view, with elongate transverse processes that extend laterally and slightly posteriorly. One laterally exposed anterior caudal has a small opening that appears to be pneumatic in nature. The haemal arches are very long.
Portions of the shoulder girdles and proximal forearms are present on both sides of the specimen. The scapula is slender and curved medially. Its proximal end is expanded but not fused to the coracoid, the two bones forming an angle of approximately 130 degrees when in articulation. The coracoid is quadrangular in shape and has a large distally tapering posteroventral process, which extends slightly past the glenoid and is rounded at its end. The lateral surface of the coracoid is convex, the distinct biceps tubercle is located anterior to the glenoid, and the small and elongated coracoid foramen is positioned between the dorsal margin of the bone and the biceps tubercle. The medial surface of the coracoid is deeply concave and the coracoid foramen is expressed as a much larger, more circular opening than on the lateral surface. The thin sternum is a single element consisting of fused left and right components. It lacks a lateral xiphoid process and there is no groove for the coracoids along its anterior margin. The furcula is a broadly U-shaped, with a short ventral process on the midline and flattened distal ends ([Fig. 3b](#f3){ref-type="fig"}). The humerus has a long deltopectoral crest, which extends distally for nearly half the length of the shaft ([Fig. 3c](#f3){ref-type="fig"}). The shaft is slightly twisted as in *Heyuannia*[@b22] and *Nankangia*[@b9]. Part of the radius is preserved on the left side, but the ulnae and more distal forelimb elements are missing.
Very few details of the pelvic girdle are apparent, due to damage that occurred during collecting. Parts of the ilium and pubis are present but little can be said of their morphology, although the preserved portions indicate that the pelvis is mesopubic and the distal ends of the left and right pubes are not fused together. The ischia are better preserved on the left side. The posterior margin of the shaft is deeply concave, the distal margin of the obturator process is straight, and the lateral surface of the bone is concave. The tibia is longer than the femur. It has a straight shaft, a well-developed cnemial crest, and an expanded distal end with a concave posterior surface. The astragalus is tightly appressed to the distal tibia. In posterior view, the ventral margin of the astragalus is concave dorsally, and in anterior view the ascending process is taller than wide. Two flattened distal tarsals are fused to each other and the proximal metatarsals. Distal tarsal III, which covers the proximal ends of metatarsals II and III, is larger than distal tarsal IV, which covers the proximal end of metatarsal IV. The left pes is partially preserved (See also [Supplementary Information Fig. S2](#S1){ref-type="supplementary-material"}). Metatarsal III is longer than metatarsal II, which is longer than metatarsal IV. Metatarsal III remains visible along the length of the metatarsaus, with only a slight constriction near its proximal end. Metatarsal V is short and rod-like with a pointed distal end. It is approximately 35% of the length of metatarsal V. The single visible pedal ungual is slightly curved.
Phylogenetic analysis
---------------------
*Tongtianlong* can clearly be assigned to Oviraptoridae based on numerous characters that are diagnostic of the clade (or proximal nodes within Oviraptorosauria), including: a pneumatic premaxilla; a medially inset subantorbital portion of the maxilla; fused nasals; a laterally projecting medial part of the lacrimal shaft that forms a flattened transverse bar in front of the eye; pneumatic skull roof bones; left and right iliac blades closely approaching or contacting each other on the midline[@b1]; and proximal caudals with pneumatized centra[@b44].
We added *Tongtianlong* to a modified version of the phylogenetic dataset of Lü *et al*.[@b29], which itself was an updated version of the dataset of Lamanna *et al*.[@b41]. We changed some characters that were previously multistate characters combining absence/presence and morphological differences into two separate characters, and also ordered multistate characters that describe a progressive sequence of size or morphological change. The data matrix now includes 43 taxa scored for 237 characters (see Methods and [Supplementary Information](#S1){ref-type="supplementary-material"}).
The strict consensus of the 33,104 most parsimonious trees recovers *Tongtianlong* as deeply nested within Oviraptoridae (synapomorphies for Oviraptoridae and other major clades largely follow previous analyses of this dataset, and won't be repeated here) ([Fig. 7](#f7){ref-type="fig"}). *Tongtianlong* is the sister taxon to a sister-taxon pair of the Ganzhou oviraptorid *Banji*[@b26] and *Wulatelong* from the Campanian of Inner Mongolia[@b18]. The subclade comprised of these three taxa is united by three synapomorphies: the lack of a sagittal crest along the interparietal contact (character 30), a jugal process of the postorbital that extends far ventrally (character 36), and the presence of a surangular foramen (character 94). *Tongtianlong* is not recovered as a particularly close relative of any of the four other Ganzhou oviraptorids. Of these, *Nankangia* is placed within a polytomy as one of the most basal oviraptorids, *Huanansaurus* is recovered as an 'intermediate' grade oviraptorid that is outside of the clade consisting of *Tongtianlong* and more derived oviraptorids, and *Jiangxisaurus* and *Ganzhousaurus* are positioned as very highly nested oviraptorids, as successive outgroups to the specialized subclade centered on *Ingenia*.
The phylogenetic separation between *Tongtianlong* and other Ganzhou oviraptorids provides further evidence for their generic separation. It is not outside of the realm of possibility, however, that future work on oviraptorosaur ontogeny may show that *Tongtianlong* is synonymous with another Ganzhou taxon. If this is the case, we suggest that *Banji* would be the most likely con-specific, as it is the most closely related to *Tongtianlong* and is based on a much smaller holotype that conceivably could belong to a juvenile[@b26]. With that said, we consider the phylogenetic separation of *Tongtianlong* and *Banji*, the possession of numerous autapomorphies in *Tongtianlong* that are not seen in *Banji*, and the many character differences between the holotypes of *Tongtianlong* and *Banji* to be strong evidence that the two are distinct taxa, based on our current understanding of oviraptorosaur ontogeny and morphology.
Discussion
==========
*Tongtianlong* is the sixth oviraptorosaurian taxon named from the Nanxiong Formation of the Ganzhou area of Jiangxi Province, southern China. All of these have been described over the past five years, and include: *Banji*[@b26], *Ganzhousaurus*[@b27], *Jiangxisaurus*[@b28], *Nankangia*[@b9], and *Huanansaurus*[@b29]. Additionally, another oviraptorosaur taxon is known from the Nanxiong Formation in neighboring Guangdong Province, *Shixinggia*[@b24]. Because of these discoveries, this part of southern China has rapidly become one of the best areas in the world for oviraptorosaur fossils, and therefore a keystone area for understanding the evolution of this highly aberrant group of bird-like feathered dinosaurs.
The recent discoveries beg the question: why are so many oviraptorosaur taxa found in southern China? There are at least two possible explanations for the pattern, which are not mutually exclusive. First, it could be that the rush of recent discoveries has led to taxonomic over-inflation, and some of the specimens described as new species may be ontogenetic or sexually dimorphic forms of previously recognized species. Second, the Nanxiong Formation may be documenting a genuine radiation of oviraptorosaurs, an evolutionary event in which these small-to-mid-sized animals blossomed into many species and during the final few million years of the Age of Dinosaurs. Testing these two scenarios is currently difficult, but evidence is emerging that we argue favors the second scenario.
Regarding the first explanation, it may be that some of the six named Ganzhou oviraptorids are based on holotypes that actually belong to one of the other species. There is no doubt that the six oviraptorosaurs are anatomically distinct from each other, as each can be diagnosed by autapomorphies and/or a unique combination of characters. The new taxon *Tongtianlong*, for example, has four unique features that are not seen in any other oviraptorosaur, three additional features that are not seen in any other oviraptorid, and numerous differences with the other five Ganzhou taxa. However, not all morphological differences must be due to taxonomic separation. Differences between specimens could be caused by ontogeny, sexual dimorphism, or random variation. If the differences between the Ganzhou oviraptorids are not entirely taxonomic in nature, we suggest that the most likely culprit is ontogeny, particularly because some of the specimens differ in size (e.g., the *Banji* holotype is considerably smaller than the *Tongtianlong* holotype).
At the present time, all we can do is suggest that ontogenetic differences could potentially explain some of the variation seen in Ganzhou oviraptorids, but we cannot assess this with much certainty. Unfortunately, very little is known about how the anatomy of theropod dinosaurs changed during ontogeny, because most species are represented by very few fossils that fall far short of forming an ontogenetic sequence of hatchling to adult. The one exception is derived tyrannosaurids[@b45][@b46], but these theropods are drastically different from oviraptorosaurs in their phylogenetic position, body sizes, diets, and ecological habits. A better parallel may be herbivorous dinosaurs like ceratopsids and hadrosauroids, which although distantly related to oviraptorosaurs were similar in possessing often gaudy head crests and other cranial ornamentation. It is well known that the ornamentation in these dinosaurs changed dramatically during ontogeny[@b47][@b48][@b49][@b50][@b51][@b52]. Therefore, we would expect the head ornaments of oviraptorosaurs to change during growth, making it potentially very difficult to distinguish ontogenetic morphs from separate species in the absence of histological data (which is currently unavailable for the Ganzhou oviraptorids because of the logistical difficulty of destructive sampling) or extremely large sample sizes.
We argue, however, that ontogeny probably does not explain most of the extreme variation seen among Ganzhou oviraptorids. Rather, we hypothesize that this variation is taxonomically informative. Although oviraptorosaur cranial ornaments probably did change during ontogeny, very few of the diagnostic characters of the Ganzhou oviraptorids are based on crest morphology. Most of the anatomical differences between species described as separate taxa concern the shapes and positions of cranial openings, the shapes and orientations of facial bones, and particularly features of the beak, lower jaw, and cranial muscle attachments that are likely related to feeding. For example, the new taxon *Tongtianlong* has a highly convex anterior premaxilla that is unique among oviraptorosaurs and differs from other Ganzhou species in presenting a prominent process on the posteroventral surface of the dentary symphysis, and a deep fossa on the lateral dentary and sagittal crest on the skull roof (both muscle attachment sites). Unless cranial musculature and feeding habits changed drastically during the lifetime of an individual oviraptorosaur, we currently hold that these differences among taxa are better explained by taxonomic separation (perhaps driven by feeding-related niche-partitioning, related to the peculiar but still poorly understood diets of oviraptorosaurs) rather than ontogeny. This hypothesis is bolstered by the recent discovery of very small 'baby' oviraptorids from central China, which already exhibit classic adult features of cranial fusion and deep lower jaws that are tied to large jaw muscles and strong bite forces[@b10].
These arguments lead us to conclude that the great diversity of named oviraptorids from the Nanxiong Formation of southern China is genuine. In other words, there really was a variety of different oviraptorid species in this area during the latest Cretaceous. This is not unprecedented: one of the very few well-sampled small theropod faunas, the Yixian Formation of northeastern China, exhibits a staggering diversity of small carnivorous and omnivorous dromaeosaurids[@b53][@b54][@b55][@b56]. It may be that a high diversity of small theropods was common in individual dinosaur faunas, but has gone unrecognized because of preservational bias against small dinosaur fossils[@b57][@b58].
With that said, it is also possible that many of the various Ganzhou oviraptorids did not actually live together. The Nanxiong Formation ranges from 600 to 7300 meters thick[@b35], is very poorly dated, and its stratigraphy has not yet been studied in detail, making it difficult to determine the relative stratigraphic positions of different oviraptorid specimens. We are very much still in the initial exponential phase of collecting in the Ganzhou region: the wealth of new fossil discoveries over the past five years is the direct result of a burst of construction activity in the region. Many areas remain to be explored, many fossils remain to be collected, and much work on the local geology is clearly needed. It may turn out that the Nanxiong Formation spans a long length of time and/or that the individual oviraptorid specimens are widely separated from each other stratigraphically.
We suspect that the story of dinosaur evolution in the Nanxiong Formation may turn out to be similar to that in the Horseshoe Canyon and Dinosaur Park Formations of western Canada, two fossil-rich units that were also deposited in the latest Cretaceous. Initial exploration of these units in the early-mid 20^th^ century produced a fortune of dinosaur fossils, most notably numerous species of ceratopsids and hadrosauroids. As the geology of these formations became better understood and collecting was undertaken in a more rigorous manner, it became apparent that each formation spanned a few million years of time, and that the dinosaurs were not homogeneously distributed throughout the entire sequence[@b59][@b60]. Instead, unique and often short-lived assemblages of dinosaurs evolved, went extinct, and then were replaced by another assemblage. These formations record evolutionary radiations of dinosaurs: rapid evolution of many species, most likely enabled by dietary and ecological differences and possibly driven by environmental changes. We hypothesize that the Ganzhou oviraptorids underwent their own evolutionary radiation during the latest Cretaceous, in one of the final flurries of dinosaur evolution before the end-Cretaceous asteroid impact knocked out all non-avian species and ushered in the Age of Mammals.
Methods
=======
Phylogenetic analysis
---------------------
To determine the phylogenetic position of *Tongtianlong* within Oviraptorosauria, we added this taxon to a modified version the phylogenetic dataset of Lü *et al*.[@b29]. This is an updated version of the dataset of Lamanna *et al*.[@b41], which includes a comprehensive sample of nearly all oviraptorosaurs scored for phylogenetically informative features of the skeleton. With the addition of *Tongtianlong*, the data matrix now includes 43 taxa (40 oviraptorosaurs plus *Herrerasaurus*, *Velociraptor*, and *Archaeopteyx* as outgroups) scored for 237 characters. We slightly modified some multistate characters and character ordering relative to Lamanna *et al*.[@b41], as explained in the supplement.
We subjected the dataset to a maximum parsimony analysis in TNT v1.1[@b61]. We first conducted a 'new technology' search (with default parameters for sectorial search, ratchet, tree drift, and tree fusion), which recovered a minimum length tree in 10 replicates. This procedure aims to broadly sample tree space and identify individual tree islands. We then subjected the recovered most parsimonious trees (MPTs) to a traditional search with TBR branch swapping, which more fully explores the tree islands found in the 'new technology' search. This process returned a total of 33,104 MPTs of 566 steps (consistency index = 0.484, retention index = 0.676). Bremer values were used to assess clade support.
Additional Information
======================
**How to cite this article**: Lü, J. *et al*. A Late Cretaceous diversification of Asian oviraptorid dinosaurs: evidence from a new species preserved in an unusual posture. *Sci. Rep.* **6**, 35780; doi: 10.1038/srep35780 (2016).
**Publisher's note**: Springer Nature remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations.
Supplementary Material {#S1}
======================
###### Supplementary Information
We thank Zhang Yuqing for preparing the specimens. JL was funded by the National Natural Science Foundation of China (grant no. 41272022; 41672019), the Fundamental Research Funds for the Chinese Academy of Geological Sciences (grant no.: JB1504); the China Geological Survey (grant no. 12120114026801), and the Erasmus Mundus EXPERTS SUSTAIN Programme (for travel to the University of Edinburgh to work with SLB). SLB was supported by a Marie Curie Career Integration Grant (EC 630652) and the University of Edinburgh. We thank G. Funston and an anonymous reviewer for helpful comments that improved the manuscript.
**Author Contributions** J.L. designed the project. J.L., R.C., Y.Z. and C.S. organized the curation and preparation of the specimen and oversaw all research at the Dongyang Museum. J.L. performed the anatomical descriptive research. S.L.B. and J.L. performed the phylogenetic analyses. J.L. and S.L.B. wrote the manuscript.
![Map of the fossil locality near Ganzhou, Jiangxi Province, southern China.\
The solid five-pointed star represents the fossil site. Modified from Lü *et al*.[@b29].](srep35780-f1){#f1}
{#f2}
{#f3}
{#f4}
{#f5}
![Skull comparisons of oviraptorosaurs showing relative positions of the posterodorsal corner of the antorbital fenestra and the anteroventral corner of the external narial opening.\
(**a**) *Incisivosaurus gauthieri*; (**b**) *Conchoraptor gracilis*; (**c**) *Wulatelong gobiensis*; (no scale) (**d**) *Banji long*; (**e**) *Anzu wyliei*; (**f**) *Khaan mckennai*; (**g**) *Citipati osmolskae*; (no scale) (**h**) *Huanansaurus ganzhouensis* (reversed); (**i**) *Yulong mini*; (**j**) *Oviraptor philoceratops*; (**k**) *Nemegtomaia barsboldi*; l: "*Oviraptor*" *mongoliensis*; m: *Tongtianlong limosus* gen. et sp. nov. (**a**,**b**,**f**,**g**,**j**,**k**) and l are from Lü[@b23]; (**c**) is modified from Xu *et al*.[@b18]; (**d**) is modified from Xu and Han[@b26]; (**e**) is modified from Lamanna *et al*.[@b41] (reversed), (**i**) is from Lü *et al*.[@b10] and (**h**) is from Lü *et al*.[@b29]. External narial opening is in red, and antorbital fenenstra is in yellow. Note: The horizontal line projected through the posterodorsal corner of the antorbital fenestra is parallel to the line linking the articular end of the quadrate and the ventral margin of the premaxilla. Modified from Lü *et al*.[@b29].](srep35780-f6){#f6}
{#f7}
|
{
"pile_set_name": "PubMed Central"
}
|
Q:
How to treat a return value from method as a class type - Itcl
Suppose I have the following code implemented in Itcl.
package require Itcl
itcl::class A {
constructor {} { puts $this }
destructor {}
public method Print {} { puts "ok" }
}
itcl::class B {
constructor {} { }
destructor {}
public method returnA {} { return [A #auto] }
}
B b ;# create an instance of class B
set obj [b returnA] ; #assign return value to obj
$obj Print ;# should treat obj as an A type and print ok
Now, I get the following error:
invalid command name "0"
while executing
"$obj Print"
I understood that I need to add scopes to my variable or to the Print command in order to invoke Print method that associated to class A.
But I don't really know how.
I also read the following post:
How to get a reference on the Itcl class member variable?
But it doesn't says there how to treat the return value as a specific class type variable
A:
You have to qualify the name of the yet to be created instance of class A:
A [namespace current]::#auto
Otherwise, the name of the created object is returned in an unqualified manner (0, a0, ...), which cannot be resolved to a Tcl command for the scope of the caller of returnA.
|
{
"pile_set_name": "StackExchange"
}
|
Q:
Count ngram word frequency using text collocations
I would like to count the frequency of three words preceding and following a specific word from a text file which has been converted into tokens.
from nltk.tokenize import sent_tokenize
from nltk.tokenize import word_tokenize
from nltk.util import ngrams
with open('dracula.txt', 'r', encoding="ISO-8859-1") as textfile:
text_data = textfile.read().replace('\n', ' ').lower()
tokens = nltk.word_tokenize(text_data)
text = nltk.Text(tokens)
grams = nltk.ngrams(tokens, 4)
freq = Counter(grams)
freq.most_common(20)
I don't know how to search for the string 'dracula' as a filter word. I also tried:
text.collocations(num=100)
text.concordance('dracula')
The desired output would look something like this with counts:
Three words preceding 'dracula', sorted count
(('and', 'he', 'saw', 'dracula'), 4),
(('one', 'cannot', 'see', 'dracula'), 2)
Three words following 'dracula', sorted count
(('dracula', 'and', 'he', 'saw'), 4),
(('dracula', 'one', 'cannot', 'see'), 2)
The trigram containing 'dracula' in the middle, sorted count
(('count', 'dracula', 'saw'), 4),
(('count', 'dracula', 'cannot'), 2)
Thank you in advance for any help.
A:
Once you get the frequency information in tuple format, as you've done, you can simply filter out the word you're looking for with if statements. This is using Python's list comprehension syntax:
from nltk.tokenize import sent_tokenize
from nltk.tokenize import word_tokenize
from nltk.util import ngrams
with open('dracula.txt', 'r', encoding="ISO-8859-1") as textfile:
text_data = textfile.read().replace('\n', ' ').lower()
# pulled text from here: https://archive.org/details/draculabr00stokuoft/page/n6
tokens = nltk.word_tokenize(text_data)
text = nltk.Text(tokens)
grams = nltk.ngrams(tokens, 4)
freq = nltk.Counter(grams)
dracula_last = [item for item in freq.most_common() if item[0][3] == 'dracula']
dracula_first = [item for item in freq.most_common() if item[0][0] == 'dracula']
dracula_second = [item for item in freq.most_common() if item[0][1] == 'dracula']
# etc.
This produces lists with "dracula" in different positions. Here is what dracula_last looks like:
[(('the', 'castle', 'of', 'dracula'), 3),
(("'s", 'journal', '243', 'dracula'), 1),
(('carpathian', 'moun-', '2', 'dracula'), 1),
(('of', 'the', 'castle', 'dracula'), 1),
(('named', 'by', 'count', 'dracula'), 1),
(('disease', '.', 'count', 'dracula'), 1),
...]
|
{
"pile_set_name": "StackExchange"
}
|
Per my voicemail.
---------------------- Forwarded by Steven J Kean/HOU/EES on 09/03/99 02:02
PM ---------------------------
Awais Omar@ECT
09/03/99 12:34 PM
To: Steven J Kean/HOU/EES@EES
cc:
Subject: Re: EnronOnline Market Descriptions
Steven,
attached in the document are the next four descriptions. Only 3 o/s now ont
he liquids markets. I will try to get these to you today as well.
Thanks
Awais
44 171 970 7377
---------------------- Forwarded by Awais Omar/LON/ECT on 03/09/99 18:34
---------------------------
Awais Omar
03/09/99 18:31
To: Tana Jones/HOU/ECT@ECT
cc:
Subject: Re: EnronOnline Market Descriptions
Sorry for the delay.
Here are the next four descriptions.
Only the three liquids one waiting now.
I have sent these to David Forster in our Project group to review first
before I send them to yourself. If I don't get them back today I will send
them over the weekend so they are there for you on Monday.
Could you please send me comments back on all the other descriptions today.
Is your fax machine at your end OK? It's just that the other fax you sent
came through a dark background making the comments a little hard to read.
My fax is 44 171 316 5420.
Awais
Enron Capital & Trade Resources Corp.
From: Tana Jones 01/09/99 23:13
To: Awais Omar/LON/ECT@ECT
cc:
Subject: Re: EnronOnline Market Descriptions
Awais,
I have forwarded the descriptions you have sent us thus far to the respective
Legal Trading Lawyers to sign off as far any legal issues we may have with
the descriptions. I understand your deadline is the end of the week.
When can I expect the remaining descriptions?
|
{
"pile_set_name": "Enron Emails"
}
|
Q:
How to calculate secondary RMS current of each winding in multiplre output flyback converter?
As I am designing multiple output flyback converter and I have confusion in selection of wire gauge of the secondary winding. There are 4 secondary windings and one bias winding. Mode of operation is CCM.
V_out1 48 V
I_out1 1.5 A
V_out2 48 V
I_out2 0.15A
V_out3 25 V
I_out3 0.7 A
V_out4 25 V
I_out4 0.3 A
V_bias 16 V
I_bias 0.05 A
280 V dc input voltage. D_max=0.47, Lprimary=3.1mH, Fsw=65KHz
A:
Wire gauge is determined by the required output current. Estimate the wire length from the core size and number of turns, the calculate the resistance. Remember that the resistance of copper is a function of temperature, so you can use the wire resistance at your expected transformer temperature. The wire resistance is in series with your output, and you can perform the R*I^2 calculation to determine the power you will be generating which will be both a transformer loss and a heat source for your design. Remember that you will be supplying pulsed current, so your voltage drop will be greatest immediately after switching off the primary, and the voltage must be high enough immediately after switching.
You will have to do some math. When your power supply is fully loaded, what is the duty cycle? It depends on whether you are in discontinuous mode or continuous mode and the duty cycle, but the peak current on the output winding will be much higher than the average current. It should be relatively easy to draw a theoretical waveform, and then calculate the result of adding the expected winding resistance.
|
{
"pile_set_name": "StackExchange"
}
|
Old Main (California University of Pennsylvania)
Old Main is a historic building in the California University of Pennsylvania campus in California, Pennsylvania.
It is designated as a historic public landmark by the Washington County History & Landmarks Foundation.
References
External links
[ National Register nomination form]
Category:University and college buildings on the National Register of Historic Places in Pennsylvania
Category:School buildings completed in 1868
Category:Buildings and structures in Washington County, Pennsylvania
Category:California University of Pennsylvania
Category:University and college administration buildings in the United States
Category:National Register of Historic Places in Washington County, Pennsylvania
|
{
"pile_set_name": "Wikipedia (en)"
}
|
form=词
tags=
放扁舟、万山环处，
平铺碧浪千顷。
仙人怜我征尘久，
借与梦游清枕。
风乍静。
望两岸群峰，
倒浸玻璃影。
楼台相映。
更日薄烟轻，
荷花似醉，
飞鸟堕寒镜。
中都内，
罗绮千街万井。
天教此地幽胜。
仇池仙伯今何在，
堤柳几眠还醒。
君试问。
□此意、只今更有何人领。
功名未竟。
待学取鸱夷，
仍携西子，
来动五湖兴。
|
{
"pile_set_name": "Github"
}
|
Carcinoma of the nasopharynx treated by radiotherapy alone: determinants of distant metastasis and survival.
This retrospective study was conducted to identify the prognostic factors for distant metastasis and survival in a population of 378 patients with nasopharyngeal carcinomas treated by radiation therapy alone. All patients were treated at the University of Texas M.D. Anderson Cancer Center between 1954 and 1992, following a consistent dose and volume prescription policy. There were 286 males and 92 females. The median age was 52 years (range: 16-86 years). The majority of the patients were white Caucasians (282 patients,75%). Tumors were classified as squamous cell carcinomas (193; 51%), lymphoepitheliomas (154; 41%), or unclassified carcinomas (31, 8%). Three fourths of the patients presented with AJCC Stage IV disease (T4, N0-3, 118 patients; T1-3, N2-3 164 patients). The treatment techniques included opposed lateral fields with or without an anteroposterior or an anterior oblique pairs for dose supplementation to the primary site. Average total doses per T-stage ranged between 60.2 and 72.0 Gy. Median follow-up time was 10 years (range 0.3 to 28.6 years). A total of 103 patients (27%) developed distant metastases at a median time of 8 months (range: 1-90 months). Actuarial rates for distant metastasis were 30%, 32%, 32% at 5, 10, and 20 years, respectively. Actuarial rates for disease specific survival at the same time points were 53%, 45%, and 39% with 184 patients (49%) dying of their nasopharyngeal cancer. Advanced T-stage, N-stage, and non-lymphoepithelioma histology were independent adverse prognostic factors for disease specific survival. Advanced N-stage and low neck disease were independent adverse prognostic factors for distant metastasis with a very high rate of distant metastases for those patients who presented with both adverse factors (relative risk 7.86). On average, patients with distant metastasis lived 5 months after they were diagnosed with metastatic disease (range: 0-172 months), although four patients (4%) survived more than 5 years after diagnosis. This study demonstrates good long term survival rates after definitive radiotherapy for patients with nasopharyngeal carcinomas. Patients with advanced and lower neck disease have the highest risk of developing distant failures. Such patients can be considered the reference risk group to test the value of adjunctive chemotherapy.
|
{
"pile_set_name": "PubMed Abstracts"
}
|
Microsoft has been rumored to be looking more deeply into mod support for Xbox One for quite a while, thanks to job listings we wrote about in the past. Now, thanks to some internal documents, we have a better idea of how Microsoft plans to turn Xbox One into a great platform for mods and for developers who want to allow mods in their games. For those who don't know, mods are usually community-created maps, items, skins, and other in-game features that can be used to "modify" an existing game, primarily on Windows PC. As of this writing, developers have to set up their own systems and services to bring mods to Xbox One. Halo 5 Forge, Fallout 4, and Skyrim Special Edition are a few prominent games that have their own modding systems, built by their respective studios. Devs, of course, will continue to be able to do that if they so choose, but Microsoft is setting up a system that would not only provide much of the infrastructure required to set up these features but also surface mods directly in a new section in the Xbox Store, similar to the Steam Workshop, to make them easier to discover. Best VPN providers 2020: Learn about ExpressVPN, NordVPN & more
Xbox Community Content
Expected to arrive "later this summer," according to the presentation, the new Xbox Community Content platform is a new infrastructure built for developers to help support user-generated content (UGC), or mods, within their games. Microsoft noted Minecraft's Partner Program and community marketplace as an example of how mods have improved the game. If these plans go ahead, developers will be able to define what constitute mods in their games, as well as deciding monetization (or lack thereof). A developer might decide to only allow skins or texture updates but could also include gameplay-modifying features such as weapons, maps, or even full quests or campaigns.
|
{
"pile_set_name": "OpenWebText2"
}
|
Ubundu
Ubundu, formerly known as Ponthierville or Ponthierstad, is a city located in the Tshopo Province of the Democratic Republic of the Congo. It is on the Lualaba River, or Upper Congo, just above the Boyoma Falls. The river is not navigable from here downstream to Kisangani, so a portage railway was built to link Ubundu to Kisangani. Upstream from Ubundu the river is navigable as far as Kasongo.
In 1951, Katharine Hepburn, Humphrey Bogart and the crew of the film The African Queen arrived in Ubundu by train for filming in the jungle. In those days, the town was described as a "pretty colonial outpost".
The area saw some of the worst fighting during the Second Congo War. Around 2003, the town had no electricity, and very few facilities, and was considered a very dangerous place.
See also
Transport in DRC
References
Category:Populated places in Tshopo
|
{
"pile_set_name": "Wikipedia (en)"
}
|
{
"gender": "female",
"species": "ostrich",
"birthday": "7-31",
"games": {
"afe+": {
"personality": "snooty",
"clothes": "red-aloha-shirt",
"song": "K.K. Sonata"
},
"nl": {
"personality": "snooty",
"clothes": "purple-tie-dye-tee",
"song": "K.K. Sonata",
"phrase": "dahling",
"skill": "Computing",
"goal": "CEO",
"fear": "Mummy Mask",
"quote": "Cut once, measure twice... Wait- reverse that.",
"siblings": "Youngest triplet",
"favoriteStyle": "Basic",
"dislikedStyle": "Rock",
"favoriteColor": "Red",
"coffee": {
"beans": "Blue Mountain",
"milk": "Lots of milk",
"sugar": "3 spoonfuls of sugar"
}
},
"nh": {
"personality": "snooty",
"phrase": "dahling",
"song": "K.K. Sonata"
}
},
"name": "Julia",
"id": "julia"
}
|
{
"pile_set_name": "Github"
}
|
In order to understand how a pathogenic change in a gene causes disease, it is necessary to recognize how pathogenic mutations could affect a protein structure-function, protein-protein interactions in protein networks and how these changes could be associated with clinical parameters describing the disease phenotype. We imply molecular modeling to build protein structure, simulate the effect of pathogenic missense changes, and provide a quantitative analysis of their impact on protein structure and stability. Here we use oculocutaneous albinism, autosomal dominant maculopathy, and X-linked retinoschisis (XLRS) as our disease models. 1. Oculocutaneous albinism (OCA) is a rare genetic disorder of melanin synthesis that results in hypopigmented hair, skin, and eyes. There are currently four types of OCA. For the first time, three full-length protein atomic structures, TYR (OCA1), TYRP1 (OCA3), and SLC45A2 (OCA4), were successfully modeled by homology and in silico analysis of missence changes from the NEI/NHGRI molecular diagnostic study has been performed. TYR is a type I trans-membrane monooxygenase. The 4-helix bundle is structurally conserved in different species to carry CuA and CuB ions essential for the catalytic reaction. The active site is formed by 6 His residues structurally coordinating the copper positions. Several missense changes from the collaborative NEI/NHGRI molecular diagnostic study were analyzed. S50L is found in the Cys-rich motif 1 of tyrosinase, whereas R298W is located within the Cys-rich motif 2. The mutations N364H, P384A, D394N, D437N and R403V disrupt the coordination of the copper ion center. A490D affects conformation of helix located in melanosomal membrane. TYRP1 is a type 1 membrane protein. This protein also has 2 Cys-rich motifs and an active site with 6 His residues coordinating 2 metal ions of unknown nature that could be either copper or zinc. A heterozygous missense mutation, A24T, was found in the border between a signal peptide and Cys-rich motif 1 of TYRP1. The structure of SLC45A2 is predicted as a multi-pass trans-membrane protein. The missense mutation L60R is predicted to be deleterious. To test our predictions on tyrosinase activity we engineered a construct of human C-terminal truncated tyrosinase, hTyrCtr. The expression of hTyrCtr in E. Coli was confirmed by Western blot analysis. Metal affinity chromatography shown poor binding to the column which suggests that C-terminal His-tag peptides have decreased binding capacity to the IMACS resin. In addition, L-Dopa enzymatic assay demonstrated that hTyrCtr is expressed as a non-active enzyme which might be due to either the loss of Cu2+ ions in a catalytic site or protein partial misfolding. In contrast, similar protein construct was implied for the protein expression in larvae. We shown that the hTyrCtr, and 2 mutant variants, R422Q and R422W, are active soluble proteins which catalyzes the rate-limiting conversions of tyrosine to DOPA and DOPA to DOPA-quinone. In perspective, a detailed understanding of protein structure and the mechanisms controlling tyrosine-modified tyrosinase interactions would allow to establish molecular chaperone screening for a future medical treatment of patients with the OCA-1B albinism. 2. Assembly of elastic fibers is critical for structural development as well as proper functioning of the extracellular matrix. Elastin and 10-nm fibrillin containing microfibrils form the major components of elastic fibers, which form integral part of extracellular matrices including Bruchs membrane. One of fibrillins, fibrillin-2 or FBN2, is a 2,912 amino acid polypeptide which consists of one amino-terminal trans-membrane domain, 4 epidermal growth factor-like (EGF) domains, 43 calcium-binding consensus sequences (Ca_EGF domains), and 9 transforming growth factor 1 binding protein-like (TB) domains. FBN-2 has 363 cysteine residues. The amino acid sequence of fibrillin-2 been used to generate a native and mutant variant structures for the Ca-EGF motifs 12-19 by homology modeling. Protein fold of Ca_EGF domain is maintained by 6 conserved cysteines which form 3 SS-bridges. In addition, negatively charged conserved residues are either involved in direct ligation to calcium or involved in stabilizing the calcium-binding site. Calcium ion improves the fold stability, help to fix a relative orientation of two neighbor Ca_EGF domains, and stabilize a spatial orientation of FBN-2. Disease-causing mutation E1144K introduces a positive charge into the negatively charged cavity and decreases the Ca-binding affinity. The interaction of K1144 and E1178 change a relative orientation of a neighbor domain. E1438K mutation is expected to have a similar structural effect. Both mutations are associated with a severe phenotype of disease and could change of microfiber packing and elasticity. The M1247T change is affecting the hydrophobic surface loop. The SS-bridge C1246-C1257 stabilizes the native fold of a protein by lowering entropy of the polypeptide chain and by condensing hydrophobic residues from the surface loop into local hydrophobic core using hydrophobic interactions. Thus, the mutation M1247T might affect the SS-bond stability and/or intermolecular interactions. Other mutations are mild changes. Mutations with severe phenotype are likely to cause a change in the fiber flexibility, packaging, and pathogenicity. This might cause the loss of elastic fibers, thickening and calcification of Bruchs membrane which are associated with dominant maculopathy and AMD pathophysiology. 3. Gene mutations that encode retinoschisin (RS1) cause X-linked retinoschisis (XLRS), a form of juvenile macular and retinal degeneration that affects males. Molecular modeling predicted an association between the type of structural RS1 alterations and the severity of full-field ERG phenotype in all but the oldest group of patients. This is now a second study (Hum Mol Genet 19:1302, 2010) that indicates a genotype-ERGphenotype correlation, and it was done with a totally separate and independent cohort. There was a significant association between the predicted severity of RS1 perturbation and both photopic and scotopic ERG b/a-ratios, but only for one age group (15-30 years). Severe RS1 missense changes were associated with a lower ERG b/a ratio than for mild and moderate missense changes, suggesting a quantitatively distinct ERG phenotype. Age-related differences in dark-adapted ERG parameters are consistent with those reported previously in the RS1 knockout mouse. 4. One of possible clinical implications in a human eye disease is using chaperones for the stabilization of native protein structure in mutant variants affected by genetic mutations. This stabilization could be performed in controllable fashion by using small heat shock proteins (sHSPs) with genetically engineered structure. Our recent study have indicated a role for changing of protein hydrophobicity in the thermal adaptation of alpha-crystallin A and suggested ways to produce sHSP variants with altered chaperone-like activity. In this work we use molecular modeling, computational biology, and side-directed mutagenesis to evaluate the effect of mutations and to establish a link between sHSPs hydrophobicity and physiological temperatures. sHSPs maintain cellular homeostasis by preventing stress and disease-induced protein aggregation. In addition, our work provided an evidence for an evolutionary mechanism that has adapted chaperone activity to different environmental temperatures though the alteration of hydrophobicity at crucial locations in the protein structure. This combination of experimental and computational design potentially could be used to create a new generation of artificial chaperones with a purpose to improve stability of mutant variants in inherited eye disease.
|
{
"pile_set_name": "NIH ExPorter"
}
|
Clepsis microceria
Clepsis microceria is a species of moth of the family Tortricidae. It is found in Peru.
The wingspan is about 18 mm. The ground colour of the forewings is brown cream, suffused with brown and with brown dots and strigulae (fine streaks). The hindwings are grey-brown, but paler basally.
Etymology
The species name refers to the termination of the sacculus and is derived from Greek micros (meaning small), ceria or cerast (meaning horny) and the suffix -ia (expressing a similarity).
References
Category:Moths described in 2010
Category:Clepsis
|
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"pile_set_name": "Wikipedia (en)"
}
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fileFormatVersion: 2
guid: 91035448860ba4e708919485c73f7edc
timeCreated: 1442945121
licenseType: Pro
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{
"pile_set_name": "Github"
}
|
Q:
AirPlay button on custom view
4.3 finally :) I am searching right now how to add air play button to custom view. I have MPMoviePlayer that load movie. I disabled standard controls and added overlay view with my custom play, pause, stop, volume buttons.
If anybody know how to add button that will be air play please share knowledge?
I cant't find what notification to send, what to listen...:(
A:
If you want just the AirPlay button without the volume slider follow the instructions in Jilouc's answer and then set the following properties on the myVolumeView:
[myVolumeView setShowsVolumeSlider:NO];
[myVolumeView setShowsRouteButton:YES];
That will hide the volume slider but keep the route button.
A:
EDIT It seems I've been misguided in my previous answer because the device was not running the released version iOS 4.3.
There is a way to provide the AirPlay button on a custom interface.
Use a MPVolumeView and add it to your view hierarchy
MPVolumeView *myVolumeView =
[[MPVolumeView alloc] initWithFrame: overlayView.bounds];
[overlayView addSubview: myVolumeView];
[myVolumeView release];
The MPVolumeView provides the volume slider and the route button (see image below). But I don't think it's possible to only display the button.
|
{
"pile_set_name": "StackExchange"
}
|
A bill introduced in the state Legislature would change how beer festivals operate in Michigan.
Under House Bill 5347, festival goers would no longer need to exchange a token or ticket for a pour of an alcoholic beverage.
Currently, festival operators must charge attendees a token value for beer that is above the cost that the group paid for it in order to comply with Michigan law, which prohibits the sale of alcohol at below cost.
The move would significantly free up resources for groups that sponsor beer festivals.
David Ringler, vice president of the Michigan Brewers Guild and founder of Cedar Springs Brewing Co., said the Guild spends about $10,000 annually to purchase and sort tokens for its series of beer festivals.
“The biggest thing for the Guild itself is the expense,” Ringler said. “As long as we’ve been doing this, we have a good proven record of responsibility.”
The bill would consider beer dispensed at a festival to be a sample just like what any brewery offers in its own taproom for free.
Currently, for example, a $55 ticket to the Michigan Brewers Guild’s Winter Beer Fest, which will be held this Saturday at Fifth Third Ballpark in Comstock Park, includes 15 drink tokens, each of which is redeemable for a 3-ounce pour. The Guild also sells additional tokens at a cost of 50 cents apiece.
Ringler said a new issue with the token system arose in recent years when breweries started offering expensive bottle-conditioned beers at the festivals that required the Guild to charge as many as five tokens to comply with the law, which “just takes away the marketing aspect” of pouring beer at the event.
That was true for Comstock Park-based Speciation Artisan Ales LLC, a brewer of specialty wild and spontaneously fermented beers. Co-founder Mitch Ermatinger says existing law and the token system put Speciation at a disadvantage.
“Requiring people to use tokens is bad for everyone. It creates an unfair playing field for breweries that make ‘premium’ beer versus more standard offerings because we have to ‘charge’ consumers extra tokens,” Ermatinger told MiBiz. “Consumers think the premium breweries are being greedy but the reality is that the brewers don’t benefit financially from the token system at all. We don’t ‘turn them in’ to make money.
“We do festivals all over the world, and the only fest location that requires tokens is Michigan.”
While acknowledging that overconsumption can be a concern regardless of whether tokens are involved or not, Ermatinger said requiring tokens can lead to patrons guzzling beer they don’t like instead of just dumping it out. For example, the Great American Beer Festival, held annually in Denver, offers unlimited pours and provides discard buckets at each station.
“A $1 little token is not going to sway people to drink less,” he said. “If anything people will drink less because they won’t feel pressure to drink every ounce they paid for.”
EASING BURDENS
The bill that would change the token system is tie-barred to a multi-bill package of legislation that would affect Michigan brewers, including by raising the cap for self-distribution from 1,000 barrels to 2,000 barrels, changing tax payments from monthly to quarterly, and removing a requirement to register beer that a producer sells at its own taproom or at a beer festival.
The latter change would remove “a huge burden for a lot of our members,” Ringler said, noting it would particularly benefit licensed brewpubs which are not able to distribute beer anyway.
“There’s no reason to have to register that beer when the product doesn’t leave your four walls,” he said.
The Michigan Brewers Guild and the Michigan Beer and Wine Wholesalers Association testified in support of the bill package, which is also backed by the Mackinac Center for Public Policy.
Multinational brewing conglomerate Anheuser-Busch and The Wine Institute, an advocacy group for California’s wineries, indicated opposition to several of the bills that deal with business relationships between beer and wine producers and wholesalers.
The bill package has passed the House and will now be considered by the state Senate.
NEW LICENSE CATEGORY
Meanwhile, a separate bill passed unanimously by the state Senate in January would create a new class of license for limited production manufacturers. The bill would allow a limited production manufacturer to buy finished beer from another Michigan or out-of-state producer, complete some part of the manufacturing process, and then sell the product via a distributor or ship it out of state.
State Sen. Jon Bumstead, R-Newaygo, introduced Senate Bill 711 after a La Colombe Torrefaction Inc. plant in Norton Shores received a short-term exemption to transfer finished beer from Wisconsin-based City Brewing Co. to use in producing an alcoholic coffee product. The company then sells the product to conglomerate MillerCoors, which handles marketing the beverage and selling it to distributors outside of Michigan.
“With the pending change in state law, La Colombe is already looking at ways to expand their operations in West Michigan over locations in other states,” Bumstead said in a statement at the end of January. “We need to keep Michigan moving forward and create an environment for businesses to call home. This legislation gets government out of the way and will benefit companies across the state.”
The bill currently is before the state House Committee on Regulatory Reform. La Colombe’s exemption from the Michigan Liquor Control Commission to transfer in finished beer runs through April.
--
EDITOR’S NOTE: This story has been updated from its original version.
|
{
"pile_set_name": "OpenWebText2"
}
|
1. Field of the Invention
The present invention relates to peptides which affect the biological activity of cells in culture. In particular, the invention is directed to specific peptides affecting adherence, growth or secretion of cells.
2. Description of Relevant Art
Tissue and protein hydrolysates have been routinely used as a source of peptides in cell culture media since the late 1800's. They are the most common undefined culture media component in present use in bacteriology and often replace serum in the mammalian culture (S. Saha and A. Sen., Aptavirol 33:338–343, 1989). Hydrolysates and serum are not optimal sources of peptides for culture media. Further, their composition are undefined, vary from lot to lot and may harbor pathogens such as BSE.
It has been recognized that peptides are generally preferred nutrients for use in cell culture media as compared to their constituent amino acids. Several approaches have been taken in an effort to determine which specific peptides are utilized by a cell culture as a means for identifying defined peptides which affect growth or some other biological activity. For example, recent developments in peptide synthesis technology have made it possible to screen large numbers of compounds for media enhancement, either as individual defined sequences or as a mixture of variable sequences in a peptide library. The library approach has provided an opportunity to screen more peptide sequences for desired biological effects in cell culture. Once the sequence of a peptide having the desired biological activity is identified, it may be produced in large quantity, such as by chemical synthesis or recombinant DNA methods. Subsequently, the peptide can be included in a culture system by coating on a surface or being free in solution in the culture medium. Both presentations may lead to a desired effect on cultured cells.
The ability of cells to interact with components of the extracellular matrix in vivo is involved in several important biological processes including cellular growth, migration, and differentiation. Moreover, the necessity of anchorage-dependent cells to first adhere to surfaces largely dictates the success of a cell culture effort. In particular, the abilities of the cell to adhere, spread, and contract on solid matrices are prerequisites for the growth of normal anchorage-dependent cells in vitro. (Grinnell, F., Psychology, 53:67–149, 1978 and Couchman, et al., J. Cell Biol., 93:402–410, 1982) The ability of cells to adhere to surfaces is affected by many factors including the cell culture media used, the particular type of cell, and the particular surface upon which the cells are cultured. When the end goal is to accumulate product in the supernatant, and the cells being cultured are adherent-type cells, best results are typically achieved when adherence and growth are optimized first, followed by an optimization of expression and finally secretion.
In general, mammalian cells are cultured on polymer surfaces. Practically all mammalian cells that adhere to synthetic polymer surfaces are controlled by absorbed protein and are receptor mediated. For example, fibronectin is a protein component of the extracellular matrix which has been shown to be involved in the adhesion of mammalian cell types to tissue culture substrates. (Pearlstein, E., Nature, 262:497–500, 1976 and Kleinman, et al., Biochem. Biophys. Res. Commun., 72:426–432, 1976) The ability of fibronectin to aid in cell attachment has been localized to a trimer sequence (RGD), which is located in the cell binding domain of fibronectin.
Regarding the role of a cell culture substrate and other surfaces in promoting cell adhesion, it is known that proteins are immediately absorbed to the surface of a tissue culture substrate following placement of a protein solution thereon. Provided there are receptors for some of the absorbed proteins on the cell surface, and further provided that the conformation of the absorbed protein is not altered to a large degree by absorption so as to destroy ligand-receptor affinity, cell adhesions to the culture substrate and cell spreading can result.
With further reference to the role of the cell culture substrate and other surfaces in permitting cell adhesion, if cells are seeded on a substrate in the absence of absorbed protein, then proteins which are on the cell surface may directly absorb to the surface and the cell will, provided suitable conditions are present, secrete protein towards the surface in the form of an extracellular matrix. However, it is known that cells in culture never directly touch the surface except through intermediate absorbed protein.
It has been proposed that particular peptides are absorbed to a polymer surface in order to promote short-term cell adhesion to the surface. For example, Singer et al. proposed the absorption of a 13-mer peptide containing the RGD sequence described above onto a polymer substrate to promote cell adhesion. (Singer, et al., J. Cell Bio., 104:573–584, 1987) The disadvantages of using peptides of this length has been that they are highly subseptible to degradation at high temperatures such as those used during cell culture and to the proteolytic action of the cultured cells themselves.
An alternative to surface absorption of peptides to promote cell adhesions, has been to chemically attach peptides via covalent modifications to a surface. For example, Brandly, et al., (Analytical Biochemistry 173:270, 1988) proposed the inclusion of a 9-mer peptide in a polymer substrate to promote cell adhesions. While this method promoted cell adhesions, its required large concentrations of peptide to promote an acceptable level of cell adhesion. Given that the cost of preparing synthetic peptides is high, incorporation of peptides to the bulk of the polymer would not facilitate the economical preparation of cell culture substrates commercially.
It is also known to derivatize surfaces with peptides having less than 12 amino acid residues and containing one of the following sequences of amino acids: GRGD, GYIGSR, GREDV. These peptides have been further described as including a minimal cell-surface receptor recognition sequence, for example, RGD, YIGSR, or REDV to permit the cell receptor mediated support of cells to a treated surface. The peptides are preferably attached to the surface through the reaction of a terminal primary amine associated with the peptide to be grafted to the surface and an active group on the polymer surface. A disadvantage of this method is that the surface must first be activated before the surface can be derivatized with a peptide. The process used for activating the surface can be lengthy in time and can involve reagents which may be toxic to cells, requiring thorough washing of the surface prior to modification with the peptide and prior to culturing of the cells on the derivatized surface. Further, the efficiency of peptide immobilization is highly dependent on the prior polymer derivatization process. The final range of peptide concentration and orientation on the surface are restricted.
Thus, a need exists in the art for the discovery of additional small peptides for use in modifying surfaces to promote cell adhesions and growth which are thermally stable and resistant to proteolysis by cellular proteases or proteases such as trypsin which are often added to remove adherent-type mammalian cells from a tissue culture substrate. It is further desired that the small peptides are resistant to the desorptive effect, but not require covalent immobilization to the surface.
There is also a need in the art for small peptides that enhance expression and secretion. Adherent cell lines are often the choice for production when the target pharmaceutical is secreted. Having an immobilized cell allows one to easily remove the high molecular weight constituents, which are present in the supernatant and required during the growth phase, and to subsequently replace the supernatant with a stabilizing media containing only low molecular weight substances that will not co-purify with the target pharmaceutical. Unfortunately, these stabilizing media often reduce expression and secretion levels. Having low molecular weight peptides that increase accumulation of product in tissue culture broth would therefore be advantageous.
Finally, there is a need for peptide libraries which accelerate the discovery of media or culture environment constituents with the attributes described above. The ability to match peptide performance with physical properties will lead to peptide classes delivering benefits across many cell types and culture conditions. Further, such peptide classes will allow bioengineers to rapidly identify high-performing bioactive peptides as media constituents for cells in rare supply, such as stem cells.
|
{
"pile_set_name": "USPTO Backgrounds"
}
|
Q:
LeetCode: Prison Cells After N Days
Stack, I can't quite wrap my head around this oddity. I'm evaluating the positions within the array, each time. How is it that by initializing the array each time I receive different results... I would appreciate if someone can explain this.
In While Loop: Correct
0,1,0,1,1,0,0,1
0,1,1,0,0,0,0,0
0,0,0,0,1,1,1,0
0,1,1,0,0,1,0,0
0,0,0,0,0,1,0,0
0,1,1,1,0,1,0,0
0,0,1,0,1,1,0,0
0,0,1,1,0,0,0,0
Outside While Loop (Initialized Once): Incorrect
0,1,0,1,1,0,0,1
0,1,1,0,0,0,0,0
0,0,1,0,1,0,1,0
0,0,1,1,0,0,1,0
0,0,0,1,0,0,1,0
0,1,1,0,1,1,0,0
0,0,1,1,1,0,1,0
0,0,0,0,1,1,0,0
Question Details
There are 8 prison cells in a row, and each cell is either occupied or vacant.
Each day, whether the cell is occupied or vacant changes according to the following rules:
If a cell has two adjacent neighbors that are both occupied or both vacant, then the cell becomes occupied.
Otherwise, it becomes vacant.
(Note that because the prison is a row, the first and the last cells in the row can't have two adjacent neighbors.)
We describe the current state of the prison in the following way: cells[i] == 1 if the i-th cell is occupied, else cells[i] == 0.
Given the initial state of the prison, return the state of the prison after N days (and N such changes described above.)
Example 1: Expected Output
Input: cells = [0,1,0,1,1,0,0,1], N = 7
Output: [0,0,1,1,0,0,0,0]
Explanation:
The following table summarizes the state of the prison on each day:
Day 0: [0, 1, 0, 1, 1, 0, 0, 1]
Day 1: [0, 1, 1, 0, 0, 0, 0, 0]
Day 2: [0, 0, 0, 0, 1, 1, 1, 0]
Day 3: [0, 1, 1, 0, 0, 1, 0, 0]
Day 4: [0, 0, 0, 0, 0, 1, 0, 0]
Day 5: [0, 1, 1, 1, 0, 1, 0, 0]
Day 6: [0, 0, 1, 0, 1, 1, 0, 0]
Day 7: [0, 0, 1, 1, 0, 0, 0, 0]
Method
static public int[] PrisonAfterNDays(int[] cells, int N)
{
int counter = 0;
//Doesn't work if it's here
//int[] temp = new int[8];
while(counter < N)
{
Console.WriteLine(String.Join(",",cells));
//Works if it's here ?!?!?!
int[] temp = new int[8];
for(int j = 1; j < 8-1; j++)
{
if(cells[j-1] == cells[j+1])
{
temp[j] = 1;
}
else
{
temp[j] = 0;
}
}
cells = temp;
counter++;
}
return cells;
}
A:
Remember that even though int is a value type, arrays are reference types, so int[] is a reference type. (See What is the difference between a reference type and value type in c#?)
When you execute cells = temp;, you point cells and temp at the exact same array! You can test this with the following code:
int[] a = new int[2];
int[] b = a;
b[0] = 85;
b[1] = 3;
Console.WriteLine(a[0]); // prints 85
Console.WriteLine(a[1]); // prints 3
So this means that on the second iteration of the outer loop, the following code changes both cells[j] and temp[j]:
temp[j] = 1;
Which, clearly, means you will get strange results.
For this reason, I'd argue that you should define temp within the loop.
|
{
"pile_set_name": "StackExchange"
}
|
A laparoscopic complication? A medical legal case analysis. Part I.
This article describes a case of a laparoscopic injury and the ensuing litigation. Data from the hospital report and the testimony of witnesses are presented. In the next issue of this Journal, the results of the jury finding will be presented as Part II.
|
{
"pile_set_name": "PubMed Abstracts"
}
|
Fluorocarbons, particularly fluorinated olefins, as a class, have many and varied uses, including as chemical intermediates and monomers. In particular, these products are useful as refrigerants, monomers or intermediates for preparing refrigerants, particularly those identified as having low global warming potential.
With concerns over global warming, hydrofluoroolefins (HFOs) are being commercialized as substitutes for chlorofluorocarbons (CFCs), hydrochlorofluorocarbons (HCFCs) and hydrofluorocarbons (HFCs) for use as refrigerants, heat transfer agents, blowing agents, monomers and propellants because HFOs do not deplete the ozone layer and have low global warming potential. Some HFOs are prepared by multiple steps that involve fluorinating a chlorinated organic compound with a fluorination agent such as hydrogen fluoride in the presence of a fluorination catalyst. These reactions may be conducted in either the liquid or gas phase or a combination of these. In processes to manufacture 2,3,3,3-tetrafluoropropene (1234yf), the following reaction sequence is known: Step 1: TCP+3HF→1233xf+3HClwherein TCP is 1,1,2,3-tetrachloropropene, or CCl2═CClCH2Cl; and 1233xf is 2-chloro-3,3,3,-trifluoropropene, or CH2═CClCF3. Step 2: 1233xf+HF→244bbwherein 244bb is 2-chloro-1,1,1,2-tetrafluoropropane, or CH3CClFCF3.A by-product of Step 2 can also form as follows: 1233xf+2HF→245cb+HCl, where 245cb is 1,1,1,2,2-pentafluoropropane, or CH3CF2CF3. Step 3: 244bb→1234yf+HClwherein 1234yf is 2,3,3,3-tetrafluoropropene, or CH2═CFCF3.
Whereas, in Step 2, a high conversion of 1233xf concurrent with low selectivity to the 245cb by-product is sought, it has been found, especially when an antimony chloride complex catalyst is used, that less than desirable conversion and selectivity is often obtained. There is thus a need to simultaneously achieve high conversion of 1233xf with low selectivity of 245cb and to gain the resultant economic and commercial benefits in, e.g. the production of 1234yf as a final product.
|
{
"pile_set_name": "USPTO Backgrounds"
}
|
#ifndef QEMU_SMBIOS_H
#define QEMU_SMBIOS_H
/*
* SMBIOS Support
*
* Copyright (C) 2009 Hewlett-Packard Development Company, L.P.
*
* Authors:
* Alex Williamson <alex.williamson@hp.com>
*
* This work is licensed under the terms of the GNU GPL, version 2. See
* the COPYING file in the top-level directory.
*
*/
#include "qemu/option.h"
#define SMBIOS_MAX_TYPE 127
/* memory area description, used by type 19 table */
struct smbios_phys_mem_area {
uint64_t address;
uint64_t length;
};
/*
* SMBIOS spec defined tables
*/
typedef enum SmbiosEntryPointType {
SMBIOS_ENTRY_POINT_21,
SMBIOS_ENTRY_POINT_30,
} SmbiosEntryPointType;
/* SMBIOS Entry Point
* There are two types of entry points defined in the SMBIOS specification
* (see below). BIOS must place the entry point(s) at a 16-byte-aligned
* address between 0xf0000 and 0xfffff. Note that either entry point type
* can be used in a 64-bit target system, except that SMBIOS 2.1 entry point
* only allows the SMBIOS struct table to reside below 4GB address space.
*/
/* SMBIOS 2.1 (32-bit) Entry Point
* - introduced since SMBIOS 2.1
* - supports structure table below 4GB only
*/
struct smbios_21_entry_point {
uint8_t anchor_string[4];
uint8_t checksum;
uint8_t length;
uint8_t smbios_major_version;
uint8_t smbios_minor_version;
uint16_t max_structure_size;
uint8_t entry_point_revision;
uint8_t formatted_area[5];
uint8_t intermediate_anchor_string[5];
uint8_t intermediate_checksum;
uint16_t structure_table_length;
uint32_t structure_table_address;
uint16_t number_of_structures;
uint8_t smbios_bcd_revision;
} QEMU_PACKED;
/* SMBIOS 3.0 (64-bit) Entry Point
* - introduced since SMBIOS 3.0
* - supports structure table at 64-bit address space
*/
struct smbios_30_entry_point {
uint8_t anchor_string[5];
uint8_t checksum;
uint8_t length;
uint8_t smbios_major_version;
uint8_t smbios_minor_version;
uint8_t smbios_doc_rev;
uint8_t entry_point_revision;
uint8_t reserved;
uint32_t structure_table_max_size;
uint64_t structure_table_address;
} QEMU_PACKED;
typedef union {
struct smbios_21_entry_point ep21;
struct smbios_30_entry_point ep30;
} QEMU_PACKED SmbiosEntryPoint;
/* This goes at the beginning of every SMBIOS structure. */
struct smbios_structure_header {
uint8_t type;
uint8_t length;
uint16_t handle;
} QEMU_PACKED;
/* SMBIOS type 0 - BIOS Information */
struct smbios_type_0 {
struct smbios_structure_header header;
uint8_t vendor_str;
uint8_t bios_version_str;
uint16_t bios_starting_address_segment;
uint8_t bios_release_date_str;
uint8_t bios_rom_size;
uint64_t bios_characteristics;
uint8_t bios_characteristics_extension_bytes[2];
uint8_t system_bios_major_release;
uint8_t system_bios_minor_release;
uint8_t embedded_controller_major_release;
uint8_t embedded_controller_minor_release;
} QEMU_PACKED;
/* UUID encoding. The time_* fields are little-endian, as specified by SMBIOS
* version 2.6.
*/
struct smbios_uuid {
uint32_t time_low;
uint16_t time_mid;
uint16_t time_hi_and_version;
uint8_t clock_seq_hi_and_reserved;
uint8_t clock_seq_low;
uint8_t node[6];
} QEMU_PACKED;
/* SMBIOS type 1 - System Information */
struct smbios_type_1 {
struct smbios_structure_header header;
uint8_t manufacturer_str;
uint8_t product_name_str;
uint8_t version_str;
uint8_t serial_number_str;
struct smbios_uuid uuid;
uint8_t wake_up_type;
uint8_t sku_number_str;
uint8_t family_str;
} QEMU_PACKED;
/* SMBIOS type 2 - Base Board */
struct smbios_type_2 {
struct smbios_structure_header header;
uint8_t manufacturer_str;
uint8_t product_str;
uint8_t version_str;
uint8_t serial_number_str;
uint8_t asset_tag_number_str;
uint8_t feature_flags;
uint8_t location_str;
uint16_t chassis_handle;
uint8_t board_type;
uint8_t contained_element_count;
/* contained elements follow */
} QEMU_PACKED;
/* SMBIOS type 3 - System Enclosure (v2.7) */
struct smbios_type_3 {
struct smbios_structure_header header;
uint8_t manufacturer_str;
uint8_t type;
uint8_t version_str;
uint8_t serial_number_str;
uint8_t asset_tag_number_str;
uint8_t boot_up_state;
uint8_t power_supply_state;
uint8_t thermal_state;
uint8_t security_status;
uint32_t oem_defined;
uint8_t height;
uint8_t number_of_power_cords;
uint8_t contained_element_count;
uint8_t sku_number_str;
/* contained elements follow */
} QEMU_PACKED;
/* SMBIOS type 4 - Processor Information (v2.6) */
struct smbios_type_4 {
struct smbios_structure_header header;
uint8_t socket_designation_str;
uint8_t processor_type;
uint8_t processor_family;
uint8_t processor_manufacturer_str;
uint32_t processor_id[2];
uint8_t processor_version_str;
uint8_t voltage;
uint16_t external_clock;
uint16_t max_speed;
uint16_t current_speed;
uint8_t status;
uint8_t processor_upgrade;
uint16_t l1_cache_handle;
uint16_t l2_cache_handle;
uint16_t l3_cache_handle;
uint8_t serial_number_str;
uint8_t asset_tag_number_str;
uint8_t part_number_str;
uint8_t core_count;
uint8_t core_enabled;
uint8_t thread_count;
uint16_t processor_characteristics;
uint16_t processor_family2;
} QEMU_PACKED;
/* SMBIOS type 16 - Physical Memory Array (v2.7) */
struct smbios_type_16 {
struct smbios_structure_header header;
uint8_t location;
uint8_t use;
uint8_t error_correction;
uint32_t maximum_capacity;
uint16_t memory_error_information_handle;
uint16_t number_of_memory_devices;
uint64_t extended_maximum_capacity;
} QEMU_PACKED;
/* SMBIOS type 17 - Memory Device (v2.8) */
struct smbios_type_17 {
struct smbios_structure_header header;
uint16_t physical_memory_array_handle;
uint16_t memory_error_information_handle;
uint16_t total_width;
uint16_t data_width;
uint16_t size;
uint8_t form_factor;
uint8_t device_set;
uint8_t device_locator_str;
uint8_t bank_locator_str;
uint8_t memory_type;
uint16_t type_detail;
uint16_t speed;
uint8_t manufacturer_str;
uint8_t serial_number_str;
uint8_t asset_tag_number_str;
uint8_t part_number_str;
uint8_t attributes;
uint32_t extended_size;
uint16_t configured_clock_speed;
uint16_t minimum_voltage;
uint16_t maximum_voltage;
uint16_t configured_voltage;
} QEMU_PACKED;
/* SMBIOS type 19 - Memory Array Mapped Address (v2.7) */
struct smbios_type_19 {
struct smbios_structure_header header;
uint32_t starting_address;
uint32_t ending_address;
uint16_t memory_array_handle;
uint8_t partition_width;
uint64_t extended_starting_address;
uint64_t extended_ending_address;
} QEMU_PACKED;
/* SMBIOS type 32 - System Boot Information */
struct smbios_type_32 {
struct smbios_structure_header header;
uint8_t reserved[6];
uint8_t boot_status;
} QEMU_PACKED;
/* SMBIOS type 127 -- End-of-table */
struct smbios_type_127 {
struct smbios_structure_header header;
} QEMU_PACKED;
void smbios_entry_add(QemuOpts *opts);
void smbios_set_cpuid(uint32_t version, uint32_t features);
void smbios_set_defaults(const char *manufacturer, const char *product,
const char *version, bool legacy_mode,
bool uuid_encoded, SmbiosEntryPointType ep_type);
uint8_t *smbios_get_table_legacy(size_t *length);
void smbios_get_tables(const struct smbios_phys_mem_area *mem_array,
const unsigned int mem_array_size,
uint8_t **tables, size_t *tables_len,
uint8_t **anchor, size_t *anchor_len);
#endif /* QEMU_SMBIOS_H */
|
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"pile_set_name": "Github"
}
|
Image copyright Getty Images
Fans of K-Pop boyband member G-Dragon have been asked to stop sending fan mail to the army base where he's doing military service.
The camp where he is working has run out of paper because it's had to print all the emails sent to the superstar, says his management company.
"G-Dragon is facing difficulties with fans sending too many letters to the unit," said YG Entertainment.
"Please refrain from sending letters and we will appreciate it."
In South Korea, all male citizens aged 18 to 35 have to carry out two years of military service.
G-Dragon, 29, who is a a member of Big Bang, enlisted in the army on 27 February and fans have been sending him letters of support ever since.
But it's causing problems at the camp because other soldiers can't get their letters.
Image copyright Getty Images Image caption Big Bang performed in New York last summer
"Emails have to be printed out on paper to be distributed to the soldiers, but ink and A4 paper in the battalion have run out and G-Dragon feels sorry for his fellow soldiers there," said YG Entertainment, according to a translation in The Korea Times.
"G-Dragon is thankful for his fans' concern over his military duty. At the same time, he feels sorry he can't read all the letters sent to him. But again, please consider the tricky situation."
Some fans have been quick to respond saying G-Dragon's privacy needs to be respected.
Skip Twitter post by @FieryAbyss_ Being a supportive fan is great but GD isn't the only one in his unit. It's not fair to everyone else or GD with the huge influx of letters. — Ivory Blue ❀ ❥ (☆⁶) (@FieryAbyss_) March 10, 2018 Report
Follow Newsbeat on Instagram, Facebook and Twitter.
Listen to Newsbeat live at 12:45 and 17:45 every weekday on BBC Radio 1 and 1Xtra - if you miss us you can listen back here.
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Featured Design
Featured design
The Hanging Gardens of Laguna
This job is special to us. This was our first California job where we were given a chance to stretch our legs–and stretch we did! We poured our hearts and souls into this project and found several creative ways to breathe life into this homeowner's personal paradise. One year and thousands of man-hours later we planted our last tree and the happy homeowner affectionately named his property "The Hanging Gardens of Laguna." We think that's perfect. Below are the details of the job, but of course if you have any additional questions, feel free to drop us a line! We'd be happy to fill you in on any of the details.
Design Philosophy
Click on the video above.
We noticed the rocks on the beach below the house had distinct, slanted sedimentary lines and we decided to copy the look with the rock lines of the falls. The idea is to give you a taste of the natural view in the back yard from the first moment you see the property.
Visual Appropriation
This property is surrounded by incredible natural beauty and our impulse was to borrow from that beauty and blend into those surroundings. The story of this design starts in the front yard with a bold, 40 ft long waterfall that gives the illusion of continuing into another, larger water course in the back. In total it's 105 feet of falls that give a sense of continuity between the front and back yards and the surrounding area.
Upper Water Feature
Lower Water Feature
Limited Access
Construction on this section of coastline provided a few challenges. Accessibility was the biggest issue. Click on the image below to see the challenge of planting trees in this space.
Yep, that's a video. Click it. You know you want to...
Maximizing the view
The most impressive part of this natural landscape is the view. We wanted to make sure there was no shortage of places to sit and enjoy it. Some were obvious, others were meant to be a bit more subtle.
Personal Touch
Every Job is personal to us and we like to show it. On this project we wanted the homeowners to forever be part of the landscape and pressed their hands (and one very small foot) into the last stone.
Guiding the Guests
The homeowner had a design concern about their front entrance. There was consistent confusion about which entrance was the front door. So, our solution was to cut a pathway through the drive way and lead any guests to the right place
In order to maximise the existing guest parking spaces we surrounded the drive with flagstone to provide a little extra room to walk and enjoy the space.
Before & After
It's always fun for us to see the dramatic difference between the start and finish of each project. Below are some of those images.
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На днях завершила работу Франкфуртская книжная ярмарка.
Под девизом "Read Russia/Читай Россию" наша страна представила на ней около 800 новинок от 50 издателей. Отдельный раздел национального стенда был посвящен книгам, выпущенным к 70-летию Победы. Российская программа на форуме была обширной и насыщенной: "круглые столы", литературные семинары и дискуссии, презентации и встречи с писателями. Одним из центральных мероприятий на авторской площадке стала дискуссия "Россия и Европа - одна история, разное осмысление". Ее вели между собой историк, писатель, министр культуры РФ Владимир Мединский, чьи книги "Мифы о России", "Война. Мифы СССР. 1939-1945", "Скелеты из шкафа русской истории" были представлены на ярмарке, и немецкий политолог, журналист, вице-председатель Совета российской экономики в Германии Александр Рар. Дискуссия проходила при широком стечении ярмарочной публики, задававшей вопросы.
У России и Европы действительно одна история?
Владимир Мединский: Вне всякого сомнения, история России и история Европы - это одна история. Вообще история и культура России имеют те же корни, что европейские история и культура - это Древний Рим, Древняя Греция. В свое время русский царь Иван Грозный заказывал специальное генеалогическое исследование, из которого следовало, что он, Иван Грозный, является прямым потомком императора Августа Октавиана. Даже могу рассказать - каким образом. Август Октавиан много воевал, закончил свои войны в Египте. В Египте у него был сын, который потом хитрым путем добрался до Скандинавии, затем вместе с викингами - на Русь. Таким образом, идеологема "Москва - третий Рим" имела еще и прямое генетическое тому подтверждение. Хотя в культурном, цивилизационном плане Россия, надо признать, испытывала и серьезное дополнительное влияние и со стороны Византии, и со стороны Азии, в первую очередь - со стороны Золотой Орды.
Александр Рар: Я в основном согласен с вами. Мне тоже кажется, что Россия - неотъемлемая часть Европы. Но Россия - это другая Европа. Ее нынешний конфликт с остальной Европой, той Европой, что развивается рационально, согласно ценностям, которые создавались здесь веками, носит цивилизационный характер. Россия, впитавшая в себя и азиатскую культуру, сегодня в чем-то видит себя наследницей Византии. Россия - страна, где справедливость важнее права. Время от времени Россия стремится быть вместе с Европой, но когда приближается к ней на короткое расстояние, сразу отворачивается и старается быть самобытной.
Вопрос из зала: Почему Россия пока плохо вписывается в европейскую культуру?
Александр Рар: Мне кажется, что российское общество в большинстве своем и не ставит перед собой задачу найти общий культурный знаменатель с Европой. Россия что-то готова перенять у Европы, а что-то - нет. Ищет свое. После почти 80 лет коммунизма Россия пытается вернуться к своим истокам, причем нет единого мнения насчет того, где эти истоки находятся. Например, таким истоком для многих является 1917 год, и кому-то хочется вернуться к советскому образу жизни, восстановить прерванную связь поколений. Но сделать это будет очень трудно.
В отличие от России Запад выстрадал свою форму демократии, либеральные ценности, систему правового государства, в которой мы здесь живем.
Европейцы веками стремились к абсолютной свободе, добивались ее. В этом смысле им многое дала Великая французская революция.
Она оказала громадное влияние на многие европейские страны. А в России все произошло в одночасье - путем краха империи, путем громадного политического землетрясения. И сегодня Россия - страна, которая ищет свою индивидуальность. В культурном отношении между Россией и Европой есть очень большая разница.
Самая дискуссионная тема в диалоге России с Европой - Вторая мировая война. С некоторыми западными трактовками ее событий полемизируют российские историки, в том числе и Владимир Мединский.
Чем объясняется разность взглядов России и Европы на те или иные страницы общего прошлого?
Владимир Мединский: Я думаю, здесь не надо лукавить. Как говорил Джордж Оруэлл, кто контролирует прошлое, тот контролирует будущее.
Поэтому единственной причиной изменения концептуальных подходов к трактовке тех или иных исторических событий всегда являлось, является и будет являться стремление решить те или иные текущие и будущие политические задачи.
История в этом отношении, к сожалению, самая несчастная из гуманитарных наук. Она в максимальной степени подвержена попыткам бесконечной перелицовки и переписывания со стороны всех властей во все времена.
Еще 15-20 лет назад никем в Европе, да и в мире не ставилось под сомнение, кто во Второй мировой войне победил, а кто потерпел поражение, кто нападал, а кто защищался, кто преступник, а кто герой.
Эта тема даже не обсуждалась ввиду ее абсолютной, всем очевидной недискуссионности. Разночтения в оценке событий Второй мировой возникли после распада СССР, когда некоторые новые государства стали активно искать свою национальную идентичность. А где ее можно найти?
В России, как Александр правильно заметил, тоже идет этот поиск. Кто-то ищет свои культурные корни в российской истории до 1917 года. Кто-то считает, что идеалом для России является коммунизм.
Россия стремится быть вместе с Европой, но когда приближается к ней на короткое расстояние, сразу отворачивается
Кто-то тоскует по Советскому Союзу. Кто-то говорит, что в 90-е годы был некий реванш белогвардейской идеи, и сожалеет, что это время закончилось. А кто-то видит идеал в историческом возрождении, которое Россия переживает в последние пятнадцать лет.
То же самое происходит и в других странах - но со своими особенностями. В некоторых из них, например, легально действуют организации, запрещенные всеми международными конвенциями. Бывшие эсэсовцы беспрепятственно проводят свои праздники и открыто маршируют по улицам. Это несчастные, больные, запутавшиеся старики, которых я рассматриваю, скорее, как жертв политиканства. Им всем уже под девяносто лет. Они выйти-то на улицу едва-едва могут. Зато одетыми в форму СС бодро маршируют их юные отпрыски. Интересно, что за это им было бы в Германии?
И разве не то же самое мы видим сегодня на Украине, где организации, активно сотрудничавшие с фашистским режимом, выступавшие его официальными союзниками, сейчас легально участвуют в политике, пытаются диктовать свою волю правителям?
Это ревизия истории, превращение ее в угодливую, мелочную и крайне низкооплачиваемую служанку политических властей.
Александр Рар: История всегда используется как политическое оружие. Так было во все времена. На моей памяти благодаря Горбачеву произошло воссоединение Германии. И в тот период немцы были едины в однозначно позитивной оценке падения Берлинской стены. А сегодня у нас в Германии это событие кому-то видится уже совсем по-иному - как якобы революция, свершившаяся в Дрездене, где люди вышли на улицу и свергли коммунистический режим. Это странная трактовка, мягко говоря.
Теперь об отношениях России со странами бывшего Варшавского договора. После того как эти страны вошли в НАТО и Европейский союз, они начали создавать для себя новую национальную историю. Что вполне понятно.
Как понятна и настойчивость, с которой эти страны старались внушить всему миру, что они были жертвой советского режима, находились под его оккупацией, и что Россия должна признать этот факт, а также выплатить компенсацию.
На это Россия могла бы ответить: да, в 1991 году мы тоже отказались от коммунизма, получили свободу и сейчас вместе с вами строим единую свободную Европу. Но я понимаю, как непросто было решиться на такой шаг, особенно после 90-х годов, когда в России сменился политический вектор и появились другие тенденции.
Россия поняла, что, приняв претензии бывших союзников по Варшавскому договору, она может оказаться в роли Германии образца 1945 года. То есть она одна будет объявлена виноватой во всех бедах и грехах "холодной войны". Поэтому российская элита - не Путин, а именно элита - приняла решение идти по другому пути. И эта развилка сейчас стала очень серьезной.
Действительно, мы по-разному смотрим на Вторую мировую войну, на историю 80-х, 90-х годов. Сблизить взгляды становится все труднее.
Владимир Мединский: Когда мы пытаемся оценить со стороны, что хорошо и что плохо в других странах, надо делать это очень осторожно. Следует понимать, что история, география, культура, климат и множество других факторов делают невозможным единый рецепт того, как построить хорошую жизнь в разных странах. Надо максимально тактично относиться к культурным, историческим самобытностям разных народов. То, что эффективно работает в Пенсильвании, может не работать в Ираке. То, что дает позитивный результат в Китае, может оказаться бесплодным для Греции.
Это не значит, что одна практика является абсолютно хорошей, а другая абсолютно плохой. Они просто разные. Как и люди. Нет единого рецепта счастья даже для двух семей. В каждой семье свое счастье.
Точно так же не может быть единых рецептов в построении демократии. Задача заключается в том, чтобы, уважая самобытность разных национальных культур, стараться лучше понять друг друга.
Решению этой задачи, на мой взгляд, служит и Франкфуртская книжная ярмарка.
|
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Miss Chappell was killed by a nine-year-old lioness on Monday afternoon as she visited the popular Lion Park on the outskirts of Johannesburg. Park staff said the lioness had been lying in a pride when Miss Chappell and her tour guide drove past in a white 4x4 but got up and walked towards the car, stopping around a metre away.
|
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Multisegment nanowire/nanoparticle hybrid arrays as electrochemical biosensors for simultaneous detection of antibiotics.
Antibiotics such as penicillin and tetracycline drugs are widely used in food animals to treat, control, and prevent diseases, and penicillin is approved for use to improve growth rates in pigs and poultry. However, due to the overuse of antibiotics in food and medical industry, the antimicrobial resistance is starting to show up in some developing countries. The antibiotic abuse may cause allergic reactions, resistance in microorganisms and general lowering of immunity in consumers of meat and dairy products. It is important and necessary to develop an easy, inexpensive, and quantitative sensing method to monitor and analyze the antibiotics concentration in real samples such as milk or meat. In this research, an electrochemical biosensor based on hybrid nanowire/nanoparticle array with various bio-molecular receptors was fabricated for the simultaneous detection of penicillin and tetracycline. The vertically aligned Pt-Au nanowire array has been prepared by an electrodeposition method within anodic aluminum oxide (AAO) membranes; L-cysteine was used to form a monolayer on the Au segment as the bio-receptor for tetracycline detection; electroless plating of Au nanoparticles was applied on the Pt nanowire segments, and then the penicillinase was immobilized on the Au nanoparticles using EDC/NHS cross-linker. The prepared Au(L-cysteine)-Pt(penicillinase) nanowire array electrode showed simultaneous detection ability and remarkably high sensitivity of penicillin and tetracycline, which are 41.2 μA μM-1 cm-2 for penicillin detection and 26.4 μA μM-1 cm-2 for tetracycline detection. The sensitivities of each analytes with different segment length were also investigated. Real sample tests with chicken and beef extract were conducted, which showed good recovery performance. Due to the advantages of the hybrid nanowire/nanoparticle array structure, this new sensor can serve as an enhanced platform for simultaneous detection of various bioanalytes.
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{
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Is it possible to make a reliable prognosis within the first hour of life for very low birth weight infants delivered after preterm premature rupture of membranes?
One third of all preterm births are due to preterm premature rupture of membranes (pPROM). An accurate prognostic evaluation after admission to the neonatal intensive care unit is necessary. The aim of this study was to identify prognostic factors within the first hour of life for mortality, short-term pulmonary morbidity, chronic lung disease (CLD) and severe cerebral morbidity in very low birth weight (VLBW) infants after pPROM. This retrospective study included 300 infants with pPROM who fit the study criteria and were derived from a cohort of 1,435 VLBW infants. A total of 17 obstetric and neonatal factors were evaluated by univariate and multivariate analysis. Gestational age at birth and 5-min Apgar score correlated significantly with all 4 outcomes. The results of the first blood gas analysis correlated with 3 outcomes and the first mean arterial pressure with 2 outcomes. Anhydramnios and a lower number of courses of antenatal steroids correlated with higher mortality, and preterm labor correlated with CLD. The multivariate analysis revealed gestational age, 5-min Apgar score, the results of the first blood gas analysis, the first mean arterial pressure and anhydramnios to be significant predictors. The positive predictive value ranged from 20 to 81%, and the negative predictive value ranged from 79 to 92%. Gestational age at birth and parameters reflecting postnatal adaptation were the most precise factors for assessment of the prognosis of VLBW infants after pPROM within the first hour of life. Apart from anhydramnios, obstetric factors did not predict neonatal outcome. At 1 h of age, our models of perinatal risk factors were more effective in predicting a favorable outcome than an adverse outcome.
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{
"pile_set_name": "PubMed Abstracts"
}
|
import astf_path
class ErrorLogger():
def __init__(self, name, allowed_errors):
self.iteration_counter = 0
self.name = name
self.client_allowed_errors = set(allowed_errors['client'])
self.server_allowed_errors = set(allowed_errors['server'])
self.iteration_to_mult_map = {}
self.iteration_to_error_map = {}
def increment_iteration_counter(self):
self.iteration_counter += 1
def log(self, errors):
self.iteration_to_error_map[self.iteration_counter] = errors
def log_multiplier(self, mult):
self.iteration_to_mult_map[self.iteration_counter] = mult
def should_stop(self):
return self.iteration_counter == 5
def invalid_errors(self, errors):
client_errors = set(errors.get('client', []))
server_errors = set(errors.get('server', []))
return not (client_errors.issubset(self.client_allowed_errors) and server_errors.issubset(self.server_allowed_errors))
class ErrorLoggingNDRPlugin():
def __init__(self, **kwargs):
allowed_errors = {'client': {u'tcps_conndrops': u'embryonic connections dropped'},
'server': {u'err_no_template': u"server can't match L7 template",
u'err_no_syn': u'server first flow packet with no SYN'}
}
self.logger = ErrorLogger(name="Plugin Demonstration for ASTF NDR", allowed_errors=allowed_errors)
def pre_iteration(self, run_results=None, **kwargs):
pass
def post_iteration(self, run_results, **kwargs):
if run_results['error_flag']:
self.logger.log(run_results['errors'])
self.logger.log_multiplier(run_results['mult'])
self.logger.increment_iteration_counter()
should_stop = self.logger.should_stop()
invalid_errors = self.logger.invalid_errors(run_results['errors'])
return should_stop, invalid_errors
# dynamic load of python module
def register():
return ErrorLoggingNDRPlugin()
|
{
"pile_set_name": "Github"
}
|
Police: ‘Person of interest’ in Va. elderly couple killing in custody
John Wesley Jeffries, 60, of Fredericksburg, is a person of interest in the deaths of two people in The Plains. He is wanted on separate kidnapping and strangling charges in Spotsylvania County. (Courtesy of Facebook/Fredericksburg Police Department)
UPDATE: Wednesday – 2/27/2013, 4:24pm ET The man wanted in connection with the killing of 80-year-old Nelson Slack and his 74-year-old wife, Ethel, has been arrested, police say.
John Wesley Jeffries was taken into Fredericksburg police custody around 4 p.m. on Wednesday and is being held on outstanding warrant charges.
WASHINGTON – Police across Northern Virginia are searching for a man with a violent history after authorities found an 80-year-old man and his 74-year-old wife dead in Fauquier County’s first double murder since the 1980s.
Deputies found Nelson and Ethel Slack, long-time residents of The Plains, dead in their home on Bunker Hill Road Sunday afternoon, according to Lt. James Hartman, a spokesman for the Fauquier County Sheriff’s Office.
The Fauquier County’s Sheriff’s Office wants to talk to John Wesley Jeffries, 60, of Fredericksburg, Va. Police have identified Jeffries as a “person of interest.”
“He has some family ties to the neighborhood where the Slacks lived, and a vehicle known to be operated by Jeffries was found about a half mile from the scene,” says Hartman.
Authorities have not charged Jeffries with the Slacks’ murders. Jeffries is wanted in another case. He is charged in Spotsylvania County with kidnapping, felony strangulation and malicious wounding, Hartman says.
In the Fauquier case, family members called the sheriff’s office after the Slacks failed to show up for church Sunday, something Hartman said was unusual.
Deputies went to the Slacks home twice, Hartman says. The first time it looked as though no one was home. They then returned with a family member’s key. When the key didn’t work, they broke down the door and found the bodies around 1:15 p.m. Sunday.
Hartman says the Slacks’ car, which was taken from their home, was found in Fredericksburg, in an area Jeffries frequented.
Jeffries is considered armed and dangerous. He is described as white, about 5 feet 8 inches tall, 160 pounds, balding with gray hair and blue eyes. He is listed as a “sexually violent offender.”
|
{
"pile_set_name": "Pile-CC"
}
|
Harold Taylor (Australian politician)
Harold Bourne "Squizzy" Taylor (25 February 1892 – 6 December 1972) was a Company executive and member of the Queensland Legislative Assembly.
Biography
Taylor was born in Brisbane to parents John Taylor and his wife Ada Jeannie (née Bourne). He was educated at Brisbane Boys' Central School and in World War One fought in Egypt and Gallipoli. He commanded the 27th Battery AIF from 1916 to 1917 and was mentioned in dispatches and wounded in 1917. He was then promoted to Major and awarded the Distinguished Service Order in 1918. from 1918 until 1919 he was a member of the Brisbane Military Censorship Committee.
In World War Two he was Commander of 2nd AIF Artillery Reinforcements Training Regiment in 1941 to 1942. In civilian life he was an Executive with Burns Philp Ltd in 1927, and manager of Smiths Ltd in 1932.
In 1915 Taylor married Jean Cox. Jean died in 1955 and in January the following year he remarried, this time to Dulcie Irene George (died 1987). Harold Taylor died in December 1972 at Redland Bay and was cremated at Mt Thompson Crematorium.
Public career
In 1947, Taylor, at first a member of the QPP and then the Liberal Party from 1948, easily won the seat of Hamilton at that year's state election. Hamilton was abolished before the 1950 state election and he then stood for and won the new seat of Clayfield. He remained the member for Clayfield until his retirement from politics in 1963. From 1957 until 1963 he was the Chairman of Committees.
He was a member of many associations including the Queensland Library Board, the United Service Club of Babinda, the Royal Queensland Golf Club; and National Association of Left-hand Golfers of Australia. He was President of the Babinda Chamber of Commerce and Returned and Services League of Australia (South-East District branch) in 1919 and from 1929 to 1931. He was also an Executive of the Social Service League during the Great Depression.
References
Category:Members of the Queensland Legislative Assembly
Category:1892 births
Category:1972 deaths
Category:Liberal Party of Australia members of the Parliament of Queensland
Category:20th-century Australian politicians
|
{
"pile_set_name": "Wikipedia (en)"
}
|
Mainstream Protestantism does not reject Catholicism nor Orthodoxy. There are some outlier Baptist and charismatics who seemed to have picked up issues, but even the SBC actively participates in ecumenical organizations with Catholics ad fellow Christians. I myself have been both Methodist and Orthodox and moved between the two with nary a look nor did I burst into flames. In fact the Orthodox Church took my Methodist Baptism for membership.
>> Mainstream Protestantism does not reject Catholicism nor Orthodoxy. There are some outlier Baptist and charismatics who seemed to have picked up issues, but even the SBC actively participates in ecumenical organizations with Catholics ad fellow Christians. <<
I agree, I think most major protestant denominations have no problem accepting Catholic and Orthodox Christians are legitimate Christians. The "Catholics ain't Christian" stuff seems to a fringe movement limited to some fundamentalist "born again" types. They'd also probably say most of their fellow protestants, and indeed, about 90% of practicing Christians in the world, "ain't Christian", since they only believe their brand of Christianity to be legit. History certainly isn't in their favor, the apostles themselves would be "non Christians" in their eyes.
>> I myself have been both Methodist and Orthodox and moved between the two with nary a look nor did I burst into flames. In fact the Orthodox Church took my Methodist Baptism for membership. <<
True, I think the rule of thumb for Catholic and Orthodox Churches is that a protestant baptism is valid as long as it's a tridentine baptism done with a traditional understanding of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. The vast majority of protestant churches fit that definition. Those that are non-tridentine often don't do the sacrament of baptism anyway. And non-Chrisitan churches like Mormons say "Father, Son, and Holy Spirt", but believe them to be three separate gods who "work together". Thus their baptism deviates from historic Christianity and what was established in the Bible, so it's not a Christian baptism. This isn't to say they're bad people though. Many Mormons behave in a more Christian manner than a lot of "Christians" in the world.
So does that mean my matched set of Genuine Nephite Chessmen in the Curelom skin pouch could be fakes?
There may be another opus in your future...
Where can we find an 'OFFICIAL MORMON' teaching website??
Official sites are sites supported by LDS officials unless said official sites are considered unofficial by said officials.
At that point such sites are unofficial unless officially referenced for official purposes by officials who can do so officially.
This should not be misconstrued as an indication that official sites can be unofficially recognized as official nor should it be implied that unofficial sites cannot contain official information, but are not officially allowed to be offical despite their official contents due the their unofficialness.
Official sites will be official and recognized as official by officials of the LDS unless there is an official reason to mark them as unofficial either temporally or permanently, which would make the official content officially unofficial.
This is also not to imply that recognized sites, often used on FR by haters and bigots cannot contain official information, it just means that content, despite its official status, is no longer official and should be consider unofficial despite the same information being official on an official site elsewhere.
Even then the officialness my be amended due to the use of the unofficial information which may determine the officialness of anything be it official or unofficial depending on how and where it is used officially or unofficially.
I hope this clear things up for the lurkers out there.
The haters tend to make things complicated and confusing when it is all really quite crystal clear.
--Ejonesie22
59
posted on 12/30/2012 3:39:53 AM PST
by Elsie
(Heck is where people, who don't believe in Gosh, think they are not going...)
John 6:28-29
Then they asked him, What must we do to do the works God requires?
Jesus answered, The work of God is this: to believe in the one he has sent.
1 John 3:21-24
Dear friends, if our hearts do not condemn us, we have confidence before God and receive from him anything we ask, because we keep his commands and do what pleases him. And this is his command:to believe in the name of his Son, Jesus Christ, and to love one another as he commanded us. The one who keeps Gods commands lives in him, and he in them. And this is how we know that he lives in us: We know it by the Spirit he gave us.
61
posted on 12/30/2012 3:44:58 AM PST
by Elsie
(Heck is where people, who don't believe in Gosh, think they are not going...)
>> As a former mormon who has lived in several mormon-controlled communities, I can assure you that I have personally known of mormon pedophiles, mormon drunks, mormon thieves and mormon wife-beaters. <<
ALL religious denominations have that. There are examples of Jewish pedophiles, Jewish drunks, Jewish thieves and Jewish wife-beaters.... Southern Baptist pedophiles, Southern Baptist drunks, Southern Baptist thieves and Southern Baptist wife-beaters.... Catholic pedophiles, Catholic drunks, Catholic thieves and Catholic wife-beaters.... all of us are human and fall short of the glory of the God.
I don't think anyone would claim a particular religious community is made up of infallible members. I simply said MANY Mormons behave him in a more Christian manner than a lot of self-proclaimed "Christians" in this country. This doesn't mean they don't have their share of seedy Mormons.
>> Former LDS bishop arraigned, accused of bilking 'little guys' Is this the behavior that you consider the most "Christian"? <<
Of course not. By better behavior, I mean that studies have shown that Mormon families on average are much more likely to be intact two parent marriages, have less drug use, crime, adultery, and more weekly church attendance than the "average" Catholic or Protestant household in America. Those are the facts whether you like them or not. I am NOT a Mormon but it certainly looks bad among mainstream Christians that so many Christian families do not behave in a Christ-like manner. It's very sad that half of all marriages now end in divorce.
>> Even if it is, mormonism is NOT Christianity...even if "many" behave. <<
As I previously noted twice, I do NOT claim Mormonism is Christianity. They certainly aren't... but overall they simply behave more morally and Christ-like than a lot of self-proclaimed Christians.
In reality, "many" DO NOT claim Mormonism is Christianity. It's baseless propaganda from the mainstream media that only "evangelicals don't think Mormons are Christian". In reality, EVERY mainstream Christian denomination REJECTS the idea that Mormons are Christians. Catholics, Orthodox, and "mainline" protestant churches have ALL said Mormon doctrines are incompatible with Christianity. Mormonism is a polytheistic religion that denies basic Christian tenants and practices things no genuine Christian denomination would accept, such as baptizing death people. They claim Jesus is the messiah and divine, but so do many other non-Christian religions like the Bahá'í faith. Mormons are no more "Christian" than Hindus are.
As I previously noted twice, I do NOT claim Mormonism is Christianity. They certainly aren't... but overall they simply behave more morally and Christ-like than a lot of self-proclaimed Christians.
What kind of proof do you have to substantiate the "over all" claim? I have personally found that those who claim to be Christians behave more morally than a heckuva lot of mormons that I have known....and some of the most "morally behaved" folks I have met were Jehovah's Witnesses.
I guess when there is a sect that spends billions of dollars on TV and radio advertising proclaiming its "morality" and has thousands of internet sites doing the same some folks will buy into the outward appearance.
Give us an example of the percentages of "self-proclaimed Christians" vs the "superior moral mormons" that you personally know, along with a description of the location in which you are finding these examples. Thanks.
79
posted on 12/30/2012 10:54:25 AM PST
by greyfoxx39
(Romney's gift to the country....Boehner bowing to Obama while kicking the Tea Party.)
Disclaimer:
Opinions posted on Free Republic are those of the individual
posters and do not necessarily represent the opinion of Free Republic or its
management. All materials posted herein are protected by copyright law and the
exemption for fair use of copyrighted works.
|
{
"pile_set_name": "Pile-CC"
}
|
THE pound is down slightly against the US dollar this morning and is currently trading at $1.2928. Yesterday saw the pound spike around a cent against the dollar on reports of an agreement being reached between the UK and Germany.
Related articles
The news bolstered market hopes that the UK and EU would not rush to form a detailed deal and may instead use the Brexit transition period to flesh things out.
Jordan Rochester, currency strategist at Nomura International Plc., poured cold water on the assertions, claiming they amounted to “kicking the can down the road/fudge exercise and will be taken well by the market”.
Broad-based demand for the US dollar has remained solid in the light of gathering global financial turmoil – especially in emerging markets – which has helped it to avoid further losses against the pound.
Markets still expect the Federal Reserve to keep gradually raising US interest rates due to a strong economic outlook.
On top of this, persistent global trade jitters have kept safe haven currencies like the US dollar looking appealing.
As Brexit developments and safe haven demand have been the primary driver of pound to US dollar exchange rate movement this week, those factors are likely to remain influential over the coming days.
If there are any more positive developments in Brexit negotiations Sterling could see more of a recovery rally.
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{
"pile_set_name": "Pile-CC"
}
|
This blog provides stories that Denyse O'Leary, a Toronto-based journalist, has found to be of interest, as she covers the growing intelligent design controversy. It supports her book By Design or by Chance? (Augsburg 2004). Does the universe - and do life forms - show evidence of intelligent design? If so, Carl Sagan was wrong and so is Richard Dawkins. Now what?
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Sunday, November 23, 2008
Atheist defends intelligent design - and I gather he's pretty good
Below are links to the Discovery Institute's five podcasts of University of Colorado (Boulder) professor of the philosophy of physics Bradley Monton - who is an atheist - on why the universe might show evidence of design. Monton teamed up with another skeptic of religion, mathematician David Berlinski, against materialist atheist Lawrence Krauss and British theistic evolutionist Denis Alexander, to defend the design of the universe as an intellectually worthy idea (not just some religious schtick).
Well, it's no secret that the intelligent design debate is more nuanced than legacy media portray it.
I suspect that fewer than 200 journalists in the world actually know what the controversy is about.
How can you tell if they do?
First, they realize that the evidence from science does not support current materialist or naturalist or no-design theory. (Shhhh!)
They are not columnistsretailing fatuous lines like "There is no conflict between faith and science!"
or
"No creationism is the schools! Darwin explained it all without God. (But (optionally) you can holler your guts out for Jesus anyway. Maybe it is good for evolution if you do."
Often, the same columnist is shouting both slogans, at different times.
Good thing too, because there isn't a 360 degree swivel joint in the human head!
Second, they have actually read and thought about the books written by ID theorists like Mike Behe, Bill Dembski, and Guillermo Gonzalez and Jay Richards, which advance a testable thesis.
They have looked beyond the smoke and noise generated by fossil science organizations and the "Christian" scientists who meet with them to plan strategy to prevent considreation of design, purpose, or meaning in the universe. (There is a scandal here, awaiting detailed discovery - rats for me, I am mainly a trade news hack, and may not get in on the best cellar.)
This episode of ID the Future features part one of Casey Luskin's interview with atheist philosopher of physics Bradley Monton, author of a new book on intelligent design. Prof. Monton has a unique perspective of the debate over intelligent design as an atheist who is trying to elevate the debate.
Professor Monton is debating intelligent design and the existence of God this weekend in Fort Worth, TX.
This episode of ID the Future features the second part of Casey Luskin's interview with atheist philosopher of physics Bradley Monton.
Prof. Monton shares his experience in the debate over intelligent design and discusses the Dover decision, rebutting trial witness philosopher Robert Pennock.
Prof. Monton has a unique perspective of the debate over intelligent design as an atheist who is trying to elevate the debate. In 2006, he authored a paper on Judge Jones' Kitzmiller ruling, "Is Intelligent Design Science? Dissecting the Dover Decision."
On this episode of ID the Future, Casey Luskin continues his interview with atheist philosopher of science Bradley Monton. Professor Monton discusses his role in "The Great Debate on Intelligent Design" last weekend. Interestingly, the two presenters on the pro-ID side, including Prof. Monton, were non-theists.
Listen is as Prof. Monton shows that the debate over intelligent design is far more nuanced than most portray it.
On this episode of ID the Future, atheist philosopher of science Bradley Monton turns the tables on Casey Luskin, putting the question to him about the Dover trial. What is the story of Discovery Institute's involvement in that infamous case? Listen in as Professor Monton asks good questions and gets good answers.
This episode of ID the Future features the last in a series of interviews with atheist philosopher of physics Bradley Monton. Professor Monton's perspective enriches and expands the debate over intelligent design, as he discusses whether an ID proponent can be an atheist, the scientific evidence for intelligent design, and the importance of the argument from cosmology.
Professor Monton also shares his experience dealing with Robert Pennock, a Darwinist philosopher of science who had an interesting response when Monton published a paper on the Dover decision, critiquing Pennock. Monton breaks this story for the first time in this interview, but the full tale is told in his forthcoming book, Seeking God in Science: An Atheist Defends Intelligent Design, (Broadview Press, 2009).
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|
PSYCHIC, INTUITIVE, MYSTICAL, PROPHETIC INDICATORS IN THE NATAL CHART
· Disclaimer: My research has proven, to me, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that there is an endless number of psychic, intuitive indicators in anyone’s chart, and I could not find them all. Every time I tried, Spirit showed me another from a respected, (and published) astrological source, so I “drew a line in the sand, and concluded that it could not be done with analysis alone. These Lists are NOT complete, and cannot be relied upon alone to tell you that you are or are not…psychic, using your intuition, etc. I believe we are all born intuitive; it is known as our 6th sense. It is a built-in truth filter, among other things. It lies in our solar plexus, but, because most of us operate soley out of our heads, we don’t realize we are born intuitive. Your Crystal Children know they are born intuitive; theirs is well-developed. I believe that this is one of the things that makes them act, and react, so differently from us, also why we, as parents, feel so powerless and helpless in trying to understand them, why what our mothers taught us about raising children, and what they are suggesting now may not be working.
Only an astrologer can give you an accurate interpretation of your natal chart, and that requires assessing the whole chart, something I did not do here. I only extrapolated psychic aspects from other astrologers’ published works (listed at the end of the lists), and this is not the same, nor as accurate as a professional astrological chart interpretation. This said, I think it is fun to look for psychic indicators in your own chart, so I’m publishing/posting these for your enjoyment.
*******
· Three or more indicators are required (but each child had at least three and many had many more). They set up the opportunity and/or predisposition for psychism (clairvoyance, clairaudience, mediumistic abilities, healing abilities, etc) intuition, prophetic, and/or mystical powers.
· Use your own “truth filter”. You will know if an aspect applies to you, or not. This list will only confirm that which you already suspect, or think you have, and give you something concrete that says, “Wow! Yes! I am psychic! Or I never knew I was, but now I have more faith that it is really, truly so!
If you run into problems, please e-mail me at truthseeker2566@yahoo.com and I will try to help you out.
ENJOY! HAVE FUN WITH THIS!
Aspects:
5. Moon Conjunct Neptune: Mystical, intuitive type; very psychic nature. “When Neptune is harmoniously linked to the luminaries in the chart of a person who can respond to its higher rays, it can bestow gifts of a clairvoyant and clairaudient nature.” Pg 558, Alan Oken’s Complete Astrology. Mystical, but not very practical, unless there are other indicators in the chart.
6. Moon Sextile Neptune: These individuals have the opportunity to use their sensitivity to vibrations in the world around them. Because of this attunement, they are vulnerable to the negative thoughts generated around them and should learn to transform this negativity into love energy, through the power of their mind.
7. Moon Trine Neptune: Keen psychic sensitivity; so psychic they are susceptible to emotional atmosphere around them and they react strongly. “When Neptune is harmoniously linked to the luminaries in the chart of a person who can respond to its higher rays, it can bestow gifts of a clairvoyant and clairaudient nature.” Pg 558, Alan Oken’s Complete Astrology
8. Moon Conjunct Uranus: Strong intuition.
9. Moon Sextile Uranus: There is an opportunity to bring unusual ideas and concepts into fruition. They have keen intuitive powers with an alert mind.
10. Moon Trine Uranus: Keen intuition; in advanced types, would give great healing power.
11. Moon Sextile Pluto: There is an opportunity to be fulfilled emotionally if they transform the negative traits of their conscious mind’s personality. They are very sensitive psychically and use it to understand others.
12. Moon Trine Pluto: They are very sensitive psychically and use it to understand others.
13. Sun Conjunct Uranus: Very intuitive.
14. Sun Sextile Uranus: There is an opportunity to awaken an awareness of the inner self. This person is original, independent and highly intuitive.
15. Sun Trine Uranus: Strong magnetic healing force; strongly intuitive person.
16. Sun Conjunct Neptune: Psychically sensitive; mystically inclined; not an easy person to understand for they do not understand themselves. Alan Oken: “When Neptune is harmoniously linked to the luminaries in the chart of a person who can respond to its higher rays, it can bestow gifts of a clairvoyant and clairaudient nature.” Pg 558, Alan Oken’s Complete Astrology
17. Sun Sextile Neptune: There is an opportunity to tap the inner wisdom stored in the superconscious mind. This wisdom was learned in former lifetimes. Developing this ability would help bring ideas, inspiration and artistic potential from the inner mind to successful fruition.
18. Sun Trine Neptune: extremely sensitive to inner currents and is by nature a mystic.; in medical field would give healing powers. “When Neptune is harmoniously linked to the luminaries in the chart of a person who can respond to its higher rays, it can bestow gifts of a clairvoyant and clairaudient nature.” Pg 558, Alan Oken’s Complete Astrology
19. Sun Trine Pluto: This aspect gives courage and intuitive perception, with the desire to strip away all self-delusion so that the personality and soul can become one.
20. Mercury Conjunct Uranus: All aspect between Mercury and Uranus are good for they tune the conscious mind to the Universal Mind; Uranus, tunes the mind to a higher octave and speeds up the perception and quickens the intuition. “When Mercury is joined with the three outer bodies (Uranus, Neptune, Pluto), it acts as a link between the rational faculties and the intuition (Uranus), psychic vision or impressions (Neptune), and the various transcendental processes at work in life (Pluto).”
21. Mercury Sextile Uranus: There is the opportunity to probe the unconscious mind , bringing forth new insights and concepts. The mind readily absorbs knowledge and is strongly intuitive.
22. Mercury Trine Uranus: Denotes the advanced soul. Trine: Has an inward feeling of what is right for him to do. His intuitions make his decisions for him, and he is not afraid to trust them
23. Mercury Conjunct Neptune: Highly intuitive and receives psychic impressions from others which they find confusing until they learn to discern exactly what the vibration represents. i.e. sorrow, fear.
24. Mercury Sextile Neptune: There is an opportunity to tap the unconscious mind. These individuals are sensitive to the higher realms. This can be done in dreams or by meditating.
25. Mercury Trine Neptune: Aptitude for psychic and mystical fields; can benefit from dreams and visions; has ability to contact higher planes of consciousness in sleep and in meditation and bring instruction through to the conscious mind.
26. Mercury Sextile Pluto: There is an opportunity to analyze all situations with logic and intuition.
27. Mercury Trine Pluto: In other lifetimes, these individuals have begun the work of balancing their logic and their intuition, giving them an unusual ability to study any subject in depth.
28. Venus Conjunct Neptune: Psychically sensitive; mystical and spiritual tendencies in chart of an advanced soul.
29. Venus Sextile Neptune: Sixth sense(intuition) strong
30. Venus Trine Neptune: Sixth sense strong. Intuition is sixth sense.
31. Mars Conjunct Uranus: Highly intuitive with psychic healing powers.
32. Mars Trine Uranus: Have an intuitive awareness which tells them when to stop in the face of resistance. Healing power; genius.
33. Mars Sextile Neptune: Have the opportunity to work with psychic forces and be in no danger from any adverse influences.
34. Mars Trine Neptune: Can work with psychic forces and be in no danger from any adverse influences. Earned increment in the spiritual bankbook from other lives.
35. Mars Trine Pluto: There is a strong interest in occult studies which many times is accompanied by an unusual amount of ability in these areas.
36. Jupiter Conjunct Uranus: Intuition and judgment work hand in hand if this aspect is not afflicted by mars and Mercury.; Should trust intuitive powers and act on them if not afflicted by Neptune.
37. Jupiter Sextile Uranus: this is a spiritual blessing aspect earned in other lifetimes.
38. Jupiter Trine Uranus: This is a spiritual blessing aspect earned in other lifetimes.
39. Jupiter Conjunct Neptune: May have a strong mystical streak and will always be closely connected with spirituality and religion.
40. Jupiter Sextile Neptune: Opportunity to follow inner leading, to be intuitive and psychic; must be developed to become a reality.
41. Jupiter Trine Neptune: Intuitive and psychic and should follow inner leading; Can be mystical and drawn to religious and philosophical groups.
42. Saturn Sextile Neptune: Brings in the opportunity for spiritual power and philosophical understanding, but it must be used to be activated. often found in charts of those who could be initiates in this lifetime
43. Saturn Trine Neptune: Brings in spiritual power and philosophical understanding; often found in charts of those who could be initiates in this lifetime.
44. Uranus Sextile Neptune: Opportunity for becoming intuitive with psychic potential.
45. Uranus Trine Neptune: In other lifetimes, have worked toward tapping their unconscious minds and elevating their consciousness. Because of this, they are idealistic, with a desire to alter the materialistic concepts they see in the world. They are extremely tolerant of others’ philosophies; are very intuitive with psychic potential. Intuition gives you the ability know things but not why you know. It can frustrate intelligent people who lack this ability. Intelligent people know why they know.
46. Uranus Conjunct Neptune: Next is 1993. Will give spiritual mysticism and strong intuitive awareness, which existed on continent of Mu, and the scientific abilities which existed on Atlantis. Earth has gone thru purification so only spiritually advanced souls will be incarnating on earth..
47. Uranus Square Neptune: Can give psychic and intuitive powers. #
48. Uranus Oppose Neptune: Gives intuitive awareness and psychic potential. #
49. Uranus Sextile Pluto: Opportunity to elevate consciousness through spiritual aspirations; very intuitive with psychic potential.
50. Uranus Trine Pluto: In other lifetimes have worked toward tapping their unconscious minds and elevating their consciousness; very intuitive with psychic potential. Their latent clairvoyant abilities can be developed if they wish. The intuition is highly developed and used to create a better understanding among all peoples.
51. ** Unaspected Uranus (to another Planet):According to Bil Tierney, Dynamics of Aspect Analysis, “..When unaspected, Higher Octave planets (Uranus / Neptune / Pluto) are going to either operate in an exclusively unconscious fashion, with occasional spurts of unpredictable and unusual behavior, or perhaps not at all, remaining totally latent on the character-level, and thus projected onto people and situations. Yet, for some individuals, for unknown reasons, an unaspected Higher Octave (Uranus, in this example) could indicate extraordinary capacity far beyond average human expression, almost as if these people are constantly plugged into unlimited sources of cosmic power. With ordinary people, when unaspected, Uranus becomes almost self-contained and independent of outside social influence. It tends to be less driven to inaugurate breakthroughs in the outer world environment in the more open, rebellious manner of a heavily aspected Uranus. Flashes of genius or sparks of intuition may be specifically felt in the house area, where the individual can feel quite unique and unmatched, for better or worse.” (I believe this applies to Crystal Children and has been included for that reason.)
52. Neptune Conjunct Pluto: Very great sensitivity to the inner worlds; uncanny ability to see through people and circumstances, if willing to sacrifice self to Higher Self can be led to heights of spiritual attainment. Advancement along spiritual lines can be greatly accelerated in company of other like-minded people.
53. Neptune Sextile Pluto: There is the opportunity to use your psychic abilities for the benefit of humanity; Can develop clairvoyance & prophetic ability. Have precognitive dreams. Strong psychic healing powers; desire for justice for all people. Abhor violence or anything that might degrade or oppress another person or animal.
54. ** Unaspected Neptune (to another planet): According to Bil Tierney, Dynamics of Aspect Analysis, “..When unaspected, Higher Octave planets (Uranus / Neptune / Pluto) are going to either operate in an exclusively unconscious fashion, with occasional spurts of unpredictable and unusual behavior, or perhaps not at all, remaining totally latent on the character-level, and thus projected onto people and situations. Yet, for some individuals, for unknown reasons, an unaspected Higher Octave (Neptune, in this example) could indicate extraordinary capacity far beyond average human expression, almost as if these people are constantly plugged into unlimited sources of cosmic power. (For ordinary people, brackets, mine) Neptune tends towards withdrawal, seclusion and privacy. It prefers to remain absorbed in the inner worlds of consciousness and has a harder time adjusting itself to manifesting in concrete, solid terms. The more aspects it has, the more likely it is to be challenged to manifest itself through external experience, regardless of the level or quality shown.”
55. North Node Trine Uranus: These individuals will attract spiritual teachers, from “the Other Side” , who they have been close to in other lifetimes and who have taught them to tap their unconscious minds.
56. North Node Conjunct Neptune: The power of this conjunction will attract spiritual teachers perhaps from The Other Side who can teach them how to hear and see into the astral world.
57. North Node Sextile Neptune: There is an opportunity for spiritual teachers to enter their lives who can teach them how to hear and see into the astral world.
58. North Node Trine Neptune: These individuals will attract spiritual teachers who they have been close to in other lifetimes and who have taught them how to hear and see into the astral world.
59. South Node Conjunct Neptune: The power of this conjunction will attract karmic situations which will enable them to hear and see into the astral world.
60. South Node Sextile Neptune: There is an opportunity for karmic situations to occur which enables the person to hear and see into the astral world.
61. South Node Trine Neptune: These individuals willingly attract karmic situations to occur which will enable them to see and hear into the astral world.
62. South Node Oppose Neptune: An awareness should be developed that karmic situations must, and will, occur for the purpose of dissolving their fear of the unknown, by enabling them to hear and see into the astral world.
63. Midheaven Conjunct Neptune: Can become a success in society by utilizing their psychic abilities.
64. Ascendant Conjunct Neptune: Psychic and intuitive
65. Ascendant Sextile Neptune: (Opportunity to become) Psychic and intuitive
66. Ascendant Trine Neptune: Psychic and intuitive
67. Grand Water Trine: Psychic energy, if used.
68. Grand Trine including Uranus: Psychic and intuitive abilities strong
69. Grand Trine Including Neptune: Psychic abilities strong
70. ** Mystic Rectangle: Pulls the energies of the separate planets togetherso that they operate as one unit.
71. ** Mystic Rectangle with Uranus or Neptune: Pulls the energies of the separate planets together so that they operate as one unit. Incorporates your intuitive abilities if Uranus is one of the planets, and your psychic, mediumistic abilities if it is Neptune.
72. ** Kite Formation: the Focal Point of the Kite collects the energies of the other planets involved. All of this energy is then focused and channeled through this one focal planet’s qualities. Because of its power, it can become a focal point of the personality. It is a grand trine, with a sextile aspect connecting to each side of one of its three points. This is called the focal point, or point of the Kite. This focal point is also part of an internal opposition that creates a “tail” for the kite formation. The opposition acts as an internal balancing rod, so that the energy/qualities of the planetary kite tail of the opposition are used to push the energies of the focal planet into action. The type of actions taken, how the kite affects the native, depends on the planets, houses, signs, etc involved in the formation. I use the Moon’s Nodes, and the Asc/Desc, MC/IC axes to form the kite formation.
73. ** Kite Formation with Uranus or Neptune as point of kite: Adds an intuitive (Uranus) or psychic (Neptune) energy to the kite’s actions. If one of these is the focal planet, then it is most likely that the native would be expressing his/her intuitive / psychic abilities in the outer world, or at least be consciously using them for soul growth for him/herself.
74. Moon in Signs:
75. Taurus: Intuitive
76. Cancer: Strong psychic ability. Cancer is a psychic sign
77. Virgo: intuitive
78. Aquarius: Intuitive
79. Pisces: Visionary, mystical if unafflicted. Needs other characteristics in chart to be reliable.
80. Moon In Houses:
81. 4th: intuitive
82. 8th: very psychic
83. 9th: dreams and visions can be of great significance if not heavily afflicted; receptivity toward the super conscious realms
84. 12th: psychic, intuitive and subjective
85. Sun in Signs:
86. Cancer: extremely psychic;
87. Scorpio: Intuition is well developed;
88. Pisces: psychic sensitivity
89. Aquarius: Sign of spiritual rebirth,
90. Sagittarius: has the ability to see the future by their understanding of current trends of thought, and their insights border on prophecy. Keyword is perception, another word for intuition.
91. Mercury in Signs:
92. Cancer: extremely psychic.
93. Scorpio: Gives an intuitive mind capable of profound insights.
94. Pisces: psychic and visionary type of mind; highly intuitive and telepathic on the unconscious level.
95. Aquarius: intuitive;
96. Sagittarius: Can have prophetic insight.
97. Mercury in Houses:
98. 9th: (if favorably aspected, especially if it aspects Uranus, Neptune or Pluto, can give prophetic insight into the future.)
99. 12th: perceptive, intuitive and subtle mind; absorb knowledge intuitively; if well aspected, especially by sextiles or trines to Neptune, Uranus or Pluto, valuable ideas and knowledge may be gained through intuitive or psychic ability.
100. Venus in Signs:
101. Sagittarius: Good intuition;
102. Pisces: extremely psychic
103. Mars In Cancer: Intuitive, sensitive
104. Mars in Libra: Intuitive mind
105. Mars in Pisces: Intuitive
106. Jupiter in Signs:
107. Sagittarius: Prophetic and inspirational
108. Aquarius: Intuitive,
109. Pisces: Visionary, intuitive
110. Jupiter in Houses:
111. 3rd (intuition strong) ,
112. 8th (psychic abilities),
113. 9th (prophetic and have strong intuition),
114. 11th (intuitive).
115. Saturn in Cancer: Psychic tendencies strong
116. Saturn in 8th, ( in sextile or trine aspect only)
117. Uranus in Signs:
118. Virgo: Need to learn to listen to their intuition; interest in psychic healing
119. Sagittarius: Intuitive, Prophetic, optimistic
120. Aquarius: Interest in metaphysical;,
121. Pisces: Psychic, intuitive, extremely sensitive.. When well aspected to Neptune, will be indicative of advanced soul who has come to serve the planet in some philosophical or religious way. Brings into incarnation the spiritually intuitive who are able to grasp first hand knowledge of spiritual truths; can make person spiritual psychic.
122. Uranus in Houses:
123. 8th: very strong psychic feeling as well as keen intuition
124. 12th: if afflicted, investigating into psychic or occult could bring trouble.
125. Neptune in Signs: Taurus (1874-1887): Psychic phenomena was either accepted or rejected, after careful and practical consideration. Had the capacity to heal others through the use of their mind (i.e. Edgar Cayce) Cancer( 1901-1915): Are extremely intuitive and sensitive.
126. Scorpio (1957-1970): Are Intuitive; an interest in metaphysical world. Many psychics and sensitives are born with this configuration. Virgo: Have the ability to heal psychically; well-aspected, have become humanitarians and servers and work to reduce tensions in human relationships.
127. Sagittarius (1970-1985): prophetic; an ability to develop clairvoyance. Gives psychic sensitivity that will give the ability to pierce the veils of matter and know Truth. Intuitive nature will be highly developed.
128. Capricorn1985-2000) : Strong intuition which will be used on practical affairs. Into incarnation will come many advanced souls. Gemini: Extremely psychic.
129. Aquarius (2000-2015): interest in psychic phenomena, spiritual revelation and altered forms of consciousness; assumes an eclectic, adventurous, intuitive and original tone. Connection to subconscious wisdom is fueled by an energy that is inspirational and visionary; hard to overemphasize the creative potential of self-development, spiritual interests, mysticism, and psychic phenomena.
130. Pisces (2015-2030) : Mystical, with the desire to be in an expanded state of consciousness. Capable of attaining harmony between the physical and the spiritual world. They will have a complete unification of the five bodies (physical, etheric, conscious, subconscious and superconscious.
131. Neptune Retrograde: There is an intuitive awareness of the subconscious mind, but difficulty in tuning in to it consciously.
132. Neptune in Houses:
133. 1st: Psychic sensitivity very strong; visionary, artistic, hypersensitive; psychic sensitivity could bring confusion until person seeks spiritual evolvement.
134. 2nd: psychic sensitivity can be used to tap inner talents.
135. 3rd: Intuitive, ESP gives clairvoyance, psychic skills
136. 8th:psycic and intuitive with dreams and visions which are precognitive; astral and out-of-body experiences.
137. 9th: Makes a person mystical, and if well aspected, can have spiritual visions; makes the intangible extremely nebulous when it is already nebulous enough; Intuitive
138. 12th:Stress on subconscious due to extreme sensitivity; reflective and intuitive; have psychic ability which operates unconsciously and person may or may not be aware of it.
139. Pluto in Sagittarius (Prophetic): Stimulates prophetic ability and faith in human nature.
140. Pluto in Scorpio: (1984-1996): Strong intuition. Many born with great psychic ability already developed. Neptune in Leo: (No psychic abilities)
141. Pluto in Houses:
142. 4th: intuitive faculties good
143. 8th: Strong Intuition; If well aspected to Neptune and Mars, native may be clairvoyant
144. 9th:, intuitive May be clairvoyant (can bring with it a higher sense of perception – clairvoyance – that stems from a much higher level of consciousness.)
145. 12th (Pluto here in its highest form means the willingness to be a channel to help those who are limited and afflicted.)
146. **North Node in Cancer: Psychic abilities are strong in Cancer, so psychic abilities can be developed in this lifetime, if desired. When the student is ready, the (spiritual) teacher appears
147. **North Node in Scorpio: Psychic abilities can be developed in this lifetime, if there are at least three other positive (excluding squares and oppositions to Neptune and Uranus) psychic indicators in the chart to support it. When the student is ready, the (spiritual) teacher appears
148. **North Node in Pisces: Psychic abilities are to be developed in this lifetime, if there are at least three other psychic indicators (excluding squares and oppositions to Neptune and Uranus) in chart to support it. When the student is ready, the (spiritual) teacher appears.
149. **North Node in 8th House: Opens the door to the psychic world; to out-of-body experiences; access to the astral world, if three or more other psychic, intuitive indicators are shown in the chart
150. **North Node in 9th House: Opens the door to prophetic, mystical visionary-types of experiences if three or more other intuitive, psychic indicators are present in the chart.
151. **North Node in 12th House: Often indicates unconscious intuitive, psychic abilities available in this incarnation, but may be difficult to access or recognize in this house. This is the house of the unconscious mind, karma from past lives brought into this one, and solitary confinement by choice or not.
152. **South Node in Cancer: Born psychic from past life
153. **South Node in Scorpio: Born psychic from past life
154. **South Node in Pisces: Born psychic from past life
155. **South Node in 8th House: (Looks like a Capital U with circles at the ends. Opposite the North Node, which looks like an upside-down capital U, with small circles at the ends) indicates psychic, mediumistic, astral or out-of-body abilities; abilities were developed in a past life and are available, * if not afflicted , especially to Uranus or Neptune.
156. **South Node in 9th House: In South Node, indicates prophetic, mystic, or visionary abilities were developed in a past life and available in this life time, *if not afflicted, especially to Uranus or Neptune.
157. **South Node in 12th House: Gives unconscious psychic ability. It is a carry-over from a past life, and often karmic. Other indicators should be in chart to develop psychic gifts in this life time, # excluding squares or oppositions to Neptune and Uranus.
Glossary:
8th House represents the entrance to the next dimension, rules the psychic senses and out-of-body experiences. Rules psychic levels. People with planets here have often brought over a legacy of sensitivity to invisible currents. If the planets in this house are afflicted, the individual has been involved in misuse of psychic faculties, particularly if Mars is afflicted to Neptune or in this house.
9th House: Intuition, inspiration, spiritual visions. Indicates higher levels of consciousness as to both mind and emotion. (See above for deeper explanation of higher consciousness.) Planets in their fall or detriment show misuse of their energies; wise use is shown by rulers and exaltation.
12th House: Most psychically permeable. Serve or suffer is the motto of the 12th house.
Ascendant/Descendant: A line of self-awareness and intuition.
Astrological Symbol Aspect Chart: Found on the lower left side of the natal (birth) chart. You will not need to use this graph to find your psychic, intuitive indicators
Aquarius: In a cosmic sense, the sign is the sign of the ‘incoming age’. The keyword of Aquarius is “I know”. Aquarians are mental pioneers, the forward thinking individuals who live in the future and not in the past. They are rebels and individualists that have to go their own way, learning their own way; Independent; imaginative, creative and inventive, there is a genius about them if they are evolved. When they are evolved, and their emotions are tenderized, no sign is more magnanimous or as monumental. When they “feel” love instead of “think” it they are great souls. It has two rulers: Saturn (responsibility) and Uranus (freedom). Without the discipline of Saturn, there can be no real freedom. Evolved souls have learned this lesson.
Cancer: The insistent; the sign of the Cosmic Mother who nourishes all humanity at her breast.
Conjunction/Conjunct: (as in for example, Sun conjunct Uranus) Keyword is emphasis. It is known as power operating; it is a concentrated massing of energy. It represents planets within 10 degrees of each other. (Astrology: A Cosmic Science, pg. 70-71).
Grand Trine: A pattern formed by three planets in a triangle of the same element. In this case, it is the Water element, which is known as the Psychic Trinity. These energies are in harmony with each other so that they bring the harmony and ease in the houses and matters that the planets represent.
Higher consciousness describes the ability to intuit truths and spiritual knowledge associated with the teachings of the great Masters. Excerpt from the website www.themystic.org:
“By higher consciousness we are implying a realm of awareness beyond regular consciousness. Higher consciousness is awareness at the source of our thinking, feeling, and acting. Higher consciousness is that dynamic awareness which enables ordinary consciousness. Higher consciousness enables you to think, enables your feeling nature to work. It enables you to act wisely and well. Higher consciousness is the essential intelligence, energy, and power that enables breathing and brain function, that enables sensations to enter us through our sense organs.”
It is associated with Jupiter, Sagittarius, and the 9th house.
Intuition is inner knowing and is associated with the planet Uranus.
Jupiter: Basic Keywords: Aspiration, Benevolence, Religion, Confidence, Optimism, Humane, Mercy, Dignity, Idealism, Faithfulness, Generosity
Mars: Keywords: Energy, initiative, courage, transmutation, Fearlessness, Expression
Mercury: Keywords: Mind; link between spirit and matter; Expressiveness, Discrimination, Awareness, Brilliance, Adaptability; Senses
Moon: Personality, Sensitivity, Receptivity, Feeling, Imagination, positive psychism Mystical, visionary or prophetic abilities describe the ability to intuitively attain and comprehend spiritual knowledge or truths, that are currently beyond the understanding of the common man, or the masses; the ability to achieve communion with God through contemplation and love without the medium of human reason, or another mediator, such as a priest or minister.
Neptune: The positive aspects of Neptune show wisdom beyond reason, genius, creative ability in the literary, poetic and musical fields, intuition, clairvoyance, contact with the higher invisible realms, and the realization of the Unity of all life. Not everybody can respond fully to the higher vibrations of Neptune. Neptune represents spiritual wisdom; is the mystic, has mediumistic ability and psychic powers. Neptune represents social responsibility; reveals pattern of social obligation showing how person will conform to group consciousness. Shows cosmic debts you must pay. When afflicted, Neptune cloaks the issue with vagueness, obscurity, illusion, confusion, misunderstanding, intrigue and fraudulent appearances. Those born with Neptune in a square or opposition aspect, see note below.
North Node looks like an inverted or upside-down Capital U with circles at the ends. South Node looks like a capital U, with the small circles at the ends.
Opposition: Keyword is awareness. Oppositions are opposing forces that must be reconciled. They call for co-operation. Opposing forces come from outside as well as inside, and often involve other people. It calls for compromise. They can cause you to be pulled apart by two contrary pulls, but like two poles of a battery, one may also be illumined by the spark flowing from pole to pole. Awareness causes consciousness to expand and develop. Solution: Learn to agree with your adversary while you are in the way with him. (Astrology: A Cosmic Science., pg. 71)
Pisces: The compassionate; represents the wise use of the emotional nature and compassionate understanding.
Psychic Abilities indicates the ability to contact those living on “The Other Side”, in the World of Spirit, or the Heaven World. As defined in Collins Compact English Dictionary: Sensitive to phenomena lying outside range of normal experience. 2. Of soul or mind. 3. That appears to be outside the region of physical law.
It includes such gifts as:
Clairvoyance, (clear sight)
Clairaudience (clear hearing)
Clairsentience (Clear touch), also known as Psychometry: reading objects by touch.
Psychometry generally refers to the ability to gain impressions and information about an object or anything connected to it by holding it in your hand. A person with this ability is called a psychometrist or a scryer. Excerpt from: www.crystalinks.com
Clairessence (literally, clear smell and taste); also known as clairolfacrience
Mediumistic abilities
Channeling abilities
Astral or out-of-body experiences
Relates to the 8th house and Scorpio
Saturn: The tester. Saturn’s goal is perfection. Through the chastening process of testing, sorrow, delay, disappointment, limitation , privation, man learns the purpose of life is to gain experience, patience, humility, wisdom and compassion. Keywords: Patience, self-discipline, humility, responsibility, diplomacy, respect, endurance.
Scorpio: The passionate; represents the control and mastery of the emotional nature through loving Will.
Sextile: Sextiles are underlined to indicate potential or opportunity. They must be activated or they will not operate. (Astrology: A cosmic Science, pg. 71) This is an aspect that denotes potential or opportunity for development in this lifetime, and differs from the trine which indicates that the ability has already been developed in past life times and is available for use in this one.
South Node/North Node: These are associated with the Moon. The North Node is the path of spiritual growth, and represents “new territory, spiritually”. As such it is known as the path to spiritual growth. The South Node represents “where we’ve been, what we’ve learned and brought with us into this incarnation, for better or worse. They are always exactly opposite each other, like the North and South Poles of the earth.
Square: Keyword is obstacle. Squares represent the lessons we have failed to learn. The quickest way to release ourselves from these difficulties is to face them and solve them. (Astrology: A Cosmic Science, pg. 72).
Sun: Keywords: Will, individuality, spirit; faith, confidence, vitality, poise, positivity
Trine: Trines are the harmonies we have earned; the blessings that come when we love and love wisely. Trines throw a protective influence. Benefits that come without effort and without any activity on the part of the individual concerned. They are the results of constructive service and harmonious actions in other lifetimes. (Astrology: A Cosmic Science, pg. 71.)
Uranus: Uranus represents intuition that comes like lightening, in a flash. Uranus is the occultist.
Venus: Love, harmony, refinement, sociability, gentleness, cooperativeness, affection, Constructiveness
Notes and Other Odds & Ends:
* If the natal chart indicates how psychic abilities were used in past lives, or how they will be used in this one, I can not see it, so all psychic gifts, to my knowledge, like everything else in our lives, can be used either for good or evil. The choice is always left up to us. However, no matter its use now or in past lives, there is ALWAYS a good reason..ALWAYS! or as Isabel Hickey says, “It is ALL right.”
* New Age egos will have Uranus, not Aquarius, prominently located (in 1st, 4th, 7th, or10th house, or have it configured with the Sun, Moon or Mercury.) Indicates the person has passed the test of Saturn.
* *If afflicted, investigating into psychic or occult could bring trouble: your intuition will tell you if this applies. It will be an obvious and strong feeling; you cannot make a ‘mistake’ and ‘accidentally’ get into trouble in the metaphysical/occult/esoteric/spiritual realm, because we are always warned in advance, and then we choose to proceed ‘where angels fear to tread’.
* ** No research to back up this claim. This was added because of a strong intuitive feeling that I should, and I always trust these feelings, and act on them. (It’s the only way to develop your own intuitive, psychic skills.)
· *** Compiled specifically to determine if it were possible to see psychic abilities in children born since 1999, who are being identified, according to my understanding, as crystal children because of the color of their auras and their level of spiritual evolution. Those I have met, and whose charts I have done, appear to be spiritually highly evolved, advanced souls. This research project was designed to test this hypothesis.
· # Neptune In square or opposition, can give psychic and intuitive powers but can become the dark occultist if he/she uses power for self. Have attained spirituality in other lifetimes but have lost their equilibrium through not balancing their emotional or devotional fanaticism with mental poise and logic.
Sources:
Green, Jeff, PLUTO: The Evolutionary Journey of the Soul, Llewellyn Publications, 1996
, URANUS: Freedom from the Unknown, Llewellyn Publications, 1988.
Hand, Robert, HOROSCOPE SYMBOLS, Schiffer Publishing, 1981
Hickey, Isabel, ASTROLOGY, A COSMIC SCIENCE: The Classic Work on Spiritual Astrology, CRCS Publications, 1992
Loftus, Myrna, A SPIRITUAL APPROACH TO ASTROLOGY: A Complete Textbook of Astrology, CRCS Publications, 1983
Oken, Alan, ALAN OKEN’S COMPLETE ASTROLOGY, Bantam Books, 1988
Sakoian, Frances & Acker, Louis, THE ASTROLOGER’S HANDBOOK, Harper & Row, 1973
Spiller, Jan, ASTROLOGY FOR THE SOUL, Bantam, 1997
Tierney, Bil, DYNAMICS OF ASPECT ANALYSIS: New Perceptions in Astrology, CRCS Publications, 1983
Tompkins, Sue, ASPECTS IN ASTROLOGY: A Comprehensive Guide to Interpretation, Element Books, Inc., 1995
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THE PEGASUS FILE
Vietnam Special Forces Air Combat Controller; 25 year CIA deep cover agent; US Army pilot flying classified missions during the US invasion of Grenada; Iran-Contra pilot flying cocaine shipments labelled as medical supplies; and member of the ultra-secret, international G7 run Pegasus "Hit Team" - this is the extraordinary story of Gene "Chip" Tatum.
By David Guyatt
Part 1
From sensitive and highly secret - and hitherto largely unknown - Special Forces covert operations in Cambodia, to wandering CIA asset, through to "black ops" activities in Grenada and Oliver North's Iran-Contra "Enterprise," and on to membership in an international "hit team," Gene "Chip" Tatum has seen it all, done it all and is now telling it all.
Tatum knows where the skeletons are buried. Above all he is aware that his testimony implicates serving and former US Presidents, plus a whole list of high government officials, and others, in a welter of nefarious activities - including assassination, blackmail, coercion, gun-running, money-laundering and Cocaine trafficking.
Tatum, a lanky Floridian, turned whistle-blower following his arrest on a treason charge in 1995. The charge was both astonishing and patently ludicrous and resulted in a flurry of press interest with an article appearing in the Tampa Tribune on 4 May 1996. Incredibly, the charge was later dropped to be replaced by a fraud charge - a drastic step-down. Found guilty he was sentenced to serve a 15 month sentence. In March 1996, an additional charge - "conspiring to embezzle" was brought against him. Found guilty he is now incarcerated in Jessup Federal Correctional Facility, Florida, where he is serving a 27 month concurrent sentence.
Many questions continue to hang over the conduct of the trial. His defence lawyer refused to call any of the 80 witnesses nominated by Tatum for the defence. Later he freely confessed to having come under pressure from the Defence Department. Tatum says the first charge was a set-up to discredit him following his "resignation" from Operation Pegasus. The second he views with greater scepticism and concern.
His resignation from Pegasus followed his refusal to "neutralise" a leading US political figure in the 1992 US presidential elections. Tatum declares he will not "participate in assassinations of any sort, character assassinations or anything, of American citizens." He goes on to explain that back in 1994, in a telephone conference call from Oliver North, Felix Rodriguez and the late William Colby of the CIA, he was warned to turn over incriminating documents and tapes he had accumulated for his "retirement." He wryly observes that had he done so, he would probably have been quickly "terminated" in an "extreme" way - a speciality of the Pegasus team of which he was once a member. Countering this demand, he volunteered to plead guilty on a fabricated felony count and serve a twelve month sentence - so that his credibility was damaged in the event he ever decided to speak out. His incarceration for the second charge - and especially the 6 months sentencing of his wife, Nancy - has led him to speak out about his life which spans almost thirty years as a "black" operative. It is an extraordinary story.
OPERATION RED ROCK
Tatum's has written of his early career in the military, and his involvement in a highly sensitive and classified operation in an unpublished manuscript entitled "Operation Red Rock." Joining the Air Force in February 1970, he went through Army jump school; escape and evasion; jungle training; sea survival school; diving school and was assigned along with six others as "Combat Controllers" - the USAF equivalent of Special Forces - receiving his distinctive Special Forces burgundy coloured beret. From there he was assigned to Tinker AFB, Oklahoma, and then on to Fort Bragg, North Carolina - home of the Green Berets - for training in C4 plastic explosives, mines, nuclear, biological and chemical warfare, plus indoctrination in electronic and psychological operations.
Posted to South East Asia as Airman First Class (A1C) in December 1970, he was assigned as a radio operator on a Forward Air Control (FAC) aircraft attached to Task Force Alpha at Nakhon Phanom, Thailand. In short order he was recruited (an involuntary "volunteer") to Team Red Rock. The team was composed of eight US Army Green Berets, three US Navy SEALS and two "cowboys" - a euphemism for CIA paramilitary specialists. With Tatum attached, Team Red Rock totalled 14 in all, and was about to be tasked with an operation that came directly from the White House.
In January 1971 the team received a final briefing from General Alexander Haig - who had flown in specially - along with Central Intelligence Agency, Saigon Chief William Colby; posing as "Mr. Peepers." Haig and Colby outlined the plan, stressing it's importance and extreme classification. President Nixon, desperate to quell domestic riots over an increasingly unpopular war, sought to withdraw all US personnel from Southeast Asia. Withdrawal would - and in the end ultimately did - cause a military vacuum quickly leading to the defeat of South Vietnamese forces.
During those years, Nixon was also running a "secret war" in Cambodia and Laos. In Laos, dwindling number of Meo tribesmen together with covert US personnel employed by the CIA proprietary company, Air America, were battling against superior North Vietnamese ground forces. A much similar pattern was occurring in Cambodia, amid grave fears that the "Domino Theory" would result if either of these two nations were to fall to the communist North Vietnamese. Nixon hoped that the vacuum caused by the withdrawal of US covert forces could be filled by native Cambodian forces. Lon Nol, the Cambodian leader, continued to stubbornly resist Nixon's diplomatic overtures to take up the slack - anxious to hedge his bets and realistic about his chances of survival as Kymer Rouge and Vietnamese forces prepared to swarm-in unhindered by US air power.
A plan had been drawn up at the highest levels of Nixon's administration. Team Red Rock were to secretly enter Cambodia's capital, Phnom Penh, and attack the airport, military and civil installations - wrecking as much havoc as possible. The plan called for the team to parachute into the outskirts of Phnom Penh carrying with them captured NVA "Sappers." Taken in unarmed and alive, the Sappers would be "sacrificed" and their bodies left to be discovered by Cambodian forces. A furious, Lon Nol would assume North Vietnam was to blame. Such an act would, it was hoped, stiffen Lon Nol's backbone. With nowhere else to turn, the US puppet would urgently seek US hardware to strengthen his forces and continue the battle.
The team were not told that they too were to be sacrificed by their President to ensure that word of the operation never reached the light of day. A detachment of Montagnard tribesmen (Yards) in the pay of the CIA were assigned to liquidate each member of the team and dispose of their bodies. The attack went successfully, but the teams suspicion of the "Yards" foiled the betrayal. Using their knowledge of "escape and evasion" tactics the team decided to trek to the Vietnamese border and back to safety with US forces.
Casualties thinned out their numbers until only eight of them remained. Soon these, too, were captured by NVA regulars and underwent hideous torture at the hands of Chinese and Russian interrogators. Ultimately, only Tatum and one other team member survived the ordeal. Convalescing, Tatum was debriefed by CIA station chief, William Colby, and told he would, in future, be kept close to the "Agency". Recruited into the CIA, the yawning door of future "black" operations creaked open. Life would never be the same again for Chip Tatum.
CIA DEEP COVER AGENT
For the next ten years or so, Tatum's covert activities were varied. For awhile he worked out of Homestead Air Force Base where he was NCIOC of the tower receiver sight and MARS station. This was the base which then President Nixon used for his frequent visits to the Key Biscayne, Florida, White House. Much of this period remains obscured behind a thick blanket of classification.
From there he was stationed in Northern Italy, tasked with visiting the border towns of Yugoslavia and Italy. Colby felt that as a young Air Force man, Tatum might be "approached" in these towns for "information." The idea was to make contact with foreign agents and covertly gather information about them and their operations. Later he was tasked with infiltrating Yugoslavia, searching for missing US POW's from Vietnam and elsewhere in Southeast Asia - as well as being assigned to gather intelligence on potential successors to the then Yugoslavian President, Tito.
By 1976, he was operating out of Lamar, Colorado, in a communications facility, called OLAB. His contact there was Don Holmes, president of Valley - a Saving & Loan bank. Tatum acted as his courier shuttling between Lamar and Springfield, Colorado with transaction files. From there he was transferred to McDill Air Force Base, Tampa, Florida. Shortly before his McDill posting, he received a call from Colby telling him he was resigning his position as Director, Central Intelligence and recommending Tatum should de-activate his clandestine CIA activities. Colby continued, saying that remaining active without Colby there to protect him, may place him in personal jeopardy, as he had powerful enemies in Washington. This warning referred to Nixon, Kissinger and Haig and Tatums role and survival from Operation Red Rock. Tatum took good notice of the warning and became de-active. Later, in 1978, he requested and was granted entry into a USAF reserve programme. Leaving active military service he moved to Gunnison, Colorado, and took up a position with Bo Calloway, owner of the Crested Bute Ski area. The appointment was arranged by Colby.
During 1980 he received a visit from two men who informed him he was being reactivated, but into the US Army instead of the Air Force. He was sent to the US Army Flight School for rotary wing training at Fort Rucker. From there he was assigned to the 160th Aviation Battalion/Special Forces at Fort Campbell, Kentucky. Shortly afterwards, the 160th combined with others to form Task Force 160.
It was in this unit that Tatum played a spooky role in the US invasion of Grenada. A photograph of him standing in front of his Hughes MD-500 Defender gunship on the beach-head in Grenada, appeared in the Lousiville Courier Journal, along with a feature story. Tatum will only say of this episode that he "wasn't there" in the same sense that he "wasn't in Cambodia." At that time he was attached to the US Army's 160th air wing at Ft. Campbell. Not only was the Hughes helicopter then not in the Army's inventory, but the 160th didn't officially exist. Jim Malone of the Louisville Courier, finds this extraordinary. He has documents showing the wing was stationed at Ft. Campbell, even though officials in the Pentagon continue to deny it - as they deny the wings role in Grenada. Malone, in a telephone conversation with this writer, advised that the 160th is now stationed at Fort Bragg, North Carolina - home of the famous Special Forces, the Green Berets. Their mission is to fly Delta Teams on covert assignments, Malone added.
THE CONTRA COKE TRAIN
During 1983, Colby established contact again advising him he would shortly be contacted by "a man called North." This, as Tatum was to later discover was none other than Lt. Col. Oliver North - the central architect of Americas Nicaraguan Contra campaign. Besides fighting a covert war, North was also the link-man in much, much dirtier work.
The "Contragate" years teem with well documented accounts of illicit wholesale gun running and dope smuggling. The expose series published in Autumn 1996 by the San Jose Mercury Post, entitled the "Dark Alliance," openly finger-points at the CIA and the Reagan administration for turning a blind-eye to massive Cocaine smuggling. Moreover, the series of articles claim that the explosion of "crack Cocaine" in Los Angeles resulted entirely from the Contra leaders-cum-dope peddlers who made vast personal fortunes from their activities. Today, the official argument remains that the Contra's were "freelancing" without the knowledge or consent of their CIA "handlers" or Norths so called Enterprise. Despite these assertions, mountains of hard evidence point in a different direction including an entry from North's own diary which shows his knowledge of Cocaine shipments.
In stark contrast to these denials, Tatum says North's "Enterprise" not only set-up the Cocaine factories, "ran" the Colombian cartels but were also responsible for master-minding the massive shipments of narcotics into the US. Significantly, he is not alone in making these accusations. A number of those involved in Col. North's operations have subsequently come forward and spilled the beans. Almost all of these "whistle-blowers" have been hounded and jailed. Some have died, whilst others have fled. The whole Contra thing, Tatum states, was also being used by an extremely covert group called Pegasus.
During February 1985, Tatum was piloting "Dustoff" (Medevac) flights for the US Army's 3/498th Medical Company, stationed at Fort Stewart, Georgia. Two flight crews, including Tatum's, were transferred to Palmerola Air Base, Honduras. Each flight consisted of a Pilot, co-pilot, medic and crew chief. Once familiarised they assumed the Medevac mission for Joint Task Force Bravo. In 1984, he had previously infiltrated the 3/498th on the instructions of Lt. Col. Oliver North - who had established contact under the code-name Jake (North had control of the 160th air wing and was also deeply involved with the tactical planning of black ops missions in the Grenada invasion).
On 15 February 1995, during a flight to La Cieba, Honduras, he was instructed to contact his local "handler" - Major Felix Rodriguez - later to prove a major figure in the Iran-Contra investigation. Rodriguez informed Tatum that in addition to his Army "Medevac" duties he was to support covert "Pegasus" missions. These, he was told, would take priority over his other duties. He was also given his "chain of command;" three individuals - any of whom could authorise Pegasus missions.
In addition to Oliver North and Felix Rodriguez, Tatum would, henceforward, take orders from Amiram Nir, a former Mossad agent and Advisor to Vice President Bush. Aviation support for Pegasus missions operated out of Ilapongo airbase, Honduras (home of the CIA proprietary airline Corporate Air Services) plus numerous Contra camps located in the jungles and mountains along the Honduras/Nicaragua border. A common feature of all future Pegasus missions was the transport "of large white coolers in and out of the Contra camps."
On 26 February 1985, Tatum and his crew were instructed to fly two individuals to one of the larger Contra camps on the Honduran border. His flight log lists the names of the two individuals as Bill Cooper and Buzz Sawyer - both of whom worked for Corporate Air Services. Following a meeting between the CIA agents and Contra leaders, Tatum was given a sealed cooler marked "Vaccine" weighing approximately 200 lbs and instructed to deliver it to a USAF C 130 transport plane at La Mesa airport, Honduras. Two crew members off-loading the cooler accidentally dropped it breaking the seal. Inside was over 100 bags of Cocaine. Tatum resealed the cooler and later watched as it was transferred aboard the C-130 outward bound for Panama.
On his return to Palmerola Air Base, Tatum phoned Col. North advising him of his discovery. North replied that it was "a trophy of war" and that the "Sandinistas are manufacturing Cocaine and selling it to fund the military." North closed the conversation by saying that "the Cocaine was bound for the world courts as evidence" against the Sandinistas.
The whole incident struck him as odd and strongly reminded him of earlier missions dating back to 1983-4 when he was stationed at Fort Campbell, Kentucky, as a Special Operations Pilot. Regularly he would tranship white coolers marked as "medical supplies" to Little Rock Air Force Base, Arkansas. On two occasions he carried similar coolers to Mena airport, Arkansas. Deliveries of medical coolers to Mena were picked up by Dr. Dan Lassater - a close confidant of then Arkansas Governor, Bill Clinton. Now almost two years later he decided to document his discovery to safeguard his "retirement." Thereafter, all Pegasus flights were documented on the reverse of his flight logs.
This was a difficult time for Tatum, since he had three balls to juggle at the same time. On the one hand he was flying classified active duty missions for the US Army, on the other he was flying CIA missions arranged through Mil Group A (CIA) - located at the embassy in Tegucigalpa - and thirdly he was flying Pegasus missions under the control of William Colby, Oliver North and George Bush following his recruitment into Pegasus by Colby in 1986,
Tatum completed numerous missions during his rotation to Honduras. Picking up and trans-shipping coolers containing Cocaine was a regular event. Extraordinarily, this included infiltrating Nicaraguan airspace (Tatum says it was not difficult to infiltrate any country and that Foreign Powers would kill to know how it is done) and landing at Bluefields Airbase with deliveries for placement aboard USAF C-123's and C-130's. This was followed by a brief stint to Columbia, where he had been assigned to assist the Drug Enforcement Agencies "war on drugs," only to discover the DEA were heavily engaged in narcotics trafficking.
THE BOSS HOG LIST
One of the most flamboyant individuals involved in the Cocaine trail from Columbia through Honduras, Panama and on in to the United States, was Barry Seal. Seal flew an assortment of aircraft, off-loading shipments of weapons in South America, and picking up deliveries of Cocaine for his return flight to the US on behalf of Col. North's "Enterprise." His primary base of operations was Mena airport, Arkansas. Seal, a CIA "asset" was later arrested and became a Drug Enforcement Agency (DEA) informer. Prior to his killing in 1986 - allegedly by a Medellin Cartel assassination squad in revenge for informing on them - Seal openly boasted he had information that implicated high government officials - including then Vice President Bush - in the Enterprise' narcotics trafficking business.
Tatum would soon get to meet Barry Seal and become close friends. Later, after Seal's death Tatum recalled being present during a meeting between Oliver North, Felix Rodriguez, Amiram Nir and General Alverez from Honduras, when North stated that Vice President Bush was going to have his son, Jeb, arrange "something out of Columbia." This conversation focused on Barry Seal's increasingly notorious activities. Tatum later made the connection that he was present when Seal's fate had been decided. The discussion also made it clear that VP Bush, Governor Clinton and his three respective "handlers" were knee-deep in the Cocaine venture and making a fist load of money.
Unknown to all those present, Seal had earlier provided Tatum with a list of names of those high government officials deeply involved with or responsible for controlling the narcotics business. Seal called them the "Boss Hogs." This has remained a tightly held secret by Tatum until recent weeks. The list cites the surnames and is re-produced below as I received it, complete with mis-spellings where they have occurred. I have appended their full names and titles in brackets where appropriate/available.
UNITED STATES
Casey - (Director of Central Intellignece William Casey)
Clair-George (Clair Elroy George - Head of CIA's Central American Task Force)
Bush - (Vice President George Bush)
Kissinger - (Dr. Henry Kissinger, Chmn Kissinger Associates, former US Secretary
of State, former National Security Adviser)
Haig - (General Alexander Haig, former Secretary of State)
Greg - (Donald Gregg, former National Security Adviser to VP Bush,
ambassador to Korea and alleged joint "controller" of Panama's Manuel
Noriega, along with William Casey).
Clairage (Duane "Dewey" Clarradge, CIA)
Fernandez (Joseph Fernandez - CIA Costa Rican Station Chief)
North (Lt. Col. Oliver North - National Security Council Aide)
Singlaub (John Singlaub, CIA covert operator)
Colby (William Colby, Director of Central Intelligence 1973-76)
Secord (Richard V. Secord, regarded as a "brilliant" CIA black operative)
Weld (William Weld, head of Criminal division, US Justice Department -
instrumental in "blocking" Senate investigations into narcotics
according to testimony of former Senate special investigator, Jack
Blum)
Rodriguez (Felix Rodriguez, CIA officer with close connection to VP Bush)
Peroot (General Peroot, Defence Intelligence Agency)
Most, if not all, of these names are readily familiar to Contragate investigators and journalists covering this story. Allegations regarding the involvement of former President George Bush in the Cocaine business are by no means new - they abound in plentiful supply. The fact that Bush pardoned a number of his closest advisors - who faced criminal prosecution and possible jail - late on Christmas eve 1992, just weeks before Bill Clinton's inaugeration, left a sour taste in the mouths of many. If prosecuted they clearly would've fingered the President himself.
PEGASUS - DIRTY MONEY LAUNDERING
But Tatum's story takes us even further along the dark road of power, greed, and corruption. During l986, he had left Honduras and set up a money laundering business in Watertown, New York State - close to the home base of the Army's 10th Mountain Division at Fort Drum. The location was chosen with care. With access to Fort Drum's telephone lines for secure communications, he was assigned a Cherokee 140 helicopter used to ship personnel and supplies - under radar cover - across the Canadian border. His tenure with these companies lasted from 1986 through to 1990. This was a pure Pegasus operation.
It was at Watertown, that Tatum was provided with a civilian cover in the form of three construction companies: American National Home Builders; American Constructors and American Homes. Funding was provided by Henry Hyde, Republican politician for Illinois - well known as the CIA's "black" money-man. Hyde provided a $250,000 line of credit with Key bank, Watertown. Although Tatum was listed as the President in all three companies, all were in reality under the control of Ben Whittaker, a lawyer from Rochester, New York. Whittaker, Tatum says, is closely associated with Tony Wilson of the Wilson family who owned Xerox Corporation. They are extremely wealthy and "friends of the Rothschilds and Rockerfellers." In addition, he was also closely associated with South Eastern US Investment Group (SEUS) - an investment bank in Savannah, Gorgia, from 1985 through to 1989. Another proprietary he was associated with was Irving Place Development, a service organisation of Irving Bank and Trust Company. Cocaine proceeds were laundered through these companies by an ingenious use of construction loans.
In response to a question asking why was the "drug related money" placed in "Arkansas Colorado and Ohio," Tatum simply explains that he doesn't know why, adding that "It was being done before I got there. I assume banking laws and whether or not Bush had people in his pocket in these areas." He does explain that the primary figure involved in the laundry exercise in Arkansas, was "Jack Stevens." Jackson Stevens, owner of Worthen Bank & Trust Company is closely aligned with President Bill Clinton. Tatum states that " Clinton received the cash and divided it up between Stevens and [Dan] Lasater to clean it up. Stevens company [Worthen bank] was used as the guarantor providing 'warehouse' lines of credit."
Developing this theme in more detail, Tatum explains that the "Enterprise" were receiving drugs in exchange for the guns they supplied to the Contra's. The raw product in the form of coca leaves was supplied by the Colombians and pressed into large cube-shaped bales and then shipped to Nicaragua and Honduras. All the "product" was pre-sold and the delivery into the US "guaranteed."
This eventually resulted in the sale proceeds being pre-paid to Panama, under Noriega's control. Some of this money was washed through banks and other companies operating in Panama and elsewhere. The rest was sent to Arkansas, Ohio and Colorado. Thereafter, the dirty money was filtered via construction loans with permanent "takeouts" "arranged by banks and mortgage lenders." These, in turn, were later sold to Fannie Mae's and Freddie Mac's - negotiable US Federal securities that are traded globally on a daily basis. Each laundry "cycle" lasted from six months to a year. The result was dirty money transformed into good, clean US currency.
This system wasn't arbitrary or accidental. One initial "test-bed" was a small residential mortgage lender named Carl I Brown (CIB), in Kansas. Others were larger and still others became national. All were ultimately destined to be purchased by a bank (proprietary) from Japan within a specific time-frame: 1996 - as part of ongoing Pegasus plans. Eric Brown, the son of the founder of CIB was heavily involved in these activities. Three additional companies were involved to Tatum's knowledge: US Homes, Pulte Homes and Richmond Homes. All became very successful, providing "The American Dream - as VP Bush put it in a meeting in 1987."
PEGASUS - ASSASSINATION & NEUTRALIZATION
Tatum has gone into considerable additional detail regarding the role of Pegasus as he knew it. He believes Pegasus was established during the Eisenhower years as a secret group inside the CIA to spy on that agency on behalf of the President. At some point - believed to be after the assassination of President Kennedy - Pegasus went AWOL from direct US government control and came under the direction of an international Board of Directors which Tatum alleges now include George Bush and Henry Kissinger.
The directors of Pegasus meet once a year in secret conclave following G7 meetings. The group have "representation" from a number of intelligence agencies throughout the world. These included the US Drug Enforcement Agency (DEA), The Central Intelligence Agency (CIA), Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms (ATF) agents, plus agents from British, Israeli, Turkish and Danish Intelligence, plus "others who performed various functions for Pegasus." The mission of Pegasus, Tatum explains, is " to 'align' world leaders and financiers to our (US) policies and standards."
One of Tatum's Pegasus duties included flying "Archer Teams" (a four man hit team) in his helicopter to their insertion point. He states that Enrique Bermudez was assassinated in 1991 by a Pegasus teams, adding he "was shot in the back of the head while walking down the street from about 150 yards." Bermudez, known as "Commander Zero" was the senior Contra leader. Tatum received two broken ribs when he came under small arms fire during the assassination. Following the Nicaraguan war, Bermudez sought a prominent position in the new government. Spurned by President Chamarro, "Commander Zero" tried to pressure Bush to intercede on his behalf, threatening to expose Bush's role in the Cocaine trafficking enterprise. Bush ordered his disposal.
Another Pegasus assassination was that of General Augusto (Dr. Gus) Alverez, the "co-operating" Army Chief of Staff, Honduras. Alverez was assassinated in 1989, following his demand for a bigger split of the Cocaine profits. Tatum also describes his involvement in the assassination of Amiram Nir - the former Israeli Mossad agent who went under the assumed name, Pat Weber. Nir was scheduled to testify to the Senate subcommittee and it was feared he would reveal the truth. He perished following the shooting down of his aircraft with missiles from Tatum's helicopter.
Other "neutralisations" verge on the bizarre. An individual who must remain nameless for a variety of reasons - but whose name is known to this writer - underwent an experience that is both horrific and chilling. Readers are warned that what follows is not at all pleasant. For sake of ease we shall call this individual Mr X or simply X.
Mr. X was a leader of one of the largest CIA-backed Contra groups. He recently testified before the US Senate Intelligence Committee. Formerly, Mr X was a senior executive in a South American subsidiary of leading US soft drinks corporation. During his Senate testimony, he denied any knowledge of CIA involvement in the narcotics trade, adding that condoning such activity would have been foreign to his way of life. Not so, says Tatum. Mr X had been recruited into the CIA by then Director, William Casey, with the assistance of Oliver North.
In 1990, when Nicaraguan leader, Daniel Ortega, announced there would be "free elections," X was ecstatic. He began jostling for position and asked President Bush ensure he be given a prominent position in the new government - in return for his years of toil at the behest of the CIA and the Enterprise. The pressure came in a form that Bush could not ignore. Failure to help his friend would result in Xs intimate knowledge of Bush's involvement in the dope trade being made public. His threat left Bush with a sour taste. A Pegasus team was assigned to neutralise him in early 1990.
X, Tatum states "fancied himself a lover of women. Tall, large-breasted blondes were his favourite. It was determined that, if effectively neutralised, [X] could be an asset. Therefore, it was decided that intimidation would be used to control [X]." They choose to use the drug "Scopolamine" which also went by the nickname "Burundanga" or the "Voodoo drug."
The drug is extracted from the pods of a flowering shrub that grows in remote regions of South America. In it's processed, powdered form, "Scopolomine" is "void of smell, void of taste." When properly administered "it causes absolute obedience," without this being "observable by others." Importantly, the target will not recall any of the events that occurred during the period they were under the spell of the drug. In outlining these details, Tatum adds that it is important to administer the drug in the correct dosage and that he has known targets to die from too high a dose. Others have "remained under the influence of Burundanga for up to three weeks." Precise dosage can be achieved by liquid ingestion; the powder being readily soluble. Ingestion via cigarettes is also an optimum method of ingestion. It is fast acting and takes no more than 20 minutes to work.
X was invited to spend a relaxing week-end at a luxury hotel as a guest of his friend George Bush. The evening started with cocktails and was followed by a fine meal. "Nothing but the best were the orders." Following the meal, he was ushered into the suite of a blonde bomb-shell, supplied by the CIA. A dose of Burundanga had been ingested during pre-dinner cocktails.
His host for the week-end was a trusted18 year veteran field intelligence officer. X was gallant with the blonde as they both moved into the bedroom where video cameras were already set-up in one corner. In short order, the blonde had X standing naked in front of her, slipping his manhood in her mouth. All the while the video cameras whirred. Slowly stripping off, the blonde then instructed X to reciprocate the favour. Naked, the blonde boasted a large erect penis, saying "now take it in your mouth," He obliged, his love-making recorded 24 frames a second on celluloid. The male prostitute was hired, Tatum says, from a bar in New York and killed the same evening.
Two weeks later, X - wholly unaware of the events of that evening - was visited in Nicaragua. He was presented with a copy of the video footage along with instructions. Tatum says that X can never allow that video to be seen "Not only does it reveal his homosexuality, but it also reveals his bestiality and satanic worship rituals." As frame after frame flicked by, X wept, forced to watch himself kill and gut his homosexual lover, and then eat the still warm heart. Neutralised, Mr X became a leading member of the Nicaraguan government a few short weeks later.
PLANNING FOR RETIREMENT
Since 1985, when he first became aware of the Enterprise drug smuggling, Tatum began collecting documents, audio and video tapes for his "retirement." He was acutely aware that most deep cover agents do not survive long in what is a very dirty game at a high-stakes poker table.
When in 1992, President Bush instructed him to "neutralise" Presidential runner Ross Perot, Tatum refused. He turned over a copy of an incriminating tape to President Bush, explaining that it would not be released, providing he, his family and Perot were kept safe. He also told the President that copies of the tape had been placed in six different locations world-wide, and that "if I didn't contact these capsule-holders by a certain time each year, they are to be sent to the addresses on the packaging." He closed the conversation by stating that when he originally "placed the packages, I gave explicit instructions that if I asked for them to be sent back to me, they were to send them to the addresses on the packages." This, Tatum reasoned, would avoid intimidation or torture.
ENDS
In part two we further examine Tatum's extraordinary account of his deep-cover life in Pegasus: included will be George Bush's "scope and mission" paper for the New World Order, which reveals details of the private corporation that is to be the nucleus of the "international master plan for world growth and stability." We also cruise through Tatum's narrative of the "Super Bills" story - how the CIA provided the Shah of Iran with plates and equipment to print "perfect" counterfeit $100 bills and how Pegasus used these in the Iran-Contra scandal.
Also covered is the hidden story why Colombian Cocaine cartel member Pablo Escobar was shot and killed; why Panama's Manuel Noriega warranted a full scale US invasion and imprisonment; and what lay behind the mysterious 1996 death of former Director of Central Intelligence, William Colby. Not least we will examine the shocking role of star prosecution witness Gabriel Taboada, who was "briefed" by the US Justice department to ensure Noriega received a long-term jail sentence. Additional revelations centre on the involvement of President Clinton and close Clinton confidant, William Barr, in the Mena, Arkansas Cocaine industry. Accompanying Part Two will be the full list of names, from 11 countries, of the BOSS HOGS.
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INTRODUCTION {#sec1-1}
============
Salivary gland infections are uncommon in neonates; however, when they occur, they most commonly involve the parotid glands. Only 44 cases have been reported till now in the English literature in the past four decades.\[[@ref1]\] Seventy-seven percent of the neonates affected with neonatal suppurative parotitis (NSP) are male, and only 23% of the neonates require surgical drainage. The most common organism isolated is *Staphylococcus aureus*. The organisms reach the parotid gland via the Stensen\'s duct and less commonly through the blood. Intravenous antibiotic therapy is recommended for treatment, and surgical drainage is needed in only a few cases.\[[@ref2]\] We report a full-term breast-fed female neonate who developed an acute neonatal parotid abscess.
CASE REPORT {#sec1-2}
===========
A 15-day-old full-term, breast-fed, female neonate presented with a 3 days' history of irritability, fever, poor sucking and left preauricular swelling \[[Figure 1](#F1){ref-type="fig"}\]. She was born at full-term by normal vaginal delivery in an uneventful pregnancy, and her birth weight was 2950 g. On admission, the baby was irritable and dehydrated, and her weight was 2800 g and axillary temperature was 38.5°C. Examination revealed a toxic neonate with erythema and a hot and fluctuant swelling of the left parotid gland of size 5 cm × 5 cm. Pus exuded from the left Stensen\'s duct on applying pressure on the external surface. Systemic examination was otherwise unremarkable. Aspiration of the swelling revealed thick pus.
{#F1}
Laboratory tests revealed haemoglobin 13 g/dl, white blood cells 17.6 × 10^9^/L, urea 4.5 mg/dl, sodium 142 mmol/dl, potassium 5.2 mmol/dl and chloride 109 mmol/dl. Ultrasound of the parotid glands demonstrated an enlarged left parotid gland with hypoechoic areas with a few pockets of thick pus which is suggestive of acute suppurative parotitis \[[Figure 2](#F2){ref-type="fig"}\].
{#F2}
Rehydration of the baby was done with intravenous fluid and was started on intravenous cefotaxime (100 mg/kg/day) at the time of admission. The parotid abscess was surgically drained \[[Figure 3](#F3){ref-type="fig"}\], and the patient showed gradual improvement. The pus culture showed methicillin-resistant *S. aureus*. In spite of gradual improvement, the antibiotic treatment was switched to intravenous vancomycin (40 mg/kg/day) according to the pus culture. The treatment was continued for 10 days with complete recovery. On follow-up examination, there was no residue or abnormality of the gland, and she did not show chronic recurrent parotitis.
{#F3}
DISCUSSION {#sec1-3}
==========
NSP is a rare disease. In infants, infection of the parotid glands is more common than infection of the sub-mandibular glands.\[[@ref3][@ref4]\]
Spiegel *et al*. and Ismail *et al*. reviewed the cases of patients with NSP during the past five decades, mostly from case reports.\[[@ref1]\] All neonates showed parotid gland swelling with varying degrees of erythema, warmth and tenderness. One of the risk factors for NSP is considered to be insufficient breast-feeding. Other risk factors such as pre-maturity, environmental hot weather, excessive oral suctioning nasogastric tube feeding, maternal breast abscess in a breast-fed infant,\[[@ref6]\] cytomegalovirus parotitis and maternal treatment with methyldopa have been linked to NSP in the recent case reports. Seventy-seven per cent of the NSP are unilateral and common in male.\[[@ref5]\] Pus exudes from the Stensen\'s duct on application of pressure externally to the affected gland in most of the cases.\[[@ref7][@ref8]\] The most common organism causing NSP is *S. aureus* followed by Gram-positive, Gram-negative and rarely anaerobic organisms.\[[@ref5]\] In NSP, infection of parotid glands most commonly occurs by retrograde spread of the organisms from the oral cavity through the Stensen\'s duct and rarely by haematogenous spread.\[[@ref3]\] Infection of the parotid gland may be initiated by dehydration leading to precipitation of the mucous or stone formation in the Stensen\'s duct.\[[@ref1]\]
NSP commonly presents with fever, erythema and swelling in the preauricular region. The infection may be bilateral. Purulent drainage from Stensen\'s duct is pathognomonic of this condition. Leucocytosis above 15 × 10^9^/L with neutrophil predominance was found in 71% of the cases, and the erythrocyte sedimentation rate was elevated in only 20% of the patients.\[[@ref1]\] In our patient, leucocyte counts are elevated with neutrophil predominance. Laboratory findings have been non-specific and not very helpful in the diagnosis of NSP. Ultrasonography of the parotid gland usually demonstrates enlarged parotid gland with oedema, increased vascularity and hypoechoic areas.\[[@ref3]\]
Neonatal suppurative parotitis resolves with antibiotic treatment in majority of cases. The empirical antibiotics used in NSP are a combination of anti-staphylococcal agent and an aminoglycoside, or a third-generation cephalosporin along with clindamycin or a similar medication to cover possible anaerobic infection, are good initial choices until the pus culture reports are available. After starting antibiotics, fever usually settles down within 24 h and the swelling decreases within 3--5 days. Surgical drainage is needed in only a few cases (23%),\[[@ref1]\] where there is a delay in seeking medical attention, or the organism is resistant to the empirical antibiotic therapy. Facial palsy, salivary fistula, mediastinitis resulting from pus tracking down the carotid sheath and rupture into the external auditory meatus are the complications of NSP, but these are uncommon due to the prompt initiation of antibiotic therapy.\[[@ref3][@ref9]\]
CONCLUSION {#sec1-5}
==========
Although acute NSP is a rare disease, it should be suspected in all the patients presenting with unilateral or bilateral preauricular swelling with redness and fever. Medical treatment with antibiotics may usually suffice in most of the cases to resolve the infection, but in a few cases, surgical drainage may be needed.
Declaration of patient consent {#sec2-1}
------------------------------
The authors certify that they have obtained all appropriate patient consent forms. In the form the patient(s) has/have given his/her/their consent for his/her/their images and other clinical information to be reported in the journal. The patients understand that their names and initials will not be published and due efforts will be made to conceal their identity, but anonymity cannot be guaranteed.
Financial support and sponsorship {#sec2-2}
---------------------------------
Nil.
Conflicts of interest {#sec2-3}
---------------------
There are no conflicts of interest.
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The rise and fall of the Old World savannah fauna and the origins of the African savannah biome.
Despite much interest in the ecology and origins of the extensive grassland ecosystems of the modern world, the biogeographic relationships of savannah palaeobiomes of Africa, India and mainland Eurasia have remained unclear. Here we assemble the most recent data from the Neogene mammal fossil record in order to map the biogeographic development of Old World mammalian faunas in relation to palaeoenvironmental conditions. Using genus-level faunal similarity and mean ordinated hypsodonty in combination with palaeoclimate modelling, we show that savannah faunas developed as a spatially and temporally connected entity that we term the Old World savannah palaeobiome. The Old World savannah palaeobiome flourished under the influence of middle and late Miocene global cooling and aridification, which resulted in the spread of open habitats across vast continental areas. This extensive biome fragmented into Eurasian and African branches due to increased aridification in North Africa and Arabia during the late Miocene. Its Eurasian branches had mostly disappeared by the end of the Miocene, but the African branch survived and eventually contributed to the development of Plio-Pleistocene African savannah faunas, including their early hominins. The modern African savannah fauna is thus a continuation of the extensive Old World savannah palaeobiome.
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{
"pile_set_name": "PubMed Abstracts"
}
|
Feb 04 2015, 9:26 am
ATTORNEY FOR APPELLANT ATTORNEY FOR APPELLEE
Jason J. Pattison Gregory F. Zoeller
Jenner Pattison Hensley & Wynn, LLP Attorney General of Indiana
Madison, Indiana
Brian Reitz
Deputy Attorney General
Indianapolis, Indiana
IN THE
COURT OF APPEALS OF INDIANA
Chad A. Madden, February 4, 2015
Appellant-Defendant, Court of Appeals Case No.
39A01-1404-CR-173
v. Appeal from the Jefferson Superior
Court
State of Indiana, The Honorable Alison T. Frazier,
Judge
Appellee-Plaintiff
Cause No. 39D01-1206-FB-721
Mathias, Judge.
[1] Chad A. Madden (“Madden”) appeals the order of the Jefferson Superior Court
denying his motion to correct error which claimed that the trial court had
improperly delegated to the Community Corrections program the authority to
decide whether Madden should be subject to electronic monitoring.
[2] We affirm.
Court of Appeals of Indiana | Opinion 39A01-1404-CR-173 | February 4, 2015 Page 1 of 18
Facts and Procedural History
[3] On June 28, 2011, pursuant to a plea agreement, Madden pled guilty to one
count of Class D felony receiving stolen property in Cause No. 39D01-1006-FB-
487 (“Cause No. 487”). The trial court accepted the plea agreement and
imposed a three-year suspended sentence. Nine months later, on March 13,
2012, the State charged Madden with one count of Class A misdemeanor check
deception in Cause No. 39D01-1203-CM-305 (“Cause No. 305”).
[4] On June 7, 2012—at which time Madden was on probation in Cause No. 487,
and his charges under Cause No. 305 were pending—security cameras recorded
him stealing several cartons of cigarettes from a gas station in Hanover,
Indiana. The next day, when police officers attempted to arrest Madden, he fled
on foot and, after a brief chase, had to be subdued with a taser. After Madden
was apprehended, the police discovered methamphetamine and methadone in
his possession. Accordingly, on June 11, 2012, the State charged Madden in
Cause No. 39D01-1206-FB-721 (“Cause No. 721”) as follows: Count I, Class B
felony possession of methamphetamine; Count II, Class C felony possession of
a controlled substance; Count III, Class D felony theft; Count IV, Class A
misdemeanor resisting law enforcement; and Count V, Class A misdemeanor
possession of paraphernalia. In addition, the State filed a petition to revoke
Madden’s probation in Cause No. 487.
[5] On March 6, 2013, Madden entered into a plea agreement with the State
whereby he pleaded guilty to the reduced charge of Class D felony possession of
Court of Appeals of Indiana | Opinion 39A01-1404-CR-173 | February 4, 2015 Page 2 of 18
methamphetamine in Cause No. 721, Class A misdemeanor check deception in
Cause No. 305, and admitted that he violated his probation in Cause No. 487.
The trial court accepted the plea agreement and, per its terms, sentenced
Madden to three years for possession of methamphetamine, one year for check
deception, and reinstated his three-year suspended sentence for the probation
violation—all to be fully executed and served consecutively. In accordance with
the plea agreement, the trial court also referred Madden to the “Purposeful
Incarceration” program, with the recommendation that he be placed in the
Therapeutic Community Program (“TCP”) at Branchville Correctional Facility.
The Department of Correction (“DOC”) subsequently assigned Madden to
Branchville, and on April 22, 2013, he enrolled in the TCP.
[6] Another provision of the plea agreement stipulated that upon his successful
completion of the TCP, Madden could petition the trial court for a sentence
modification. On December 18, 2013, Madden filed a petition to modify his
sentence based on his completion of the TCP program. The trial court held a
hearing on Madden’s sentence modification petition on February 19, 2014, and
issued an order that same day granting the petition. In its sentence modification
order, the trial court found that the sentences under Cause No. 487 and Cause
No. 305 had been fully served. The court then suspended the remaining
sentence under Cause No. 721 to supervised probation. The trial court also
ordered Madden:
to report to the Jefferson County Community Corrections Department
as a specific term of probation with determination of appropriate
program to be made by the Community Corrections Department, and
Court of Appeals of Indiana | Opinion 39A01-1404-CR-173 | February 4, 2015 Page 3 of 18
shall include all other terms of probation as outlined in the Terms of
Supervised Probation With Community Corrections Placement prepared by
the Court, read to the defendant at this hearing, and filed in this
matter.
Appellant’s App. p. 98. In relevant part, the Terms of Probation instructed
Madden to:
14. comply with all rules for Community Corrections placement,
including but not limited to “component rules”, and with any program
recommended or required by Community Corrections, including electronic
monitoring, day reporting, counseling, and educational programs[.]
[I]n the event that [C]ommunity Corrections recommends or requires
electronic monitoring, the following conditions and terms apply:
15. . . . be confined to home at all times except when the defendant is
a. working at employment approved by the Court or traveling to
or from said employment,
b. unemployed and seeking employment approved by the Court,
c. undergoing counseling, medical, mental health, psychiatric
treatment, or other treatment approved by the Court,
d. attending an educational institution or facility or other
program approved by the Court,
e. attending a regularly scheduled religious service at a bona fide
place of worship,
f. participating in a community work release or community
service program approved by the Court, or
g. engaged in another activity approved in advance by the Court
or Community Corrections[.]
Appellant’s App. p. 94 (emphasis added). The Terms of Probation further notified
Madden that a violation of the electronic monitoring rules could result in a criminal
charge for escape; that he was obligated to abide by a schedule prepared by
Court of Appeals of Indiana | Opinion 39A01-1404-CR-173 | February 4, 2015 Page 4 of 18
Community Corrections and to communicate any changes in that schedule with
Community Corrections; that he must maintain a working land-line telephone at his
house; and that he would be responsible for payment of all applicable electronic
monitoring fees. At the modification hearing, Madden acknowledged that he
understood and agreed to comply with the Terms of Probation.
[7] On March 19, 2014, Madden filed a motion to correct error. He alleged that
the trial court improperly delegated its authority by allowing Community
Corrections to decide whether—and for what duration—he should be placed on
electronic monitoring as a condition of his probation.1 On March 21, 2014, the
trial court denied his motion without a hearing. Madden now appeals.
Standard of Review
[8] Madden claims that the trial court erred in setting the conditions of his
probation. We first note that he is appealing from the trial court’s denial of his
motion to correct error. On review, our court will uphold a trial court’s ruling
on a motion to correct error absent an abuse of discretion. Nichols v. State, 947
N.E.2d 1011, 1015 (Ind. Ct. App. 2011), reh’g denied. The trial court abuses its
discretion when its decision is clearly against the logic and effect of the facts
and circumstances, or when the trial court misinterprets the law. Heaton v. State,
984 N.E.2d 614, 616 (Ind. 2013). To the extent that Madden has presented any
1
The record does not indicate whether Community Corrections did, in fact, subject Madden to electronic
monitoring.
Court of Appeals of Indiana | Opinion 39A01-1404-CR-173 | February 4, 2015 Page 5 of 18
issues that involve questions of law, our review is de novo. Nichols, 947 N.E.2d
at 1015.
[9] We also note that trial courts are vested with broad discretion in establishing
the terms of probation, which are subject to review only for an abuse of
discretion. Berry v. State, 10 N.E.3d 1243, 1247 (Ind. 2014). Probation
conditions “must be reasonably related to the treatment of the defendant and
the protection of public safety.” Hurd v. State, 9 N.E.3d 720, 726 (Ind. Ct. App.
2014). Accordingly, our task on review is to consider whether the conditions
imposed on the defendant “are reasonably related to attaining these goals.” Id.
Although probation and community corrections programs are not precisely the
same, they are treated the same for many purposes. McQueen v. State, 862
N.E.2d 1237, 1243 (Ind. Ct. App. 2007). Both probation and community
corrections serve as alternatives to commitment to the DOC; they both are
made at the sole discretion of the trial court; a defendant is not entitled to serve
a sentence in either, and placement is a “matter of grace” and a “favor, not a
right”; and the due process rights for revocation of community corrections
placement and probation hearings are the same. Id.
Discussion and Decision
[10] Madden claims that the trial court erred by delegating to Community
Corrections the authority to determine if, and for how long, he should be placed
on home detention. Home detention, he claims, is a “materially punitive”
condition of probation that must be determined by the trial court, not
Court of Appeals of Indiana | Opinion 39A01-1404-CR-173 | February 4, 2015 Page 6 of 18
Community Corrections. Madden notes that Indiana Code section 35-38-2-
1(a)(1) provides that the trial court “shall . . . specify in the record the
conditions of the probation.” He also observes that, as a condition of
probation, “the court may require a person to . . . undergo home detention under
IC 35-38-2.5.” Ind. Code § 35-38-2-2.3(a)(16) (emphasis added). Madden reads
these provisions to mean that only the trial court may determine if and for how
long he should be subject to home detention. We do not agree.
[11] Although trial courts are indeed required by statute to set forth the terms of
probation, they also have authority to allow Community Corrections programs
to supervise various aspects of probation. For example, a trial court may order a
probationer to home detention supervised by a Community Corrections
program. Ind. Code § 35-38-2.5-5(c). A trial court may also order a probationer
subject to such home detention to abide by a schedule prepared by the
Community Corrections program. Ind. Code § 35-38-2.5-6(3). More
importantly, when supervising a probationer on home detention, Community
Corrections programs are specifically required by statute to “set the monitoring
device[2] and surveillance equipment to minimize the possibility that the
2
A “monitoring device” is defined as “an electronic device that:
(1) can record or transmit information twenty-four (24) hours each day regarding an
offender’s:
(A) presence or absence from the offender’s home; or
(B) precise location;
(2) is minimally intrusive upon the privacy of the offender or other persons residing in
the offender’s home
Court of Appeals of Indiana | Opinion 39A01-1404-CR-173 | February 4, 2015 Page 7 of 18
offender or alleged offender can enter another residence or structure without a
violation.” Ind. Code § 35-38-2.5-10(d).
[12] Here, the trial court ordered, as a condition of probation, that Madden be
subject to home detention as supervised by the Community Corrections
program, which is authorized by the home detention statutes. Also, the
Community Corrections program is required by statute to place such a
probationer on electronic monitoring. Given this statutory authority, we cannot
say that the portion of the trial court’s order requiring Madden to comply with
all rules established by the Community Corrections program, including
electronic monitoring, improperly delegates the trial court’s sentencing
authority to the Community Corrections program.
[13] We find the cases cited by Madden in support of his claim to be distinguishable.
For example, Madden cites Freije v. State, 709 N.E.2d 323 (Ind. 1999), to
(3) with the written consent of the offender and with the written consent of other persons
residing in the home at the time an order for home detention is entered, may record or
transmit:
(A) a visual image;
(B) an electronic communication or any sound; or
(C) information regarding the offender’s activities while inside the offender’s home;
and
(4) can notify a probation department, a community corrections program, or a contract
agency if the offender violates the terms of a home detention order.
(b) The term includes any device that can reliably determine the location of an offender
and track the locations where the offender has been, including a device that uses a global
positioning system satellite service.
(c) The term does not include an unmanned aerial vehicle (as defined in IC 35-31.5-2-
342.3).
Ind. Code § 35-38-2.5-3(a).
Court of Appeals of Indiana | Opinion 39A01-1404-CR-173 | February 4, 2015 Page 8 of 18
support his claim that the trial court cannot delegate authority to impose
materially punitive obligations to Community Corrections. However, Freije
does not hold that the trial court may not “delegate” authority to Community
Corrections. Instead, it holds that a trial court may not unilaterally impose
conditions of probation that materially add to the punitive obligation, such as
home detention and community service, after the court has already accepted a
plea agreement which did not contain such conditions. Id. at 325-26. See also
Jackson v. State, 968 N.E.2d 328, 332 (Ind. Ct. App. 2012) (following Freije and
holding that the trial court was without authority to order defendant to perform
community service when such was not provided for in plea agreement); see also
Disney v. State, 441 N.E.2d 489, 493 (Ind. Ct. App. 1982) (holding that trial
court erred in ordering restitution as a condition of probation where such was
not included in the plea agreement). Here, however, Madden does not claim
that the trial court’s modification of his sentence is contrary to his plea
agreement.3 In fact, the plea agreement specifically authorizes the trial court to
modify Madden’s sentence, and the plea agreement places no limitations on the
trial court’s discretion in so modifying the sentence. See Appellant’s App. p .61.
[14] Similarly, McGuire v. State, 625 N.E.2d 1281 (Ind. Ct. App. 1993), provides little
support for Madden’s position. That case held that a trial court erred in
ordering restitution in an amount to be determined by the probation
3
The dissent contends that, even if the trial court had authority to “delegate” to Community Corrections the
authority to determine the conditions of Madden’s electronic monitoring, such a condition would violate the
terms of his plea agreement. We disagree, and as noted above, Madden does not directly claim that the trial
court’s modification order violated the plea agreement.
Court of Appeals of Indiana | Opinion 39A01-1404-CR-173 | February 4, 2015 Page 9 of 18
department, not to exceed $250. Id. at 1282. The court noted that the statutory
authority to order restitution granted such authority to the trial court, not the
probation department. Id. Here, in contrast, the relevant statutes authorize the
trial court to impose home detention as a condition of probation and to have a
Community Corrections program supervise such home detention. Other
statutes authorize the Community Corrections program to set rules for
probationers placed in the program and specifically requires Community
Corrections to set monitoring devices and surveillance equipment to ensure a
probationer’s compliance.4
[15] Madden also claims that the trial court’s order deprives him of due process.
Although not entitled to the full panoply of rights afforded to a criminal
defendant, a probationer is entitled to certain minimum requirements of
procedural due process, which include:
(a) written notice of the claimed violations of probation; (b) disclosure
to the probationer of the evidence against him; (c) opportunity to be
heard in person and to present witnesses and documentary evidence;
(d) the right to confront and cross-examine adverse witnesses (unless
the hearing officer specifically finds good cause for not allowing
confrontation); (e) a neutral and detached hearing body; and (f) a
written statement by the fact finders as to the evidence relied on and
reasons for revoking probation.
4
The other cases cited by Madden are also unavailing. Ratliff v. State, 546 N.E.2d 309, 313 (Ind. Ct. App.
1989), simply holds that “a defendant’s probation cannot be revoked for the violation of conditions not
specified, either orally or in writing, at the time of sentencing.” Here, however, the terms of Madden’s
probation, including any electronic monitoring, are set forth in the written terms of his probation. Nor has
Madden yet been accused of violating any of the conditions of his probation; he is simply challenging the
terms of his probation. Also, United States v. Bonanno, 146 F.3d 502, 511 (7th Cir. 1998), held that the trial
court exceeded its authority and gave to the probation office too much discretion to manage drug tests of the
defendant. However, not only is Bonanno not binding on this court, the statutes at issue here do authorize the
actions of the trial court.
Court of Appeals of Indiana | Opinion 39A01-1404-CR-173 | February 4, 2015 Page 10 of 18
Pope v. State, 853 N.E.2d 970, 972-73 (Ind. Ct. App. 2006) (citing Morrissey v.
Brewer, 408 U.S. 471, 489 (1972)). In arguing that he was denied due process,
Madden first simply reiterates his claims regarding the trial court’s allegedly
improper “delegation.” Madden then argues:
By delegating that authority to Community Corrections the Trial
Court eliminates the probationers right to a hearing, where [the
defendant] should be represented by counsel, be provided the
opportunity to present evidence, and have the opportunity to contest
Community Corrections decision to impinge on their “conditional
liberty interest”.
Appellant’s Br. p. 11. To the extent that Madden’s argument refers to the trial
court’s sentence modification order, we would note that Madden was in fact
provided with a hearing, at which he was represented by counsel and presented
evidence to support his sentence modification. Accordingly, we cannot see any
violation of procedural due process in this regard.
[16] If Madden is instead referring to any future finding by the Community
Corrections program that he violated his probation, this question is not yet ripe
for review as Madden has not yet been found to be in violation of any terms of
his probation. Moreover, we find nothing in Madden’s Terms of Probation that
would indicate that the trial court intended to allow the Community
Corrections program unilaterally to determine whether Madden had violated
the terms of his probation.5
5
Further, as we noted in Pope, even if we were to conclude that “Community Corrections [is] the proper
decision-making authority,” a doubtful proposition, then Community Corrections would be “required to give
[the probationer] notice and a hearing.” 853 N.E.2d at 973.
Court of Appeals of Indiana | Opinion 39A01-1404-CR-173 | February 4, 2015 Page 11 of 18
Conclusion
[17] The trial court’s order modifying Madden’s sentence and imposing conditions
of probation did not improperly delegate the trial court’s authority to
Community Corrections, nor did the trial court’s order deprive Madden of
procedural due process.
[18] Affirmed.
Crone, J., concurs.
Riley, J., dissents with opinion.
Court of Appeals of Indiana | Opinion 39A01-1404-CR-173 | February 4, 2015 Page 12 of 18
IN THE
COURT OF APPEALS OF INDIANA
Chad A. Madden, February 4, 2015
Appellant-Defendant, Court of Appeals Case No.
39A01-1404-CR-173
v. Appeal from the Jefferson Superior
Court
State of Indiana, The Honorable Alison T. Frazier,
Judge
Appellee-Plaintiff
Cause No. 39D01-1206-FB-721
Riley, Judge, dissenting.
[19] I disagree with the majority that the trial court did not improperly delegate its
authority to Community Corrections to determine whether, and for what
duration, Madden should be subject to electronic monitoring—i.e., home
detention—as a condition of his probation. Therefore, I respectfully dissent.
[20] Indiana’s probation statute unambiguously states that “[w]henever it places a
person on probation, the court shall . . . specify in the record the conditions of
the probation.” Ind. Code § 35-38-2-1(a)(1) (emphasis added). Specifically,
“the court may require a person to do [any] combination” of twenty-three
statutorily-enumerated conditions, one of which is to “[u]ndergo home
detention.” I.C. § 35-38-2-2.3(a)(16) (emphasis added). In addition, the home
detention statute specifies that “as a condition of probation a court may order an
Court of Appeals of Indiana | Opinion 39A01-1404-CR-173 | February 4, 2015 Page 13 of 18
offender confined to the offender’s home for a period of home detention lasting
at least sixty (60) days.” I.C. § 35-38-2.5-5 (emphasis added).
[21] Once a court has ordered electronic monitoring as a condition of probation, it
may assign supervisory duties to a community corrections department. I.C. §
35-38-2.5-5(c). See White v. State, 560 N.E.2d 45, 47 (Ind. 1990) (noting that the
trial court “sets the ‘conditions of probation’ and the probation officer
supervises and assists the defendant in implementing and carrying out those
conditions”). The majority assumes that Community Corrections’ supervisory
role equates to having the authority to require home detention. 6 I disagree.
[22] The probation and home detention statutes explicitly establish that the duty to
demarcate the conditions of probation resides squarely with the trial court. See
McGuire v. State, 625 N.E.2d 1281, 1282 (Ind. Ct. App. 1993) (finding the trial
court improperly delegated authority to the probation department to fix the
amount and manner of restitution because the probation statute specifically
directs the trial court to make these determinations). Nowhere in these statutes
is there language indicating that the trial court may delegate its authority to
define a defendant’s terms of probation, and “it is just as important to recognize
what a statute does not say as it is to recognize what it does say.” Million v.
6
The State contends that community corrections programs are statutorily authorized to establish their own
rules, and “community corrections inherently includes ‘electronic monitoring.’” (State’s Br. p. 8). In support
of this argument, the State relies on Indiana Code chapter 35-38-2.6, which governs direct placement in a
community corrections program. Contrary to a sentence that has been suspended to probation, direct
placement is a means of serving the executed portion of a sentence and must be succeeded by a term of
probation. I.C. § 35-38-2.6-7; Brown v. State, 894 N.E.2d 598, 600-01 (Ind. Ct. App. 2008). Home detention
may be ordered for either probation or direct placement in community corrections; here, however, the trial
court expressly made Madden’s compliance with Community Corrections’ requirements a condition of his
probation. Thus, this case is governed by Indiana Code chapter 35-38-2 and chapter 35-38-2.5.
Court of Appeals of Indiana | Opinion 39A01-1404-CR-173 | February 4, 2015 Page 14 of 18
State, 646 N.E.2d 998, 1002 (Ind. Ct. App. 1995). Contrary to the majority’s
contention that “the Community Corrections program is required by statute to
place such a probationer on electronic monitoring[,]” the home detention
statute specifies that a “community corrections program charged by a court
with supervision of offenders and alleged offenders ordered to undergo home
detention shall, at the beginning of a period of home detention, set the
monitoring device . . . .” I.C. § 35-38-2.5-10(d) (emphasis added).
Accordingly, before Community Corrections may “set the monitoring device,”
there must be an order for home detention from the trial court. See I.C. §§§ 35-
38-2.5-5; -6; -10(d).
[23] Moreover, a probationer must receive “prospective notice of the standard of
conduct required of him or her while on probation.” Million, 646 N.E.2d at
1000. Pursuant to the probation statute, “the trial court must provide the
defendant a written statement containing the terms and conditions of probation
at the sentencing hearing.” Gil v. State, 988 N.E.2d 1231, 1234 (Ind. Ct. App.
2013); see I.C. § 35-38-2-2.3(b)(1). If no written statement is furnished, the
record must at least reflect “that the probationer has been orally advised by the
sentencing court of the conditions of his probation and [that] the defendant
specifically acknowledges that he understands those conditions.” Seals v. State,
700 N.E.2d 1189, 1190 (Ind. Ct. App. 1998).
[24] The majority correctly notes that Madden has not been accused of any
probation violations, but the purpose of requiring a record of the specific terms
of probation is also to “prohibit the imposition of additional conditions after
Court of Appeals of Indiana | Opinion 39A01-1404-CR-173 | February 4, 2015 Page 15 of 18
sentencing.” Million, 646 N.E.2d at 1000. At the time of sentencing,
probations are “entitled to provisions which establish definite restrictions during
the probation period.” Dulin v. State, 346 N.E.2d 746, 754 (Ind. Ct. App. 1976),
reh’g denied. “[T]he language must be such that it describes with clarity and
particularity the misconduct that will result in penal consequences.” Hunter v.
State, 883 N.E.2d 1161, 1163 (Ind. 2008).
[25] Here, the Terms of Probation failed to conclusively apprise Madden of his
obligations because the condition of home detention was tentative, pending an
assessment by Community Corrections. The Terms of Probation specified the
rules that would govern Madden’s confinement in the event that Community
Corrections elected to require electronic monitoring, and Madden agreed to
comply with these rules when read aloud by the trial court. See I.C. §§ 35-38-
2.5-6; -7(a). Thus, there is no dispute that Madden had notice of the restrictions
to which he might be subjected. However, absent an order from the trial court
definitively making home detention/electronic monitoring a condition of his
probation, these parameters are inconsequential. Accordingly, I would find
that the trial court abused its discretion by authorizing Community Corrections
to officially decide whether to impose the condition of home detention.
[26] Furthermore, notwithstanding whether the trial court improperly delegated a
sentencing decision to Community Corrections, I would nevertheless find that
it was an abuse of discretion to require electronic monitoring as a condition of
Madden’s probation because the trial court’s initial sentencing decision and
basis for modification were controlled by the plea agreement. Upon acceptance
Court of Appeals of Indiana | Opinion 39A01-1404-CR-173 | February 4, 2015 Page 16 of 18
of a plea agreement, which is contractual in nature, the trial court is bound by
its terms “and is precluded from imposing any sentence other than required by
the plea agreement.” Jackson v. State, 968 N.E.2d 328, 332 (Ind. Ct. App. 2012)
(quoting Bennett v. State, 802 N.E.2d 919, 921 (Ind. 2004)). Similarly, a
sentence may only be modified to the extent that it would not violate the plea
agreement “had it been the sentence originally imposed.” Pannarale v. State, 638
N.E.2d 1247, 1249 (Ind. 1994).
[27] The plea agreement fixed Madden’s aggregate executed sentence at seven years.
Other than a provision stipulating that the State and trial court could “consider
modification of [Madden] to Jefferson County” upon his completion of the
Therapeutic Community Program, the plea agreement is entirely silent
regarding any terms of probation. (Appellant’s App. p. 61). Moreover, no
language in the plea agreement even confers the trial court with discretion over
the probationary terms.
[28] It is well established that where the terms of probation are not contemplated by
the plea agreement, “[t]rial courts are free to impose administrative or
ministerial conditions as terms of probation.” S.S. v. State, 827 N.E.2d 1168,
1171 (Ind. Ct. App. 2005), trans. denied. Such conditions may include reporting
to a probation department, supporting dependents, and maintaining
employment. Disney v. State, 441 N.E.2d 489, 494 (Ind. Ct. App. 1982). In fact,
an offender “should reasonably expect that the county’s standard conditions [of
probation] may apply.” Freije v. State, 709 N.E.2d 323, 325 (Ind. 1999).
However, the court is precluded from levying “‘substantial obligations of a
Court of Appeals of Indiana | Opinion 39A01-1404-CR-173 | February 4, 2015 Page 17 of 18
punitive nature’ if the plea agreement ‘is silent to such punitive conditions.’”
Jackson, 968 N.E.2d at 332 (quoting Bennett, 802 N.E.2d at 921). Home
detention is undisputedly a condition that “materially add[s] to the punitive
obligation.” Freije, 709 N.E.2d at 325-26. Because the plea agreement did not
specify that the trial court had the discretion to impose punitive conditions of
probation, I would find that it lacked the authority to order Madden to be
placed on home detention. See Berry v. State, 10 N.E.3d 1243, 1249 (Ind. 2014).
Even Madden’s verbal assent to the Terms of Probation is insufficient to permit
the trial court to vary the terms of the plea agreement by adding a punitive
obligation. Jackson, 968 N.E.2d at 332.
[29] Based on the foregoing, I would reverse and remand with instructions for the
trial court to revise Madden’s Terms of Probation.
Court of Appeals of Indiana | Opinion 39A01-1404-CR-173 | February 4, 2015 Page 18 of 18
|
{
"pile_set_name": "FreeLaw"
}
|
Hey everybody, welcome back
to Lingua e Passione
my name is Stefano and I'm very,
very happy to be back!
It's been quiet on this channel lately,
I know....
but I am so grateful for you to be
still around
and I've also seen that many people have continued to subscribe to my channel
even though I haven't been able to upload any videos
in the last few months
actually the lockdown put me in a difficult spot
I was unable to record any video,
let alone to upload multiple ones
on the channel
but thank you so much for
bearing with me lately
and I am back now
and I'm absolutely delighted to be back!
Today's topic is German,
this is going to be a video completely in German
with English subtitles for those of you
who do not understand this language
we're going to talk about how and why
I learnt German
and how I made it an integral part
of my life
This is a topic that many of you asked for
after my poll video in May
Just one more thing before we start:
in a week or so... it's really a matter of days
an epic video is coming up on my channel
you really don't wanna miss that one
so make sure you stick around, subscribe,
and all that good stuff
so that you don't miss it, right? Ok,
I won't let you wait any longer
let's listen to some German,
and I really hope you enjoy!
Hey lovely people! It is a true joy for me
to be able to sit down here today
and to tell you guys my German story
that is to say how and why I know German
and I even made this beautiful language an important part of my life
I also hope that this video can be useful
for all those who are learning German
and who maybe would like to practise
their listening and comprehension skills
German is still today my strongest foreign language
it was also the first language I truly felt in love with
when I was in high school and started learning German,
I was about 14 or 15 years old
German kinda enchanted me
from the very first moment
It was probably my favourite subject at school
together with physical education in the sports hall
I loved to play volleyball and I loved to learn German
I obviously had German classes just like
all my classmates
but I was eager to know more, to discover more
maybe I studied more, I was very diligent
you could have said I was a swot
but I actually see it differently
I believe my passion for languages was already obvious,
it was showing itself already then
in that - as mentioned earlier - I studied more, "crammed" more, if you will
and I was really eager to know more
to learn German faster and better
after school I continued to study at university
I studied translation and interpretation
with German as a working language
I also spent a winter term at the university of Heidelberg
as part of the Erasmus programm
and also later, when I graduated from my university in Milan
I spent one more year - a bit more
than one year actually - in Heidelberg
where I attended Japanese courses at university
among other things
and I also worked as a translator back then
translating a novel from German into Italian
and, well, Heidelberg changed my life
forever and ever
I have also worked a lot as an interpreter
at trade shows
especially with German but also
with other languages
for example in Frankfurt, Munich and also in Milan
So I really lived the language,
I didn't just study it,
but I experienced it, I used it, I worked with it
I had fun with the language, in the language, with my friends
that was critical, that was what
really made a big, big difference
I'm often asked "why can you speak
German so well
and why do you speak with almost no mistake?" etc.
but I think the fact that I really experienced
the language and not merely studied it
that I didn't learn it just from the books
but I used it and learnt it in everyday life
that's one thing
and then secondly...
maybe the fact that I spent a looot of time
with native speakers
trying to imitate them, you know?
as far as pronunciation goes, obviously
I listened to them very very attentively,
and then imitated them as well
I think this helped me a lot to
develop a good accent
As I've already mentioned in my first
multilingual video
which btw is the video that started it all
here on YouTube for me and my channel :)
German is the only language in which
I've had this experience
that I can speak German - a foreign language -
at the same level as my native language
so, for a while, in the past -
we're talking 15 years back or so
I considered German almost as my second native language
because for me it didn't really matter whether I spoke Italian or German
I had this feeling that they were at the same level
this is unfortunately no longer the case
my German has deteriorated a bit in the meantime
or it's no longer as mighty as before
but oh well, just like I said at the beginning of this video
I do think that German is still my strongest language
or at least the language in which
I feel most at ease
in my element :)
What I'd really like to say now is
that I still make mistakes, you know?
after 20 years, I still make mistakes
everybody does, even native speakers do
I make mistakes in Italian
and German native speakers do in German,
it's perfectly normal
but the mistakes I make have usually to do
with the articles
namely masculine and neuter
because I sometimes say "der" instead of "das" and viceversa
and that can't really be helped :D
there are some words where I tend to
forget whether the article is "das" oder "der"
can't do much about it
but guys try not to get frustrated if you make mistakes
it's completely normal,
even after 20 years you can make some
and... so what?
it doesn't matter
what really matters is that you can have fun in the language,
you can work in the language
you can meet people
you can live unforgettable moments
and... discover and conquer new worlds
that is what language learning is to me
Also, no matter what level you're at,
always try to maintain a language
for me it is now almost more important
to maintain the languages that I already know
than to learn 10 new languages or something
because I do feel that forgetting a language
is the worst thing that could happen to a language learner
this is all for today
many many thanks for watching this video
don't forget that in a week's time
a very special video is coming up
with a special guest
don't miss it, ok? :)
See you in the next video, bye!
|
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LISTEN TO TLR’S LATEST PODCAST:
By Anders Hagstrom
Anti-gun groups railed Monday against a bill up for vote this week in the North Carolina House that would allow anyone over the age of 18 to carry a concealed handgun almost anywhere without a permit.
Two anti-gun lobbying groups, “Moms Demand Action” and “Everytown for Gun Safety” paid for polls from SurveyUSA that showed an overwhelming opposition to the legislation, which has already passed through two House committees. Under the law, residents over 18 can carry concealed weapons virtually anywhere in the state. North Carolina currently requires that concealed carry permits only be granted to residents over the age of 21, the Richmond Daily Journal reports.
Republican Rep. Chris Millis calls the bill a “common sense” provision, given that open carry is already legal in the state without a permit.
The SurveyUSA poll found that 89 percent of the state’s voters are against the legislation. Shannon Watts, founder of Moms Demand Action, also used Monday’s Orlando office shooting to advocate national gun control on Twitter.
Right – just another day in America. We're letting the gun lobby and lawmakers beholden to them terrorize us on a daily basis. Orlando https://t.co/zEQGDqjntP — Shannon Watts (@shannonrwatts) June 5, 2017
Anti-gun advocates in the House are unlikely to pass the legislation without a fight, as some see it as a reduction of already lax gun laws.
“Guns don’t kill people, but it is the person behind the gun,” Democratic Rep. Garland Pierce told the Daily Journal. “I do understand that, but I am very concerned. There is going to be a long debate on that bill, I can tell you that.”
The NRA has already issued a statement supporting the bill and urging constituents to contact their representatives to lobby for its passage in the vote later this week.
Content created by The Daily Caller News Foundation is available without charge to any eligible news publisher that can provide a large audience. For licensing opportunities of our original content, please contact [email protected]
WATCH TLR’S LATEST VIDEO:
|
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// Copyright (c) 2018 The LevelDB Authors. All rights reserved.
// Use of this source code is governed by a BSD-style license that can be
// found in the LICENSE file. See the AUTHORS file for names of contributors.
// Prevent Windows headers from defining min/max macros and instead
// use STL.
#ifndef NOMINMAX
#define NOMINMAX
#endif // ifndef NOMINMAX
#include <windows.h>
#include <algorithm>
#include <atomic>
#include <chrono>
#include <condition_variable>
#include <cstddef>
#include <cstdint>
#include <cstdlib>
#include <cstring>
#include <memory>
#include <mutex>
#include <queue>
#include <sstream>
#include <string>
#include <vector>
#include "leveldb/env.h"
#include "leveldb/slice.h"
#include "port/port.h"
#include "port/thread_annotations.h"
#include "util/env_windows_test_helper.h"
#include "util/logging.h"
#include "util/mutexlock.h"
#include "util/windows_logger.h"
namespace leveldb {
namespace {
constexpr const size_t kWritableFileBufferSize = 65536;
// Up to 1000 mmaps for 64-bit binaries; none for 32-bit.
constexpr int kDefaultMmapLimit = (sizeof(void*) >= 8) ? 1000 : 0;
// Can be set by by EnvWindowsTestHelper::SetReadOnlyMMapLimit().
int g_mmap_limit = kDefaultMmapLimit;
std::string GetWindowsErrorMessage(DWORD error_code) {
std::string message;
char* error_text = nullptr;
// Use MBCS version of FormatMessage to match return value.
size_t error_text_size = ::FormatMessageA(
FORMAT_MESSAGE_FROM_SYSTEM | FORMAT_MESSAGE_ALLOCATE_BUFFER |
FORMAT_MESSAGE_IGNORE_INSERTS,
nullptr, error_code, MAKELANGID(LANG_NEUTRAL, SUBLANG_DEFAULT),
reinterpret_cast<char*>(&error_text), 0, nullptr);
if (!error_text) {
return message;
}
message.assign(error_text, error_text_size);
::LocalFree(error_text);
return message;
}
Status WindowsError(const std::string& context, DWORD error_code) {
if (error_code == ERROR_FILE_NOT_FOUND || error_code == ERROR_PATH_NOT_FOUND)
return Status::NotFound(context, GetWindowsErrorMessage(error_code));
return Status::IOError(context, GetWindowsErrorMessage(error_code));
}
class ScopedHandle {
public:
ScopedHandle(HANDLE handle) : handle_(handle) {}
ScopedHandle(const ScopedHandle&) = delete;
ScopedHandle(ScopedHandle&& other) noexcept : handle_(other.Release()) {}
~ScopedHandle() { Close(); }
ScopedHandle& operator=(const ScopedHandle&) = delete;
ScopedHandle& operator=(ScopedHandle&& rhs) noexcept {
if (this != &rhs) handle_ = rhs.Release();
return *this;
}
bool Close() {
if (!is_valid()) {
return true;
}
HANDLE h = handle_;
handle_ = INVALID_HANDLE_VALUE;
return ::CloseHandle(h);
}
bool is_valid() const {
return handle_ != INVALID_HANDLE_VALUE && handle_ != nullptr;
}
HANDLE get() const { return handle_; }
HANDLE Release() {
HANDLE h = handle_;
handle_ = INVALID_HANDLE_VALUE;
return h;
}
private:
HANDLE handle_;
};
// Helper class to limit resource usage to avoid exhaustion.
// Currently used to limit read-only file descriptors and mmap file usage
// so that we do not run out of file descriptors or virtual memory, or run into
// kernel performance problems for very large databases.
class Limiter {
public:
// Limit maximum number of resources to |max_acquires|.
Limiter(int max_acquires) : acquires_allowed_(max_acquires) {}
Limiter(const Limiter&) = delete;
Limiter operator=(const Limiter&) = delete;
// If another resource is available, acquire it and return true.
// Else return false.
bool Acquire() {
int old_acquires_allowed =
acquires_allowed_.fetch_sub(1, std::memory_order_relaxed);
if (old_acquires_allowed > 0) return true;
acquires_allowed_.fetch_add(1, std::memory_order_relaxed);
return false;
}
// Release a resource acquired by a previous call to Acquire() that returned
// true.
void Release() { acquires_allowed_.fetch_add(1, std::memory_order_relaxed); }
private:
// The number of available resources.
//
// This is a counter and is not tied to the invariants of any other class, so
// it can be operated on safely using std::memory_order_relaxed.
std::atomic<int> acquires_allowed_;
};
class WindowsSequentialFile : public SequentialFile {
public:
WindowsSequentialFile(std::string filename, ScopedHandle handle)
: handle_(std::move(handle)), filename_(std::move(filename)) {}
~WindowsSequentialFile() override {}
Status Read(size_t n, Slice* result, char* scratch) override {
DWORD bytes_read;
// DWORD is 32-bit, but size_t could technically be larger. However leveldb
// files are limited to leveldb::Options::max_file_size which is clamped to
// 1<<30 or 1 GiB.
assert(n <= std::numeric_limits<DWORD>::max());
if (!::ReadFile(handle_.get(), scratch, static_cast<DWORD>(n), &bytes_read,
nullptr)) {
return WindowsError(filename_, ::GetLastError());
}
*result = Slice(scratch, bytes_read);
return Status::OK();
}
Status Skip(uint64_t n) override {
LARGE_INTEGER distance;
distance.QuadPart = n;
if (!::SetFilePointerEx(handle_.get(), distance, nullptr, FILE_CURRENT)) {
return WindowsError(filename_, ::GetLastError());
}
return Status::OK();
}
private:
const ScopedHandle handle_;
const std::string filename_;
};
class WindowsRandomAccessFile : public RandomAccessFile {
public:
WindowsRandomAccessFile(std::string filename, ScopedHandle handle)
: handle_(std::move(handle)), filename_(std::move(filename)) {}
~WindowsRandomAccessFile() override = default;
Status Read(uint64_t offset, size_t n, Slice* result,
char* scratch) const override {
DWORD bytes_read = 0;
OVERLAPPED overlapped = {0};
overlapped.OffsetHigh = static_cast<DWORD>(offset >> 32);
overlapped.Offset = static_cast<DWORD>(offset);
if (!::ReadFile(handle_.get(), scratch, static_cast<DWORD>(n), &bytes_read,
&overlapped)) {
DWORD error_code = ::GetLastError();
if (error_code != ERROR_HANDLE_EOF) {
*result = Slice(scratch, 0);
return Status::IOError(filename_, GetWindowsErrorMessage(error_code));
}
}
*result = Slice(scratch, bytes_read);
return Status::OK();
}
private:
const ScopedHandle handle_;
const std::string filename_;
};
class WindowsMmapReadableFile : public RandomAccessFile {
public:
// base[0,length-1] contains the mmapped contents of the file.
WindowsMmapReadableFile(std::string filename, char* mmap_base, size_t length,
Limiter* mmap_limiter)
: mmap_base_(mmap_base),
length_(length),
mmap_limiter_(mmap_limiter),
filename_(std::move(filename)) {}
~WindowsMmapReadableFile() override {
::UnmapViewOfFile(mmap_base_);
mmap_limiter_->Release();
}
Status Read(uint64_t offset, size_t n, Slice* result,
char* scratch) const override {
if (offset + n > length_) {
*result = Slice();
return WindowsError(filename_, ERROR_INVALID_PARAMETER);
}
*result = Slice(mmap_base_ + offset, n);
return Status::OK();
}
private:
char* const mmap_base_;
const size_t length_;
Limiter* const mmap_limiter_;
const std::string filename_;
};
class WindowsWritableFile : public WritableFile {
public:
WindowsWritableFile(std::string filename, ScopedHandle handle)
: pos_(0), handle_(std::move(handle)), filename_(std::move(filename)) {}
~WindowsWritableFile() override = default;
Status Append(const Slice& data) override {
size_t write_size = data.size();
const char* write_data = data.data();
// Fit as much as possible into buffer.
size_t copy_size = std::min(write_size, kWritableFileBufferSize - pos_);
std::memcpy(buf_ + pos_, write_data, copy_size);
write_data += copy_size;
write_size -= copy_size;
pos_ += copy_size;
if (write_size == 0) {
return Status::OK();
}
// Can't fit in buffer, so need to do at least one write.
Status status = FlushBuffer();
if (!status.ok()) {
return status;
}
// Small writes go to buffer, large writes are written directly.
if (write_size < kWritableFileBufferSize) {
std::memcpy(buf_, write_data, write_size);
pos_ = write_size;
return Status::OK();
}
return WriteUnbuffered(write_data, write_size);
}
Status Close() override {
Status status = FlushBuffer();
if (!handle_.Close() && status.ok()) {
status = WindowsError(filename_, ::GetLastError());
}
return status;
}
Status Flush() override { return FlushBuffer(); }
Status Sync() override {
// On Windows no need to sync parent directory. Its metadata will be updated
// via the creation of the new file, without an explicit sync.
Status status = FlushBuffer();
if (!status.ok()) {
return status;
}
if (!::FlushFileBuffers(handle_.get())) {
return Status::IOError(filename_,
GetWindowsErrorMessage(::GetLastError()));
}
return Status::OK();
}
private:
Status FlushBuffer() {
Status status = WriteUnbuffered(buf_, pos_);
pos_ = 0;
return status;
}
Status WriteUnbuffered(const char* data, size_t size) {
DWORD bytes_written;
if (!::WriteFile(handle_.get(), data, static_cast<DWORD>(size),
&bytes_written, nullptr)) {
return Status::IOError(filename_,
GetWindowsErrorMessage(::GetLastError()));
}
return Status::OK();
}
// buf_[0, pos_-1] contains data to be written to handle_.
char buf_[kWritableFileBufferSize];
size_t pos_;
ScopedHandle handle_;
const std::string filename_;
};
// Lock or unlock the entire file as specified by |lock|. Returns true
// when successful, false upon failure. Caller should call ::GetLastError()
// to determine cause of failure
bool LockOrUnlock(HANDLE handle, bool lock) {
if (lock) {
return ::LockFile(handle,
/*dwFileOffsetLow=*/0, /*dwFileOffsetHigh=*/0,
/*nNumberOfBytesToLockLow=*/MAXDWORD,
/*nNumberOfBytesToLockHigh=*/MAXDWORD);
} else {
return ::UnlockFile(handle,
/*dwFileOffsetLow=*/0, /*dwFileOffsetHigh=*/0,
/*nNumberOfBytesToLockLow=*/MAXDWORD,
/*nNumberOfBytesToLockHigh=*/MAXDWORD);
}
}
class WindowsFileLock : public FileLock {
public:
WindowsFileLock(ScopedHandle handle, std::string filename)
: handle_(std::move(handle)), filename_(std::move(filename)) {}
const ScopedHandle& handle() const { return handle_; }
const std::string& filename() const { return filename_; }
private:
const ScopedHandle handle_;
const std::string filename_;
};
class WindowsEnv : public Env {
public:
WindowsEnv();
~WindowsEnv() override {
static const char msg[] =
"WindowsEnv singleton destroyed. Unsupported behavior!\n";
std::fwrite(msg, 1, sizeof(msg), stderr);
std::abort();
}
Status NewSequentialFile(const std::string& filename,
SequentialFile** result) override {
*result = nullptr;
DWORD desired_access = GENERIC_READ;
DWORD share_mode = FILE_SHARE_READ;
ScopedHandle handle = ::CreateFileA(
filename.c_str(), desired_access, share_mode,
/*lpSecurityAttributes=*/nullptr, OPEN_EXISTING, FILE_ATTRIBUTE_NORMAL,
/*hTemplateFile=*/nullptr);
if (!handle.is_valid()) {
return WindowsError(filename, ::GetLastError());
}
*result = new WindowsSequentialFile(filename, std::move(handle));
return Status::OK();
}
Status NewRandomAccessFile(const std::string& filename,
RandomAccessFile** result) override {
*result = nullptr;
DWORD desired_access = GENERIC_READ;
DWORD share_mode = FILE_SHARE_READ;
ScopedHandle handle =
::CreateFileA(filename.c_str(), desired_access, share_mode,
/*lpSecurityAttributes=*/nullptr, OPEN_EXISTING,
FILE_ATTRIBUTE_READONLY,
/*hTemplateFile=*/nullptr);
if (!handle.is_valid()) {
return WindowsError(filename, ::GetLastError());
}
if (!mmap_limiter_.Acquire()) {
*result = new WindowsRandomAccessFile(filename, std::move(handle));
return Status::OK();
}
LARGE_INTEGER file_size;
Status status;
if (!::GetFileSizeEx(handle.get(), &file_size)) {
mmap_limiter_.Release();
return WindowsError(filename, ::GetLastError());
}
ScopedHandle mapping =
::CreateFileMappingA(handle.get(),
/*security attributes=*/nullptr, PAGE_READONLY,
/*dwMaximumSizeHigh=*/0,
/*dwMaximumSizeLow=*/0,
/*lpName=*/nullptr);
if (mapping.is_valid()) {
void* mmap_base = ::MapViewOfFile(mapping.get(), FILE_MAP_READ,
/*dwFileOffsetHigh=*/0,
/*dwFileOffsetLow=*/0,
/*dwNumberOfBytesToMap=*/0);
if (mmap_base) {
*result = new WindowsMmapReadableFile(
filename, reinterpret_cast<char*>(mmap_base),
static_cast<size_t>(file_size.QuadPart), &mmap_limiter_);
return Status::OK();
}
}
mmap_limiter_.Release();
return WindowsError(filename, ::GetLastError());
}
Status NewWritableFile(const std::string& filename,
WritableFile** result) override {
DWORD desired_access = GENERIC_WRITE;
DWORD share_mode = 0; // Exclusive access.
ScopedHandle handle = ::CreateFileA(
filename.c_str(), desired_access, share_mode,
/*lpSecurityAttributes=*/nullptr, CREATE_ALWAYS, FILE_ATTRIBUTE_NORMAL,
/*hTemplateFile=*/nullptr);
if (!handle.is_valid()) {
*result = nullptr;
return WindowsError(filename, ::GetLastError());
}
*result = new WindowsWritableFile(filename, std::move(handle));
return Status::OK();
}
Status NewAppendableFile(const std::string& filename,
WritableFile** result) override {
DWORD desired_access = FILE_APPEND_DATA;
DWORD share_mode = 0; // Exclusive access.
ScopedHandle handle = ::CreateFileA(
filename.c_str(), desired_access, share_mode,
/*lpSecurityAttributes=*/nullptr, OPEN_ALWAYS, FILE_ATTRIBUTE_NORMAL,
/*hTemplateFile=*/nullptr);
if (!handle.is_valid()) {
*result = nullptr;
return WindowsError(filename, ::GetLastError());
}
*result = new WindowsWritableFile(filename, std::move(handle));
return Status::OK();
}
bool FileExists(const std::string& filename) override {
return GetFileAttributesA(filename.c_str()) != INVALID_FILE_ATTRIBUTES;
}
Status GetChildren(const std::string& directory_path,
std::vector<std::string>* result) override {
const std::string find_pattern = directory_path + "\\*";
WIN32_FIND_DATAA find_data;
HANDLE dir_handle = ::FindFirstFileA(find_pattern.c_str(), &find_data);
if (dir_handle == INVALID_HANDLE_VALUE) {
DWORD last_error = ::GetLastError();
if (last_error == ERROR_FILE_NOT_FOUND) {
return Status::OK();
}
return WindowsError(directory_path, last_error);
}
do {
char base_name[_MAX_FNAME];
char ext[_MAX_EXT];
if (!_splitpath_s(find_data.cFileName, nullptr, 0, nullptr, 0, base_name,
ARRAYSIZE(base_name), ext, ARRAYSIZE(ext))) {
result->emplace_back(std::string(base_name) + ext);
}
} while (::FindNextFileA(dir_handle, &find_data));
DWORD last_error = ::GetLastError();
::FindClose(dir_handle);
if (last_error != ERROR_NO_MORE_FILES) {
return WindowsError(directory_path, last_error);
}
return Status::OK();
}
Status RemoveFile(const std::string& filename) override {
if (!::DeleteFileA(filename.c_str())) {
return WindowsError(filename, ::GetLastError());
}
return Status::OK();
}
Status CreateDir(const std::string& dirname) override {
if (!::CreateDirectoryA(dirname.c_str(), nullptr)) {
return WindowsError(dirname, ::GetLastError());
}
return Status::OK();
}
Status RemoveDir(const std::string& dirname) override {
if (!::RemoveDirectoryA(dirname.c_str())) {
return WindowsError(dirname, ::GetLastError());
}
return Status::OK();
}
Status GetFileSize(const std::string& filename, uint64_t* size) override {
WIN32_FILE_ATTRIBUTE_DATA file_attributes;
if (!::GetFileAttributesExA(filename.c_str(), GetFileExInfoStandard,
&file_attributes)) {
return WindowsError(filename, ::GetLastError());
}
ULARGE_INTEGER file_size;
file_size.HighPart = file_attributes.nFileSizeHigh;
file_size.LowPart = file_attributes.nFileSizeLow;
*size = file_size.QuadPart;
return Status::OK();
}
Status RenameFile(const std::string& from, const std::string& to) override {
// Try a simple move first. It will only succeed when |to| doesn't already
// exist.
if (::MoveFileA(from.c_str(), to.c_str())) {
return Status::OK();
}
DWORD move_error = ::GetLastError();
// Try the full-blown replace if the move fails, as ReplaceFile will only
// succeed when |to| does exist. When writing to a network share, we may not
// be able to change the ACLs. Ignore ACL errors then
// (REPLACEFILE_IGNORE_MERGE_ERRORS).
if (::ReplaceFileA(to.c_str(), from.c_str(), /*lpBackupFileName=*/nullptr,
REPLACEFILE_IGNORE_MERGE_ERRORS,
/*lpExclude=*/nullptr, /*lpReserved=*/nullptr)) {
return Status::OK();
}
DWORD replace_error = ::GetLastError();
// In the case of FILE_ERROR_NOT_FOUND from ReplaceFile, it is likely that
// |to| does not exist. In this case, the more relevant error comes from the
// call to MoveFile.
if (replace_error == ERROR_FILE_NOT_FOUND ||
replace_error == ERROR_PATH_NOT_FOUND) {
return WindowsError(from, move_error);
} else {
return WindowsError(from, replace_error);
}
}
Status LockFile(const std::string& filename, FileLock** lock) override {
*lock = nullptr;
Status result;
ScopedHandle handle = ::CreateFileA(
filename.c_str(), GENERIC_READ | GENERIC_WRITE, FILE_SHARE_READ,
/*lpSecurityAttributes=*/nullptr, OPEN_ALWAYS, FILE_ATTRIBUTE_NORMAL,
nullptr);
if (!handle.is_valid()) {
result = WindowsError(filename, ::GetLastError());
} else if (!LockOrUnlock(handle.get(), true)) {
result = WindowsError("lock " + filename, ::GetLastError());
} else {
*lock = new WindowsFileLock(std::move(handle), filename);
}
return result;
}
Status UnlockFile(FileLock* lock) override {
WindowsFileLock* windows_file_lock =
reinterpret_cast<WindowsFileLock*>(lock);
if (!LockOrUnlock(windows_file_lock->handle().get(), false)) {
return WindowsError("unlock " + windows_file_lock->filename(),
::GetLastError());
}
delete windows_file_lock;
return Status::OK();
}
void Schedule(void (*background_work_function)(void* background_work_arg),
void* background_work_arg) override;
void StartThread(void (*thread_main)(void* thread_main_arg),
void* thread_main_arg) override {
std::thread new_thread(thread_main, thread_main_arg);
new_thread.detach();
}
Status GetTestDirectory(std::string* result) override {
const char* env = getenv("TEST_TMPDIR");
if (env && env[0] != '\0') {
*result = env;
return Status::OK();
}
char tmp_path[MAX_PATH];
if (!GetTempPathA(ARRAYSIZE(tmp_path), tmp_path)) {
return WindowsError("GetTempPath", ::GetLastError());
}
std::stringstream ss;
ss << tmp_path << "leveldbtest-" << std::this_thread::get_id();
*result = ss.str();
// Directory may already exist
CreateDir(*result);
return Status::OK();
}
Status NewLogger(const std::string& filename, Logger** result) override {
std::FILE* fp = std::fopen(filename.c_str(), "w");
if (fp == nullptr) {
*result = nullptr;
return WindowsError(filename, ::GetLastError());
} else {
*result = new WindowsLogger(fp);
return Status::OK();
}
}
uint64_t NowMicros() override {
// GetSystemTimeAsFileTime typically has a resolution of 10-20 msec.
// TODO(cmumford): Switch to GetSystemTimePreciseAsFileTime which is
// available in Windows 8 and later.
FILETIME ft;
::GetSystemTimeAsFileTime(&ft);
// Each tick represents a 100-nanosecond intervals since January 1, 1601
// (UTC).
uint64_t num_ticks =
(static_cast<uint64_t>(ft.dwHighDateTime) << 32) + ft.dwLowDateTime;
return num_ticks / 10;
}
void SleepForMicroseconds(int micros) override {
std::this_thread::sleep_for(std::chrono::microseconds(micros));
}
private:
void BackgroundThreadMain();
static void BackgroundThreadEntryPoint(WindowsEnv* env) {
env->BackgroundThreadMain();
}
// Stores the work item data in a Schedule() call.
//
// Instances are constructed on the thread calling Schedule() and used on the
// background thread.
//
// This structure is thread-safe beacuse it is immutable.
struct BackgroundWorkItem {
explicit BackgroundWorkItem(void (*function)(void* arg), void* arg)
: function(function), arg(arg) {}
void (*const function)(void*);
void* const arg;
};
port::Mutex background_work_mutex_;
port::CondVar background_work_cv_ GUARDED_BY(background_work_mutex_);
bool started_background_thread_ GUARDED_BY(background_work_mutex_);
std::queue<BackgroundWorkItem> background_work_queue_
GUARDED_BY(background_work_mutex_);
Limiter mmap_limiter_; // Thread-safe.
};
// Return the maximum number of concurrent mmaps.
int MaxMmaps() { return g_mmap_limit; }
WindowsEnv::WindowsEnv()
: background_work_cv_(&background_work_mutex_),
started_background_thread_(false),
mmap_limiter_(MaxMmaps()) {}
void WindowsEnv::Schedule(
void (*background_work_function)(void* background_work_arg),
void* background_work_arg) {
background_work_mutex_.Lock();
// Start the background thread, if we haven't done so already.
if (!started_background_thread_) {
started_background_thread_ = true;
std::thread background_thread(WindowsEnv::BackgroundThreadEntryPoint, this);
background_thread.detach();
}
// If the queue is empty, the background thread may be waiting for work.
if (background_work_queue_.empty()) {
background_work_cv_.Signal();
}
background_work_queue_.emplace(background_work_function, background_work_arg);
background_work_mutex_.Unlock();
}
void WindowsEnv::BackgroundThreadMain() {
while (true) {
background_work_mutex_.Lock();
// Wait until there is work to be done.
while (background_work_queue_.empty()) {
background_work_cv_.Wait();
}
assert(!background_work_queue_.empty());
auto background_work_function = background_work_queue_.front().function;
void* background_work_arg = background_work_queue_.front().arg;
background_work_queue_.pop();
background_work_mutex_.Unlock();
background_work_function(background_work_arg);
}
}
// Wraps an Env instance whose destructor is never created.
//
// Intended usage:
// using PlatformSingletonEnv = SingletonEnv<PlatformEnv>;
// void ConfigurePosixEnv(int param) {
// PlatformSingletonEnv::AssertEnvNotInitialized();
// // set global configuration flags.
// }
// Env* Env::Default() {
// static PlatformSingletonEnv default_env;
// return default_env.env();
// }
template <typename EnvType>
class SingletonEnv {
public:
SingletonEnv() {
#if !defined(NDEBUG)
env_initialized_.store(true, std::memory_order::memory_order_relaxed);
#endif // !defined(NDEBUG)
static_assert(sizeof(env_storage_) >= sizeof(EnvType),
"env_storage_ will not fit the Env");
static_assert(alignof(decltype(env_storage_)) >= alignof(EnvType),
"env_storage_ does not meet the Env's alignment needs");
new (&env_storage_) EnvType();
}
~SingletonEnv() = default;
SingletonEnv(const SingletonEnv&) = delete;
SingletonEnv& operator=(const SingletonEnv&) = delete;
Env* env() { return reinterpret_cast<Env*>(&env_storage_); }
static void AssertEnvNotInitialized() {
#if !defined(NDEBUG)
assert(!env_initialized_.load(std::memory_order::memory_order_relaxed));
#endif // !defined(NDEBUG)
}
private:
typename std::aligned_storage<sizeof(EnvType), alignof(EnvType)>::type
env_storage_;
#if !defined(NDEBUG)
static std::atomic<bool> env_initialized_;
#endif // !defined(NDEBUG)
};
#if !defined(NDEBUG)
template <typename EnvType>
std::atomic<bool> SingletonEnv<EnvType>::env_initialized_;
#endif // !defined(NDEBUG)
using WindowsDefaultEnv = SingletonEnv<WindowsEnv>;
} // namespace
void EnvWindowsTestHelper::SetReadOnlyMMapLimit(int limit) {
WindowsDefaultEnv::AssertEnvNotInitialized();
g_mmap_limit = limit;
}
Env* Env::Default() {
static WindowsDefaultEnv env_container;
return env_container.env();
}
} // namespace leveldb
|
{
"pile_set_name": "Github"
}
|
{#sp1 .539}
{#sp2 .540}
{#sp3 .541}
{#sp4 .542}
{#sp5 .543}
{#sp6 .544}
{#sp7 .545}
|
{
"pile_set_name": "PubMed Central"
}
|
1. Field of the Invention
The present invention relates to steel particularly suited for both general use and the manufacture of a component for bearings, especially a race for ball bearings, needle bearings or roller bearings.
2. Background of the Invention
Components for bearings, such as races, balls, needles or rollers, are generally manufactured from steel of the 100Cr6 or 100CrMn6 type containing from 0.6 to 1.5% of carbon, from 1.3 to 1.6% of chromium, from 0.3 to 1% of manganese and less than 0.4% of silicon and having a very high degree of cleanliness in terms of inclusions. The steel is used in the form of rolled bar, seamless tube or wire, from which are cut blanks or slugs which are formed by cold or hot plastic deformation and then hardened by tempering and annealing, before being machined. The components thus obtained have a high hardness and the toughness required for them to be able to withstand the rolling fatigue well, at least under the normal conditions of use, especially for in-service temperatures below 150.degree. C. However, the components thus formed have an insufficient rolling fatigue resistance for more severe service conditions, which are tending to become common. These more severe service conditions are characterized, in particular, by a service temperature above 150.degree. C. and possibly as high as 350.degree. C., and/or by the presence of the phenomenon of bearing surface deterioration by indentation. This phenomenon consists of the initiation of cracks on the surface, caused by the indentations, i.e. deformations generated by hard particles present in the lubricant.
In order to limit the effect of the indentation, it has been proposed to use materials having a very high hardness such as ceramics or deposits of hard materials. However, this technique has the drawback of being not very reliable because of the excessively high brittleness of these materials, which brittleness makes them very sensitive to the slightest defect.
It has also been proposed, for example in U.S. Pat. No. 5,030,017, to use a steel containing, in particular, from 0.3% to 0.6% of carbon, from 3% to 14% of chromium, from 0.4% to 2% of molybdenum, from 0.3% to 1% of vanadium and less than 2% of manganese. The components are carburized or carbonitrided in the region of the bearing surface, so as to obtain a sum of the carbon and nitrogen contents of between 0.03% and 1%, and are then hardened so that their micrographic structure comprises from 20% to 50% (in % by volume) of residual austenite in a surface layer representing from 10% to 25% of the volume of the component. This technique has the double drawback of requiring the use of a steel which is highly loaded with alloying elements, and is hence expensive, and the execution of a carburizing or carbonitriding treatment, this treatment being lengthy and expensive.
It has also been proposed, in German Patent Application DE 195 24 957, to use a steel containing from 0.9% to 1.3% of carbon, from 0.6% to 1.2% of silicon, from 1.1% to 1.6% of manganese and from 1.3% to 1.7% of chromium, the balance being iron and impurities resulting from smelting, the structure of this steel containing from 7% to 25% of residual austenite. However, this steel, because of its chemical composition, provides no guarantee of castability, of cold deformability and of residual austenite content and stability. The specified residual austenite content necessary for improving the resistance to indentation fatigue moreover requires, in the case of this steel, subjecting the bearings to a not very convenient heat treatment comprising a step of holding them at approximately 100.degree. C. for more than 10 hours between tempering and annealing without returning to ambient temperature after tempering or before annealing. Moreover, in the presence of multidirectional stresses below the cyclic yield stress, its austenite is stable for more than 2000 hours only for thermal stresses below 120.degree. C., which is too low for some applications.
|
{
"pile_set_name": "USPTO Backgrounds"
}
|
"(SEAGULLS CALLING)" "(CLASSICAL VIOLINS PLAY)" "Hey, Wayne!" "First track today?" "(LAUGHTER AND SHOUTS)" "(LADIES CHATTERING)" "WOMAN:" "Step right up!" "ATTENDANT:" "OK, safety bars down." "OK, are you ready?" "You a hunter?" "101st Airborne." "Dak To." "Where were you?" "AUDIENCE:" "Wow!" "Yeah!" "Are you sure you want to go on?" "Thank you." "Hello." "How are you?" "Is this your first time?" "Scared?" "Everything OK back there?" "(EXCITED CHATTER)" "This is gonna be fun." "You're gonna really like it." " I'm so glad we stayed!" " Don't worry." "You've got it made." "I'm not gonna hold up my hands." " Here we go!" " Hands in the air, everybody!" "All right." "Here we go." " Too late to turn back now!" " I'm gonna open my eyes." "Hang on, soldier!" "Here we go!" "(SCREAMS)" " I don't wanna go home!" " I wanna go home." "I'm tired." "You're getting spoiled." "It's time to go home." "I'm gonna carry you home like a little baby." "(HYSTERICAL SCREAMING)" "(BUZZING)" " Too much juice?" " No." "Ow!" " If it's getting painful..." " That's what I'm paying for." "Ow." "Ow!" "(CONTINUOUS BEEPING)" "It's not you." "It's me." "You got a phone around here?" " Yeah, in the reception area." " I'll be right back." " That's OK." "We're finished." " Time flies when you're having fun." " What was that?" " Time flies when you're having fun." "He always says it's important." "All right." "Give me the number." " Here you go." "I forgot to print." " Thank you." "(SIGHS)" "Thank you." "Simon Davenport, please." "It's Harry Calder." "(LAUGHTER AND CHATTER)" "Excuse me, Mr Davenport." "A Mr Calder on the phone for you." "Excuse me." " Harry, I'm sorry to bother you." " 'Then don't.'" " Why do you talk to me like that?" " I don't like you, Si." "After tonight I may return the favour." "Is Ocean View Park in your jurisdiction?" "'You know it is." "Why?" "'" "When was the last time a field inspector checked out the rides?" " Two months ago." " Are you sure?" " I did it myself." " That's unfortunate." " Did you inspect the rollercoaster?" " Of course." "What happened?" "It just collapsed." " Jesus." " 'People are dead." "'I want you to go out there and find out if there was negligence involved.'" " You go." " It's my wedding anniversary." " So take your wife!" " You're funny." "And I admire your sense of teamwork." "I didn't inspect that park." "You did." "Keep that in mind on your way out there." "You all right?" "It's chilly out here." "Why don't you go inside?" "Did you see it?" "How do you think it happened?" "It doesn't make sense." "Better go home and get some sleep." "Wayne was up there." "He was walking the track." "Anything wrong, he would have found it." "Who's Wayne?" "I've been here 40 years." "Nothing like this ever happened before." "Have you had any figures..." "We're not leaving until we get the story." " Harry." " Hello, Burt." "Tough break." "You know the Rocket." "54 years and not a single accident." "Until tonight." "Tell me about it." "Harry, Lieutenant Keefer." "This is George Spurling, Dover Pacific Insurance." " Harry's with Standards and Safety." " How are you?" " Your department inspect this place?" " Every three months." "So, what the hell happened?" "Good question." "We pay a higher premium on the merry-go-round." "Anybody have any ideas?" "You're the experts." "If it was a malfunction..." "Last month we had both trains X-rayed for metal fatigue." "Clean bill of health." " Who are you?" " Wayne Moore." "Head mechanic." "Something may have happened after the test." " I walk that track each day." " Including today?" "Including today." "One solid hour." "From 7:00 to 8:00." "It's an act of God." "When you put it back together stress engineers will take a look." " Anybody want coffee?" " Black, please." " Burt, you open at noon, don't you?" " Mm-hm." "I met a guy, old-timer, out there." "Carries a broom." " That's Benny." " What time does he get to work?" "You're lucky if he wanders in by 10:00." "He said he saw Wayne up on the rollercoaster." "So?" "If Wayne inspects from 7:00 to 8:00, what was he doing up there two hours later?" "Were you up on the tracks at 10:00 this morning?" " No, I was home having breakfast." " You finished at 8:00?" "8:00, maybe 8:15." "Thanks." " BURT:" "That doesn't mean anything." " Why doesn't it?" "Benny's been around since the place opened, but he's not sure if it's day or night." " He drinks?" " No." "But he's an old man." " Spends a lot of time talking to his wife." " When did she die?" "BURT:" "He was never married." "Forget I asked." "It's a yellow Chevy Malibu." "It's right outside in stall six." " How long will you keep the car?" " Just a few hours." " Short trip." " Just passing through." " Come back and see us again." " I might." "I like your cotton candy." "(HORN)" " Harry?" " Hmm?" "If you're trying to kill us, at least let me put on some lip gloss." "I was thinking about the first cigarette I ever smoked." "It was a Camel." "No filter." " You just passed the house." " What?" "The house, remember?" "Where you used to live?" "Oh, my God." "(BARKING)" "When you stop smoking, you're supposed to gain weight." "I think you look cute... for someone going through male menopause." " Morning." " Is she ready?" "Come on in." "Tracy, your father's here." " Still dating Pam?" " Fran." "She's outside." " You've met Dale?" " No, I don't think so." "Hi." " When are you going to bring her back?" " Not late." "Your hair is different." "Are you styling it?" "No." "It's..." "I use a hot comb." "Mmm..." " Hi, Dad." " Hi, darling." " Bye-bye." " Have a good time." "Er..." "Nice meeting you, Dale." " How do you like the robe?" " It's fine, thanks." "Yours?" "Birthday present." "I hope you keep the bedroom door locked." "That's more than we used to do." " That's because there was..." " Nothing going on." "(ANIMAL CALLS)" " Do they have names?" " No, not yet." "Most of them are still babies." " Can I touch one?" " You should wait till you get him home." "Helen, will you listen?" "Not a dog." "Hamsters." "How do I know if they're messy?" "Look, it's your house, you decide." "No, I'm not trying to make you the heavy." "Yes, she seems like she likes them." "OK, fine." "See you." " What do they eat?" " Hamster food." "They like spinach." "Or carrots or alfalfa." " Your mother says OK." " Can I have a pair?" "They don't stay a pair." "You can't dump hamsters on your mother." " Can I have the white one?" " The pretty one?" "Sure." " How are we gonna get him home?" " We have hamster caskets." "A little box will be fine." "When did you put this paper in here?" "The one at the bottom of the cage." "OWNER:" "This morning." "Every morning." " So it's today's paper?" " Yeah, should be." "There was a fire on one of the rides." "We put it out." "No one was hurt." "I can't release any more information." "Look, we had an accident of our own last week." " I just want to ask a few questions." " I'm sorry." " Who's covering this up?" "The police?" " I'd rather not say." " 'What the hell is it?" "A state secret?" "'" " Management." " Who's management?" " 'Susquehanna Development Company." " 'It's been a long day.'" " I'll call the chairman." "He's in the book." "Good night, Mr Calder." "Daddy, Confucius say, "With faith, man can move mountains."" " I thought Jesus said that." " According to that fortune cookie..." " Which is yours." " ..." "Confucius said it too." "Don't believe everything you read." " Daddy's pissed off." " Where did she learn that language?" "I did some checking." "The park in Pittsburgh never had a problem." " That's two accidents in a week." " Coincidence." "Maybe." "I just talked to Burt Lyons out at Ocean View." " He's got orders not to be helpful." " They're trying to minimise publicity." " What's bugging you?" " I'm not sure." " You sending a man to Pittsburgh?" " 'I can't afford to send a man to lunch." "'Calder, when you're sure about what you're not sure about, call me back.'" "Yeah, thanks." "Harry, your call to Susquehanna Development." "The president's name is Quinlan." "He's on his way to Chicago but you can reach him at the Hyatt Regency today." "Jackie, find out who owns Ocean View Park out here." " Get the head man for me." " OK." "I got that information." "Ocean View is run by the Leisure Time Corporation in Seattle." " Did you call the president?" " He's on his way to Chicago." " Hyatt Regency?" " Hyatt Regency." "(ELEVATOR BELL)" " You wanna go to Chicago?" " Five, Si." "The presidents of five corporations are on their way there, including Ocean View's and Wonderworld's." "Maybe it's a convention." "You think something's out of line, call the police." "The police didn't inspect that coaster." "I did." "You rubbed my face in that." "I hoped that divorce would curb some of your more paranoid impulses." "I'm going to Chicago and you're paying for the trip." "Out of the question." "Funny how things pop into your mind." "I've been thinking about that medical building last year." " You bastard." " Shame about that roof caving in." "I wish you hadn't pulled me off the inspection." "I'm good at spotting substandard materials." "It was your nephew's construction company, wasn't it?" " How long will you be gone?" " A day or two." " Better go and get packed." " Thanks a lot, Si." "Harry." " You're a big disappointment to me." " I feel bad about that, Si." "You should have moved up in the department." " District manager." "Supervisor." " You know me." "No ambition." "It's your mouth." "You have a personality problem." "You never want to fit in." "It depends on what you want fitted and where you want it put, Si." "Give my love to Sylvia." "I appreciate you coming here on such short notice." "I'm sorry I couldn't be more specific, but a face-to-face meeting was necessary." "This was delivered to me by mail yesterday." "I was instructed to play this for you within a 24-hour period." "That is why I told you it was an emergency." "(KNOCKING)" "MAN:" "Room service!" " We didn't order any." " Compliments of the hotel." "All right." "Put it here." " We can do that ourselves." " Oh." "I'll just straighten that out for you." "Thank you." " Yes?" " Mr Quinlan?" " Who are you?" " Department of Standards and Safety." "This isn't Chicago jurisdiction." "No, sir, I just flew in." "I'd like to talk to you." "I'm tied up at the moment." "Leave your number at the desk." "I'm prepared to make a nuisance of myself." "I have two dimes." "One for the police, one for the "Tribune"." "You can invite me in or I can start making phone calls." "I'm not your enemy, Mr Quinlan." "We may be on the same side." "Come in." " Gentlemen, this is Mr..." " Calder." " Apparently he wants to talk to us." " About what?" " This." " It's none of your business." "Who runs the Leisure Development Corporation?" "I do." "I was the inspector on your coaster at Ocean View Park." "I don't think what happened was an accident." "Or the fire at Wonderworld." "When are we gonna play that tape?" " You don't mind his presence?" " Play it." "MAN: 'Thank you for coming, gentlemen." "'Your companies are involved, either through subsidiaries 'or long-term lease arrangement with the amusement park industry." "'As you know, it's a peculiar business, more vulnerable than most." "'During the past week, I've given you two examples of just how vulnerable." "'I have no desire to create further incidents, 'assuming you agree to my proposal." "'The payment will be $1 million, 'to be delivered at a time and a place of my choosing." "'You'll be contacted no later than a week from today." "'You may wish to bring in the police." "That is up to you." "'It will not hamper me in the slightest." "Thanks for your time.'" " Jesus." " Polite son of a bitch, isn't he?" "He can afford to be." "A million for starters." " And no guarantee it stops there." " Well, what do we do?" "'We pay." "We can't have that bastard killing people.'" "'Oh, good." "Nice to have a humanitarian in the group.'" "'OK, it's not good for business, either.'" " 'Thank you.' - 'We gotta pay.'" "'Why cloud the issue with morality?" "'" "'Let's wait till he contacts us again.'" " 'We could try and arrange a meeting.' - 'Don't.'" " 'Why not?" "' - 'You're amateurs.'" "'What is he?" "The professional?" "He's a psychopath.'" " 'Whatever he is, he's smart.' - 'We can do without the testimonials.'" "'Just don't underestimate him." "He's rigged two accidents 2,000 miles apart 'in one week without leaving a trace.'" "That means knowledge of structural engineering, 'demolition and electronics." "'He's not some nut with a bomb on a plane.'" "'It all comes down to the same thing." "Extortion.'" "No argument." "Mr Calder..." " What do you suggest?" " Well, it's your money." "But I'd get some expert advice if I were you." "It's a felony." "Call in the federal authorities." "Are you Calder?" "My name's Hoyt." "Special agent in charge." "Fill me in." " HOYT:" "Anyone touch the tape?" " HARRY:" "Just Quinlan." " Our friend would never leave prints." " Do I have your guarantee of that?" " It's obvious." " We'll let our lab make a determination." "We'll send that tape in for voice analysis." "If it was delivered to Quinlan, see if he kept the wrapping." "The suspect talked about their gross earnings?" " Yes." " We're dealing with five corporations." "I want to know if anyone owns shares in all five." "Maybe he reads the reports." "We'll get him." "I didn't make any reservations, man." "I thought you made them!" " Where are they?" " Suite 2308." "Fine." "We'll take it from here." "Mr Calder, we want to thank you." "Contacting us was right." "I only wish more people would give us their trust." " Don't you want me to come up?" " No, that won't be necessary." "I'm sure you want to be getting home." "Thanks again." "Oh, you're with Standards and Safety, aren't you?" "Prepare a letter of commendation to the head of Mr Calder's department." "Have a nice flight." "I'd like to check out." "Could you prepare my bill?" "(CHILDREN CHATTERING)" "(TELEPHONE)" "Damn." " Yeah." " MAN: 'Hello." "Is this Harry Calder?" "'" "That's right." " Hello?" " 'I think you're entitled to a vacation.'" " Who is this?" " 'That's not really important." " 'Have you ever been to Virginia?" "'" " No, and I don't plan to." "Who is this?" "'It's a little hot this time of year, but I'm sure you'll enjoy it.'" "(HANGS UP)" "Go home and watch "Sesame Street"." "1F." "Well, hello, Calder." "I see you brought Donder and Blitzen." "Let's talk." " You must be out of your mind." " It has to be you." "He was very definite." "Why?" "I don't even know the son of a bitch." "Apparently he knows you." " And he wants me to deliver the money?" " Yep." "The drop is tomorrow." "Kings Dominion Park." "You're to wait by a specified phone booth for his call." " Where is this place?" " Richmond, Virginia." " The son of a bitch just called me." " What?" "Ten minutes ago." "He said I deserved a vacation and I'd like it in Virginia." "Calder..." "Just what is this relationship between you and our friend?" " There isn't any relationship." " There has to be." "I said there isn't." "Then I assume you'd be... willing to take a polygraph test?" "You remind me of the man I work for." "I don't like him either." "Really?" "He seemed nice enough to me." " You talked to him?" " Sure." "You had to have an official leave of absence." "I don't want an official leave of absence." "Yeah, that's what he said you'd say." "Now listen." "I don't know about you, but I want this man put away." "At the moment, it's not wise to cross him." "Your plane leaves in three hours." "I can always use another letter of commendation." "(TELEPHONE)" " Hello?" " MAN: 'Hello, Harry.'" " What do you want?" " 'Take a sweater." "It gets chilly.'" "I don't know why you're dragging me into this." " I trust you." " 'You don't know me.'" "'You were the only one in that room who appreciated what I was doing.'" "What room?" " You bugged that hotel room!" " Of course." "You told them not to underestimate me." "That was good advice." "Get this straight." "I said you're smart, but I'm not a fan, OK?" "You kill people." "'Do you think they would have paid attention if I hadn't?" "'" " Is this about attention?" " It's about money, Harry." "Then get a job." "'I've had jobs." "I'm not particularly productive.'" "Am I having this conversation?" "'You're unsympathetic." "I'm trying to communicate.'" "Fine." "Name a place and we'll have a coffee." "I'm not at my best over the phone." " What do you think of Hoyt?" " Says he's going to get you." "No one's gonna get me." "But I'll promise you this, Harry." "If they pay me, and if they do what I say, I'll never bother them again." "Maybe you enjoy it." "Wrong psychological profile." "I'm not in this for kicks." "Oh, yeah, it's only the money." "You're a businessman." "In a corrupt society you're no worse than anybody else." "We all cheat on our taxes." " I'm not enjoying this conversation." " Then get another messenger boy." "(TELEPHONE)" " Yes?" " I may have made a mistake with you." "We'll see." "Go to Richmond and do as you're told." " OFFICER:" "A description would help." " HOYT:" "We don't have one." " OFFICER:" "I hope you don't expect trouble." " HOYT:" "It's a drop." "He'll behave himself." "OFFICER:" "Why did he pick this place?" "It's noisy, crowded and hell to cover." "But we have one advantage." " What's that?" " Calder." "Thanks a lot." "This is the telephone booth." "We're instructed to have Calder waiting outside at 11:30 sharp." "I want an "Out of Order" sign on that booth." "Our friend will contact you by phone to tell you where to take the money." "Do exactly what he says." "It's in our interests to expedite the delivery." "Why?" "Because somewhere, at some point, he has to get his hands on that money." "It's his moment of maximum risk." "There's no way he can avoid it." "But whatever he does, we'll have our shot at him." "If it's picked up by a third party, we follow it." "If he comes himself, we move in." "We can't stake out the entire park but we can cover you." "And the money." " Don't you think he knows that?" " Course he does." "Where's the bag?" "That arrived yesterday." "We're to fill it with unmarked bills." "50s and 100s." "And Calder is to have it with him." " I don't follow." " He's protecting himself." "There's nothing unusual about the bag except it's easy to spot." " A switch?" " Very good, Calder." "Glad everybody understands." "Can you explain it to me?" "HOYT:" "Run Calder and us all over the park." "At one particular spot, he'll have a duplicate suitcase waiting." "He gets word to me to make a switch, and I walk off with the empty suitcase." "While you're following me, he picks up the one with the money." "Don't say, "Very good."" "What do we do?" "He can tell Calder to make the switch in a thousand places." " How will we know?" " Tom?" "HOYT:" "Calder will wear that radio." "When he wants to alert us, he just opens his mouth." "So what's gonna go wrong?" "There you are, honey." "Don't you dare put that in your mouth!" "I got him in view." " Everyone at their stations?" " Yes, sir." "I just ran a check." " Pierce, do you read me?" " 10-4." "All exits covered by security." "Right." "(BREATHING)" " Calder's mike open?" " That's him breathing now." " Phone booth?" " We're tapped in." "11:30." "(RINGING)" " Start the trace." " Start." " Yes?" " MAN: 'Good morning, Harry." " 'Sleep well?" "'" " Get on with it." "'There's a stand near the Mason-Dixon Music Hall." "'They sell hats." "I want you to buy one." "Have your name stitched on the brim." "'And then you'll like this, Harry." "I want you to put it on.'" " And then?" " 'Just wait." "You'll be contacted.'" "What stand was that?" "The Mason-Dixon Line?" "'Don't bother stalling." "There isn't time to trace this call." "'Two other things." "First..." "'When you leave the toadstool, take off the microphone.'" " What microphone?" " 'Take it off, Harry.'" "'I'll be watching." "I don't want you in voice contact with anyone." "'And if you have a second one, I'll know." "Do you have a second one?" "'" " No, I don't." " 'You know something?" " 'I believe you, Harry.'" " Is that it?" "'I said there were two things." "'I have a little surprise for everybody." "'Are you listening, Mr Hoyt?" "There's a bomb in the park." " 'Please follow my instructions... '" " Go ahead." "'... or I'll set it off." "'Now go get your funny hat, Harry.'" " Any luck?" " No." "Damn." "What about the bomb?" "Is he lying?" "I doubt it." "Go to the service gates." "And park out of sight." "Kings Dominion?" "I was there last week with my kids!" "If you make a switch, take off your sunglasses." "There you are, sir." "That will be $3.50." "We don't get many "Harrys" around here." "A lot of Jasons and Scotts." " What's he doing?" " OFFICER: 'Just standing there.'" "He has to tell Calder where to make the switch." "How's he gonna do it?" "Sky writing?" "George?" "Anything to report?" "No, sir, just about 30,000 cases of sunburn." "I'll keep my eyes open." "Excuse me." "Mr Calder?" "Mr Harry Calder?" " Yes." " Package for you." "Thank you." "Young man, give that to me." "Police officer." " What did he look like?" " I never saw the guy." "You can check." "Red Line Delivery." "Came in the mail with $100." " Written instructions?" " No." "He called us." "It's a radio." "He's to go to the Vertigo." "Can you pick him up?" " He'll probably use a banded frequency." " Well, try." "Harry?" "If you read me, speak into the grid." " I read you." " He made contact." " You've got to pick up that signal!" " It's an illegal band." "I can't." "Well, keep at it." " MAN: 'Am I breaking up?" "'" " A little." "Adjust the squelch button." "One... two... three... four... five... six..." "Is that better?" "Better." "What next?" " 'Get on the ride, please.'" " Can't we simplify this?" "Have to keep you moving." "Sorry, Harry." "Just try to enjoy yourself." "Have a good time." " OFFICER: 'He's getting on the Vertigo.'" " Come on, pal." "Headed your way, Tom." "You have to leave your suitcase." " You want to let him on with that?" " OK." "Go ahead." "GUIDE: 'The river on your right is the Zambezi River." "'In Africa it is known for its huge hippo population." "'If you look at the pond to your right, you may see our baby hippo." "'Baby hippos are born under water and immediately go to the surface for air." "'The gestation period for a hippo is about 24 months." "'To the left of the train, you'll catch a glimpse of our white rhino and zebra... '" "MAN: 'Having a good time, Harry?" "'" "GUIDE: 'You are now entering the Kanha preserve, home of the Bengal tiger." "'The tigers you will see have all been born in captivity.'" "Congratulations." "You just won a carton of cigarettes." "I don't smoke." "OFFICER:" "He's moving again." " He's heading for the rollercoaster." " HOYT: 'Jesus Christ.'" "Hey, I bet you a million dollars we beat you, mister!" "Get a move on, you guys." "Come on!" "(SCREAMING AND CHEERING)" "MAN: 'Having fun on the coaster, Harry?" "Ride it again.'" "OFFICER: 'He's riding the son of a bitch again.'" " BOY:" "Here's your photograph." " HARRY:" "What photograph?" "Man on the phone said, "Take a picture of the man with the dark glasses."" " That'll be $2.50." " I'll take that." "What did the man say?" " What?" " The caller." "What did he tell you to do?" "MAN: 'Harry?" "Why don't you get weighed?" "'" "Sir, your suitcase." "Sorry, sir, I thought you were thinner." "Take a prize." " Do I have to?" " No, sir." "Don't you want me to guess your age?" " No." " Step right up here." "I'll say you weigh 210 pounds." "Go ahead and step right up on the scales." "The subject's still moving." "He's on his way to the Skyride." " He's trying to wear us down." " He's doing a damn good job." "Where from here?" "The Jack And The Beanstalk ride?" "MAN: 'As a matter of fact, this is almost the end of the line.'" " What do you want me to do?" " 'I should tell you about the bomb." " 'Would you like to know where it is?" "'" " Sure." "'You're holding it.'" " You bastard." " 'Now, Harry." "'It was activated when you turned it on, so be careful." "'I wouldn't want to lose you." "And don't throw it, Harry." "'It will explode on impact." "'Don't try to open it." "There's a tamper switch." "'And don't leave it behind." "I want to see it in your hand when you get off." "'OK, Harry?" " 'Now, do I have your full attention?" "'" " Screw you." "Hello to Yogi, hello to Boo Boo" "Hello to Scooby Doo..." "MAN: 'When you leave the car, I want you to give the signal.'" "What signal?" "'The signal that tells them you've switched suitcases.'" "I don't know what you're talking about." "'Harry, I have the transmitter in my pocket." "'You know what happens if I push the button.'" "How can I signal anybody?" "You made me take off the mike." "'They gave you a backup." "I was watching." "'One more thing." "'If they don't move in immediately, I'll know you didn't give the signal." "'That means I'll push the button." "'So please, Harry, for everybody's sake, be convincing.'" "(SINGING MUSHROOMS) Hello to Yogi" "Hello to Boo Boo..." " He just gave the signal." " Who's boarding?" " What?" " The car Calder got out of." "Who's getting in?" " Sorry, sir, I wasn't watching." " What's your name?" " Lansing, sir." " One of yours." " Patch me through to everybody." " Done." "All units, converge on Skyway platform, south side of park." "Use extreme caution." "Subject may be armed." "Let's go." "Hey!" "Federal law." "You see that car coming in?" "The red one?" "When it docks, stop the machinery." " I can't." " Don't argue." "Clear the platform." "Dennis, prepare to stop the ride!" "Get 'em down!" "MAN: 'Stop, Harry." "'Turn around." "'Do you see that bench on your left?" "'" " Yes." " 'Walk over to it." "'Put the suitcase on the bench." "'Turn to the right." "'Now walk away, Harry." "Don't look back.'" " What shall I do with the bomb?" " 'Give it to the bomb squad." "'They'll know how to handle it." "Start walking." "'Remember, eyes front." "'And, Harry..." "'Thanks for your cooperation.'" "Is this far enough?" "Are we finished now?" "Hello?" "You could have alerted us!" "I was carrying a goddamn bomb." "You weren't paralysed." "All you had to do was get a message to my men." "What men?" "You pulled them all off me, you stupid son of a bitch." "I had you surrounded!" "Just one word." "One move." "That's why he picked you." "You can't think under pressure." "Bring it in, boys." "Well?" "It's plastic explosive, rigged to go off by a radio signal." "It's a beautiful piece of work." " Get a make on the components." " You can buy them in any store." " You can't buy explosives in any store." " No, but this stuff is home-made." "(BUZZER)" "Administration." "Maintenance vehicle leaving by the service exit." " Have it searched." " Give it a once over." " Is something funny?" " He has a way to get it out of here." "You know, I'm getting damn tired of your misplaced admiration." "Then drive me to the airport." "Gladly." "Make the arrangements." "HOYT:" "Calder." "If your friend does get the money out, it just might be a terminal error." "Why?" " You marked the money." " So what?" " He said he wanted unmarked bills." " I don't give a damn what he said." "It's done all the time." "When he starts to pass the money, we can get a fix." " He'll know." " He won't." "I put my ass on the line for nothing!" "Why didn't you tell me?" "It wasn't necessary." "I don't know who the hell I trust less." "Him or you." "(RINGING)" "(BLAST OF MUSIC)" "MAN: 'I gave them my terms and they're in default and I'm very disappointed.'" " What happened?" " 'You know exactly what happened." "'Every one of those bills is marked.'" "How can you be sure?" "It may be a mistake." "'Pixie dust, Harry." "It shows up under ultraviolet light.'" " They didn't tell me." " 'I don't believe you, Harry.'" "I don't give a damn." "They didn't tell me." "'I'll give them another demonstration.'" "You proved your point, OK?" "You're smarter than they are." " I'll make calls." "I'll get you your money." " 'That's not good business.'" "Why make innocent people suffer?" "Just give me some time." "I promise they won't screw around with you." "'It's too late for negotiations, Harry." " 'I won't be calling again.'" " Listen..." "'Tell your friends I'll give them another reminder 'of how vulnerable they are.'" "(HANGS UP)" " Who was that?" " WOMAN: 'Operator.'" "Operator, what's the area code for Washington DC?" "'202.'" " Would you make us some coffee?" " No, I will not make us some coffee." "Harry, what's going on?" " MAN: 'Vice 702.'" " Special Agent Hoyt, please." " 'This is?" "'" " Harry Calder." " 'Harry Calder?" "'" " It's urgent." "'Mr Hoyt will be changing planes in Denver at 10:15.'" "Thank you." "She's finished." " Hmm?" " Your daughter." "Remember her?" "Oh!" " Hey, where are you today?" " Sorry." "Thinking." "I noticed." "(FIRECRACKER)" " MAN:" "You're scaring the horses!" " BOY:" "You unpatriotic or something?" " Tracy, that was terrific!" " Thank you." " Can we get something to eat?" " What do you feel like?" " An enchilada?" " How about chilli?" "Chilli's fine." "Why don't you two have some ice cream?" "I have to make a phone call." "This is getting to be a habit." "Next week I'll take a few days off, we'll drive to San Diego." " We can go to the zoo or..." " Promise?" "If I don't, you can trade me in, OK?" " Get me one too." " OK." "Would you empty your pockets of all metal, please?" "TANNOY: 'Mr Thomas Hoyt, flight 405, please pick up a red courtesy phone.'" " Mr Hoyt." "You have a call for me?" " OPERATOR: 'Yes, sir.'" " Hello?" " 'Hoyt, this is Calder." "'I must see you." "I may have something.'" "If you want me to miss my plane, "may" is not good enough." ""'May" is all you got." "See you in my office.'" "For Christ's sake, don't tell me you had me come all the way out here for this." "The first ride's today." "In four hours." "TV coverage, a rock concert, reporters..." "We checked it out." "It's one of three dozen possibilities." " He's gonna hit it." " Really?" "That's very interesting." "Do you have anything in the way of proof?" "I'm telling you, I know this guy." "He loves machinery." "This is too tempting to pass up." "He started with a roller coaster." "Why not take out the biggest of all?" "Let me show you something." "Complete breakdown for the summer." "Fourth of July events schedule." ""Rodeo at Wild West Park in Dallas." ""Enchanted Castle opening today at Funland in Wisconsin." ""Beauty Contest at Sky's The Limit in Detroit."" "Go ahead." "Read it." "Every fish fry in America doing it up for the Fourth." "Parades, air shows, belly dancers." "There are 50 events on that list, and you're down to one." " That's quite a trick." " He's extorting five companies." "They own less than a third of those parks." "It's still too many to cover." "How many are getting this publicity?" "It's made to order." "You're reaching." "Confucius say, "With faith, man can move mountains."" "Where did you get that?" "Out of a fortune cookie?" "All right." "Try this on for size." " I dug these out of the files." " They are?" "Standards and Safety permits for the Magic Mountain coaster." "Read the name of the field inspector." "Under the authorisation." ""Approved, H Calder." You inspected it?" "Three months ago." "It's been in the back of my mind." "And those permits are public record." "You're suggesting he'll tear down that rollercoaster just because you said it was safe?" "I'm not his buddy now." "He gets back at me and dumps on the rest of you." "That's bargain basement Freud." "It's the perfect target on the perfect day." "Calder, you're asking me to make a total commitment of men and money on the basis of a hunch." "Nah, I can't do it." "I'm sorry." "I'll see you." " If you get any other ideas, let me know." " Sure." "(RINGING)" " Hello?" " Me." "I'm gonna be tied up for a while." " 'Can you take Tracy home?" "'" " Yeah, I guess so." " Where are you?" " I have to go to Magic Mountain." " 'It's business.'" " Magic Mountain." "I'll tell you about it tonight, OK?" " Can we go?" " Go where?" "Magic Mountain." " Your father doesn't want us there." " It's something to do." "(HORN)" " Get in." " I'm parked in a red zone." "If you're right about today, we'll get it fixed." "(FUNKY MUSIC)" " We thought we'd lost you." " Sorry." "The files were locked." "That's all." " What do you think?" " I'm an inspector, not an engineer." "So think like a bomber." "He'd want momentum, maximum speed." "Probably coming off the loop." "Somewhere between here and here." "If it's there at all." " I'll send the bomb squad up." " We got a problem." "If he's planted a bomb, what happens if he sees them?" "He can blow them all over the park." "Let's not take any chances." "Clear everybody out, then we'll search." "Over my dead body." "For all you know, this guy's 3,000 miles away." "If he isn't he'll hit us tomorrow." "You expect us to close permanently?" "There may be a way to work this." "Let's say he's here." "Where would he be?" "Who knows?" "Anywhere." "The ride doesn't start for an hour and the rollercoaster only becomes important to him at 4:00." " Meaning?" " If he's not there, there's no danger." "Put your men in maintenance clothes." "Nobody will notice them." "It's still a risk." "(TELEPHONE)" " If they're not willing, we'll forget it." " I'll see what they say." "Wait a minute." "What about that crowd out there?" " They're gonna get nervous." " HARRY:" "Got any bunting?" " What?" " Bunting." "Streamers." "Decoration." "They could be wrapping it around the rails." "It's the Fourth of July." " Always thinking, aren't you?" " So is he." "(ROARING APPLAUSE)" "65 minutes till zero hour." "ANNOUNCER: 'All you lucky first-ride ticket holders, hang on to them." "'The Great American Revolution blasts off at 4:00 on the button, 'for the first time ever.'" "We're proud to present one of the hottest acts in the country." "Let's hear it for Sparks!" "(BAND PLAYS ROCK 'N' ROLL TUNE)" "I'll check out the cars." "Hey, look up on the platform." "Isn't that a dog up there?" " Dogs on the platform?" "!" "You're high." " I'm not that high." "(SCREAMING)" "All right." " The mayor is on his way." " Swell." " Getting something." " This is Hoyt." "We checked out the cars." "Nothing under the seats or the frame." "Thanks." "I think he is at Coney Island." " Can I bum a cigarette?" " I'm out." "One... two... three...!" " Did you find anything?" " No." "In five minutes we have to radio in." "There won't be enough time." "There it is." "Hey!" "OFFICER: 'We found the bomb." "It's on the bridge after the tunnel.'" " You'll bring it down?" " 'No." "Don't wanna jar it.'" " We're gonna take it apart here." " For God's sake, be careful." "If we're not, you'll be the first to know." "He's not at Coney Island." "No timer." "(TELEPHONE)" "Demerest." "Yes?" "Terrific." "The mayor has just arrived." "What do I say?" "Ask him if he has any cigarettes." "It's your last cotton candy." "Do you understand?" "Don't ask me again." "If you ask you're going to get an absolute no." "Keep wrapping that stuff." "(CLANGING)" " I wish they'd give us a progress report." " Maybe they're busy." "It doesn't look like he rigged any traps." "He didn't expect us to find it." "All right, move back." "Excuse me." "My wife would like to ask you something." "All our pictures are of me and the kids cos Walter always takes them." "Could you take a picture with my husband in it?" " Sure." " Thanks very much." " All you have to do is..." " I know how to work it." "Come on, kids." "Here we are." "My wife shot a roll of film but she cut off the heads." "I did not cut them all off!" " HUSBAND:" "The others were out of focus." " WIFE:" "Will you be quiet?" "HUSBAND:" "If I'm gonna be in the picture I want to be in focus..." " WIFE:" "Young man, take the picture." " HUSBAND:" "Yes." "You're the photographer." "Thanks very much." "I have a terrible feeling he cut off my head." "ANNOUNCER:" "'How about it?" "Weren't they fantastic?" "'Did you like what you heard?" "'Come on." "Let's hear it!" "'" "(APPLAUSE)" "'Fantastic!" "'" "Now it's time for the big show, folks." "As you can see, it's almost zero hour." "'In 15 minutes, the curtain goes up on the Great American Revolution.'" "So move up that way and see the world turn upside down." "Ticket holders, assemble at the boarding platform." "'Don't be cowards, folks." "You only live once.'" "I'll be back in a few minutes." "Thank you." " Where to now?" " The rollercoaster." " We'll never get on." " I just wanna see." "OK." "The same device he used in Richmond." "Gentlemen, you've earned our thanks." "I'd like to send letters of commendation to your chief." "Well?" "Any suggestions?" "What can we do?" "We know what he sounds like but not what he looks like." "Young voice." "Can't be more than 30." "So we eliminate women, old men and kids." " That leaves 10,000 suspects." " Will somebody make a decision?" " About what?" " Do we go or don't we?" " Nothing in the cars?" " No, sir." "He can't know we've found it." "I think we're safe for today." "Is that a yes or a no?" "That's a yes." "(BAND PLAYS FANFARE)" "ANNOUNCER: 'Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please?" "'Will the lucky holders of the gold tickets please go to the front of the line.'" "OK, guys." "Let's go." " I wish we had gold tickets." " We'll catch the next one." "Look at that mother." "Bet it hits 5Gs going into that loop." "Mmm." "Far out." "WOMAN:" "One damn day." "One day." "You didn't have to play golf with your buddies." "MAN:" "It's my only day off!" "Look at that." "It'll be two hours before they get on anything." " MAN:" "We'll go with it." " WOMAN:" "We haven't even eaten." " Lock the door." " If it was your mother you'd be on time." "If it was my mother we wouldn't have come." "Mr Mayor, welcome to Magic Mountain." "Thank you." "(APPLAUSE)" " Photographers ready?" " Yes, sir." "Be on the lookout for any kind of suspicious behaviour." "He'll be carrying a miniaturised transmitter." "When the coaster starts its run, watch the crowd." "He thinks his bomb is still in place." "He'll try to set it off." " Where are you going?" " Fresh air." "It's like a sauna in here." " Get your hands off me!" " What have you got there?" " It's the Fourth of July." " No drinking in the park." "That's a hell of a balloon." "Please show your tickets." "Only special gold ticket holders for the first ride." "(BAND PLAYS "STARS AND STRIPES FOREVER")" "Hey, look!" " Wow!" " Can you take a picture!" "We've got two gold tickets!" "We'll be right there!" " Do you want to sell your ticket?" " No." "I'll give you $100." " You gotta be crazy!" " But I wanna go!" " 100 bucks is 100 bucks." " Come with me." "I only need one ticket." " Go ahead." "I'll wait for you here." " Thank you." " You're gonna miss the first ride?" " Yep." "He's crazy!" "Dad!" " What the hell are you doing here?" " Having fun." "Do you wanna join?" "Take Tracy and get out of here." "This is not the place to be right now." "Does this have anything to do with those phone calls?" "Yes." "Now please take her home." "We can all come back next week." " Maybe the line will be shorter." " You're gonna miss it!" " All set?" " Yeah." "Thank you." "They've started." "Hey, there's the loop!" "Over here!" "Everybody come this way!" "Come on!" "It won't take a minute!" "Thank you." "ATTENDANT:" "Did you have a good time?" "OK, sir, hurry it up a little bit." "Ladies and gentlemen, here they come!" "Our first survivors!" "Congratulations!" "How did you enjoy the ride?" "Incredible!" "I've got to go on it again!" "We've got to get in line!" " What about you, ma'am?" " It was so exhilarating!" "What about your husband?" "Did he keep his eyes open?" " Course he did." " We want to go again!" "Sir, how did you like the ride?" " Sir?" " It was fine." "Just fine." "JOURNALIST:" "Tell your grandchildren you were the first to ride the Revolution." " How does it compare to other rides?" " MAN:" "It will get a lot of attention." " What's it like?" " She rode it." "Play that back." "The guy you just interviewed." " Who are you?" " Play it back!" "'Sir, how did you like the ride?" " 'Sir?" " 'It was fine." "Just fine.'" "'Tell your grandchildren you were the first to ride the Revolution." " 'How does it compare to other rides?" "' - 'It will get a lot of attention.'" " Let's grab the last car!" " Run!" "Let's hurry!" " I'll take the bear." " It's a buffalo." "It's been on every ride in the country." " It looks like Calder's after somebody." " Who?" " I don't know." " Well, help him!" "Close in!" "Put me through to all units." "Excuse me." "What the..." "That's him." "He just got off the coaster." "Tell Hoyt." "OFFICER: 'Our man just got off the coaster.'" " He was on the first run." " He planted something." "Call them." "Tell them to stop it." "Clear out the passengers." "Ah, I feel like I'm on top of the world!" "Oh!" "(WOMAN SCREAMS)" "Look this over." "See if you can find the frequency he was using." " They're over the lift." "It's too late." " Christ." "I feel like I'm flying!" "Hold it!" "Harry, don't come any closer." "It's a detonator." "Hold your fire." "The bomb... is in one of those cars." "He's got a transmitter." "Damn it, put those guns away." " He could push the button." " Suppose he's bluffing." "Harry." " Tell them I don't bluff." " Put them down!" "Now, have them clear me a path." "Quickly." " Move back!" " Make room!" " I think I can jam the frequency." " Then what are you waiting for?" "Now what do you want me to do?" " Now, Harry, get me a gun." " You heard him." "To hell with him." "It's not gonna work." "When the ride's over, you'll have nothing to bargain with." "Harry, Harry." "You still don't understand." "You'll be my leverage." "If they don't let me out, I'll kill you." "Come on, come on." "Harry, the gun." " It's jammed." " Take the son of a bitch!" "HOYT: 'We've jammed his frequency!" "'" "TANNOY: 'Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please?" "'The rides are reopening now for your enjoyment." "'We apologise for the delay." "Have a happy Fourth of July 'and a wonderful time at Magic Mountain.'" " Can I bum one of those?" " What?" " A cigarette." " Sure." "Got a light?" "Keep 'em, OK?"
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Ahead of the bell: Tiffany's shares downgraded
Ahead of the bell: Analyst downgrades Tiffany's shares to "hold" from "buy"
NEW YORK (AP) -- Tiffany & Co. was stripped of its 'buy' rating by Canaccord Genuity, with growing signs that once unshakeable shoppers at high end stores are finally cutting back on spending.
The luxury sector had been one of the few bright spots in retail during the economic downturn, as the wealthy seemed bent on shopping even as housing values tanked and thousands lost jobs.
There are now some signs of weakness within the pillars of the luxury market, including Tiffany and Coach Inc., which saw its shares plunge Wednesday after falling short of profit and revenue forecasts for the second quarter.
Coach, the upscale handbag maker, said that the economy and heavy price-cutting by competitors took a toll during the most recent quarter.
That dragged down the stock price of other luxury retailers as well Wednesday.
Canaccord analyst Laura Champine said in a research note published Thursday that Tiffany's sales momentum "continues to decelerate against an uncertain macroeconomic backdrop."
And recent changes to tax laws, which focus on the wealthy, could pressure luxury spending even more.
Champine replaced her 'buy' rating, with a 'hold."
Tiffany in January reported flat comparable store sales during the critical November and December shopping period. While sales rose 4 percent globally, it was less than expected, and the company told investors that it anticipated earnings for the year to come in at the lower end of its prior forecast.
Its shares tumbled.
"We believe (Tiffany's) near-term visibility is clouded," Champine wrote. She pointed out that Tiffany's has fallen short on per-share earnings projections for four consecutive quarters.
Shares of Tiffany slipped 73 cents to $62 in premarket trading Thursday, close to the midpoint of its 52-week range of $49.72 and $74.20.
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Google has removed an app developed by the Taliban from the Google Play Store for Android smartphones and tablets, designed to spread the militant group's propaganda.
The app, "Pashto Afghan News - alemarah", displayed news and videos developed by the Taliban. It was discovered on Friday and taken down shortly after.
It violated Google's rules on hate speech, which say: "We don't allow apps that advocate against groups of people based on their race or ethnic origin, religion, disability, gender, age, nationality, veteran status, sexual orientation, or gender identity".
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Q:
Minkowski functional of a open set
Given $X$ is a topological vector space and $V$ is a convex, balanced neighbourhood of $0$ in X. Then for $x \in V$, the Minkowski functional $\mu_{V}(x)$ = inf $\{t>0: t^{-1}x\in V\}$ $<$ $1$.
The reason given for strict inequality is "$V$ is open". But I dont get it. I can observe the following. Since $x\in V$, $\mu_{V}(x)$ $\leq 1$ and since $V$ is balanced $tV$ $\subseteq V$ for all $0<t<1$. Let $x\in V$. As $V$ is open, there exists a neighbourhood $U$ of $x$ such that $x\in U \subset V$.
I dont know how to proceed with this. Please help!
A:
Using continuity of the map $M\colon X\times \mathbf R\to x$ defined by $M(x,\lambda):=\lambda x$ (continuity for the product topology), we have that the map $t\mapsto tx$ is continuous, hence the set
$$S:=\{t>0,t^{-1}x\in V\}$$
is an open subset of $(0,+\infty)$.
Since $1$ belongs to $S$, the infimum of $S$ is necessarily strictly smaller than $1$.
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Envious of the big display in your friend's Tesla?
Sony has a giant 9-inch display for your car
Just in time to take advantage of significant Android Auto updates and upcoming CarPlay enhancements in iOS 13, Sony has announced an updated version of its in-car receiver, with a floating touchscreen display. The new 8.95-inch WVGA display is both bigger and requires only a single DIN space to install, making it easier to fit to a wider variety of cars. This new assembly allows the display to tilt, as well as adjust its height and depth. In this way, Sony makes it possible to add a big, spacious display to a car that normally wouldn't have one. Compared to the car touchscreen competition, at $600 it's also pretty cheap.
It's not the social network it once was.
Tumblr's new owner is the owner of WordPress
Verizon (Engadget's parent company) is selling the social network to Automattic, the company behind the blogging tool WordPress. It's not disclosing the size of the deal, but Automattic is taking on 200 employees as part of the exchange. Automattic chief Matt Mullenweg told the Wall Street Journal that this is his company's largest acquisition both in terms of cost and sheer staff count. And in case you're wondering: no, Automattic won't reverse the ban on adult content. He saw Tumblr as a companion to WordPress and "just fun."
It's a low-key end to a long, rough chapter in Tumblr's history. Yahoo bought the site in 2013 for a hefty $1.1 billion, but rumors suggest the selling prices is just a fraction of that.
The company really, really wants you to buy Office as a subscription.
Microsoft drops one-off Office licenses from its Home Use Program
Microsoft is joining the charge to sell its Office products as a subscription service. While users have traditionally purchased the Office suite as a one-off perpetual license, the company is pushing customers toward an annual subscription instead.
Microsoft will no longer sell one-off licenses for Office 2019 as part of its Home Use Program (HUP). The company updated its FAQ page to confirm: "Office Professional Plus 2019 and Office Home and Business 2019 are no longer available as Home Use Program offers."
The HUP is a program aimed at employees in eligible companies, allowing them to buy the same Microsoft products they use at work to use at home. Previously, employees had been offered discounted rates for perpetual licenses. Now, they will have to purchase a subscription with a 30-percent discount, costing $48.99 a year for Office 365 Personal or $69.99 a year for Office 365 Home.
'Minecraft' graphics overhaul is cancelled
It just didn't perform well on multiple platforms.
Two years in the making, and it's canceled. The Minecraft team has decided to can its super-duper graphics pack after being unable to maintain a decent level of performance in-game. The pack was going to enable 4K on the Xbox One X and introduce much more sophisticated visual effects, which included atmospheric effects, highlights and more realistic water.
There is hope for a graphics tune-up in the future. Mojang said it was "looking into other ways" to give Minecraft a new look.
But wait, there's more...
The Morning After is a new daily newsletter from Engadget designed to help you fight off FOMO. Who knows what you'll miss if you don't Subscribe.
Craving even more? Like us on Facebook or Follow us on Twitter.
Have a suggestion on how we can improve The Morning After? Send us a note.
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{
"pile_set_name": "OpenWebText2"
}
|
<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?>
<!--
Copyright (c) 2011, Oracle and/or its affiliates. All rights reserved.
Redistribution and use in source and binary forms, with or without
modification, are permitted provided that the following conditions
are met:
- Redistributions of source code must retain the above copyright
notice, this list of conditions and the following disclaimer.
- Redistributions in binary form must reproduce the above copyright
notice, this list of conditions and the following disclaimer in the
documentation and/or other materials provided with the distribution.
- Neither the name of Oracle nor the names of its
contributors may be used to endorse or promote products derived
from this software without specific prior written permission.
THIS SOFTWARE IS PROVIDED BY THE COPYRIGHT HOLDERS AND CONTRIBUTORS "AS
IS" AND ANY EXPRESS OR IMPLIED WARRANTIES, INCLUDING, BUT NOT LIMITED TO,
THE IMPLIED WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY AND FITNESS FOR A PARTICULAR
PURPOSE ARE DISCLAIMED. IN NO EVENT SHALL THE COPYRIGHT OWNER OR
CONTRIBUTORS BE LIABLE FOR ANY DIRECT, INDIRECT, INCIDENTAL, SPECIAL,
EXEMPLARY, OR CONSEQUENTIAL DAMAGES (INCLUDING, BUT NOT LIMITED TO,
PROCUREMENT OF SUBSTITUTE GOODS OR SERVICES; LOSS OF USE, DATA, OR
PROFITS; OR BUSINESS INTERRUPTION) HOWEVER CAUSED AND ON ANY THEORY OF
LIABILITY, WHETHER IN CONTRACT, STRICT LIABILITY, OR TORT (INCLUDING
NEGLIGENCE OR OTHERWISE) ARISING IN ANY WAY OUT OF THE USE OF THIS
SOFTWARE, EVEN IF ADVISED OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGE.
-->
<project name="TransparentRuler" basedir="." default="jar">
<import file="nbproject/jdk.xml"/>
<target name="-prop-init">
<property file="user.build.properties"/>
<property file="build.properties"/>
</target>
<target name="-init" depends="-prop-init,-jdk-init"/>
<target name="compile" depends="-init" description="Compile main sources.">
<mkdir dir="${classes.dir}"/>
<javac srcdir="${src.dir}" destdir="${classes.dir}" debug="${debug}" deprecation="${deprecation}">
<classpath path="${cp}"/>
</javac>
<copy todir="${classes.dir}">
<fileset dir="${src.dir}"/>
</copy>
</target>
<target name="jar" depends="compile" description="Build JAR file for main sources.">
<jar jarfile="${jar}" compress="true">
<manifest>
<attribute name="Main-Class" value="${main.class}"/>
</manifest>
<fileset dir="${classes.dir}"/>
</jar>
</target>
<target name="run" depends="compile" description="Run application.">
<fail unless="main.class">Must set property 'main.class' (e.g. in build.properties)</fail>
<java classname="${main.class}" fork="true" failonerror="true">
<classpath path="${run.cp}"/>
</java>
</target>
<target name="javadoc" depends="-init" description="Build Javadoc.">
<mkdir dir="${javadoc.dir}"/>
<javadoc destdir="${javadoc.dir}">
<classpath path="${cp}"/>
<sourcepath>
<pathelement location="${src.dir}"/>
</sourcepath>
<fileset dir="${src.dir}"/>
</javadoc>
</target>
<target name="clean" depends="-init" description="Clean build products.">
<delete dir="${build.dir}"/>
<delete file="${jar}"/>
</target>
<target name="profile">
<ant antfile="nbproject/netbeans-targets.xml" target="profile"/>
</target>
</project>
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{
"pile_set_name": "Github"
}
|
Large enterprises have many thousands of server computers and tens of thousands or more of individual computing devices. Such organizations also typically use hundreds or thousands of different computer software applications in the course of their business, and have many, often hundreds of system administrators installing, maintaining, operating, upgrading, and otherwise administering these computers and applications.
Many applications provide different access or privilege levels for users. For example, a financial application might have privileged accounts that can be used to configure the system (e.g., select currencies used, create or delete accounts) and normal accounts that can only be used for day-to-day operations or data entry. For computer systems, there are typically normal user applications that are only used for running various application software, and administrator accounts (such as the root account in Unix/Linux or Administrator account and Domain Administrator account in Windows) that can be used to install, modify, or delete software on the system or access hardware (e.g., disk drives) directly, bypassing normal security and protection mechanisms on the computer (in practice, such accounts frequently permit kernel-level or operating system level access by allowing the installation of new device drivers or upgrading the operating system kernel). Given the large powers of certain administrator accounts, it is also possible to hide one's actions or insert hidden subvertive code into the system through such accounts.
Given the high number of administrators and the ability of some accounts to subvert even the operating system, it is important for organizations to monitor and audit access to and use of privileged accounts. This is important even for many medium-level privileged accounts where such auditing might still be required by regulations or good corporate governance policies. Furthermore, some applications might be so critical that all access to them should be audited, while others might ideally require real-time auditing and control from more than one person while performing administrative actions.
Several commercial products exist for controlling and auditing actions by administrators.
The PowerBroker product from BeyondTrust, Inc. permits fine-grained control and auditing of certain administrative actions.
The Xsuite products from Xceedium permit monitoring of SSH (Secure Shell) and RDP (Remote Desktop Protocol) sessions by requiring all administrative connections to be made through a centralized server, which decides which administrative interfaces a user can connect to and audits the actions performed by the administrator. It has access to the plaintext of even encrypted connections by making the connection from the centralized server and providing an HTTP-based web connection to the administrator. A shortcoming of the solution is that it forces administrators to use the user interface and tools provided by the solution; it is thus intrusive and changes the way administrators need to work.
The Privileged Session Management Suite from Cyber-Ark has similar capabilities and functionality as the Xceedium product, and suffers from similar shortcomings.
The Shell Control Box from Balabit also permits monitoring and auditing of SSH, RDP, VNC (Virtual Network Computing), and certain other types of sessions. While it can be operated in Bastion Mode, which is somewhat similar to the aforementioned products, it can also act as an intermediate device in the network between the administrative user and the computer running the application to which the administrative connection is. It performs a man-in-the-middle attack on the cryptography, which enables it to decrypt, inspect, and record even the contents of encrypted communications protocols. However, performing such attack smoothly requires that the intermediate device has a copy of the private key of the host being connected to, called destination host (for SSH), or a private key and certificate for the destination host (for, e.g., RDP). If the host key of the destination host is changed (it is prudent security practice to change any keys regularly), the key must be changed also on the intermediate device. When there are many hosts and many applications, this becomes very cumbersome. Furthermore, such keys may also be stored in, e.g., SSH clients, resulting in very confusing error/warning messages to end users when the keys are changed.
The Shell Control Box is frequently installed next to a firewall and stores all audit data on the Shell Control Box itself. Sometimes it is installed next to the server. When there are multiple firewalls or multiple servers to protect (possibly at different sites in widely separated geographic locations), logs from multiple users will remain at each Shell Control Box and since sensitive user data (including passwords) is stored at each device, compromise of even a single device may result in compromise of sensitive passwords. Centralized searches from multiple Shell Control Box installations are not possible.
The SSH protocol is described in the Internet Engineering Task Force (IETF) standards RFC 4250 The Secure Shell (SSH) Protocol Assigned Numbers, RFC 4251 The Secure Shell (SSH) Protocol Architecture, RFC 4252 The Secure Shell (SSH) Authentication Protocol, RFC 4253 The Secure Shell (SSH) Transport Layer Protocol, and RFC 4254 The Secure Shell (SSH) Connection Protocol. The original protocol was invented and developed by one of the present inventors in 1995-1999, and then standardized by the IETF.
The Secure Shell (SSH) protocol and related client and server software applications are now included in nearly all Unix and Linux versions, such as IBM AIX, HP-UX, Solaris, Red Hat, SUSE, Ubuntu, etc. Popular implementations of the SSH protocol include the open source OpenSSH, which is based on the present inventor's free SSH version 1.12 from 1995, and the commercial Tectia SSH client and server from SSH Communications Security (Tectia Corporation).
The Secure Sockets Layer (SSL) protocol is described in RFC 6101. Its newer version, Transport Layer Security (TLS) protocol is described in RFC 5246.
The Remote Desktop Protocol is based on, and an extension of, the ITU T.120 family of protocols. It is described in detail in Microsoft documentation, available with the Microsoft Developer Network product, under the entry [MS-RDPBCGR]: Remote Desktop Protocol: Basic Connectivity and Graphics Remoting Specification, Microsoft Corporation, Dec. 14, 2011.
An objective of the present invention is to provide an improved system for controlling and auditing SFTP file transfers and file transfers using other encrypted protocols.
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{
"pile_set_name": "USPTO Backgrounds"
}
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Gifford House
About this service
Gifford House provides accommodation for 18+ for single homeless people who may have substance misuse/alcohol issues or who are in recovery. House rules are decided by the service users. Priority is given to those who have a connection to Gateshead.
Referral (how to access this service)
Self referral or via other agency; priority is given to referrals from Gateshead Council Homeless Section
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{
"pile_set_name": "Pile-CC"
}
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José Aponte Hernández
This article is about the Representative. For the former Mayor of Carolina, see José Aponte de la Torre.
Jose Fernando Aponte Hernández (born January 19, 1958) is an accountant and former Speaker of the House of Representatives of Puerto Rico. He was born in San Juan and obtained a bachelor's degree in Accounting from the University of Puerto Rico at Rio Piedras in 1980.
Aponte is married to Aida I. Rodríguez Roig, and has two sons and one daughter. He currently resides in San Lorenzo. He was the New Progressive Party (PNP) General Secretary during the Rossello administration. One of his older brothers, Néstor, is a state appellate judge, while another, Jorge, was the Director of the Office of Management and Budget during the Rosselló administration.
He served as Secretary-General of the New Progressive Party from 1996 to 1997 (acting) and 1997 to 1999.
Aponte was appointed to fill the vacancy left by his brother Néstor Aponte Hernández, as Representative from the 33rd District, after he resigned to become an Appellate Court Judge. Aponte was elected for a full term as Representative in the 2000 general elections, and was re-elected as an At-Large Representative in the 2004 and 2008 general elections. After the New Progressive Party elected 32 members of the 51-seat House of Representatives in the 2004 general elections, Aponte was elected the 28th Speaker of the House on January 10. He is also a member of the Puerto Rico Republican Party. He was defeated in his bid for re-election for Speaker by the new 37-member majority New Progressive Party caucus, which elected then Government Affairs Committee Chairwoman, Jenniffer A. González Colón.
Aponte has maintained a sense of stewardship toward Puerto Ricos's statehood quest. In that respect, his most recent remarks affirm satisfaction with the pro-statehood legislative process, stating "I think it is extraordinarily good that a decision to roll this process is finally taking place at the House of Representatives".
References
Category:1958 births
Category:Living people
Category:New Progressive Party members of the House of Representatives of Puerto Rico
Category:People from San Juan, Puerto Rico
Category:Speakers of the House of Representatives of Puerto Rico
Category:Republican Party (Puerto Rico) politicians
Category:University of Puerto Rico alumni
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{
"pile_set_name": "Wikipedia (en)"
}
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# computed by luarocks/buildroot
sha256 01211bb80dab92f87cece6e31854d73ae4a2ce06af7c48423a54313d72adf9fb wsapi-xavante-1.7-1.src.rock
sha256 6aa14e3febf7a9e810ce672b015f5a5514241ce5d1c3a6a48f921f089d270159 wsapi/doc/us/license.html
sha256 c7bf3061d00a96d10cb9dbc3a737d0af22594e2ef8f788842d7ab92eeaa864f2 wsapi/doc/us/license.md
|
{
"pile_set_name": "Github"
}
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I felt like drawing Sunset Shimmer but I wasn't sure on whether I should just draw her normally or in her human form or pony form...so I ended up going with this idea. Basically it's if Sunset was never selfish, much more like Twilight is, and never really wanted to exceed at her studies that much that she'd want her own pair of wings.Honestly, I still think there's a lot of things that still need to be worked on her in the series, I'd love for them to have her reunite with Celestia again, I'd just love to see what would happen. Sunset still has a lot of potential to grow into something more than she already is todayMLP (C) Hasbro
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{
"pile_set_name": "OpenWebText2"
}
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# Dropbox JavaScript SDK Examples
To run the examples in your development environment:
1. Clone this repo
2. Run `npm install`
3. From the root of your repository, start the development server with
`npm start`.
4. Point your browser to <http://0.0.0.0:8080/>
## Code flow example
1. Clone this repo
2. Run `npm install`
3. Create an app in the [App console](https://www.dropbox.com/developers/apps).
4. Set a redirect URI "http://localhost:3000/auth" on the app's page on the [App
console](https://www.dropbox.com/developers/apps).
5. Set app key and secret in `examples/javascript/code_flow_example.js` on lines
17 and 18.
6. Run `node examples/javascript/code_flow_example.js`
7. Point your browser to <http://0.0.0.0:3000/>
|
{
"pile_set_name": "Github"
}
|
echo "Starting eosiodev service ..."
if [ "$(ls -A $DATA_DIR)" ]; then
/opt/eosio/bin/nodeos --config-dir $CONFIG_DIR --data-dir $DATA_DIR -e --hard-replay
else
/opt/eosio/bin/nodeos --config-dir $CONFIG_DIR --data-dir $DATA_DIR -e #--delete-all-blocks
fi
|
{
"pile_set_name": "Github"
}
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Experience with developmental facial paralysis: part II. Outcomes of reconstruction.
The purpose of this study was to document the 30-year experience of the authors' center in the management of developmental facial paralysis and to analyze the outcomes of microsurgical reconstruction. Forty-two cases of developmental facial paralysis were identified in a retrospective clinical review (1980 to 2010); 34 (80.95 percent) were children (age, 8 ± 6 years) and eight (19.05 percent) were adults (age, 27 ± 12 years). Comparisons between preoperative and postoperative results were performed with electrophysiologic studies and video evaluations by three independent observers. Mean follow-up was 8 ± 6.3 years (range, 1 to 23 years). Overall, outcome scores improved in all of the patients, as was evident from the observers' mean scores (preoperatively, 2.44; 2 years postoperatively, 3.66; final, 4.11; p < 0.001, Kruskal-Wallis test) and the electrophysiologic data (p < 0.0001). The improvement in eye closure, smile, and depressor function was greater in children as compared with adults (p < 0.005, Mann-Whitney test). Early targeted screening and diagnosis, with prompt specialized treatment, improves the physical and emotional development of children with developmental facial paralysis and reduces the prevalence of aesthetic and functional sequelae of the condition, thus facilitating reintegration among their peers. The experience of this center should serve as a framework for the establishment of accurate and reliable guidelines that will facilitate early diagnosis and management of developmental facial paralysis and provide support and counseling to the family.
|
{
"pile_set_name": "PubMed Abstracts"
}
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424 N.W.2d 155 (1988)
Rodney Dean CARROLL, Petitioner,
v.
Herman SOLEM, Warden, South Dakota State Penitentiary, and Lynne De Lano, Warden of the Springfield Correctional Facility, Respondents.
No. 15859.
Supreme Court of South Dakota.
Considered on Briefs November 20, 1987.
Decided June 1, 1988.
*156 Richard Braithwaite, Sioux Falls, for petitioner.
Roger A. Tellinghuisen, Atty. Gen., Craig M. Eichstadt, Asst. Atty. Gen., Pierre, for respondents.
SABERS, Justice.
Carroll claims his misdemeanor DWI conviction cannot be enhanced once to felony status and then enhanced again under the habitual felony statute. The court denied Carroll's habeas corpus action and he appeals. We reverse and remand for resentencing.
Facts
Carroll was indicted for driving while under the influence of alcoholic beverages (DWI) on August 28, 1986, a violation of SDCL 32-23-1(2). The state filed two separate part II informations. The first part II information alleged that the DWI offense was his third such offense within five years based upon July 22, 1983, and March 3, 1986, convictions. As such, it constituted a class 6 felony. SDCL 32-23-4. The second part II information was filed pursuant to SDCL 22-7-7 (habitual felony offender). It alleged that Carroll was a second time felony offender based upon a prior DWI felony conviction of March 11, 1986.
Carroll pled guilty to the DWI offense charged in the indictment and admitted the repeat offender allegations contained in both part II informations. Due to the state's filing of the first part II information under SDCL 32-23-4 (punishment for third offense DWI), the penalty for his DWI offense was increased from a class 1 misdemeanor to a class 6 felony. Because the second part II information was filed under SDCL 22-7-7 (habitual felony offender), the penalty was increased from a class 6 felony to a class 5 felony. The trial court sentenced Carroll to four years in the state penitentiary.
Carroll claims that the sentencing court erred in using the provisions of both SDCL 32-23-4 and SDCL 22-7-7 to allow the double enhancement of the penalty for his DWI conviction from a class 1 misdemeanor to a class 6 felony and then to a class 5 felony. We agree.
Improper Double Enhancement
This court has not determined whether a criminal penalty may be enhanced under both the third offense DWI statute, SDCL 32-23-4, and the habitual felony offender provision, SDCL 22-7-7. The only similar situation confronted by this court was in State v. Layton, 337 N.W.2d 809 (S.D. 1983). In Layton an inmate defendant was convicted of a felony. He was sentenced as an inmate felon subject to a double penalty under SDCL 22-6-5.1 and, in turn, sentenced as a habitual felony offender under SDCL 22-7-8. We approved the sentence in Layton because each of the two penalty enhancement provisions served a distinct purpose. In reaching our conclusion in Layton we stated:
The individual who commits felonies while incarcerated exhibits a callous disregard *157 of our penal system, is dangerous to penitentiary personnel, and wreaks havoc with an institution which can exist only through discipline. SDCL 22-6-5.1, the inmate doubling statute, operates in part to protect the unarmed penitentiary guards who must risk their safety to enforce penitentiary rules. SDCL 22-7-8, our habitual offender statute, operates to protect society from the individual who, through his continued felonious conduct, exhibits that efforts of rehabilitation have failed. These two statutes serve distinct purposes, each being a vital concern to our criminal justice system.
Layton, 337 N.W.2d at 816.
This case presents a situation unlike that in Layton. The use of both SDCL 32-23-4 and SDCL 22-7-7 to enhance the penalty for petitioner's DWI offense accomplishes the same purpose: it enhances his punishment for the subsequent commission of the same criminal offense. As a result, the dual purpose rationale relied upon in allowing double enhancement of the penalty in Layton is not present in this case.
In a case involving a factual situation nearly identical to this one, the Supreme Court of Nebraska ruled that the specificity of the language in that state's DWI repeat offender statute, which was, "if such conviction is for a third offense, or subsequent offense thereafter, such person shall be imprisoned ...," (emphasis original) yielded the conclusion that it was a specific DWI habitual criminal statute excluding application of a general habitual felony provision. State v. Chapman, 205 Neb. 368, 287 N.W.2d 697, 699 (1980), citing Neb.Rev.Stat. § 39-669.07(3) (1943).
We find the reasoning of the Nebraska Supreme Court persuasive in our review of SDCL 32-23-4, the third offense DWI statute. Like the Nebraska statute, it specifically states, "[i]f conviction for a violation of § 32-23-1 is for a third offense, or subsequent offense thereafter, the person is guilty of a Class 6 felony...." (emphasis added). We similarly conclude that SDCL 32-23-4 is a self-contained, specific habitual criminal statute. Rules of statutory construction require that a statute that is specific and express controls over a more general statute, Marshall v. State, 302 N.W.2d 52 (S.D.1981).
We find the general felony habitual offender statute inapplicable in sentencing a repeat DWI offender. SDCL 22-7-7 provides, in part:
When a defendant has been convicted of one or two prior felonies under the laws of this state or any other state or the United States, in addition to the principal felony, the sentence for the principal felony shall be enhanced by changing the class of the principal felony to the next class which is more severe. The determination of whether a prior offense is a felony for purposes of this chapter shall be determined by whether it is a felony under the laws of this state or under the laws of the United States at the time of conviction of such prior offense....
On its face, this language purports to apply to "principal" and "prior felonies" as opposed to misdemeanors enhanced to felony status.[*] This conclusion is in keeping with our holding that, "[t]he habitual offender act [SDCL ch. 22-7] is a highly penal enactment and, therefore, it should be strictly construed and applied." State v. Grooms, 339 N.W.2d 318 (S.D.1983). This conclusion is also in keeping with State v. Helling, 391 N.W.2d 648, (S.D.1986) where we held that a person charged with a third offense DWI was not entitled to additional (felony) peremptory challenges on the underlying charge.
We hold, therefore, that SDCL 32-23-4 provides an exclusive sentencing scheme for repeat DWI offenders and that the sentencing court erred in levying a sentence enhanced under both SDCL 32-23-4 and SDCL 22-7-7. Therefore, we reverse and remand for resentencing.
*158 WUEST, C.J., and MORGAN, J., concur.
HENDERSON, J., concurs in result.
MILLER, J., disqualified.
HENDERSON, Justice (concurring in result).
As the State and appellant briefed propriety/impropriety of jurisdiction through the use of habeas corpus, and this Court by its decision has not addressed this issue, I concur in the result only.
NOTES
[*] See Chapman, supra, 287 N.W.2d at 698 (DWI offenses which are "felonies" because a defendant has previously been convicted of the same crime, do not constitute "felonies" within the meaning of "prior felonies" that enhance penalties under the habitual criminal statute.)
|
{
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|
Analysis, fate studies and monitoring of the antifungal agent clotrimazole in the aquatic environment.
The analysis and presence of clotrimazole, an antifungal agent with logK(OW) > 4, was thoroughly studied in the aquatic environment. For that reason analytical methods based on gas chromatography-mass spectrometry and liquid chromatography-tandem mass spectrometry were developed and validated to quantify clotrimazole with limits of quantification down to 5 and 1 ng/L, respectively. Both methods were compared in an intercalibration exercise. The complete mass-spectrometric fragmentation pattern could be elucidated with the aid of quadrupole time of flight mass spectrometry. Since clotrimazole tends to adsorb to laboratory glassware, studies on its adsorption behaviour were made to ensure the appropriate handling of water samples, e.g. pH, storage time, pretreatment of sampling vessels or material of the vials used for final extracts. The phenomena of adsorption to suspended matter were investigated while analysing different waste-water samples. Application of the methods in various investigated wastewater and surface water samples demonstrated that clotrimazole could only be detected in the low nanogram per litre range of anthropogenic influenced unfiltered water samples after acidification to pH 2.
|
{
"pile_set_name": "PubMed Abstracts"
}
|
Image copyright PA Image caption The Medway Secure Training Centre is run by G4S in Rochester
Four men have been arrested following a BBC Panorama investigation into abuse at a young offenders centre in Kent.
Police said they were being held on suspicion of child neglect.
The BBC understands three of the men were among four team leaders at the Medway Secure Training Centre, in Rochester, who were sacked on Tuesday.
A further three men at the unit, run by security firm G4S - two duty operations managers and a training centre assistant - remain suspended.
A female duty operations manager has been placed on restricted duties, while a male healthcare worker employed by Central and North West London NHS Trust (CNWL) has also been suspended.
A trust spokesman said: "One CNWL staff member contacted us before the programme to say that they had been present at one incident in the film; the footage broadcast confirmed this.
"Whilst we are pleased he came forward, he has been suspended whilst that incident is fully investigated."
The allegations relate to 10 boys aged 14 to 17.
Image caption Panorama filmed undercover at the unit
In a statement, G4S managing director for children's services, Paul Cook, said the company fully supported the action of police and was continuing to provide officers and the local authority with full access to the centre and its records, including CCTV footage.
"There is no place in our business for the conduct shown on the BBC's Panorama programme on Monday night.
"We are grateful to the police for their swift action in this case.
"We will work with the police and local authority to keep our own actions under review in light of today's developments," he said.
The arrests follow undercover filming by the Panorama programme at the 76-bed centre, which is for young offenders aged 12 to 17.
The programme highlighted allegations of inappropriate staff conduct.
G4S referred the claims to Medway's local authority designated officer, the Youth Justice Board, and the Ministry of Justice.
Labour MP Jo Stevens, shadow minister for prisons and probation, said the government and G4S still had many questions to answer.
She said Labour had written to Justice Secretary Michael Gove to ask him to take immediate action to put all G4S-run prisons, secure training centres and detention centres into special measures.
Among the allegations uncovered by Panorama and now subject to investigation are that Medway staff:
|
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|
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Tui Labasa and land
from wThe Tui Labasa, Adi Salanieta Tuilomaloma, has said that she thinks that unused land should be leased out in her district of Labasa. Of course it is really up to each mataqali to make such a decision - however her initiative is a guideline.
But, why don't the men and women of Labasa lease the land back to themselves? They could start intensive vegetable and fruit farms, grow kura, ginger, cassava, etc. Sugar-cane, well, I don't think that is the way to go as there's very little financial reward for a year's work. But the people could do very well with local food crops. Piggeries. Cattle - good for a rainy day - meaning the requirements to feed people at a wedding or funeral. Waiting for lease money twice a year isn't as good as being energetic and productive and having a hands-on relationship with the land.
Peceli's family land is in the Wailevu district, west of Labasa, but lots of relatives are in Naseakula and some family units own large tracts of land.-----
from Fiji TimesA big step on landWednesday, March 19, 2008
THE proposal by the Tui Labasa, Adi Salanieta Ritova, to turn over unused Native land for lease is a step in the right direction. This move shows the goodwill of the landowners and is an open invitation to farmers to stay in the Northern Division. With this single step, however, small it may be, relations between the communities can make a massive leap forward.
And not a single interim minister, government official, politician or unionist was involved in this landmark decision. The people of Labasa, through their chief, have decided that this is the way for the landowners and tenants to benefit from land which, until now, had remained idle.
Detractors will say that the vanua of Labasa should have made this move in 1999 when leases on cane fields first started to expire. They will say that seven years have been wasted and countless families have suffered as a consequence. While there may be merit in these arguments, it is important to note that any dealings with land must involve the landowners from the initial stages.
Governments in the past have attempted to force the issue at their peril.
This newspaper, nine years ago, made it quite clear that the way forward would be found when the landowners found the right time. It cannot be denied that every piece of arable land in this country must be put to good use for the benefit of all. For too long the indigenous people thought it was easy for the land to be worked by diligent farmers.
Few landowners realised the tremendous effort, the sacrifice and sheer hard work which went into producing cane or rice from the land. That is why they demanded, with the backing of chiefs and political parties, the return of their land. This was their right ill-advised as they were, to make the demand for the return of the fields handed down through the generations. Now that the land is in their possession, the landowners have three choices: Till the land themselves, lease the fields to tenants or allow the soil to become overgrown.
Some villagers will choose the first option and succeed. These are the people who will foster a new generation of indigenous farmer which makes full use of their birthright and maximises revenue opportunities.
Landowners who choose the option of leasing the land will make money and, at the same time, foster a generation of villagers who are tolerant and willing to help people of all races. Those who choose to let the land lie idle are a disgrace to the country and to themselves. We salute the Marama Tui Labasa and the Yavusa Wasavulu for a brave, bold move. Adi Salanieta and her people have set an example from which we can all learn.
NLTB hails Tui Labasa’s plans (from today's Fijilive news)19 MAR 2008
Fiji’s Native Land Trust Board has described the move by Tui Labasa, Adi Salanieta Tuilomaloma’s initiative to renew native land leases in her district of Labasa as a noble one.
NLTB spokesman, Ro Alipate Mataitini confirmed that the Tui Labasa has decided to renew leases, which are under her jurisdiction to farmers in Labasa.
He also said that most of the native land in Labasa has been unoccupied since the 2000 coup and it was Adi Salanieta’s wish to lease the land out for agricultural purposes. “Most of the unoccupied land was used for sugarcane planting for so many years until the leases expired and farmers had no choice but to vacate the land. However it was the initiative of the Tui Labasa to see that the land is put to good use once again and we applaud such courage.”
Ro Alipate also said that various clans in the Labasa district will have to be consulted first before any plans take place. “It’s a normal process for Fijians to consult their sub-clans before going ahead with any plans and in this case Labasa is a big district so we have to work our way carefully.”
Links
About Me
Babasiga (pronounced bambasinga) is the dry land of Macuata in northern Fiji - our place in the sun in Fiji. Peceli is from Fiji from the village is Vatuadova and the beach is Nukutatava. Peceli Ratawa passed away on 27th December 2015 so this is Wendy's blog now. Wendy is an Australian and today live in Geelong, Australia.
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Taking the next step: combining incrementally valid indicators to improve recidivism prediction.
The possibility of combining indicators to improve recidivism prediction was evaluated in a sample of released federal prisoners randomly divided into a derivation subsample (n = 550) and a cross-validation subsample (n = 551). Five incrementally valid indicators were selected from five domains: demographic (age), historical (prior convictions), adjustment (prior incident reports), rating scale (Violation scale of the Lifestyle Criminality Screening Form), and self-report (General Criminal Thinking score from the Psychological Inventory of Criminal Thinking Styles). After converting scores on the five indicators to a common scale (z score), two combined scores were calculated: a simple summed score (unweighted summed score) and a score computed using beta weights from a Cox survival analysis of the derivation subsample (weighted summed score). Correlational and receiver operating characteristic analyses revealed that the unweighted and weighted summed scores produced equivalent results and that both improved significantly on the results of the five contributing indicators.
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1 of 4 View Caption
Chris Detrick | The Salt Lake Tribune Salt Lake Tribune columnist Robert Gehrke Friday December 2, 2016. Tribune file photo A frosted glass curtain hides a portion of the bar at Brio Tuscan Grille at Fashion Place Mall. Paul Fraughton/ The Salt Lake Tribune Shawn Boyle, the general manager of Faustina restaurant, demonstrates Monday how easily the Paul Fraughton | Tribune file photo Moshen Asgari, right, supervises the removal of the "Zion curtain" from the bar a
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Hepatitis B virus-associated liver disease after renal transplantation.
A retrospective analysis of the first 200 recipients of renal transplants at the Johannesburg Hospital showed that 23 (11,5%) were chronic carriers of the hepatitis B virus (HBV) and a further 10 (5%) had previously been exposed to the virus as evidenced by detectable concentrations of antibody to the hepatitis B surface antigen in their serum. In no patient did graft function appear to suffer as a result of chronic HBV infection. However, 7 of the patients with hepatitis B surface antigenaemia had biochemical evidence of liver dysfunction. In 3 of these patients liver tissue was examined histologically; 2 had a macronodular cirrhosis and 1 chronic persistent hepatitis. One further patient developed acute fulminant B virus hepatitis and was the only one who died of liver failure in either group. Chronic infection with HBV may cause liver disease in renal transplant recipients, and strict techniques to limit the spread of the virus in renal transplant and dialysis units should continue to be enforced.
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Dental Hygiene
Why the Soft Sodas Stain the Teeth?
03/22/2010
Question:
Hi, I am a student of 7th grade and I want to know which is the process and the component by what the soft sodas like fanta, cocacola, grape or root beer stains the teeth. Also I want to know which is the worst and the best of that sodas and where can I find references about the this topic. Thanks
Answer:
The color of the soft drink may stain teeth. You can test this by soaking eggs in the liquid for a certain period of time. Obviosly the darker colored soft drinks may stain more. If you go on the internet under google, type in "google scholar". Then type in a phrase such as staining of teeth by soft drinks; you may get references on this topic.
Please note: only your personal physician or other health professional you consult can best advise you on matters of your health based on your medical history, your family medical history, your medication history, and how information from any of these databases may apply to you. Neither University of Cincinnati (NetWellness) nor any party involved in creating, producing or delivering this web site shall be liable for any damages arising out of access to or use of this web site, or any errors or omissions in the content thereof. (More)
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Introduction {#s1}
============
Expanding capacity to deal with the HIV epidemic is a formidable task in low- and middle-income countries given the scale of the epidemic and the limited public health infrastructure. While much has been achieved to make antiretroviral therapy (ART) affordable, access to care is still inadequate. According to the latest UNAIDS report, only 46% of those who were in need had started ART by the end of 2010 in low- to middle-income countries [@pone.0053570-WHO1].
One way to expand access to ART and improve retention within ART care for public sector patients is to utilize the private sector. In many low- and middle-income countries a high proportion of doctors work in the private sector [@pone.0053570-Dreesch1]. Contracting private doctors to initiate ART and follow up public sector patients in their private rooms according to the public sector guidelines has been successfully implemented in Botswana [@pone.0053570-Dreesch1] and other developing country settings [@pone.0053570-WHO2]. However, there are concerns about the ability and willingness of individual private doctors to implement the public health approach to ART management, and about high costs in the for-profit private sector. To date there have been no published comparisons of clinical and economic outcomes of the provision of ART care to public patients between the private sector and public sector.
In addition to the debates about public versus private ART care, there are also questions about how frequently patients should be followed up, and by whom. In the earlier years of ART provision, patients were required to attend facilities for regular consultations with doctors or nurses [@pone.0053570-Cleary1]. More recently, however, there has been a move towards less frequent follow-up, and towards task shifting from doctors to nurses, and from nurses to counselors [@pone.0053570-Cleary2]. It is however unclear whether this changing intensity in follow-up will impact negatively on patient adherence and outcomes.
We assessed the costs and outcomes of providing ART care for public patients in the private versus public sector in two South African ART programs where no co-payment from patients was required: a grant-funded program providing care for public patients in private practices and a public-sector program providing care for public patients in public sector community clinics. We utilized a newly developed Markov-model, which addresses many of the limitations of existing models [@pone.0053570-Leisegang1].
Methods {#s2}
=======
Study design {#s2a}
------------
We assessed the costs and outcomes of ART provision in the private-care and public-care models to provide care to public sector dependent patients. We took the provider\'s perspective and only included ART-related costs: antiretroviral drugs, CD4+ cell count (CD4) and viral load (VL) monitoring, toxicity laboratory monitoring, and public clinic or private general practitioner (GP) visits. We used Markov modeling to extrapolate primary data in order to estimate results over 10 years and lifetime for costs, rates of loss to follow-up and life years. Zero and three percent annual discount rates were used. The model was developed using data from the public-care cohort, and validated externally using data from the private-care cohort. Uncertainty was assessed using multi-way and probabilistic sensitivity analyses.
Study setting {#s2b}
-------------
ART care for patients in both programs followed the 2003 South African national guidelines, which were based on the 2003 World Health Organization guidelines for resource-limited settings [@pone.0053570-Organisation1]. Patients were eligible for ART when they met the following criteria: either a CD4 below 200 cells/µL or a WHO stage 4 illness (other than extra-pulmonary tuberculosis) irrespective of the CD4 count. The first line ART regimen consisted of two nucleoside reverse transcriptase inhibitors (NRTI), zidovudine (ZDV) or stavudine (D4T) with lamivudine (3TC), with a non-nucleoside reverse transcriptase inhibitor (NNRTI), nevirapine (NVP) or efavirenz (EFV). Viral load and CD4 counts were monitored 6 monthly. Patients with confirmed virologic failure (two consecutive viral loads \> = 5000 copies/ml) in spite of enhanced adherence promotion, were switched to a second line regimen of two NRTIs, ZDV and didanosine (DDI), in combination with a boosted protease inhibitor, lopinavir/ritonavir (LPV/r). Safety monitoring was limited to serum alanine aminotransferase (ALT), complete blood count, and lipogram for patients on NVP, ZDV, and LPV/r respectively.
Cohort Description {#s2c}
------------------
The public-care cohort was the Khayelitsha HIV treatment program, which is a public sector program operating in an urban area in Cape Town, South Africa. The program is jointly funded by the state and a donor, Medecins Sans Frontieres. ART care was provided at three primary care clinics. ART was initiated by doctors but routine follow up was largely done by nurses. The clinics operated on a queue system and therefore patients would spend between 1--4 hours at the clinic. Counselors and peer-educators played an important role in educating and encouraging patients while they waited to see clinical staff. Most patients returned to the clinic every month to collect medicines, attend group or individual counseling sessions, and/or for clinical assessments. We included data from the inception of the program on 15 January 2000 until 25 Jan 2008.
The private-care cohort was the BroadReach Healthcare program, a donor-funded (President\'s Emergency Plan for AIDS Relief (PEPFAR)) managed-care ART program. Patients were recruited into the program at several urban and rural public sector clinics in the Mpumulanga, Eastern Cape and Kwazulu-Natal provinces in South Africa. ART care was provided by local contracted general practitioners (GPs) in their private practices on an appointment basis and visit frequency was pre-specified. The private doctors had to successfully complete internet-based training on the national ART guidelines before they could enroll patients. Telephonic counseling support for the patients and clinical guidance for the doctors was provided by Aid for AIDS, a private sector disease management program. Patients collected their medication from the doctors\' rooms monthly, but clinical consultations were performed less frequently. We included data from the inception of the program on 1 May 2005 until 31 July 2010. New patient enrollment was stopped in March 2008.
In both cohorts severely ill or complicated patients were referred to secondary level public sector hospitals for further management and then re-integrated back into the program once their condition had stabilized. Data were entered prospectively into databases. Deaths were ascertained by several mechanisms: (1) clinic staff or private practice practitioners who learnt of a death from family members or friends, would either complete a specific form and fax it to a central office or capture it on a computer-based system onsite; (2) staff and program administrators identified patients who had missed several appointments and contacted a family member or treatment supporter of the patient to determine whether the patient was deceased and if so the date of death; and (3) the patient\'s South African identity number, where available, was used to cross-reference the South African national death register to establish whether a death was recorded.
We included adult patients (19 years and older) who started first line ART within the programs and had a baseline CD4 count below 200 cells/µL. The study intervals differed somewhat for each cohort, although the median year of starting ART was 2005 in both cohorts. A patient\'s follow-up period was truncated on the date they either: transferred out of the program, died, on the study end date, or on the last date seen if they were not seen within six months of the end of the study period and their identity number was not available (and we were therefore unable to ascertain whether they had died).
Healthcare utilisation and cost data {#s2d}
------------------------------------
GP or clinic utilisation was determined from the electronic database records for both cohorts. The cost in South Africa Rands (ZAR) for a public-sector clinic visit was determined from a previously published estimate [@pone.0053570-Cleary1]. In that study, the unit clinic visit costs included time allocations for nurses, doctors, and counselors, and this has changed in more recent times due to increased task shifting. Together with improved economies of scale and learning by doing, cost would have fallen substantially had it not been for substantial increases in doctor\'s salaries over the same period. We therefore decided to only use the consumer price index table [@pone.0053570-Consumer1] to inflate costs to April 2010 levels. Private GP visit costs were determined from contracted rates in April 2010.
Drug utilisation was divided into first line (2NRTIs and NNRTI) and second line (2NRTIs and PI) therapy, and the average utilisation of each drug was determined within each line of therapy. Because estimates of ARV drug utilization were not available within our dataset, we conservatively assumed that all patients had received their ARVs each month and therefore allocated full monthly ARV drug costs within the ART model. ARV drug costs were set at the public sector tender prices for April 2010.
There was some under-reporting of CD4 and VL monitoring, and ARV laboratory toxicity monitoring was not recorded in both programs. We conservatively assumed all patients underwent laboratory monitoring as per the South African public-sector guidelines. The guidelines recommended six monthly CD4 and VL monitoring. Laboratory toxicity monitoring, which occurred predominant in the first six months on ART, was limited to ZDV, NVP, and LPV/r. We scaled the specific toxicity monitoring utilisation associated with a specific ARV drug in accordance with its relative proportion within the two regimen lines. All laboratory costs were set at the public sector tender prices for April 2010. All costs were converted from ZAR to United States Dollars (USD) in April 2010 (7.34 ZAR per USD).
The Markov model framework, development and uncertainty analysis {#s2e}
----------------------------------------------------------------
WHO stage, current CD4, and current VL were identified as key determinants of lifetime costs and outcomes [@pone.0053570-Kranzer1]. Many patients categorized as "LTFU" in studies return to ART care and therefore are not truly LTFU [@pone.0053570-Ndiaye1]. This is important as: (a) ART-related resources are not consumed while a patient is LTFU, (b) the CD4 count falls rapidly to pre-ART levels in patients who interrupt ART [@pone.0053570-Ananworanich1], (c) additional resources are consumed in patients restarting ART [@pone.0053570-Kranzer1], (d) treatment interruptions increase resistance to first line regimens [@pone.0053570-Kranzer1] [@pone.0053570-Kranzer1] [@pone.0053570-Kranzer1] [@pone.0053570-Kranzer1] [@pone.0053570-Kranzer1](9)(9)(8), and (e) treatment interruptions increase deaths [@pone.0053570-Kranzer1] and attenuate CD4 recovery [@pone.0053570-Kaufmann1].
We based the structure of the Markov model on these determinants of costs and outcomes as well as on our own analysis of the public-care program -- the larger of the two cohorts. We implemented this Markov model in Treeage 2009 [@pone.0053570-TreeageSoftware1] and populated it with parameter estimates derived in Stata 11 [@pone.0053570-Analysis1] using survival models for time-to-event analyses and generalized linear models for clinic/GP utilisation. We evaluated the model fit and adjusted the model design where appropriate. Then, using the data from the private-care program, we derived new parameter estimates and evaluated the ability of the model to predict outcomes and costs. This procedure allowed us to assess the external validity of the model [@pone.0053570-Cleary1], [@pone.0053570-Sendi1]. The model was run for two durations: 10 years and until all members of each cohort were dead (i.e. lifetime duration). Finally, we conducted probabilistic sensitivity analysis to assess uncertainty. This entailed specifying distributions on utilization and outcome parameters, where possible and propagating uncertainty through the model by way of first and second order Monte Carlo simulations. The models were run using a 1 month cycle length [@pone.0053570-Badri1], [@pone.0053570-Freedberg1].
The Markov Model {#s2f}
----------------
The overall Markov model was divided into two parts: an ART model and a LTFU model (see [figure 1](#pone-0053570-g001){ref-type="fig"}). All patients started in the ART model, and remained there until they either died or became LTFU. Healthcare utilisation and mortality has been shown to be significantly higher in the first 6 months on ART [@pone.0053570-Cleary1], [@pone.0053570-Leisegang1]. Therefore the ART model was divided into two phases: 0--6 months on starting or restarting ART and \>6 months on ART. We defined LTFU as defaulting ART for more than 6 months. Patients entering the LTFU model remained there until they either died or restarted ART. We used parametric survival analysis with an exponential distribution to determine the transition probabilities to outcomes (death, LTFU, CD4 category change, and VL category change), and generalized regression models to determine utilisation (GP and clinic visits) within the Markov states. Covariates included time on ART, on-ART CD4 category, on-ART VL category, and year of starting ART (normalizing findings to 2005). We assumed that non-HIV related deaths of a typical individual (34 years) were included in the recorded deaths. We modeled the increasing relative contribution of non-HIV related deaths over time using the mortality curves for South Africa (less the typical mortality for a 34 year old adult) before the onset of South Africa\'s HIV epidemic (prior to 1990).
{#pone-0053570-g001}
In the first 6 months after starting or restarting ART, patients were split according to their pre-ART CD4 count category (0--49 or 50--199 cells/µL), and remained within this CD4 category for 6 months. At the end of 6 months, the remaining patients (i.e. not LTFU or dead) were distributed into the Markov states of the \>6 months on ART model using a competing risks regression model with the pre-ART CD4 category as the only covariate. The \>6 months on ART phase was defined by fifteen Markov states. These included: five on-ART CD4 categories (0--49, 5--199, 200--349, 350--499, and ≥500 cells/µL) and three on-ART VL categories (\<1,000; 1,000--99,999; and ≥100,000 copies/mL). Within each Markov cycle, we limited transitions between these Markov states to either a CD4 or VL category change but not both, as this reduced model complexity.
We distributed patients entering the LTFU model into the two pre-ART CD4 categories (0--49 and 50--199 cells/µL) with the relative proportions being derived from the observed data. Given the limited LTFU data within our cohorts, we used the transition probability from the higher to the lower pre-ART CD4 category on a previously published natural history HIV model [@pone.0053570-Cleary1], and adapted the transition probabilities from these CD4 categories to death to match the observed trends in deaths within our cohorts. We used a regression model to determine the transition probability of restarting ART for patients LTFU, with time since first starting ART as the covariate.
The transition probability from first line to second line ART was determined separately within the two phases of the ART model and the covariates for the regression model included pre-ART CD4 category, on-ART VL category, on-ART CD4 category, and time since starting ART. Within the second line ART model all transition probabilities were the same as the first line ART model, but the ARV drug utilisation and therefore costs differed. Patients within the LTFU model were assigned no ART-related utilisation and therefore no costs.
Uncertainty analysis {#s2g}
--------------------
We assessed the uncertainty in the data and model design using probabilistic sensitivity analysis (first and second-order Monte Carlo simulations). First-order simulations were used to capture the variability in the simulated population and tracked the varying paths taken by patients moving through the model in order. Second-order simulations were used to capture the variability in the parameter estimates by randomly sampling from the triangular-shaped distribution for the parameter, which approximated the 95% confidence interval. We ran 1,000 second-order and 10,000 first-order simulations to determine the 95% uncertainty intervals around the lifetime costs and outcomes. We assessed uncertainty related to extrapolation of the data and the generalizability of the model in three ways: (1) we externally validated the model derived from public-care cohort using the private-care cohort dataset, (2) we extrapolated our estimates over 10 year and life-time durations and compared the results, and (3) we compared our outcomes and cost estimates with other published studies. Finally, we assessed the uncertainty related to analytical methods by comparing the findings with 0% and 3% annual discounting of costs and outcomes.
Scenario analysis {#s2h}
-----------------
Clinic visit utilisation within the public-care program was intensive due to a policy decision by the program managers that all patients should be seen by a nurse or doctor every one to two months. In more recent years, the clinic visit utilisation has been substantially reduced to accommodate the growing number of patients. We therefore explored the impact of reduced clinic visit utilisation within the public-care program on the overall results.
Ethics statement {#s2i}
----------------
The study was approved by the Research Ethics Committee, University of Cape Town. All patients signed consent for their information to be entered into the central databases and analysed. Anonymity was ensured using generated identifiers and all personal data were deleted from the datasets.
Results {#s3}
=======
Cohorts {#s3a}
-------
The characteristics and overall outcomes of the study cohorts are described in [Table 1](#pone-0053570-t001){ref-type="table"}. We included 6372 and 963 patients from the public-care and private-care programs respectively. Median follow-up time on ART was shorter in the public-care cohort. No patients were transferred out to other facilities from the private-care program. The model fit diagnostics for both the private-care and public-care programs are shown in [figures S1](#pone.0053570.s001){ref-type="supplementary-material"} and [S2](#pone.0053570.s002){ref-type="supplementary-material"} respectively. These include current CD4, current VL, line of therapy and status (current, LTFU or dead).
10.1371/journal.pone.0053570.t001
###### Cohort characteristics.
{#pone-0053570-t001-1}
Characteristic Khayelitsha Broadreach
------------------------------- ---------------- ----------------
Numbers 6372 963
Age baseline (years)
Median 33 34,9
IQR (28,7 to 39,3) (30,4 to 41,9)
Sex (%)
Female 67,7 68,3
CD4 count (cells/µl) baseline
Median 99 92
IQR (44 to 161) (44 to 146)
Unknown 435 3
Viral load (log~10~) baseline
Median 5,1 5,1
IQR (4,6 to 5,6) (4,7 to 5,6)
Unknown 2941 241
Follow-up duration (months)
Median 21,3 54,6
IQR (11,7 to 33,4) (29 to 57,8)
Status at end of study (%)
Current 77,5 72,2
Transferred 6,3 0
LTFU 5,5 7,8
Deceased 10,6 20
Health care utilization and unit costs in Markov states {#s3b}
-------------------------------------------------------
Over the study period, 212,175 clinic visits in the public-care cohort and 10,477 GP visits in the private-care cohort were recorded. The contracted rate for a GP visit was 31.04 USD and the estimated cost of 24.53 USD for a clinic visit was derived by inflating the cost estimate from a previous publication [@pone.0053570-Cleary1]. The average monthly GP/clinic utilisation (with 95% confidence intervals) and the cost estimates are shown in [table S1](#pone.0053570.s004){ref-type="supplementary-material"}. Within both cohorts, utilisation was highest in patients restarting ART and, to a lesser extent, during the 0--6 months after starting ART, compared with the \>6 months on ART phase. In this latter phase, monthly visit utilisation was lower in both cohorts. Importantly, the public-care cohort had approximately 2 to 4 times higher visit utilisation within the \>6 months on ART phase compared with the private-care cohort.
The South African public sector guidelines were used for laboratory utilisation -- the costs and utilisation are shown in table S2. CD4 and VL were taken 6 monthly, whilst other laboratory utilisation related to toxicity monitoring depended on the specific antiretroviral drugs and was higher in the first 6 months on ART.
The utilisation of individual drugs within the first and second line ART regimens, the ART-related costs, and the hazard coefficients and transition probabilities for the model describing the transition between first and second line ART are shown in [table S3](#pone.0053570.s006){ref-type="supplementary-material"} and [figure S3](#pone.0053570.s003){ref-type="supplementary-material"}. We assumed 100% utilisation of both ARV drugs and laboratory tests while within the ART model. The public-care cohort had higher zidovudine but lower efavirenz utilisation in the first line ART regimen. The public-care cohort had higher didanosine utilisation in the second line ART regimen. The transition probability of moving to second line ART was lowest in the 0--6 months after starting ART and highest in the 0--6 months after restarting ART. In the \>6 month on ART phase, the transition probability of moving to second line ART decreased with lower VL and higher CD4 categories respectively, increased with time on ART and plateaued at about 3 years. The transition probabilities to second line ART were generally lower in the private-care cohort. The estimated distribution of time between first and second line ART was 61% and 39% in the public-care cohort versus 66% and 34% in the private-care cohort.
Effectiveness {#s3c}
-------------
The transition probabilities for the CD4 and VL models on ART are shown in [table S4](#pone.0053570.s007){ref-type="supplementary-material"}. The baseline CD4 category distribution for patients starting ART was similar in both cohorts: 30% in the 0--49 cells/µL category and 70% in the 50--199 cells/µL category. A lower baseline CD4 category was associated with a lower CD4 category distribution after 6 months on ART, but lower baseline CD4 category did not impact on the VL distribution. Public-care patients were more likely than private-care patients to have VL \<1000 copies/ml (92% versus 87%) and CD4 counts ≥200 cells/µL (64% versus 42%) after the first 6 months on ART. This trend was similar for patients restarting ART, but the outcomes were worse: 61% and 43% had VL\<1000 copies/ml, and 49% and 63% had CD4 counts \<200 cells/µL for patients in the public-care and private-care cohorts respectively.
The transition probabilities and hazard coefficients for deaths on ART are shown in [table 2](#pone-0053570-t002){ref-type="table"}. The transition probability to death was highest in the first 3 months on ART and in patients with a low pre-ART CD4 category. The transition probability to death was lowest for the first 6 months after restarting ART. For patients in the \>6 months on ART phase, the transition probability to death decreased with lower VL category, higher CD4 category, and time on ART (using a Gompertz time function). The median of the Gompertz time function was 20 months in both cohorts, but the scaling constant was higher in the private-care cohort (1.19 versus 1.04). Thus there were more early deaths in the private-care cohort.
10.1371/journal.pone.0053570.t002
###### Transition probabilities and hazard coefficients for deaths on antiretroviral therapy.
{#pone-0053570-t002-2}
Variables Transition probabilities and hazard coefficients (95% CI) per 1 month cycle
------------------------------------------------------------ ----------------------------- ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------------
**First 6 months after starting antiretroviral therapy**
**Transition probability**
3 months CD4 0--49 cells/µL 0,035 (0,029 to 0,044) 0,040 (0,029 to 0,056)
3 months CD4 50--199 cells/µL 0,010 (0,008 to 0,012) 0,017 (0,013 to 0,022)
6 months CD4 0--49 cells/µL 0,011 (0,010 to 0,014) 0,027 (0,021 to 0,036)
6 months CD4 50--199 cells/µL 0,003 (0,003 to 0,004) 0,011 (0,009 to 0,014)
**First 6 months after restarting antiretroviral therapy**
Transition probability: 0--6 months 0,008 (0,004 to 0,016) 0,004 (0,001 to 0,010)
**\>6 months on antiretroviral therapy**
**Hazard coefficient due to CD4 and VL**
CD4 0--49 cells/µL VL \<1,000 copies/ml −5,01 −5,03
CD4 0--49 cells/µL VL 1,000--100,000 copies/ml −4,71 −4,69
CD4 0--49 cells/µL VL \>100,000 copies/ml −3,83 −4,13
CD4 50--199 cells/µL VL \<1,000 copies/ml −6,00 −6,5
CD4 50--199 cells/µL VL 1,000--100,000 copies/ml −5,69 −6,16
CD4 50--199 cells/µL VL \<1000 copies/ml −4,82 −5,6
CD4 200--349 cells/µL VL \>100,000 copies/ml −7,25 −7,48
CD4 200--349 cells/µL VL 1,000--100,000 copies/ml −6,94 −7,14
CD4 200--349 cells/µL VL \<1000 copies/ml −6,07 −6,58
CD4 350--499 cells/µL VL \>100,000 copies/ml −7,63 −8,53
CD4 350--499 cells/µL VL 1,000--100,000 copies/ml −7,32 −8,19
CD4 350--499 cells/µL VL \>100,000 copies/ml −6,45 −7,63
CD4 ≥500 cells/µL VL \<1,000 copies/ml −7,76 −8,16
CD4 ≥500 cells/µL VL 1,000--100,000 copies/ml −7,46 −7,82
CD4 ≥500 cells/µL VL \>100,000 copies/ml −6,58 −7,26
**Hazard coefficients for Gompertz function**
alpha 0,93 (0,52 to 1,34) 1,73 (1,17 to 2,28)
beta -- half-life (months) 20 20
The hazard coefficients and transition probabilities related to the LTFU model are shown in [table 3](#pone-0053570-t003){ref-type="table"}. The transition probability from ART to LTFU was lowest in the first 6 months after starting ART and highest in the first 6 months after restarting ART. Thereafter, the transition probability from ART to LTFU increased with higher VL category, lower CD4 category, and time on ART. We modeled the effect of time on ART by adapting the Gompertz function so that it plateaued. The median of the adapted Gompertz function was longer (12 months versus 8) and the scaling constant has higher (1.5 versus 0.5) in the public-care compared with the private-care cohort. We distributed patients entering the LTFU model as follows based on our analysis of the data: 30% to the 0--49 cells/µL and 70% to the 50--199 cells/µL CD4 categories. The transition probability from LTFU to restarting ART was higher in the private-care cohort (26% versus 13%) and independent of LTFU CD4 category.
10.1371/journal.pone.0053570.t003
###### Transition probabilities and hazard coefficients related to loss to follow-up.
{#pone-0053570-t003-3}
Variables Transition probabilities and hazard coefficients (95%) per 1 month cycle
-------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------- ---------------------------
**Transitions within ART model**
**Transition probability to LTFU within 0--6 months on ART**
On starting ART 0,0085 (0,0080 to 0,0091) 0,0006 (0,0006 to 0,0006)
On restarting ART 0,0270 (0,0205 to 0,0356) 0,0251 (0,0251 to 0,0251)
**Hazard coefficient to LTFU within \>6 months on ART**
CD4 0--49 cells/µL VL \<1,000 copies/ml −4,7 −5,13
CD4 0--49 cells/µL VL 1,000--100,000 copies/ml −3,79 −4,16
CD4 0--49 cells/µL VL \>100,000 copies/ml −4,00 −4,37
CD4 50--199 cells/µL VL \<1,000 copies/ml −5,31 −5,44
CD4 50--199 cells/µL VL 1,000--100,000 copies/ml −4,4 −4,47
CD4 50--199 cells/µL VL \<1000 copies/ml −4,61 −4,68
CD4 200--349 cells/µL VL \>100,000 copies/ml −5,73 −4,52
CD4 200--349 cells/µL VL 1,000--100,000 copies/ml −4,82 −3,56
CD4 200--349 cells/µL VL \<1000 copies/ml −5,03 −3,76
CD4 350--499 cells/µL VL \>100,000 copies/ml −5,73 −4,52
CD4 350--499 cells/µL VL 1,000--100,000 copies/ml −4,82 −3,56
CD4 350--499 cells/µL VL \>100,000 copies/ml −5,03 −3,76
CD4 ≥500 cells/µL VL \<1,000 copies/ml −5,73 −4,52
CD4 ≥500 cells/µL VL 1,000--100,000 copies/ml −4,82 −3,56
CD4 ≥500 cells/µL VL \>100,000 copies/ml −5,03 −3,76
**Hazard coefficients for Gompertz function**
alpha 1,5 0,5
beta -- half-life (months) 12 8
**Initial distribution within LTFU model**
CD4 0--49 cells/µL 0,278 (0,255 to 0,302) 0,243 (0,217 to 0,269)
CD4 50--199 cells/µL 0,722 (0,745 to 0,698) 0,757 (0,783 to 0,731)
**Transitions within LTFU model**
**Transition probability between CD4 category**
CD4 50--199 to CD4 0--49 cells/µL 0,005 (0,005 to 0,005) 0,006 (0,006 to 0,006)
**Transition probability back to ART**
CD4 0--199 cells/µL 0,134 (0,128 to 0,141) 0,146 (0,139 to 0,154)
**Transition probability to death**
CD4 0--49 cells/µL 0,006 (0,005 to 0,008) 0,006 (0,005 to 0,008)
CD4 50--199 cells/µL 0,001 (0,001 to 0,017) 0,001 (0,001 to 0,017)
The highest death rates were observed within the first year on ART for both cohorts, especially in the private-care cohort: 8% and 15% had died by 12 months and 32% and 39% had died by 120 months in the public-care and private-care cohorts respectively. The distribution of VL categories stabilized by 3 years to 90% and 85% of patients having a VL \<1000 copies/ml within public and private-care cohorts respectively. The distribution of CD4 categories was more dynamic over time and the private -care cohort fared better with 50% versus 40% of patients having a CD4 ≥500 cells/µL by 10 years. The percentage of patients who were alive and still on ART stabilized at approximately 80% for both cohorts, although the private-care cohort achieved this earlier due to generally higher transition probabilities to and from LTFU.
Ten**-**year and lifetime costs, outcomes, probabilistic sensitivity and scenario analysis {#s3d}
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
We ran Monte Carlo simulations for 10 years and until everyone had died to generate lifetime costs and outcomes together with their 95% confidence intervals, as shown in [table 4](#pone-0053570-t004){ref-type="table"}. The conclusions we derived from the 10 year and lifetime estimates (with and without discounting) were congruent: the private-care program was approximately as effective, but was less costly than the public-care program. These reduced costs were predominantly driven by the lower level of utilisation in the private-care program. Given that the outcomes between the two programs were not significantly different, this finding suggests that reduced visit utilization has the potential to be cost saving (reducing costs without impacting on patient outcomes).
10.1371/journal.pone.0053570.t004
###### 10 year and lifetime estimates of cost and outcomes of the private-care and public-care programs.
{#pone-0053570-t004-4}
Treatment option 10 year estimates Lifetime estimates
------------------ ------------------------ -------------------- --------------------------- ---------------------
**Undiscounted**
Public-care 8,825 (8,614 to 9,036) 7.6 (7.4 to 7.8) 18,734 (17,385 to 20,083) 14.1 (13.2 to 15.0)
Private-care 6,187 (5,997 to 6,377) 7.2 (7.0 to 7.4) 13,062 (12,077 to 14,047) 14.0 (13.1 to 14.8)
**Discounted**
Public-care 7,688 (7,513 to 7,863) 6.7 (6.5 to 6.8) 13,305 (12,588 to 14,022) 10.4 (9.9 to 10.9)
Private-care 5,407 (5,250 to 5,564) 6.3 (6.2 to 6.5) 9,273 (8,704 to 9,842) 10.0 (9.4 to 10.5)
When we reduced the frequency of clinic visits in the \>6 months on ART phase by two-thirds in the public-care program (in line with the changes introduced in late 2011 by the program administrators), the estimated 10-year and lifetime costs within the public-care program approximated the levels observed in the private-care program. In other words, the programs were equivalent in terms of costs and outcomes.
Discussion {#s4}
==========
We determined that the private-care program had lower costs and similar outcomes to the public-care program at the time of the study using a novel Markov model. Key differences between the programs were less frequent visits and higher rates of returning to care after loss to follow-up in the private-care program, and lower early death rates on ART, but more deaths while LTFU in the public-care program. We estimated that the recent shifts towards less frequent visits in the public-care ART program would achieve large cost savings, making the costs of the two programs similar. These findings suggest that properly managed private-care programs can ease the burden of ART care in endemic countries by looking after public sector patients without increasing costs. Further, reducing clinic visits may be a viable strategy to save costs while maintaining outcomes in public sector programs.
Our Markov model included several significant improvements on previously published models [@pone.0053570-Cleary1], [@pone.0053570-Goldie1]--[@pone.0053570-Bendavid1]. First, we separated out the first six months on ART, as outcomes and costs in this period are driven by baseline CD4 count and program protocols (higher frequency of clinic visits and toxicity monitoring) [@pone.0053570-Leisegang1]. Second, we developed a novel LTFU model, in which patients transitioned between ART and LTFU, changed baseline CD4 count within LTFU, and transitioned to death within LTFU. Third, we developed Markov models to account for CD4 and VL category changes within the ART and LTFU models. Fourth, we developed a more detailed model describing the transition between first line and second line ART, which is a major cost driver [@pone.0053570-Cleary3]. Fifth, the model included the impact of time on ART on the transition to LTFU, death, and second line ART. Finally, we assessed the external validity of the model by first developing the model using the public-care program data and then validating it using private-care program data. The fact that our novel Markov model was able to describe the data from two very different models of ART care suggests that its utility may be generalizable.
We are aware of one other study that compared costs and outcomes after 1 year in public-care and private-care programs for public sector patients [@pone.0053570-Rosen1]. Their private-care program had significantly lower costs due to fewer GP visits and poorer patient retention than their public care program. The costs of providing ART care were similar, although patient retention was better in our programs. Lifetime analyses using Markov models populated with data from resource-limited settings predicted varying survival on ART (6 to 13 years) and varying discounted total costs (3,000 to 9,500 USD from the provider\'s perspective) [@pone.0053570-Badri1], [@pone.0053570-Goldie1], [@pone.0053570-Bachmann1]--[@pone.0053570-Cleary3], [@pone.0053570-Freedberg2], [@pone.0053570-Wolf1]. Many of these models were developed using short term follow up data. Furthermore, retention within ART programs and cost of providing ART care in resource-limited settings varies dramatically [@pone.0053570-Rosen2], [@pone.0053570-Rosen3]. We estimated that average survival on ART was longer than most resource-limited setting model estimates.
The patients included in this analysis were public-sector patients receiving ART care in accordance with WHO public sector ART program guidelines. Therefore the results from this analysis have important policy implications that are relevant to other resource-limited settings. The rapid expansion of access to ART in resource-limited settings is both needed [@pone.0053570-Walensky1] and challenging [@pone.0053570-Boulle1]. Our findings suggest that managed private-care for public sector patients could be used to increase access to ART, provided that the private practices follow national protocols and that loss to follow-up is managed -- key components of the private-care program in our study. A similar model was implemented in Botswana to expand access to ART in areas where limited public-sector resources were available, by utilising doctors working in private practice to look after public sector patients [@pone.0053570-Dreesch1]. Their findings suggested that ART care coverage was extended by 10% and public-sector programs were strengthened by the interaction [@pone.0053570-Dreesch1]. We found that reduced utilisation of clinic visits, especially after the initial six months of care, would considerable lower costs of public-care programs. Finally, our model predicted that LTFU contributed significantly to deaths, utilisation of ART-related resources (on restarting ART), and attenuated CD4 recovery. This suggests that focusing on reducing LTFU could be a cost-saving strategy.
There were several limitations to our study. First, the findings in our study are based on a model that extrapolated the trends we observed over the first 3--5 years on ART predominantly. Second, we limited costs in this study to direct ART care costs, while the other components of care represent a significant portion of total costs [@pone.0053570-Leisegang2]. Data on these other cost components were not available. Third, we did not account for the impact of adherence on the total cost of ART drugs, nor the changing composition of specific drugs within the therapy lines over time [@pone.0053570-Leisegang2], [@pone.0053570-Nachega1]. Fourth, given the limited data on actual laboratory utilisation, especially for toxicity monitoring, we set the laboratory utilisation to those recommended in national guidelines. Fifth, it is likely that the patients within the public-care program had better access to HIV clinic services than typical public-sector patients in South Africa, and this would have increased costs, and possibly enhanced patient retention and improved outcomes [@pone.0053570-Boulle2]. Sixth, the relative proportions of individual drugs within the lines of therapy differed between cohorts: *the average ART costs were marginally lower in the private-care program and the different regimens may have impacted the outcomes*. Seventh, given the different models of ART care and different settings in which the programs were based, these programs were not completely comparable and therefore the overall conclusions in terms of costs and outcomes cannot be regarded as definitive. Finally, our public sector clinic visit cost was based on secondary data, which may not capture recent programmatic changes in ART provision (including task shifting) and economies of scale and scope. However, it is difficult to predict the extent to which this unit cost may under or overestimate costs. In moving towards universal access to ART, South Africa intends to offer ARVs from all primary care facilities, which will have implications for the efficiency of service provision and the resulting unit cost. Economies or diseconomies of scale can equally arise in small new facilities during start-up and in older large facilities with high patient volumes.
While analyses of provider costs and patient outcomes are crucial in guiding resource allocation for HIV care, it is equally important to consider barriers to patient access, particularly within the context of lifelong care [@pone.0053570-Cleary4]. Evidence suggests that the key barriers to ongoing ART care include the cost of transport to facilities as well as the opportunity cost associated with long waiting times in facilities [@pone.0053570-Cleary4], [@pone.0053570-Rosen4]. Less frequent visits would mitigate these access barriers. One advantage of private care is that waiting times are usually shorter.
Conclusions {#s4a}
-----------
In conclusion, we have developed a novel Markov model that has the potential to improve the accuracy of estimations of future costs and outcomes of long-term ART care. We have used this model to evaluate two ART programs, and have shown that managed private-care ART programs have the potential to complement the public sector platform in resource poor settings, thereby enhancing and sustaining coverage of patients in need. Our findings suggest that cost savings could be achieved through reducing clinic utilization without compromising patient outcomes.
Supporting Information {#s5}
======================
######
**Model calibration curves for the public-care ART program.**
(TIF)
######
Click here for additional data file.
######
**Model calibration curves for the private-care ART program.**
(TIF)
######
Click here for additional data file.
######
**Survival hazard coefficient for switching from first to second line therapy over time since starting antiretroviral therapy.**
(TIF)
######
Click here for additional data file.
######
**General practitioner and clinic visit utilisation and costs on antiretroviral therapy within the private-care and public-care programs respectively.**
(XLS)
######
Click here for additional data file.
######
**Laboratory costs and utilisation on antiretroviral therapy.**
(XLS)
######
Click here for additional data file.
######
**The composition and costs of first line and second line antiretroviral regimens, and transition probabilities and coefficients for transitioning from first line to second line regimen.**
(TIF)
######
Click here for additional data file.
######
**Transition probabilities and hazard coefficients of changes in CD4+ cell counts and viral load on antiretroviral therapy.**
(XLS)
######
Click here for additional data file.
[^1]: **Competing Interests:**The authors have declared that no competing interests exist.
[^2]: Conceived and designed the experiments: RL GM MH JS ED SC. Performed the experiments: RL GM MH JS ED SC. Analyzed the data: RL GM MH JS ED SC. Contributed reagents/materials/analysis tools: RL GM MH JS ED SC. Wrote the paper: RL GM MH JS ED SC.
|
{
"pile_set_name": "PubMed Central"
}
|
On this episode of Recode Decode, hosted by Kara Swisher, author Walter Isaacson talks about his new biography of Renaissance artist and inventor Leonardo da Vinci, which he describes has a “culmination” of themes he explored in past books about Ada Lovelace, Ben Franklin and Steve Jobs. Isaacson explains how da Vinci’s life story can inform our thinking today about innovation and technology.
You can read some of the highlights here, or listen to the entire interview in the audio player below. We’ve also provided a lightly edited complete transcript of their conversation.
If you like this, be sure to subscribe to Recode Decode on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Pocket Casts, Overcast or wherever you listen to podcasts.
Kara Swisher: Hi. I’m Kara Swisher, executive director of Recode. You’re listening to Recode Decode, a podcast about tech and media’s key players, big ideas and how they’re changing the world we live in. You can find more episodes of Recode Decode on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Google Play Music, or wherever you listen to podcasts, or just visit recode.net/podcasts for more.
Today in the red chair is Walter Isaacson, who I’ve interviewed many times before. He’s the author of a new biography of Leonardo da Vinci, perhaps our first and greatest inventor.
Walter Isaacson: What a great inventor.
What a great inventor, but Walter has previously written biographies of people like Albert Einstein, Benjamin Franklin and Steve Jobs — also great inventors — and is CEO of the nonprofit Aspen Institute. But that’s changing, is that ... We’ll talk about that in a bit. Walter, welcome to Recode Decode.
It’s good to be back with you, Kara.
Thank you. You are just like a machine of creating books. Your last book ...
I’ve been working on this for like 15, 20 years.
Oh, really?
It’s sort of the mountain I wanted to try to scale.
Because last time we talked, you had written about women in tech and stuff like that, and Steve Jobs before that, and obviously Franklin and Einstein. Let’s give the listeners a little background of all the books you’ve written, focused on inventors, really — on tech and inventors.
Yeah. I’ve written about a lot of smart people, Ben Franklin and Steve Jobs and Einstein, and I began to realize that smart people are kind of common. They don’t usually amount to much. You have to be inventive, as you said, innovative. You have to be creative and have imagination, and one of the things I learned from Steve Jobs, just watching him onstage, he always showed the intersection of the liberal arts street with technology street. He said, “That’s in the DNA, if you can stand at that intersection between the arts and sciences or between beauty and engineering. That’s where you’ll be the most creative.”
He really looked up to Leonardo da Vinci, and Bill Gates had just bought the Codex Leicester, which is Leonardo da Vinci’s great notebook on geology and science, and I realized that Leonardo was a person who best connected beauty to technology, best connected art and science, and so I decided that would be a combination of all these books about, “What is creativity and how do we achieve it?”
All right. So let’s talk about the books you’ve done already. You obviously are a journalist. Give a little background for yourself, because not everybody knows you.
Well, I grew up in New Orleans and worked on the paper down there.
Yeah, I hear that.
Yeah. Then, came up to Time Magazine back in the days when paper-based weekly news magazines actually were thriving.
Yeah. Some bad news for Time this week, actually.
Yeah. I know, I know. At Time Magazine, a couple of things happened. First of all, I was what was called a floater for a while. A floater means that one week, you’re writing in the medicine section, the next week you’re writing in the music section. Then, one week you’re doing business, next week you’re doing technology, then world affairs. You try to understand the patterns across nature. You don’t get siloed. You see many different disciplines.
It struck me that that’s been Franklin’s strength. He was a scientist. He did the lightning experiments, but he’s also a writer. He has “Poor Richard’s Almanac” and was a diplomat and everything, a musician. I said, “There’s some people who are great at being specialists. They’re great at geeking out, drilling down, but there are other people who see the patterns across nature.”
Now I realize, Steve Jobs was that way, even Einstein. When he gets stymied with his equations for general relativity, he pulls out his violin and plays Mozart because it helps connect him to the harmonies of the spheres. That, too, led me to Leonardo da Vinci, because everything ... he thought of himself as an engineer, and inventor, and a scientist.
At one point he’s writing a job application letter, right, when he’s reaching that very scary milestone of turning 30. He writes a job application letter to the Duke of Milan, it’s 11 paragraphs. The first 10 are all he can do in engineering, in invention. Says, “I can invent portable bridges, I can make great public buildings, I can divert water, I can make military weapons.” Only in the very last paragraph he says, “I can also paint.” So that ability to dance with nature across different fields ...
Which has been the commonality, all the people you’ve been writing about.
Commonality.
So before we get to Leonardo, because I want to talk only about Leonardo the whole time, but when you’re thinking about this idea of who you’re going to write about, can you just go through your process? Like, you say you’ve been writing this for 15 years. Tell me about that.
Well, I’ve loved Florence and used to go there as a student, and you’re always gathering string on Leonardo, and I saw some of his notebooks and I realized there was a lot of material there. But my process was, I was at Time Magazine, a close friend of mine, Evan Thomas and I were working there, and we were kind of frustrated because in the pre-internet days you’d write one page a week, and it was pretty, a little bit too easy.
We said, “Well, let’s do a book.” We did it, it was called “The Wise Men,” it was about six friends and how they created Cold War foreign policy. Not exactly a runaway bestseller, but fun to do. After I decided, “Well, I like writing books,” because in this day and age when we’re swamped with information, there’s something kind of cool about narrative, which means it starts at the beginning and goes step by step through time, and you see how people’s minds change, how they mature, how things build.
So I kind of liked writing books. I did Henry Kissinger, partly because “The Wise Men” ended with Vietnam and I wanted to try to do Vietnam. And frankly, after doing Kissinger it’s like, okay, after dealing with him I need to do somebody who’s been dead for 250 years.
You pick a lot of dead people.
Well, and Ben Franklin ...
Because Leonardo’s really dead.
Yes, well, 500 years, but he’s still alive on his notebook pages. But Ben Franklin, one reason I chose him is that at the end of Kissinger, I got to a point about realism in American foreign policy, how we sometimes do balance of power games. I realized Ben Franklin did that as a diplomat in Paris. He balanced the Bourbon-pact nations of France and Netherlands and Spain against the British alliance, in order to get the treaty that ended the Revolutionary War, but nobody writes about Franklin as a diplomat. They write about ... usually great English professors who write about him.
Then I discovered at the end of Franklin that his electricity experiments were so important. We sometimes think of him as a doddering dude flying a kite in the rain. No. The single fluid theory of electricity is an awesome discovery, and so too is the invention of the lightning rod. These are not little things we read in our childhood books and then forget about.
I realize that somebody like Franklin would have thought you a Luddite if you didn’t keep up with the latest in science. So I wanted to wrestle with science and then moved on to Einstein. Einstein, after I did Ben Franklin, Albert Einstein, Steve Jobs called me and said, “Do me next.” My first reaction was, yeah, well, okay Franklin, Einstein. I said, “Let’s wait 30 or 40 years till you retire.” But then I realized that ... Because I realized that I was told he was sick, that oh, if you’re going to do it, do him now.
That was a great opportunity that most people don’t have, other than Boswell with Dr. Johnson, to get very, very close with a person who significantly made a dent in the universe. I mean, I walk here and everybody’s on their iPod and their GPS and they’re tweeting and they’re doing all these things, and they’re calling Uber or they’re getting to their Airbnb, none of which would have existed if you hadn’t had an iPhone and then third-party apps on the iPhone.
So that was truly an opportunity to try to get right the most creative and beautiful and spiritual inventor of our era. After that, because he reminded me so much of Leonardo da Vinci, and then as I say Bill Gates was interested in Leonardo da Vinci. I had been sort of 12, 15, 20 years, every now and then get somewhere and say, “Oh there’s a Leonardo da Vinci notebook here in Paris or in the British Library or Windsor or in Milan,” or it would come on tour. I realize that basing something on his notebooks could show me how the innovation, engineering and invention connected with art and the beautiful.
So you started writing it 15 years ago. Talk about that. You were collecting string or you just had been long interested in him?
I’d been long interested in him. My wife had done her junior year abroad in Florence, and what struck me as I was gathering string was — not being able to see Virgin of the Rocks at the Louvre or the one in the National Gallery in London, but actually seeing his notebooks. They’re weird because he writes in mirror script because he’s lefthanded, and paper is sort of a premium, so on any page of the notebook you see a mind that’s beautifully dancing with nature, because he’ll go from a sketch of people at a table that might help him with The Last Supper, to a set design for a play he’s doing, to a flying machine that’s both part of the play but actually might become a real flying machine, to the mathematical problem of squaring the circle, all crammed onto a page.
In fact, there’s a wonderful page I love, I have it in the book so you can see it, a spread in the book in color, because after all these little things he’s doing on that page, he writes about boiling certain types of nuts in oil, and that you can use it to dye your hair blond, Connie blond is the word. I’m thinking, oh my gosh, he’s in his early 30s ...
It’s chemistry, right?
No, it’s not just chemistry. He’s a beautiful guy, when he’s young. In fact, Vitruvian Man, the naked guy spread eagle in the circle and square, that’s largely a self portrait, that’s what he looked like. He’s drawing himself inside the earth, the universe, and seeing how we fit into creation. So he’s kind of vain. He dresses really well, in purple and wonderful tunics and stuff, and there he is figuring out how to dye his hair blond. I go, “Yes! This guy is human.”
Through the notebooks, rather, I can humanize him, as opposed to just doing like other writers on Leonardo [who] mainly start with the 12 great painting masterpieces and discuss his life. I said, “No, let me do it page by page through the notebooks.”
One other thing, looking at those notebooks, this is a tech show, we’re on a podcast, we know all sorts of forms of new media. No doubt you’ve tweeted out the podcast and it’s on Instagram and Facebook and Snap and everything.
Instantly it will be.
Paper’s not a bad technology. It is really a good technology for the storage and retrieval of information. After 500 years, we still can turn the pages of Leonardo’s notebooks. From the 1990s, Steve Jobs had some memos on a NeXT Computer in his house. Even with his tech [abilities], we couldn’t retrieve that, because the NeXT operating system no longer can retrieve the documents that well. So every now and then, one of the lessons I learned is take notes on paper in a notebook. They’ll be around 50 years for ... You’ve got two kids, for your grandchildren or great-grandchildren. They’ll be around maybe 500 years.
Or try to do nothing on paper. There’s paper right here, but it’s unusual for me.
Yeah the paper here, I know, but I just mean maybe in the evening just keep a journal of a few things.
Well, we’ll get to that in a second, the lessons of Leonardo we’ll do at the end. But let’s talk about, so you started doing it, talk about the research, and then in the next section I’d like to talk about the meat of the book. It’s an enormous book, besides being sizeable. What was your thinking, how did you want to approach, as the definitive biography of him, or what was your thinking?
It was, to me, the biography that would weave together the science of invention and art. You take Kenneth Clark, great biography, but he says — I think it was written 80 years ago or so. He says, “Oh, if Leonardo hadn’t wasted so much time on math and invention he could have finished more paintings, it’s a shame.” I’m going, “No, no, he wouldn’t have been Leonardo if he wasn’t as curious about math and science and innovation.” Martin Kemp has written great books on Leonardo, but mine are kind of more chronological. They begin with him being born and they end at the end of his life. So it’s a way to weave together in a narrative, chronological way, all the aspects of his life.
All the aspects of his life. All right, we’ll let’s talk about him, because when you mentioned this to me I think two years, whenever you were working on it, I was surprised. Then I thought, oh of course that makes perfect sense, because just the things you just talked about. Talk about, you think the key things people get wrong about Leonardo, and then we’ll get into his life and how he conducted it, especially the math and science part of it. What do you think the conception of him is and is it close to the person who you have written about?
Well, I think the key thing people get wrong, who are scholars on him or art critics, is what I said about Kenneth Clark, which is that his time spent doing engineering and math was a waste, because none of his ... the helicopter never really flew, he tried to divert the Arno river and it didn’t get diverted, and the tanks never rolled, and he never squared the circle, which is the problem he spent his whole life doodling in his notebooks on.
I feel that if you don’t have the depth and breadth of interest of Leonardo, you don’t end up painting the Mona Lisa, or for that matter discovering how the aortic valve works. That was a major discovery. He does it because he loves how water flows and swirls, which is part of his art, it’s part of the curls of the people he paints, and it’s part of his science and it’s part of his anatomy dissections. So I guess that would be, to me, the biggest misconception, is that he was just a painter.
Which I don’t think people think anymore. It’s an interesting thing, because he’s known for everything.
Yeah, you’re right.
But let’s start in this section, the painter part. Talk about his painting and then I want to mostly talk about his science and technology.
Well, one of the thing he does in art that is truly significant is what’s called sfumato, which is the blurring of the lines, as if they were like smoke, because it stems from his science. He realizes that there are no sharp lines. You’re looking at my face right now, it’s not something you can draw in lines because the light hits the curves, the curves make different shadows. But also we have two eyes with large retinas, and so any line in nature is slightly blurred. So that’s a key to his paintings. So different, say, from Michelangelo, who draws with a disegno style, sharp lines.
Secondly, his ability to project three dimensions on a two-dimensional panel or surface was a huge leap of art that was happening around that time in the Renaissance. He’s very collaborative and he learns from Brunelleschi and Alberti, but also all the painters in the studio where he’s working. But he’s able to capture the mathematics of perspective and play tricks with it, so when you look at The Last Supper, the room looks deeper than it is because it’s an accelerated perspective. Well, that’s different from the flat paintings that came along then. But you’ll notice in both those cases, I talked about how the science and the art were blended together.
And how he used that. Especially, talk about the Mona Lisa in that way.
The Mona Lisa is the culmination. This evening, we’re in Washington now, I’m going to be at the National Gallery in front of Ginevra de’ Benci, which is a early, early portrait he did of a cloth merchant’s wife in Florence. It’s a great painting, but it’s not one of the world’s greatest masterpieces, because he’s trying to connect the rivers of the earth to the body and her emotions, but they’re things that don’t quite work. Near the end of his life, in fact at the end of his life, because he takes 16 years with the Mona Lisa, he spent a lot of time with it, it’s by his deathbed when he’s still dabbling with it. It’s the same type of picture. It’s a cloth merchant’s wife, a wife named Lisa, in three quarters profile with the river flowing from the eons of time, connecting her to the spirit of the earth, just like Ginevra de’ Benci, but they’re so different, the paintings.
So a lifetime spent in dancing with nature and being curious about every aspect of nature is reflected in the Mona Lisa. I can give you one specific example which I love, which is the smile. The greatest, most memorable smile ever. There are two things he does to make that smile work. First of all, he dissects more than 30 human faces. Peeling the face off cadavers and delineating every muscle that touches the lips, why the lower lip can move separately from the upper lip but the upper lip can’t move easily separately from the lower lip. Things you and I could figure out but we don’t, he did. He looked at every nerve that touches every muscle and whether it comes from the brain or the spinal cord. On like the 15th page of his notebook where he’s drawing these dissections, there’s a faint sketch, I have it in my book, that whole page, and at the top is a faint sketch which is the first attempt at the smile of the Mona Lisa. There she is, smiling, just the lips, smiling from the page.
Secondly, he had dissected the human eye. So he knows that light that comes directly into the eye and hits the very center of the retina sees detail, but the light that hits the edges of the retina see mainly shadows. So if you look directly at the corner of the lips of the Mona Lisa, there’s a tiny part of a detail that turns down slightly. But the shadows turn upward. So it’s a smile that’s elusive. You see it best when you’re not looking for it. If you’re staring directly at her, she may not seem like she’s smiling, it’s kind of enigmatic. But when your eyes wander to her forehead or her chin or her cheek, suddenly the smile lights up. It’s an augmented reality. It’s interactive.
We first see the Mona Lisa when we’re young, and we hitchhiked ...
Yes, it’s one of those paintings.
Back when we used to hitchhike a lot in Europe, you hitchhike to Paris, you get there, and there’ll be a whole lot of tourists. Nowadays you go there and there’s 200 people and they all have their iPhones and they’re not looking at the picture, they’re all taking selfies with themselves, or pictures of the picture. But as you stare at that picture, it suddenly dawns on you, I get it. This is in a class by itself.
Right. Do you think it’s one of the greatest painting, or has it become such a tourist attraction?
No, I think that there’s a reason that it has become an icon.
Why?
Because it is the greatest painting.
It is, because it’s an AR, I had no idea it was AR.
It’s interactive, your emotions change as you look at it, and then so do hers. Not only her smile, her eyes, famous. Mona Lisa eyes, they follow you, etc. Those type of things make it so that you’re not just seeing a flat portrait, you’re seeing something that ... a person who has emotion. And all of his life in his notebooks he’s trying to say, how do our inner emotions get reflected in our outward gestures and motions? Here it is, culminating in the Mona Lisa, it’s not just a portrait, it’s a psychological drama that you and I get to interact with. Nobody has come close to painting a painting like that.
I had no idea about the technology. All right, we’re here with Walter Isaacson.
You’re a tech podcast.
I know, it’s true, but I had no idea, now I know. We’re here with Walter Isaacson, his new book is about Leonardo da Vinci, the great inventor and painter. When we get back we’re going to talk about his focus on science and technology, which was vast, and a lot of his things that he thought about creating have come to pass, we’re going to talk about his background, how he got there. He’s one of the first, I think, probably one of the first famous entrepreneurs and inventors that we learn about as kids.
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We’re here with Walter Isaacson, the prolific writer, the journalist, someone I’ve known very well. He’s a New Orleans resident now, is that right?
At least half time.
He’s a man of the world, a man of letters and science.
So let’s take apart Leonardo. We just talked about his art, which I think most people know him best for, but of late a lot of people have been talking about his inventiveness and the science around it, and you noted that Bill Gates bought some of his notebooks, his most famous notebooks.
The Codex Leicester, an awesome, awesome notebook.
Yeah. So how much did he pay for that?
I do know, but I’ve sort of forgotten. I try not to.
Lots.
It was I think somewhere between 30 and 40 million, but it wasn’t a lot. It was definitely worth it.
Yes, why did he buy that, and let’s go into the discussions about his technologies.
I think Bill Gates, not to speak for him, but has a wide-ranging interest. He just listens to Richard Feynman lectures, he loves all forms of science, but also a great humanism to him. As we see. I think he was interested in Leonardo. I once heard Bill Gates say that Leonardo was the person in history who tried to know the most about everything that could be known. That’s something that’s quite inspiring, and there’s no better example of it. We have more than 7000 pages of his notebooks, but this one, the Codex Leicester, which shows water flowing into a pond, it shows the sun, it shows how light reflects from the earth to light up the new moon. All of these wonderful dances with nature, I think that — not speaking for Bill Gates — but that’s why anybody would want that notebook.
So talk about how he got this way. Not Bill Gates, but maybe that’s another biography for later for you. You shook your head.
He writes his own books.
That’s true, but he could be written about. So talk about what made Leonardo this way. How do you become a person that is that curious?
I think he had the great good fortune to be born out of wedlock.
Oh, okay. Most people don’t think of that as great good fortune, especially now.
Well, had he been legitimate born, he would have had to be a notary like his father and grandfather and great-grandfather were. Secondly, he would have been sent to one of the classical schools in Florence for the aspiring upper-middle classes and rising middle classes, or a university, and he would have been stuffed full of the medieval scholastic learning of the time.
Which was?
Yeah, which was medieval. I mean, that’s ... And it was before the scientific revolution and the Renaissance. Instead, he’s unschooled. So he has to teach himself. He calls himself a man without letters, meaning not schooled, a person who has to teach himself, and he says that made me a disciple of experience.
So that means even as a young kid in the village of Vinci, he is looking at swirls of water, testing things, drawing how water flows and erosion happens, drawing landscapes. Then when he moves to Florence at age 12, he’s always experimenting with things, because he has to teach himself.
So who did he grow up with? He grew up with his ...
He grew up with both his father, who was a notary, who at age 12 moved him to Florence, but his mother, who for the first time this year, working with Martin Kemp and Pallanti and others, we now know who his mother was, it’s in my book, which is a 14-year-old orphaned peasant girl from the village of Vinci. She also helped raise him, so he had a good-enough childhood. Being born out of wedlock was not ... Even popes around that time had lots of out-of-wedlock children.
So it wasn’t as bad.
In fact, it was once, Jacob Burckhardt, one of the 19th century historians, calls it a golden age for bastards because it actually liberated you from going into whatever the family business was and you got to become an artist, a poet, a gold-beater, or whatever.
It was around, it was not an orphan life, essentially.
Oh, it was definitely not an orphan life. And his father brings him to Florence, and apprentices him with Verrocchio, who has a studio. Now, this was a great studio because it’s doing not only art and sculpture, but pageants and plays, and it’s taking the copper ball, that has to be engineered and soldered using mirrors that concentrate the rays of light of the sun. It has to be soldered to be put on top of the dome of Florence’s cathedral, the Duomo, that little copper ball.
Who does it? Leonardo. He’s a young apprentice. He’s also posing for the statue of David as a 12-year-old kid. So we know what he looks like. He’s drawing all of these mechanisms that the studio is using to put the copper ball on top of the dome. So he’s teaching himself. He also has the good fortune to be born in 1452, right when Gutenberg opens up his print shop and starts selling books. It comes to Italy like wildfire. Italy actually becomes the center of publishing by the time Leonardo’s 15.
So in his notebooks we see Leonardo listing every week the books he wants to buy. It’s like Audible, we have to make our list. It’s like, “Get the Euclid,” and fortunately they were all being translated, because Leonardo wasn’t great at Latin, so, “Get the new translation of Euclid that’s at the stationers by the bridge.” These are the type of notes in his notebook.
So what makes him curious? What makes him curious is it wasn’t crammed out of him by some medieval scholastic schooling when he was 10 or 12, and he becomes curious. He wants to learn everything. So he’ll write, “Why is the sky blue?” Now, you and I quit wondering about that at about age 10. We outgrow our wonder years.
Right, absolutely.
Partly maybe because people cram it down and say, “Hey, hey, quit asking.” Leonardo never outgrew his wonder years.
Right, that’s a really good way of putting it. So he grows up, does this apprenticeship. Talk a little bit about the biography that gets him to the person.
Well, he’s an apprentice, and as I said, Verrocchio, his teacher and the master of the shop, does a lot of pageants, including for the Duke of Milan when he’s visiting Florence.
A pageant being a show, essentially.
Shows, outdoor shows. You know, we forget that there’s no TV, no internet, no movies, whatever. So what they do in the evening is they have performances. Some of them are plays, some of them are pageants, some of them are readings or debates. They stage Aspen Institute-like debates, but on grand stages. And they have parades, so one of the first drawings we have of Leonardo is a helmet for one of the costumes ...
I remember that.
For when the Duke of ... Yeah, it’s a beautiful metalpoint, silverpoint in the British Museum, I remember seeing it for the first time. You go ... What people don’t realize, they think it’s a piece of art. No, no. He’s working for Verrocchio, the Duke of Milan is coming to visit Florence, and they’re putting on a parade, and they have to give everybody helmets, and there’s a dragon and eagle’s wings coming out of it, it’s a great fantasy helmet that you and I may have done when we were 10 or 12 years old. Leonardo’s still doing it when he’s 15 or 20. So I think we don’t realize how important plays and pageants were.
Sure, right, to him.
To his growing up.
What do you think gave him, besides being a bastard, an entrepreneurial bent? Or just people are born with it? Because you’ve written about a lot of different people who are entrepreneurs.
Well, first of all he had an imagination, because one of the things about doing plays, pageants and spectacles is you have to blur the line between fantasy and reality. So he’s inventing things. You know that helicopter screw that everybody says, “Oh, he invented the helicopter.” Not exactly. I studied the notebooks. That aerial screw thing was actually done for a play. They’re bringing the angels down from the rafters, and it curves like that. He loves that spiral form of the curve and he loves the flying of the angels and what he called ingenue, ingenious devices.
So he starts inventing ingenious devices for the theater. He blurs the line between imagination and reality. Then he says, “Okay, now let’s try it in the real world.” And now he then does try to make flying machines. He makes gliders. He makes all sorts of weaponry and machinery that are sort of based on some of this theatrical imaginations.
Why is he the one? Because a lot of people do that in theater and then they don’t take it to the next step. What do you think it was about him that he wanted to keep doing it? There’s just this restless curiosity?
I’ll push back a little on the great entrepreneurial spirit, because he was inventive, and he always, he’d invent something that would carve needle ... I mean, would create sewing needles, like a thousand of them per hour, a machine. He said, “This is going to make me wealthy.” He even calculates how wealthy he’s going to be by how much he does. But then he never fully follows through on it.
So his ideas.
There’s something about Leonardo who loves the conception more than the execution. So we have a lot of inventions that never got made. We have a lot of paintings that never got finished. We have treatises that never got published. It’s a bit of a flaw, it’s also a humanizing thing about Leonardo, and it also is, I mean I remember Steve Jobs holds up shipping the original Macintosh because the circuit board inside is not beautiful enough. Steve Jobs knew that sometimes in month you have to follow the normal rule of real artists ship, you get things out the door, but sometimes in life you have to follow the rule which is let the perfect be the enemy of the good. Leonardo sometimes — often — let the perfect be the enemy of the good.
You say Steve Jobs executed quite well and Leonardo didn’t.
But that’s why, by the way, Steve executed quite well, although better on his second tour of duty at Apple than in his first. One reason he leaves Apple in 1985 is, shall we say, the Macintosh is a work of absolute beauty but the execution, sales, supply chains and everything are not working all that well. Likewise, with Leonardo, he executes very well on certain things, but he keeps his inventions and his paintings with him rather than deliver them to patrons all the time. He did not dance to the financial incentives of patrons.
What would you say his personality was like?
Very collegial.
Collegial, rather than ...
He loved everybody around him. You have a contrast of the two great geniuses in Florence at the time. Michelangelo, Leonardo. Michelangelo’s a recluse, sleeps in his dark clothes and boots, doesn’t have any close friends. Leonardo, the other extreme. Throughout his notebooks and the letters and notebooks of contemporaries, he seems to have about 30 best friends. Luca Pacioli, the mathematician, Bramante, you know, a great artist and architect. He goes down the list of all the anatomists who help him, they’re going to do an anatomy book together.
Leonardo is always walking around town, famously in Florence and later in Milan, dressed to the nines, quite a dandy, with an entourage of really interesting people around him, having debates and discussions in town squares, riding off to Pavia for when they’re in Milan to try to figure out how do the proportions of a human relate to the proportions of a church, and he kept Vitruvian Man, that guy in the circle and the square.
One of the things I discovered in my book — and Toby Lester’s written a book about this too, others have done it — is that wasn’t a solo drawing. That was done with friends. He had two friends who were riding with him and doing things and helping design churches, and they all tried to get the man in the circle and the square to be a church.
So when you think about someone that’s an inventor, we’ll get to science in a second, but the technology stuff, the invention stuff. He thought these up but didn’t make a lot. Sometimes he made them or tested them and things like that. What do you think the qualities of someone like that are? Is that someone who you would think of today the same thing?
Oh yeah. I think there are a lot of people, and unfortunately, because this is not one of Leonardo’s great trades, we know a lot of people who come up with great ideas, love perfecting and perfecting and perfecting the idea, but aren’t great at getting the product out the door. I mean, one of the lines that Steve Jobs, Steve Case, Addison apparently used was, vision without execution is hallucination.
There are times when you think of Leonardo and you think, “Hey, that’s a bit of a hallucination.” That perpetual motion machine or that particular type of man-powered flying machine, that is never actually going to be manufactured. On the other hand, as I said, he blurred the line in paintings. Blurring the line as he did in theater, but also in his inventions, between fantasy and reality, actually helped him envision things that 100 years later people would invent.
Right, people would invent later. So he was an apprentice, and then talk about what happened. He was making money ...
He was an apprentice, and as I said, he’s doing paintings. He’s a moderately good painter in Florence in his 20s, but things don’t get finished, like the Adoration of the Magi, St. Jerome in the Wilderness. St. Jerome in the Wilderness is a great example because he’s starting to be interested in anatomy, and you see the entire muscle structure, how it informs the drawings that are going to become St. Jerome in the Wilderness, but he goes back to it 30 years later to redo the neck muscles after he’s done some anatomy. He keeps this thing like for 30 years because he’s a perfectionist.
So at age 30, as I said, he writes this job application, he goes off to Milan trying to be an engineer for the Duke of Milan. In about 1482, when he’s 30 years old, he moves to Milan.
He writes this 11-paragraph ...
He writes this 11-paragraph thing. He moves to Milan. He becomes the engineer and painter, eventually, to the Duke of Milan.
How did he get that job? I know it sounds crazy.
Well, the job application letter didn’t fully help because for the next few years he was just sort of, as you’d say, a freelancer, a contract worker. He doesn’t get a full-time job with benefits.
Gig economy.
By 1490, he’s got a room and board and weekly stipend, living at the castle in Florence, but it takes him a while to get the job, and part of the time he’s actually doing plays and pageants, which is his gig. He’s also inventing certain types of weapons because Milan had a pretty good army, unlike Florence, and he’s starting to paint, especially he’s painting the mistresses of Ludovico, who is the Duke of Milan. So you have Cecilia, the other ... Lady with the Ermine, great portraits.
So why did these people back then ... Talk about the system then. People who are somewhat knowledgeable about Florence or the Medicis or something there. Why did the Duke of Milan have people like this?
This is a great question.
Because you couldn’t start your own company then, if you think about if you want to give a ... Why do people have people like this?
Well, that’s a great thing, like why does the Renaissance happen when it does in Italy? Give you 100 reasons, but the one you asked about is you have a rising middle class, like the Medici. The Medici have become bankers in Florence. And by the way, they become huge bankers because like a lot of people today, they’ve invented new forms, like venture capital and private equity. They’ve taken one of Leonardo’s friends, Luca Pacioli, the mathematician, idea of debit and credit bookkeeping; double entries for debit and credit, which if you’re a businessperson listening to this you get how important that is.
That’s a pretty important invention. It happens right then. So the Medici become huge bankers, along with three or four other bankers. They’re all building their wonderful homes and palazzos, they have to show because they’re rising middle class and not aristocracy that they have as much taste and devotion and class as they do money, so they have a lot of madonnas painted for them by rising artists. The Medici become great patrons of the arts, and once again the Duke of Milan, Ludovico Sforza, his father was like a bad mercenary soldier, ends up taking over Milan. He’s not a hereditary aristocracy.
They want to bring smart people in.
Both because they want to embellish their court, they want to ... And many other reasons, and show their worthiness, they create around them courts that have everything from playwrights and poets, to mathematicians and architects and scientists and anatomists.
And engineers.
And engineers. They do it partly for the joy of it, but up until then you didn’t have wealthy patrons trying to prove that they had taste and class.
Was there use to it? So he’s hired as an engineer to do things, or lots of things?
He’s called the engineer and painter, he’s both. I’m not sure Leonardo, just like Steve Jobs, would make that big of a distinction between design and art.
So what did he do from a day to day? What was his job?
A lot of the evenings he helped put on pageants and plays or readings. They staged debates, one of which Leonardo debates that painting is a higher art form than poetry, for example, but they also do plays and pageants that involve big mechanisms and ingenious devices. But during the daytime too, he had paintings that he had to execute, such as most importantly The Last Supper, which he’s doing in the 1490s for the Duke of Milan, at a refectory or dining hall of a monastery, that the duke loved to patronize.
So Leonardo, I mean by this time he’s famous. People are there to watch, to be an audience while he paints. We have descriptions of him. He kind of blows in with his wonderful purple cloaks and tunics and stuff, and will stand in front of the painting for half an hour and then just do two brush strokes, and then disappear. He’d sort of say, “You have to let your ideas marinate,” and so he was a somewhat, he would paint during the day.
So he became famous during this time? He had been famous?
He’s definitely famous, especially by the time he pulled off The Last Supper in the 1490s, and he’s done quite a few portraits for the Duke of Milan. He had been semi-famous in Florence but a little bit more famous for not finishing the Adoration of the Magi than for painting the Adoration of the Magi.
All right, we’re here with Walter Isaacson, he’s written a new book about Leonardo da Vinci. It’s his latest book. Walter’s written a string of them, people that you might have heard of; Steve Jobs, Albert Einstein, and Ben Franklin, and Henry Kissinger, which is very different from that group. When we get back we’re going to talk about what Leonardo says about innovation and where innovation is going. We’re here on Recode Decode.
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We’re here on Recode Decode, and our guest is Walter Isaacson, who I’ve known for a very long time, he’s a great writer, and his latest book ... He’s a reporter, writer and a thought leader, I would say.
Oh, well ...
Oh you are, you have the Aspen Institute, you guys ...
A thought follower.
No, you guys have a lot of big thoughts up there in the mountains. His latest book is on Leonardo da Vinci, and his impact on other innovators and moving things forward. We talked about the middle of his life where he started to get some fame and traction. What was his impact then and now? Let’s talk about that. How did his life end and how did he conduct, he just continued to do the same thing he did his whole life, or was there a difference?
He continues to balance engineering with art. Now, his art indeed surpasses everything anybody has ever done in art, and for that matter in engineering.
Right, I was going to ask, is there any engineering thing that he did?
No. He does a lot of engineering ideas, some of them come to fruition, as I say a century later or two centuries later.
Helicopter.
Exactly.
What else, what other things? People know about the helicopter.
Well, his ability to divert rivers and to show how water flows.
Why did he want to divert a ...
Well, you know, I think just as a little kid. I don’t know if you remember, I remember growing up in New Orleans, a little kid, and you find little streams and rivers in the bayou and you’re diverting it.
I never did that, Walter.
But from the very beginning of his life, the first sketch we have is a landscape drawing. The very last sketches are these swirls of the deluge, and him sitting there looking how water flows against obstacles and forms swirls afterwards. Hey, we all get interested, we all geek out on something, and that was Leonardo’s great fame.
So it leads, as I said, to scientific discoveries that are very significant. Like his dissections invent, among other things, the visual display of information. In other words, he dissects a lot of bodies, and layer after layer he shows the muscles and then the nerves and then the heart, and he does it in layers.
So he uses his painting skills.
Yeah. So the combination of that painting and drawing skills and his anatomy and science skills. So for example, there’s an aortic valve, and people thought that it’s when the blood pushes up from the heart chamber into the valve, past the valve, the pressure then closes the valve. Leonardo said, “No, that wouldn’t work, it would crumble, because I know how water works, flowing fluids work.”
He shows that when you go from a large ventricle to a smaller thing, there’s a swirl, because of the way, just like if you put a pipe into a bowl, it would swirl. It’s that swirl that because of the centrifugal force, opens up the membrane that then becomes the valve. Those are like, whoa, amazing inventions that just about 15 years ago they finally, totally proved with magnetic imaging and other ways to look at, actual, it happen.
So Leonardo designed, for example, for the Duke of Milan and then for Francis I, the king of France, who is his last patron. He goes to Amboise in France. He designs ideal cities, because he understands that the greatest scourge they have back then is the plague. It keeps decimating cities. He realizes bad sanitation is underlying the plague.
So he invents a type, or designs a type of city, in which below the surface there’s sewer drainage lines, that the water flows through to a lower surface with sewage and drainage, which also has deliveries and horses that they need to be cleaned up after, etc. The top layer is where the people walk and live.
Which is what we have today.
Yeah, it’s what we have today. Now, they never fully built it, either ...
But he thought about it.
But he thought about it and he drew it, and had they built it they would have stopped another 100 years of the plague, probably. The other thing he does, that I love, is mathematics. There’s a lot of mathematical things that kind of work, kind of don’t, but he tries something that’s impossible. Every now and then you have to try something that’s impossible to figure out why it’s impossible and to push yourself.
That’s the age-old problem of squaring the circle, which means taking a circle of a certain area and trying to make a square of the exact same area using only a protractor and ruler, for reasons that your listeners know, most of your listeners know, that’s impossible because pi is a wildly irrational number and so it can’t actually be done that way.
But Leonardo tries hundreds of ways to do it, even when he’s young, he’s drawing and you get to Vitruvian Man, there’s the guy in the circle and the square with the same area, tries to be, because the circle extends higher than the square so the navel can be at the center of the circle and the genitals are right in the center of the square.
But here’s what I was going to get to. His last notebook page that we know, because you asked about his life. He ends his life in France under the patronage of Francis I, and we have a page in which he’s thinking about a variety of things, but in the margin he’s doing four more drawings that show a right triangle, changing the length of the legs, triangles inside shaded, trying to do that transformation of shapes till the very end. The last line, it dribbles off, it says, “Here’s another way of looking at it.” Then it pauses, says, “But the soup is getting cold.”
You imagine, there he is, upstairs in the little manor house that he gets with his whole entourage and students and everybody’s waiting downstairs. His cook is named Materine, we know about her, when he dies he leaves her a cloak and some other things. You just imagine him there, even though he’s old, even though he’s dying, even though there’s people waiting downstairs, still trying to square the circle.
That’s great.
But the soup is getting cold.
How could he do ... We’re going to finish up talking a little bit how he would do today and where innovation is, because you’ve written that innovation’s been a big theme throughout your career. How would he do today? What would he think of the internet?
Well, there’s a couple of things I would think about. One is, as I said, he was born when Gutenberg ...
Right, so he loved technology.
So he loved to drill down and teach himself. He would love the fact that just like he could use books to teach himself everything from math to anatomy to Vitruvius’s design of churches and experience, and mix books with experience. He would just think that the internet is even greater than Gutenberg’s invention, because anybody anywhere can find out almost anything about everything, and then share their knowledge with anyone. This, to Leonardo, would be heaven.
I think a downside would be, in his notebooks you see at times he’s distracted, or he gets totally obsessed sometimes, like 42 attempts to square the circle all on one page, and just page after page of geeking out on squaring the circle. He had these mood swings and depressions where he’s doing storms and stuff.
In our day and age, he probably would have been diagnosed with 42 different types of ADHD and obsessive compulsive and depression and manic and I don’t like applying labels like that, and they may have put him on some pharmaceutical regimen to cure them all and we may not have had the Mona Lisa.
Right, right, that’s true. So what do you think his impact on innovation is? Because you said a lot of people were very interested in him. Where do we get innovation? Is that just born or just people are like that?
I think you can be as a kid curious, and especially if you’re like Leonardo, you say, “Let me just explore things,” because you have a natural curiosity. But here’s a point I want to make, and it’s one of the themes of the book. Partly it’s a natural curiosity, but it’s also something you can cultivate. You can will yourself to be more curious. When I look at the list of things he asked each day, like how does light form luster on a shiny leaf, why do people yawn, what does the tongue of a woodpecker look like? Who wakes up one morning and wants to know about a tongue of a woodpecker?
Right, I don’t know.
But Leonardo did. And throughout his life, it’s kind of an interesting topic. Each of us, in our daily lives, can pause for a moment. I’m sitting in a room, it’s a podcast room, and I’m touching the things that deaden the sound, and they’re pyramids, and the light’s hitting the pyramid, they’re quite beautiful, but I also wonder, okay, that pyramid design of the foam, why does that deaden sound a little bit better than a flat design would? You think about it for a moment, you can figure it out.
But having worked on Leonardo for so long, I try, I’m never going to be Leonardo, but I try to just see the most ordinary things in life and pause for an extra 10 seconds to say, “Why?” And be curious.
So are you worried about innovation now, or do you think this just always happens, innovation just happens in cycles, or where do you think we are?
I think we went through a period when you and I were coming of age, and when Silicon Valley had the combination of the microchip, the internet and the personal computer. Then eventually the iPhone, and then mobile. All of that comes together to create innovation that’s completely transformative. I don’t think we’re in a phase like that right now. Most of the innovation is on things like social media or whatever, which is fine, but it doesn’t change the world the way having apps on an iPhone allows Ubers and Airbnbs and everything else.
Although some might argue that the social media’s become weaponized.
Oh I think social media is deeply, deeply influential. Don’t get me wrong. I just think that it’s not like Gutenberg’s printing press, necessarily, in terms of being a platform upon which a whole set of intellectual property is ...
No, but we do get to yell at each other a lot, and get angry.
Yeah, and there’s, yeah. That’s a downside.
There’s not greatness in Twitter, let’s just say.
Well, I mean this will be for another podcast, but the type of social media we invented enshrines anonymity, which I think hurts the civility of it, and anonymity is very important, we have to keep it, but we also ought to have places, like Leonardo or Steve Jobs and others had, that are common ground, where you actually know the people you’re talking to. So, to me, I think we need civil places as well as anonymous places, but that’s for a different podcast.
But when we get ... Does genius just happen, like it’s born, or ...? You’ve been writing about geniuses, really.
When I wrote about Einstein, I said, “Okay, some people are just born.” They’re touched by lightning, and they have a mental processing power that will allow them to figure out tensor calculus and how it can be used to describe the curvature of space and time. You think, “No, I can’t pause each day and look at the sound acoustical tiles and be like Einstein.”
That’s why I liked writing about Leonardo. His first biographer, who was a contemporary of Vasari, another painter, said he was touched by lightning with superhuman powers. No, he actually ... Well, I mean he was touched with great talent in painting, but his ability to will himself to ask questions and be curious each day, the ability to push himself, to observe more carefully, go down to the moats around the castle and look at the dragonflies, full-wing dragonflies, to see if the wings alternate or whether they go in unison. You don’t have to be a genius to do it. You just have to have the will to be observant.
All of us can have the will to be more observant, can indulge fantasy and not knock it out of our children and ourselves the way we sometimes do, can indulge curiosity, even about not just useful curiosity, not just I need to know exactly how this new microchip will do a pascal code better or not, but curiosity for curiosity’s sake, like the tongue of the woodpecker.
It’s really interesting, because one of my sons is very inventive, like he’s got rooms and rooms of inventions.
This does not surprise me.
Well, I know, but I think he’s just born with it. I literally do, because the things he comes up with, I think about it a lot because I think, how did he get this way? Because my other son’s great and he’s really fun, but it’s not the same thing.
Well, we’re all born differently, and we all indulge that.
I know, but it’s a certain level of invention. He’s literally always ...
And you and Megan are going to be particularly good in not destroying that in him and not knocking it out of him.
No, not at all, but I do think it was genetic. I just do, I think he just has like ...
You will have experts on this show much better at knowing the mix and combination of heritage and breeding.
When I was thinking of Leonardo, like even I was looking at the notebooks, I’m like, he has a notebook like that. He just writes things down. He makes some of them, he doesn’t make some of them. I just wonder how, if it’s possible.
But don’t sell him short. It wasn’t just that he was blessed with it, it’s he is curious and indulges it and pushes himself and allows himself. So if we kind of say it’s all genetic ...
Genius, just genius.
Yeah, if genius is all genetic, then we’re not going to say, “Let me pause and look at the way the light’s hitting those leaves.”
Let’s end on that, because we’re facing some really big issues in this country, besides the horrible political environment, which will pass as they always do.
That’s about storms, they pass.
They pass. So what do you imagine are the lessons of Leonardo? Because it really is the very best of humanity, that kind of thinking, like this kind of thinking. So give me the end on, the lessons that we have to think about going forward, because we’re dealing with robotics, AI, automation, artificial intelligence, self-driving cars. There’s a lot of big challenges for our society. All of which are inventive, but ...
I actually end this book in a way I haven’t ended my other books, which is just come right out and say, “Here’s the 25 lessons.”
I know, that’s why I was asking.
Because in some ways it’s a culmination of having learned from Ben Franklin and Einstein and Steve Jobs and Ada Lovelace and the innovators, and this is somewhat of a culminating book. I don’t think I’m going to write about another big, innovative inventive genius again. So I say, “Okay, here are the lessons,” and some I mentioned, which is stay curious, take notes, be observant.
But I think one of the huge lessons of everybody I’ve learned about is to combine the humanities with engineering, to combine art with science. Nowadays we silo things, there’s going to be a point where even your inventive kid is going to be told, “Okay, drill down in engineering or math or whatever, specialize.” No. Learning coding is important and learning engineering is important, but someday machines will code pretty well and help us. But what will be the Ada Lovelace moment, because she was the one who wrote about this in 1830, was the combination of human creativity and machine processing power, having an inventiveness that will exceed what machines alone can do, or what humans alone can do.
It’s interesting. Some of the things, the jobs, the future, the only ones that will exist will be ones which have humanity or creativity also involved in them. Then the rest are just digital.
But “also” is an important word, which is you have to interweave an ability to be creative and a sense of the humanities, with a sense of engineering. You can’t be a humanist and cede that to the engineers. That’s what Vitruvian Man, that’s our poster for that, which is be like Leonardo, there he is, standing there, spread eagle, in the world, in the cosmos, trying to figure out how we fit in, combining creativity with scientific anatomy, and that humanism is what’s going to help us when we get artificial intelligence, when we face the moral issue that algorithms might get out of our control.
They are out of our control.
Right. And it’s those with a feel for both the humanities, history, art, music, and the patterns of nature, how they ripple from the rivers that we see as a kid, to our heart valve, to the equations we do to describe the curvature of space and time. All of these patterns, if we have a feel for it, and a feel for the humanities, which is about, at its core, why change happens, why some people resist it, and some people cause it. Humanities, at its core, is what is creativity, how do you achieve it? Leonardo, the lessons in the last chapter of the book are all about the need for that combinations of creativity.
Right. The thing is, the reason he is also known is for the movies and for the movie and the books by whatchamacallit. Did that bother you? The popularity of the popular books with Tom Hanks, “The Da Vinci Code.”
Oh, “The Da Vinci Code.” No. I love anything that makes ... I thought you were talking about Leonardo DiCaprio, who is doing the biographical movie, or at least bought the rights to it.
So this is to make this?
Yeah, he acquired the rights to make my biography into a movie. “The Da Vinci Code,” of Dan Brown, it’s a wonderful work of fiction. Sometimes he pushes it and says, “Oh no, it’s all true.” No, John in The Last Supper is actually John, it’s not Mary Magdalene. We know that. But, what he does and what Tom Hanks does, what all these people do, is combine imagination and fantasy with reality, and we can scoff at that or we can admire and learn from it. I think Leonardo would have us ...
Right, although people do think that’s Mary Magdalene now, you know that? Because of that movie.
Okay, let me just tell people, fake news is sometimes wrong, novels are sometimes fiction, and The Last Supper, trust me, John leans on Jesus’s breast, and in the painting he’s starting to lean the other way. Leonardo has created a narrative painting in which “one of you shall betray me” is emanating from Jesus, each one is reacting as they would in a theater, it’s not a still scene, it’s a dramatic, emotional, narrative scene, and that’s John, it’s not Mary Magdalene.
That’s just all it is? Oh Walter, you’re making ... It was so exciting when it was Mary Magdalene. What’s your next book? Last question.
I think I’m going to do a book about New Orleans and maybe about Storyville in the 1890s, maybe about Lulu White, who was an octoroon, who opened a sporting house and hired Jelly Roll Morton to be the piano player, and Louis Armstrong.
Oh, so totally different.
But also it’s about race, because that was before the color line was drawn, because it was right during that decade that somebody who was a neighbor, named Homer Plessy, boards a train and we get Plessy v. Ferguson, which is so destructive, because it allows the drawing of a color line legally. Those type of things interest me. But it’s not going to be another genius innovator book. Leonardo da Vinci and the last chapter of it culminates.
Culminates. And you’re leaving the Aspen Institute?
Well, I’m going to move down, I’m going to be a teacher of history, I’m going to teach at Tulane. My first course, which I hope you’ll come lecture at, is called History of the Digital Revolution, from Ada to Zuckerberg, and your listeners don’t need to explain what Ada to Zuckerberg means.
Are you running for mayor of New Orleans?
No, the mayor’s race is actually the week after next.
Well, there’s lots of mayor’s races in the future.
Well yeah, I mean four, eight years from now. I haven’t, I don’t know what I’m doing then. There are two wonderful women running for mayor of New Orleans this time around.
Good. All right, well, Walter Isaacson, as usual you are also a very curious person. I’m excited to read your next book.
What do you mean by that?
It’s a compliment.
Thank you.
Anyway, thanks for coming.
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---
abstract: 'A particular initial state for the construction of a perturbative QCD expansion is investigated. It is formed as a coherent superposition of zero momentum gluon pairs and shows Lorentz as well as global $SU(3)$ symmetries. The general form of the Wick theorem is discussed, and it follows that the gluon and ghost propagators determined by the proposed vacuum state, coincides with the ones used in an alternative of the usual perturbation theory proposed in a previous work, and reviewed here. Therefore, the ability of such a procedure of producing a finite gluon condensation parameter already in the first orders of perturbation theory is naturally explained. It also follows that this state satisfies the physicality condition of the BRST procedure in its Kugo and Ojima formulation. A brief review of the canonical quantization for gauge fields, developed by Kugo and Ojima, is done and the value of the gauge parameter $\alpha$ is fixed to $\alpha=1$ where the procedure is greatly simplified. Therefore, after assuming that the adiabatic connection of the interaction does not take out the state from the interacting physical space, the predictions of the perturbation expansion for the physical quantities, at the value $\alpha=1$, should have meaning. The validity of this conclusion solves the gauge dependence indeterminacy remained in the proposed perturbation expansion.'
author:
- '[**Author: Marcos Rigol Madrazo**]{}\'
- '[**Advisor: Dr. Alejandro Cabo Montes de Oca**]{}'
date: Havana 1999
title: |
Instituto Superior de Ciencias y Tecnología Nucleares\
Dissertation Diploma Thesis\
---
Introduction
============
Quantum Chromodynamics (QCD) was discovered in the seventies and it has been considered as the fundamental theory for the strong interactions. A theory of such sort, showing a non abelian invariance group, was first suggested by Yang and Mills [@Yang]. The main idea in it is the principle of local gauge invariance, which for example, in Quantum Electrodynamics (QED) means that the phase of the wave function can be defined in an arbitrary way at any point of the space-time. In a non abelian theory, the arbitrary phase is generalized to an arbitrary transformation in an internal symmetry group, for QCD the internal symmetry group is $SU(3)$. The discovery of this theory generated radical changes in the character of the Modern Theoretical Physics and as a consequence it has been deeply investigated in the last years. It is believed at the present time that all the interactions in Nature are gauge invariant [@Green].
In one limit, the smallness of the coupling constant at high momentum (asymptotic freedom) made possible the theoretical investigation of the so-called hard processes by using the familiar perturbative language. This so called perturbative QCD (PQCD) was satisfactorily developed. However, relevant phenomena associated with the strong interactions can’t be described by the standard perturbative methods and the development of the so-called non-perturbative QCD is at the moment one of the great challenges of Theoretical Physics.
One of the most peculiar characteristics of the strong interactions is the color confinement. According to this philosophy colored objects, like quarks and gluons, can’t be observed as free particles in contrast with hadrons that are colorless composite states and effectively detected. The physical nature of such phenomenon remains unclear. Qualitatively, it is compared with the Meissner effect in superconductors, in which the magnetic field is expelled from the bulk in which the Cooper pairs condensate exists. It is considered that the QCD vacuum expels the color fields from it. Numerous attempts to explain this property have been made, for example explicit calculations in which the theory is regularized in a spatial lattice [@Creutz], and also through the construction of phenomenological models. One of this models, the so called MIT Bag Model [@Chodos], assumes that a bag or bubble is formed around the objects having color in such a manner that they could not escape from it, because their effective mass is smaller inside the bag volume and very high outside. The dimensional quantity introduced in this model is $B$, the bag constant, which is the pressure that the vacuum makes on the color field. Another approach is the so called String Model [@Gervais] which is based in the assumption that the interaction forces between quarks and antiquarks grow with the distance, in such a way that the energy increases linearly with the string length $E(L)=kL$. The main parameter introduced in this theory is the string tension $k$ which determines the strength of the confining interaction potential.
A fundamental problem in QCD is the nature of its ground state [@Shuryak]. This state is imagined as a very dense state of matter, composed of gluons and quarks interacting in a complicated way. Its properties are not easy accessible in experiments, because quarks and gluons fields can’t be directly observed, only the color neutral hadrons are detected. Furthermore, the interactions between quarks can’t be directly determine, because their scattering amplitudes can’t be measured. It is known, from the experience in solid-state physics, that a good understanding of the ground state structure implies a natural explanation of many of the phenomenological facts concerning to its excitations. The theory of superconductivity is a good example, up to the moment in which a good theory of the ground state was at hand the description of its excitations remained basically phenomenological.
It is already accepted that in QCD the zero-point oscillations of the coupled modes produce a finite energy density, such effects are called non-perturbative ones. Obviously such an energy density can be subtracted by definition, however this procedure does not solve the problem, because soft modes are rearranged in the excited states and the variation of their energy should be unavoidable considered. This energy density is determined phenomenologically and its numerical estimate is [@Shuryak] $$E_{vac}\simeq -f\langle 0\mid g^2G^2\mid 0\rangle \simeq
0.5GeV/fm^3,$$ where the so-called non-perturbative gluonic condensate $\langle
0\mid g^2G^2\mid 0\rangle$ was introduced and phenomenologically evaluated by Shiftman, Vainshtein and Zakharov [@Zakharov]. The negative sign of $ E_{vac}$ means that the non-perturbative vacuum energy is lower that the one associated to the perturbative vacuum.
Some of the QCD vacuum models, developed to explain the above-mentioned properties, are mentioned below. These models can be classified considering the dimension of the manifold in which the non-perturbative field fluctuations are concentrated.
1- The “instanton” model, in which it is assumed that the field is gathered in some localized regions of the space and time as instantaneous fluctuations. These are considered as fluctuations concentrated in zero dimensional manifolds.
2- The “soliton” model, in which it is assumed that the non linear gauge fields create some kind of stable particles or solitons (i.e. glueballs [@Hansson] or monopoles [@Mandelstam]) in the space. The space-time manifold to be considered for these models is one-dimensional.
3- The “string” model, in which closed strings (field created between color charges shows a form resembling a flux tube or string) are present in the vacuum. In space-time the history of these strings is a 2-dimensional surface, so in this picture the fluctuations are concentrated in closed surfaces.
4- The last model to be mentioned is the simplest one. It will be discussed here in more detail because it furnished the starting roots of the present discussion. This model is the “homogeneous” vacuum model, in which it is assumed that a magnetic field exist in the vacuum [@Savv1].
In the homogeneous vacuum field model, the existence of a constant magnetic abelian field $H$ is assumed. A simple calculation in the one loop approximation gives as result the following energy density [@Shuryak] $$E\left(H\right) =\frac{H^2}2\left(1+\frac{bg^2}{16\pi ^2}\ln
\left(\frac H{\Lambda ^2}\right) \right).$$ This formula predicts negative energy values for small values of the field $ H $, so the usual perturbative ground state with $H=0$ is unstable with respect to the formation of a state with a non vanishing field intensity [@Shuryak] $$H_{vac}=\Lambda ^2\exp \left(-\frac{16\pi ^2}{bg^2}-\frac
12\right),$$ at which the energy $E\left(H\right)$ has a minimum.
With the use of this model an extensive number of physical problems, related with the hadron structure, confinement, etc. have been investigated. Nevertheless, after some time its intense study was abandoned. The main reason were:
1\. The perturbative relation giving $E_{vac}$ would be only valid if the second order of the perturbative expansion is relatively small.
2\. The specific spatial and color directions of the magnetic field break the now seemingly indispensable Lorentz and $SU(3)$ invariance of the ground state.
3\. The magnetic moment of the vector particle (gluon) is such that its energy in the presence of the field has a negative eigenvalue, which also makes unstable the homogeneous magnetic field $H$.
Before presenting the objectives of the present work it should be stressed that QCD quantization [@Faddeev-Popov] is realized in the same way as that in QED, and it can be shown that QCD is renormalizable. The quadratic field terms in the QCD Lagrangian ($L_{QCD}$), which depend on the quark and gluon fields, have the same form that the ones corresponding to the electrons and photons in QED. However, in connection with the interaction, there appears a substantial difference due to the coupling of the gluon to itself. In order to assure the unitarity of the quantum theory of gauge fields, it was necessary to introduce fictitious particles called the Faddeev-Popov ghosts, which carry color charge, behaves as fermions (their fields anticommute) in spite of their boson like propagation. These particles cancel out the contributions of the non-physical gauge field degrees of freedom, and in physical calculations only appear as internal lines of the Feynman diagrams.
As it is well known, a perturbative expansion depends on the initial conditions at $t\rightarrow \pm \infty $ or what is the same on the states in which the expansion is based. The perturbation theory at finite orders differs in attention to the ground state selected, or from a functional point of view what boundary conditions are chosen. The perturbation theory in QED (PQED) is in excellent correspondence with the experimental facts. In this theory the expansion is based on a perturbative vacuum state that is the empty of the Fock space, excluding the presence of fermion and boson particles. This is a radical simplification of the exact perturbative ground state that should be a complex combination of states on the Fock basis. Formally the expansion around the Fock vacuum contains all the effects associated to the exact vacuum, but it would require from infinite orders of the expansion in the coupling constant for describing them. The rapid convergence of the perturbative series in PQED indicates that the higher excited states of the Fock basis expansion, in the real vacuum, have a short life and a small influence on physical observable. In QCD the color confinement indicates that the ground state has a non-trivial structure, which in terms of a Fock expansion could be represented with the formation of a gluon “condensate”. Therefore, it should not be surprising that the PQCD fails to describe the low energy physics where the propagator of gluons could be affected by the presence of the condensate, even under the validity of a modified perturbative expansion. Such a perturbative condensate could generate all the effects over the physical observable, which in the standard expansion could require an infinite number of terms of the series.
In a previous work [@Cabo], following the above ideas, the construction of a modified perturbation theory for QCD was implemented. This construction retained the main invariance of the theory (the Lorentz and $SU(3)$ ones), and it was also able to reproduce some of the main physical predictions of the chromomagnetic field models. The central idea in that work was to modify the perturbative expansion in such a way that the effects of a gluon condensate could be incorporated. Such a modification is needed to be searched through the connection of the interaction on an alternative state in the Fock space designed to incorporate the presence of the gluon condensate. It is not excluded that this procedure could be also a crude approximation of the reality as in the case in which the connection is done on the Fock vacuum (QED). However, this procedure could produce a reasonable if not good description of the low energy physics. If such is the case the low and high-energy descriptions of QCD could be unified in a common unified perturbation theory. In particular, in that previous work [@Cabo] the results had the interesting outcome of producing a non vanishing mean value for the relevant quantity $G^2$. In addition the effective potential, in terms of the condensation parameter at a first order approximation, showed a minimum at non-vanishing values of that parameter. Therefore, the procedure was able to reproduce at least some central predictions of the chromomagnetic models and general QCD analysis.
The main objective of the present work is to search the foundations of the mentioned perturbation theory. The concrete aim is to find a physical state in the Fock space of the non-interacting theory being able to generate that expansion. The canonical quantization formalism for gauge fields, developed by Kugo and Ojima is employed.
The exposition will be organized as follows: The Chapter 2 is divided in three sections. In the first one a review of the former work [@Cabo] is done, by also establishing the needs for the present one and the objectives which are planned to be analyzed and solved. In the second section the operational quantization method for gauge fields developed by Kugo and Ojima is discussed. Starting from it, in the third section it is exposed the ansatz for the Fock space state that generates the desired form of the perturbative expansion. The proof that the state satisfies the physical state condition is also given in this section. The Chapter 3 is divided in three sections. In the first one an analysis for the general form of the generating functional in an arbitrary ground state is made. In the second section it is shown that the proposed state can generate the desired modification for the gluon propagator by a proper selection of the parameters at hand. In the third section the modification of the propagator for the ghost particles is investigated, such propagator was not modified in the work [@Cabo] and here this procedure is justified as compatible within the present description. Finally, two appendices are introduced for a detailed analysis of the most elaborated parts in the calculation of transverse, longitudinal and scalar modes contribution to the gluon propagator modification.
Ground State Ansatz
===================
The previous work [@Cabo] is reviewed, as motivation for the present discussion, and the objectives for the present work stated. It is also reviewed the canonical quantization method for gauge fields developed by Kugo and Ojima (K.O.). Finally the QCD modified vacuum state is proposed and it is shown that this state satisfies the BRST physicality conditions imposed by the K.O. formalism.
Motivation
----------
In this section a review of a previous work [@Cabo] is made. The main properties of this approach, as was mentioned in the introduction, were:
a\) The ability to produce a gluon-condensation parameter value $\left\langle G^2\right\rangle $ directly in the first approximation.
b\) The prediction of a minimum of the effective action for non-vanishing values of the condensation parameter.
The discussion in [@Cabo] opened the possibility of reproducing some interesting physical implications of the early chromomagnetic field models for the QCD vacuum [@Savv1; @Savv2] by also solving some of their main shortcoming: The breaking of Lorentz and $SU\left(3\right)$ invariance. However, the discussion in [@Cabo] had also a limitation; that is it was unknown if the state that generated the proposed modification to the gluon propagator was a physical state of the theory. This shortcoming, could be expressed in the gauge parameter dependence of the calculated gluon mass. Below it is reminded the main analysis in [@Cabo].
The exposition was referred to the Euclidean space and the followed conventions were used, $$\begin{aligned}
\nabla _\mu ^{ab} &=&\delta ^{ab}\partial _\mu +gf^{abc}A_\mu ^c,
\\ F_{\mu \nu }^a &=&\partial _\mu A_\nu ^a-\partial _\nu A_\mu
^a+f^{abc}A_\mu ^cA_\nu ^b,\end{aligned}$$ where $g$ is the coupling constant and $f^{abc}$ are the structure constant of $SU(3)$.
The action for the problem, including the auxiliary sources for all the fields was taken as, $$\begin{aligned}
S_T\left[ A,\overline{C},C\right] &=&\int d^4x\left\{ -\frac
14F_{\mu \nu }^aF_{\mu \nu }^a+\frac 1{2\alpha }\partial _\mu
A_\mu ^a\partial _\nu A_\nu ^a+\overline{C}^a\nabla _\mu
^{ab}\partial _\mu C^b\right. \\ &&\text{ \qquad \qquad \qquad
\qquad \qquad \qquad }\left. +J_\mu ^aA_\mu ^a+ \overline{\xi
}^aC^a+\overline{C}^a\xi ^a\right\},\end{aligned}$$ where $A_\mu,$ $\overline{C},C$ are the gauge and ghost fields and $\alpha $ is the gauge fixing parameter [@Faddeev] for the Lorentz gauge.
The generating functional for the Green functions was expressed in the form $$Z_T\left[ J,\xi,\overline{\xi }\right] =\frac 1N\int D\left(
A,\overline{C},C\right) \exp \left\{ S_T\left[
A,\overline{C},C\right] \right\},$$ which through the usual Legendre transformation led to the effective action, $$\Gamma \left[ \Phi \right] =\ln Z\left[ J\right] -J_i\Phi
_i,\text{ \quad with ~}\Phi _i=\frac{\delta \ln Z\left[ J\right]
}{\delta J_i}, \label{efec}$$ $\Phi _i$ denoted the mean values of the fields, and the compact notation of DeWitt [@Daemi], $$\Phi _i\equiv \left(A,\overline{C},C\right) ;\text{ \qquad
}J_i\equiv \left(J,\xi,\overline{\xi }\right),$$ was used. In which $\Phi _i$ and $J_i$ indicate all the fields and sources at a space-time point, respectively. Repeated indices imply space-time integration as well as summation over all the field types and over their Lorentz and color components.
The one-loop effective action and the corresponding “quantum” Lagrange equations, in the compact notation, were considered as, $$\begin{aligned}
\Gamma \left[ \Phi \right] &=&S\left[ \Phi \right] +\frac 12\ln
DetD\left[ \Phi \right], \label{acc} \\ \Gamma _{,i}\left[ \Phi
\right] &=&S_{,i}\left[ \Phi \right] +\frac 12S_{,ikj}D_{kj}=-J_i,
\label{ecmo}\end{aligned}$$ the functional derivatives were denoted by $$L_{,i}\left[ \Phi \right] =\frac{\delta L\left[ \Phi \right]
}{\delta \Phi _i }$$ and the action defined by $S_T=S+J_i\Phi _i$.
The $\Phi$ dependent propagator $D$ was defined, as usual, through $$D_{ij}=-S_{,ij}^{-1}\left[ \Phi \right], \label{D}$$
After considering a null mean value for the vector field $\Phi$, as requires the $SO(4)$ invariance, the propagator relation (\[D\]) took the form $$D_{ij}=-S_{,ij}^{-1}\left[ 0\right].$$
In this case the only non vanishing second derivatives of the action were, $$\begin{aligned}
\frac{\delta ^2S}{\delta A_\mu ^a\left(x\right) \delta A_\nu
^b\left(x^{\prime }\right) }\left[ 0\right] &=&\delta ^{ab}\left(
\partial _{x}^2\delta _{\mu \nu }-\left(1+\frac
1\alpha \right) \partial _\mu ^{x}\partial _\nu ^{x}\right) \delta
\left(x-x^{\prime }\right), \label{Sglu} \\ \frac{\delta
^2S}{\delta C^a\left(x\right) \delta \overline{C}^b\left(
x^{\prime }\right) }\left[ 0\right] &=&\delta ^{ab}\partial
_x^2\delta \left(x-x^{\prime }\right). \label{Sgho}\end{aligned}$$
The gluon and ghost propagators are the inverse kernels of (\[Sglu\]) and (\[Sgho\]). Here, the alternative for a perturbative description of gluon condensation appeared. As (\[Sglu\]) consist of derivatives only, the inverse kernel of the gluon propagator could include coordinate independent terms reflecting a sort of gluon condensation. It should be noticed that the propagator is a $SO\left(4\right)$ tensor (not a vector) then a constant term in it does not led necessary to a breaking of the $SO\left(4\right)$ invariance [@Cabo]. Accordingly with the above remark gluon and ghost propagators were selected as $$\begin{aligned}
D_{\mu \nu }^{ab}\left(x\right) &=&\int \frac{dp}{\left(2\pi
\right) ^4} \left[ C\delta ^{ab}\delta _{\mu \nu }\delta \left(
p\right) +\frac{\delta ^{ab}}{p^2}\left(\delta _{\mu \nu }-\left(
1+\alpha \right) \frac{p_\mu p_\nu }{p^2}\right) \right] \exp
\left(ipx\right), \label{Dglu} \\ D_G^{ab}\left(x\right) &=&\int
\frac{dp}{\left(2\pi \right) ^4}\frac{ \delta ^{ab}}{p^2}\exp
\left(ipx\right), \label{Dgho}\end{aligned}$$ and it was checked that the equations of motion (\[ecmo\]), considering (\[Dglu\]) and (\[Dgho\]) and taking vanishing gluon and ghost fields, were satisfied.
After that some implications of the modified gluon propagator, in the standard perturbative calculations, were analyzed [@Cabo].
The first interesting result obtained was the standard one loop polarization tensor. It was modified by a massive term, depending on the condensate parameter, with the form $$m^2=\frac{3g^2}{\left(2\pi \right) ^4}C\left(1-\alpha \right).
\label{mass}$$
This result had a dependence on the gauge parameter $\alpha$; which as was mentioned above is one of the shortcomings of the discussion [@Cabo] because it was unknown if this mass term was generated by a non-physical vacuum state. In the present work the idea is to solve this difficulty by explicitly constructing a perturbative state leading to the considered form of the propagator, but also satisfying the BRST physical state condition in the non-interacting limit.
The mean value of the squared field intensity operator was also calculated [@Cabo], within the simplest approximation (the tree approximation), with the use of the proposed propagator. That is, it was evaluated the expression $$\langle 0\mid S_g\left[ \Phi \right] \mid 0\rangle \equiv \frac
1N\left[ \int D\left(\Phi \right) S_g\left[ \Phi \right] \exp
S_T\left[ \Phi \right] \right] _{J_i=0},$$ with $$S_g\left[ \Phi \right] \equiv \int d^4x\left\{ -\frac 14F_{\mu \nu
}^a\left(x\right) F_{\mu \nu }^a\left(x\right) \right\},$$ and the following result was obtained, $$\langle 0\mid S_g\left[ \Phi \right] \mid 0\rangle
=-\frac{72g^2C^2}{\left(2\pi \right) ^8}\int d^4x.$$
Then the mean value of $G^2$ took the form $$G^2\equiv \langle 0\mid F_{\mu \nu }^a\left(x\right) F_{\mu \nu
}^a\left(x\right) \mid 0\rangle =\frac{288g^2C^2}{\left(2\pi
\right) ^8}. \label{G2}$$
The substitution of Eq. (\[G2\]) in Eq. (\[mass\]) gave a rough estimate of the gluon mass. It was selected a particular value of $\alpha =0$ and assumed the more or less accepted value of $g^2G^2$ in the physical vacuum $$g^2G^2\cong 0.5\left(\frac{GeV}{c^2}\right) ^4,$$ then the estimated value of the gluon mass became $$m=0.35\frac{GeV}{c^2}.$$
Finally, an evaluation for the contribution to the effective potential of all the one-loop graphs, having only mass term insertions in the polarization tensor, was done. The result, in terms of $G^2$ (\[G2\]), turned to be of the form [@Cabo], $$V\left(G^2\right) =\frac{G^2}4+\frac 3{16\pi
^2}g^2\frac{G^2}{32}\ln \frac{ g^2G^2}{\mu ^4}, \label{VG}$$ where $\mu $ is the dimensional parameter included by the renormalization procedure.
As it can be noticed in (\[VG\]), the effective potential indicates the spontaneous generation of a $G^2$ condensate from the usual perturbative vacuum $\left(G^2=0\right) $. This occurred in close analogy with the chromomagnetic fields.
Then from the reviewed functional treatment, there are some interesting features that allow believing that the above procedure could describe relevant phenomena of the low energy region through a perturbative expansion. However some questions needed to be answered and taken as objectives of the present work are:
1- To determine under what conditions the new gluon propagator (\[Dglu\]) corresponds to a modified vacuum satisfying the physical state condition. This could also help in the understanding of the $\alpha$ dependence in the gluonic mass term.
2- To investigate the form of the ghost propagator in the modified vacuum state, because in the previous work [@Cabo] it was taken the as same of the usual perturbative theory.
Operational Quantization Formalism
----------------------------------
As it is well known the non-abelian character of Yang-Mills fields determines the asymptotic freedom property, and the quark-confinement problem of QCD. This character simultaneously makes difficult the quantization of such theories. The first approach to this quantization was made by Faddeev and Popov in the path integral formalism [@Faddeev-Popov], with the resulting correct Feynman rules including the Faddeev-Popov ghost fields and the renormalizability of the theory. But this approach has the problem of the absence of notions about the state vector space and the Heisemberg operators. In this case due the non-abelian character of the theory it is not possible to use the operators formalism developed by Gupta-Bleuler [@Gupta] or the more general Nakanishi-Lautrup version [@Nakanishi], which can be used only for the abelian case. This situation occurs because de S-Matrix calculated with those procedures is not unitary in the non abelian case, as it was first mentioned by Feynman [@Feynman].
In the present work the operator formalism developed by T. Kugo and I. Ojima [@Kugo], for the first consistent quantization of the Yang-Mills fields, is considered. This formulation uses the Lagrangian invariance under a global symmetry operation called the BRST transformation [@BRST]. In the following a brief review of the K.O. work is done and the following conventions are used.
Let $G$ be a compact Lie group, and $\Lambda$ any matrix in the adjoin representation of its associated Lie Algebra. The matrix $\Lambda$ can be represented as a linear combination of the form $$\Lambda =\Lambda ^aT^a,$$ were $T^a$ are the generators $(a=1,...,$Dim$G=n)$, which can be chosen as Hermitian ones and satisfying $$\left[ T^a,T^b\right] =if^{abc}T^c.$$
The field variations under infinitesimal gauge transformations are given by $$\begin{aligned}
\delta _\Lambda A_\mu ^a\left(x\right) &=&\partial _\mu \Lambda
^a\left(x\right) +gf^{acb}A_\mu ^c\left(x\right) \Lambda ^b\left(
x\right) =D_\mu ^{ab}\left(x\right) \Lambda ^b, \\ D_\mu
^{ab}\left(x\right) &=&\partial _\mu \delta ^{ab}+gf^{acb}A_\mu
^c\left(x\right).\end{aligned}$$
The metric $g_{\mu \nu }$ is taken in the convention $$g_{00}=-g_{ii}=1\qquad \text{for}\quad i=1,2,3.$$
The complete G.D. Lagrangian to be considered is the one employed in the operator quantization approach [@OjimaTex]. Its explicit form is given by $$\begin{aligned}
\mathcal{L} &=&\mathcal{L}_{YM}+\mathcal{L}_{GF}+\mathcal{L}_{FP}
\label{Lag} \\ \mathcal{L}_{YM} &=&-\frac 14F_{\mu \nu }^a\left(
x\right) F^{\mu \nu,a}\left(x\right), \label{YM} \\
\mathcal{L}_{GF} &=&-\partial ^\mu B^a\left(x\right) A_\mu
^a\left(x\right) +\frac \alpha 2B^a\left(x\right) B^a\left(
x\right), \label{GF} \\ \mathcal{L}_{FP} &=&-i\partial ^\mu
\overline{c}^a\left(x\right) D_\mu ^{ab}\left(x\right) c^b\left(
x\right), \label{FP}\end{aligned}$$ where field intensity is $$F_{\mu \nu }^a\left(x\right) =\partial _\mu A_\nu ^a\left(
x\right) -\partial _\nu A_\mu ^a\left(x\right) +gf^{abc}A_\mu
^b\left(x\right) A_\nu ^c\left(x\right).$$
Relation (\[YM\]) defines the standard Yang-Mills Lagrangian, Eq. (\[GF\]) defines the gauge fixing term which can be also rewritten in the form $$\mathcal{L}_{GF}=-\frac 1{2\alpha }\left(\partial ^\mu A_\mu
^a\left(x\right) \right) ^2+\frac \alpha 2\left(B^a\left(x\right)
+\frac 1\alpha
\partial ^\mu A_\mu ^a\left(x\right) \right) ^2-\partial ^\mu \left(
B^a\left(x\right) A_\mu ^a\left(x\right) \right),$$ equivalent to the more familiar $-\frac 1{2\alpha }\left(\partial
^\mu A_\mu ^a\left(x\right) \right) ^2$, at the equations of motion level [@Faddeev] and Feynman diagram expansion.
Finally, Eq. (\[FP\]) describes the non-physical Faddeev-Popov ghost sector. The definition for such fields in the Kugo and Ojima (K.O.) approach is satisfying $$\overline{c}^{\dagger }=\overline{c},\text{ \qquad }c^{\dagger
}=c.$$
That is, the ghost fields are Hermitian. In the Faddeev-Popov formalism [@Faddeev] they satisfy $$C^{\dagger }=\overline{C},\text{ \qquad }\overline{C}^{\dagger
}=C.$$
However, a simple change of variables is able to transform between the ghost fields satisfying both kind of conjugation conditions. The selected conjugation properties, for this sector, allowed Kugo and Ojima to solve various formal problems existing for the application of the BRST operator quantization method to QCD, for example the hermiticity of the Lagrangian, which guarantees the unitarity of the S-Matrix.
The physical state conditions in the BRST procedure [@OjimaTex] are given by $$\begin{aligned}
&&Q_B\mid phys\rangle =0, \nonumber \\ &&Q_C\mid phys\rangle =0,\end{aligned}$$ where $$Q_B=\int d^3x\left[ B^a\left(x\right) \overleftrightarrow{\partial
_0} c^a\left(x\right) +gB^a\left(x\right) f^{abc}A_0^b\left(
x\right) c^c\left(x\right) +\frac i2g\partial _0\left(
\overline{c}^a\right) f^{abc}c^b\left(x\right) c^c\left(x\right)
\right],$$ with $$f\left(x\right) \overleftrightarrow{\partial _0}g\left(x\right)
\equiv f\left(x\right) \partial _0g\left(x\right) -\partial
_0\left(f\left(x\right) \right) g\left(x\right).$$
The BRST charge is conserved as a consequence of the BRST symmetry of the Lagrangian (\[Lag\]).
The also conserved charge $Q_C$ is given by $$Q_C=i\int d^3x\left[ \overline{c}^a\left(x\right)
\overleftrightarrow{
\partial _0}c^a\left(x\right) +g\overline{c}^a\left(x\right)
f^{abc}A_0^b\left(x\right) c^c\left(x\right) \right],$$ its conservation comes from the Noether theorem, due to the Lagrangian invariance (\[Lag\]) under the phase transformation $c\rightarrow e^\theta c,\ \overline{c}\rightarrow e^{-\theta
}\overline{c}$. This charge defines the so called “ghost number” as the difference between the number of ghost $c$ and $\overline{c}$.
The analysis here is restricted to the Yang-Mills Theory without spontaneous breaking of the gauge symmetry. The quantization for the theory defined by the Lagrangian (\[Lag\]), considering the interacting free limit $g\rightarrow 0$, leads to the following commutation relations between the free fields, $$\begin{aligned}
\left[ A_\mu ^a\left(x\right),A_\nu ^b\left(y\right) \right]
&=&\delta ^{ab}\left(-ig_{\mu \nu }D\left(x-y\right) +i\left(
1-\alpha \right) \partial _\mu \partial _\nu E\left(x-y\right)
\right), \nonumber \\ \left[ A_\mu ^a\left(x\right),B^b\left(
y\right) \right] &=&\delta ^{ab}\left(-i\partial _\mu D\left(
x-y\right) \right), \nonumber \\ \left[ B^a\left(
x\right),B^b\left(y\right) \right] &=&\left\{ \overline{c}
^a\left(x\right),\overline{c}^b\left(y\right) \right\} =\left\{
c^a\left(x\right),c^b\left(y\right) \right\} =0, \nonumber \\
\left\{ c^a\left(x\right),\overline{c}^b\left(y\right) \right\}
&=&-D\left(x-y\right), \label{com}\end{aligned}$$ The $E$ functions are defined by [@OjimaTex] $$E_{\left(.\right) }\left(x\right) =\frac 12\left(\nabla ^2\right)
^{-1}\left(x_0\partial ^0-1\right) D_{\left(.\right) }\left(
x\right).$$
The equations of motion for the non-interacting fields take the simple form $$\begin{aligned}
\Box A_\mu ^a\left(x\right) -\left(1-\alpha \right) \partial _\mu
B^a\left(x\right) &=&0, \\ \partial ^\mu A_\mu ^a\left(x\right)
+\alpha B^a\left(x\right) &=&0, \label{liga1} \\ \Box B^a\left(
x\right) =\Box c^a\left(x\right) =\Box \overline{c} ^a\left(
x\right) &=&0.\end{aligned}$$
This equations can be solved for an arbitrary values of the $\alpha$ parameter. However, the discussion will be restricted to the case $\alpha =1$ which corresponds to the situation in which all the gluon components satisfy the D’Alambert equation. This selection, as considered in the framework of the usual perturbative expansion, implies that you are not able to check the $\alpha$ independence of the physical quantities. This simplification is a necessary requirement. In the present discussion, the aim is to construct a perturbative state that satisfies the BRST physical state condition, in order to connect adiabatically the interaction. Then, the physical character of all the prediction will follow whenever the former assumption that adiabatic connection do not take the state out of the physical subspace at any intermediate state. The consideration of different values of $\alpha $, would be also a convenient recourse for checking the $\alpha$ independent perturbative expansion. However, at this stage it is preferred to delay this more technical issue for future work.
In that way the field equations for the $\alpha =1$ are $$\begin{aligned}
\Box A_\mu ^a\left(x\right)=\Box B^a\left(x\right) =\Box c^a\left(
x\right) =\Box \overline{c} ^a\left(x\right) &=&0, \label{movi1}
\\
\partial ^\mu A_\mu ^a\left(x\right) +B^a\left(x\right) &=&0.
\label{movi2}\end{aligned}$$
The solutions of the set (\[movi1\]), (\[movi2\]) can be written as $$\begin{aligned}
A_\mu ^a\left(x\right) &=&\sum\limits_{\vec{k},\sigma }\left(
A_{\vec{k},\sigma }^af_{k,\mu }^\sigma \left(x\right)
+A_{\vec{k},\sigma }^{a+}f_{k,\mu }^{\sigma *}\left(x\right)
\right), \nonumber \\ B^a\left(x\right)
&=&\sum\limits_{\vec{k}}\left(B_{\vec{k}}^ag_k\left(x\right)
+B_{\vec{k}}^{a+}g_k^{*}\left(x\right) \right), \nonumber \\
c^a\left(x\right) &=&\sum\limits_{\vec{k}}\left(
c_{\vec{k}}^ag_k\left(x\right) +c_{\vec{k}}^{a+}g_k^{*}\left(
x\right) \right), \nonumber \\ \overline{c}^a\left(x\right)
&=&\sum\limits_{\vec{k}}\left(\overline{c}_{ \vec{k}}^ag_k\left(
x\right) +\overline{c}_{\vec{k}}^{a+}g_k^{*}\left(x\right)
\right).\end{aligned}$$ The wave packets system, for non-massive scalar and vector fields, are taken in the form $$\begin{aligned}
g_k\left(x\right) &=&\frac 1{\sqrt{2Vk_0}}\exp \left(-ikx\right),
\nonumber \\ f_{k,\mu }^\sigma \left(x\right) &=&\frac
1{\sqrt{2Vk_0}}\epsilon _\mu ^\sigma \left(k\right) \exp \left(
-ikx\right). \label{pol}\end{aligned}$$
The polarization vectors, in Eq. (\[pol\]) are defined by $$\vec{k}\cdot \vec{\epsilon}_\sigma \left(k\right) =0,\ \epsilon
_\sigma ^0\left(k\right) =0,$$ and satisfy $$\vec{\epsilon}_\sigma \left(k\right) \cdot \vec{\epsilon}_\tau
\left(k\right) =\delta _{\sigma \tau },$$ where $\sigma,\tau =1,2$ are the transverse modes. For the longitudinal $L$ and scalar $S$ modes the definitions are $$\begin{aligned}
\epsilon _L^\mu \left(k\right) &=&-ik^\mu =-i\left(\left|
\vec{k}\right|, \vec{k}\right),\ \epsilon _L^{\mu *}\left(
k\right) =-\epsilon _L^\mu \left(k\right), \\ \epsilon _S^\mu
\left(k\right) &=&-i\frac{\overline{k}^\mu }{2\left| \vec{k}
\right| ^2}=\frac{-i\left(\left| \vec{k}\right|,-\vec{k}\right)
}{2\left| \vec{k}\right| ^2},\ \epsilon _S^{\mu *}\left(k\right)
=-\epsilon _S^\mu \left(k\right),\end{aligned}$$ and satisfy $$\begin{aligned}
\epsilon _L^{\mu *}\left(k\right) \cdot \epsilon _{L,\mu }\left(
k\right) &=&\epsilon _S^{\mu *}\left(k\right) \cdot \epsilon
_{S,\mu }\left(k\right) =0, \\ \epsilon _L^{\mu *}\left(k\right)
\cdot \epsilon _{S,\mu }\left(k\right) &=&1.\end{aligned}$$
The scalar product of the defined polarizations define the metric matrix $$\widetilde{\eta }_{\sigma \tau }=\epsilon _\sigma ^{\mu
*}\left(k\right) \cdot \epsilon _{\tau,\mu }\left(k\right)\equiv
\left(
\begin{array}{cccc}
-1 & 0 & 0 & 0 \\
0 & -1 & 0 & 0 \\
0 & 0 & 0 & 1 \\
0 & 0 & 1 & 0
\end{array}
\right).$$
Now it is possible to introduce the contravariant (in the polarization index) polarizations $$\epsilon ^{\sigma,\mu }\left(k\right)
=\sum\limits_{1,2,L,S}\widetilde{ \eta }^{\sigma \tau }\cdot
\epsilon _\tau ^\mu \left(k\right),$$ satisfying $$\sum\limits_\sigma \epsilon ^{\sigma,\mu }\left(k\right) \cdot
\epsilon _\sigma ^{\nu *}\left(k\right) =\sum\limits_{\sigma,\tau
}\widetilde{\eta } ^{\sigma \tau }\cdot \epsilon _\tau ^\mu \left(
k\right) \cdot \epsilon _\sigma ^{\nu *}\left(k\right) =g^{\mu \nu
}$$ and $$\begin{aligned}
\epsilon ^{\sigma,\mu }\left(k\right) \cdot \epsilon _\mu ^{\tau
*}\left(k\right) &=&\widetilde{\eta }^{\sigma \tau }, \\
\widetilde{\eta }^{\sigma \tau ^{\prime }}\cdot \widetilde{\eta
}_{\tau ^{\prime }\tau } &=&\delta _\tau ^\sigma.\end{aligned}$$
After that, it follows for the vector functions $$\sum\limits_{\vec{k},\sigma }f_{k,\sigma }^\mu \left(x\right)
\cdot f_k^{\sigma,\nu *}\left(y\right) =g^{\mu \nu }D_{+}\left(
x-y\right).$$
As it can be seen from (\[movi2\]) the $A_{\vec{k},\sigma }^a$ and $B_{\vec{k}}^a$ modes are not all independent. Indeed, it follows from (\[movi2\]) that $$B_{\vec{k}}^a=A_{\vec{k}}^{S,a}=A_{\vec{k},L}^a.$$
Then excluding the scalar mode, the free Heisemberg fields expansion takes the form $$A_\mu ^a\left(x\right) =\sum\limits_{\vec{k}}\left(
\sum\limits_{\sigma =1,2}A_{\vec{k},\sigma }^af_{k,\mu }^\sigma
\left(x\right) +A_{\vec{k} }^{L,a}f_{k,L,\mu }\left(x\right)
+B_{\vec{k}}^af_{k,S,\mu }\left(x\right) \right)+h.c.,$$ where $h.c.$ represents the Hermitian conjugate of the first term.
In order to satisfy the commutations relations (\[com\]) the creation and annihilation operator, associated to the Fourier components of the field, should obey $$\begin{aligned}
\left[ A_{\vec{k},\sigma }^a,A_{\vec{k}^{\prime },\sigma ^{\prime
}}^{a^{\prime }+}\right] &=&-\delta ^{aa^{\prime }}\delta
_{\vec{k}\vec{k} ^{\prime }}\eta _{\sigma \sigma ^{\prime }},
\nonumber \\ \left\{ c_{\vec{k}}^a,\overline{c}_{\vec{k}^{\prime
}}^{a^{\prime }+}\right\} &=&i\delta ^{aa^{\prime }}\delta
_{\vec{k}\vec{k}^{\prime }}, \nonumber \\ \left\{
\overline{c}_{\vec{k}}^a,c_{\vec{k}^{\prime }}^{a^{\prime
}+}\right\} &=&-i\delta ^{aa^{\prime }}\delta
_{\vec{k}\vec{k}^{\prime }}\end{aligned}$$ and all the other vanish.
In a symbolic matrix form these relations can be arranged as follows $$\begin{array}{cccccc}
& A_{\vec{k}^{\prime },\sigma ^{\prime }}^{a^{\prime }+} &
A_{\vec{k} ^{\prime }}^{L,a^{\prime }+} & B_{\vec{k}^{\prime
}}^{a^{\prime }+} & c_{ \vec{k}^{\prime }}^{a+} &
\overline{c}_{\vec{k}^{\prime }}^{a+} \\ A_{\vec{k},\sigma }^a &
\delta ^{aa^{\prime }}\delta _{\vec{k}\vec{k} ^{\prime }}\delta
_{\sigma \sigma ^{\prime }} & 0 & 0 & 0 & 0 \\ A_{\vec{k}}^{L,a} &
0 & 0 & -\delta ^{aa^{\prime }}\delta _{\vec{k}\vec{k} ^{\prime }}
& 0 & 0 \\ B_{\vec{k}}^a & 0 & -\delta ^{aa^{\prime }}\delta
_{\vec{k}\vec{k}^{\prime }} & 0 & 0 & 0 \\ c_{\vec{k}}^a & 0 & 0 &
0 & 0 & i\delta ^{aa^{\prime }}\delta _{\vec{k}\vec{k }^{\prime }}
\\ \overline{c}_{\vec{k}}^a & 0 & 0 & 0 & -i\delta ^{aa^{\prime
}}\delta _{\vec{ k}\vec{k}^{\prime }} & 0
\end{array}
\label{commu}$$
The above commutation rules and equation of motions define the quantized non-interacting limit of G.D. Then, it is possible now to define the alternative interacting free ground state to be considered for the adiabatic connection of the interaction. As discussed before, the expectation is that the physics of the perturbation theory to be developed will be able to furnish good description of some low energy physical effects.
It is interesting to comment now that one of the first tasks proposed for the present work was to construct a state, in quantum electrodynamics, able to generate a modification for the photon propagator similar to the one proposed in [@Cabo] for gluons. It was used the quantification operator method developed by Gupta and Bleuler (GB), however was impossible to find any state generating this covariant propagator modification and satisfying the physical state condition imposed by this formalism.
In the GB formalism the physical state condition is given by $$\partial ^\mu A_\mu ^{+}\left(x\right) \mid \Phi \rangle =0,$$ or in terms of the annihilation operators [@Sokolov], by $$k_0\left(A_{\vec{k},3}-A_{\vec{k},0}\right) \mid \Phi \rangle =0.$$
The more general state satisfying this condition is [@GuptaTex] $$\mid \Phi \rangle =\sum\limits_{m,n_{1,}n_2}B_{n_{1,}n_2,m}\mid
\Phi \left(n_{1,}n_2,m\right) \rangle,$$ with $$\mid \Phi \left(n_{1,}n_2,m\right) \rangle =\left(m!\right)
^{-\frac 12}\left(A_{\vec{k},3}^{+}-A_{\vec{k},0}^{+}\right)
^m\left(n_1!n_2!\right) ^{-\frac 12}\left(
A_{\vec{k},1}^{+}\right) ^{n_1}\left(A_{ \vec{k},2}^{+}\right)
^{n_2}\mid 0\rangle,$$ where $B_{n_{1,}n_2,m}$ are arbitrary constants. This general form of the state is the one that disabled to find a covariant modification to the propagator.
The alternative vacuum state
----------------------------
In the present section the construction of a relativistic invariant ground state in the non-interacting limit of QCD is considered. It will be required that the proposed state satisfies the BRST physical state conditions. Then this state will have an opportunity to furnish the gluodynamics ground state under the adiabatic connection of the interaction.
After beginning to work in the K.O. formalism some indications were found, that the appropriate state obeying the physical state conditions in this procedure, and with possibilities for generating the modification to the gluon propagator proposed in the previous work, could have the general structure $$\mid \phi \rangle =\exp \sum\limits_a\left(\sum\limits_{\sigma
=1,2}\frac 12C_\sigma \left(\left| \vec{p}\right| \right)
A_{\vec{p},\sigma }^{a+}A_{ \vec{p},\sigma }^{a+}+C_3\left(\left|
\vec{p}\right| \right) \left(B_{\vec{
p}}^{a+}A_{\vec{p}}^{L,a+}+i\overline{c}_{\vec{p}}^{a+}c_{\vec{p}
}^{a+}\right) \right) \mid 0\rangle, \label{Vacuum}$$ where $\vec{p}$ is an auxiliary momentum chosen as one of the few smallest momenta of the quantized theory in a finite volume $V$. This value will be taken later in the limit $V\rightarrow \infty $ for recovering Lorentz invariance. From here the sum on the color index $a$ will be explicit. The parameters $C_i\left(\left|
\vec{p}\right| \right)$, $i=1,2,3,$ will be fixed below from the condition that the free propagator associated to a state satisfying the BRST physical state condition, coincides with the one proposed in the previous work [@Cabo]. The solution of this problem, then would give a more solid foundation to the physical implications of the discussion in that work.
It should also be noticed that the state defined by Eq. (\[Vacuum\]) has some similarity with the coherent states [@Itzykson]. However, in the present case, the creation operators appear in squares. Thus, the argument of the exponential creates pairs of physical and non-physical particles. An important property of this function is that its construction in terms of creation operator pairs determines that the mean value of an odd number of field operators vanishes. This at variance with the standard coherent state in which the mean values of the fields are nonzero. The vanishing of the mean fields is a property in common with the standard perturbative vacuum, in which Lorentz invariance could be broken by a non-vanishing expectation value of a 4-vector the gauge field. It should be also stressed that this state as formed by the superposition of gluons state pairs suggests a connection with some recent works in the literature that consider the formation gluons pairs due to the color interactions.
Now it is checked that the state (\[Vacuum\]) satisfies the BRST physical state conditions $$\begin{aligned}
&&Q_B\mid \Phi \rangle =0, \nonumber \\ &&Q_C\mid \Phi \rangle =0.\end{aligned}$$
The expressions for these charges in the interaction free limit [@OjimaTex] are $$\begin{aligned}
&&Q_B=i\sum\limits_{\vec{k},a}\left(
c_{\vec{k}}^{a+}B_{\vec{k}}^a-B_{\vec{k} }^{a+\
}c_{\vec{k}}^a\right), \nonumber \\
&&Q_C=i\sum\limits_{\vec{k},a}\left(
\overline{c}_{\vec{k}}^{a+}c_{\vec{k}
}^a+c_{\vec{k}}^{a+}\overline{c}_{\vec{k}}^a\right).\end{aligned}$$
Considering first the action of $Q_B$ on the proposed state, [ $$\begin{aligned}
&&Q_B\mid \Phi \rangle =i\exp \left\{ \sum\limits_{\sigma,a}\frac
12C_\sigma \left(\left| \vec{p}\right| \right) A_{\vec{p},\sigma
}^{a+}A_{\vec{p},\sigma }^{a+}\right\} \times \nonumber \\
&&\times \left(\exp \left\{ \sum\limits_aC_3\left(\left|
\vec{p}\right| \right)
i\overline{c}_{\vec{p}}^{a+}c_{\vec{p}}^{a+}\right\} \sum\limits_{
\vec{k},b}c_{\vec{k}}^{b+}B_{\vec{k}}^b\exp \left\{
\sum\limits_aC_3\left(\left| \vec{p}\right| \right)
B_{\vec{p}}^{a+}A_{\vec{p}}^{L,a+}\right\} \right. \\ &&-\left.
\exp \left\{ \sum\limits_aC_3\left(\left| \vec{p}\right| \right)
B_{\vec{p}}^{a+}A_{\vec{p}}^{L,a+}\right\}
\sum\limits_{\vec{k},b}B_{\vec{k} }^{b+}c_{\vec{k}}^b\exp \left\{
\sum\limits_aC_3\left(\left| \vec{p}\right| \right)
i\overline{c}_{\vec{p}}^{a+}c_{\vec{p}}^{a+}\right\} \right) \mid
0\rangle =0, \nonumber\end{aligned}$$ ]{}where the identity $$\left[ B_{\vec{k}}^b,\exp \sum\limits_aC_3\left(\left|
\vec{p}\right| \right) B_{\vec{p}}^{a+}A_{\vec{p}}^{L,a+}\right]
=-C_3\left(\left| \vec{p} \right| \right) B_{\vec{p}}^{b+}\delta
_{\vec{k},\vec{p}}\exp \sum\limits_aC_3\left(\left| \vec{p}\right|
\right) B_{\vec{p}}^{a+}A_{\vec{ p}}^{L,a+}, \label{ident1}$$ was used.
For the action of $Q_C$ on the considered state it follows [ $$\begin{aligned}
&&Q_C\mid \Phi \rangle =i\exp \left\{ \sum\limits_{\sigma,a}\frac
12C_\sigma \left(\left| \vec{p}\right| \right)A_{\vec{p},\sigma
}^{a+}A_{\vec{p},\sigma }^{a+}+\sum\limits_aC_3\left(\left|
\vec{p}\right| \right) B_{\vec{p} }^{a+}A_{\vec{p}}^{L,a+}\right\}
\\ &&\times \left[ \sum\limits_{\vec{k},b}
\overline{c}_{\vec{k}}^{b+}c_{\vec{k} }^b\left(
1+\sum\limits_aiC_3\left(\left| \vec{p}\right| \right) \overline{
c }_{\vec{p}}^{a+}c_{\vec{p}}^{a+}\right)
+\sum\limits_{\vec{k},b}c_{\vec{k}
}^{b+}\overline{c}_{\vec{k}}^b\left(1+\sum\limits_aiC_3\left(
\left| \vec{p} \right| \right)
\overline{c}_{\vec{p}}^{a+}c_{\vec{p}}^{a+}\right) \right] \mid
0\rangle =0 \nonumber\end{aligned}$$ ]{}which vanishes due to the commutation rules of the ghost operators (\[commu\]).
Next, the evaluation of norm of the proposed state is considered, which due to the commutation properties of the operator can be written as
$$\begin{aligned}
\langle \Phi \mid \Phi \rangle =\prod\limits_{a=1,..,8}
&\prod\limits_{\sigma =1,2}&\langle 0\mid \exp \left\{ \frac
12C_\sigma ^{*}\left(\left| \vec{p}\right| \right)
A_{\vec{p},\sigma }^aA_{\vec{p},\sigma }^a\right\} \exp \left\{
\frac 12C_\sigma \left(\left| \vec{p} \right| \right)
A_{\vec{p},\sigma }^{a+}A_{\vec{p},\sigma }^{a+}\right\} \mid
0\rangle \nonumber \\ &\times &\langle 0\mid \exp \left\{
C_3^{*}\left(\left| \vec{p}\right| \right)
A_{\vec{p}}^{L,a}B_{\vec{p}}^a\right\} \exp \left\{ C_3\left(
\left| \vec{p}\right| \right)
B_{\vec{p}}^{a+}A_{\vec{p}}^{L,a+}\right\} \mid 0\rangle \nonumber
\\ &\times &\langle 0\mid \left(1-iC_3^{*}\left(\left|
\vec{p}\right| \right)
c_{\vec{p}}^a\overline{c}_{\vec{p}}^a\right) \left(1+iC_3\left(
\left| \vec{ p}\right| \right)
\overline{c}_{\vec{p}}^{a+}c_{\vec{p}}^{a+}\right) \mid 0\rangle.\end{aligned}$$
For the product of the factors associated with transverse modes and the eight values of the color index, after expanding the exponential in series, it follows that
$$\begin{aligned}
&&\left[ \langle 0\mid \exp \left\{ \frac 12C_\sigma ^{*}\left(
\left| \vec{p }\right| \right) A_{\vec{p},\sigma
}^aA_{\vec{p},\sigma }^a\right\} \exp \left\{ \frac 12C_\sigma
\left(\left| \vec{p}\right| \right) A_{\vec{p},\sigma
}^{a+}A_{\vec{p},\sigma }^{a+}\right\} \mid 0\rangle \right] ^8
\nonumber \\ &&=\left[ \langle 0\mid \sum\limits_{m=0}^\infty
\left| \frac 12C_\sigma \left(\left| \vec{p}\right| \right)
\right| ^{2m}\frac{\left(A_{\vec{p},\sigma }^a\right) ^{2m}\left(
A_{\vec{p},\sigma }^{a+}\right) ^{2m}}{\left(m!\right) ^2}\mid
0\rangle \right] ^8 \nonumber \\ &&=\left[
\sum\limits_{m=0}^\infty \left| \frac 12C_\sigma \left(\left|
\vec{p}\right| \right) \right| ^{2m}\frac{\left(2m\right)
!}{\left(m!\right) ^2}\right] ^8, \label{normT}\end{aligned}$$
where the identity $$\langle 0\mid \left(A_{\vec{p},\sigma }^a\right) ^{2m}\left(
A_{\vec{p},\sigma }^{a+}\right) ^{2m}\mid 0\rangle =\left(
2m\right) !,$$ was used.
The factors linked with the scalar and longitudinal modes can be transformed as follows $$\begin{aligned}
&&\left[ \langle 0\mid \exp \left\{ C_3^{*}\left(\left|
\vec{p}\right| \right) A_{\vec{p}}^{L,a}B_{\vec{p}}^a\right\} \exp
\left\{ C_3\left(\left| \vec{p}\right| \right)
B_{\vec{p}}^{a+}A_{\vec{p}}^{L,a+}\right\} \mid 0\rangle \right]
^8 \nonumber \\ &&=\left[ \langle 0\mid \sum\limits_{m=0}^\infty
\left| C_3\left(\left| \vec{p}\right| \right) \right|
^{2m}\frac{\left(A_{\vec{p}}^{L,a}B_{\vec{p} }^a\right) ^m\left(
B_{\vec{p}}^{a+}A_{\vec{p}}^{L,a+}\right) ^m}{\left(m!\right)
^2}\mid 0\rangle \right] ^8 \nonumber \\ &&=\left[
\sum\limits_{m=0}^\infty \left| C_3\left(\left| \vec{p}\right|
\right) \right| ^{2m}\right] ^8=\left[ \frac 1{\left(1-\left|
C_3\left(\left| \vec{p}\right| \right) \right| ^2\right) }\right]
^8\text{ for}\quad \left| C_3\left(\left| \vec{p}\right| \right)
\right| <1, \label{normLS}\end{aligned}$$ in which the identity $$\langle 0\mid \left(A_{\vec{p}}^{L,a}B_{\vec{p}}^a\right) ^m\left(
B_{\vec{p }}^{a+}A_{\vec{p}}^{L,a+}\right) ^m\mid 0\rangle =\left(
m!\right) ^2,$$ was employed.
Finally the factor connected with the ghost fields can be calculated as follows
$$\begin{aligned}
&&\left[ \langle 0\mid \left(1-iC_3^{*}\left(\left| \vec{p}\right|
\right) c_{\vec{p}}^a\overline{c}_{\vec{p}}^a\right) \left(
1+iC_3\left(\left| \vec{ p}\right| \right)
\overline{c}_{\vec{p}}^{a+}c_{\vec{p}}^{a+}\right) \mid 0\rangle
\right] ^8 \nonumber \\ &&=\left[ 1+\left| C_3\left(\left|
\vec{p}\right| \right) \right| ^2\langle 0\mid
c_{\vec{p}}^a\overline{c}_{\vec{p}}^a\overline{c}_{\vec{p}}^{a+}c_{
\vec{p}}^{a+}\mid 0\rangle \right] =\left[ 1-\left| C_3\left(
\left| \vec{p} \right| \right) \right| ^2\right] ^8. \label{normG}\end{aligned}$$
After substituting all the calculated factors, the norm of the state can be written as
$$N=\langle \Phi \mid \Phi \rangle =\prod\limits_{\sigma =1,2}\left[
\sum\limits_{m=0}^\infty \left| C_\sigma \left(\left|
\vec{p}\right| \right) \right| ^{2m}\frac{\left(2m\right)
!}{\left(m!\right) ^2}\right] ^8.$$
Therefore, it is possible to define the normalized state $$\mid \widetilde{\Phi }\rangle =\frac 1{\sqrt{N}}\mid \Phi \rangle.$$ Note that, as it should be expected, the norm is not dependent on the $ C_3\left(\left| \vec{p}\right| \right) $ parameter which defines the non-physical particle operators entering in the definition of the proposed vacuum state.
Propagator Modifications
========================
The general form for generating functionals and propagators, for boson and fermion particles in an arbitrary vacuum state, are analyzed. The modification for the gluon and ghost propagators, introduced by the vacuum state defined in the previous chapter, are calculated.
General Form of the Propagator
------------------------------
As it is well known in the Quantum Field Theory to calculate any element of the S-Matrix, after applying the reduction formulas, it is necessary to obtain the vacuum expectation value of the temporal ordering of Heisemberg operators [@Gasiorowicz]. That is it is needed to calculate $$\langle \Psi \mid T\left(\hat{A}_H\left(x_1\right) \hat{A}_H\left(
x_2\right) \hat{A}_H\left(x_3\right)...\right) \mid \Psi \rangle,
\label{orden1}$$ where $\mid \Psi \rangle $ is the real vacuum of the interacting theory. For simplifying the exposition it is considered a scalar field, the generalization for vector fields is straightforward.
Using the relations between the operators in the Interaction and Heisemberg representations $$\begin{aligned}
&&\hat{A}_H\left(x\right) =\hat{U}\left(0,t\right) \hat{A}_I\left(
x\right) \hat{U}\left(t,0\right), \\ &&\hat{U}\left(
t_1,t_2\right) \hat{U}\left(t_2,t_3\right) =\hat{U}\left(
t_1,t_3\right)\end{aligned}$$ and assuming that the real vacuum interacting state can be obtained from the non-interacting one under the adiabatic connection of the interaction. The expression (\[orden1\]) takes the form [@Gasiorowicz] $$\frac{\langle \Phi \mid T\left\{ \hat{A}_I\left(x_1\right)
\hat{A}_I\left(x_2\right) \hat{A}_I\left(x_3\right)...\exp \left(
-\int\limits_{-\infty }^\infty H_i\left(t\right) dt\right)
\right\} \mid \Phi \rangle }{\langle \Phi \mid T\left\{ \exp
\left(-\int\limits_{-\infty }^\infty H_i\left(t\right) dt\right)
\right\} \mid \Phi \rangle }, \label{orden2}$$ where $\Phi $ is the non interacting vacuum of the theory.
To evaluate these quantities it is needed to develop the exponential in series of perturbation theory and calculate the vacuum expectation values of the temporal ordering of fields in the interaction representation ($ \hat{A}_I\left(x\right) $), but in this representation the field operators are like free fields ($\hat{A}^0\left(x\right))$ about which much is known.
$$\hat{A}_I\left(x\right) =\hat{A}^0\left(x\right).$$ And it is necessary to evaluate terms of the form
$$\langle \Phi \mid T\left(\hat{A}^0\left(x_1\right) \hat{A}^0\left(
x_2\right) \hat{A}^0\left(x_3\right)...\right) \mid \Phi \rangle.$$
Introducing the auxiliary generating functional
$$Z\left[ J\right] \equiv \langle \Phi \mid T\left(\exp \left\{
i\int d^4xJ\left(x\right) A^0\left(x\right) \right\} \right) \mid
\Phi \rangle, \label{genfun}$$
it is possible to write for the relevant expectation values the expression
$$\langle \Phi \mid T\left(\hat{A}^0\left(x_1\right) \hat{A}^0\left(
x_2\right) \hat{A}^0\left(x_3\right)...\right) \mid \Phi \rangle
=\left(\frac 1i\frac \delta {\delta J\left(x_1\right) }\frac
1i\frac \delta {\delta J\left(x_1\right) }\frac 1i\frac \delta
{\delta J\left(x_1\right) }...Z\left[ J\right] \right) _{J=0}.$$
Considering now the auxiliary functional
$$Z\left[ J;t\right]\equiv \langle \Phi \mid T\left(\exp \left\{
i\int\limits_{-\infty }^tdt\int d^3xJ\left(x\right) A^0\left(
x\right) \right\} \right) \mid \Phi \rangle$$
and defining $W\left(t\right)$ through the relation
$$\begin{aligned}
&&T\left(\exp \left\{ i\int\limits_{-\infty }^tdt\int d^3xJ\left(
x\right) A^0\left(x\right) \right\} \right)\nonumber \\ &&
=T\left(\exp \left\{ i\int\limits_{-\infty }^tdt\int d^3xJ\left(
x\right) A^{0-}\left(x\right) \right\} \right) W\left(t\right),
\label{T11}\end{aligned}$$
where $A^{0-}\left(x\right)$ and $A^{0+}\left(
x\right)$ are the negative (creation) and positive (annihilation) frequency parts, respectively.
The $t$ differentiation on the expression (\[T11\]), takes the form $$\begin{aligned}
&i&\int\limits_{x_0=t}d^3xJ\left(x\right) A^0\left(x\right)
T\left(\exp \left\{ i\int\limits_{-\infty }^tdt\int d^3xJ\left(
x\right) A^{0-}\left(x\right) \right\} \right) W\left(t\right)
\nonumber \\ &=&T\left(\exp \left\{ i\int\limits_{-\infty
}^tdt\int d^3xJ\left(x\right) A^{0-}\left(x\right) \right\}
\right) \frac{dW\left(t\right) }{dt}+ \nonumber \\
&&+i\int\limits_{x_0=t}d^3xJ\left(x\right) A^{0-}\left(x\right)
T\left(\exp \left\{ i\int\limits_{-\infty }^tdt\int d^3xJ\left(
x\right) A^{0-}\left(x\right) \right\} \right) W\left(t\right).\end{aligned}$$
Keeping in mind that the free field creation operators commute, for all times, the following relation holds
$$\left[ A^{0-}\left(x\right),A^{0-}\left(y\right) \right] =0,$$
then the $T$ instruction can be eliminated and after some algebra is obtained [ $$\begin{aligned}
\frac{dW\left(t\right) }{dt} &=&i\exp \left\{
-i\int\limits_{-\infty }^tdt\int d^3xJ\left(x\right) A^{0-}\left(
x\right) \right\} \int\limits_{x_0=t}d^3xJ\left(x\right)
A^{0+}\left(x\right) \times \nonumber \\ &&\times \exp \left\{
i\int\limits_{-\infty }^tdt\int d^3xJ\left(x\right) A^{0-}\left(
x\right) \right\} W\left(t\right) \nonumber \\
&=&i\int\limits_{y_0=t}d^3yJ\left(y\right) \left\{ A^{0+}\left(
y\right) -i\int\limits_{-\infty }^td^4xJ\left(x\right) \left[
A^{0-}\left(x\right),A^{0+}\left(y\right) \right] \right\} W\left(
t\right). \label{dif1}\end{aligned}$$]{}
The initial condition on $W\left(t\right)$ is $$W\left(-\infty \right) =1.$$
Then the solution of (\[dif1\]) is $$\begin{aligned}
W\left(t\right) &=&\exp \left\{ i\int\limits_{-\infty
}^td^4yJ\left(y\right) A^{0+}\left(y\right) \right\}\nonumber
\\&& \times \exp \left\{ \int\limits_{-\infty }^td^4y
\int\limits_{-\infty }^{y_0}d^4xJ\left(y\right) J\left(x\right)
\left[ A^{0-}\left(x\right),A^{0+}\left(y\right) \right] \right\},\end{aligned}$$ when $t\rightarrow \infty $ this expression takes the form $$\begin{aligned}
W\left(\infty \right) &=&\exp \left\{ i\int d^4yJ\left(y\right)
A^{0+}\left(y\right) \right\} \times \\ &&\times \exp \left\{ \int
d^4xd^4y\theta \left(y_0-x_0\right) J\left(y\right) J\left(
x\right) \left[ A^{0-}\left(x\right),A^{0+}\left(y\right) \right]
\right\}.\end{aligned}$$
Therefore, the generating functional (\[genfun\]) can be written in the following way [@Gasiorowicz] $$\begin{aligned}
Z\left[ J\right] &\equiv &\langle \Phi \mid \exp \left\{ i\int
d^4xJ\left(x\right) A^{0-}\left(x\right) \right\} \exp \left\{
i\int d^4yJ\left(y\right) A^{0+}\left(y\right) \right\} \mid \Phi
\rangle \nonumber \\ &&\times \exp \left\{ \frac i2\int
d^4xd^4yJ\left(x\right) D(x-y)J\left(y\right) \right\},
\label{bosones}\end{aligned}$$ where $D(x-y)$ is the usual propagator for an scalar particle.
In case that is needed to calculate a similar matrix element for fermions the following functional is defined
$$Z\left[ \eta,\bar{\eta}\right] \equiv \langle \Phi \mid T\left(
\exp \left\{ i\int d^4x\left[ \bar{\eta}\left(x\right) \psi
^0\left(x\right) + \bar{\psi}^0\left(x\right) \eta \left(x\right)
\right] \right\} \right) \mid \Phi \rangle.$$
Because of the anticommuting properties of $\bar{\psi},\ \psi$ fields the introduced sources $\bar{\eta},\ \eta$ satisfy anticommuting relations between then and with the field operators.
Here is assumed the left differentiation convention, then the S-Matrix element can be calculate by the following expression
$$\begin{aligned}
&&\langle \Phi \mid T\left(\psi ^0\left(y_1\right)
\bar{\psi}^0\left(z_1\right) \psi ^0\left(y_2\right)
...\bar{\psi}^0\left(z_k\right) \right) \mid \Phi \rangle
\nonumber \\ &&=\left(\frac 1i\frac \delta {\delta \eta \left(
z_k\right) }...\frac 1i\frac \delta {\delta \bar{\eta}\left(
y_2\right) }\frac 1i\frac \delta {\delta \eta \left(z_1\right)
}\frac 1i\frac \delta {\delta \bar{\eta} \left(y_1\right) }Z\left[
\eta,\bar{\eta}\right] \right) _{\eta,\bar{\eta} =0}.\end{aligned}$$
Now, in the same way that for the bosons, the following auxiliary functional is defined by
$$Z\left[ \eta,\bar{\eta};t\right] \equiv \langle \Phi \mid T\left(
\exp \left\{ i\int\limits_{-\infty }^tdt\int d^3x\left[
\bar{\eta}\left(x\right) \psi ^0\left(x\right) +\bar{\psi}^0\left(
x\right) \eta \left(x\right) \right] \right\} \right) \mid \Phi
\rangle$$
and the corresponding $G\left(t\right)$ functional by
$$\begin{aligned}
&&T\left(\exp \left\{ i\int\limits_{-\infty }^tdt\int d^3x\left[
\bar{\eta} \left(x\right) \psi ^0\left(x\right)
+\bar{\psi}^0\left(x\right) \eta \left(x\right) \right] \right\}
\right) \nonumber \\ &&=T\left(\exp \left\{ i\int\limits_{-\infty
}^tdt\int d^3x\left[ \bar{\eta} \left(x\right) \psi ^{0-}\left(
x\right) +\bar{\psi}^{0-}\left(x\right) \eta \left(x\right)
\right] \right\} \right) G\left(t\right). \label{ferm1}\end{aligned}$$
Manipulations completely parallel to those leading to (\[dif1\]) give [ $$\begin{aligned}
\frac{dG\left(t\right) }{dt}=i &&\left[
\int\limits_{y_0=t}d^3y\left(\bar{ \eta}\left(y\right) \psi
^{0+}\left(y\right) +\bar{\psi}^{0+}\left(y\right) \eta \left(
y\right) \right) \right. \nonumber \\ &&+i\int\limits_{-\infty
}^td^4x\int\limits_{y_0=t}d^3y\bar{\eta}\left(y\right) \left\{
\psi ^{0+}\left(y\right),\bar{\psi}^{0-}\left(x\right) \right\}
\eta \left(x\right) \nonumber \\ &&\left. -i\int\limits_{-\infty
}^td^4x\int\limits_{y_0=t}d^3y\bar{\eta} \left(x\right) \left\{
\psi ^{0-}\left(x\right),\bar{\psi}^{0+}\left(y\right) \right\}
\eta \left(y\right) \right] G\left(t\right),\end{aligned}$$]{} This equation is easily integrated to obtain the solution $$\begin{aligned}
G\left(t\right) &=&\exp \left\{ i\int\limits_{-\infty
}^td^4y\left(\bar{ \eta}\left(y\right) \psi ^{0+}\left(y\right)
+\bar{\psi}^{0+}\left(y\right) \eta \left(y\right) \right)
\right\} \nonumber \\ &&\times \exp \left\{ -\int\limits_{-\infty
}^td^4y\int\limits_{-\infty }^{y_0}d^4x\bar{\eta}\left(y\right)
\left\{ \psi ^{0+}\left(y\right),\bar{ \psi}^{0-}\left(x\right)
\right\} \eta \left(x\right) \right\} \nonumber
\\ &&\times \exp \left\{ \int\limits_{-\infty
}^td^4x\int\limits_{-\infty }^{x_0}d^4y\bar{\eta}\left(y\right)
\left\{ \psi ^{0-}\left(y\right),\bar{ \psi}^{0+}\left(x\right)
\right\} \eta \left(x\right) \right\},\end{aligned}$$ where in the last term the dummy variables $x$ and $y$ were interchanged. Consequently the following expression for the generating functional arise [@Gasiorowicz] [ $$\begin{aligned}
Z\left[ \eta,\bar{\eta}\right] &\equiv &\langle \Phi \mid \exp
\left\{ i\int d^4x\left[ \bar{\eta}\left(x\right) \psi ^{0-}\left(
x\right) +\bar{ \psi}^{0-}\left(x\right) \eta \left(x\right)
\right] \right\} \nonumber \\ &&\quad\times\exp \left\{ i\int
d^4x\left[ \bar{\eta}\left(x\right) \psi ^{0+}\left(x\right)
+\bar{\psi}^{0+}\left(x\right) \eta \left(x\right) \right]
\right\} \mid \Phi \rangle \nonumber \\ &&\times \exp \left\{
i\int d^4xd^4y\bar{\eta}\left(x\right) S\left(x-y\right) \eta
\left(y\right) \right\} \label{fermiones}\end{aligned}$$]{} where $S\left(x-y\right)$ is the standard fermion propagator.
As much for the case of bosons as for fermions the term related with the vacuum expectation value for the usual vacuum is one. This is so because the annihilation operators are located to the right and to the left those of creation. However in the present work the vacuum expectation values generate the propagator modifications, because the vacuum state considered is not the trivial one. The other term in the generating functional expression, that is expressed by a simple exponential of c numbers, gives the usual propagator and it has the same form when is calculated by this operational method or alternatively by the functional method.
Then, starting from the analysis in the present section it can be concluded that from an operation formalism point of view any modification to the usual propagators is only generated by a change in the vacuum state of the theory. And these modifications can be determined through the vacuum expectation values in (\[bosones\]) and (\[fermiones\]). From a functional formalism point of view, the propagator modifications are generated by changes in the boundary conditions.
Modified Gluon Propagator
-------------------------
As it follows from the general form of the Wick Theorem, analyzed in the previous section, the modification of the gluon propagator introduced by the modified vacuum state (\[Vacuum\]) is defined by the expression
$$\langle \widetilde{\Phi }\mid \exp \left\{ i\int d^4xJ^{\mu
,a}\left(x\right) A_\mu ^{a-}\left(x\right) \right\} \exp \left\{
i\int d^4xJ^{\mu,a}\left(x\right) A_\mu ^{a+}\left(x\right)
\right\} \mid \widetilde{\Phi } \rangle, \label{mod}$$
for each value of the color index $a$. All the different colors can be worked out independently because of the commutation relations between the annihilation and creation operators for the free theory. At the necessary point of the analysis all the color contributions will be included.
The annihilation and creation fields in (\[mod\]) are given by
$$\begin{aligned}
A_\mu ^{a+}\left(x\right) &=&\sum\limits_{\vec{k}}\left(
\sum\limits_{\sigma =1,2}A_{\vec{k},\sigma }^af_{k,\mu }^\sigma
\left(x\right) +A_{\vec{k}}^{L,a}f_{k,L,\mu }\left(x\right)
+B_{\vec{k} }^af_{k,S,\mu }\left(x\right) \right), \\ A_\mu
^{a-}\left(x\right) &=&\sum\limits_{\vec{k}}\left(
\sum\limits_{\sigma =1,2}A_{\vec{k},\sigma }^{a+}f_{k,\mu
}^{\sigma *}\left(x\right) +A_{\vec{k}}^{L,a+}f_{k,L,\mu
}^{*}\left(x\right) +B_{\vec{k} }^{a+}f_{k,S,\mu }^{*}\left(
x\right) \right).\end{aligned}$$
In what follows it is calculated explicitly, for each color, the action of the exponential operators $$\begin{aligned}
&&\exp \left\{ i\int d^4xJ^{\mu,a}\left(x\right) A_\mu ^{a+}\left(
x\right) \right\} \mid \Phi \rangle \nonumber \\ &&=\exp \left\{
i\int d^4xJ^{\mu,a}\left(x\right) \sum\limits_{\vec{k} }\left(
\sum\limits_{\sigma =1,2}A_{\vec{k},\sigma }^af_{k,\mu }^\sigma
\left(x\right) +A_{\vec{k}}^{L,a}f_{k,L,\mu }\left(x\right)
+B_{\vec{k} }^af_{k,S,\mu }\left(x\right) \right) \right\}
\nonumber \\ &&\quad\times \exp \left\{ \sum\limits_{\sigma
=1,2}\frac 12C_\sigma \left(\left| \vec{p}\right| \right)
A_{\vec{p},\sigma }^{a+}A_{\vec{p},\sigma }^{a+}+C_3\left(\left|
\vec{p}\right| \right) \left(B_{\vec{p}}^{a+}A_{
\vec{p}}^{L,a+}+i\overline{c}_{\vec{p}}^{a+}c_{\vec{p}}^{a+}\right)
\right\} \mid 0\rangle. \label{expd}\end{aligned}$$
After a systematic use of the commutation relations among the annihilation and creation operators, the exponential operators can be decomposed in products of exponential for each space-time mode. This fact allows to perform the calculation for each mode independently. Then the expression (\[expd\]) takes the form [ $$\begin{aligned}
&\prod\limits_{\sigma =1,2}&\exp \left\{ i\int d^4xJ^{\mu
,a}\left(x\right) \sum\limits_{\vec{k}}A_{\vec{k},\sigma
}^af_{k,\mu }^\sigma \left(x\right) \right\} \exp \left\{ \frac
12C_\sigma \left(\left| \vec{p}\right| \right) A_{\vec{p},\sigma
}^{a+}A_{\vec{p},\sigma }^{a+}\right\} \mid 0\rangle \nonumber \\
&\times &\exp \left\{ i\int d^4xJ^{\mu,a}\left(x\right)
\sum\limits_{\vec{k }}\left(B_{\vec{k}}^af_{k,S,\mu }\left(
x\right)+A_{\vec{k} }^{L,a}f_{k,L,\mu }\left(x\right)\right)
\right\} \nonumber \\ &\times &\exp \left\{ C_3\left(\left|
\vec{p}\right| \right) B_{\vec{p} }^{a+}A_{\vec{p}}^{L,a+}\right\}
\mid 0\rangle \exp \left\{ C_3\left(\left| \vec{p}\right| \right)
i\overline{c}_{\vec{p}}^{a+}c_{\vec{p}}^{a+}\right\} \mid
0\rangle.\end{aligned}$$]{}
For a transverse component, it is necessary to calculate
$$\exp \left\{ i\int d^4xJ^{\mu,a}\left(x\right)
\sum\limits_{\vec{k}}A_{ \vec{k},\sigma }^af_{k,\mu }^\sigma
\left(x\right) \right\} \exp \left\{ \frac 12C_\sigma \left(
\left| \vec{p}\right| \right) A_{\vec{p},\sigma
}^{a+}A_{\vec{p},\sigma }^{a+}\right\} \mid 0\rangle \
\text{\qquad for } \sigma =1,2 \label{modT}$$
The following recourse is used to calculate this expression; calling $U$ the first exponential in (\[modT\]) this expression can be written as
$$\exp \left\{ \frac 12C_\sigma\left(p\right) \left(
UA_{\vec{p},\sigma }^{a+}U^{-1}\right) \left(UA_{\vec{p},\sigma
}^{a+}U^{-1}\right) \right\} \mid 0\rangle, \label{modTt}$$
since $$U^{-1}\mid 0\rangle =\mid 0\rangle.$$
The inverse $U^{-1}$ is the same $U$ when in the exponential argument the sign is changed. Using the Baker-Hausdorf formula
$$\exp [\hat{F}]\hat{G}\exp [-\hat{F}]=\exp \left\{ [\hat{F},\
]\right\} \hat{G }=\sum \frac 1{n!}\left[ \hat{F},\left[
\hat{F},....,\left[ \hat{F},\hat{G} \right].....\right] \right]$$ and noticing that only the first and the second term in the expansion are non-vanishing when $\hat{F}$ and $\hat{G}$ are linear functions of annihilation and creation operators, it follows
$$\exp [\hat{F}]\hat{G}\exp [-\hat{F}]=\hat{G}+\left[
\hat{F},\hat{G}\right].$$
Therefore, for the relevant commutators appearing in (\[modTt\]) it follows $$\left[ i\int d^4xJ^{\mu,a}\left(x\right)
\sum\limits_{\vec{k}}A_{\vec{k},\sigma }^af_{k,\mu }^\sigma \left(
x\right),A_{\vec{p},\sigma }^{a+}\right] =i\int d^4xJ^{\mu
,a}\left(x\right) f_{p,\mu }^\sigma \left(x\right).$$ Then for the expression (\[modT\]) the following result is obtained $$\exp \left\{ \frac 12C_\sigma \left(\left| \vec{p}\right| \right)
\left(A_{ \vec{p},\sigma }^{a+}+i\int d^4xJ^{\mu,a}\left(x\right)
f_{p,\mu }^\sigma \left(x\right) \right) ^2\right\} \mid 0\rangle
\ \label{T}$$
For the longitudinal and scalar modes, following the above procedure, the result obtained is $$\begin{aligned}
&&\exp \left\{i\int d^4xJ^{\mu,a}\left(x\right)
\sum\limits_{\vec{k} }\left(B_{\vec{k}}^af_{k,S,\mu }\left(
x\right) +A_{\vec{k} }^{L,a}f_{k,L,\mu }\left(x\right) \right)
\right\}\nonumber \\ && \times \exp \left\{ C_3\left(\left|
\vec{p}\right| \right) B_{\vec{p}}^{a+}A_{\vec{p}}^{L,a+}\right\}
\mid 0\rangle \nonumber
\\ &&=\exp \left\{ C_3\left(\left| \vec{p}\right| \right) \left(
B_{\vec{p} }^{a+}-i\int d^4xJ^{\mu,a}\left(x\right) f_{p,L,\mu
}\left(x\right) \right) \right. \nonumber
\\&& \qquad\qquad\qquad\qquad \times \left.
\left(A_{\vec{p}}^{L,a+} -i\int d^4xJ^{\mu,a}\left(x\right)
f_{p,S,\mu }\left(x\right) \right) \right\} \mid
0\rangle.\label{L}\end{aligned}$$ where the expressions below were used $$\begin{aligned}
&&\left[ \left(i\int d^4xJ^{\mu,a}\left(x\right)
\sum\limits_{\vec{k} } A_{\vec{k} }^{L,a}f_{k,L,\mu }\left(
x\right) \right),B_{\vec{p}}^{a+}\right] =-i\int
d^4xJ^{\mu,a}\left(x\right) f_{p,L,\mu }\left(x\right) \\ &&\left[
\left(i\int d^4xJ^{\mu,a}\left(x\right) \sum\limits_{\vec{k} }
B_{\vec{k}}^af_{k,S,\mu }\left(x\right) \right),A_{\vec{p}
}^{L,a+}\right] =-i\int d^4xJ^{\mu,a}\left(x\right) f_{p,S,\mu
}\left(x\right).\end{aligned}$$
For the full modification calculation (\[mod\]), it is necessary to evaluate $$\langle \Phi \mid \exp \left\{ i\int d^4xJ^{\mu,a}\left(x\right)
A_\mu ^{a-}\left(x\right) \right\} =\left(\exp \left\{ -i\int
d^4xJ^{\mu,a}\left(x\right) A_\mu ^{a+}\left(x\right) \right\}
\mid \Phi \rangle \right) ^{\dagger }, \label{left}$$ which can be easily obtained by conjugating the result for the right hand side, through (\[T\]) and (\[L\]).
Then, substituting (\[T\]), (\[L\]) and (\[left\]) in (\[mod\]), the following expression should be calculated
$$\begin{aligned}
&&\frac 1N\langle 0\mid \exp \left\{ \sum\limits_{\sigma
=1,2}\frac 12C_\sigma ^{*}\left(\left| \vec{p}\right| \right)
\left(A_{\vec{p},\sigma }^a+i\int d^4xJ^{\mu,a}\left(x\right)
f_{p,\mu }^{\sigma *}\left(x\right) \right) ^2\right\} \nonumber
\\ &&\qquad \times \exp \left\{ \sum\limits_{\sigma =1,2}\frac
12C_\sigma \left(\left| \vec{p}\right| \right) \left(
A_{\vec{p},\sigma }^{a+}+i\int d^4xJ^{\mu,a}\left(x\right)
f_{p,\mu }^\sigma \left(x\right) \right) ^2\right\} \mid 0\rangle
\nonumber \\ &&\times\langle 0\mid \exp \left\{ C_3^{*}\left(
\left| \vec{p}\right| \right) \left(B_{\vec{p}}^a-i\int d^4xJ^{\mu
,a}\left(x\right) f_{p,L,\mu }^{*}\left(x\right) \right) \right.
\nonumber \\ &&\qquad\qquad\qquad\qquad\qquad \times \left. \left(
A_{\vec{p}}^{L,a}-i\int d^4xJ^{\mu,a}\left(x\right) f_{p,S,\mu
}^{*}\left(x\right) \right) \right\} \nonumber \\ &&\qquad \times
\exp \left\{ C_3\left(\left| \vec{p}\right| \right) \left(B_{
\vec{p}}^{a+}-i\int d^4xJ^{\mu,a}\left(x\right) f_{p,L,\mu
}\left(x\right) \right) \right. \nonumber \\
&&\qquad\qquad\qquad\qquad\qquad \times \left. \left(
A_{\vec{p}}^{L,a+}-i\int d^4xJ^{\mu,a}\left(x\right) f_{p,S,\mu
}\left(x\right) \right) \right\} \mid 0\rangle \nonumber \\
&&\times\langle 0\mid \exp \left(-iC_3^{*}\left(\left|
\vec{p}\right| \right)
c_{\vec{p}}^a\overline{c}_{\vec{p}}^a\right) \exp \left(
iC_3\left(\left| \vec{p}\right| \right)
\overline{c}_{\vec{p}}^{a+}c_{\vec{p}}^{a+}\right) \mid 0\rangle
\label{mod1}\end{aligned}$$
In the expression (\[mod1\]) the calculated contribution, for each transverse mode, is $$\exp \left\{ -\int \frac{d^4xd^4y}{2Vp_0}J^{\mu,a}\left(x\right)
J^{\nu,a}\left(y\right) \epsilon _\mu ^\sigma \left(p\right)
\epsilon _\nu ^\sigma \left(p\right) \frac{\left(C_\sigma \left(
\left| \vec{p}\right| \right) +C_\sigma ^{*}\left(\left|
\vec{p}\right| \right) +2\left| C_\sigma \left(\left|
\vec{p}\right| \right) \right| ^2\right) }{2\left(1-\left|
C_\sigma \left(\left| \vec{p}\right| \right) \right| ^2\right)
}\right\}, \label{T1}$$ and the longitudinal and scalar mode contribution is
$$\exp \left\{ -\int \frac{d^4xd^4y}{2Vp_0}J^{\mu,a}\left(x\right)
J^{\nu,a}\left(y\right) \epsilon _{S,\mu }\left(p\right) \epsilon
_{L,\nu }\left(p\right) \frac{\left(C_3\left(\left| \vec{p}\right|
\right) +C_3^{*}\left(\left| \vec{p}\right| \right) +2\left|
C_3\left(\left| \vec{p} \right| \right) \right| ^2\right) }{\left(
1-\left| C_3\left(\left| \vec{p} \right| \right) \right| ^2\right)
}\right\}, \label{L1}$$
The detailed analysis of these calculations can be found in the Appendixes 1 and 2.
Therefore, after collecting the contributions of all the modes, assuming $ C_1\left(\left| \vec{p}\right| \right) =C_2\left(
\left| \vec{p}\right| \right) =C_3\left(\left| \vec{p}\right|
\right) $ (which follows necessarily in order to obtain Lorentz invariance) and using the properties of the defined vectors basis, the modification to the propagator becomes
$$\exp \left\{ \frac 12\int \frac{d^4xd^4y}{2p_0V}J^{\mu,a}\left(
x\right) J^{\nu,a}\left(y\right) g_{\mu \nu }\left[ \frac{\left(
C_1\left(\left| \vec{p}\right| \right) +C_1^{*}\left(\left|
\vec{p}\right| \right) +2\left| C_1\left(\left| \vec{p}\right|
\right) \right| ^2\right) }{\left(1-\left| C_1\left(\left|
\vec{p}\right| \right) \right| ^2\right) }\right] \right\}.
\label{totmodF}$$
In the expression (\[totmodF\]), the combination of the $C_1\left(\left| \vec{p}\right| \right) $ constant is always real and nonnegative, for all $ \left| C_1\left(\left| \vec{p}\right|
\right) \right| <1$.
Now it is possible to perform the limit process $\vec{p}\rightarrow 0$. In doing this limit, it is considered that each component of the linear momentum $\vec{p}$ is related with the quantization volume by
$$p_x\sim \frac 1a,\ p_y\sim \frac 1b,\ p_z\sim \frac 1c,\ V=abc\sim
\frac 1{\left| \vec{p}\right| ^3},$$ $\ \ $
And it is necessary to calculate
$$\lim_{\vec{p}\rightarrow 0}\frac{\left(C_1\left(\left|
\vec{p}\right| \right) +C_1^{*}\left(\left| \vec{p}\right| \right)
+2\left| C_1\left(\left| \vec{p}\right| \right) \right| ^2\right)
}{4p_0V\left(1-\left| C_1\left(\left| \vec{p}\right| \right)
\right| ^2\right) },\label{Lim1}$$
Then, after fixing a dependence of the arbitrary constant $C_1$ of the form $ \left| C_1\left(\left| \vec{p}\right| \right) \right|
\sim \left(1-\kappa \left| \vec{p}\right| ^2\right),\kappa >0$, and $C_1\left(0\right) \neq -1$ the limit (\[Lim1\]) becomes
$$\lim_{\vec{p}\rightarrow 0}\frac{\left(C_1\left(\left|
\vec{p}\right| \right) +C_1^{*}\left(\left| \vec{p}\right| \right)
+2\left| C_1\left(\left| \vec{p}\right| \right) \right| ^2\right)
\left| \vec{p}\right| ^3\frac 1{\left(1-\left(1-\kappa \left|
\vec{p}\right| ^2\right) ^2\right) }}{4p_0}=\frac C{2\left(2\pi
\right) ^4}$$
where $C$ is an arbitrary real and nonnegative constant, determined by the also real and nonnegative constant $\kappa$.
Therefore, the total modification to the propagator including all color values turns to be [ $$\begin{aligned}
&\prod\limits_{a=1,..,8}&\langle \widetilde{\Phi }\mid \exp
\left\{ i\int d^4xJ^{\mu,a}\left(x\right) A_\mu ^{a-}\left(
x\right) \right\} \exp \left\{ i\int d^4xJ^{\mu,a}\left(x\right)
A_\mu ^{a+}\left(x\right) \right\} \mid \widetilde{\Phi }\rangle
\nonumber \\ &=&\exp \left\{ \sum\limits_{a=1,..8}\int
d^4xd^4yJ^{\mu,a}\left(x\right) J^{\nu,a}\left(y\right) g_{\mu \nu
}\frac C{2\left(2\pi \right) ^4}\right\}.\end{aligned}$$]{}
The generating functional associated to the proposed initial state, including the usual perturbative piece for $\alpha =1$, can be written in the form
$$Z[J]=\exp \left\{ \frac i2\sum\limits_{a,b=1,..8}\int
d^4xd^4yJ^{\mu,a}\left(x\right) \widetilde{D}_{\mu \nu
}^{ab}(x-y)J^{\nu,b}\left(y\right) \right\},$$
where
$$\widetilde{D}_{\mu \nu }^{ab}(x-y)=\int \frac{d^4k}{\left(2\pi
\right) ^4} \delta ^{ab}g_{\mu \nu }\left[ \frac 1{k^2}-iC\delta
\left(k\right) \right] \exp \left\{ -ik\left(x-y\right) \right\}
\label{propag}$$
which shows that the gluon propagator has the same form proposed in [@Cabo], for the selected gauge parameter value $\alpha =1$ (which corresponds to $\alpha =-1$ in that reference).
Modified Ghost Propagator
-------------------------
In the present section the possible modification to the ghost propagator will be analyzed. As was shown in Sec. 3.1 for fermionic particles the expression for the modification, introduced by a nontrivial vacuum state, is
$$\begin{aligned}
&&\langle \widetilde{\Phi } \mid \exp \left\{ i\int d^4x\left(
\overline{\xi }^a\left(x\right) c^{a-}\left(x\right)
+\overline{c}^{a-}\left(x\right) \xi ^a\left(x\right) \right)
\right\} \nonumber \\&&\qquad \times \exp \left\{ i\int d^4x\left(
\overline{\xi }^a\left(x\right) c^{a+}\left(x\right)
+\overline{c}^{a+}\left(x\right) \xi ^a\left(x\right) \right)
\right\} \mid \widetilde{\Phi }\rangle, \label{ini}\end{aligned}$$
where
$$\begin{aligned}
c^{a+}\left(x\right)
&=&\sum\limits_{\vec{k}}c_{\vec{k}}^ag_k\left(x\right),\qquad
c^{a-}\left(x\right) =\sum\limits_{\vec{k}}c_{\vec{k}
}^{a+}g_k^{*}\left(x\right), \nonumber \\ \overline{c}^{a+}\left(
x\right) &=&\sum\limits_{\vec{k}}\overline{c}_{\vec{k
}}^ag_k\left(x\right),\qquad \overline{c}^{a-}\left(x\right)
=\sum\limits_{\vec{k}}\overline{c}_{\vec{k}}^{a+}g_k^{*}\left(
x\right).\end{aligned}$$
Now it is calculated explicitly the action of the exponential operator $$\begin{aligned}
&&\exp \left\{ i\int d^4x\left(\overline{\xi }^a\left(x\right)
c^{a+}\left(x\right) +\overline{c}^{a+}\left(x\right) \xi ^a\left(
x\right) \right) \right\} \exp \left\{ C_3\left(\left|
\vec{p}\right| \right) i\overline{c}_{\vec{p}}^{a+}
c_{\vec{p}}^{a+}\right\} \mid 0\rangle \nonumber \\ &&=\left(
1+i\int d^4y\overline{\xi }^a\left(y\right) \sum\limits_{\vec{k}
^{\prime }}c_{\vec{k}^{\prime }}^ag_{k^{\prime }}\left(y\right)
\right) \left(1+i\int d^4x\sum\limits_{\vec{k}}
\overline{c}_{\vec{k}}^ag_k\left(x\right) \xi ^a\left(x\right)
\right) \times \nonumber \\ &&\qquad \times \left(1+C_3\left(
\left| \vec{p}\right| \right) i\overline{c}_{
\vec{p}}^{a+}c_{\vec{p}}^{a+}\right) \mid 0\rangle. \label{Ghost}\end{aligned}$$
The grassman character of the field and sources allowed expanding the exponential retaining only the first two terms in the expansion.
With the use of the following relations
[$$\begin{aligned}
\overline{\xi }^a\left(y\right) c_{\vec{k}^{\prime
}}^a\overline{c}_{\vec{p} }^{a+}c_{\vec{p}}^{a+}\mid 0\rangle
&=&i\delta _{\vec{k}^{\prime },\vec{p}} \overline{\xi }^a\left(
y\right) c_{\vec{p}}^{a+}\mid 0\rangle, \nonumber
\\ \overline{c}_{\vec{k}}^a\xi ^a\left(x\right)
\overline{c}_{\vec{p}}^{a+}c_{ \vec{p}}^{a+}\mid 0\rangle
&=&i\delta _{\vec{k},\vec{p}}\overline{c}_{\vec{p} }^{a+}\xi
^a\left(x\right) \mid 0\rangle, \nonumber \\ \overline{\xi
}^a\left(y\right) c_{\vec{k}^{\prime }}^ai\delta _{\vec{k},
\vec{p}}\overline{c}_{\vec{p}}^{a+}\xi ^a\left(x\right) \mid
0\rangle &=&-\delta _{\vec{k},\vec{p}}\delta _{\vec{k}^{\prime
},\vec{p}}\overline{ \xi }^a\left(y\right) \xi ^a\left(x\right)
\mid 0\rangle,\end{aligned}$$ ]{}the expression (\[Ghost\]) can be written as $$\begin{aligned}
&&\left[ 1+C_3\left(\left| \vec{p}\right| \right) \left(
i\overline{c}_{ \vec{p}}^{a+}c_{\vec{p}}^{a+}-i\int d^4xg_p\left(
x\right) \left(\overline{ \xi }^a\left(x\right)
c_{\vec{p}}^{a+}+\overline{c}_{\vec{p}}^{a+}\xi ^a\left(x\right)
\right) \right. \right. + \nonumber \\ &&\left. \left. +i\int
d^4y\int d^4xg_p\left(y\right) g_p\left(x\right) \overline{\xi
}^a\left(y\right) \xi ^a\left(x\right) \right) \right] \mid
0\rangle. \label{rhs}\end{aligned}$$
In addition the formula $$\begin{aligned}
&&\langle \widetilde{\Phi }\mid \exp \left\{ i\int d^4x\left(
\overline{\xi } ^a\left(x\right) c^{a-}\left(x\right)
+\overline{c}^{a-}\left(x\right) \xi ^a\left(x\right) \right)
\right\} \nonumber \\ &&=\left[ \exp \left\{ i\int d^4x\left(
\overline{\xi }^{a\dagger }\left(x\right) c^{a+}\left(x\right)
+\overline{c}^{a+}\left(x\right) \xi ^{a\dagger }\left(x\right)
\right) \right\} \mid \widetilde{\Phi }\rangle \right] ^{\dagger
}, \label{rsh1}\end{aligned}$$ allows to calculate the left hand side of (\[ini\]) using (\[rhs\]).
Then the expression (\[ini\]), substituting (\[rhs\]) and (\[rsh1\]), takes the form [ $$\begin{aligned}
&\langle 0\mid &\left[ 1-C_3^{*}\left(\left| \vec{p}\right|
\right) \left(ic_{\vec{p}}^a\overline{c}_{\vec{p}}^a-i\int
d^4xg_p^{*}\left(x\right) \left(c_{\vec{p}}^a\overline{\xi
}^a\left(x\right) +\xi ^a\left(x\right)
\overline{c}_{\vec{p}}^a\right) \right. \right. \nonumber \\
&&\left. \left. +i\int d^4y\int d^4xg_p^{*}\left(y\right)
g_p^{*}\left(x\right) \xi ^a\left(y\right) \bar{\xi}^a\left(
x\right) \right) \right] \nonumber \\ &\times &\left[ 1+C_3\left(
\left| \vec{p}\right| \right) \left(i\overline{c
}_{\vec{p}}^{a+}c_{\vec{p}}^{a+}-i\int d^4xg_p\left(x\right)
\left(\overline{\xi }^a\left(x\right)
c_{\vec{p}}^{a+}+\overline{c}_{\vec{p} }^{a+}\xi ^a\left(x\right)
\right) \right. \right. \nonumber \\ &&\left. \left. +i\int
d^4y\int d^4xg_p\left(y\right) g_p\left(x\right) \overline{\xi
}^a\left(y\right) \xi ^a\left(x\right) \right) \right] \mid
0\rangle. \label{ghomod}\end{aligned}$$]{}
In this case, the expression (\[ghomod\]) calculus is easier than the one realized for gluons. And the result of its contribution, canceling out the normalization factor, is
$$\exp \left[ \frac{i\int d^4xd^4y\overline{\xi }^a\left(x\right)
\xi ^a\left(y\right) \left(C_3\left(\left| \vec{p}\right| \right)
+C_3^{*}\left(\left| \vec{p}\right| \right) -2\left| C_3\left(
\left| \vec{p }\right| \right) \right| ^2\right) }{2Vp_0\left(
1-\left| C_3\left(\left| \vec{p}\right| \right) \right| ^2\right)
}\right],$$
which in the limit $\vec{p}\rightarrow 0$, under the same condition considered for the gluon modification limit, takes the form
$$\exp \left\{ -\sum\limits_{a=1,..8}i\int d^4xd^4y\overline{\xi
}^a\left(x\right) \xi ^a\left(y\right) \frac{C_G}{\left(2\pi
\right) ^4}\right\}.$$
In this expression $C_G$ is a real and nonnegative constant. It is interesting to note that choosing $C_3\left(0\right) =1$, then $C_G=0$ and there is no modification to the ghost propagator as was chosen in the previous work [@Cabo].
The ghost generating functional associated to the proposed initial state, including the usual perturbative piece for $\alpha =1$, can be written in the form
$$Z_G[\overline{\xi },\xi ]=\exp \left\{
i\sum\limits_{a,b=1,..8}\int d^4xd^4y \overline{\xi }^a\left(
x\right) \widetilde{D}_G^{ab}(x-y)\xi ^b\left(y\right) \right\},$$
where $$\widetilde{D}_G^{ab}(x-y)=\int \frac{d^4k}{\left(2\pi \right)
^4}\delta ^{ab}\left[ \frac{\left(-i\right) }{k^2}-C_G\delta
\left(k\right) \right] \exp \left\{ -ik\left(x-y\right) \right\}.$$
Summary
=======
By using the operational formulation for Quantum Gauge Fields Theory developed by Kugo and Ojima, a particular state vector for QCD in the non-interacting limit, that obeys the BRST physical state condition, was constructed. The general motivation for looking this wave function is to search for a reasonably good description of low energy QCD properties, through giving foundation to the perturbative expansion proposed in [@Cabo]. The high energy QCD description should not be affected by the modified perturbative initial state. In addition it can be expected that the adiabatic connection of the color interaction starting with it as an initial condition, generate at the end the true QCD interacting ground state. In case of having the above properties, the analysis would allow to understand the real vacuum as a superposition of infinite number of soft gluon pairs.
It has been checked that properly fixing the free parameters in the constructed state, the perturbation expansion proposed in the former work [@Cabo] is reproduced for the special value $\alpha =1$ of the gauge constant. Therefore, the appropriate gauge is determined for which the expansion introduced in that work is produced by an initial state, satisfying the physical state condition for the BRST quantization procedure. The fact that the non-interacting initial state is a physical one, lead to expect that the final wave-function after the adiabatic connection of the color interaction will also satisfy the physical state condition for the interacting theory. If this assumption is correct, the results for calculations of transition amplitudes and the values of physical quantities should be also physically meaningful. In future, a quantization procedure for arbitrary values of $\alpha$ will be also considered. It is expected that with its help the gauge parameter independence of the physical quantities could be implemented. It seems possible that the results of this generalization will lead to $\alpha $ dependent polarizations for gluons and ghosts and their respective propagators, which however could produce $\alpha $ independent results for the physical quantities. However, this discussion will be delayed for future consideration.
It is important to mention now a result obtained during the calculation of the gluon propagator modification, in the chosen construction. It is that the arbitrary constant $C$ is determined here to be real and nonnegative. This outcome restricts an existing arbitrariness in the discussion given in the previous work. As this quantity $C$ is also determining the square of the generated gluon mass as positive or negative, real or imaginary, therefore it seems very congruent to arrive to a definite prediction of $C$ as real and positive.
The modification to the standard free ghost propagator introduced by the proposed initial state, was also calculated. Moreover, after considering the free parameter in the proposed trial state as real, which it seems the most natural assumption, the ghost propagator is not be modified, as it was assumed in [@Cabo].
Some tasks which can be addressed in future works are: The study of the applicability of the Gell-Mann and Low theorem with respect to the adiabatic connection of the interaction, starting from the here proposed initial state. The investigation of zero modes quantization, that is gluon states with exact vanishing four momentum. The ability to consider them with success would allow a formally cleaner definition of the proposed state, by excluding the auxiliary momentum $\vec{p}$ recursively used in the construction carry out. Finally, the application of the proposed perturbation theory in the study of some problems related with confinement and the hadron structure.
Transverse Mode Contribution
============================
The transverse mode contribution is determined by the expression
$$\begin{aligned}
&&\langle 0\mid \exp \left\{ \frac 12C_\sigma ^{*}\left(\left|
\vec{p} \right| \right) \left(A_{\vec{p},\sigma }^a+i\int
d^4xJ^{\mu,a}\left(x\right) f_{p,\mu }^{\sigma *}\left(x\right)
\right) ^2\right\} \nonumber
\\ &&\quad\times \exp \left\{ \frac 12C_\sigma \left(\left|
\vec{p}\right| \right) \left(A_{\vec{p},\sigma }^{a+}+i\int
d^4xJ^{\mu,a}\left(x\right) f_{p,\mu }^\sigma \left(x\right)
\right) ^2\right\} \mid 0\rangle \label{A1}\end{aligned}$$
For simplifying the exposition, the following notation is introduced
$$\begin{aligned}
C^{*} &\equiv &C_\sigma ^{*}\left(\left| \vec{p}\right| \right),\
C\equiv C_\sigma \left(\left| \vec{p}\right| \right),\text{ \qquad
}\hat{A} ^{+}\equiv A_{\vec{p},\sigma }^{a+},\ \hat{A}\equiv
A_{\vec{p},\sigma }^a \text{\ }, \nonumber \\ a_1 &\equiv &i\int
d^4xJ^{\mu,a}\left(x\right) f_{p,\mu }^{\sigma
*}\left(x\right),\text{ \qquad }a_2\equiv i\int d^4xJ^{\mu
,a}\left(x\right) f_{p,\mu }^\sigma \left(x\right). \label{nota1}\end{aligned}$$
Then the expression (\[A1\]) takes the form
$$\begin{aligned}
&&\langle 0 \mid \exp \left\{ \frac 12C^{*}\left(
\hat{A}+a_1\right) ^2\right\} \exp \left\{ \frac 12C\left(
\hat{A}^{+}+a_2\right) ^2\right\} \mid 0\rangle \label{A2}
\\ &&=\exp \left\{ \frac{C^{*}}2a_1^2+\frac C2a_2^2\right\}
\langle 0\mid \exp \left\{ \frac{C^{*}}2\hat{A}^2
+C^{*}a_1\hat{A}\right\} \exp \left\{ \frac C2
\hat{A}^{+2}+Ca_2\hat{A}^{+}\right\} \mid 0\rangle. \nonumber\end{aligned}$$
For the action of the exponential, linear in the annihilation operator, at the left on the right the result obtained is $$\begin{aligned}
&&\exp \left\{ C^{*}a_1\hat{A}\right\} \exp \left\{ \frac
C2\hat{A} ^{+2}+Ca_2\hat{A}^{+}\right\} \mid 0\rangle \nonumber
\\ &&=\exp \left\{ \frac C2\left(\hat{A}^{+}+C^{*}a_1\right)
^2+Ca_2\left(\hat{A}^{+}+C^{*}a_1\right) \right\} \mid 0\rangle,
\label{A3}\end{aligned}$$ where the same procedure used for calculating (\[modT\]) is considered.
The expression (\[A2\]), considering (\[A3\]), can be written in the form
$$\exp \left\{ \frac{C^{*}}2a_1^2+\frac C2\left(
C^{*}a_{1}+a_2\right) ^2\right\} \langle 0\mid \exp \left\{
\frac{C^{*}}2\hat{A}^2\right\} \exp \left\{ \frac
C2\hat{A}^{+2}+C\hat{A}^{+}\left(C^{*}a_{1}+a_2\right) \right\}
\mid 0\rangle \label{A4}$$
It is possible in (\[A4\]) to act with the exponential linear in the creation operator at the right on the left and the result is
$$\begin{aligned}
&&\exp \left\{ \frac{C^{*}}2a_1^2+\frac C2\left(
C^{*}a_{1}+a_2\right) ^2\left(1+\left| C\right| ^2\right) \right\}
\nonumber \\ &&\times \langle 0 \mid \exp \left\{
\frac{C^{*}}2\hat{A}^2+C^{*}C\left(C^{*}a_{1}+a_2\right)
\hat{A}\right\} \exp \left\{ \frac C2\hat{A} ^{+2}\right\} \mid
0\rangle \label{A5}\end{aligned}$$
In such a way after n-steps it is possible to arrive to a recurrence relation, which can be proven by mathematical induction. This recurrence relation has the form
$$\begin{aligned}
&&\exp \left\{ \frac{C^{*}}2a_1^2+\frac C2\left(
C^{*}a_{1}+a_2\right) ^2\sum\limits_{m=0}^n\left[ \left| C\right|
^{2\left(2m\right) }+\left| C\right| ^{2\left(2m+1\right) }\right]
\right\} \nonumber \\ &&\times \langle 0 \mid \exp \left\{
\frac{C^{*}}2\hat{A}^2+C^{*n+1}C^{n+1} \left(
C^{*}a_{1}+a_2\right) \hat{A}\right\} \exp \left\{ \frac C2\hat{A}
^{+2}\right\} \mid 0\rangle \label{rec1}\end{aligned}$$
Lets probe it, acting with the exponential linear in the annihilation operator at the left on the right the result is
$$\begin{aligned}
&&\exp \left\{ \frac{C^{*}}2a_1^2+\frac C2\left(
C^{*}a_{1}+a_2\right) ^2\left(\sum\limits_{m=0}^n\left[ \left|
C\right| ^{2\left(2m\right) }+\left| C\right| ^{2\left(
2m+1\right) }\right] +\left| C\right| ^{4\left(n+1\right) }\right)
\right\} \nonumber \\ &&\times \langle 0 \mid \exp \left\{
\frac{C^{*}}2\hat{A}^2\right\} \exp \left\{ \frac
C2\hat{A}^{+2}+C^{*n+1}C^{n+2}\left(C^{*}a_{1}+a_2\right)
\hat{A}^{+}\right\} \mid 0\rangle,\end{aligned}$$
now acting on the left with the exponential linear in the creation operator is obtained the relation
$$\begin{aligned}
&&\exp \left\{ \frac{C^{*}}2a_1^2+\frac C2\left(
C^{*}a_{1}+a_2\right) ^2\sum\limits_{m=0}^{n+1}\left[ \left|
C\right| ^{2\left(2m\right) }+\left| C\right| ^{2\left(
2m+1\right) }\right] \right\} \nonumber \\ &&\times \langle 0 \mid
\exp \left\{ \frac{C^{*}}2\hat{A}^2+C^{*n+2}C^{n+2} \left(
C^{*}a_{1}+a_2\right) \hat{A}\right\} \exp \left\{ \frac C2\hat{A}
^{+2}\right\} \mid 0\rangle \label{A6}\end{aligned}$$
which probe the recurrence relation (\[rec1\]).
At this point the limit $n\rightarrow \infty$ is taken, considering $\left| C\right| <1$ which implies that
$$\begin{aligned}
&&\lim_{n\rightarrow \infty }\left| C\right| ^{2n}=0, \nonumber
\\ &&\lim_{n\rightarrow \infty }\sum\limits_{m=0}^n\left[ \left|
C\right| ^{2\left(2m\right) }+\left| C\right| ^{2\left(
2m+1\right) }\right] =\frac 1{\left(1-\left| C\right| ^2\right) },
\label{lim}\end{aligned}$$
and the expression (\[A6\]) in this limit has the form,
$$\exp \left\{ \frac{\left(C^{*}a_{1}^2+Ca_2^2+2C^{*}Ca_1a_2\right)
}{2\left(1-\left| C\right| ^2\right) }\right\} \langle 0\mid \exp
\left\{ \frac{C^{*}} 2\hat{A}^2\right\} \exp \left\{ \frac
C2\hat{A}^{+2}\right\} \mid 0\rangle \label{A7}$$
Finally, the notation (\[nota1\]) is substituted in (\[A7\]). After that, the functions of $\vec{p}$ are expanded in the vicinity of $\vec{p}=0$, keeping in mind that the sources are located in a space finite region it is necessary to consider only the first terms in the expansion. Then for the expression (\[A7\]) it is obtained the result (\[T1\]), the renormalization factors cancel out.
Longitudinal and Scalar Modes Contribution
==========================================
The longitudinal and scalar modes contribution is determined by the expression
$$\begin{aligned}
&&\langle 0\mid \exp \left\{ C_3^{*}\left(\left| \vec{p}\right|
\right) \left(B_{\vec{p}}^a-i\int d^4xJ^{\mu,a}\left(x\right)
f_{p,L,\mu }^{*}\left(x\right) \right) \right. \nonumber \\
&&\qquad\qquad\qquad\qquad\qquad \times \left. \left(
A_{\vec{p}}^{L,a}-i\int d^4xJ^{\mu,a}\left(x\right) f_{p,S,\mu
}^{*}\left(x\right) \right) \right\} \nonumber \\ &&\qquad \times
\exp \left\{ C_3\left(\left| \vec{p}\right| \right) \left(B_{
\vec{p}}^{a+}-i\int d^4xJ^{\mu,a}\left(x\right) f_{p,L,\mu
}\left(x\right) \right) \right. \nonumber \\
&&\qquad\qquad\qquad\qquad\qquad \times \left. \left(
A_{\vec{p}}^{L,a+}-i\int d^4xJ^{\mu,a}\left(x\right) f_{p,S,\mu
}\left(x\right) \right) \right\} \mid 0\rangle \label{B1}\end{aligned}$$
introducing the following notation,
$$\begin{aligned}
C^{*} &\equiv &C_3^{*}\left(\left| \vec{p}\right| \right),\
C\equiv C_3\left(\left| \vec{p}\right| \right),\text{ \ \
}\hat{A}^{+}\equiv A_{ \vec{p}}^{L,a+},\ \hat{A}\equiv
A_{\vec{p}}^{L,a},\text{ \ \ }\hat{B} ^{+}\equiv
B_{\vec{p}}^{a+},\ \hat{B}\equiv B_{\vec{p}}^a, \nonumber \\ a_1
&\equiv &-i\int d^4xJ^{\mu,a}\left(x\right) f_{p,S,\mu }^{*}\left(
x\right),\text{ \qquad }a_2\equiv -i\int d^4xJ^{\mu,a}\left(
x\right) f_{p,S,\mu }\left(x\right), \nonumber \\ b_1 &\equiv
&-i\int d^4xJ^{\mu,a}\left(x\right) f_{p,L,\mu }^{*}\left(
x\right),\text{ \qquad }b_2\equiv -i\int d^4xJ^{\mu,a}\left(
x\right) f_{p,L,\mu }\left(x\right), \label{nota2}\end{aligned}$$
the expression (\[B1\]) takes the form $$\begin{aligned}
&&\langle 0\mid \exp \left\{ C^{*}\left(\hat{A}+a_1\right) \left(
\hat{B} +b_1\right) \right\} \exp \left\{ C\left(
\hat{B}^{+}+b_2\right) \left(\hat{A}^{+}+a_2\right) \right\} \mid
0\rangle \nonumber \\ &&=\exp \left\{ C^{*}a_1b_1+Ca_2b_2\right\}
\langle 0\mid \exp \left\{ C^{*}\left(\hat{A}\hat{B}
+b_1\hat{A}+a_1\hat{B}\right) \right\} \nonumber
\\ &&\text{ \qquad \qquad \qquad \qquad \qquad \qquad }\times \exp
\left\{ C\left(\hat{B}^{+}\hat{A}^{+}+
b_2\hat{A}^{+}+a_2\hat{B}^{+}\right) \right\} \mid 0\rangle
\label{B2}\end{aligned}$$
For the action of the exponential linear in the annihilation operator at the left on the right, is obtained
$$\begin{aligned}
&&\exp \left\{ C^{*}\left(b_1\hat{A}+a_1\hat{B}\right) \right\}
\exp \left\{ C\left(
\hat{B}^{+}\hat{A}^{+}+b_2\hat{A}^{+}+a_2\hat{B}^{+}\right)
\right\} \mid 0\rangle \label{B3} \\ &&=\exp \left\{ C\left[
\left(\hat{B}^{+}-C^{*}b_1\right) \left(\hat{A}
^{+}-C^{*}a_1\right) +b_2\left(\hat{A}^{+}-C^{*}a_1\right)
+a_2\left(\hat{B }^{+}-C^{*}b_1\right) \right] \right\} \mid
0\rangle, \nonumber\end{aligned}$$
the same procedure used for calculating (\[L\]) is considered.
Following the same steps described in the previous appended for transverse modes, in this case the recurrence relation obtained for longitudinal and scalar modes is [ $$\begin{aligned}
&&\exp \left\{ C^{*}a_1b_1+C\left(C^{*}a_1-a_2\right) \left(
C^{*}b_1-b_2\right) \sum\limits_{m=0}^n\left[ \left| C\right|
^{2\left(2m\right) }+\left| C\right| ^{2\left(2m+1\right) }\right]
\right\}\label{B4} \\ &&\langle 0\mid \exp \left\{
C^{*}\hat{A}\hat{B}+C^{*n+1}C^{n+1}\left(\left(
C^{*}b_1-b_2\right) \hat{A}+\left(C^{*}a_1-a_2\right)
\hat{B}\right) \right\} \exp \left\{
C\hat{B}^{+}\hat{A}^{+}\right\} \mid 0\rangle.\nonumber\end{aligned}$$]{}
For the expression (\[B4\]), in the limit $n\rightarrow \infty $ considering $\left| C\right| <1$, the following relation is obtained
$$\begin{aligned}
&&\exp \left\{ C^{*}a_1b_1+C\left(C^{*}a_1-a_2\right) \left(
C^{*}b_1-b_2\right) \frac 1{\left(1-\left| C\right| ^2\right)
}\right\} \nonumber \\ &&\quad \langle 0\mid \exp \left\{
C^{*}\hat{A}\hat{B}\right\} \exp \left\{ C
\hat{B}^{+}\hat{A}^{+}\right\} \mid 0\rangle. \label{B5}\end{aligned}$$
Finally, the notation (\[nota2\]) is substituted in (\[B5\]), the functions of $\vec{p}$ are expanded in the vicinity of $\vec{p}=0$, and the result (\[L1\]) is obtained.
[99]{}
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J. L. Gervais and A. Neveu, Phys. Lett. B80 (1979).
E. U. Shuryak, Phys. Rep. 115, 151 (1984); E. U. Shuryak, The QCD Vacuum, Hadrons and the Superdense Matter, World Scientific, Singapore, 1988; T. Schäfer and E. V. Shuryak, Rev. Mod. Phys. 70, 323 (1998).
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|
{
"pile_set_name": "ArXiv"
}
|
--TEST--
"set" tag block capture
--TEMPLATE--
{% set foo %}f<br />o<br />o{% endset %}
{{ foo }}
--DATA--
return []
--EXPECT--
f<br />o<br />o
|
{
"pile_set_name": "Github"
}
|
Congress Passes Bill To Stop Payment Cuts To Medicare Doctors
For the 17th time, Congress has passed legislation to a very a deep pay cut to doctors who see Medicare patients.
As NPR's Julie Rovner reports, this is a one-year delay that doesn't deal with the problem permanently. Julie filed this report for our Newscast unit:
"Without Congressional action, a 24 percent cut would have taken effect starting today, due to what almost everyone agrees is a flawed payment formula. Democrats and Republicans in the House and Senate have actually agreed on legislation to fix that flawed formula permanently, but they haven't been able to agree on a way to underwrite the 10 year, $180 billion cost. "So lawmakers once again turned to the temporary delay, which has physician groups furious. The bill also includes several other health policy changes, including a one year delay of a complicated new coding system for doctors and hospitals."
The bill now goes to President Obama for a signature.
|
{
"pile_set_name": "OpenWebText2"
}
|
31 So.3d 392 (2010)
Hieu V. NGUYEN
v.
LOUISIANA BOARD OF PAROLE, et al.
No. 2009-CI-1224.
Supreme Court of Louisiana.
April 9, 2010.
Denied.
|
{
"pile_set_name": "FreeLaw"
}
|
Made in comfy lightweight cotton poplin, this skirt’s voluminous tiers of printed fabric can take it from a casual outing to a major occasion-moment in a snap. You can wear it up high as a strapless maxi dress (it looks great belted!) or traditionally at your waist or slung low on the hips.
100% cotton poplin
Flexible elastic waistband
Oversized fit that can be worn around hips
Three tiered, voluminous ruched skirt
Side slit concealed pockets
100% made in Italy
Please note print in cotton has a slightly different color than the same print in silk
|
{
"pile_set_name": "Pile-CC"
}
|
So I'm trying to figre out which route to go, I know the square ones will match the headlights. But I've seen a few round ones and they too look pretty good... so if anyone has any pics that would help me out a ton!
Thanks
that was before i blew the motor, anyway....now.....i cry when i see her
__________________
[FONT=Tahoma][B]Black Jeep Club V2.0 Member #89[/B]
[COLOR=Sienna][B]New England Jeep Club Member #5[/B][/COLOR]
[B][COLOR=DarkOliveGreen]The Official I Own a Toy Jeep Club Member #5[/COLOR]
Swamp Donkey 4x4 [/B]
|
{
"pile_set_name": "Pile-CC"
}
|
import pytest
from utils.urls import assert_valid_url
from .map_301 import (
DEFAULT_SAMPLES_URLS,
FIREFOX_ACCOUNTS_URLS,
GITHUB_IO_URLS,
LEGACY_URLS,
MARIONETTE_URLS,
MOZILLADEMOS_URLS,
REDIRECT_URLS,
SCL3_REDIRECT_URLS,
WEBEXT_URLS,
ZONE_REDIRECT_URLS,
)
# while these test methods are similar, they're each testing a
# subset of redirects, and it was easier to work with them separately.
@pytest.mark.headless
@pytest.mark.nondestructive
@pytest.mark.parametrize(
"url", REDIRECT_URLS, ids=[item["url"] for item in REDIRECT_URLS]
)
def test_redirects(url, base_url):
url["base_url"] = base_url
assert_valid_url(**url)
@pytest.mark.headless
@pytest.mark.nondestructive
@pytest.mark.parametrize(
"url", GITHUB_IO_URLS, ids=[item["url"] for item in GITHUB_IO_URLS]
)
def test_github_redirects(url, base_url):
url["base_url"] = base_url
assert_valid_url(**url)
@pytest.mark.headless
@pytest.mark.nondestructive
@pytest.mark.parametrize(
"url", MOZILLADEMOS_URLS, ids=[item["url"] for item in MOZILLADEMOS_URLS]
)
def test_mozillademos_redirects(url, base_url):
url["base_url"] = base_url
assert_valid_url(**url)
@pytest.mark.headless
@pytest.mark.nondestructive
@pytest.mark.parametrize(
"url", DEFAULT_SAMPLES_URLS, ids=[item["url"] for item in DEFAULT_SAMPLES_URLS]
)
def test_default_samples_redirects(url, base_url, media_url):
url["base_url"] = base_url
url["location"] = f"{media_url}{url['url']}"
assert_valid_url(**url)
@pytest.mark.headless
@pytest.mark.nondestructive
@pytest.mark.parametrize("url", LEGACY_URLS, ids=[item["url"] for item in LEGACY_URLS])
def test_legacy_urls(url, base_url):
url["base_url"] = base_url
assert_valid_url(**url)
@pytest.mark.headless
@pytest.mark.nondestructive
@pytest.mark.parametrize(
"url", SCL3_REDIRECT_URLS, ids=[item["url"] for item in SCL3_REDIRECT_URLS]
)
def test_slc3_redirects(url, base_url):
url["base_url"] = base_url
assert_valid_url(**url)
@pytest.mark.headless
@pytest.mark.nondestructive
@pytest.mark.parametrize(
"url", ZONE_REDIRECT_URLS, ids=[item["url"] for item in ZONE_REDIRECT_URLS]
)
def test_zone_redirects(url, base_url):
url["base_url"] = base_url
assert_valid_url(**url)
@pytest.mark.headless
@pytest.mark.nondestructive
@pytest.mark.parametrize(
"url", MARIONETTE_URLS, ids=[item["url"] for item in MARIONETTE_URLS]
)
def test_marionette_redirects(url, base_url):
url["base_url"] = base_url
assert_valid_url(**url)
@pytest.mark.headless
@pytest.mark.nondestructive
@pytest.mark.parametrize("url", WEBEXT_URLS, ids=[item["url"] for item in WEBEXT_URLS])
def test_webext_redirects(url, base_url):
url["base_url"] = base_url
assert_valid_url(**url)
@pytest.mark.headless
@pytest.mark.nondestructive
@pytest.mark.parametrize(
"url", FIREFOX_ACCOUNTS_URLS, ids=[item["url"] for item in FIREFOX_ACCOUNTS_URLS]
)
def test_firefox_accounts_redirects(url, base_url):
url["base_url"] = base_url
assert_valid_url(**url)
|
{
"pile_set_name": "Github"
}
|
Glass Owl Salt and Pepper Set
Egg Salt and Pepper Shakers in Crate, Set of 2
Our cute Egg Salt and Pepper Shakers in Crate look like a pair of fresh eggs carried home from the local farmers' market. Crafted of stoneware, these shakers nest cozily in their custom crate while adding adorable farm-to-table appeal.
|
{
"pile_set_name": "Pile-CC"
}
|
This is a brand page for the INTERPACE DIAGNOSTICS trademark by Interpace Diagnostics LLC
in Parsippany, NJ, 07054.
Write a review about a product or service associated with this INTERPACE DIAGNOSTICS trademark.
Or, contact the owner Interpace Diagnostics LLC of the INTERPACE DIAGNOSTICS trademark by filing a request to communicate with
the Legal Correspondent for licensing, use, and/or questions related to the INTERPACE DIAGNOSTICS trademark.
On Thursday, March 17, 2016, a U.S. federal trademark registration was filed for
INTERPACE DIAGNOSTICS by
Interpace Diagnostics LLC, Parsippany, NJ 07054.
The USPTO has given the INTERPACE DIAGNOSTICS
trademark serial number of 86944287.
The current federal status of this trademark filing is REGISTERED.
The correspondent listed for INTERPACE DIAGNOSTICS is
JEANNE HAMBURG of
NORRIS MCLAUGHLIN & MARCUS, P.A., 875 THIRD AVENUE, 8TH FLOOR NEW YORK, NY 10022
.
The INTERPACE DIAGNOSTICS trademark is filed in the category of
Computer & Software Services & Scientific Services
,
Medical, Beauty & Agricultural Services
.
The description provided to the USPTO for INTERPACE DIAGNOSTICS
is Medical research to develop molecular diagnostic tests to aid in the diagnosis and resolution of diseases.
The USPTO makes this data available for search by the public so that individuals can locate ownership information for intellectual property, much the same way a county might make real estate property ownership information available.
Since our website is synchronized with the USPTO data, we recommend making any data changes with the USPTO directly. Our website will auto-update when the USPTO data is updated.
You may also contact Trademarkia to make a request for the removal of your personally identifiable information or trademark data. Such requests must be made in writing and will be subject to verification of ownership. This policy allows verified trademark owners to specify: (A) that their identifiable information be masked, or (B) that their trademark pages permanently deleted from Trademarkia.com.
Requests may be made directly to customer.service@trademarkia.com and every effort will be made to honor them within 48 hours.
Trademarkia is the largest search engine for U.S. trademarks. Each month hundreds of trademarks around the world are filed by licensed attorneys in the LegalForce/Trademarkia network! You can register your trademark in 170+ countries in the world through LegalForce Network.
LegalForce Network can help you incorporate a business around your INTERPACE DIAGNOSTICS trademark in less than 5 minutes. Trademarkia makes the process easy and convenient, so start now!
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Trademarkia lets you see how your
personal name, product name,
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Be the first to reserve your name and get help stopping others from using it - all in one place!
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|
{
"pile_set_name": "Pile-CC"
}
|
Q:
Auto update docker image if exist new version of images on DockerHub
I want to update and restart my application ( docker container ) when I push new version of this app to Docker Hub.
Can You tell any solution for auto update an image and restart them on server?
P.S I hear about kubernetes, but its very hard to understanding how use it
A:
There are lots of possibilities:
Write a poll service to look if a new version is uploaded and let it trigger a redeploy
if you have a private registry you might be able to add a trigger (notifications) to a new push. The trigger might trigger a new build.
if you let e.g. jenkins do the whole build it can also take care of the build and redeploy.
You can trigger ansible to do a redeploy based on a new version.
etc. etc.
|
{
"pile_set_name": "StackExchange"
}
|
ace.define("ace/mode/sh_highlight_rules",["require","exports","module","ace/lib/oop","ace/mode/text_highlight_rules"], function(require, exports, module) {
"use strict";
var oop = require("../lib/oop");
var TextHighlightRules = require("./text_highlight_rules").TextHighlightRules;
var reservedKeywords = exports.reservedKeywords = (
'!|{|}|case|do|done|elif|else|'+
'esac|fi|for|if|in|then|until|while|'+
'&|;|export|local|read|typeset|unset|'+
'elif|select|set'
);
var languageConstructs = exports.languageConstructs = (
'[|]|alias|bg|bind|break|builtin|'+
'cd|command|compgen|complete|continue|'+
'dirs|disown|echo|enable|eval|exec|'+
'exit|fc|fg|getopts|hash|help|history|'+
'jobs|kill|let|logout|popd|printf|pushd|'+
'pwd|return|set|shift|shopt|source|'+
'suspend|test|times|trap|type|ulimit|'+
'umask|unalias|wait'
);
var ShHighlightRules = function() {
var keywordMapper = this.createKeywordMapper({
"keyword": reservedKeywords,
"support.function.builtin": languageConstructs,
"invalid.deprecated": "debugger"
}, "identifier");
var integer = "(?:(?:[1-9]\\d*)|(?:0))";
var fraction = "(?:\\.\\d+)";
var intPart = "(?:\\d+)";
var pointFloat = "(?:(?:" + intPart + "?" + fraction + ")|(?:" + intPart + "\\.))";
var exponentFloat = "(?:(?:" + pointFloat + "|" + intPart + ")" + ")";
var floatNumber = "(?:" + exponentFloat + "|" + pointFloat + ")";
var fileDescriptor = "(?:&" + intPart + ")";
var variableName = "[a-zA-Z_][a-zA-Z0-9_]*";
var variable = "(?:(?:\\$" + variableName + ")|(?:" + variableName + "=))";
var builtinVariable = "(?:\\$(?:SHLVL|\\$|\\!|\\?))";
var func = "(?:" + variableName + "\\s*\\(\\))";
this.$rules = {
"start" : [{
token : "constant",
regex : /\\./
}, {
token : ["text", "comment"],
regex : /(^|\s)(#.*)$/
}, {
token : "string",
regex : '"',
push : [{
token : "constant.language.escape",
regex : /\\(?:[$abeEfnrtv\\'"]|x[a-fA-F\d]{1,2}|u[a-fA-F\d]{4}([a-fA-F\d]{4})?|c.|\d{1,3})/
}, {
token : "constant",
regex : /\$\w+/
}, {
token : "string",
regex : '"',
next: "pop"
}, {
defaultToken: "string"
}]
}, {
regex : "<<<",
token : "keyword.operator"
}, {
stateName: "heredoc",
regex : "(<<-?)(\\s*)(['\"`]?)([\\w\\-]+)(['\"`]?)",
onMatch : function(value, currentState, stack) {
var next = value[2] == '-' ? "indentedHeredoc" : "heredoc";
var tokens = value.split(this.splitRegex);
stack.push(next, tokens[4]);
return [
{type:"constant", value: tokens[1]},
{type:"text", value: tokens[2]},
{type:"string", value: tokens[3]},
{type:"support.class", value: tokens[4]},
{type:"string", value: tokens[5]}
];
},
rules: {
heredoc: [{
onMatch: function(value, currentState, stack) {
if (value === stack[1]) {
stack.shift();
stack.shift();
this.next = stack[0] || "start";
return "support.class";
}
this.next = "";
return "string";
},
regex: ".*$",
next: "start"
}],
indentedHeredoc: [{
token: "string",
regex: "^\t+"
}, {
onMatch: function(value, currentState, stack) {
if (value === stack[1]) {
stack.shift();
stack.shift();
this.next = stack[0] || "start";
return "support.class";
}
this.next = "";
return "string";
},
regex: ".*$",
next: "start"
}]
}
}, {
regex : "$",
token : "empty",
next : function(currentState, stack) {
if (stack[0] === "heredoc" || stack[0] === "indentedHeredoc")
return stack[0];
return currentState;
}
}, {
token : "variable.language",
regex : builtinVariable
}, {
token : "variable",
regex : variable
}, {
token : "support.function",
regex : func
}, {
token : "support.function",
regex : fileDescriptor
}, {
token : "string", // ' string
start : "'", end : "'"
}, {
token : "constant.numeric", // float
regex : floatNumber
}, {
token : "constant.numeric", // integer
regex : integer + "\\b"
}, {
token : keywordMapper,
regex : "[a-zA-Z_][a-zA-Z0-9_]*\\b"
}, {
token : "keyword.operator",
regex : "\\+|\\-|\\*|\\*\\*|\\/|\\/\\/|~|<|>|<=|=>|=|!="
}, {
token : "paren.lparen",
regex : "[\\[\\(\\{]"
}, {
token : "paren.rparen",
regex : "[\\]\\)\\}]"
} ]
};
this.normalizeRules();
};
oop.inherits(ShHighlightRules, TextHighlightRules);
exports.ShHighlightRules = ShHighlightRules;
});
ace.define("ace/mode/makefile_highlight_rules",["require","exports","module","ace/lib/oop","ace/mode/text_highlight_rules","ace/mode/sh_highlight_rules"], function(require, exports, module) {
"use strict";
var oop = require("../lib/oop");
var TextHighlightRules = require("./text_highlight_rules").TextHighlightRules;
var ShHighlightFile = require("./sh_highlight_rules");
var MakefileHighlightRules = function() {
var keywordMapper = this.createKeywordMapper({
"keyword": ShHighlightFile.reservedKeywords,
"support.function.builtin": ShHighlightFile.languageConstructs,
"invalid.deprecated": "debugger"
}, "string");
this.$rules =
{
"start": [
{
token: "string.interpolated.backtick.makefile",
regex: "`",
next: "shell-start"
},
{
token: "punctuation.definition.comment.makefile",
regex: /#(?=.)/,
next: "comment"
},
{
token: [ "keyword.control.makefile"],
regex: "^(?:\\s*\\b)(\\-??include|ifeq|ifneq|ifdef|ifndef|else|endif|vpath|export|unexport|define|endef|override)(?:\\b)"
},
{// ^([^\t ]+(\s[^\t ]+)*:(?!\=))\s*.*
token: ["entity.name.function.makefile", "text"],
regex: "^([^\\t ]+(?:\\s[^\\t ]+)*:)(\\s*.*)"
}
],
"comment": [
{
token : "punctuation.definition.comment.makefile",
regex : /.+\\/
},
{
token : "punctuation.definition.comment.makefile",
regex : ".+",
next : "start"
}
],
"shell-start": [
{
token: keywordMapper,
regex : "[a-zA-Z_$][a-zA-Z0-9_$]*\\b"
},
{
token: "string",
regex : "\\w+"
},
{
token : "string.interpolated.backtick.makefile",
regex : "`",
next : "start"
}
]
}
};
oop.inherits(MakefileHighlightRules, TextHighlightRules);
exports.MakefileHighlightRules = MakefileHighlightRules;
});
ace.define("ace/mode/folding/coffee",["require","exports","module","ace/lib/oop","ace/mode/folding/fold_mode","ace/range"], function(require, exports, module) {
"use strict";
var oop = require("../../lib/oop");
var BaseFoldMode = require("./fold_mode").FoldMode;
var Range = require("../../range").Range;
var FoldMode = exports.FoldMode = function() {};
oop.inherits(FoldMode, BaseFoldMode);
(function() {
this.getFoldWidgetRange = function(session, foldStyle, row) {
var range = this.indentationBlock(session, row);
if (range)
return range;
var re = /\S/;
var line = session.getLine(row);
var startLevel = line.search(re);
if (startLevel == -1 || line[startLevel] != "#")
return;
var startColumn = line.length;
var maxRow = session.getLength();
var startRow = row;
var endRow = row;
while (++row < maxRow) {
line = session.getLine(row);
var level = line.search(re);
if (level == -1)
continue;
if (line[level] != "#")
break;
endRow = row;
}
if (endRow > startRow) {
var endColumn = session.getLine(endRow).length;
return new Range(startRow, startColumn, endRow, endColumn);
}
};
this.getFoldWidget = function(session, foldStyle, row) {
var line = session.getLine(row);
var indent = line.search(/\S/);
var next = session.getLine(row + 1);
var prev = session.getLine(row - 1);
var prevIndent = prev.search(/\S/);
var nextIndent = next.search(/\S/);
if (indent == -1) {
session.foldWidgets[row - 1] = prevIndent!= -1 && prevIndent < nextIndent ? "start" : "";
return "";
}
if (prevIndent == -1) {
if (indent == nextIndent && line[indent] == "#" && next[indent] == "#") {
session.foldWidgets[row - 1] = "";
session.foldWidgets[row + 1] = "";
return "start";
}
} else if (prevIndent == indent && line[indent] == "#" && prev[indent] == "#") {
if (session.getLine(row - 2).search(/\S/) == -1) {
session.foldWidgets[row - 1] = "start";
session.foldWidgets[row + 1] = "";
return "";
}
}
if (prevIndent!= -1 && prevIndent < indent)
session.foldWidgets[row - 1] = "start";
else
session.foldWidgets[row - 1] = "";
if (indent < nextIndent)
return "start";
else
return "";
};
}).call(FoldMode.prototype);
});
ace.define("ace/mode/makefile",["require","exports","module","ace/lib/oop","ace/mode/text","ace/mode/makefile_highlight_rules","ace/mode/folding/coffee"], function(require, exports, module) {
"use strict";
var oop = require("../lib/oop");
var TextMode = require("./text").Mode;
var MakefileHighlightRules = require("./makefile_highlight_rules").MakefileHighlightRules;
var FoldMode = require("./folding/coffee").FoldMode;
var Mode = function() {
this.HighlightRules = MakefileHighlightRules;
this.foldingRules = new FoldMode();
};
oop.inherits(Mode, TextMode);
(function() {
this.lineCommentStart = "#";
this.$indentWithTabs = true;
this.$id = "ace/mode/makefile";
}).call(Mode.prototype);
exports.Mode = Mode;
});
|
{
"pile_set_name": "Github"
}
|
Miami FC Stun Miami United 3-2
In a game reminiscent to a cup final, the two Miami clubs put on the best match in the 2019 NPSL season. Miami FC hosted their cross-town rival at Barry University on Saturday night. United seemingly had the match in the bag come half-time despite FC taking the early lead. The second half was a remarkable display of soccer by both teams but with the Orange and Blue getting the last laugh.
Miami United came into the match playing with house money. After defeating Naples United when it mattered on Wednesday, the Pink and Black were keen to shock the NPSL. Unfortunately, United would have to play this match without their star left-back Max Schenfeld and first choice keeper Peterson Occenat. Occenat was still serving a suspension for an abuse of an official in the final regular-season match at Naples. Schenfeld was serving a suspension due to being thrown out of the semi-final.
Miami FC would face similar problems at left back coming into the match. Robert Baggio Kcira tore his ACL for a second time just minutes into the first Magic City Clasico of the season. John Neeskens has been ruled out for the remainder of the NPSL season with an injury sustained against Naples. Jalen Markey filled in at left-back in the semi-finals but was quickly the target of Ferdinando De Matthaeis.
First Half
This match started with both sides looking to find an early goal and swing the momentum in their favor. In the first moments of the match, United would make their statement earning a corner kick in the opening minutes. The corner would be the first of seven they would earn in the first 45 minutes. The ensuing shot would go off target.
In the 8th minute, after a long ball played into the box by the Orange and Blue and assistant referee would call the main official over for a conversation. The assistant referee judged the ball was played by the hand of Fuenmayor and awarded Miami FC a penalty.
GOL de Ariel Martínez! A great penalty by el mago cubano puts Miami FC 1-0 up over Miami United early in this #MagicCityClasico!https://t.co/dBnmTA7O06#VamosMiami #NPSL #MIAvMUFC #Miami — Magic City Soccer (@MagicCitySoccer) July 13, 2019
Ariel Martinez would be forced to wait about two minutes before taking the penalty. The Magic City Mago would show his intestinal fortitude by converting a panenka. Omar Estrada would dive to his left leaving the middle of the net open for the chip and Miami’s first goal of the night.
United would come roaring back, eager to equalize the match as quickly as possible. United would keep their foot on the gas for the next twenty-plus minutes. In the 22nd minute, United almost equalized as Matheus Gotler created an excellent opportunity from nothing. The crafty midfielder ripped a contested shot from range forcing Pais to parry it off the crossbar.
GOAL! Bruno Camacho equalizes off a corner to make it 1-1 in the #MagicCityClasico! The goal and the rest of the action here 👉https://t.co/ShYLOYlUVm#NPSL #MIAvMUFC #Miami — Magic City Soccer (@MagicCitySoccer) July 13, 2019
United would find their equalizer in the 34th minute. Off their sixth corner of the half, Bruno Camacho would find the back of the net with a glancing header. Throughout their spell of constant possession, Bryan Perea would cause havoc for Jalen Markey. Perea haunted the substitute left back and was the vocal point of all United counets.
In the 37th minute, Perea would get fed again on the left flank from an aerial ball. Perea would corral the outlet and charge into the penalty area. His cross would go across the face of goal and find Shamar Shelton who finished it to give United the 2-1 lead.
Paul Dalglish’s side would have little answers headed into the half. Miami FC looked stunned as they walked off the pitch as the Pink and Black sent them to the locker room down a goal searching for answers.
Second Half
If there were ever a game that could be characterized as a game of two halves it would be this one. Resuming play, United controlled the first three minutes of the second half earning a corner but not converting. Flashes of life for the Miami FC would come around minute fifty. The midfield would find all three forward, Thiaw, Suarez, and Gonzalez streaking forward but they’d be just offside.
The half-time substitution of Markey for Othello Bah would provide dividends early. The left side was shut down and forced Perea to play more toward the middle of the pitch.
In the 57th minute, Miami FC would take a page out of the United playbook and strike on a counter. Just one minute after Miguel Gonzalez narrowly missed equalizing the match Ariel Martinez would give Miami an equalizer. Thiaw would get past his marker on the right hand side and find Dylan Mares in close quarters. Mares was able to feed Martinez at the top of the box and his shot would beat Estrada again.
Unfortunately, the United midfield would begin to show cracks after the 64th minute injury to captain Ezequiel Tejera. Tejera would suffer a lower body injury and unable to continue, replaced by former Miami FC midfielder Juan Gonzalez. Almost immediately, FC would begin to slash through United’s midfield.
67' – GOAL! Now it's @TheMiamiFC's
turn to flip the match around with NPSL leading goalscorer Miguel González making it 3-2 to Miami FC!https://t.co/QsbgytDPaN #NPSL #MIAvMUFC #Miami #MagicCityClasico — Magic City Soccer (@MagicCitySoccer) July 14, 2019
In the 67th minute, Dylan Mares would charge up the heart of the field before playing forward to Ariel Martinez. Martinez would be pace for pace with Miguel Gonzalez who darted towards the penalty spot as Martinez drifted right. Martinez laid off for Gonzalez allowing the forward to get back on the score-sheet for the first time in three matches.
The final twenty minutes either felt like an eternity or a New York minute depending on your allegiance. United would make multiple attacking substitutions including bringing on Nicolas Micoli and Darryl Gordon. The Pink and Black had numerous good looks but Miami FC shut the door at every turn. Unable to break down the backline, United began to settle for rushed efforts that either ended up off-target or no test for Mark Pais.
Miami would make their second change of the night in the 90th minute after Ariel Martinez went down in midfield. Brian James replaced Martinez, getting his first action in quite some time. The midfielder would swarm United attackers helping the defensive line in the final moments of the match. Unfortunately, the tension would boil over in the 98th minute as Tomas Granitto was fouled by Perea. Perea would stand over Granitto with Lance Rozeboom paces away. Rozeboom pushed the winger off his former teammate and then Perea retaliated shoving both Rozeboom and Granitto.
Cooler heads would prevail as we proceed into the ninth minute of stoppage time. The referee would choose not to discipline any of the players and still allow United one final effort which was dispelled by the Orange and Blue.
The Road Ahead
After the result in the Southeast Conference, Miami FC will host NPSL heavyweights Chattanooga FC. The South Region Semi-Final will take place on Tuesday July 16th at Barry University. You can purchase your tickets by clicking here or calling 1-844-MIAMIFC. The winner of that contest will take on the winner of Tulsa vs Fort Worth. Tulsa dominated play in the Heartland Conference as the only team to finish over .500%. The Vaqueros of Fort Worth have stunned the Lone Star Conference by shocking Denton and Midland-Odessa.
|
{
"pile_set_name": "OpenWebText2"
}
|
Orthostatic intolerance in survivors of childhood cancer.
To compare the prevalence and severity of orthostatic intolerance in survivors of childhood cancer and in healthy controls, and to correlate results of self-reported measures of health status with orthostatic testing in survivors of childhood cancer. Thirty-nine survivors of childhood cancer and 56 controls were recruited for this study. Each cancer survivor completed standardised self-report measures and all participants underwent a standing test (5 min supine, 10 min of motionless standing leaning against a wall, followed by another 2 min supine). The main outcomes of the standing test were orthostatic tachycardia (OT), defined as a heart rate increase of at least 30 beats per minute (bpm) during standing, and neurally mediated hypotension (NMH), defined as a drop in systolic blood pressure of at least 25 mmHg. OT developed in 22/39 (56%) cancer survivors versus 17/56 (30%) controls (P=.01). Cancer survivors had a higher baseline and maximum standing heart rate (both P<.001) and a more rapid onset of significant OT (P=.005). No significant difference in scores on self-report measures was found between cancer survivors with or without OT. This study provides preliminary evidence of a higher rate of orthostatic intolerance in childhood cancer survivors. Further study is warranted to better define whether this is a modifiable risk factor for fatigue in this population, and how orthostatic intolerance interacts with other known risk factors for lowered quality of life.
|
{
"pile_set_name": "PubMed Abstracts"
}
|
Shane Doan could be headed for a role in the NHL's front office.
TSN Hockey Insider Pierre LeBrun reported Thursday Doan has been in contact with the league regarding a position in the hockey operations department.
Doan retired after 21 NHL seasons in July when he failed to land a contract in free agency. He spent his entire career with the Arizona Coyotes franchise.
LeBrun reports Doan's role, if negotiations go well, would fall under Colin Campbell, the NHL's director of hockey operations.
Upon his retirement, it was widely speculated Doan, who captained Canada at three world hockey championships, would play for Team Canada at the 2018 Olympic Games.
However, while speaking to TSN Radio 1050 earlier this month, Doan appeared to be leaning against continuing his hockey career on the international stage.
"(Team Canada general manager Sean) Burke and I have talked and that'd be a pretty tough decision to do that," Doan said. "I did it in 2004 during the lockout and then I played in the world championships in Vienna and we had an unbelievable team, made it to the final... And I was awful, like awful. I embarrassed myself a little bit and I didn't play that whole year and just played in that and we had a one month training camp and if you don't play it's hard to then play against guys that have been playing. I don't care who it is, where it's at, it's hard.
"That's a big commitment for my family if I was to have to go and play somewhere now. Burkie and I will talk probably again, but that's a pretty tough decision."
LeBrun said Doan could join the NHL offices in the coming weeks.
|
{
"pile_set_name": "OpenWebText2"
}
|
Related
Comments
I am the 3rd owner, and the car was bought locally in 1970.
304 cubic inch. New interior, mild cam, headers, torquer intake, torq thrust mags, Cooper tires. New paint since these pictures. Great cruiser, always turns heads as there are few of these around and is always the only one at the car show!
Thanks, yes the paint came out better than I had hoped. Glad the painter put lots on (single stage/no clear coat) Still a few areas to go over again with some 3000 paper and polish, but shouldn't take too long to look even better!
|
{
"pile_set_name": "Pile-CC"
}
|
Evaluation of IL17A expression and of IL17A, IL17F and IL23R gene polymorphisms in Brazilian individuals with periodontitis.
The IL23/Th17 axis plays an important role in the pathogenesis of cell-mediated tissue damage caused either by autoimmunity or immune responses against bacterial infection. Single nucleotide polymorphisms in the IL17A, IL17F and IL23R genes have been associated with several inflammatory diseases. However, these polymorphisms have not yet been studied in periodontitis. The aim of present study was to evaluate the expression of IL17A and occurrence of the IL17A (rs2275913), IL17F (rs763780) and IL23R (rs11209026) gene polymorphisms in different clinical forms or severity of periodontitis in a sample of Brazilian individuals. Peripheral blood was obtained from 30 non-smoker individuals and analyzed by flow cytometry to determine IL-17 expression. Genomic DNA was obtained from oral swabs in 180 individuals and analyzed by Real-time PCR. The study group was composed by individuals without periodontitis (control), with aggressive periodontitis (AP) and with chronic periodontitis (CP). Higher frequency of IL17A+CD4+ T cells was observed in control group. The A+ genotype from IL17A (rs2275913) was associated with lack of disease. No association was found considering the IL17F and IL23R polymorphisms. Our data suggest that IL17A and the presence of IL17A (rs2275913) A allele are associated with the absence of periodontal disease.
|
{
"pile_set_name": "PubMed Abstracts"
}
|
Our First Video
Boyfriend sucking my dick and me face fucking him before shooting on his face. Please give us some feedback! Boyfriend sucking my dick and me face fucking him before shooting on his face. Please give us some feedback!
|
{
"pile_set_name": "Pile-CC"
}
|
Free Hallows Fortune Fireworks
Happy Halloween! Don’t forget to stop by the Gem Store and kick off the festival with a free Hallows Fortune Fireworks bundle.
Mad Mayhem Chest
Each chest is guaranteed to be haunted by the Evon Gnashblade Trick-or-Treat Bag, a redeemable Black Lion Statuette, and two common items. You also have a chance to find something rarer in the fifth slot, including exclusive items, glyphs, and Halloween weapon skins.
Guaranteed Item—The Evon Gnashblade Trick-or-Treat Bag
Evon’s stuffed each bag with Halloween treats. You might find special weapons, infusions, crafting materials, or even…raisins? (Surely a vendor will want them.)
Exclusive Item—Searing Chain Gloves
Don’t stay locked in the dungeon this Halloween. Take your torment with you! Glide effortlessly through the crowd as everyone flees in terror from the vile curse that binds you.
Seven Reapers Weapon Collection
New weapon skins are available from Black Lion Weapons Specialists for one Black Lion Claim Ticket each. The weapons pulse with necromantic power in tribute to Grenth’s loyal avatars.
Black Lion Weapons Specialists are also offering the Gargoyle Weapon Collection for two Black Lion Claim Tickets per skin.
Black Lion Miniature Claim Ticket Update
Scary minis are now available to choose from when you use a Black Lion Miniature Claim Ticket.
Skeletal Wings Backpack and Glider Combo
Soar across the autumn sky on bony wings. This set comes with a glider skin and matching backpack, which is guaranteed to distract whomever you’re talking to with its gruesome, grasping claws.
What’s in Stock
Returning Today
Candy Corn Gobbler Pack
Ghostly Outfit
Mad King’s Outfit
Returning This Week
Riding Broom Glider—25% Off
Riding Broom—25% Off
Riding Broom Glider Combo—20% Off
Phantom’s Hood
Grenth Hood
Mini Feline Familiar
Mini Elonian Familiar
|
{
"pile_set_name": "OpenWebText2"
}
|
---
id: documenting-fields
title: Documenting Schema
---
Since Javadocs are not available at runtime for introspection, `graphql-kotlin-schema-generator` includes an annotation
class `@GraphQLDescription` that can be used to add schema descriptions to *any* GraphQL schema element. The string value can be in the Markdown format.
```kotlin
@GraphQLDescription("A useful widget")
data class Widget(
@GraphQLDescription("The widget's value that can be `null`")
val value: Int?
)
class WidgetQuery {
@GraphQLDescription("Creates new widget for given ID")
fun widgetById(@GraphQLDescription("The special ingredient") id: Int): Widget? = Widget(id)
}
```
The above query would produce the following GraphQL schema:
```graphql
schema {
query: Query
}
type Query {
"""Creates new widget for given ID"""
widgetById(
"""The special ingredient"""
id: Int!
): Widget
}
"""A useful widget"""
type Widget {
"""The widget's value that can be `null`"""
value: Int
}
```
|
{
"pile_set_name": "Github"
}
|
Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Gabriel Charles Dante Rossetti (12 May 1828 – 9 April 1882), generally known as Dante Gabriel Rossetti (), was an English poet, illustrator, painter and translator, and a member of the Rossetti family. He founded the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood in 1848 with William Holman Hunt and John Everett Millais. Rossetti was later to be the main inspiration for a second generation of artists and writers influenced by the movement, most notably William Morris and Edward Burne-Jones. His work also influenced the European Symbolists and was a major precursor of the Aesthetic movement.
Rossetti's art was characterised by its sensuality and its medieval revivalism. His early poetry was influenced by John Keats. His later poetry was characterised by the complex interlinking of thought and feeling, especially in his sonnet sequence, The House of Life. Poetry and image are closely entwined in Rossetti's work. He frequently wrote sonnets to accompany his pictures, spanning from The Girlhood of Mary Virgin (1849) and Astarte Syriaca (1877), while also creating art to illustrate poems such as Goblin Market by the celebrated poet Christina Rossetti, his sister.
Rossetti's personal life was closely linked to his work, especially his relationships with his models and muses Elizabeth Siddal (whom he married), Fanny Cornforth and Jane Morris.
Early life
The son of émigré Italian scholar Gabriele Pasquale Giuseppe Rossetti and his wife Frances Mary Lavinia Polidori, Gabriel Charles Dante Rossetti was born in London, on 12 May 1828. His family and friends called him Gabriel, but in publications he put the name Dante first in honour of Dante Alighieri. He was the brother of poet Christina Rossetti, critic William Michael Rossetti, and author Maria Francesca Rossetti. His father was a Roman Catholic, at least prior to his marriage, and his mother was an Anglican; ostensibly Gabriel was baptised as and was a practising Anglican. John William Polidori, who had died seven years before his birth, was Rossetti's maternal uncle. During his childhood, Rossetti was home educated and later attended King's College School, and often read the Bible, along with the works of Shakespeare, Dickens, Sir Walter Scott, and Lord Byron.
The youthful Rossetti is described as "self-possessed, articulate, passionate and charismatic" but also "ardent, poetic and feckless". Like all his siblings, he aspired to be a poet and attended King's College School, in its original location near the Strand in London. He also wished to be a painter, having shown a great interest in Medieval Italian art. He studied at Henry Sass' Drawing Academy from 1841 to 1845, when he enrolled in the Antique School of the Royal Academy, which he left in 1848. After leaving the Royal Academy, Rossetti studied under Ford Madox Brown, with whom he retained a close relationship throughout his life.
Following the exhibition of William Holman Hunt's painting The Eve of St. Agnes, Rossetti sought out Hunt's friendship. The painting illustrated a poem by John Keats. Rossetti's own poem, "The Blessed Damozel", was an imitation of Keats, and he believed Hunt might share his artistic and literary ideals. Together they developed the philosophy of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood which they founded along with John Everett Millais.
The group's intention was to reform English art by rejecting what they considered to be the mechanistic approach first adopted by the Mannerist artists who succeeded Raphael and Michelangelo and the formal training regime introduced by Sir Joshua Reynolds. Their approach was to return to the abundant detail, intense colours, and complex compositions of Quattrocento Italian and Flemish art. The eminent critic John Ruskin wrote:
For the first issue of the brotherhood's magazine, The Germ, published early in 1850, Rossetti contributed a poem, "The Blessed Damozel", and a story about a fictional early Italian artist inspired by a vision of a woman who bids him combine the human and the divine in his art. Rossetti was always more interested in the medieval than in the modern side of the movement, working on translations of Dante and other medieval Italian poets, and adopting the stylistic characteristics of the early Italians.
Career
Beginnings
Rossetti's first major paintings in oil display the realist qualities of the early Pre-Raphaelite movement. His Girlhood of Mary Virgin (1849) and Ecce Ancilla Domini (1850) portray Mary as a teenage girl. William Bell Scott saw Girlhood in progress in Hunt's studio and remarked on young Rossetti's technique:
Stung by criticism of his second major painting, Ecce Ancilla Domini, exhibited in 1850, and the "increasingly hysterical critical reaction that greeted Pre-Raphaelitism" that year, Rossetti turned to watercolours, which could be sold privately. Although his work subsequently won support from John Ruskin, Rossetti only rarely exhibited thereafter.
Dante and Medievalism
In 1850, Rossetti met Elizabeth Siddal, an important model for the Pre-Raphaelite painters. Over the next decade, she became his muse, his pupil, and his passion. They were married in 1860. Rossetti's incomplete picture Found, begun in 1853 and unfinished at his death, was his only major modern-life subject. It depicted a prostitute, lifted from the street by a country drover who recognises his old sweetheart. However, Rossetti increasingly preferred symbolic and mythological images to realistic ones,
For many years, Rossetti worked on English translations of Italian poetry including Dante Alighieri's La Vita Nuova (published as The Early Italian Poets in 1861). These and Sir Thomas Malory's Le Morte d'Arthur inspired his art of the 1850s. He created a method of painting in watercolours, using thick pigments mixed with gum to give rich effects similar to medieval illuminations. He also developed a novel drawing technique in pen-and-ink. His first published illustration was "The Maids of Elfen-Mere" (1855), for a poem by his friend William Allingham, and he contributed two illustrations to Edward Moxon's 1857 edition of Alfred, Lord Tennyson's Poems and illustrations for works by his sister Christina Rossetti.
His visions of Arthurian romance and medieval design also inspired William Morris and Edward Burne-Jones. Neither Burne-Jones nor Morris knew Rossetti, but were much influenced by his works, and met him by recruiting him as a contributor to their Oxford and Cambridge Magazine which Morris founded in 1856 to promote his ideas about art and poetry.
In February 1857, Rossetti wrote to William Bell Scott:
That summer Morris and Rossetti visited Oxford and finding the Oxford Union debating-hall under construction, pursued a commission to paint the upper walls with scenes from Le Morte d'Arthur and to decorate the roof between the open timbers. Seven artists were recruited, among them Valentine Prinsep and Arthur Hughes, and the work was hastily begun. The frescoes, done too soon and too fast, began to fade at once and now are barely decipherable. Rossetti recruited two sisters, Bessie and Jane Burden, as models for the Oxford Union murals, and Jane became Morris's wife in 1859.
Book Arts
Literature was integrated into the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood's artistic practice from the beginning (including that of Rossetti), with many paintings making direct literary references. For example, John Everett Millais' early work, Isabella (1849), depicts an episode from John Keats' Isabella, or, the Pot of Basil (1818). Rossetti was particularly critical of the gaudy ornamentation of Victorian gift books and sought to refine bindings and illustrations to align with the principles of the Aesthetic Movement. Rossetti's key bindings were designed between 1861 and 1871. He collaborated as a designer/illustrator with his sister, poet Christina Rossetti, on the first edition of Goblin Market (1862) and The Prince's Progress (1866). One of Rossetti's most prominent contributions to illustration was the collaborative book, Poems by Alfred, Lord Tennyson (published by Edward Moxon in 1857 and known colloquially as the 'Moxon Tennyson'). Moxon envisioned Royal Academicians as the illustrators for the ambitious project, but this vision was quickly disrupted once Millais, a founding member of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, became involved in the project. Millais recruited William Holman Hunt and Rossetti for the project, and the involvement of these artists reshaped the entire production of the book. In reference to the Pre-Raphaelite illustrations, Laurence Housman wrote "[...] The illustrations of the Pre-Raphaelites were personal and intellectual readings of the poems to which they belonged, not merely echoes in line of the words of the text." The Pre-Raphaelites’ visualization of Tennyson’s poems indicated the range of possibilities in interpreting written works, as did their unique approach to visualizing narrative on the canvas.
Pre-Raphaelite illustrations do not simply refer to the text in which they appear; rather, they are part of a bigger program of art: the book as a whole. Rossetti’s philosophy about the role of illustration was revealed in an 1855 letter to poet William Allingham, when he wrote, in reference to his work on the Moxon Tennyson:
"I have not begun even designing for them yet, but fancy I shall try the Vision of Sin, and Palace of Art etc.—those where one can allegorize on one’s own hook, without killing for oneself and everyone a distinct idea of the poet’s."
This passage makes apparent Rossetti’s desire not to just support the poet’s narrative, but to create an allegorical illustration that functions separately from the text as well. In this respect, Pre-Raphaelite illustrations go beyond depicting an episode from a poem, but rather function like subject paintings within a text. Illustration is not subservient to text and vice versa. Careful and conscientious craftsmanship is practiced in every aspect of production, and each element, though qualifiedly artistic in its own right, contributes to a unified art object (the book).
Religious influence on works
England began to see a revival of religious beliefs and practices starting in 1833 and moving onward to about 1845. The Oxford Movement, also known as the Tractarian Movement, had recently begun a push toward the restoration of Christian traditions that had been lost in the Church. Rossetti and his family had been attending Christ Church, Albany Street since 1843. His brother, William Michael Rossetti recorded that services had begun changing in the church since the start of the "High Anglican movement". Rev. William Dodsworth was responsible for these changes, including the addition of the Catholic practice of placing flowers and candles by the altar. Rossetti and his family, along with two of his colleagues (one of which cofounded the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood) had also attended St. Andrew's on Wells Street, a High Anglican church. It is noted that the Anglo-Catholic revival very much affected Rossetti in the late 1840s and early 1850s. The spiritual expressions of his painting The Girlhood of Mary Virgin, finished in 1849, are evident of this claim. The painting's altar is decorated very similarly to that of a Catholic altar, proving his familiarity with the Anglo-Catholic revival. The subject of the painting, the Blessed Virgin, is sewing a red cloth, a significant part of the Oxford Movement that emphasized the embroidering of altar cloths by women. Oxford Reformers identified two major aspects to their movement, that "the end of all religion must be communion with God," and "that the Church was divinely instituted for the very purpose of bringing about this consummation."
From the beginning of the Brotherhood's formation in 1848, their pieces of art included subjects of noble or religious disposition. Their aim was to communicate a message of "moral reform" through the style of their works, exhibiting a "truth to nature". Specifically in Rossetti's "Hand and Soul," written in 1849, he displays his main character Chiaro as an artist with spiritual inclinations. In the text, Chiaro's spirit appears before him in the form of a woman who instructs him to "set thine hand and thy soul to serve man with God." The Rossetti Archive defines this text as "Rossetti's way of constellating his commitments to art, religious devotion, and a thoroughly secular historicism." Likewise, in "The Blessed Damozel," written between 1847 and 1870, Rossetti uses biblical language such as "From the gold bar of Heaven" to describe the Damozel looking down to Earth from Heaven. Here we see a connection between body and soul, mortal and supernatural, a common theme in Rossetti's works. In "Ave" (1847), Mary awaits the day that she will meet her son in Heaven, uniting the earthly with the heavenly. The text highlights a strong element in Anglican Marian theology that describes Mary's body and soul having been assumed into Heaven.
A new direction
Around 1860, Rossetti returned to oil painting, abandoning the dense medieval compositions of the 1850s in favour of powerful close-up images of women in flat pictorial spaces characterised by dense colour. These paintings became a major influence on the development of the European Symbolist movement. In them, Rossetti's depiction of women became almost obsessively stylised. He portrayed his new lover Fanny Cornforth as the epitome of physical eroticism, whilst Jane Burden, the wife of his business partner William Morris, was glamorised as an ethereal goddess. "As in Rossetti's previous reforms, the new kind of subject appeared in the context of a wholesale reconfiguration of the practice of painting, from the most basic level of materials and techniques up to the most abstract or conceptual level of the meanings and ideas that can be embodied in visual form." These new works were based not on medievalism, but on the Italian High Renaissance artists of Venice, Titian and Veronese.
In 1861, Rossetti became a founding partner in the decorative arts firm, Morris, Marshall, Faulkner & Co. with Morris, Burne-Jones, Ford Madox Brown, Philip Webb, Charles Faulkner and Peter Paul Marshall. Rossetti contributed designs for stained glass and other decorative objects.
Rossetti's wife, Elizabeth, died of an overdose of laudanum in 1862, possibly a suicide, shortly after giving birth to a stillborn child. Rossetti became increasingly depressed, and on the death of his beloved Lizzie, buried the bulk of his unpublished poems with her at Highgate Cemetery, though he later had them dug up. He idealised her image as Dante's Beatrice in a number of paintings, such as Beata Beatrix.
Cheyne Walk years
After the death of his wife, Rossetti leased a Tudor House at 16, Cheyne Walk, in Chelsea, where he lived for 20 years surrounded by extravagant furnishings and a parade of exotic birds and animals. Rossetti was fascinated with wombats, asking friends to meet him at the "Wombat's Lair" at the London Zoo in Regent's Park, and spending hours there. In September 1869, he acquired the first of two pet wombats, which he named "Top". It was brought to the dinner table and allowed to sleep in the large centrepiece during meals. Rossetti's fascination with exotic animals continued throughout his life, culminating in the purchase of a llama and a toucan, which he dressed in a cowboy hat and was trained to ride the llama round the dining-table for his amusement.
Rossetti maintained Fanny Cornforth (described delicately by William Allington as Rossetti's "housekeeper") in her own establishment nearby in Chelsea, and painted many voluptuous images of her between 1863 and 1865.
In 1865, he discovered auburn-haired Alexa Wilding, a dressmaker and would-be actress who was engaged to model for him on a full-time basis and sat for Veronica Veronese, The Blessed Damozel, A Sea–Spell, and other paintings. She sat for more of his finished works than any other model, but comparatively little is known about her due to the lack of any romantic connection with Rossetti. He spotted her one evening in the Strand in 1865 and was immediately struck by her beauty. She agreed to sit for him the following day, but failed to arrive. He spotted her again weeks later, jumped from the cab he was in and persuaded her to go straight to his studio. He paid her a weekly fee to sit for him exclusively, afraid that other artists might employ her. They shared a lasting bond; after Rossetti's death Wilding was said to have travelled regularly to place a wreath on his grave.
Jane Morris, whom Rossetti had used as a model for the Oxford Union murals he painted with William Morris and Edward Burne-Jones in 1857, also sat for him during these years, she "consumed and obsessed him in paint, poetry, and life". Jane Morris was also photographed by John Robert Parsons, whose photographs were painted by Rossetti. In 1869, Morris and Rossetti rented a country house, Kelmscott Manor at Kelmscott, Oxfordshire, as a summer home, but it became a retreat for Rossetti and Morris to have a long-lasting and complicated liaison. They spent summers there with the Morris's children, while Morris travelled to Iceland in 1871 and 1873.
During these years, Rossetti was prevailed upon by friends, in particular Charles Augustus Howell, to exhume his poems from his wife's grave which he did, collating and publishing them in 1870 in the volume Poems by D. G. Rossetti. They created controversy when they were attacked as the epitome of the "fleshly school of poetry". Their eroticism and sensuality caused offence. One poem, "Nuptial Sleep", described a couple falling asleep after sex. It was part of Rossetti's sonnet sequence The House of Life, a complex series of poems tracing the physical and spiritual development of an intimate relationship. Rossetti described the sonnet form as a "moment's monument", implying that it sought to contain the feelings of a fleeting moment, and reflect on their meaning. The House of Life was a series of interacting monuments to these moments – an elaborate whole made from a mosaic of intensely described fragments. It was Rossetti's most substantial literary achievement. The collection included some translations, including his "Ballad Of Dead Ladies", an 1869 translation of François Villon's poem "Ballade des dames du temps jadis". (The word "yesteryear" is credited to Rossetti as a neologism used for the first time in this translation.)
In 1881, Rossetti published a second volume of poems, Ballads and Sonnets, which included the remaining sonnets from The House of Life sequence.
Decline and death
The savage reaction of critics to Rossetti's first collection of poetry contributed to a mental breakdown in June 1872, and although he joined Jane Morris at Kelmscott that September, he "spent his days in a haze of chloral and whisky". The next summer he was much improved, and both Alexa Wilding and Jane sat for him at Kelmscott, where he created a soulful series of dream-like portraits. In 1874, Morris reorganised his decorative arts firm, cutting Rossetti out of the business, and the polite fiction that both men were in residence with Jane at Kelmscott could not be maintained. Rossetti abruptly left Kelmscott in July 1874 and never returned. Toward the end of his life, he sank into a morbid state, darkened by his drug addiction to chloral hydrate and increasing mental instability. He spent his last years as a recluse at Cheyne Walk.
On Easter Sunday, 1882, he died at the country house of a friend, where he had gone in a vain attempt to recover his health, which had been destroyed by chloral as his wife's had been destroyed by laudanum. He died of Bright's Disease, a disease of the kidneys from which he had been suffering for some time. He had been housebound for some years on account of paralysis of the legs, though his chloral addiction is believed to have been a means of alleviating pain from a botched hydrocele removal. He had been suffering from alcohol psychosis for some time brought on by the excessive amounts of whisky he used to drown out the bitter taste of the chloral hydrate. He is buried in the churchyard of All Saints at Birchington-on-Sea, Kent, England.
Collections and critical assessment
Tate Britain, Birmingham, Manchester, Salford Museum and Art Galleries and Wightwick Manor National Trust, all contain large collections of Rossetti's work; Salford was bequeathed a number of works following the death of L. S. Lowry in 1976. Lowry was president of the Newcastle-based 'Rossetti Society', which was founded in 1966. Lowry's private collection of works was chiefly built around Rossetti's paintings and sketches of Lizzie Siddal and Jane Morris, and notable pieces included Pandora, Proserpine and a drawing of Annie Miller.
In an interview with Mervyn Levy, Lowry explained his fascination with the Rossetti women in relation to his own work: "I don't like his women at all, but they fascinate me, like a snake. That's why I always buy Rossetti whenever I can. His women are really rather horrible. It's like a friend of mine who says he hates my work, although it fascinates him." The friend Lowry referred to was businessman Monty Bloom, to whom he also explained his obsession with Rossetti's portraits: "They are not real women.[...] They are dreams.[...] He used them for something in his mind caused by the death of his wife. I may be quite wrong there, but significantly they all came after the death of his wife."
The popularity, frequent reproduction, and general availability of Rossetti's later paintings of women have led to this association with "a morbid and languorous sensuality". His small-scale early works and drawings are less well known, but it is in these that his originality, technical inventiveness, and significance in the movement away from Academic tradition can best be seen. As Roger Fry wrote in 1916, "Rossetti more than any other artist since Blake may be hailed as a forerunner of the new ideas" in English Art.
Media
Film
Rossetti was played by Oliver Reed in Ken Russell's television film Dante's Inferno (1967). The Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood has been the subject of two BBC period dramas. The first, The Love School, (1975) features Ben Kingsley as Rossetti. The second was Desperate Romantics, in which Rossetti is played by Aidan Turner. It was broadcast on BBC Two on Tuesday, 21 July 2009.
Television
Dr. Frasier Crane (Kelsey Grammer) appears in an episode of Cheers as Dante Gabriel Rossetti for his Hallowe'en costume. His wife Dr. Lilith Sternin-Crane appears as Rossetti's sister, Christina. Their son Frederick is dressed as Spiderman.
Fiction
Gabriel Rossetti and other members of the Rossetti family are characters in Tim Powers' novel "Hide Me Among the Graves," in which both the Rossettis' uncle John Polidori and Gabriel's wife Lizzie act as hosts for vampiric beings, and whose influence inspires the artistic genius of the family.
Influence
Rossetti's poem "The Blessed Damozel" was the inspiration for Claude Debussy's cantata La Damoiselle élue (1888).
John Ireland (18791962) set to music as one of his Three Songs (1926), Rossetti's poem "The One Hope" from Poems (1870).
In 1904 Ralph Vaughan Williams (1872-1958) created his song cycle The House of Life from six poems by Rossetti. One song in that cycle, Silent Noon, is one of Vaughan Williams's best known and most frequently performed songs.
In 1904, Phoebe Anna Traquair painted The Awakening, inspired by a sonnet from Rossetti's The House of Life.
There is evidence to suggest that a number of paintings by Paula Modersohn-Becker (1876-1907) were influenced by the Pre-Raphaelite painter Dante Rossetti.
Selected works
Books
The Early Italian Poets (a translation), 1861; republished as Dante and His Circle, 1874
Poems, 1870; revised and reissued as Poems. A New Edition, 1881
Ballads and Sonnets, 1881
The Collected Works of Dante Gabriel Rossetti, 2 volumes, 1886 (posthumous)
Ballads and Narrative Poems, 1893 (posthumous)
Sonnets and Lyrical Poems, 1894 (posthumous)
The Works of Dante Gabriel Rossetti, 1911 (posthumous)
Poems and Translations 1850-1870, Together with the Prose Story 'Hand and Soul''', Oxford University Press, 1913
Double works
"Rossetti divided his attention between painting and poetry for the rest of his life" - Poetry Foundation
Aspecta Medusa (1865 October – 1868)
Astarte Syriaca (for a Picture; 1877 January–February; 1875–1877)
Beatrice, her Damozels, and Love (1865?)
Beauty and the Bird (1855; 1858 June 25)
The Blessed Damozel (1847–1870; 1871–1881)
Bocca Baciata (1859–1860)
Body's Beauty (1864–1869; 1866)
The Bride's Prelude [1848–1870 (circa)]
Cassandra (for a drawing; September 1869; 1860–1861, 1867, 1869)
Dante's Dream on the Day of the Death of Beatrice: 9 June 1290 (1875 [?], 1856)
Dante Alighieri. “Sestina. Of the Lady Pietra degli Scrovigni.” (1848 [?], 1861, 1874)
Dante at Verona [1848–1850; 1852 (circa)]
The Day-Dream (for a picture; 1878–1880, 1880 September)
Death of A Wombat (1869 November 6)
Eden Bower [1863–1864 (circa) or 1869 (circa)]
Fazio's Mistress (1863; 1873)
Fiammetta [for a picture; 1878 (circa) 1878]
“Found” (for a picture; 1854; 1881 February)
Francesca Da Rimini. Dante (1855; 1862 September)
Guido Cavalcanti. “Ballata. He reveals, in a Dialogue, his increasing love for Mandetta.” (1861)
Hand and Soul (1849)
Hero's Lamp (1875)
Introductory Sonnet ("A Sonnet is a moment's monument"; 1880)
Joan of Arc [1879 (unfinished), 1863, 1882]
La Bella Mano (for a picture; 1875)
La Pia. Dante (1868–1880)
Lisa ed Elviro (1843)
Love's Greeting (1850, 1861, 1864)
Mary's Girlhood [for a picture; 1848 (sonnet I), 1849 (sonnet II)]
Mary Magdalene at the Door of Simon the Pharisee (for a drawing; 1853–1859; 1869)
Michael Scott's Wooing (for a drawing; 1853, 1869–1871, 1875–1876)
Mnemosyne (1880)
Old and New Art [group of 3 poems; 1849 (text); 1857 (picture, circa)]
On William Morris (1871 September)
Pandora (for a picture; 1869; 1868–1871)
Parody on “Uncle Ned” (1852)
Parted Love! [1869 September – 1869 November (circa)]
The Passover in the Holy Family (for a drawing; 1849–1856; 1869 September)
Perlascura. Twelve Coins for One Queen (1878)
The Portrait (1869)
Proserpine (1872; 1871–1882)
The Question (for a design; 1875, 1882)
“Retro me, Sathana!” (1847, 1848)
The Return of Tibullus to Delia (1853–1855, 1867)
A Sea-Spell (for a Picture; 1870, 1877)
The Seed of David (for a picture; 1864)
Silence. For a Design (1870, 1877)
Sister Helen [1851–1852; 1870 (circa)]
Sorrentino (1843)
Soul's Beauty (1866; 1864–1870)
St. Agnes of Intercession (1850; 1860)
Troy Town (1863–1864; 1869–1870)
Venus Verticordia (for a picture; 1868 January 16; 1863–1869)
William and Marie. A Ballad (1841)
Paintings
Drawings
Woodcut illustrations
Decorative arts
Caricatures and sketches
See also
English art
List of paintings by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Rossetti and His Circle, 1922 book by Max Beerbohm
Rossetti–Polidori family tree
James Smetham
References
Bibliography
Ash, Russell (1995), Dante Gabriel Rossetti. London: Pavilion Books ; New York: Abrams .
Doughty, Oswald (1949), A Victorian Romantic: Dante Gabriel Rossetti. London: Frederick Muller.
Drew, Rodger (2006), The Stream's Secret: The Symbolism of Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Cambridge: The Lutterworth Press, .
Fredeman, William E. (1971). Prelude to the Last Decade: Dante Gabriel Rossetti in the summer of 1872. Manchester [Eng.]: The John Rylands Library.
Fredeman, William E. (ed.) (2002–8), The Correspondence of Dante Gabriel Rossetti. 7 vols. Cambridge: Brewer.
Hilton, Timothy (1970). The Pre-Raphaelites. London: Thames and Hudson, New York: H. N. Abrams. .
Lucas, F. L. (2013), Dante Gabriel Rossetti - an anthology (poems and translations, with introduction). Cambridge University Press
Marsh, Jan (1996). The Pre-Raphaelites: Their Lives in Letters and Diaries. London: Collins & Brown.
McGann, J. J. (2000). Dante Gabriel Rossetti and the Game that Must Be Lost. New Haven: Yale University Press.
Parry, Linda (1996), ed., William Morris. New York: Abrams, .
Pedrick, G. (1964). Life with Rossetti: or, No peacocks allowed. London:Macdonald. ISBN
Roe, Dinah: The Rossettis in Wonderland. A Victorian Family History. London: Haus Publishing, 2011.
Rossetti, D. G. The House Of Life
Rossetti, D. G., & J. Marsh (2000). Collected Writings of Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Chicago: New Amsterdam Books.
Rossetti, D. G., & W. W. Rossetti, ed. (1911), The Works of Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Ellis, London. (full text)
Sharp, Frank C., and Jan Marsh (2012), The Collected Letters of Jane Morris, Boydell & Brewer, London.
Simons, J. (2008). Rossetti's Wombat: Pre-Raphaelites and Australian animals in Victorian London. London: Middlesex University Press.
Treuherz, Julian, Prettejohn, Elizabeth, and Becker, Edwin (2003). Dante Gabriel Rossetti. London: Thames & Hudson, .
Todd, Pamela (2001). Pre-Raphaelites at Home'', New York: Watson-Giptill Publications, .
External links
Archival material at
Category:1828 births
Category:1882 deaths
Category:English people of Italian descent
Category:British people of Italian descent
Category:English male poets
Category:19th-century English painters
Category:English male painters
Category:19th-century English writers
Category:English illustrators
Category:Polidori-Rossetti family
Category:Pre-Raphaelite painters
Category:Anglican poets
Category:English Anglicans
Category:Painters from London
Category:Sonneteers
Category:Victorian poets
Category:Artist authors
Category:People educated at King's College School, London
Category:Artists' Rifles soldiers
Category:Morris & Co.
Category:19th-century English poets
Category:British male poets
Category:English male novelists
Category:Deaths from nephritis
Category:Burials in Kent
Category:Translators of Dante Alighieri
Category:Rossetti family
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H&Y UV (Ultra Violet) SPRO 1 Wide Band HD MC Silm Filter (Japan) is a general use, clear filter that helps to absorb ultraviolet light and reduce the bluish cast of daylight. No additional coloration or contrast is provided, allowing you to pair this filter with others.
The UV filter is also useful as a general protective filter to leave on lenses at all times. Filters help to reduce dust and moisture from reaching your lens element and provide additional protection in case of drops or situations where scratching could occur.


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On the PC, special Italian characters, many of which are not present on Italian keyboards, can be inserted using the following ALT codes. To use these, first ensure that the Num Lock key has been pressed once so that it has become enabled (this key is also known as the BI Num key on Italian keyboards); usually a green LED above the keyboard will light up once this key has been enabled. Next hold down the Alt key, type the four-digit numeric code, then release the Alt key. Here is the list:
À ALT+0192 (Uppercase Stressed A) È ALT+0200 (Uppercase Stressed Open E) É ALT+0201 (Uppercase Stressed Closed E) Ì ALT+0204 (Uppercase Stressed I written with grave accent) Í ALT+0205 (Uppercase Stressed I written with acute accent) Ò ALT+0210 (Uppercase Stressed Open O) Ó ALT+0211 (Uppercase Stressed Closed O) Ù ALT+0217 (Uppercase Stressed U written with grave accent) Ú ALT+0218 (Uppercase Stressed U written with acute accent) Î ALT+0206 (Uppercase (Ending Truncated Stressed) I with circumflex) à ALT+0224 (Lowercase Stressed A) è ALT+0232 (Lowercase Stressed Open E) é ALT+0233 (Lowercase Stressed Closed E) ì ALT+0236 (Lowercase Stressed I written with grave accent) í ALT+0237 (Lowercase Stressed I written with acute accent) ò ALT+0242 (Lowercase Stressed Open O) ó ALT+0243 (Lowercase Stressed Closed O) ù ALT+0249 (Lowercase Stressed U written with grave accent) ú ALT+0250 (Lowercase Stressed U written with acute accent) î ALT+0238 (Lowercase (Ending Truncated Stressed) I with circumflex) º ALT+0186 (Masculine Ordinal) ª ALT+0170 (Feminine Ordinal) « ALT+0171 (Left Angle Quote) » ALT+0187 (Right Angle Quote) € ALT+0128 (Euro Currency Symbol) £ ALT+0163 (Old Italian Lira Currency Symbol (Same as UK Pound Currency Symbol))
The Euro ( € ) symbol can also be inserted via the AltGr+e and AltGr+5 keyboard combinations.
In Microsoft Word as well as in LibreOffice, when lowercase letters such as è are inserted at the beginning of a sentence the software automatically converts them to uppercase letters such as È . In both software products it is also possible to switch between title case, all caps, and lowercase, by highlighting the given text and entering the SHIFT+F3 key combination. This significantly reduces the need for being able to enter uppercase letters with diacritics directly via the keyboard when using these software products.
It is also possible to produce these characters inside other software products including text editors by installing Microsoft Keyboard Layout Creator and using it to assign special characters to unused keyboard combinations (e.g. combinations resulting from pressing the AltGr key in combination with other keys, given that AltGr is present on Italian keyboard but on Windows most of such combinations do not output any characters by default).
Reagards.
UPDATE:
In support of one of the given responses which mentions that Italians will often append a diacritic to a vowel rather than including both as part of the same character when conventient to do so I have taken a few pictures in an Italian supermarket where two items have been spelled out using (a) an appended apostrophe/quote character acting as a grave accent and (b) an appended backquote acting as an acute accent:
I have also found the following samples of written text in Italy:
In the above picture the word being spelled out is qualità , but IMHO given that all letters are in uppercase, in order to make the text stand out even more, the person who wrote the sign decided to append an apostrophe at the end instead of a grave accent, so there are also marketing reasons.
Another example is the name of the chain of Italian supermarkets Alí (which has now been operating in the country for at least thirty years) and has its last vowel spelled with an acute accent (although, as mentioned, it is possible to use this as less common alternative to the grave accent on written i and u vowels appearing at the end of the word):
Finally, there is one finer point to mention. The people who came up with the Unicode standard, which is a very well known standard in the computer world and can be used to represent all characters, diacritics, etc... in every language in the world, has noticed that if Unicode is to truly represent languages internationally then the forward quote (') and backquote (`) found on all standard US ASCII keyboards (and where the forward quote has also been always also used as an apostrophe when composing English plaintext) need to be considered as separate characters from the apostrophe, grave accent, and acute accent, so much so that these five entities have received their own Unicode encodings (as standalone diacritics), with three types of double quotes (left, right, and neutral) also receiving their own characters:
U+0022 QUOTATION MARK " U+0027 APOSTROPHE ' U+0060 GRAVE ACCENT ` U+00B4 ACUTE ACCENT ´ U+2018 LEFT SINGLE QUOTATION MARK ‘ U+2019 RIGHT SINGLE QUOTATION MARK ’ U+201C LEFT DOUBLE QUOTATION MARK “ U+201D RIGHT DOUBLE QUOTATION MARK ” U+0302 COMBINING CIRCUMFLEX ACCENT ^
To type the above Unicode characters on Windows, hold down the Alt key, hit the + on the numeric keypad key, then type the hexadecimal digits (e.g. 201c), then release the Alt key .
If you simply cut and paste these Unicode characters, you will see that they are all different. So, my guess is, one could write the more proper variants:
à, è, é, ì (which in some texts appears consistently as í), ò, ó, ù (which in some texts appears consistently as ú)
or, alternatively, especially in those cases where for marketing purposes one may want the letters to stand out:
a` , e` , e´ , i` (or i´), o`, o´, u` (or u´)
and the latter form would not be entirely wrong, since, technically, the appended diacritics are grave and acute accents and not apostrophes (although I do admittedly think this would indeed look somewhat funny inside proper printed texts)!
Although my original question had to do with the use of Italian hardware keyboards on Windows, for completeness, it is also worth mentioning that on Windows users of US hardware keyboards can easily add support for entering Italian vowels with diacritics adding a US International keyboard in Control Panel -> Regional and Language Options -> Keyboards and Languages -> Change Keyboards... -> Add... -> English (United States) -> Keyboard -> Check US - International -> Apply -> OK, and the keyboards can then be switched from the switcher in the lower-right hand side of the windows taskbar. With this keyboard one can type:
Apostrophe (') then uppercase or lowercase vowel to produce a vowel with grave accent.
Backquote (`) then uppercase or lowercase vowel to produce a vowel with acute accent.
Apostrophe or backquote, then SPACE or any other character to produce an apostrophe or backquote on its own.
Regards.
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Black knobby newt
The black knobby newt (Tylototriton asperrimus) is a species of salamanders in the family Salamandridae found in China and Vietnam. Its natural habitats are subtropical or tropical moist lowland forests, subtropical or tropical moist montane forests, freshwater marshes, and intermittent freshwater marshes. It is threatened by habitat loss and overharvesting.
The black knobby newt is a medium-sized newt, with total length of .
References
Category:Tylototriton
Category:Amphibians of China
Category:Amphibians of Vietnam
Category:Taxonomy articles created by Polbot
Category:Amphibians described in 1930
|
{
"pile_set_name": "Wikipedia (en)"
}
|
// +build !ignore_autogenerated
/*
Copyright The Kubernetes Authors.
Licensed under the Apache License, Version 2.0 (the "License");
you may not use this file except in compliance with the License.
You may obtain a copy of the License at
http://www.apache.org/licenses/LICENSE-2.0
Unless required by applicable law or agreed to in writing, software
distributed under the License is distributed on an "AS IS" BASIS,
WITHOUT WARRANTIES OR CONDITIONS OF ANY KIND, either express or implied.
See the License for the specific language governing permissions and
limitations under the License.
*/
// Code generated by deepcopy-gen. DO NOT EDIT.
package v1beta1
import (
runtime "k8s.io/apimachinery/pkg/runtime"
)
// DeepCopyInto is an autogenerated deepcopy function, copying the receiver, writing into out. in must be non-nil.
func (in ExtraValue) DeepCopyInto(out *ExtraValue) {
{
in := &in
*out = make(ExtraValue, len(*in))
copy(*out, *in)
return
}
}
// DeepCopy is an autogenerated deepcopy function, copying the receiver, creating a new ExtraValue.
func (in ExtraValue) DeepCopy() ExtraValue {
if in == nil {
return nil
}
out := new(ExtraValue)
in.DeepCopyInto(out)
return *out
}
// DeepCopyInto is an autogenerated deepcopy function, copying the receiver, writing into out. in must be non-nil.
func (in *LocalSubjectAccessReview) DeepCopyInto(out *LocalSubjectAccessReview) {
*out = *in
out.TypeMeta = in.TypeMeta
in.ObjectMeta.DeepCopyInto(&out.ObjectMeta)
in.Spec.DeepCopyInto(&out.Spec)
out.Status = in.Status
return
}
// DeepCopy is an autogenerated deepcopy function, copying the receiver, creating a new LocalSubjectAccessReview.
func (in *LocalSubjectAccessReview) DeepCopy() *LocalSubjectAccessReview {
if in == nil {
return nil
}
out := new(LocalSubjectAccessReview)
in.DeepCopyInto(out)
return out
}
// DeepCopyObject is an autogenerated deepcopy function, copying the receiver, creating a new runtime.Object.
func (in *LocalSubjectAccessReview) DeepCopyObject() runtime.Object {
if c := in.DeepCopy(); c != nil {
return c
}
return nil
}
// DeepCopyInto is an autogenerated deepcopy function, copying the receiver, writing into out. in must be non-nil.
func (in *NonResourceAttributes) DeepCopyInto(out *NonResourceAttributes) {
*out = *in
return
}
// DeepCopy is an autogenerated deepcopy function, copying the receiver, creating a new NonResourceAttributes.
func (in *NonResourceAttributes) DeepCopy() *NonResourceAttributes {
if in == nil {
return nil
}
out := new(NonResourceAttributes)
in.DeepCopyInto(out)
return out
}
// DeepCopyInto is an autogenerated deepcopy function, copying the receiver, writing into out. in must be non-nil.
func (in *NonResourceRule) DeepCopyInto(out *NonResourceRule) {
*out = *in
if in.Verbs != nil {
in, out := &in.Verbs, &out.Verbs
*out = make([]string, len(*in))
copy(*out, *in)
}
if in.NonResourceURLs != nil {
in, out := &in.NonResourceURLs, &out.NonResourceURLs
*out = make([]string, len(*in))
copy(*out, *in)
}
return
}
// DeepCopy is an autogenerated deepcopy function, copying the receiver, creating a new NonResourceRule.
func (in *NonResourceRule) DeepCopy() *NonResourceRule {
if in == nil {
return nil
}
out := new(NonResourceRule)
in.DeepCopyInto(out)
return out
}
// DeepCopyInto is an autogenerated deepcopy function, copying the receiver, writing into out. in must be non-nil.
func (in *ResourceAttributes) DeepCopyInto(out *ResourceAttributes) {
*out = *in
return
}
// DeepCopy is an autogenerated deepcopy function, copying the receiver, creating a new ResourceAttributes.
func (in *ResourceAttributes) DeepCopy() *ResourceAttributes {
if in == nil {
return nil
}
out := new(ResourceAttributes)
in.DeepCopyInto(out)
return out
}
// DeepCopyInto is an autogenerated deepcopy function, copying the receiver, writing into out. in must be non-nil.
func (in *ResourceRule) DeepCopyInto(out *ResourceRule) {
*out = *in
if in.Verbs != nil {
in, out := &in.Verbs, &out.Verbs
*out = make([]string, len(*in))
copy(*out, *in)
}
if in.APIGroups != nil {
in, out := &in.APIGroups, &out.APIGroups
*out = make([]string, len(*in))
copy(*out, *in)
}
if in.Resources != nil {
in, out := &in.Resources, &out.Resources
*out = make([]string, len(*in))
copy(*out, *in)
}
if in.ResourceNames != nil {
in, out := &in.ResourceNames, &out.ResourceNames
*out = make([]string, len(*in))
copy(*out, *in)
}
return
}
// DeepCopy is an autogenerated deepcopy function, copying the receiver, creating a new ResourceRule.
func (in *ResourceRule) DeepCopy() *ResourceRule {
if in == nil {
return nil
}
out := new(ResourceRule)
in.DeepCopyInto(out)
return out
}
// DeepCopyInto is an autogenerated deepcopy function, copying the receiver, writing into out. in must be non-nil.
func (in *SelfSubjectAccessReview) DeepCopyInto(out *SelfSubjectAccessReview) {
*out = *in
out.TypeMeta = in.TypeMeta
in.ObjectMeta.DeepCopyInto(&out.ObjectMeta)
in.Spec.DeepCopyInto(&out.Spec)
out.Status = in.Status
return
}
// DeepCopy is an autogenerated deepcopy function, copying the receiver, creating a new SelfSubjectAccessReview.
func (in *SelfSubjectAccessReview) DeepCopy() *SelfSubjectAccessReview {
if in == nil {
return nil
}
out := new(SelfSubjectAccessReview)
in.DeepCopyInto(out)
return out
}
// DeepCopyObject is an autogenerated deepcopy function, copying the receiver, creating a new runtime.Object.
func (in *SelfSubjectAccessReview) DeepCopyObject() runtime.Object {
if c := in.DeepCopy(); c != nil {
return c
}
return nil
}
// DeepCopyInto is an autogenerated deepcopy function, copying the receiver, writing into out. in must be non-nil.
func (in *SelfSubjectAccessReviewSpec) DeepCopyInto(out *SelfSubjectAccessReviewSpec) {
*out = *in
if in.ResourceAttributes != nil {
in, out := &in.ResourceAttributes, &out.ResourceAttributes
*out = new(ResourceAttributes)
**out = **in
}
if in.NonResourceAttributes != nil {
in, out := &in.NonResourceAttributes, &out.NonResourceAttributes
*out = new(NonResourceAttributes)
**out = **in
}
return
}
// DeepCopy is an autogenerated deepcopy function, copying the receiver, creating a new SelfSubjectAccessReviewSpec.
func (in *SelfSubjectAccessReviewSpec) DeepCopy() *SelfSubjectAccessReviewSpec {
if in == nil {
return nil
}
out := new(SelfSubjectAccessReviewSpec)
in.DeepCopyInto(out)
return out
}
// DeepCopyInto is an autogenerated deepcopy function, copying the receiver, writing into out. in must be non-nil.
func (in *SelfSubjectRulesReview) DeepCopyInto(out *SelfSubjectRulesReview) {
*out = *in
out.TypeMeta = in.TypeMeta
in.ObjectMeta.DeepCopyInto(&out.ObjectMeta)
out.Spec = in.Spec
in.Status.DeepCopyInto(&out.Status)
return
}
// DeepCopy is an autogenerated deepcopy function, copying the receiver, creating a new SelfSubjectRulesReview.
func (in *SelfSubjectRulesReview) DeepCopy() *SelfSubjectRulesReview {
if in == nil {
return nil
}
out := new(SelfSubjectRulesReview)
in.DeepCopyInto(out)
return out
}
// DeepCopyObject is an autogenerated deepcopy function, copying the receiver, creating a new runtime.Object.
func (in *SelfSubjectRulesReview) DeepCopyObject() runtime.Object {
if c := in.DeepCopy(); c != nil {
return c
}
return nil
}
// DeepCopyInto is an autogenerated deepcopy function, copying the receiver, writing into out. in must be non-nil.
func (in *SelfSubjectRulesReviewSpec) DeepCopyInto(out *SelfSubjectRulesReviewSpec) {
*out = *in
return
}
// DeepCopy is an autogenerated deepcopy function, copying the receiver, creating a new SelfSubjectRulesReviewSpec.
func (in *SelfSubjectRulesReviewSpec) DeepCopy() *SelfSubjectRulesReviewSpec {
if in == nil {
return nil
}
out := new(SelfSubjectRulesReviewSpec)
in.DeepCopyInto(out)
return out
}
// DeepCopyInto is an autogenerated deepcopy function, copying the receiver, writing into out. in must be non-nil.
func (in *SubjectAccessReview) DeepCopyInto(out *SubjectAccessReview) {
*out = *in
out.TypeMeta = in.TypeMeta
in.ObjectMeta.DeepCopyInto(&out.ObjectMeta)
in.Spec.DeepCopyInto(&out.Spec)
out.Status = in.Status
return
}
// DeepCopy is an autogenerated deepcopy function, copying the receiver, creating a new SubjectAccessReview.
func (in *SubjectAccessReview) DeepCopy() *SubjectAccessReview {
if in == nil {
return nil
}
out := new(SubjectAccessReview)
in.DeepCopyInto(out)
return out
}
// DeepCopyObject is an autogenerated deepcopy function, copying the receiver, creating a new runtime.Object.
func (in *SubjectAccessReview) DeepCopyObject() runtime.Object {
if c := in.DeepCopy(); c != nil {
return c
}
return nil
}
// DeepCopyInto is an autogenerated deepcopy function, copying the receiver, writing into out. in must be non-nil.
func (in *SubjectAccessReviewSpec) DeepCopyInto(out *SubjectAccessReviewSpec) {
*out = *in
if in.ResourceAttributes != nil {
in, out := &in.ResourceAttributes, &out.ResourceAttributes
*out = new(ResourceAttributes)
**out = **in
}
if in.NonResourceAttributes != nil {
in, out := &in.NonResourceAttributes, &out.NonResourceAttributes
*out = new(NonResourceAttributes)
**out = **in
}
if in.Groups != nil {
in, out := &in.Groups, &out.Groups
*out = make([]string, len(*in))
copy(*out, *in)
}
if in.Extra != nil {
in, out := &in.Extra, &out.Extra
*out = make(map[string]ExtraValue, len(*in))
for key, val := range *in {
var outVal []string
if val == nil {
(*out)[key] = nil
} else {
in, out := &val, &outVal
*out = make(ExtraValue, len(*in))
copy(*out, *in)
}
(*out)[key] = outVal
}
}
return
}
// DeepCopy is an autogenerated deepcopy function, copying the receiver, creating a new SubjectAccessReviewSpec.
func (in *SubjectAccessReviewSpec) DeepCopy() *SubjectAccessReviewSpec {
if in == nil {
return nil
}
out := new(SubjectAccessReviewSpec)
in.DeepCopyInto(out)
return out
}
// DeepCopyInto is an autogenerated deepcopy function, copying the receiver, writing into out. in must be non-nil.
func (in *SubjectAccessReviewStatus) DeepCopyInto(out *SubjectAccessReviewStatus) {
*out = *in
return
}
// DeepCopy is an autogenerated deepcopy function, copying the receiver, creating a new SubjectAccessReviewStatus.
func (in *SubjectAccessReviewStatus) DeepCopy() *SubjectAccessReviewStatus {
if in == nil {
return nil
}
out := new(SubjectAccessReviewStatus)
in.DeepCopyInto(out)
return out
}
// DeepCopyInto is an autogenerated deepcopy function, copying the receiver, writing into out. in must be non-nil.
func (in *SubjectRulesReviewStatus) DeepCopyInto(out *SubjectRulesReviewStatus) {
*out = *in
if in.ResourceRules != nil {
in, out := &in.ResourceRules, &out.ResourceRules
*out = make([]ResourceRule, len(*in))
for i := range *in {
(*in)[i].DeepCopyInto(&(*out)[i])
}
}
if in.NonResourceRules != nil {
in, out := &in.NonResourceRules, &out.NonResourceRules
*out = make([]NonResourceRule, len(*in))
for i := range *in {
(*in)[i].DeepCopyInto(&(*out)[i])
}
}
return
}
// DeepCopy is an autogenerated deepcopy function, copying the receiver, creating a new SubjectRulesReviewStatus.
func (in *SubjectRulesReviewStatus) DeepCopy() *SubjectRulesReviewStatus {
if in == nil {
return nil
}
out := new(SubjectRulesReviewStatus)
in.DeepCopyInto(out)
return out
}
|
{
"pile_set_name": "Github"
}
|
Q:
Primary source for WoW lua API?
I've been looking for first-hand information on the World of Warcraft addon API. There are a couple wikis that are pretty good, but their reference links only point internally. Surely there is some information published by Blizzard on the topic.
Can all of their information really be gleaned from reverse-engineering and forums? That would be hard for me to believe.
A:
Its not all necessarily gleaned from inspection or trial and error. Some is provided, but randomly, from "heads up" posts in the forums from "the source", as in Blizzard employees. They are usually pretty good about it, though is almost always provided in a "just the essentials to save you some pain" sort of way.
Here's an example:
http://blue.mmo-champion.com/topic/233590-mop-changes/
Watching for the "Blue" posts goes a long way, and its been this way for a long time. If you look at someting like this (old 3.1.0 end user patch notes) http://us.battle.net/wow/en/game/patch-notes/3-1-0 , and then scan to near the bottom there will be a note and link for API changes, so its easy to glean their intent on this, and that they intend to provide some "unofficial" support about API changes there whilenot burdening the actual product readme with them.
In general, I'd say that due to the very open nature of the materials, the source for the UI, very little is hidden and most is pretty self-evident, so it sort of barely qualifies as reverse engineering. Once you understand the Lua relationship to the general design of the WoW UI and supporting API, it's much easier.
As for the implied question about "why", the "hard to believe" part. They are doing, in my estimation, what they believe is the best balance between fully supporting without "officially" suporting, and not wasting cycles trying to document a huge amount of available facilites thats ever changing. I think they belive it makes a better product, having the ability to customize, so its intheir interest, however is frought with problems and even legal issues from many angles to be expressly "official" about it or to try to maintain coherent docs.
----
Toward the question "git hub" below, here is the "blue" post in context, which can be found by clicking the "blizz" link icon on the mmo-champion link provided before: http://us.battle.net/wow/en/forum/topic/6413172918#1 I was trying to give an example of a Blue post that had detail, but I accidentally gave one for the Web API not the Game API. However the principle is the same, and provides more Blizzard to Community context for dev support.
So basically that particular post was in reference to changes in the Web API, and the Git remark has no relevance to the game UI Customization and Macro thing. There is no hidden or official doc source for game UI Customization and Macro. Mostly its because it simply doesnt exist for anyone. :)
|
{
"pile_set_name": "StackExchange"
}
|
Dragon-and-Tiger Pagoda
The Dragon-and-Tiger Pagoda () is a Tang Dynasty brick and stone pagoda located in central Shandong Province, China. It is considered a characteristic example of the pagoda style of the period.
Location
The Dragon-and-Tiger Pagoda is located in Nanshan, near Liubu Village, in Licheng County, under the administration of Jinan City, about 33 kilometers southeast of the city of Jinan proper. The pagoda stands near the site formerly occupied by the Shentong Temple (, meaning "Supernatural Power" Temple) and was erected as a burial monument to a monk. No records about the construction date of the pagoda are known to exist.
Structure
The pagoda is designed in a single-storey pavilion-style with a square cross-section. The total height of the structure is 10.8 meters. The base of the pagoda consists of a three-tier Sumeru pedestal decorated with relief sculptures of lions and lotus flowers. On the pedestal rests the central pillar of the pagoda which is carved out of a single cube-shaped stone block with four meters edge length. Rectangular doors are carved into each side of the central pillar. Behind each of these doors, a carved Buddha sculpture is positioned. The top of the pagoda consists of a richly decorated brick roof. The artistic and technical design of the roof suggest that it has been rebuilt during the Song Dynasty. The pagoda is vividly decorated with alto-relievo tang-dynasty-style
sculpture on the central pillar showing the Buddha, bodhisattvas, celestial guards, flying apsarases (on top of the doors), as well as the dragons and tigers which give the pagoda its name.
Two other pagodas stand near the Dragon-and-Tiger Pagoda: The Four-Gates Pagoda (Sui Dynasty) and the Minor Dragon-and-Tiger Pagoda. The latter also dates from the Tang Dynasty area and - although much smaller - shares many features of the Dragon-and-Tiger Pagoda. Also in the immediate vicinity of the Dragon-and-Tiger Pagoda is the Thousand Buddha Cliff into which over 200 religious statues as well as sculptures of noble people have been carved during the Tang Dynasty.
See also
Four Gates Pagoda
Nine Pinnacle Pagoda
Songyue Pagoda
Thousand-Buddha Cliff
List of sites in Jinan
External links
short article by the China Internet Information Center
short article by the China Internet Information Center on the Minor Dragon-and-Tiger Pagoda
short article about the Pagoda and the nearby thousand Buddha Cliff on ChinaCulture.org
Category:Chinese pagodas
Category:Tang dynasty art
Category:Major National Historical and Cultural Sites in Shandong
Category:Buddhist temples in Shandong
|
{
"pile_set_name": "Wikipedia (en)"
}
|
Yeah. I didn't mind Gamora getting a new suit, but it would've been nice if it was an update of her old 70's low-cut bodysuit. I think they just gave her the new suit because they figured with Angela on board the Guardians, they wanted to make Gamora more distinct, considering Angela, like Gamora, is a sword-using woman who likes to wear a bikini into battle. I haven't read any of the new Guardians stuff, but my impression is they're making Gamora more of a gunslinger, too.
Gamora being ABLE to use guns isn't outside of her purview, as she had been established in the past that she is trained in many weapons, but she personally preferred blades in the past.
|
{
"pile_set_name": "OpenWebText2"
}
|
So we do this thing called church every Sunday night here in Ximending, and I want to take some time to tell you about it. I feel like up to this point I’ve always been directing to you the ministry’s website for more details, but, as the website is part of my ministry responsibilities, it has not been updated for a while. So the best update for everyone right is simply going to be straight from the horse’s mouth!
This slideshow requires JavaScript.
Above are the faces of the Aroma Church. We meet every Sunday night at 8:00 on the second floor of the Aroma Coffee Shop. We sing, we listen, we pray, we hang out. We come early and stay late. Once a month, we eat a big meal together before the service. During the week, we study the Bible and meet up and live life together. We are the Aroma.
Above: This is the Sunday that our late friend Andrew’s parents joined us. They had flown from Plano, IL, to Taipei, TW, to collect the last of what was left of Andrew’s life here on earth. You can read more about Andrew at my blog.
Since the beginning of this year, we started having church services every week. Up to that point, we had been doing worship services in our living room once a month, each time sending out a facebook invitation to hundreds of people and serving a big meal before the service. The tagline became “eating together, singing together, listening together and praying together.” Needless to say, the living room would get packed out. You can watch a video of the very last living room church service. That was in September, and then in October, November, and December, we began having the monthly service on the second floor of the new building, which is now The Aroma Coffee Shop.
Running a weekly church service every week also meant pulling out of attending church every week, so as a team we were commissioned and prayed out by our church family at Oasis. It was a big step, because it meant we were jumping and trusting God with everything. We were officially accepting our collective role as a church-planting team.
Above: Some of the team up front being prayed for by our brothers and sisters at Oasis church, our church family for the last 2-3 years. It was time to go establish our own church family in Ximending.
Running church has been…incredible. Exhausting. Amazing. Busy. Life-changing. Frustrating. Nothing short of Kingdom-living. This is what our Sundays look like:
Meet in the morning to pray and worship together and discuss any pressing items of business.
Most of us eat lunch together. Caleb and Miki (the couple that joined the team in December) take off so they can prepare to open the coffee shop at 2.
The rest of the afternoon, we’re preparing for church, which means some of us are making the bulletins, some are preparing the sermon, some are preparing the power point, others are setting up, others still practicing for worship, others are taking prayer walks and interceding for the people who will come.
For me personally, there’s never any time for dinner.
People start showing up as early as 6-6:30.
At about 7:40, the worship team and pastor and prayer warriors go downstairs to the prayer room to pray.
Service starts at 8 with announcements and takes off with worship. It ends around 9:30.
After the service, the fellowshipping and socializing lingers for a quite a while. Sometime after all the madness settles down and enough feet have cleared the area to give us space to clean up, we debrief about the service as a team.
By midnight, most us may already be in bed, exhausted but excited, and thankful that the coffee shop is closed on Mondays.
At the end of every Sunday, I am completely and simultaneously thankful, humbled and in awe of what God is doing here in Ximen. Lives are being changed. The truth is being preached to every person who is sitting there on a Sunday night. A diverse and international community of love is being cultivated. Creativity is being inspired through music and design and the Word. And the sound of worship fills the building and reaches down to the sidewalks.
This is the church here in Ximen. It’s surprising and wonderful and will change your life. It’s been changing mine for the last 2 1/2 years.
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Published by victoriascotia
I am inspired by the Giver of inspiration. I am surprised by the Inventor of all surprises. I love because Love found me first. I believe in the Prince of Peace. I'm a writer and a creative artist. I like media and movies and reading. Please tell me what you think of my words.
View all posts by victoriascotia
|
{
"pile_set_name": "Pile-CC"
}
|
## Further Praise for
The Sultan's Seal
"Ms. White's prose glints like the shores of the Bosphorus she brings to life with breathtaking detail. Unfolding in an exotic world of djinns, tube flowers, and belladonna, two mysterious crimes collide in a startling resolution. An astonishing debut novel that is impossible to put down."
—Dora Levy Mossanen, author of Harem and Courtesan
"[White's] evocative prose and plot twists pull the reader to a satisfying ending."
—Blythe Copeland, Boston Magazine
"CSI goes Ottoman Empire.... Court life and customs...are thrillingly captured here, with readers easily transported back to those days when mystery and intrigue lurked around every corner."
—Booklist, starred review
"It is an unputdownable read.... In her debut novel Jenny White has produced a multilayered story in a skillful blend of fiction and real history.... It is a book you just want to immerse yourself in."
—Sally Roddom, Murder and Mayhem
"A page-turning history lesson and relevant allegory of today's East-West divide.... White is bold and imaginative, able to find an original thread in this enormous pastiche, in order to weave a delightful story."
—Elmira Bayrasli, Turkish Daily News
"White's intelligent, sensuous writing marks a promising debut."
—Kirkus Reviews
"White has a thorough knowledge of the country and period she writes about, and depicts them with considerable skill. The novel should be a pleasure even for mystery readers who aren't particularly fond of historic settings. For anyone who is, this is the best of its kind."
—John A. Broussard, www.ilovemysterynewsletter.com
"A terrific late nineteenth century police procedural that shines a deep light on Turkey at an interesting moment when the Ottoman Empire is starting to collapse.... Fans who enjoy a lot of history in their mystery will want to read Jenny White's fine tale."
—Harriet Klausner, The Midwest Book Review
"White skillfully evokes the turbulent zeitgeist of 1880s Turkey, and the atmosphere that she conjures is perfect.... A lavish enjoyable read."
—Bethany Skaggs, The Historical Novels Review
"Excellent historical flavor and details permeate a fast-paced historical suspense novel."
—Bookwatch
"White's prose is full of silky, sometimes ominous lyricism."
—Mopsy Strange Kennedy, The Improper Bostonian
"All the mystery, fantasy, romance and allure of the Ottoman Empire await in this historical fiction about the murder of an English governess."
—BookWoman/BookMan
"White's prose is dramatic, a subtle mix of fiction and history."
—www.curledup.com
"An atmospheric experience.... She's given herself a pretty high standard with which to keep up."
—The Bohemian Aesthetic e-zine
"Lyrical writing, bright characterizations, and a sympathetic evocation of an era packed with intrigue and conflict."
—www.poisonedpen.com
"A wide range of characters peoples this well-told story that draws deeply on Turkish society for its atmospherics and manners."
—Alan Caruba, Bookviews
"This is, however, no ordinary crime novel.... White uses the story to paint a fascinating canvas.... Surely a recommended reading for lovers of both mystery and historical novels, it is a serious but fun page-turner."
—Eric Barteldes, Greenwich Village Gazette
"The author is a professor of anthropology, and her expertise is plainly evident in her writing skills...[many] interesting and mysterious characters, many secrets to uncover and a lot of very good reading to enjoy."
—www.rainboreviews.com
"A passionate debut...the writing is lyrical and the characters enchanting."
—Publishers Weekly
## The Sultan's Seal
## The Sultan's Seal
## Jenny White
W. W. Norton & Company
NEW YORK LONDON
"You are My Lord" by Seyh Galib and "Nedim to His Heart" by Nedim, translated by Bernard Lewis, and "You Have Shot Me So Full of Arrows" by Fuzuli, translated by Walter G. Andrews. From An Anthology of Turkish Literature, edited by Kemal Silay. Bloomington: Indiana University Turkish Studies, 1996. Used by permission of Kemal Silay.
"The Purpose of the Wine" by Bâkî and "Men String Their Cords of Tears" by Hayalî, translated by John R. Walsh. From The Penguin Book of Turkish Verse, edited by Nermin Menemencioglu, in collaboration with Fahir Iz. New York: Penguin Books, 1978.
Every effort has been made to contact the copyright holders of these selections. Rights holders of selections not credited should contact W. W. Norton & Company, Inc., 500 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10110 for a correction to be made in the next reprinting of our work.
Copyright © 2006 by Jenny White
Map design by Paul Guthrie
All rights reserved
For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to Permissions, W. W. Norton & Company, Inc., 500 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10110
Production manager: Amanda Morrison
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
White, Jenny B. (Jenny Barbara), 1953–
The sultan's seal / Jenny White.—1st ed.
p. cm.
ISBN: 978-0-393-07251-8
1. Governesses—Crimes against—Fiction. 2. Young women—Crimes against—
Fiction. 3. Police magistrates—Fiction. 4. British—Turkey—Fiction. 5. Istanbul
(Turkey)—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3623.H5763S85 2006
813'.6—dc22
2005023332
W. W. Norton & Company, Inc.
500 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10110
www.wwnorton.com
W. W. Norton & Company Ltd.
Castle House, 75/76 Wells Street, London W1T 3QT
"The purpose of the wine is that the cask be pure inside."
Our men of learning cannot plumb the sense these words convey.
—BÂKÎ
Men string their cords of tears to either end of postures bent with care;
From these they shoot the shafts of hope, unmindful of what made the bows.
—HAYALÎ
## Contents
1. Dark Eyes
2. When the Lodos Blows
3. The Ambassador's Daughter
4. June 15, 1886
5. The Sea Hamam
6. June 18, 1886
7. Your Rolling Pearl
8. Rules of Engagement
9. Memory
10. Hill of Stars
11. Your Brush Is the Bowstring
12. The Old Superintendent
13. A Perfect Fit
14. Blood
15. July 1, 1886
16. The Clean Soil of Reason
17. July 3, 1886
18. Kismet
19. The Crimson Thread
20. Avi
21. The Bedestan
22. Crevice
23. The Modernists
24. The Kangal Dog
25. Deep Sea
26. Salt, Not Sweet
27. The Smell of Roses
28. July 9, 1886
29. Visions
30. Feet Like Milk
31. The Girl Wife
32. With Wine-Red Necks
33. Elias Usta's Workmanship
34. The Eunuch and the Driver
35. The Dust of Your Street
36. Sea Glass
37. Enduring Principles
38. A Shared Pipe
39. The Gate of the Spoonmakers
40. July 17, 1886
41. Beautiful Machinery
42. The Eunuch
43. The End of Dreams
44. The Past Is the Vessel of the Future
45. A Thin Blade
46. A Hundred Braids
47. Villa at Tarabya
48. The Net
49. The Floating Stage
50. Barely a Sound
51. The Ming Vase
52. The Eye of the Pool
53. Chaos in the Tapestry of Life
54. Death Is Too Easy
Acknowledgments
## The Sultan's Seal
## 1
## Dark Eyes
A dozen lamps flicker across the water, moving up the strait in silence, the oarsmen invisible. A dry scuffling noise drifts from shore, the breeze too indolent to carry it very far. Wild dogs bark and crash through the bushes. There are snarls, a short yelp, then silence again.
As the boats cross the light of the full moon spilled across the Bosphorus, the fishermen take their places, actors on a luminous stage. In the stern of each boat a man rows, the other stands, holding a conical net attached to a pole. Attracted to the light of the oil lamps hanging from the bows, zargana fish crowd the surface. In a single motion the fishermen slip their nets through the black liquid, then raise them high above their heads. The sound of nets breaking the skin of water is so soft that it cannot be heard from shore.
There is a splash. The closest fisherman to land turns his head and listens, but hears nothing more. He casts his eye over the rocks and trees bleached by moonlight, what is beneath or behind them lost in shadow. He notices a circle of ripples moving outward from the shore and frowns, then points and mutters something to his brother, who is rowing. The other man shrugs and applies himself to the oars. It is so quiet that the fisherman imagines he can hear the scrabble of crabs across the stone point at nearby Albanian Village, where the current is so fierce that the crabs cannot proceed up the strait through the water. Centuries of crabs taking this shortcut have worn a path through the stone. Just an animal, he thinks, and tries to banish from his mind the stories he has heard about djinns and demons abroad in the night.
KAMIL PASHA GROPES on the bedside table for a match to light the lamp. He is magistrate for Istanbul's Beyoglu Lower Court that includes Pera, where the Europeans have their embassies and business houses, and Galata, the crowded Jewish quarter below Pera, a warren of narrow streets that wind and coil down the steep hill to the waters of the Bosphorus and its inlet, the Golden Horn. The pounding on his door has given way to loud voices in the entry hall. Just then, his manservant Yakup enters with a lit lamp in hand. Enormous shadows sail across the high ceiling.
"My apologies for waking you, bey. The headman of Middle Village says he has come on an urgent matter. He insists on speaking directly to you."
Squinting against the light, Kamil pushes back the satin quilt and stands. His foot slides on the magazine that has slipped off his bed. Sleep finds Kamil only when he loses himself in reading, in this case in the Gardener's Chronicle and Agricultural Gazette, several years out of date. It is now June in the Rumi year 1302, or 1886 by the Christian calendar. He had fallen asleep over the German botanist H. G. Reichenbach's reclassification of Acineta hrubyana, a many-flowered orchid recently discovered in South America with stiff, unarticulated brown lips. Kamil has slept uneasily. In his dreams, an undertow of small, leather-skinned men, faceless, agile, pulled him down. Yakup, ever vigilant as are all residents of the wooden houses of Istanbul, must have come in and extinguished the oil lamp.
Kamil splashes water on his face from the basin on the marble washstand to dispel the numbing hollowness he always feels in those gray moments between waking and the first soothing intricacies of his daily routine—shaving, wrapping his fingers around the calm heat of a steaming glass of tea, turning the pages of the newspaper. The mirror shows a lean, tired face, thin lips pressed in a grim line beneath his mustache, eyes obscured by unruly black hair. A single bolt of gray arcs above his left brow. He quickly rubs pomade in his wet hands and slicks down his hair, which springs up again immediately. With an exasperated sigh, he turns to Yakup, who is holding out his trousers. Yakup is a thin, dour man in his thirties with high cheekbones and a long face. He waits with the preoccupied look of a lifelong servant no longer concerned with the formalities of rank, but simply intent on his task.
"I wonder what has happened," Kamil mutters. Believing himself to be a man of even temperament, he is wary of the surfeit of emotion that would cause someone to pound on his door in the middle of the night.
Yakup helps him into a white shirt, stambouline frock coat, and yellow kid boots, intricately tooled. Made by a master bootmaker in Aleppo according to a method passed only from father to son, they are as soft as the skin at a woman's wrist, but indestructible and impervious to both knife and water. Etched in the leather inside the shaft is a grid of tiny talismanic symbols that call on powers beyond those of the bootmaker to strengthen the wearer. Kamil is a tall man, slim and well muscled, but his slightly rounded shoulders and upward-tilting chin convey the impression that he is bending forward to inquire about something, a man lost in thought, bowed over old manuscripts. When he looks up, his moss green eyes contradict this otherworldliness with their force and clarity. He is a man who controls his environment by comprehending it. As a result, he is uninterested in things beyond his control and exasperated by that beyond his comprehension. Fate belongs in the first category. Family, friends, women inhabit the second. His hands are in constant motion, fingertips slipping over a short string of amber beads he keeps in his right-hand pocket. The amber feels warm, alive to his touch; he senses a pulse, his own, magnified. The fingers of his father and grandfather before him have worn tiny flat planes into the surface of the beads. When his fingers encounter these platforms, Kamil feels part of a mortal chain that settles him in his own time and place. It explains nothing, but it imparts a sense of peace.
He lives frugally, with a minimum of servants, in a small, ocher-colored wood-frame villa that he inherited from his mother. The house is set within a garden, shaded by old umbrella pines, cypress, and mulberry trees, on the Bosphorus shore above Beshiktash. The house had been part of his mother's dowry. She spent her last years there with her two children, preferring the quiet waterfront community, where everyone knew her and had known her parents and grandparents, to the palatial mansion on a hill overlooking the Golden Horn from which his father, Alp Pasha, minister of gendarmes, had governed the province of Istanbul.
Kamil kept the boatman who for years had ferried his father on weekends to his wife's villa. Every morning, Bedri the boatman's knotted arms row Kamil down the strait to the Tophane quay, where a phaeton waits to carry him up the steep hill to the courthouse on the Grande Rue de Pera. On days when his docket is light, Kamil walks from the quay instead, delighted to be outdoors. After his mother died, Kamil had a small winter garden added to the back of the house. As magistrate, he has less time now for botanical expeditions that require weeks of travel, so he tends and studies the orchids he has gathered at his home from many corners of the empire.
Taking a deep breath, Kamil strides down the wide staircase to the entry hall. Waiting impatiently inside the circle of lamps held by Kamil's servants is a short, red-faced man in traditional baggy trousers, his vest askew and one end of his cummerbund coming undone. His red felt cap is wound in a striped cloth. He shifts his weight restlessly from one sturdy leg to the other. Upon seeing Kamil, he bows deeply, touching the fingers of his right hand against his lips and then his forehead, in a sign of respect. Kamil wonders what has happened to agitate the headman to such an extent. A murder would have been brought to the attention of the district police first, not to the magistrate at his home in the middle of the night.
"Peace upon you. What brings you here at this early hour?"
"Upon you be peace, Pasha bey," the headman stutters, his round face reddening further. "I am Ibrahim, headman of Middle Village. Please excuse my intrusion, but a matter has come up in my district that I think you must be told about."
He pauses, his eyes darting into the shadows behind the lamps. Kamil signals to the servants to leave the lamps and withdraw.
"What is it?"
"Efendi, we found a body in the water by the Middle Village mosque."
"Who found it?"
"The garbage scavengers." These semiofficial collectors begin just before dawn to gather the refuse washed up overnight on the shores and streets of the city. After extracting useful items for themselves, they load the rest onto barges to be dumped into the Sea of Marmara, where the current disperses it.
Kamil turns his head toward the sitting room door and the window beyond. A thin wash of light silhouettes the trees in his garden. He sighs and turns back to the headman.
"Why not report this to the police chief of your district?"
Kamil shares jurisdiction with two other magistrates for the European side of the Bosphorus all the way from the grand mosques and covered markets in the south, where the strait loses itself in the Sea of Marmara, to the frieze of villages and stately summer villas extending along its wooded hills north to the Black Sea. Middle Village is little more than half an hour's ride north of Kamil's villa.
"Because it is a woman, bey," the headman stutters.
"A woman?"
"A foreign woman, bey. We believe Frankish."
A European woman. Kamil feels a chill of apprehension. "How do you know she is Frankish?"
"She has a gold cross on a chain around her neck."
Kamil snaps impatiently, "She could just as easily be one of our Christian subjects."
The headman looks at the marble-tiled floor. "She has yellow hair. And a heavy gold bracelet. And something else...."
Kamil sighs. "Why do I have to drag everything out of you? Can't you simply tell me everything you saw?"
The headman looks up helplessly. "A pendant, bey, that opens like a walnut." He cups his hands together, then parts them. "Inside one shell is the tughra of the padishah, may Allah support and protect him." He reaches one cupped hand forward, then the other. "Inside the other are odd characters. We thought it might be Frankish writing."
Kamil frowns. He can't think of any explanation for the sultan's personal signature to be on a piece of jewelry around the neck of a woman outside the sultan's household, much less one with European writing. It makes no sense. The tughra, the sultan's seal, is affixed on special possessions of the imperial household and onto official documents by a special workshop on the palace grounds. The tughranüvis, royal scribes charged with creating the intricate and elegant calligraphic design of the royal name, and the royal engravers are never allowed to leave the palace for fear that they could be kidnapped and forced to affix the signature to counterfeit items. Since the empire is so large and such forgeries might go unnoticed, the only solution is to keep the sultan's "hands" close by his sleeves. Kamil has heard that these scribes carry a fast-acting poison on their person as a further precaution. Only three people hold the royal seal used for documents: the sultan himself, the grand vizier, and the head of the harem household, a trusted old woman who grew up in the palace. Royal objects made of gold, silver, and other valuable materials are engraved with the tughra only on their orders.
The headman's roughened fingers clasp and unclasp as he waits before Kamil, head bowed, eyes shifting anxiously across the marble floor. Noticing his increased agitation, Kamil realizes the headman thinks Kamil blames him for awakening him. He eases the frown from his face. Kamil remembers that even law-abiding citizens have reason to fear the power of the police and courts. The headman is also a craftsman responsible to his guild master for his behavior and afraid of bringing official wrath down on his fellows. He probably brought the matter to the magistrate's attention instead of the Middle Village police because of the gold found on the body. The local police might have stripped the body of valuables as efficiently as the garbage scavengers and he might be held responsible. But the sultan's seal and the fact that the woman might be European also indicated that the matter would fall under Kamil's jurisdiction of Pera. While the sultan had given foreigners and non-Muslim minorities of Pera the right to administer their own district and to judge cases related to personal matters, like inheritance and divorce, the population still relied on the palace for protection and the state courts for justice in other matters.
"You did well bringing this to my attention immediately."
The headman's face relaxes and he bows low. "Long life to the padishah. May Allah protect him."
Kamil signals to Yakup, standing just outside the hall door. "Ready a horse and send messengers to Michel Efendi and the police chief responsible for Middle Village district. Ask them to meet me at the mosque and to keep away idlers until I arrive, especially the garbage scavengers. They'll pick her clean. I want to see that pendant. The police are to make sure nothing is disturbed." He adds in a low voice so that the headman does not hear, "And the chief is to make sure the police disturb nothing."
"I sent a messenger to the local police, bey, and told my two sons to stay with the body until I returned."
This headman has healthy ears, Kamil notes.
"You are to be commended, Headman Ibrahim. I will make sure the proper officials are notified of your diligence and desire to please the state." He will ask his assistant to send a commendation to the headman's guild boss.
"I rode here on a neighbor's horse, Pasha bey, so I can show you the way."
THE VILLAGERS HAVE pulled the body out of the water and onto the quay and covered it with a worn sheet. Kamil pulls back the cloth, looking at the face first, out of respect and a certain reluctance. In the year since he was appointed magistrate, most of his cases have involved theft or violence, few death. Her hair is short, an unusual style, pale and fine as undyed silk. Strands of it cradle her face. A cool breeze strokes his neck, but he can feel the heat crouching in the air. Already he is sweating. After a few moments, he pulls the sheet away slowly, exposing her naked skin to the sky and the burning eyes of the men around her. The sharp ammonia stench of human excrement from the rocks at the base of the quay makes him jerk his nose away and step sideways toward the corpse's legs.
He can no longer avoid looking at her body. She is short and slender, like a boy, with small breasts. Her skin is stark white, except for a dark triangle at her pubis. Crabs have begun their work on her fingers and toes. She wears no rings, but a heavy gold bracelet weighs down her left wrist. The currents have cooled her body, so it has not yet begun to change into a corpse; it is still a dead woman. Later, she will become a case, an intellectual puzzle. But now he feels only pity and the shapeless anxiety death always awakens in his body. She is not pretty in the accepted sense; her face is too long and narrow, her features too sharp, with wide, thick lips. Perhaps the face in motion might have been attractive, he muses. But now her face has the cool, dispassionate remove of death, the muscles neither relaxed nor engaged in emotion, her skin an empty tent stretched over her bones.
A gold cross hangs from a short chain around her neck. It is remarkable that the cross has not come off during the body's tumultuous ride through the currents, he thinks. Perhaps the body has not come far.
He bends closer to examine the necklace. The cross is wide and showy, of beaten gold, decorated with etched roses whose outlines have been filled in with red enamel, now cracked. The metal is twisted where the chain passes through, as if it had snagged on something or someone had tried to pull it off. He lifts the cross with the tip of his finger. Hidden beneath it, in the deep hollow of the woman's throat, is a round silver pendant, simple but beautifully designed. A thin line bisects it.
He leans closer to the dead woman's neck. A damp, mineral cold seems to rise from the body, or perhaps it is his own face that has become clammy. He looks up into the glare of the strait to steel himself. Drawing a deep breath, he returns his attention to the pendant. He inserts his thumbnail and pries the halves apart, angles them so that they catch the morning sun, and peers inside. A tiny recessed lock that had held the halves together is broken. The inner surface is engraved with a tughra on the top half and, on the bottom, strange markings—as if a child had tried to draw a picture using only short, straight lines—unlike any European language he has seen.
He lets the cross and pendant fall back onto the woman's neck and turns over her wrist to examine the bracelet. It too is unusual; as wide as his hand, it is woven of thin filaments of red and white gold in a checkerboard pattern. The bracelet fits tightly around her wrist, held in place by a slim metal post inserted into interlaced channels.
The crowd of locals jostling to see has increased; it is time to move. He gestures to one of the policemen.
"Cover the body and bring it to the hamam."
The policeman bows, pressing his fist solemnly against his forehead, then against his heart.
Kamil looks around for the headman, who is standing proudly in a knot of local men, answering questions. The two strapping young men flanking him must be his sons, he thinks with a twinge of regret. Kamil has not married, despite his parents' and now his sister Feride's introductions to any number of suitable young women from good families. He would love to have a grown son or daughter, but the emotional messiness and demands on his time he imagines would be made by a wife and young children repel him.
"Where was the body found?"
The headman leads him down a short flight of steps to a narrow rocky cove behind the mosque. The rococo mosque stands on the tip of a spit of rock that stretches out into the Bosphorus like a hook, making a natural barrier. It looks like an ornate wedding cake of white marble on an outstretched hand. On its southern side is a small open square where men come to sit and drink tea under the plane trees, watching the fishermen make their boats ready and mend their nets.
Kamil picks his way, stepping carefully to avoid the night's effluvium. He squats at the water's edge. Opaque in the early light, it sloshes heavily against the rocks as if weary.
"This is where they found her. There's a whirlpool that washes things up. My sons are fishermen and were in the square cleaning their boat when they heard a commotion. They ran over and stopped the scavengers from taking the bracelet."
"Your sons are admirable young men, Ibrahim Efendi."
The headman bows his head, suppressing a smile. "Thank you. I'm proud of my sons."
"Did the scavengers take anything else?"
"Not that I know of."
"I'd like to speak with your sons."
Kamil questions them. The younger boy, his mustache still only a soft shadow above his lip, answers so earnestly that his words pile up one on another and the magistrate is forced to ask him to repeat. The body had been caught on a rocky protrusion and the young men happened upon the scavengers just as they finished pulling it onto the shore. They had called their fellow fishermen over and together they kept the scavengers from looting the body while the younger brother ran to fetch his father. The men had no idea who the woman was. This did not surprise Kamil, since the only women whose faces these men were likely to have seen were their own relations or women of easy virtue. While the Christian and Jewish subjects of the sultan did not always veil their faces, they were nevertheless modest and did not display themselves to strangers in the streets unnecessarily. Kamil sends the eager young man to find the village midwife. He will need her help to examine the body. From his elder brother, Kamil learns that the fishermen had heard strange noises coming from shore the night before, the barking of wild dogs and a splash.
The men place the body on a board that only moments before had carried loaves bound for the bakery ovens, drape it with the sheet, and carry it up a narrow dirt alley between the overhanging roofs of wooden houses. Their feet stir up white puffs as they pass. Soon the householders will emerge for their morning chores and sprinkle water on the streets to lay the dust. Pigeons and doves murmur behind the high garden walls.
The hamam is a square stone building topped by a large round dome. Since it is early, the fires that heat the pipes under the floor have not yet been stoked, and water does not yet flow into the basins set into the wall around the room. The gray marble rooms are cool and dry. The men file through a series of small echoing antechambers until they reach the large central room beneath the dome. When the hamam is in use, bathers soak in this room in cascades of hot water brimming from marble basins in a haze of steam. Kamil directs the men to lay the body on the marble belly stone, the round, raised massage platform dominating the center of the room, and to light the lamps.
"Good morning." Michel Sevy, the police surgeon, appears behind Kamil, startling him.
"I didn't expect you so soon."
Kamil had requested the young Jewish surgeon's assistance on this case, as on others, not just for his medical knowledge, but for his skill in documenting the telling details of a crime scene in his notes and sketches. Still, Kamil finds Michel's habit of appearing at his elbow, seemingly out of nowhere, vaguely disquieting, as though it were not in his power to command Michel. Rather, the surgeon arrives as a djinn might, stealthily and unpredictably.
"You must have galloped the entire way from Galata," observes Kamil dryly. Michel's heavyset face and thick neck are red from exertion. His hair and mustache are the color of wet sand and his large, doleful eyes an indeterminate hazel. They roam the room slowly as he takes off his outer robe and hands it to the policeman by the door.
Kamil reflects that Michel reminds him of the brown spiders in the northeast mountains. The spiders were the size of a fist, but their coloring perfectly camouflaged them in the low, sere brush, so that travelers did not see them until they were underfoot. They were fast and, when they ran, let out high-pitched squeals, like babies. He had seen a man die after being surprised and bitten by such a spider. Usually, Michel's penchant for colorful dress draws attention to him that his person does not, but when pursuing criminals into their neighborhood dens, Kamil has seen Michel in dun-colored pants and robe that render him all but invisible.
Today Michel is wearing baggy blue shalwar trousers under a red-striped robe held in place by a wide belt of yellow cloth. His black leather shoes make no sound as he walks across the marble floor toward the belly stone. He moves with the careful deliberation of a wrestler.
"I was curious. The messenger gave me only half a story. Something about a drowned foreign princess."
His smile fades as he looks down at the dead woman.
"Besides," he continues, looking more serious, "this is partly a Jewish neighborhood, so I thought I could be of some assistance."
Despite Michel's abruptness, Kamil appreciates his direct answers, so different from the usual polite circumlocutions with which conversations are initiated. He finds that people often are afraid to tell him what they know, in case they are wrong. They also are afraid to say that they don't know something. His teachers at Cambridge University, where he had studied law and criminal procedure for a year, assumed that when questioned, a person would answer with either truth or falsehood. They had no concept of Oriental politeness that avoids the shame of ignorance and shies away from the brutal directness of truth, and that encourages invention and circumlocution as the highest markers of ethical behavior.
Accuracy in a subordinate means sacrificing the buffer of respectful indirectness and obfuscation of problems that would have spared his superior from worry. But Kamil, laboring since his youth under the heavy mantle of his father's status, is only too happy to shrug it off.
"I HAVE the tools."
Michel pulls a leather-wrapped kit from his belt and places it on the belly stone, at the head of the corpse. He takes a folder of thick blank paper from a saddlebag, and a narrow lacquered box from which he extracts a pen and several sticks of fine charcoal.
"Ready."
"We'll wait for the midwife. In the meantime, go to the street and see what you can learn. Was anyone traveling last night or out on a boat and did they see or hear anything? The fishermen mentioned barking dogs. Did anyone notice an unknown woman in the vicinity? Also, send two policemen along the shore north of here. Her clothes are missing and there may be some signs of a struggle. Perhaps someone heard something in one of the other villages near the shore. Have them check in the coffeehouses. That's always the best way to learn anything. On your way out, clear the room of onlookers. Have them leave the lamps."
Michel does as he is told and then is gone, leaving the door ajar.
A few moments later a woman in a frayed cloak appears in the doorway just inside the circle of light. Her head and shoulders are draped in a brown shawl. Slipping off her outer shoes, she pads softly across the marble on leather socks. She removes her cloak and shawl with swift, practiced motions, folds them neatly, and drapes them over a nearby basin. Underneath, she wears a striped robe over wide trousers and a kerchief tied around her graying hair.
"Are you the midwife of Middle Village?"
"Yes, my name is Amalia." She averts her face modestly, but alert eyes sweep the room. Seeing the body on the marble slab, she comes forward.
"Poor woman." She smoothes the hair gently away from the dead woman's face.
"Is this as she was found?" She moves to the body and begins examining it. She is used to being in command of a situation and seems oblivious that she is sharing this activity with a magistrate.
"Yes. We need to know if she has been tampered with and anything else you can tell us. I will wait over here."
He withdraws to the outer shadows and waits at a discreet distance, but where he can still see what she is doing.
The midwife's practiced hands probe the body of the dead woman.
"A woman in her twenties, I would say. Not a virgin. She has not previously given birth; there are no signs of stretching."
Kamil frowns. "Perhaps she killed herself over the loss of her honor and threw herself into the Bosphorus. She wouldn't be the first girl to do so. Some of the Franks are as fastidious in their expectations of women as we are. If she is unmarried, it could ruin her."
"Possible, I suppose." Amalia moves her fingers over the dead woman's face and pulls up her eyelids.
"Dark eyes." She bends closer and then looks up abruptly. "Look at this, Magistrate bey. The eyes are blue, but the pupils are too large. There is only a small rim of blue visible. Perhaps she was drugged."
Kamil steps forward and looks down at the woman's eyes.
"What could cause the pupils to expand like that?"
"Apoplexy, but she's far too young for a disease like that." She thinks for a moment. "Many years ago, an old uncle in my family died of opium poisoning. He had such eyes. At the end, he was a bone with huge eyes, black like cups of coffee."
Kamil feels chilled and plunges his hands into his pockets.
"Opium poisoning?"
She looks at him curiously, alert to a change in the quality of his voice. "Yes, but I don't think that can be the case here." She points at the body. "She's too healthy. Opium addicts stop eating and taking care of themselves."
"But maybe she just started smoking opium. Maybe it's not that far advanced."
"Then her eyes wouldn't be dilated. That happens only at the end."
"At the end," Kamil repeats in a low voice. Abruptly, he walks over to one of the basins against the wall. He turns the spigot handle, releasing a gush of water. He quickly turns it back, but not before wetting his sleeve.
Amalia watches him carefully and reaches her own conclusions. "If there is anything—" she begins, but Kamil cuts her off.
"So if it's not apoplexy or opium, may Allah protect us, what else can it be?"
"There's one other possibility," she says slowly, thinking her way toward the answer. "Tube flower."
"Tube flower? Isn't that for colds?" Kamil has a vague childhood memory of inhaling steam from a cup of viscous yellow liquid to quell a cough.
"Yes, it's used as a cough medicine. The herbalists in the Egyptian Spice Bazaar sell it. But I've heard that drinking it makes people see and hear things that aren't there, and can even cause death if it's strong enough."
Kamil is surprised. "Why on earth would they sell something like that in the bazaar?"
The midwife shakes her head at the ignorance of men. "You're not supposed to drink it, just inhale or smoke it. You'd be surprised how many things in an ordinary household can cause death."
"That would make our job endless."
"It shows that people are not evil," she responds, "and can resist temptation. Believe me, every house in this village has a motive for murder. All you need is a mother-in-law and daughter-in-law under the same roof. It's a wonder tube flowers aren't more popular." She turns before Kamil can see the smile flit across her face.
Her face is serious again when she bends down and picks up the dead woman's hand. She examines the palms and fingers, looks at the intricate clasp of the gold bracelet. The limbs move reluctantly. Rigor mortis is finishing what the crabs left undone.
"A lady. These hands have never worked the fields, scrubbed laundry, or labored in a kitchen. The nails are perfectly shaped, not cut straight across like those of women who must work in their households. They're not torn, as they might be from a struggle. Indeed I see no marks on her that indicate she struggled. The skin is unmarked except for the effects of its passage through the strait."
She steps back and looks at the body.
"Her hair is short. I don't know the meaning of that. Among some minorities, women cut their braids when they marry. But there's no wedding ring and no mark on her finger where it would have been."
She turns her head toward him.
"She doesn't appear to have been dead very long. The water has done little. I've seen fishermen and young boys who drowned in the Bosphorus and washed up in Middle Village. This young woman didn't come very far."
Kamil shifts restlessly. He scans the room in vain for Michel's bundle, where he might find paper and ink to take notes. It was a mistake to send him out before the midwife's arrival.
"Please continue. So you believe she drowned."
She pulls at the dead woman's shoulders to turn the body. Kamil helps her. The cold, clammy texture and unnatural firmness of dead flesh shocks and disgusts him, as it always does.
What is life, he wonders, when death can claim so much of what we are for itself? Here is the woman, whole, yet where is she who had thought, eaten, and perhaps laughed or wept the day before?
At such moments, he wishes intensely that he could believe in the afterlife promised in Islam, the clear rivers and unending companionship. But he had not been able to believe in his youth, and now he believes in a future of science and progress, which is inevitable and eternal, but does not include him beyond his life span. A belief of little comfort to the weak in their flimsy barques, or to the strong when the unforeseen upsets the course upon which they have set their ships. Kamil has known both kinds of men and the immovable anchors of faith that give them the illusion of a steady harbor. They do not understand that they are still at sea and that the danger has not passed. Faith is an anchor in a bottomless sea.
The midwife instructs Kamil to prop the body on its side. When she pulls down on the jaw, a stream of dark water spills from the mouth. She pulls the head forward and pumps the body's arm. A pink froth bubbles at the lips.
"Drowned. If she were already dead when she entered the water, she would not have breathed water into her lungs."
They let the body slide back onto the marble. Kamil is grateful to let go. His hands are clammy and he resists the temptation to thrust them into his pockets to warm them.
The midwife points to a large mole on the dead woman's right shoulder. "That might help to identify her."
She stands back, waiting for further instructions.
"Thank you. You've been most helpful and highly observant."
She smiles thinly. He muses that this simple village midwife has more scientific acumen than many educated bureaucrats of his acquaintance. It's a simple matter of reading the given evidence for data, not conjecturing on the basis of possible hypotheses.
Popular fears can fatten fatally on the thinnest gruel, especially in times of insecurity. Like the present. The imperial treasury taken over by European powers as a result of the empire's debts, wars on many fronts, and factions battling over what kind of government the empire should have—a parliament or undiluted power in the hands of the sultan. In every direction, the empire's provinces are being clawed away by nationalists supported by Europe and Russia. The streets of Istanbul teem with refugees. Kamil doubts whether even a parliament could stem the bleeding of treasure, land, and people from the great, unwieldy body of the Ottoman state, the boundaries of which these days are as soft and indistinct as those of Fat Orhan at the Turkish bath.
Change creates anxiety, Kamil muses, in high places and low. An anxious populace is eager to be distracted by dark fairy tales. This midwife will keep her sense, though.
She sees the approval in his eyes and smiles again, genuinely this time.
"I would like you to do me one more favor," he adds. "Ask in the village whether anyone knows this woman, or has heard or seen anything unusual. If so, send a messenger to the magistrate's headquarters directly, and I will send my assistant to speak with you." He assumes that, like most of the population, she is unable to read or write.
"We will thank the messenger," he adds, politely skirting any open discussion of money. "One more thing. You will not mention"—he pauses and gestures toward the body—"the condition of the deceased."
She agrees and bows her head slightly. She pulls on her outer garments and leaves.
Kamil is alone with the corpse. The body has not yet begun to decompose. It gives off a wet, empty smell.
A sudden movement just outside the circle of light startles him.
"Michel! How long have you been there?"
"I came in right after she began her examination. I sent the police off to find out what they can. I'll talk to the residents myself later. I thought you might need me here instead."
Kamil is simultaneously aware that Michel had disobeyed him, but, as if he could read Kamil's mind, had instead done what Kamil had silently wished.
"Yes, of course," he agrees reluctantly, aware that somehow he has lost, but unsure in what game.
"I've been in the next room, taking notes. The rooms echo. I could hear her perfectly in there. What a perceptive crone, eh?" he says admiringly. "She saved us a lot of examination."
"Yes, she was very good. We should check with the merchants in the bazaar to see whether they remember who recently bought dried tube flowers."
"You know, the Istanbul Sephardim tell about drops used by their Spanish ancestors to make their eyes seem black and large; they call the substance belladonna, beautiful woman. I wonder if it's the same as our humble tube flower."
Michel walks over to the body, a small bowl in his hand. With a sudden movement, he turns the body onto its side and presses on its chest. A thin stream of liquid spurts from its mouth into the bowl.
Michel examines the liquid. "I'll be able to tell from this whether she drowned in salt water or fresh." He eyes the leather bag of tools still lying at the head of the corpse. "I could check the contents of her stomach."
"I think we can't afford to do anything before contacting the foreign embassies. If this is one of their nationals, they won't want us to return a carved-up body."
"Yes, you're quite right." Michel looks disappointed.
"Give me the cutters."
Kamil snaps the necklace chain. He works at the clasp of the bracelet and pulls it off. Opening the pendant, he hands it to Michel.
"There is a tughra inside."
Michel turns the pendant over in his hand and examines it from all sides. "And some other markings. Do you know what they are?"
"I don't."
"She has some connection to the palace, then?"
"Perhaps. I wonder. Eight years ago, an Englishwoman was found dead just north of here at Chamyeri. A governess at the palace, Hannah Simmons. They found her floating in a pond. She'd been strangled." He frowns. "I don't suppose there's a connection."
He doesn't mention that the victim's name stuck in his mind because the superintendent of police for Beyoglu was removed from office by the minister of gendarmes—the man who had replaced his father—because he had failed to find the murderer. Kamil had perused the file on the murder when new at his job, but decided not to reopen the case. Too many years had gone by and it was not politically expedient to try to solve an unsolvable crime, especially one that involved members of the powerful foreign community and the sultan's palace. Now here is another young foreign woman dead, this time on his watch. He stiffens his posture to hide his anxiety and his excitement.
"That was the body found on the scholar's property above Chamyeri. It made for a lot of gossip at the time," Michel remembers.
"That's right. Ismail Hodja's house." The lesser details in Hannah Simmons's file had been shouldered aside by the continual press of new cases.
He ponders the young woman on the platform. "Just a coincidence, probably. She could be Circassian or from the Balkans. They're often yellow-haired with light-colored eyes. Anyway, Chamyeri is quite a ways north of Middle Village."
"Not that far by water. The current is powerful there. A corpse thrown in at Chamyeri would end up at Middle Village in no time at all. If the killer is the same person, then either he lives in that area or is a frequent visitor. One has to know the Bosphorus to navigate it or to wander its shores at night. The wild dogs alone would keep people away."
"I can't imagine it has anything to do with Ismail Hodja," Kamil responds firmly, his eyes following the cones of light as they descend from the dome and pierce the body on the belly stone. He is distressed by how quickly the surgeon accepted a link between the two murders. "The hodja's reputation is impeccable."
And there was no one else at his house who would come into question. The details in Hannah Simmons's file were jostling at the gates of Kamil's memory. The hodja's sister was a recluse, his niece a mere child at the time. There were only a few servants; not a large household.
"Anyway, the body was found in the forest behind his house, near the road, I believe. So it could have been anyone. Still," he muses aloud, "I wonder whether it would be worthwhile to talk to the hodja or his niece."
Michel doesn't answer. Kamil turns to find him still holding the pendant and staring intently at the body.
Michel turns and asks in a carefully neutral voice, "Do you want me to wrap this up?" He indicates the pendant in his hand.
"The cross and bracelet too. I'll take them with me." Pointing his chin at the body, "We don't even know who the woman is. She appears to be foreign, so I'll begin with the embassies."
Michel hands him the small bundle. He lays his cloak over the cold belly stone, sits on it, and takes out his sketching materials.
"But first I'll go home to change," Kamil adds companiably.
Michel doesn't look up, but begins drawing the body.
Kamil watches Michel's head bowed over the paper, fascinated by the creation emerging from beneath his stick of charcoal. He reflects about how little he knows of Michel's personal life, other than that he is unmarried and lives with his widowed mother in the Jewish quarter of Galata, and the story of their shared history. They spend time together in coffeehouses and clubs discussing everything under the sun, but Michel never opens to Kamil the private book of his life.
He and Michel attended the same school and knew each other by sight, but belonged to different circles. Michel, whose father had been a dealer in semiprecious stones, won a scholarship to attend the prestigious imperial school at Galata Saray. Children of wealthy Muslims, Jews, Armenians, Greeks, and other sons of the far-flung empire bowed their heads together over texts in history, logic, science, economy, international law, Greek, Latin, and, of course, Ottoman, that convolution of Persian, Arabic, and Turkish. It was not social class, religion, or language that separated Michel and Kamil in school, but the nature of their interests.
Soon after becoming magistrate, while Kamil was walking up the narrow streets toward his office, a man got up from a stool outside a coffeehouse and approached him. Kamil recognized the flamboyant colors of his old schoolmate's clothing and his wrestler's glide. That evening, they sat together in the coffeehouse and, over narghiles of apple-cured tobacco, exchanged news of their activities since graduation. Michel was finishing his training in surgery at the Imperial School of Medicine. Kamil was among the young men chosen for training in France and England as magistrates and judges in the newly introduced European-style secular courts that had shouldered aside the religious courts of the kadi judges. Michel had volunteered his services to Kamil, who eventually sponsored his appointment as police surgeon. Michel's intimate knowledge of the neighborhood had helped Kamil solve several cases. Michel also introduced him to the Grand Bazaar, a city of tiny shops all under one roof, surrounded by a warren of workshops—hundreds of establishments, some no bigger than a man's reach, owned by men of all the empire's faiths. Michel's father and two generations before him had been merchants there.
Kamil pauses under the arched doorway leading out of the hamam, the polite formula of parting dying on his lips, unwilling to intrude on Michel's concentration.
Kamil turns and makes his way through the echoing antechambers. He stops at a basin, turns the metal cock all the way open, and rubs his hands together under the cold water. There is no soap, but he feels less polluted. He shakes the excess water off his hands and strides out of the gloom. At the threshold, he is momentarily felled by the brightness of the world.
His hands still chilled, he mounts his horse and winds his way up past the village and into the forest. Here, the morning sun filters softly through the trees. Birds chirrup madly; the shrill calls of young children fall through the air like knives.
When he reaches the road beyond the forest, he spurs his horse to a gallop.
## 2
## When the Lodos Blows
Every morning, my dayi, Ismail Hodja, put a soft-boiled egg in his mouth and sat without chewing, eyes lowered, until the egg was gone. It was not until I was in my twenties that I understood. Anticipation is the brilliant goad to pleasure. But at the time, I was only a child of nine, transfixed at the breakfast table. Ismail Dayi always ate the same breakfast: black tea in a tulip-shaped glass, one slice of white franjala bread, a handful of black, brine-soaked olives, a chunk of goat's cheese, a small bowl of yoghurt, and a glass of whey. In that order. Then the egg, which lay peeled and shivering in a cobalt blue saucer, blue-white and glinting with moisture. Its broad end was slightly raised, the yolk casting a sickle-moon shadow. My uncle ate his breakfast slowly and methodically, without speaking. Then he reached for the egg with two long, slim fingers. His fingers indented the pudgy waistline of the egg as he lifted it, quivering, to his mouth. He deposited it carefully on his tongue, taking care not to brush it with his teeth. Then he closed his lips around the egg and, eyes lowered, sat until it had magically disappeared. I saw him neither chew nor swallow.
During this time, Mama was in the kitchen, rinsing the plates and topping up the double boiler in which the tea brewed. We did not have live-in servants in Ismail Dayi's house and Mama herself prepared our breakfast before the cook and her assistant arrived for the day. When I would ask Mama, "Why does Ismail Dayi keep the egg in his mouth?" she would look away and busy herself.
"I don't know what you mean. Don't ask silly questions, Jaanan. Drink your tea."
Ismail was my mother's brother. We lived in his house because Papa had taken a second wife, and Mama had moved out of our big house in Nishantashou, where Papa lived now with Aunt Hüsnü.
Ismail Dayi's house was two stories high, its smooth wooden flanks painted rust red. It was set in a garden on the shore of the Bosphorus just outside the village of Chamyeri. Behind the house, a forest of plane trees, cypresses, and oaks painted the steep hills. The house was set on the narrow stage of the shore in front of this towering green backdrop. Before us, the broad band of the Bosphorus glittered with light, its currents twining and coiling like a living creature. Sometimes the water threw up arcs of dolphins trailing aquatic rainbows. The colors of the water changed constantly in response to forces I still do not understand, from oily black to bottle green and, on rare magical days, to a translucent pastel green so clear that I felt if I looked long enough, I would see the bottom. On days of such clarity, I lay on the warm stones of the shore wall and let my head hang over the edge, looking for quicksilver sprays of anchovies. Below them I imagined the cool, heavy bodies of bigger fish turning and slipping through the liquid light. The shifting sands beneath uncovered the pale moon faces of dead princesses, eyes closed, lips slightly parted in fruitless protests against their fate. The gold thread of their brocaded gowns weighed them down. Their delicate hands lay, palms up, pinned to the sand by enormous emerald and diamond rings. Their black hair streamed in the current.
On cold days, I lay reading on the cushioned divan in the garden pavilion. It was a one-room structure with tall windows looking out over the water. Stacks of mattresses and quilts were kept ready for visitors who preferred to sleep there on hot nights. In winter, wooden shutters protected it against the wind and a brazier provided warmth and heated water for tea, although hardly anyone went there once the weather turned chill.
Mama complained about being isolated from her friends and the social life of the city. It was a long way to come from Istanbul by bullock cart or boat just to share a cup of coffee. The ferry from Istanbul took almost two hours and docked north of here at Emirgan. It took a carriage another hour to come the rest of the distance. Not many ladies had their husbands' permission to stay the night. Only in summer, when the ladies moved to their summer houses on the Bosphorus, did we socialize. But I loved Ismail Dayi's house. I was allowed to roam the garden in the benign care of Halil, our old gardener, and, later, under the watchful eyes of Madam Élise, my French governess and teacher.
Those first years in Chamyeri, Papa came once every week to try to convince Mama to return. I heard them arguing behind the carved wooden doors of the receiving room. He told her he would buy a separate house for her, that there was no need for her to live with her brother. But no matter how much I flattened my ear against the door, I never heard my mother's response. In retrospect, I can see that her refusal to return to Papa's protection must have shamed him before his family and peers, and this small protest gave my mother strength. By moving into my father's house, even into a house apart from the one in Nishantashou where he lived with Aunt Hüsnü, Mama would have signaled her acceptance of Aunt Hüsnü as his kuma.
I don't know whether Papa sent my mother's financial due to Ismail Dayi, or, if he did, whether Ismail Dayi accepted it. Despite his eccentricities, Ismail Dayi was a respected hodja, a jurist and poet who had inherited his parents' house and considerable wealth. Mama's inheritance had gone with her into her marriage dowry, but remained hers to claim. Between Papa's visits, Mama sat at her needlework in the receiving room, waiting for visitors who rarely arrived, her fingers dancing over the silk thread.
This was our life at Chamyeri until I was thirteen, in the Rumi year 1294, or 1878 by your reckoning, when I found the body of a woman in the pond behind our house. The pond, fed by an invisible spring, is shallow at one end and unfathomably deep at the other. It is so wide that a stone hurled by a young girl will not reach the other side. It is hidden behind a ruined stone wall in the forest. The woman Hannah was floating in knee-deep water, face down, her arms outstretched in an embrace. I did not realize she was dead, having no experience in such things. I stroked her hair. She looked peaceful, like a water princess, and I tried not to disturb her too much as I took her hand and turned her face to the sky. Her blue eyes were open. I told her that I lived here with my mother and my dayi. She looked surprised. I combed her hair with my fingers, arranged her dress, and placed a wildflower against her throat before going back to the house. When I told Madam Élise that a woman was asleep in the water and I could not wake her, I did not yet know the water there was deep enough to drown in.
The Bosphorus is a powerful sinew of water that flexes and pushes and roils down its long, wide chute to the Sea of Marmara, impatient to find the warm Mediterranean and dissolve into the salty womb of the ocean. Young boys from the village jump in and disappear, moments later emerging hundreds of yards downstream, where they must use all the force of their thin brown arms to reach shore again. Despite vigorous rowing, a boat headed upstream seems held in place by an unseen hand. When one next looks out, magically the boat has progressed.
Boats headed south, toward Istanbul, shoot along, passengers holding firmly to the creaking shell as the boatmen battle with their rudders. Halil, who had been a fisherman before he lost two fingers to a runaway net and became our gardener, told me that the Bosphorus has two currents. One runs north to south along the surface, carrying cold fresh water from the Black Sea to the Mediterranean; the other, a slippery rope of warm saline liquid, slithers south to north forty meters beneath the hard-muscled surface. The fishermen know that if you drop a line a certain length, you will catch palamut, lufer, and is tavrit that in spring dangle like silver coins from the fishermen's lines. If you lower your hook farther, there abide mezgit and kalkan. A net caught up by the lower current will pull a boat inescapably northward. When the lodos blows from the southwest, the currents tangle and shift. The wrong fish are caught. Village boys do not reemerge. Young women drown in knee-deep water.
When Madam Élise saw the dead girl in the pond, she left us that same afternoon, crying and flailing her arms if anyone came near her.
After Madam Élise's abrupt departure, I was happy. With no lessons, I spent hours perched on the stone wall dangling my legs toward the water below, watching large pleasure kayaks go by like creatures with many legs moving up and down in unison. I could make out the conical red felt hats of the teams of rowers. Veiled ladies sat on cushions and carpets on the foredeck, their heads nodding to one another in conversation like doves. Maidservants shaded them with fringed parasols. If they were women of high officials or the royal family, between the women and the rowers, under a particularly large parasol, would sit a fat eunuch, his dark skin melting into the shade. Sometimes I lay on my back on the warm stones, watching the sky careen about me. The scent of jasmine trailed across me like a cloak worn by the breeze.
When I went to the long, gold-framed mirror in the receiving room, the only mirror Mama allowed in the house, I saw a girl-child with black curls that hung to her waist, eyes a pure azure blue, as if they had absorbed the summer sky. My eyes, mother told me, were inherited from a Circassian ancestor, a slave who had become the wife of a high official.
I LEARNED TO swim. I owe that skill to Violet. Violet is the daughter of Mama's distant relation, a fisherman in Cheshme on the Aegean coast. As a child, I had never been to the coast, but Violet brought it to me—the warm sand, the smell of pine, and above all the kinship with the sea that flows in the veins of all its residents. Violet grew up a dolphin. When she came to us as my companion and servant, I was fourteen and she fifteen.
Violet had been sent to us by her father because he was in need of a new fishing boat. It was not uncommon for a wealthy family to adopt a poorer relative as a servant. The girl was expected to obey and serve her new family and to behave in a manner that brought credit to them. In return, the wealthier family gave her room and board, perhaps a simple education, eventually found her a suitable husband and paid the considerable wedding expenses. Through intermediaries, Ismail Dayi had sent out word that his niece needed a companion and had sent Violet's father the price of a new boat in return for a chance at a better life for his daughter. As was traditional for servants entering a household, Mama gave her a flower name. Violet, because she was small and shy.
Halil brought her in the cart from the boat landing in Chamyeri. A small brown figure in a rough cloak, she slid from the cart, clutching her bundle. She refused to surrender it to Halil to carry. In the first months, she kept her eyes lowered and spoke only when spoken to. Mama gave her a room at the back of the house that looked toward the road and into the forest. The green of the forest colored the air in Violet's room, unlike our own bright bedrooms floating between the blues of water and sky. At night, I crept down the corridor and set my ear to her door, listening to the faraway sound of her weeping.
Violet's body was slim, taut, and brown as a nut. It gleamed with the energy of the sea. She boasted of her ability to swim and I begged her to teach me. We shed our cloaks and hovered like water fairies in the silk gauze smocks I had assumed would be appropriate swimwear.
In Cheshme, Violet confided, she had entered the sea—the sea, she stressed, not a small pond—wearing, scandalously, nothing. When no one was about, she hastened to assure me.
"How can you swim in this sack?" she asked scathingly, bunching the gauze in her small brown fists.
That afternoon, Halil had walked to the coffeehouse in the village, and I knew he would be gone for hours. There were no visitors expected. I pulled off the chemise, the white silk pooling at my feet. My skin had a blue cast to it, and I was immediately covered in goose bumps. Violet was like an animal of a different species. She glowed with a mineral health. I could not then differentiate between earthy enjoyment of the common brown nut and the delicate flavor of the peeled unripe almond newly released from its green veil. At the time, I envied Violet the unconcerned windmilling of her arms and her broad-legged stance, unmindful of the cut of her sex, that place that Madam Élise had impressed upon me was to be guarded against intrusion, never to be revealed.
Violet slid into the deep end of the pond and bobbed up, looking at me expectantly. Keeping my legs together, I sat at the edge of the water, the cold, slick stone unfamiliar and thrilling to my naked flesh. I do not recall thinking long about things. That is the advantage and disadvantage of youth. In one motion, I let myself fall into this new world. I remember the thrill of swift silk drawn over my body. I fell and fell into a world of dumb cries, huge shadows, and a lethargy of limbs. I remember noticing the sunlight cutting the water like a gem. And opened my mouth. Panic. Flailing. A grip on my waist, and I was hauled up into a blinding world, the light inside my head too bright to bear. Pulled onto the stones. Beached. Exposed. Violet was heaving beside me, dripping everywhere. When I could breathe again, I squinted at her and we began to laugh.
## 3
## The Ambassador's Daughter
Kamil stands in a reception room at the British Embassy while a servant carries his calling card on a silver tray to the ambassador of Her Majesty's government to the Ottoman Empire. Someone has tried to offset the heavy, dark furniture with rich, warm fabrics and a bright carpet. Kamil steps over to a small fireplace behind an ornate ironwork grate and is disappointed to see it is not lit. He can't shake off the chill of the old building, despite the early summer heat gathering outside the windows. His eye is drawn to a large oil painting above the mantel depicting what he assumes to be a scene from classical mythology: a pale, naked youth reaching for a nubile and equally bare young woman fleeing his embrace. Discreet billows of white cloth snake across their loins. The woman's limbs are round and solid as pillars so that, incongruously, she appears stronger than the delicate young man pursuing her. Her small, plump lips are parted in a half smile, her nipples bright pink and erect, and a wash of red over areas of her pearly skin hints at arousal. Kamil wonders what the outcome of this chase would be.
He thinks sadly of his own limited experience: the French actress who played for a season at the Mezkur Theatre; the young Circassian slave to whom, after a time, he had given enough money for a dowry so that she could be freed and married to a young man of her station. He thinks of her now, her long, white limbs blending with those in the painting. He wonders if she ever thinks of him. Dust motes dance in the weak sunlight filtering from behind the heavy plum-colored drapes.
The door opens behind him. Kamil is startled and does not turn right away. Suddenly he has a deeper understanding of the Muslim prohibition of depictions of the body. How odd to hang such a provocative artwork in a room where guests are to be formally received. He notices that the light has changed. How long has he been left to wait in this room?
The elderly servant stands just inside the door, staring at a spot beyond Kamil's left shoulder. Kamil wonders whether the man sees the angel sitting on the shoulder of every Muslim, one on the left, one on the right, or is looking at the naked woman on the wall behind him. Is that a smirk in the corner of the butler's mouth? Perhaps he finds it amusing to trap Muslims in a room with a naked woman. Kamil presumes there are other, more sedately decorated reception rooms. Surely women visitors are not brought here. He struggles to hide his annoyance. He remembers other butlers from his stay in England, all the warmth and personality bred out of them. While Kamil respects and admires European knowledge and technology, there are many areas in which they have much to learn from the Ottomans.
Kamil does not acknowledge the butler, but stands unsmiling, his hands clasped behind his back.
"The ambassador will see you now, sir." Kamil is certain there was an infinitesimal pause before the "sir."
The butler leads the way across the white marble tiles, through the echoing, arched hall and up a magnificent curved stairway. As he follows, Kamil admires the frescoes and peers into the dark lacquered depths of the paintings that line the hall. A frowning Queen Victoria, her neck sheathed in a painful ruff, stares at a point above his head. A race of butlers, he thinks again, bloodless butlers. How have they managed to make such inroads into his lovely, vibrant society, so rich with color and emotion? He remembers the clean logic of his college texts and sighs. Perhaps this is the future, he thinks gloomily. Chaos vanquished by cleanliness, nuance lost to order.
The butler knocks on a heavy white door embossed with gold. At a sound from within, he pushes the door open and stands aside. Kamil enters. The door closes behind him with a click.
THE AMBASSADOR'S OFFICE seems even colder than the reception room, despite the heat Kamil can see shimmering beyond the heavy velvet curtains. Kamil suppresses a shiver and crosses the expanse of gold and blue carpet toward an enormous desk that dwarfs the man sitting behind it. The room has an unwashed smell, as if it has not been aired in a long time. As Kamil approaches, the man stands and moves to greet him, placing one lanky leg before the other in slow motion as if to mime a stride across a larger space. The ambassador is taller than he appears when folded behind his ship of a desk. Almost painfully thin beneath his dark, tailored suit, he has a long, elegant face devoid of expression. Thick whiskers swallow his cheeks, making his face appear even narrower. Kamil remembers that the English call these "muttonchops." The reason escapes him. As he approaches, Kamil sees that the ambassador's cheeks and nose are dusky red, his skin a lace of broken capillaries. His small eyes are a watery blue. The ambassador blinks rapidly, then reaches out a bony hand to Kamil. Kamil, pleased at the courtesy, smiles as he shakes his hand. It is dry as paper and exerts almost no pressure. The ambassador's smile is thin. His breath has the same damp odor as the room.
"What can I do for you, Magistrate?" He motions toward a padded leather armchair and retreats behind his desk.
"I have come on a grave matter, sir," Kamil begins in his accented English, the careful formality of the Orient burnished by a British lilt. "This morning we discovered a woman, deceased. We think she may be one of your subjects."
"A deceased woman, you say?" He shifts nervously in his chair.
"We need to know whether someone has been reported missing, sir. A short, blond woman, about twenty years of age."
"Why are the Turks involved in this?" the ambassador mumbles, as if to himself. He squints quizzically at Kamil, drawing up one side of his lip, exposing a yellowed tooth. "What did she die of?"
"She was murdered, sir."
"What?" The ambassador is surprised. "Well, that is a different matter. Awful. Awful."
"We don't know whether she is English or not, and we don't know the circumstances of her death. I had hoped for your assistance in that."
"Why do you think she's one of our subjects?"
"We don't know that she is. She was Christian. A cross was found around her neck. Judging from her jewelry, she was well off."
"What was she wearing? That should give it away, shouldn't it?"
"She was not wearing clothing."
"By God." The ambassador reddens. "A crime of the most heinous kind, then."
"It may not be...such a crime. There was no evidence of a struggle. She was wearing a pendant with an inscription. I have it here."
Kamil reaches into his jacket and withdraws a small bundle wrapped in a linen handkerchief. He unties the cloth and places it on the desk.
"The cross and gold bracelet were hers too."
The ambassador cranes his neck and with the tips of his fingers slides the handkerchief nearer. He picks up the gold bracelet to test its weight.
"Nice piece of workmanship." He replaces the bracelet carefully on the cloth and touches the bent enameled cross with the tip of one bony finger.
"Where is the inscription?"
"Inside the silver pendant."
The ambassador picks up the small round ball of silver, opens it, and peers into the two halves.
"Can't see a thing." He returns the pendant to the handkerchief. "What does it say?
"Sultan Abdulaziz's tughra is on one side and a design or an ideogram of some kind is on the other."
"Interesting. Any idea what it all means?"
"No, sir. Do you recognize these?"
"What? No. What do I know about ladies' jewelry? I'll tell you who will know. My daughter. Not much for jewelry herself. Like her mother that way." The ambassador stops for a moment, his face still except for the nervous fluttering of his eyelids. "Just like her mother."
Kamil is embarrassed. One never speaks openly to a stranger of one's family. It is almost as if the ambassador has pulled his wife into the room naked.
"She's all that's left to me now." The ambassador shakes his head slowly, his hand toying absently with the pendant.
Kamil searches for the correct words of condolence, but English is so frustratingly devoid of formulaic responses. In Turkish, he would know exactly what to say. In Persian. In Arabic. What does it say about the Franks, that the language for every important event in life has to be invented anew each time?
"I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Ambassador." It seems a feather-light phrase to Kamil. The Turkish formula, "Health to your head," seems more caring and immediate, but he isn't sure how to translate it.
The ambassador waves his fingers in Kamil's direction, then reaches for the brocade bellpull on the wall behind his chair. A moment later, the butler steps in. Kamil wonders whether he has been listening at the door.
"Sir?" "Please ask Miss Sybil to join us."
SOME MINUTES LATER, with the sound of silk rubbing against silk, a plump young woman enters and stands by the door. She is wearing a lace-edged indigo gown. A single teardrop pearl, suspended on a gold chain, rests at the base of her throat, matching the pearls at her ears. Her light brown hair is caught in a halo around her head. Her face is round, with small features, a plain face given grace by a dreaminess that animates her mouth and wide-set violet eyes. She reminds Kamil of the sturdy but perfectly proportioned Gymnadenia orchid common in forests around the city. Its sepals curve downward and with the petals form a shy pink hood that releases an intense perfume.
The young woman's brightness is shaded by sadness, perhaps resignation. She moves with the comfortable efficiency of a treasured servant.
"Yes, Father. You asked for me?"
Kamil stands hurriedly and bows. Her father waves her over.
"Sybil, my dear. This is Magistrate Kamil Pasha. He says someone was found. Well, it's rather awkward. I'll let the magistrate explain." His eyes drift to the papers on his desk.
Sybil turns to Kamil with a questioning look. She reaches only to his shoulder. Her curious violet eyes regard him earnestly.
"Madam." He bows deeply. "Please sit."
She sets herself down primly onto the chair opposite him. The ambassador has begun to read his dispatches.
"What is it that you wish to know?" Her voice is soft but lilting, like water in a stream.
Kamil feels awkward. He is not used to speaking of such things to ladies. He hesitates. What should he say to cushion the effect?
She tilts her head and says encouragingly, "Please, just tell me what the problem is. Who was found?"
"We found a woman, dead." He looks up quickly to see the effect of this on the ambassador's daughter. She is pale but composed. He continues, "We think she may be a foreign subject. I have been given charge of the matter because it is possible that she was murdered. At the moment we are trying to identify her."
"What makes you think she was murdered?"
"She drowned, which, in itself, is not unusual, given the powerful undertow in the Bosphorus. But she was drugged."
"Drugged? With what, may I ask?"
"We believe she ingested belladonna. I think you call it deadly nightshade."
"I see. Belladonna," she muses. "Does that not make one drowsy?"
"Not drowsy, but, in sufficient quantity, paralyzed. In such a state, a person could drown even in a puddle."
"How awful. The poor woman. What else can you tell me about her? What was she wearing?"
"She was found without..." Kamil pauses, wondering how to continue.
"Without clothing?" The young woman's face flushes pink.
"She was found in the Bosphorus within hours of her death. It's possible that the currents are responsible for her state, but it's unlikely."
"Why would that be outside the realm of possibility? You said yourself there are powerful currents."
Kamil considers how to put this. "European women's clothing is not easily disarranged."
The ambassador's startled face rises momentarily from his papers.
Sybil's eyes flash with amusement. Then she says softly, "How terribly sad. You say she was young?"
"Yes, in her twenties. Small, slim, blonde hair. Some jewelry was found with her." He reaches for the handkerchief still on the ambassador's desk. "Would you permit me?"
"Yes, I'll look at them." Her skin has gone the color of parchment, revealing a scattering of tiny freckles across the bridge of her nose. She leans over to take the bundle from Kamil. Her hands are plump, dimpled at the knuckles. Her fingers taper to tiny oval fingernails translucent as seashells. She places the bundle in her lap and unwraps it.
"Poor woman," she murmurs as she strokes each item in turn. She picks up the cross, her face creasing into a frown.
"What is it?" Kamil asks eagerly.
"I've seen this, but I can't remember where. At an evening function of some sort, probably at one of the embassies." She looks up. "Can you tell me anything more about her?"
"Only that her hair was cut rather short and that she had a large mole on her right shoulder."
"Yes, of course!" Her face crumples. "Oh, how simply awful."
Kamil feels a thrill. She knows who it is.
The ambassador looks up at her, then over at Kamil, his face disapproving. He sighs heavily, "I say, Sybil, dear." He remains in his chair, his fingers compulsively smoothing the paper before him.
Kamil stands and walks to her chair.
"Sybil Hanoum." He gently takes the bundle from her hands and replaces it with another clean handkerchief drawn from his pocket. Her slim, tapered fingers twine themselves in the fine linen and she dabs her eyes. Kamil never uses handkerchiefs for their intended purpose, a disgusting Frankish practice, but has found many other uses for a handy square of clean cloth.
"I'm sorry, Kamil Pasha."
Kamil sits again and looks at her expectantly.
"It must be Mary Dixon."
"Who is that, my dear?" the ambassador asks.
"You remember her, don't you, Father? Mary is governess for Sultan Abdulaziz's granddaughter, Perihan."
"Abdulaziz, yes. Neurotic fellow. Committed suicide. Couldn't take it when those reformists deposed him. Pushed him right over the edge. Must be hard when you've been all-powerful for fifteen years, and then, suddenly, nothing. Asked his mother for a pair of scissors to trim his beard. Used them to open his veins instead." He regards the palm of his hand, then turns it over and stares at the back. "Nothing left. Just a suite of rooms in some hand-me-down palace."
He looks up at Kamil, showing a row of crooked yellow teeth. "Been a decade now. 1876, wasn't it? June, I remember. Seemed an odd thing to do on such a warm day. Nice chap, dash it all." He moves the piece of paper before him to the corner of the desk, then looks puzzled, as if he has lost something.
"Didn't go much better for his replacement, eh?" he continues. "That Murad fellow, a tippler, from what I hear. Wasn't sultan long enough for me to meet him. Had a nervous breakdown after only three months. Seems to be an occupational hazard." He whinnies a laugh. "Can't imagine why these reformists keep trying to put him back on the throne. Congenial fellow, I hear. Maybe that's why."
Kamil avoids meeting the blue eyes that are seeking his. Critical as he is of his own government, he feels offended by the ambassador's disrespectful commentary.
He is startled by Sybil's cheerful voice. "Wouldn't you like some tea, Kamil Pasha?"
## 4
## June 15, 1886
My Dearest Maitlin,
I hope that this letter finds you well and in good health and spirits. I have received no letters from you for several weeks. Much as I am aware of the vagaries that beset a missive on the long journey between Essex and Stamboul, nevertheless the lack of news from you, dearest sister, has worried me. I hope and pray that you, Richard, and my darling nephews Dickie and Nate are well. I picture you all sitting in the garden over tea and cakes, or sprinting across the lawn in one of those lively and contentious games of badminton we played as children. As always, the indomitable Maitlin wins.
The heat has been oppressive, with not the slightest breeze to relieve us. The hot days have unleashed a series of calamitous events that have kept us all alert. The most grievous is that Mary Dixon has been murdered. Mary was a governess in the imperial household. I'm sure I mentioned her in one of my earlier letters. She arrived here a year or so ago. I didn't know her well—she kept mostly to herself—but it is still a shock. It appears that she drowned, an awful tragedy, and so like the drowning death of that other governess, Hannah Simmons, eight years ago. Hannah's murderer was never found and the police superintendent's head rolled over it (given that this is the Orient, I need add that I am speaking figuratively).
His replacement is a keenly intelligent man named Kamil Pasha. His father also is a pasha, a kind of lord, who used to be governor of Istanbul. Kamil Pasha isn't a policeman, but a magistrate in the new judicial system the Turks set up a few years ago, inspired by our European model. He trained at Cambridge University, if you can imagine. In any case, I think we are in much better hands this time with regard to finding Mary's murderer. The old superintendent was quite a curmudgeon. He came by to see Mother once after I had arrived. An unpleasant man with a misshapen fez, as if it had been crushed in a fight and he couldn't afford to replace it. By contrast, Kamil Pasha is quite personable.
Poor Mary. Just over a month ago, she joined us for the first garden party of the year. It was a lovely night with one of those full moons that fills the horizon. I remember seeing her in the garden, chatting with the other guests. She was one of those brittle little blondes whose bones seem always about to snap. I gather that some men find that sort of fragility attractive, even though she wore her hair short in a rather shocking and unfeminine style. She was laughing so gaily, it breaks my heart to think of it. I thought at the time that I should sit with her and gently explain the mores of Ottoman society so that she wasn't tempted to transgress them.
Madam Rossini, the Italian ambassador's wasp-tongued wife, came over and informed me quite tartly that Mary and one of the Turkish journalists, Hamza Efendi, appeared to be quarreling, as if I could do anything about it. I told her my impression was that they were simply having a lively conversation, probably about politics. Mary had quite definite opinions and seemed to take great pleasure in being provocative. Is it not remarkable that anger and joy should be so alike as to be indistinguishable? Whichever it was, I would have recommended moderation. At least then one knows what is what. But that advice is too late for poor Mary. I am not, of course, suggesting that she provoked her own murder, my dear. Only that she was of immoderate temperament.
Cousin Bernie sends fond greetings. I'm so happy to have had his company these few months, though I selfishly wish for more. He comes often to dine with us and his witty conversation is a blessing, as it draws father out. But with the exception of the opera, I rarely can persuade Bernie to accompany me anywhere. He spends all his time researching his new book on Ottoman relations with the Far East. Pera is a hive of social activity and it would be nice to have an escort, but it seems I will have to content myself with Madam Rossini and her brood. In any case, Bernie said to let you and Richard know that, despite some setbacks, he is pushing ahead with his project and hopes to have it done before the year is out.
Has your work at the clinic found more acceptance among the doctors, now that you have demonstrated your skill during the last epidemic? I suppose their reluctance to give you more challenging cases can be attributed as much to their suspicion of the French, in whose hospitals you trained, as to their conviction that our sex has limited talents. Still, my dear, you must persevere. Doctoring has always been your goal, and you have suffered much to attain the skills, even if denied the formal acknowledgement of a title. You must set an example so that other women see it can be done. I do so admire you. Would that my talents and courage were a fraction of yours.
I do what is within with my humble abilities to help Father. When I think what a child I was when I came to Stamboul! You should know that Father has requested again that his duty here be extended. He expresses absolutely no interest in going home to England. He is to be ambassador for at least another year. I admit to being saddened that neither he nor I have had the opportunity to get to know Dickie and Nate. By the time we return, they'll be grown men! But I see no alternative. I must remain by his side until he is strong enough to return. At the moment, he rarely leaves his library except to attend to his official duties. When these include traveling to another part of the empire, he becomes particularly anxious, driving the servants mad by having them check and recheck his baggage and papers. So you see, he is still unwell. I take it as an indication of the depth of his love for Mother that he has taken her death so badly for so long. Here, at least, his duties keep his mind occupied, for there is much going on that requires the attention of the British ambassador.
Sultan Abdulhamid has taken offense at our government's steadying hand on the reins of his rebellious Egyptian province. He calls it an occupation and, out of spite, has invited German advisors to his court, thinking to push us out, as if that were possible. The Ottomans need British support. If we hadn't stepped in after they lost their war with Russia eight years ago and insisted that the San Stefano peace treaty be renegotiated, the sultan would have lost a great deal more to the Russians than a few dusty Anatolian provinces. Father has been trying to convince them for years that we have only their best interests at heart. We want the Ottoman Empire intact as a buffer against Russia, always fattening on its neighbors. You remember that Queen Victoria even sent bandages to the Turkish troops when they were fighting the Russians. What more proof of friendship can the sultan need?
Bernie's presence here has brought back memories of those lovely summers together in England, when Uncle Albert and Aunt Grace brought him to meet his British cousins. Remembering again the sights and sounds of those summers brings me closer to you as well, my dear sister. Pray keep well and give my love and all the good wishes in the world to your husband and my precious nephews. My congratulations to Richard on his promotion at the Ministry.
I shall end here. The Judas trees are in bloom outside my window in Pera. The Bosphorus glitters like the scales of a sleeping dragon. As you can see, the quiet summer has given way to great, if distressing, excitement. Our paths in life are so complex, dearest Maitlin, and cross at so many unexpected intersections. Who would have expected, when we were children playing catch-me on the lawns, that someday I would be writing to you from what the Ottomans call The Abode of Bliss? Or that Mary should find her end here? Perhaps the Orientals are right when they point out, as they continually do, that we are all in the hands of a fate written on our foreheads before we are born.
I wish you, dear sister, and your family, which is my family, a straight path through life to your own abodes of bliss.
Your loving sister,
Sybil
## 5
## The Sea Hamam
Michel stands inside the door to Kamil's office, his feet slightly apart, hands loose at his sides, as if ready to take on an opposing wrestler. Kamil looks up and lays aside the file he has been frowning over. He waves Michel over to a comfortable chair.
"Two herbalists in the Egyptian Spice Bazaar sell dried tube flowers," he reports, hunched forward in the chair, arms on his knees. "It's not belladonna, but a related plant, Datura stramonium. The symptoms are almost the same. There's quite a lively trade in tube flowers, unfortunately." Michel grimaces. "In the past month, at least four people bought them, three women and an old man. There are other sources. It's fairly common. It even grows wild outside the city walls."
Kamil sits behind his desk, its dark, polished mahogany visible in neat avenues between stacks of letters and files. He drums his fingers on the wood.
"I had them track down two of the women," Michel continues. "Both are midwives who use the herbs to cure bronchial troubles. The man too had a cough."
"So this leads us nowhere."
"There's more. One of the midwives bought a large quantity. She sold them to several households around Chamyeri the week before the murder."
"Anyone suspicious?"
Michel frowns. "Unfortunately not. The men checked every household and asked the neighbors. They verified that someone in each of the homes had been ill that week. That doesn't mean someone couldn't have taken some of the herb and used it for another purpose, but it seems unlikely. These are common village families. What contact would they have had with a British woman?"
"How was it administered?"
"We have to assume she drank it. The only other way to ingest the dried flowers is to smoke them, but that has only a mild effect and doesn't dilate the eyes. The seeds are poisonous, but there was no sign that she died of something else before falling into the water. Perhaps it was given to her in a glass of tea. Too bad we couldn't take a look at her stomach fluids," he mutters.
"Where would such a woman drink tea? And with whom?"
"Not in a village. They wouldn't even be able to communicate."
"Chamyeri again. Both women were English governesses." Kamil draws his fingertip along the edge of sunlight on his desk. "I wonder if anyone in Ismail Hodja's family speaks English." He looks up. "What about his niece?"
"Jaanan Hanoum?"
"She must have been there when Hannah Simmons's body was found. She was a child then, of course." Kamil's lips tighten. "It must have been difficult for her. The young woman has had a rough time of it." He shakes his head sympathetically.
Michel ignores Kamil's evaluation. "Probably educated by tutors at home, like all women of that class. She had a French governess, but it's possible she also learned English. Her father is one of those modernist social climbers."
"He's an official at the Foreign Ministry, I believe."
"Yes."
"But she lives with her uncle at Chamyeri, rather than at her father's house."
"Her mother went to live with her brother, the hodja, when her husband took a kuma. A modernist," Michel adds sourly, "and a hypocrite. The more things change, the more they stay the same."
"The man is insane. Two wives." Kamil shakes his head in disbelief. "He might as well hurl himself in front of a tram."
They share an uneasy burst of laughter.
"When Jaanan Hanoum came of age, she moved back to the city, to her father's house. It's pretty isolated up there, no place for a girl looking to be married. But since her troubles this past year, she's been staying at Chamyeri again."
"Istanbul society can be unforgiving. Poor girl. I wonder how she's doing."
"She's gone. I asked around the village yesterday. They said that three days ago Jaanan Hanoum's maid had an accident. She slipped and fell into that pond behind the house, and almost drowned."
"Women should learn to swim," Kamil snaps irritably. "Just last week I heard of two seventeen-year-old girls that drowned in a shallow stream. One fell in and the other tried to save her. They panicked and pulled each other under. It's absurd that women are kept ignorant of even the most basic survival skills."
"Jaanan Hanoum pulled the maid out," Michel continues, "but she lost her sight. She must have hit her head on a rock. Jaanan Hanoum is on her way to relatives in Paris, left early yesterday morning. Planning to study, apparently."
Kamil thinks about this, flipping his beads around his hand. "I wonder if either of them knew Mary Dixon."
"Coincidence?" suggests Michel.
"I have no faith in coincidences," Kamil mutters.
"If they heard the news in Chamyeri about the Englishwoman's death, maybe it was just one tragedy too many for the young woman."
"Maybe. But I still would have liked to speak with her. Who is left up there at Chamyeri now?"
"Just her uncle Ismail Hodja, his chauffeur, the gardener, and some daily staff."
"I can't imagine any of them having tea with an English governess, much less drugging and killing her." Kamil shakes his head. "What else is near Chamyeri?"
Michel stands and paces the room, thinking. The folds of his robe tangle his muscular legs like tethers on a horse. He stops suddenly.
"I wonder."
"What?"
"The sea hamam. It's below Emirgan, just north of Chamyeri."
"Ah, yes, I've heard of it," Kamil muses. "It's built on a jetty over the water so people can swim in private."
"More like wading in a cage rather than swimming. The Emirgan one is for women."
"I misjudged our women's progressiveness. What made you think of the sea hamam, of all things?"
"It's a perfect place to meet if you want complete privacy. It's closed at night, but it wouldn't be hard to get in. In fact, it probably hasn't been used since last year. It usually doesn't open until midsummer. Other than a few villas and fishing settlements, there aren't a lot of other possibilities. No one in the villas claims to remember an Englishwoman."
Michel opens the door to the judicial antechamber, letting in a din of voices. He and Kamil push through the tide of plaintiffs, petitioners, clerks, and their assistants and emerge from the squat stone courthouse onto the busy Grande Rue de Pera. A horse-drawn tram clangs along the boulevard, carrying matrons from the new northern suburbs into town for shopping. As they wait for their driver to bring the carriage, Kamil surveys the early morning bustle of Istanbul's most modern quarter. Apprentices balance nested copper tins of hot food and trays of steaming tea, hurrying toward customers waiting in shops and hotels. Carts rattle as vendors pull their wares along the cobbled street. Advertisements for their services, or for mulberries, green plums, carpets, or scrap metal, issue from practiced throats. Shop windows display the latest products.
This tumult, Kamil knows, is surrounded by the tranquillity of old Constantinople, the name many residents still use for their city, its Byzantine roots as capital of the eastern Roman Empire still everywhere in evidence. At one end of Pera is a pleasant cemetery beneath a vast canopy of cypresses where people stroll and picnic on the raised tombs. Embassies set in lush gardens line the boulevard. To the west, Pera overlooks the waters of the Golden Horn, which takes its name from the reflected fires of the setting sun. To the east, the land falls off precipitously to reveal the Bosphorus and the wide triangle of water where the strait and inlet merge to push into the Sea of Marmara. Cascading down the hillsides are canyons of stone apartment buildings and old wooden houses strung together by alleys meandering around the remains of Byzantine and Genoese walls, towers, and archways. Where the inclines are too steep, roads become wide stairways.
Kamil and Michel head north in an open phaeton, bundled against the wind. It is a long, dusty trip winding through the hills above the Bosphorus, but their driver knows the road well and keeps a steady pace. Kamil's eyes graze the edge of the forest as they pass, alert for telltale colors and shapes of flowering plants, challenging himself to remember their botanical names. His fingers worry the warm amber in his pocket.
If he fails to solve this case, he will have the unpleasant task of reporting his failure to Minister of Justice Nizam Pasha. On the first Thursday of every month, Kamil must stand, hands folded before him, eyes lowered, in the drafty reception hall and wait for permission to speak. Nizam Pasha, seated cross-legged on a raised divan, listens in grim silence, regarding him with flat, unreadable eyes. When Kamil has finished, Nizam Pasha whispers to his subordinate, then dismisses Kamil with a careless wave of his fingers and a moue of the mouth, as if he has tasted something foul.
Only once has the minister spoken directly to Kamil, this during his first audience.
"Do not presume here on the cloak of your ancestors. You are naked in the sight of the padishah. Do not disappoint him."
Nizam Pasha reports directly to the sultan, but his is only one vein among many pumping information into the heart of the empire. The secret police are the insomniac sultan's eyes, watching, suspicious, invisible to all but a few in the palace. They spy on the police and the judges, as they do on all the other servants of the state.
Kamil reflects that his position as pasha and son of a pasha affords little protection from the secret police, who will punish not only those who displease them, but their entire families. The images of his unhappy but determined sister Feride and her young daughters flashes though his mind. And his silent father, captive to an inner world populated only by his dead wife. Kamil knows he must steer a delicate path between politically astute silence and the demands posed by proper judicial procedure and scientific investigation. This was never more important than in these uncertain days.
While the sultan wraps himself ever more closely in the cloak of religion by catering to the powerful sheikhs and leaders of Islamic brotherhoods, it is rumored that even among the sultan's inner circle there are those who would like to see a representative government and an Islam compatible with modern notions of progress and reason. These are the men who pushed through the new legal system that has effectively taken away the power of religiously trained kadi judges and given it to magistrates, young men like Kamil with secular training and a preference for science and logic. In the new courts, magistrates argue cases before a state judge and supervise investigations. The formerly all-powerful kadis are restricted to handling local divorces and inheritance disputes, although a kadi still has a place on the bench in the Majlis-i Tahkikat, the Court of Inquiry, the highest court in the province of Istanbul. It is not surprising, Kamil thinks, that men like Nizam Pasha, whose education has been in religious medreses and who speak no European languages, should feel threatened by the magistrates under their jurisdiction.
He glances fondly at his companion in the phaeton. Michel has been his ally in puzzling through the logical complexities of many cases. His mood lifts as he remembers the pleasant hours spent listening to Ladino songs and Italian cantos in tiny clubs hidden in the alleys of Galata, Michel as his guide to the richly textured but insular world of the Jewish community. Jews and Christians had been the merchants, bankers, surgeons, and artists, the beating international heart of the empire for hundreds of years. Their presence here predates that of the Ottomans. Jewish migrants and refugees not only were gladly sheltered, but sought after by the sultans, who valued their education and acumen. The Sephardic Jews expelled in 1492 by Queen Isabella and King Ferdinand of Spain were invited by Sultan Bayezid II to settle in the empire under his protection, with the following comment: "How can one call this king wise and sensible, when he beggars his own country and enriches mine?" Their descendants in Istanbul, like Michel, still speak Ladino, the Spanish of the expulsion.
On their free afternoons, Kamil and Michel meet in the café where they had become reacquainted, discussing the latest medical advances and scientific techniques in the books and journals with which the book dealers in the courtyard behind the Grand Bazaar keep them well supplied. Sadly, the young surgeon does not share his interest in botany, but is more interested in the volatile properties of plants, the secrets they are forced to release under duress.
After a while, Kamil leans his head against the padded leather headrest and allows himself to drift. He finds himself dwelling on a memory of Sybil lifting the bundle of the dead woman's jewelry from her lap. Her hands were plump and dimpled as a baby's. The tender feeling evoked by the memory surprises him. Then he realizes, they are his mother's hands.
AMID A RACKET of gulls, they make their way along the creaking jetty to the small square structure at its end. The Bosphorus here has thrown up a long scallop of rough brown sand and rocks. The sea hamam is built on stilts over shallow water, reached by a long pier. Its bleached boards are bearded with sea moss. The door is latched but not locked. There would be nothing inside to protect. Kamil opens the door and enters a windowless room. There is a musty smell of swollen wood and unwashed laundry. The Bosphorus has no odor. It is too swift. It tears the briny air with it like a flag in a gale. But there is a sense of the sea inside the dark room, a feeling of motion, as if the room is tilting.
Kamil stops a moment to let his eyes adjust, then looks around. The entryway is blind, designed so that no one standing outside can see into the inner quarters. There is a rack for shoes, empty now. He moves to the door at the end of the hidden leg of the room. He does not hear Michel enter behind him, but knows he is there. This door leads to a platform around a square expanse of water. The sea sucks noisily at the flimsy pillars that hold the structure above the level of the water.
He clicks his tongue in disapproval. "I doubt this will be standing by midsummer."
"They'll repair it before they open. They can't afford to have naked society ladies swept away by the current."
Ringing the platform are wooden cubicles with low wide shelves that, in season, would be cushioned so that bathers could lounge on them and drink tea. Each cubicle is faced with a slatted double door that can be closed for privacy or flung open so that the occupant can face the captured sea and chat with other bathers.
They begin methodically to search each cubicle, Kamil moving clockwise and Michel counterclockwise around the hamam.
"There's a mattress here," Michel calls. Kamil comes over to look. It is an expensive one, stuffed with wool and covered in flowered cotton. On a high shelf, he finds two tea glasses, of cheap quality but showy, decorated with crudely painted gold flowers. Michel gets his leather bag.
"What do you have in there?"
"Things we might need." He pulls out a squirming sack and extracts a black and white kitten. "A quick test. I dilute any residue, then put a drop of the liquid in his eyes; if they dilate, we know we have datura." He pushes the kitten back into the sack and cinches it.
Kamil is amused by the surgeon's innovation. He hands the glasses to Michel, who examines them thoroughly.
"Too bad," a disappointed Michel comments. "No residue."
Kamil is looking over the lip of the bathing platform.
"This isn't very deep. I wonder if there's anything down there."
"If I wanted to get rid of something quickly, what better way than to drop it into the water? The current would take it away."
Kamil lies on his stomach and looks under the floorboards.
"Yes, but look."
Michel kneels and looks under the floor as well. Backsplash wets their faces. A fishing net, attached to the bottom of the hamam, extends around the entire perimeter.
"I suppose that's to keep undesirable creatures—human and otherwise—out of the pool," comments Michel, grinning. "Let's see what we've caught."
Michel strips to his undergarments and lowers himself into the chilly water. He seems not to notice the cold, but goes about his work slowly and methodically, his powerful legs cutting effortlessly through the chest-high water. He ducks under the floor and pulls the net toward the center, then hands it to Kamil squatting on the platform above. Slowly, hand over hand as he saw the fishermen do in his youth, Kamil hauls it in. Michel pulls it up from below so that nothing is lost. When the entire sodden net has been dragged onto the wooden floor, Michel climbs out of the water and dons his clothing. The two men untangle the net and check their catch. Before long, Kamil points to a white gleam amid the slippery brown sea grass, pieces of clothing, and other debris. It is a teapot.
Its lid is missing but the contents are still inside. Michel reaches in and extracts a wad of faded yellow-green matter, bloated and slimy from long immersion in the water. The shape is no longer recognizable, but it is not the short black bristles of ordinary tea. Michel folds the leaves into a piece of oiled cloth.
They place several other items from their catch into a small bag: a broken tortoise-shell comb, a small copper-backed mirror, a woman's slipper—items owned by a thousand women. Kamil examines a small knife, its horn handle swollen and separated into layers, but its blade clean of rust and still sharp.
"Odd thing to find in a woman's bathhouse." He wraps it up and places it in the bag. "Let's look outside."
Stooped low, hands clasped behind his back, Kamil paces the rocky sand surrounding the structure. He stops for a moment to listen, sniffs the air, then strides over and pulls aside the low-growing branches of a pine tree. He averts his face to avoid an explosion of flies and calls Michel over. At his feet is the carcass of a dog.
THE FOLLOWING DAY, Kamil watches as Michel cuts up the tea leaves, soaks them in alcohol mixed with sulfuric acid, and heats the mixture slowly.
"This will take a while. It has to heat for half an hour, then cool." Michel sits at a desk in the cluttered room that serves as his laboratory and office in the Police Directorate, a large stone building on a side street off the Grande Rue de Pera. Tethered by a string to the base of a cabinet, the kitten is lapping at a saucer of milk.
"Call me when you're done." Kamil returns to a divan in the entrance hall and props a writing desk on his lap. He extracts from his coat a file on the case he is prosecuting the following morning, a Greek man accused of stabbing his wife's brother to death when he tried to intervene in a family argument about property. The other family members refuse to testify, but several neighbors heard the altercation.
Murder is always about property, thinks Kamil, not passion in the way poets define it. Passion about something or someone simply means demanding ownership or at least control. Parents want to own their children, husbands their wives, employers their apprentices, supplicants their God. The most passionate of all destroy what they own, thereby making it forever theirs. Much of the world, from politics to commerce, is driven by fear of losing control over people, land, things. Fear that fate is stronger than will. Kamil places his trust in will.
What do I fear? he muses. Is there anything I love so passionately that I would kill to retain it? He can think of nothing and this makes him sad. A memory stirs in him of the moment he found the rare black orchid now in his greenhouse, of breathing its perfume for the first time. This evokes an image of Sybil's violet eyes. He feels his senses, the surface of his skin, expand to an almost painful brilliance; his breath quickens. He smiles and thinks, I am not as desiccated as all that. As if passion were a virtue.
A young clerk bows, startling him. "The Doctor Efendi is waiting for you." Abashed, Kamil hides his face from the young man before him, busying himself by gathering his writing utensils and placing them in a narrow box that he slips into his sash. By the time the clerk leaves him at the door of Michel's office, Kamil has pushed all thoughts of Sybil from his mind and his body is once again the clean-swept temple of will and reason.
Michel has already strained the mash of leaves and is passing the liquid through a moistened filter. He transfers the strained liquid to a test tube and adds ether, then shakes and strains it again. He then adds potash and chloroform, which cause the liquid to separate. The room reeks of chemicals, but neither man notices. Michel pours the remaining liquid onto a watch glass and waits for the chloroform to evaporate. He scrapes the residue into a test tube and dilutes it with water and a drop of sulfuric acid.
"Now we can examine it."
He takes a drop of this solution and places it on a glass. He stirs in a drop of bromine and waits. The liquid doesn't change color.
"There should be a precipitate," Michel mutters.
He tries various other reagents, but the liquid does not crystallize. The workbench is littered with watch glasses and test tubes. He turns to the sodden mass of cut-up leaves.
"This is not datura. Sorry. An unusual type of leaf, a tea of some kind, but not tube flower."
Kamil sighs. "Too bad." As he turns toward the door, he pauses. The saucer lies overturned on the floor near a white slick of milk. He bends his knees to look under the chair. The kitten is gone.
"What happened to your cat?" he asks.
Michel turns suddenly and looks at the saucer. At that moment, before Michel can compose his face and offer a bland reply, Kamil sees in it a mixture of guilt and fear.
## 6
## June 18, 1886
Dearest Maitlin,
I am unsure how much news reaches you in Essex. As if the murder of Mary Dixon were not enough, there has been a wave of arrests. Sultan Abdulhamid has taken it into his head that the group calling itself the Young Ottomans is plotting against him, with the help of foreign powers, and has decided to stamp it out. They have been publishing literary magazines in which they write about ideas like liberty and democracy that, understandably, cause some anxiety at the palace. For the most part, they are French-educated Ottomans from good families. Not a few are translators in the Foreign Ministry at the Sublime Porte, where they have access to foreign publications. This makes them even more dangerous, of course, as they are situated within the administration itself. I find their company most stimulating and have invited several to soirees at the Residence. The conversations on those evenings are so lively and interesting that even Father relaxes, even though, given the disfavor in which many of these young men are held by the sultan, our invitations might be taken amiss. Nevertheless, for Father's sake, I would gladly brave palace disapproval. It is one of the few activities that he seems truly to enjoy.
It seems to me that the sultan has less to fear from these bright young men, most of whom simply wish to keep the sultan to his promise to revive the constitution and reopen the short-lived parliament he shut down seven years ago, than from those who have twice attempted a coup intending to replace him with his elder brother Murad. Murad is first in line of succession, but was replaced after only a few months as sultan due to a nervous condition. The radicals think Murad is now cured and more receptive to a constitutional government—or perhaps simply more tractable. In any case, Sultan Abdulhamid has decreed a hunt on all equally, loyal and disloyal. He shifts members of his staff continually and reportedly trusts no one. Several of our regular dinner guests were recently sent into exile. I find it frightening to think of the consequences.
To make matters worse, the city is full of refugees. Now that some of the Ottoman provinces in the Balkans have become autonomous, terrible reports have reached our ears of Muslims killed by Christian neighbors in revenge for the sultan's brutal repression of their earlier rebellions. They are all fleeing to Istanbul, the center of the Muslim world, where they believe themselves to be safe. The streets are a Babel of languages and colorful regional dress, even more so than usual.
There have been more riots in the streets of Stamboul—not to worry, my dear, not in Pera—about the banned parliament, although food shortages and high prices contribute to the instability. We are safely fortified here amid the other foreign residences. I suppose it is not surprising that the sultan has tightened his grip on the reins, although it is hard to imagine what might topple a sultanate that has reigned for half a millennium. Pax Brittanica surely would benefit the people here, as it has done the peoples of India and Asia. Father tells me that this is a possibility. I dearly hope so, for the sake of peace. At any rate, the sultan is no enemy of Europe. I've heard he is a devotee of theater and opera and of detective stories and police thrillers, if you can imagine. I'm told his chief of wardrobe sits behind a screen and reads to him every night, sometimes an entire book, as he is an insomniac. He is particularly fond of detective mysteries and has new books immediately translated and read to him. He also engages in wood carving and cabinetmaking, rather unusual hobbies for a regent. I can't help but think that a man who loves to read and who crafts his own furniture will bring progress and discipline to his empire. Mother thought him quite charming, but he rarely receives visitors anymore simply for the pleasure of it, so I shan't have a chance of making up my own mind.
As for my own entertainment, you needn't worry, dear sister. There is much to do here. Thursday evening, I am going to the theater with Madam Rossini and her family to see a new French play, and a few weeks hence the Italians are holding their annual saint's day fair in the garden of their Residence. There is a charity ball soon at one of the new hotels. Tonight, in fact, we're having a ball here at the Residence. There's no shortage of entertainment in Stamboul. You needn't worry that I have withered on the vine. And I have Father. His work keeps him occupied, but I share in this, to his great satisfaction, I believe. I must run now and consult with the chefs and the musicians.
Be well and give my love to all our family. Perhaps I can convince you yet to come on a visit. You will be well surprised at our comforts and the color and excitement of living in the Orient.
Affectionately,
Sybil
## 7
## Your Rolling Pearl
I never did learn to ride the water like Violet. Our pond was a different kind of classroom than the sea. Eventually I learned to move freely in this different medium. Tired of the confines of the pond, Violet wanted to swim in the Bosphorus. I told her about the boys who had not reemerged. She wanted to ask Halil about the currents, but I was anxious about questioning him. I had the sense that he knew about our swims at the pond and disapproved, but his loyalty to me, I think, kept him from reporting our indiscretions to my mother. After all, Violet, as my servant, was responsible for looking after me. But I doubt he would have kept a dip in the Bosphorus from my mother, since, apart from the danger, it was likely we would be seen and bring disgrace on the family.
Violet stamped her foot. "Well, I'll go to the village, then, and ask the fishermen. You're afraid," she taunted me.
I was scandalized. A young woman did not venture outside the home except to go, accompanied, along a circumspect route to the home of a relative or female friend. She wore a feradje and covered her face. Under no circumstances would she speak with a male stranger. That had been my life up till then, and I had no reason to believe anyone else's life was any different.
I accompanied my mother on her visits to Istanbuli women of our standing during their weekly at-home days. During the hot months, the women, children, and their entourages moved from the city to their summer houses along the forested northern banks of the Bosphorus, where it was cooler. This proximity made visiting easier and my mother seemed to regain her spirit during those short months. But for me, summer meant perching on cushioned divans in cool, tiled harem sitting rooms and shady courtyards, sipping black tea from gold-rimmed glasses and listening politely to the women discuss the coming and going of relations and debate the qualities of prospective grooms and brides for their children. They dissected upcoming marriages, the amount of bride wealth paid by the grooms' families, and the dowries the brides would bring with them. Colorful silk thread slipped through the delicate fingers of the younger girls as they negotiated the tight choreography of embroidering their trousseaux. In those years, I paid little attention to the conversations, but instead lay on the divan, elbow propped on my cushion, examining the details of other people's rooms, letting the timbre of their voices draw across me like a musical instrument in reverse.
The women wore white chemises of the softest silk, their breasts braced in low brocaded vests. Over this, they wore flowered or striped silk robes in all the colors of the garden and the jewel box: apple green, cherry red, heliotrope, peacock blue, the yellow of songbirds, pink, ruby and garnet, eau de nil. The robe was wrapped about with a silk girdle, and a bright, contrasting tunic with long, slit sleeves and trailing, divided skirts. Their hair was plaited into many braids, entwined with ropes of pearls and strings of jewels, or twisted up in colorful scarves dripping with embroidery and beaded fringes that framed their faces and swayed softly against their cheeks when they moved. They looked gay, like the colorful parrots and sweet-singing canaries some kept in fanciful cages in their courtyards. Their chirping lulled me into the languorous restfulness when nothing is expected of you and everything is given. The short bliss of childhood.
In ensuing years, the mesh of information and conjecture became tighter and caught up young girls like myself, ladies in training who were expected to be of serious mien, although pleasant and polite. Giggly girls who ran about and smiled too easily were spoiled and inevitably would come to a bad end. I tried my best not to smile out of place or too often, and I believe I succeeded all too well, given my increasing boredom at such functions.
My secluded life at Chamyeri gave me no practice in the skill of light conversation. I knew next to nothing about our family, except what news my cousin and tutor, Hamza, brought when he visited, and what Violet, who had her own mysterious sources, shared with me, much of which was unrepeatable. Nor did I know the stories of other prominent families and the characters peopling them. Our secluded lifestyle left me ignorant of changes in fashion. Mama and I were always at least a season behind. Once a year, in the fall, Mama sent for a Greek woman from Istanbul who came to the villa with samples of cloth and took orders for new clothing. But by the following summer, these were again outdated.
The fact that our household did not include live-in servants caused great consternation among the other women. Every household had to have servants, they chided my mother. It was a necessary sign of social stature, the more the better. Some middle-class homes had dozens of slaves and servants, society households many more. It was a duty to support as many poorer people as possible, a pious act that brings sevap, Allah's reward. Besides, they asked my mother, how did she manage at night? It was unimaginable that she would make her own tea and undress herself. They would look at me and say to my mother, "A young girl needs to know how to run a household." I never knew how Mama felt about the lack of servants. Papa's house at Nishantashou had many servants, but Mama never complained about Ismail Dayi's odd aversion to them. After Violet came, she helped Mama and me in the evenings after the servants had left. For my part, I did not even know how to make tea.
I did, however, know quite a bit about literature and international politics, thanks to afternoons under my cousin Hamza's tutelage, and about Islamic jurisprudence and Persian poetry learned on long winter evenings in Ismail Dayi's study. I could recite the Quran and, moreover, knew enough Arabic to understand it. I also knew the tides of the Bosphorus and how to move through water. I did not know fine needlework or how to embroider linens and prayer mats for my trousseau. I did not know how people died, but I was to learn that soon enough.
I much preferred spring with its blossoming cherry trees and chilly squalls of rain and the marmalade colors of autumn when the summer houses stood empty, and I began again my love affair with water. A year older, Violet knew more of the world, and I was her willing pupil. On warm days, she spread a carpet along the mossy edge of the pond. When we tired of swimming, we stretched out in our shifts and unpacked the basket she brought along. With her knife she disrobed red peaches flush as babies' cheeks. When their juices flowed across my wrists, Violet bent over and licked them clean. She wedged open black mussels and taught me to suck their brine and take the pearl of flesh between my teeth. In the season of artichokes, we took turns plucking the leathery outer leaves one by one. Then, with her sharp knife, she cut the inner leaves down to the heart, exposing the fur, which she scraped until the choke was smooth and bare. She handed me a lemon and a twist of salt to rub into the flesh of the chokes. It stung my hands, but I did as she asked. With her thin fingers, she took the chokes from my slippery palms and immersed them in water infused with lemon, heating it slowly to a boil on a portable charcoal stove. When it was done, she fed me morsels of the delicate, fragrant flesh.
Violet did not accompany us on the summer trips; she was not of our class and would have had to stay in the servant quarters, something my mother found unacceptable, since she was, after all, a blood relative. I envied Violet the privacy of our house in summer. I imagined her slipping through the black pond like an eel, while I rested, a stone in a kaleidoscope, in the colorful rooms of the summer families. Violet, I was sure, delighted in her freedom and gave no thought to me, confined in a gilded cage like the nervous songbirds. My boredom was tinged with jealousy.
Until Violet, I had no real friends except Hamza, who accompanied my father during his weekly visits. When my father stopped coming to Chamyeri as often, Hamza still rode up from Nishantashou regularly and brought me books. He would tutor me in the garden pavilion, going over my lessons for the week, then sit for a while with my mother. He spent the night in the men's reception room, and left after breakfast the following day. As a child, I moved freely through the house and crept at night under Hamza's quilt for an hour or so. Holding me in the crook of his arm, he read to me from books he had hidden in his satchel, colorful tales of Frankish fairies and Arab djinns, French love poems and fantastic stories quite different from the earnest literature we read and discussed by day. When his eyes began to close, he put his hand below my chin and turned my face to him. He kissed my forehead and whispered, in French,
"Who is your prince?"
"You are, dear Hamza."
"Am I your only prince?"
"Of course, my only one."
"Forever?"
"Forever."
His breath was hot on my ear.
"Sleep now, princess. Dream of your prince."
It was our secret signal that I should return to my room. I disentangled myself from his arms regretfully. He did not tell me to walk softly and make certain no one saw. Somehow I knew that this cherished ritual would vanish if exposed to the gaze of others.
My uncle was my other tutor. On evenings when he did not have company, Ismail Dayi was happy to discuss what I had read and guide me to other readings he considered appropriate for my age. During the cold months, dressed in quilted robes, we put cushions on the thick wool carpet and tucked our legs under an enormous cotton-filled comforter that had been stretched over a box-like brazier to trap the heat. My eccentric dayi had no sense, of course, of what was considered appropriate for a girl, so he trained me as he would a young apprentice, a relationship both familiar and comfortable to him. Snug under our comforter, we sat opposite each other, read Ottoman jurisprudence, and took turns reciting mystical poetry.
One who sees my aimless turning might take me for the desert whirlwind
I am nothing within nothing, if I have any being, it comes from you.
While I was your rolling pearl, why did you let me go astray?
If my dust is on the mirror of life, it comes from you.
"Look to your own heart for knowledge of the divine," my dayi instructed me, "not the interpretations of scribes and clerics. Nature is a sage; hear it with your heart. Be humble in your knowledge, but glorify Allah with what you have learned. Sheykh Galib was educated at home, like you, and was composing poetry when he was little older than you are now. Nothing in life is aimless or out of place. All is inspired."
Ismail Dayi urged Mama to join us, but she preferred to stay in her rooms, wrapped in the ermine robe Papa had given her the first winter of their marriage. She had developed a taste for reading French novels and, although he disapproved of what he said was the frivolity and dangerous foreign pollution of novels in general (and French novels in particular), Ismail Dayi kept Mama supplied with them from the booksellers in the city. A steady stream of apprentices brought him parcels of new books. Indeed, I saw scattered about the library a great number of books and journals in French and other languages I did not recognize. Those I could read tended to be difficult treatises that I attempted but soon laid back on the shelf.
Some evenings, I did not find Ismail Dayi, though I had heard the carriage arrive and the groom Jemal sing a soulful folk song as he walked the horses past the kitchen door toward the orchard. Jemal was slender and boyish, but very strong. Unlike most men, he did not have a mustache, although he wore a felt cap and the long, baggy shalwar pants of country men. He loved pomegranates. When they were in season, he would keep one of the leathery red orbs in his hand for hours, carrying it about with him and kneading it with his fingers. One late summer day, I was watching the silver-bristled kangal dogs that slouched around his yard. I was afraid of these large dogs, so I crouched behind the jacaranda bush. Jemal was sitting on a chair just outside his blue-painted front door, sleeves rolled above his elbows, concentrating his full attention on the pomegranate he was rotating rhythmically in the palm of his right hand. His back was tense and the muscle in his arm rippled. Suddenly he stopped and, raising the fruit to his nose, sniffed it, then stroked it gently across his cheek. He put the red skin to his mouth and slowly nipped it with his teeth. Examining the opening he had made, he raised the pomegranate to his mouth and sucked at the opening until all that remained was a leathery sack. Afterwards he sat, staring into space, his face flushed, his lips slightly pursed. Ruby drops glistened on his chin. The husk lay on the grass at his feet.
Late one night in the lonely period after Madam Élise's departure, I was roaming the house and was startled to see Jemal moving stealthily in leather house socks through the dark kitchen toward the rear door, his outdoor overshoes and turban in his hands. His black hair was long as a girl's. His face had the same expression as when he had finished with the pomegranate.
## 8
## Rules of Engagement
Light floods through the open doors onto the lawn of the British Residence. Orange paper lampions have been strung along the paths. Servants circulate with trays of savories and fruit and bottles of chilled French wine. Kamil is here in search of someone who knew Mary Dixon. He finds this the most difficult part of his work, interacting socially with strangers. As a young man during his father's reign as governor, he had endured long hours of empty pleasantries at endless functions, each word inflicting a dull pain until he had to pull away. From a vantage point in the garden or a quiet room, he would watch as figures met and merged, then withdrew and rejoined others in a complicated board game. He could see patterns in these interactions: the wealthy, the powerful, and the beautiful, and those who vied to be in their presence; respect shown or withheld; the sheep cut from the fold by a predator; the individual of wit or erudition and an admiring but unstable crowd of consumers; too obviously averted glances; the interplay of men and women when the rules of engagement were unclear. It was endlessly fascinating. He still prefers to watch, unless he finds an engaging partner for conversation. Good conversation is becoming rarer, he muses, since the sultan increased the number of his spies and people no longer dare venture opinions on even the most mundane subjects in their own drawing rooms.
Stepping indoors, he sees the ambassador stoop to listen to a dignified man in a uniform with red piping and gold epaulets. Women in low-cut evening dresses stand in groups like bouquets of gaudy, overblown roses. None are veiled. It startles Kamil to see such expanses of gleaming hair and pale skin exposed to view. The orchestra plays a waltz. Women lean backward into men's arms, their opposing forces channeled into a vortex of movement. The women's wide skirts swing like bells, their jewels blaze in the lamplight. Men in dark suits and uniforms, their shadows. Kamil thinks of bright autumn leaves captured by the current.
He wanders back into the garden. Sybil came to him briefly after his arrival, a swirl of skirts and color, to take his hand and welcome him before she was swept away by newer guests. The pressure of her hand remains in his.
A middle-aged man with irregular features and carrot-colored hair corners him against the patio railing.
"So, you're the pasha. Sybil said she had managed to browbeat you into coming to this shindig. It's a rough game, ain't it?" he says, shaking his head and sweeping a hand toward the buzzing crowd. "Nobody wants to talk about the really interesting stuff anymore." He squints his small blue eyes at Kamil. "Glad you could make it, though. I've been looking forward to meeting you. I'm Sybil's cousin, Bernie Wilcott. From the U. S. of A., as I'm sure you've guessed." His breath smells of mint. Serious eyes trapped in a taffy-pull face.
"Kamil. A pleasure to meet you." Kamil extends his hand.
Bernie grasps it and pumps it, once. "Forgot. Sybil told me you learned your English in the Old Country."
"Cambridge University. I studied there for a year. Before that, I learned English here, with tutors. How is it that Sybil Hanoum has an American cousin?"
"Sybil Hanoum? Has a nice ring to it." Bernie chuckles. "Well, her uncle, that's my father, was the younger brother. You know what that means. Eldest takes all, the whole farm. Or, in this case, the manor house. So he did what younger brothers have done since time immemorial, left the kingdom to seek his fortune. Found it in railroads, but his kids inherited a gawd-awful accent." He bends over, chortling at his own wit.
Kamil can't help but laugh along with him.
"You are visiting Istanbul?"
"Well, actually, I'm here for the year. Teaching at Robert College."
"Ah, you're a teacher." Kamil thinks this unlikely, given the man's eccentric nature, but he hasn't met many Americans.
"Bernie Wilcott, itinerant scholar." Bernie bows low and touches his hand to his brow and chest in a mock Ottoman greeting.
Kamil, disbelieving, asks, "What is your area of study?"
"Politics. East Asia, China, but I have a weakness for the Ottomans, and am mighty curious to know more." He takes Kamil's arm and steers him into the garden. "Maybe you could be my guide."
It doesn't take long for Kamil to feel at ease with Bernie and to recognize that what he had perceived as buffoonery was simply a lack of the formality that usually encases people like lacquer. Moving in society, people rub and clack their carapaces against one another like mating beetles. In contrast, Bernie seems immediately available. They sit on a bench, facing away from the crowd and chatting. Kamil is relieved and pleased to find an intelligent observer of the world. The embers of their cigarettes pulse alternately in the dark.
Later that evening, Bernie brings Sybil to the garden. She is breathless and appears tired, but her eyes are bright as they meet Kamil's. Wisps of hair have come loose and are plastered to her forehead.
Kamil lowers his eyes and bows. "Madame Sybil." It is rude to look at someone so directly, especially a woman. Nevertheless, he is smiling.
"I'm so glad you were able to come."
Before long, Bernie excuses himself and disappears into the Residence. Kamil and Sybil sit on the bench facing the garden, their faces in shadow. Kamil is uncomfortably aware of the revealed expanse of neck and the plump mounds of Sybil's breasts pushed upward by her décolleté gown. He imagines he feels the heat of her body radiating into his, even though they are sitting a discreet distance apart. It both pleases and disturbs him. He keeps his eyes focused on the shadowy blooms of a nearby oleander, the tree that the Quran says grows even in hell.
"Your cousin is an interesting man."
"He's always been like that, even as a child. Irrepressible, I think is the word."
"I find him quite refreshing. Is the rest of your family like him?"
"No. He's one of a kind. I do have a sister, though, Maitlin, whom I admire tremendously. She's irrepressible in a different way—she never gives up pursuing what she truly believes in. So she's led quite an adventuresome life." She tells Kamil about Maitlin's travels, and her long and ultimately unsuccessful struggle to become a physician.
"So now she volunteers at a clinic for the poor where they take advantage of her medical skills, but without giving her any formal recognition. She doesn't seem to mind, although I mind for her." Sybil's voice becomes wistful. "Maitlin just takes the next step. She never lingers over setbacks."
"And you, madame, if it isn't impertinent to ask? Is this not an adventure?" He gestures with his hand toward the ancient city slumbering behind the garden wall.
Sybil doesn't answer right away. She is strangely off guard with this man. She feels innocent, like a child, willing to confess, penitent.
"Yes, yes, it is. But it always seems out of reach, on the other side of that wall."
Kamil looks at her curiously. He knows that she sometimes goes out escorted only by her driver. The police are aware of the movements of all embassy foreigners.
"Do you not go out?" he asks.
"Oh, of course I do. I'm quite active. I go on visits. Father has a busy schedule and I help him whenever I can." Her voice is defensive.
"You are far from your family," he suggests gently. "That is always difficult."
It is too much for Sybil. She blinks angrily.
"Yes, I do miss my sister. I've never even met my nephews. I have no other family, except for my aunt and uncle in America and cousin Bernie. My mother, you see, passed away." She pauses, balancing her head so the tear that has formed in the corner of her eye will not spill and betray her.
"Health to your head," he says softly in Turkish.
The light from the party behind them reflects on her wet cheek.
"Thank you, teshekkur ederim," she replies in kind, her tongue tripping over the many consonants.
Not wishing to draw attention to her distress, he waits silently for her to continue.
Frightened by her sudden weakness, Sybil straightens her back and continues in English. "That was five years ago. Father keeps her memory alive by staying on here, where she was by his side."
"A mother's memory is precious."
"I think he simply finds it easier to bear Mother's absence if he doesn't break the rhythm of their life together. He keeps up an endless round of functions and formal visits. I think Father finds the routine soothing. It helps him forget. And this is where he was happy," she explains.
"You are to be commended. Our society values a child that looks after his mother and father."
"It isn't difficult to direct the household, and Father doesn't impose too many other duties on me."
"Does this make you happy as well?" he ventures.
"Of course!" She turns to him indignantly. She sees mild green eyes, full of concern.
She turns her face from the light. Several moments pass before she speaks again.
Kamil feels an urge to take her hand, to confide his own father's seemingly inconsolable grief, his unraveling ties first to work, now to his family, and, Kamil fears, eventually to life. He would like her advice on how to help his father. The death of his wife had catapulted Kamil's father into training for his own oblivion. After her body was taken to the mosque, washed, wrapped in white linen, and consigned to the tomb under a hail of prayer, Alp Pasha never again stepped foot in a mosque or in the house where she had lived. Instead, he devoted more and more time to smoking opium in a darkened room, eventually giving up any pretense of governing.
When the grand vizier reluctantly took the office from him, Alp Pasha moved into his daughter Feride's home. He refuses to visit Kamil in the villa where his mother had lived, preferring the opium-induced vision to the real thing. When he prepares himself with a pipe, Alp Pasha told Kamil once, he can smell the roses in the garden and feel the breeze in his hair. Kamil worries that he hasn't done enough, that he is not a dutiful son, leaving the entire burden to his sister. He ponders how to bring up such a personal subject, then wonders if it is appropriate. The opportunity passes.
"I've never thought about it, to be honest. I suppose keeping Father happy keeps me happy as well," Sybil answers finally. She sounds unsure. "I do have other interests," she continues in a stronger voice, "that keep me amused." She tells Kamil about the tutor who comes twice a week to teach her Turkish.
"It's infuriating when someone speaks at length and then the terjuman translates it with only three words, so I determined to learn it myself."
She admits to Kamil that she occasionally slips out on her own, concealed under a feradje cloak and dark yashmak veil, and walks around the city, wanting to try out her Turkish without a retinue of servants, guards, and official translators.
"They're probably spies! So how much will anyone really tell me in their presence?"
Animated now, she shares with Kamil her interest in religion. They discuss Islam, not simply as a revealed book, but as a way of life. He finds that she knows a great deal about the present political debates and intrigues. After all, she has hosted many of the participants in her own home.
Sybil suggests that she practice her Turkish, and they end the evening laughing over mistranslated witticisms and slips of the tongue. Nevertheless, Kamil thinks her command of the language remarkable. She has none of the finesse of those raised at court or schooled in the byzantine labyrinths of bureaucratic politesse, but can converse quite freely and understand much of what she hears. He compliments her sincerely and, for the first time in a long while, is sorry to see a social evening end. On his way to the door, Bernie catches up with him, pats him on the back, and winks.
"Fancy a game of billiards sometime?"
As his horse negotiates the steep paths on the way home, Kamil wonders at the sudden flashes of companionship and trust that sometimes kindle between total strangers. Can he trust his new friendship with Bernie or is real friendship something that emerges only over years of shared history and challenges faced together, like the bond that has developed between him and Michel? In his experience, the initial bridge of trust and comradeship too easily splinters under the pressure of personal ambition or rots through as proximity leads to a greater understanding of the other's flaws. Before long, a promotion or a move to a different province sends the last planks sweeping down the river.
He realizes there had been no opportune moment to ask Sybil about Mary Dixon.
## 9
## Memory
This is Kamil's third visit to the British Embassy and he is still not inured to the paintings on the reception room wall. He has elected not to bother the ambassador with any further questions; it is Sybil who generally answers them in any case. He wishes to ask her about women's activities, he tells himself. The door opens and he rises, expecting the butler to lead him to another area of the cavernous embassy.
Instead, it is Sybil herself, in a gown embroidered with blue flowers. Emerging from the lace collar, her throat has the same round solidity of the woman in the painting behind him.
"Hello, Kamil Pasha. What a pleasure to see you again so soon."
"It was a lovely evening, Sybil Hanoum. Thank you." Kamil tries but fails to stop himself from looking into her eyes. "It's good of you to see me again."
Sybil lowers her lashes, although Kamil can still feel the weight of her gaze. She holds out her hand toward a comfortable chair near the fire. "Please sit."
Kamil realizes with some distaste that they are to remain in this most inappropriate room.
He sits, his back to the painting, but remains distracted by the thought that Sybil, who has settled herself in the chair opposite him, will have to look directly at it while they speak.
She doesn't seem to notice the painting, but sits smiling, her eyes on his face. Her face is slightly flushed. "Can I offer you some tea?"
"Yes, that would be most agreeable. Thank you."
Neither looks directly at the other.
She stands and tugs at the bellpull on the wall behind the settee. Above the lace collar, the back of her neck rises white and smooth until it is lost in a widening arrow of brown hair. Her hips swell beneath the gown. Kamil looks at his hands and forces himself to think of Mary Dixon, dead, a body, a cipher. That is what he has come for—an answer.
Sybil settles herself back into her chair.
"To what do I owe the pleasure of your call, Kamil Pasha? I imagine it must be something quite urgent."
"I wanted to speak with you about my investigation into Mary Dixon's death. Perhaps you have some insight where I have none."
Pleased, Sybil leans imperceptibly forward. "Whatever I can do to help."
The lack of demurral and false modesty pleases Kamil. The maid pushes in a trolley of tea and ginger cakes. She pours the tea and leaves.
It soon emerges that Sybil has little to add to what is already known about Mary Dixon. She had been in Istanbul for just over a year. Her position had been arranged by a member of the board of trustees of Robert College in response to a letter from her minister attesting to her good character. She traveled to Paris and was given instructions and papers by someone attached to the Ottoman Embassy there. A week later, she took a coach to Venice and a steamer from there to Stamboul. She had complained to Sybil about having to share a compartment with three other women for the fourday trip. She was met at the landing by a closed coach that took her directly to the women's quarters in Dolmabahche Palace.
"She came here several times to deal with visa matters. At first she was quite mocking of her new environment and so put out about her accommodations, one would think she was coming as a guest rather than as a governess. She said the girl who showed her to her room..." Sybil hesitates, but decides that in a murder investigation, she has no right to let modesty censor her account. "She said the girl was dressed in nothing more than, as she put it, knickers and a wrap." Kamil swallows a laugh. Sybil blushes, then hurries on. "And she complained that her room was completely unfurnished. She was horrified when she realized they expected her to sleep on a mattress that they brought out of the cupboards at night and to eat, as she put it, on the floor."
"It must be a great change for someone used to beds and tables and chairs."
"I thought it a bit unreasonable in someone coming out here to work. Surely she should have expected the experience to be different. Or else, why would she have come?"
"I'm sure she was paid well."
"I suppose she must have been, although, of course, we never spoke of that sort of thing."
"How did she get on with her employer?"
"Perihan Hanoum? Mary didn't seem to like her. She said she was haughty and unreasonable."
"You know Perihan Hanoum?"
"No, but I met her mother, Asma Sultan, many years ago."
"The wife of Ali Arslan Pasha, the grand vizier?"
Sybil nods. "It was the winter of 1878. I remember because it was snowing. A young Englishwoman, Hannah Simmons, had been killed that summer. She was employed as a governess and Mother was visiting the royal harems to see if she could find out anything. The police seemed to have thrown up their hands." She looks up at Kamil, smiling sadly. "You didn't know my mother. She was very determined." She pauses. "It's such a sad story, but, you know, what I remember best is that we rode there on a sleigh. Isn't that awful of me?"
"You were very young then."
"Fifteen." Sybil smiles shyly.
An image of Sybil in the snow comes unbidden to Kamil's mind. "It's commendable of you and your mother to do so much."
Brushing off the praise, Sybil responds, "It's not right to be nostalgic when another young woman has been killed.
Kamil ponders a moment. "Do you know anything specific that Mary Dixon disliked about her employer? Did they ever argue?"
"She never mentioned anything specific. I wonder, in retrospect, whether Mary liked anyone. It's improper to speak ill of the dead, I know, but she seemed so disaffected. The only time I saw her happy—although I suppose animated is a better word—was at the soirees she attended at the Residence. She attracted quite a bit of attention with her short hair and bold manner."
"What kind of attention?"
"Men. Men seemed to be drawn to her."
Kamil smiles. "Anyone in particular?"
"Not that I know of. Well, she did have a rather lively discussion with a young Turkish journalist, Hamza Efendi, not long before she...passed away. But I don't think it meant anything," she added briskly. "Just a conversation. I only mention it because other people noticed."
"She seems to have taken you into her confidence."
"Oh, no. Not at all. I think she needed someone to complain to, but we never had a real conversation. We spoke only a handful of times and I remember feeling quite put off by her reticence. That is, well, I shouldn't think such black thoughts, but it did occur to me at the time that perhaps she sought me out simply to gain invitations to the Residence."
"Do you know if she had any friends?"
"I didn't see her very often." Sybil pauses. "But I do remember that one evening last autumn she spent quite some time chatting with a young Turkish woman. I wondered about it at the time. It seemed as if they knew each other well."
"Do you remember the young lady's name?"
"I think it was Jaanan Hanoum, the daughter of an official, I believe, at the Foreign Ministry."
"The niece of the scholar Ismail Hodja?"
"Yes, that sounds right. I believe someone mentioned that he was a relation. I suppose it's possible that Mary met her before at one of our soirees. Jaanan Hanoum sometimes came with her father. I just never noticed them together before."
Kamil leans forward, pondering this further link to Chamyeri.
Sybil looks down, her fingers entwined in her lap. "Oh, dear, you must think me quite wicked for being so critical, when the poor woman is no longer here to defend herself."
"Not at all, Sybil Hanoum. You've been extremely helpful."
She doesn't look up.
"Please don't worry yourself. You're mistaken to think you are somehow unjust to Miss Dixon's memory by telling me what you know of her. On the contrary, you are helping me sort out what I believe you English call a 'fine kettle of fish.'"
Sybil laughs. "Your English really is remarkable." Then, turning serious violet eyes on Kamil, still sitting with his back to the offending paintings, she ventures, "Could I entice you to stay for lunch?"
"I would be honored."
Sybil calls the maid to give instructions, then, to Kamil's great relief, leads the way out of the reception room.
"FROM WHOM DID you inherit your discerning palate, then?"
A servant in a pressed black suit stands just inside the French doors, far enough away that he cannot hear their conversation, although Kamil sees the young man's head straining their way. They sit on the patio, cooled by breezes from the Golden Horn.
"From my grandmother. Since my parents were abroad so much, my sister, Maitlin, and I lived with my grandmother in Essex. Nana was quite a bon vivant. She had the most fabulous dinner parties with coq au vin, flans, these delicate almond fingers...I can almost taste them now. You know, she hired a French cook for her kitchen. It was quite a radical thing to do, since the French were—and still are—quite unpopular. In fact, some of her kitchen staff quit because they refused to work under a "Frenchie." But the cook, Monsieur Menard, was such an unassuming person that the staff eventually accepted him. His passion was cooking and he produced the most remarkable meals. Other people served stodgy English fare, but Nana's dinners were always interesting. Not all of her guests approved, of course." She laughs, exposing tiny round teeth. "I remember one particular lamb chop that was so tender that I can still, to this day, taste the bubble of flavor that burst in my mouth when I took the first bite."
Sybil stops abruptly and leans forward, embarrassed. "You must think me trivial to be obsessing over a lamb chop when you are here on a matter of murder."
"One's past is never trivial. Your description made me think of the house I grew up in, my mother's house in Bahchekoy. I still live there." Sybil's vivid account of her grandmother's house has pulled him into a conspiracy of memories from which he doesn't have the will or the desire to disentangle himself.
"My father was governor of Istanbul, and he was also responsible for the police and the gendarmes, so he was busy much of the time. Even when he was at home, we rarely saw him. The governor's palace was enormous, with so many rooms always crowded with servants and guests and people coming to petition my father or pay social visits to my mother as the governor's wife. I think it was all a bit too much for her. So when we were still quite young, she moved my sister and me to her childhood home. It's a lovely villa, surrounded by gardens. You can see the Bosphorus from the gardens. And instead of your Monsieur Menard, we have Fatma and Karanfil," he adds with a smile.
"Are they your relations?"
"No, they're local women who cook for the household. Fatma lived in the cook's quarters that were behind the house then, at the back of the yard. She never married. Her sister Karanfil came in the morning and then returned to her own home. Her husband was a water carrier."
He remembers them as they appeared in his childhood, two short, round women, their baggy, brightly flowered shalwar trousers expanding upward to meet layers of brightly patterned sweaters and cardigans. Their faces are full moons, but set with disconcertingly delicate features, as if the women have different, slender selves that somehow have been mistakenly absorbed by their heavy bodies.
A powerful, sensual memory of the kitchen of his childhood floods him as he waits for Sybil to refill his water glass. He toys with the fried mullet on his plate.
The women were in continual motion, cooking and cleaning. In summer they brought their work into the yard. He has an image of Fatma, squatting beside a basin of soapy water, her powerful arms twisting a rope of wet laundry. In winter the blue-washed kitchen walls were festooned with ears of corn and strings of red peppers, pulsating with color. A ceramic water urn stood just inside the door, a tinned copper plate across the top to keep out dust. A copper mug rested on the plate. Kamil remembers lifting the plate and looking into the urn, which stood almost to his chest, the hollow quality of the air and the loamy smell of wet clay, the resistance of metal against the skin of water and the satisfying whirlpool entering his mug. Water directly from this urn always tasted like an entirely different substance than water drunk from a glass. To this day, he keeps a clay jar of water and a tinned mug on the dressing table in his bedroom. He drinks from it to clear his mind and calm his senses.
He sips from his glass. Sybil waits expectantly for him to continue, unwilling to break his reverie by prompting him.
He tries to describe the garden, the kitchen, the fresh, lightly spiced cuisine: roasted aubergines, chicken pounded with walnuts and sesame oil, tart grape leaves stuffed with savory rice mixed with currants. Fatma and Karanfil called him their little lamb and plied him with flaky cheese-filled pastries and sweet cakes, washed down with glasses of diluted sugary black tea. Through the crackle of fire and the slap of dough against wood, Fatma's husky voice wove Turkish fables and legends and cautionary tales of djinns and demons.
"What happened to them?"
"Karanfil's husband died in a fire and now she, her son Yakup, and Fatma live in an extension I had built onto the kitchen house after my mother died. With the help of a few other servants, they keep house. They cook for me and tend the garden and my plants."
"You live there alone, then, with your servants." A statement.
"Yes."
This time, the silence is awkward. One word carries an insupportable burden, where an hour-long conversation has flown by with unguarded wings.
Sybil's face and neck flush red. She motions brusquely to the servant waiting by the door and asks for tea to be served in the garden. She stands and leads Kamil to a table set beneath an incongruous palm tree.
"Tell me about your plants," Sybil suggests in a voice too charged with interest.
"I have a small winter garden, I believe you call it. I collect orchids."
"Orchids? How delightful! But how do you get them here? Aren't they from South America? I've heard they're quite delicate."
"Not just from South America, Sybil Hanoum. There are many varieties of orchids all around us."
"Here? In Turkey?"
"There is a lovely orchid with sprays of violet blooms that grows in the forests around Istanbul, Cephalanthera rubra." He smiles at her. "It is our connection to Europe, where this variety is also found."
Sybil is flustered. "How lovely. Imagine my ignorance. But, but I would so like to see your collection," she blurts out. She looks down to rearrange her skirts with exaggerated care. "I'm sorry. That would be inappropriate, of course."
"It would be a great pleasure"—he pauses briefly—"but perhaps it would be better if your father accompanied you." The sight of her crestfallen face dismays him, but he is unwilling to risk her reputation—or, he admits to himself, his privacy. Still, the image of Sybil bending appreciatively over his scented orchids has taken root in his mind.
Regarding Sybil over the rim of his cup, Kamil lets the warm, eggshell-thin china rest for a moment against his lower lip before he sips from it.
THAT EVENING, KAMIL blots the ink on the letter he is trying to write. The words he has written seem to have taken on too much color, lost the dry rustle of truth and factualness that makes them scientific and, thus, to be believed by the recipient, H. G. Reichenbach.
Since the garden party, his thoughts have slipped their accustomed tether and he finds himself dwelling on Sybil's tapered fingers twined around the stem of the wineglass; the plump mound at the inside of her wrist; the hollow at the base of her neck. He thinks with disquiet, but also a little more sympathy, of his father, who, in his opium dreams, has surrendered to blissful communication with his dead wife. He takes up his pen and continues writing.
Dear Professor Reichenbach,
I write as an amateur botanist, but one with scientific observations that I hope to bring to your esteemed attention. I am in possession of a glorious and most unusual orchidae that to my knowledge has not been described elsewhere. It is a small plant with two roundish, semi-attached tubers and basal leaves with one spike culminating in a single showy flower. The flower is velvety black, with an arched labellum and densely hairy petals. The speculum is divided into two symmetrical halves and is a bright, shining blue, almost phosphorescent. I observed the plant in its habitat over several weeks. The arched labellum attracts male insects that cross-pollinate the flowers, perhaps lured by some volatile chemical compound released from its surface.
I collected this orchid in marshland at the edge of a forest in northwest Anatolia near the Black Sea. I have never seen another, nor does it fit the description of any of the orchidacae in your famous Glossary.
It is but one of many wondrous orchidacae in the Ottoman Empire, some of which I have described in previous letters to you. Many are found only here in Turkish lands; others join us to Europe in a continuous ecology. The tulip, the carnation, the lily, these are everywhere depicted, yet the true treasure of the empire, the orchid, is inexplicably absent.
I most respectfully await your response. If you desire it, I can arrange to have a sketch of the orchid sent to you so that you may inspect it further.
Yours most sincerely,
Kamil Pasha
Magistrate and Fellow Lover of Orchids
This is not his first letter to Professor Reichenbach, but he has not yet received a response.
## 10
## Hill of Stars
Hamza had been my friend almost as long as I could remember. When Mama and I still lived with Papa on the hill in Nishantashou, he engaged Hamza, his sister's son, as my tutor. Hamza had graduated from L'École Supérieure in Paris and, thanks to Papa's influence, was awarded a position as translator at the Foreign Ministry in Istanbul. His family lived in Aleppo, where, Papa told me, his father had been a kadi. Since his father was retired and unable to set Hamza up in his own household, Hamza lived with us as part of our extended family. Every morning, he set off for work dressed in Frankish trousers and the long, slim stambouline jacket fashionable among modern Ottomans. Papa too had long since discarded the traditional long robe and turban for trousers and a dashing red fez.
I watched from behind the wooden lattice that screened the women's quarters from the street as Papa and Hamza got into the carriage for their trip to the Sublime Porte. I caressed the words "Sublime Porte" in my mouth. I imagined it to be the entrance to the palace, an enormous carved wooden door studded with jewels and guarded by Nubian eunuchs, through which Papa and Hamza entered every day to go to their offices. When I was little, driving by in a carriage, my governess had pointed out the palace gates. They were enormous, of white stone, and set into an endlessly high wall the color of dried blood that rose on both sides of the narrow road. That first time, driving past the gates, I panicked and screamed, imagining that, with so little of the sky visible, the walls had begun to move together and would crush us. I learned that this was the Dolmabahche Palace, the home of Sultan Abdulaziz, not the Old Palace of many gates and pavilions that sat like a jewel box on a promontory at the confluence of the Bosphorus and the Sea of Marmara.
Some years later, when Sultan Abdulhamid had replaced Abdulaziz and I was living with Mama at Chamyeri, Hamza pointed these palaces out to me as we slid past them on the bright water in a caïque. Hamza was escorting Mama and me on a summer picnic trip to the islands at the mouth of the Marmara, our caique propelled by six strong rowers. Even though mother and I were invisible under our feradje cloaks and yashmak veils, the rowers studiously avoided looking toward the stern of the boat where we sat on cushioned benches. Hamza sat beside me, not touching, but so close I felt the heat of his body. The Russians had invaded the empire two months earlier and were slowly making their way toward Istanbul, but on this peerless summer day, the horizon was that of a young girl in love.
The first palaces we passed were ornate white confections, first the smaller Chiraghan Palace, crumbling around Sultan Abdulhamid's elder brother Murad and his family, who Hamza told me were imprisoned there, then the endless expanse of Dolmabahche right along the water's edge, wing after wing of ornamented white stone behind enormous white marble archways. I realized it must have been the landward walls of Dolmabahche that had so frightened me, but I did not tell him that, so he would not think me a baby. I was, after all, eleven.
"Sultan Abdulhamid's family and retainers live and work in Dolmabahche," Hamza told me, "but the sultan wants privacy and security. He trusts no one, not even members of his own family and staff." He pointed toward the top of the hill. "So he has built himself a new palace on the hill above the old one."
I looked up and saw a yellow wall snake through the trees. Looking higher, I caught glimpses of pitch-roofed buildings within the forest. From Nishantashou, I could see the lighted Yildiz Palace fill up the night like a hill of stars. I had always wondered who lived there, but since no one in the household ever looked in its direction, I hadn't wanted to reveal my ignorance by asking.
Finally, as the boat slipped from the narrow Bosphorus into the open sea, Hamza pointed to the breast of land riding the confluence of the Bosphorus, the Golden Horn, and the Sea of Marmara. The Old Palace on the hill was like the magic land from Hamza's tales, its turrets and pavilions set like jewels among trees and gardens.
"This is Topkapi Palace, where servants and slaves are sent to live out their days when they are old. And the harems and households of former sultans, and their widows." He pointed to a door in the enormous red wall that stretched along the entire expanse of the waterfront.
"That's the only door through which the women can leave again. It's where the dead are taken out for burial."
Irritated at Hamza for spoiling my vision with his depressing observations, I responded in a determinedly sprightly voice, "Still, I think it's a lovely place. I should like to live there."
Hamza looked at me thoughtfully.
"You shouldn't wish that, princess. They are not allowed to leave, nor are their children. Sultans fear their brothers and their children. If they're in line for the throne, they might try to depose the ruler. If they're not, they'll scheme to eliminate those in line before them. Even the daughters, should they marry, might be used by their in-laws to meddle in palace affairs. Connections and family links between the royal House of Osman and the rest of the empire are always kept to a minimum. One way to do that is to isolate members of your family. Another way is to kill them."
I averted my eyes from the Old Palace then. A leaden chill made me pull my feradje more tightly about my shoulders. I felt vaguely resentful at Hamza for telling me this. In a small gesture of punishment, I let my yashmak fall forward so it hid my eyes and mouth and didn't speak again until we landed on Prinkipo Island.
The Sublime Porte, I learned later, was nothing more than a heavy stone building crouching by the side of the Golden Horn.
WHEN I WAS a child at Nishantashou, only Papa moved freely between the harem, where Papa's mother and Mama presided, and the rest of the house. As a child I had a certain freedom to explore, as long as I did not interrupt the gatherings of men that my father held many evenings in the salon. That was easy enough to do, as the rumble of their voices could be heard at quite a distance.
Hamza and a succession of other tutors taught me to read and write Ottoman and Persian and introduced me to French and English, all of which my forward-looking father considered necessary skills for a modern Ottoman woman in order for her to be a suitable wife, entertaining and speaking intelligently with her husband's guests. I overheard Papa explain this to Hamza and wondered at the time why Mama refused to help Papa entertain. Later, I understood that Aunt Hüsnü was willing to dress in a Frankish gown, her face uncovered, and mingle with Papa's male guests and their modern wives, while my mother was unable to bring herself to drop her veil and stand naked, as it would seem to her, before strangers. Servants used to stretch a tunnel of silk between the front door and the carriage so that Mama could leave the house without being seen.
Of all my lessons, I looked forward to Hamza's the most. I practiced intensely in order to impress him, to gain the reward of his broad smile and words of praise when he realized what I had accomplished—and to avoid the thin drumming of his fingers on the table when I struggled. I strove to tether his eyes and was anguished when his gaze floated free, perhaps mesmerized by the brilliant reflections on the distant water or drawn through the vivid sky to thoughts that precluded me. I was jealous even of the sea. I was infatuated with Hamza and in love with Papa and, at least in that, I did my duty as a young girl. I learned in order to please them. It was my luck (although some might think it misfortune) that just then I moved into the orbit of Ismail Dayi, who had no such preconceptions about what and why young women were to learn.
But when we moved to Chamyeri, I was heartbroken at leaving Papa and Hamza. I missed the familiar rooms and servants and the view from my window of the minarets of the grand imperial mosques. In Nishantashou, we had countless servants. I was surrounded by the babble of their many languages: Turkish, Greek, Italian, Armenian, Arabic.
Chamyeri, by contrast, was frightening in its silence. The servants came during the day, as needed. For the most part, they did their work silently, sliding sideways looks at Mama and me when they thought our attention elsewhere. I wondered what they gossiped in the village about this unusual household—my uncle, his dreaming sister, and the lonely girlchild no one was raising. But eventually I came to appreciate the silence, the unlimited time to read and explore, the riches of my young life—a library, a wide sky, mine for as long as I cared to hold it, the flexing waters of the strait, a fragrant garden, and, in the forest, the pond with its ebony depths that made me just fearful enough to be satisfied.
I realize now that Hamza's visits to Chamyeri were possible only because of my mother's and Ismail Dayi's loose supervision. We would meet in the pavilion in the darkening afternoon. Sitting cross-legged on the divan, we discussed books and poetry. Hamza described Europe, the boulevards and cafés of Paris. If, on occasion, he seemed distracted, I attributed it to the insignificance of my experiences. After the cook left the kitchen at night, I stole lemons and brought them with me to bed, inhaling their scent under the quilt, imagining it to be Hamza's citrusy cologne, the roughness of the peel against my nose the sting of stubble on his cheek.
NOT LONG AFTER our boat trip to Prinkipo Island, Madam Élise came to live at Chamyeri. Before long, Ismail Dayi forbade Hamza to visit. I heard him tell mother that it was improper for a young man in the crazy blood of youth to spend the night in a house with unmarried women. Mama protested, but Ismail Dayi would not relent. He even forbade visits during the day. Hamza disobeyed him, arriving after Ismail Dayi's carriage had disappeared down the road. But he came less often and never stayed very long. He told me not to let Mama know he was there. I was sad for Mama because I knew how much she enjoyed his company, but flattered that he had braved the danger of my dayi's wrath to see me. Still, I missed our ritual and, for a long time, was unable to sleep until the early hours of the morning. I wandered through the dark rooms, listening for the clear chime of his voice, and huddled on the divan in the room where he had slept, the mattresses and quilts now stored away in a cabinet. Though Madam Élise's French was more fluent than Hamza's, in her mouth the language was a pale, sticky gum of sounds. Sometimes, sitting in the fragrant garden watching the night fishermen, I imagined I heard his voice.
## 11
## Your Brush Is the Bowstring
Niko's smile wavers only a moment as he opens the heavy, brass-studded door to find Kamil Pasha next to a skinny man with a face the color of yoghurt and hair like the setting sun.
"Your arrival pleases me," Niko booms, a gap-toothed grin beneath his luxuriant black mustache. At first glance, the hamambashou appears fat, but his chest is deep and well muscled from kneading the bodies of his charges. It is thatched with wet black hair. A red-checked peshtemal towel covers him from waist to knees.
"I am pleased to see you." Kamil turns to Bernie and is disconcerted to see his teeth in a wide grin. "Decorum," he can't help himself from saying. "Decorum is important."
"Yeah, right. Sorry, buddy." Bernie composes his face into a caricature of seriousness.
Kamil is apprehensive. It is the first time he has allowed anyone to accompany him to the hamam. He is no longer sure how it came about that Bernie is standing here now. Had he suggested it yesterday evening, or had Bernie? Either way, a bottle of potent raki had played a part. He has undertaken to bring Bernie to the baths, and he must make sure the experiment does not go awry. He follows Niko into the cooling-off room, trailed by Bernie, whose eyes are everywhere at once. The other men in the room look shocked, then quickly hide their expressions.
There are whispers. "A giavour, a heathen."
Kamil sees Fat Orhan propped on his side on a divan, a sheet wrapped about his middle. His red face is immobile, but his eyes follow their progress across the room.
Niko gives Bernie the cubicle next to Kamil's.
"Hang your clothing in there." Kamil indicates the wardrobe with the palm of his hand. "Then wrap yourself in this towel."
"What towel? Oh, you mean this cloth." Bernie picks up the peshtemal. "You could make a suit out of this amount of material. Or maybe a kilt." He whinnies a laugh, then catches himself.
"Sorry, sorry. Decorum. I know." He pats Kamil on the back. "Don't worry. I won't embarrass you."
Kamil cringes at the unaccustomed intimacy. He forces a smile. "I'm not in the least worried." He goes to his own cubicle and, with relief, closes the door. He hears knocking and rustling sounds from next door, as if Bernie is examining everything. Which he probably is, decides Kamil. Perhaps I would do the same. The thought cheers him, with its intimation of scientific inquiry and exploration of new things. But with decorum, he decides. Truth and decorum. The stamen and pistil of civilization, by which it reproduces itself. Either alone is sterile.
He removes his clothing and opens the armoire. Suddenly he hears the door behind him open. He swings around and grabs the peshtemal to cover himself. Bernie is standing in the doorway, the thatch of hair around his organ glowing brilliant red against his lean white thighs. Kamil grabs him and pulls him into the cubicle, his face pulsing with shame at what the men outside must be thinking. He snatches the peshtemal from Bernie's hands and orders him roughly, "Put this on." In that first moment of looking against his will, Kamil has seen something even worse—Bernie is uncircumcised.
Bernie wraps the peshtemal awkwardly around his waist so that it trails on the floor.
"Like this." Kamil indicates his own neatly tucked towel.
"Right." Bernie reties his. "You looked like you'd seen a ghost when I walked in." He flushes slightly. "You know, I've never been to one of these shindigs before. It's a bath, right? So, people do take their clothes off."
"It isn't proper to show oneself between the waist and knees."
"Oh." Bernie looks puzzled. "You know, there are all these engravings and paintings of the Turkish bath that show women in their birthday suits lounging around."
"Birthday suits?"
"Naked as the day is long."
"Men have different responsibilities." Kamil is displeased with his answer. He really doesn't know why the rules differ for men. He finds the usual answers unscientific: that it's traditional; that women are like children, irresponsible. He decides for honesty. "I simply don't know, Bernie. That's the way it is in the men's baths. Keep your towel on at all times."
"Will do, partner."
Kamil braces himself to leave the cubicle. He imagines what the audience in the cooling-off room will think when two men emerge from the same cubicle. Such a thing isn't uncommon, nor is it frowned upon, but Kamil doesn't want it associated with him. Not because of any principle against male intimacy, but because it rends Kamil's precious privacy. He prefers to be the watcher, not the watched.
SITTING IN THE bar of the Hotel Luxembourg, Kamil wonders at the rapidity with which one's attitude toward life can alter. Instead of poring over his books and orchids, here he is meeting a friend. After their inauspicious beginning in the hamam, Bernie had followed Kamil's lead assiduously. The giavour's red hair occasioned curious, if veiled looks, but nothing else had gone awry. Bernie quailed under the forceful blows of Niko's massive palms and bone-cracking massage. After only an hour in the steam-filled inner room, ladling hot water over his head with his hamam bowl, Bernie complained of shortness of breath and they retired, each to his own cubicle, in the cooling-off room. Refreshed by cool sherbet and a nap, they parted amicably at the door and summoned separate carriages to take them home. A few days later, Bernie sent a message challenging Kamil to a game of billiards.
Bernie is lifting his raki glass to him.
"Lousy game, friend. To your health, though."
Kamil lowers the lip of his glass so that it meets Bernie's below the rim. Bernie counters by lowering his. Laughing, they finally clink their glasses near the carpet, with Bernie winning the contest of showing respect.
"I should never teach you our customs. You then use your knowledge to shame me. You are the guest here and should be honored more."
"I'll only accept that if you swear you'll come to the States, so I can reciprocate and teach you American customs."
"And how do Americans honor a guest?"
"Well," says Bernie, rolling the words on his tongue in a thick American brogue, "I reckon we give 'em the last swig outta tha whiskey bottle. We sure as hell don't strip 'em naked, pour hot water on their heads, and beat the crap out of 'em."
Kamil laughs. "You survived just fine. That makes you an honorary Ottoman." Bernie takes out a cigarette and offers one to Kamil, who tamps it into the end of his ebony and silver cigarette holder. He lights Bernie's cigarette, then his own.
"Any luck on your case?"
"Eleven days, and all we have is a fisherman who heard noises from shore that night, a dog barking, and something being dropped into the water. My associate Michel Sevy and I went up there and looked around. There's a sea bath, a kind of enclosed bathing pool. We found a dead dog nearby, with its head smashed in. But nothing else."
"Your associate's name is Michel Sevy?"
"Yes, why? He's the police surgeon."
"Nothing. Just curious. Where was this?"
"Between Chamyeri and Emirgan. There's a fairly large village there. The body was found halfway down the Bosphorus, but the things I've learned all point north to Chamyeri. That's the place where another British governess, Hannah Simmons, was found murdered eight years ago. Her name keeps coming up. I can't help but wonder whether the two deaths are related somehow."
"Chamyeri. It means 'Place of the Pines,' doesn't it?" Bernie asks pensively.
"Yes. I didn't realize you speak Turkish so well."
"I need to read some Ottoman for my work, but can't speak it to shake a stick at."
Kamil repeats slowly, "Shake a stick at."
Bernie laughs. "Don't bother learning that one, old buddy. I can't explain how to use it. You'll be shooting blanks."
"Shooting blanks. Now, that makes more sense."
Kamil suddenly remembers Sybil mentioning that she had just missed Bernie when she first arrived in Istanbul. Thinking Bernie might have crossed paths with the murdered woman at the embassy, he asks, "Did you know her?"
Bernie looks startled. "Who?"
"Hannah Simmons."
Bernie looks at the raki glass between his fingers as if he hopes to find an answer there. His boyish face looks older when he frowns, Kamil observes. His skin is thick, like that of an animal. It bends rather than creases. His face will have few wrinkles in old age, he thinks, but deep lines.
"No." Bernie says finally, avoiding Kamil's eyes.
Kamil lifts the cigarette holder to his lips, draws deeply, and waits.
After a moment, Bernie asks with what Kamil judges a shade too much enthusiasm, "So what do you make of it?"
Kamil ponders how much to reveal. "I don't know. The dead woman, Mary Dixon, apparently was friendly with a Muslim girl that lives in the same house at Chamyeri where the other body was found eight years ago. The house belongs to a well-known scholar. The girl is his niece. Odd, isn't it? Both murdered women were English governesses in the imperial harem." He shrugs. "It's probably a coincidence."
Kamil frowns at his own admission. He doesn't believe in coincidences.
"The girl, Jaanan Hanoum," he adds, "was a child at the time of the first murder. She's in France now."
"What about the scholar?"
"It's impossible. He's one of the most respected religious men in the empire. I simply can't imagine him having anything to do with an Englishwoman, much less with killing her. He has no connection with the foreign community and he's not involved with any particular faction in the palace. He keeps his distance from the power struggles. He doesn't have anything to gain by them. He is head of a powerful Sufi order. His position is unassailable because it's based on his reputation and on an influential circle of relations and friends. His family consists of famous poets, jurists, philosophers, and teachers. He's also independently wealthy. Why would he kill young Englishwomen? No, my friend, I think we must look elsewhere."
Bernie takes another sip of raki followed by a water chaser, then leans back and folds his hands across his stomach.
"I brought the pendant along," Kamil says. He takes the handkerchief with the jewelry from his jacket pocket and spreads it out on the table. "I thought since you know so many languages, you might have have some idea what these lines mean." He opens the pendant and holds it out to Bernie. "Is it some kind of writing?"
Bernie takes the small silver globe. It rests on his palm, lobes open, like a fat insect.
"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," he exclaims under his breath. Freckles stand out on his blanched face like liver spots.
"What is it?" Kamil's senses become alert for nuance.
Bernie doesn't answer. He tilts the open silver shell toward the light and peers into it with great concentration. Kamil becomes aware of the clink of glasses and low murmur of male voices around them, the musk of tobacco smoke. The cigarettes burn down in the ashtray. Finally, Bernie closes the pendant and strokes it with his finger gently as a lover. When he looks up, he seems startled to see Kamil sitting opposite him. The surprise in his eyes is replaced by a look of consternation. He seems to be struggling with something.
He turns the pendant, examining the surface, then holds it to the light and squints to see inside again. Finally, he places it gently on the table between them. He takes a deep breath.
"It's Chinese."
"Chinese?" Kamil is taken aback. "Are you certain?"
"Of course. I read it fluently."
Kamil looks at him curiously. "It's an amazing coincidence that you should be here to decipher it for me."
He studies the markings for a moment as if he can decipher them himself. He is thinking, however, about Bernie's reaction.
"What does it say?"
"The two characters on the pendant stand for 'brush' and 'bowstring.'"
"What?" Kamil is flabbergasted. "What does it mean? Does it mean anything at all?"
"It refers to a Chinese poem, 'On Seeing an Early Frost.'" He recites:
In autumn wind the road is hard,
Streams fill with red leaves.
For crows what is left but stony soil and barren hills?
I can endure, a withered pine
clinging to a cliff edge,
Or set out on the road brocaded by frost.
Your brush is the bowstring that brings the wild goose down.
"You know it by heart."
Bernie attempts to look modest. "I know a few of them. This is a poem by Chao-lin Ch'un, a concubine to a Manchu prince about a hundred years ago. Apparently, she and the prince shared a love of poetry and calligraphy. It's said she was his political advisor, which didn't endear her to the rest of the family. She collected art objects too, a fantastic collection, apparently. Some European travelers wrote about it. She must have been some lady."
"What happened to her?"
"When the prince died, his son by an earlier marriage inherited his title and he kicked her out."
"Would she have returned to her family?"
"No, women like that usually choose to become nuns—Buddhist or Taoist nuns. It gives them a lot more freedom and respect than chasing back to their parents, assuming they'd even take them back. It's a life of contemplation, not very comfortable, but a lot of people find it rewarding. I sometimes wonder whether I wouldn't like to try it myself."
"I can see why it would be attractive."
"You? Really?" He regards Kamil curiously. "I never figured you for the introspective sort. Somehow I can't see you spending hours reflecting on the transience of plum blossoms."
Kamil laughs. "You'd be surprised."
"Well, friend. I respect that."
"What about the poem?"
"The poem. Well, it's a bitter poem. Probably written after the prince died." Bernie takes a long swig of raki and washes it down with water. "But the last couple of lines always struck me as more of a call to action than contemplation. And I've always wondered about the 'you' in the last line, 'your brush.' Who was she referring to?"
"So this is what scholars of literature do," Kamil comments with a sly smile. "Like cows eating grass. It gets chewed, digested, regurgitated, and chewed again before it becomes the cow's food."
Bernie lets out a guffaw that threatens to spill the drink in his hand. "And we all know what comes out at the end!" Wiping the tears from his eyes, he adds, "You should be a book critic."
When their laughter subsides, Bernie muses, "She had a lover, a scholar named Kung, who published some fiery articles urging reform of the Manchu government. He left Peking in a big hurry the year after Chao-lin Ch'un disappeared. Reportedly went to Hang-chow. Makes you wonder, though, doesn't it? Maybe he's the one with the aggressive brush." He holds up his glass. "Here's to love and revolution."
Kamil hesitates, then touches the rim of his glass to Bernie's. He puts it down without sipping.
"Why revolution?"
"A few years after the two of them left Peking, there was an attempt to overthrow the Manchus. Unsuccessful. Might have nothing to do with these two, but it makes a good romantic yarn."
"Is this poem well known?"
"Not at all. I'm not sure whether it was even published. I got hold of it as a privately circulated manuscript. Looks like someone at Dolmabahche Palace has the same manuscript, although I don't know of any sinologists who would have been around here to translate it."
"Why do you think the pendant came from Dolmabahche? Why not Yildiz Palace?"
Bernie appears nonplussed. "Well, that's where most of the women are, right? They'd be the ones wearing a pendant."
"And reading Chinese poetry?"
"Probably not. I know some of them have really good tutors, but learning Chinese is a lifetime project. Unless the sultan has a concubine from China or from the tribal peoples that border it."
"The palace prefers Circassians, but it is possible. There's no way to know; there are hundreds of women in the imperial household."
Kamil reflects on the coffered ceiling. "I guess it was too much to hope that the necklace would offer some kind of clue. Perhaps someone simply had unusual taste in jewelry and it wasn't made here at all." He turns it over with his thumbnail. "But what about the tughra?"
Bernie's smile does not reach his eyes, which seem fixed on a deep memory, as if the present moment were no more than thin ice. He shakes his head and faces Kamil.
"It's an odd thing. Can't help you there. Maybe the pendant was made somewhere else and inscribed with the Chinese characters, then found its way here and was monogrammed with the tughra. Or maybe someone at the palace was interested in Chinese poetry and had it made, then gave it to Mary as a gift."
The tone is in the wrong key, too lighthearted. Kamil is sure Bernie is hiding something.
"It's possible. Mary was here for almost a year. But who would know Chinese?"
Besides Bernie. Kamil frowns. He will have to find out more about his friend. The thought saddens him. Kamil rises to go, pleading an engagement.
## 12
## The Old Superintendent
The young boy tamps a golden wad of fragrant tobacco into the bowl of the old man's narghile. As he kneels, head lowered, to attend to their water pipes, Kamil can see the whorls of his short hair, like the grain in wood, and the flanges of his ears.
Ferhat Bey waits until the boy leaves and he has taken a deep draught of fresh smoke before turning to Kamil and continuing.
"There isn't much I can tell you. We searched the area thoroughly. There were no clues."
They are sitting in a coffeehouse in the Beyazit quarter, not far from the entrance to the Grand Bazaar. The coffeehouse is part of a large complex of buildings attached to a venerable old mosque. It is late afternoon, a hiss of rain on the flagstones. They sit on a bench, feet tucked under their robes against the wet chill. An old man reclines on the bench in the far corner of the room, his eyes closed, a gnarled hand curled around the mouthpiece of his narghile. The air is redolent of scented tobacco and drying wool.
Kamil takes the amber mouthpiece from his lips and exhales slowly. The light from the window shudders and is gone. Kamil adjusts his woolen mantle around his shoulders.
The former superintendent of police is a wiry, gray-haired man with a deeply seamed face but hands incongruously unmarked by time, as fair and supple as a girl's.
"We thought immediately of Ismail Hodja's household, of course. The body was found right behind his property, after all, and there are no other residences in the area."
"Yes," Kamil murmurs his assent. "That would be the first place to look. Did you find anything?"
Ferhat Bey does not answer for a moment, his eyes fixed on the coals, then returns his attention to Kamil. He is painfully aware that Kamil has neglected to defer to him and assumes this is because Kamil is the son of a pasha and used to taking on airs. Still, in deference to his age, Kamil should speak less directly. One shows respect through formality, through indirection; there are necessary locutions within which questions and responses should be couched, muffled, like winter padding on a horse's hooves, so that the ring of fact on stone remains the prerogative of the elder, the teacher. What has he got to teach this upstart? thinks Ferhat Bey bitterly. He had failed and this brash young man will fail too.
"Who made up the household at that time?" Kamil asks.
The old man sighs and answers slowly, showing his displeasure at being interrogated. The young upstart should read the file; he had noted at least this much before he stopped writing.
"Household? Ismail Hodja, of course. His sister and niece. The niece's governess, a Frenchwoman. She found the body. A gardener and a groom that live on the property. Daily maids and a cook that live in the village."
He stops and draws on his pipe. Kamil waits until Ferhat Bey has expelled the smoke into the room, but when the old superintendent does not continue, he presses him eagerly.
"Can you tell me what they said, where they were that day and the night before? Did they see anything?"
Ferhat Bey wishes he had not agreed to this meeting. Stubbornly, he draws out the silence.
Kamil understands that he has been too forward. This man is too old to be converted to a modern approach to solving crime, Kamil thinks. To him, the important thing is that he is an elder who was once a man of rank. The puzzle of a crime is worth nothing when measured against your place in society. The fact that Kamil resists this himself does not mean that others agree. He adjusts his manner accordingly.
"Superintendent Efendi," he says, using the man's title out of politeness, "I would much appreciate any help you could give me in solving this crime. I wonder whether your experience with the other investigation could help me shed light on this one. There seem to be some similarities, although I could be wrong. I defer to your judgment in this."
Mollified, Ferhat Bey's interest is piqued.
"What similarities?"
"Both young women were English and had positions as governesses with members of the imperial family. Both bodies were found in water. The second woman probably was thrown into the Bosphorus between Emirgan and Chamyeri." He tells Ferhat Bey what the night fisherman saw. He does not mention the pendant, or the dilated pupils.
The superintendent looks up at Kamil craftily, his eyes scanning Kamil's face for a reaction to what he says next.
"Do you think there's a connection to the palace?"
If there is, Ferhat Bey is thinking with satisfaction, it will ruin this man like it ruined him—left with a pension that barely covers his tobacco. The scorpion, he knows, has made its nest in the magistrate's woodpile. Feigning disinterest in the answer, with a barely discernible smile, he brings the tea glass to his lips, then sets the empty glass down.
Kamil doesn't answer right away. He signals to the boy, who rushes over to refill their glasses from the enormous brass samovar huffing on a corner table. The men silently go about the ritual of preparing their tea. Each balances the saucer and glass on the palm of his hand, measures sugar from a jar, and stirs up a small whirlpool that skirts the lip of the glass but remains confined within it as if by a mysterious force. Kamil holds his glass up to the light, admiring the amber red of the liquid.
"Excellent tea!"
Ferhat Bey doesn't care about the color of his tea. He is waiting for an answer. He wonders if Kamil is being insolent or whether he truly doesn't know. Well, if he doesn't know, I won't tell him, thinks the old man. Let him find out the hard way that crimes linked to the palace are crimes best left unsolved.
Still, he is curious about the new case.
"It may be a coincidence," he offers slyly, hoping to get Kamil to lower his guard and tell him about the present case. He isn't interested in discussing history.
Kamil sets his glass down carefully.
"Perhaps." He sits quietly, eyes caught by the motes of dust jostling in the beam of light from the window. Such chaos, he muses, yet the world is by its nature orderly. There is always a pattern.
The loud click of glass meeting saucer brings his attention back to the superintendent. He is impatient, Kamil thinks. Good. Perhaps he is willing to share some of his memories of the case. He turns to the old man.
"I can't tell whether there is a link because I know so little about the first murder." He does not add that Ferhat Bey's case notes were so incomplete and poorly organized that it had been impossible to gain insight from them.
Ferhat Bey sighs. It seems he will have to pay for his entertainment with memories after all, but he will not reveal everything. Let him figure it out for himself. And by then it will be too late. He can't help smiling at the thought, but it appears on his face as a smirk.
"What do you want to know?"
"Whatever is most important to know. Where the body was found, who you spoke with, what they said. The condition of the body," he adds carefully.
"The body? She was dead, that's all. Face up in the pond. We thought she had drowned, but the surgeon pressed on her chest and found there was no water in her lungs. She had been strangled. You could see the mark on her neck. Knife-sharp, but not a knife. A very thin, strong cord."
"Silk?"
Ferhat Bey grins. "Yes, a silk cord. No other cord would leave that kind of mark." Everyone knows that is the method preferred by the royals. He is no better match for them than I was, despite his fancy new title.
"Was she a virgin?"
Ferhat Bey is somewhat taken aback by Kamil's straightforward way of bringing up a most delicate subject, even among men. It would be quite different if they were drinking buddies or school friends, then they could discuss such obscene things freely. But they are colleagues and he is an elder. He deliberates briefly whether this is disrespectful or not, but concludes that Kamil is simply socially inept. Not uncommon among spoiled children of the elite, he thinks. That will make him all the more susceptible to the rot at the palace, he thinks with satisfaction.
"No."
"Another similarity." Kamil pauses. "Was anything else remarkable about the body, other than this and the cord line at her neck?"
"Well, I'm not sure one could call the fact that she wasn't a virgin remarkable," Ferhat Bey chortles. "After all, she was a Frank, and you know how their women are." He settles himself back and puffs with satisfaction on his water pipe.
Kamil smiles wanly, refusing to be drawn in.
"Anything else?" he repeats.
The superintendent stirs restlessly. He doesn't know what this young upstart is after.
"Nothing else. Unless you're interested in rumors."
"What rumors?"
"There was some talk that she was having an affair with a Turk, a journalist."
"Was she?"
"How would I know? No one had any real information, and there are hundreds of journalists these days, far too many, if you ask me."
"How did you make the connection to the palace?"
Ferhat Bey winces.
"There was a witness," he admits grudgingly.
Kamil is surprised. He hadn't heard there was a witness.
"To the murder?"
"No, to the abduction. Except that apparently she went willingly. One of the eunuchs said a carriage picked her up by the back gate. And it wasn't the first time. She always went alone, always with the same disreputable-looking driver. The eunuch planned to tell her employer to fire her for lack of—what did he call it?—moral fitness. That was before she turned up dead." He squeezes out a wheezing laugh.
"Whose eunuch?"
Ferhat Bey is agitated. He has let himself slip. He hadn't meant to let Kamil know about the eunuch.
"He belonged to Asma Sultan's household in the harem," he admits reluctantly.
"Asma Sultan?" Kamil tries to remember where else he has heard the name recently.
"Sultan Abdulaziz's daughter, may he rest in peace. She's married to Ali Arslan Pasha."
The grand vizier's wife. Sybil in the snow. He sees her, cheeks red, traveling in the sleigh with her mother to Ali Arslan Pasha's harem.
"But there were a lot of other women in that harem," Ferhat Bey continues.
"Other high-status women?"
"The pasha didn't have the same appetite as his father-in-law. Or else his wife made sure he kept his sword in his scabbard." Ferhat Bey wheezes a laugh. "So no concubines, just Asma Sultan and his daughter, Perihan Hanoum. The rest were servants, like the English-woman. Although Asma Sultan's relations came and went so often they might as well have been living there. They all knew the governess," he adds.
"Who else visited?"
"Her nieces Leyla and Shukriye were there a lot. Shukriye Hanoum was engaged to that sot Prince Ziya, who was killed with his pants down in Paris."
Kamil tries to keep his irritation in check. He had never met Prince Ziya, but knew enough of his reputation as a thoughtful man and supporter of just causes to have a great deal of respect for him. He had never believed the rumor that Ziya died in a brothel.
"So what is the link between the palace and the murder?" Kamil asks. The old superintendent had implied there was a link. He is certain he hadn't misheard.
"That's the link. Asma Sultan's hawk-eyed eunuch. Go ask him yourself. Be sure to bring a large gift." He sniggers. Asma Sultan, her eunuch, and the woman Hannah were pawns in a game played by giants. He has just put this young upstart on the game board. Still, he shouldn't have brought Asma Sultan's name into it. He doesn't want any more trouble than he already has.
"You never found the carriage or the driver?"
"No."
The superintendent knows his reputation as a failure. He could explain that he was forced to take early retirement and leave this case unsolved. But trading his reputation for the truth might very well lose him more than his position. His notes on the case had been incomplete for this very reason.
Kamil asks, "What about the household at Chamyeri? What did they tell you?"
"Nothing. No one claimed to have seen anything. Other than that hysterical goose of a Frenchwoman. She found the body, ran to the house, packed her things, and was ready to go even before we arrived. She didn't even speak our language, so we had the young girl, Ismail Hodja's niece, translate for us."
"What was the Frenchwoman doing back by the pond?"
Ferhat Bey thinks a few moments. "Well, she said she had been taking a walk. I suppose that's reasonable."
"Was she in the habit of walking there? If I remember correctly, the pond is quite secluded, in the forest."
"Who knows the minds of women?" Ferhat Bey answers in an exasperated tone. "They walk in the woods. Maybe she had a lovers' tiff and wanted some privacy to lick her wounds."
"Did she have a lover?"
The superintendent has reached the end of his patience. Clearly, the man has no imagination, he decides.
"How should I know? I can't very well ask a young girl to ask the woman if she has a lover, can I? And she'd never admit to it if she did. What difference does it make anyway? We had a witness. It had nothing to do with that household." He decides to stop before his tongue slips further along the path he has already negligently directed the young man toward.
The light filtering in the window has become tepid and wan. Outside, the rain has stopped and a chill night wind has begun to blow. The room has begun to fill with men who have closed their shop doors and look forward to their moment of comfort before they walk through the dark streets to their homes. Their breaths have condensed on the windows in a ragged tongue of moisture.
Ferhat Bey mutters that it is time for him to leave and rises shakily to his feet. Kamil thanks him for his kindness and assistance and offers to help him home. The old man growls and waves him off.
"I don't live far. I'll walk."
He hobbles into the courtyard. Kamil stays behind to pay the owner. When he emerges, the superintendent is gone. Kamil shrugs, wraps his cloak closer about him, and passes through the great stone gate into the street beyond.
As soon as Kamil is out of sight, Ferhat Bey emerges from the shadows at the back of the courtyard. He stands for a while, squinting against the wind, as if waiting to see if Kamil will return, then goes back into the coffeehouse.
## 13
## A Perfect Fit
Kamil and Sybil sit opposite each other in the reception room. He is eager to talk and has refused the inevitable offer of tea. He avoids looking at Sybil and keeps his mind resolutely on the purpose of his visit. To his relief, Sybil is dressed demurely in a china-blue gown.
"Sybil Hanoum, you said you were here when Hannah Simmons was killed."
"I thought you were looking into Mary's death. Is there some connection?"
"I don't know. There may not be, but I'd like to be sure. I spoke yesterday with the police superintendent that handled the case. Perhaps you might remember something more."
Sybil looks thoughtful, then says slowly, apologetically, "Perhaps I wrongly disparaged the police. Mother couldn't find out very much either. Hannah was last seen in the harem nursery, reading to the children."
"Did you know her?"
"She must have come 'round the embassy, but I don't remember ever meeting her."
"Who was her employer?"
"Mother said she was hired by Asma Sultan. But there are usually other women in the harem too."
"Do you know who else?"
"No, but I can try to find out. I'll send a note to Asma Sultan and ask to call on her."
"There's no need for you to do that," Kamil says quickly. "I'd rather you didn't. I mean, I don't know what is involved, or who. It could be dangerous."
"You can't talk to the women, so maybe I can find out something useful. I'll only go for tea, not to put my head on the block," she jokes.
Kamil doesn't smile.
They sit silently for a few moments, each lost in thought.
"Poor Hannah," Sybil says finally. "Mother wrote a letter to Hannah's parents in Bournemouth, explaining as delicately as she could what had happened to their daughter, but never received an answer. We buried her in the English cemetery in Haidar Pasha."
"It is terribly sad," he says awkwardly. "So you know nothing about Hannah Hanoum's family?"
"We were able to learn nothing at all. Except for a few people's memory of her, it's as if she never existed." Sybil turns her face away.
Kamil dismisses an impulse to take Sybil's hand and comfort her.
"She must have family somewhere that remembers her," he reassures her. "And she did have a memorable life, at least while she was among us. After all, it's not every day that a young Englishwoman comes to Istanbul to work for the royal family. Surely there were good things in her life that made it worth living. That served her better than someone's memory of her after she was gone."
"I suppose you're right. I wonder what happened to her belongings. I remember they were sent here to the embassy. I doubt Father would know. He doesn't concern himself with that sort of thing. Mother would have dealt with it. There's a room off the kitchen where she stored odd things. Why don't we look there?" Sybil straightens in her chair and gives him a small smile, cheered by the prospect of a common task.
THE KITCHEN MAID stands by the door, mouth open, as Kamil and Sybil pull out endless jars of preserved peaches and jams that had been stacked at the front of the shelves in the storage room, obscuring a variety of neatly arranged objects: an old marble mantel clock surmounted by a gold eagle; three dented copper bowls with worn tinning; a box of silver spoons; and, at the back of the lowest shelf, a suitcase tied shut with string. Attached to the handle is a neat label addressed in a spidery hand: "Hannah Simmons, d. 1878. Belongings. Unable to forward."
Kamil carries the suitcase to the kitchen table. Sybil gestures for the maid to leave.
"Let's see what's in it." Sybil pulls the case toward her and begins to worry the string. Kamil takes a short, horn-handled knife from his jacket pocket. He slices the string, opens the suitcase, and gently lifts its contents onto the table: two plain dresses, a pair of lace-up shoes, a chased-silver brush set, a pair of embroidered Turkish slippers, and some documents.
"The remnants of a life," Sybil muses sadly. "So little."
Kamil runs his fingers around the edge of the suitcase's lining. He finds an opening and tugs at it, revealing a small velvet box inside a hollow space behind the lock. Kamil pulls the box out and lays it on the table. He stands abruptly and goes to a large clay jar in the corner of the room, removes the lid, and dips in the tinned copper cup attached by a chain. When he has drunk his fill, he replaces the lid and returns to the table.
Kamil pries the latch back with his thumbnail and swings the lid open. Inside is a padded nest of blue silk, a round indentation in its center. Kamil reaches into his pocket and brings out the pendant found around Mary Dixon's neck. He settles it gently into the impression. It is a perfect fit, as he knew it would be.
## 14
## Blood
At the entrance to the grand vizier's villa waits a eunuch. He is wearing a spotless white robe that makes a startling contrast to his blue-black skin. His face is smooth and rounded as an aubergine, but his limbs seem stretched, longer than one might expect for his size. Into the broad sash that binds his substantial middle is tucked a flywhisk at a rakish angle, like an ornament or egret feathers on a turban. As Sybil climbs from the carriage, he bows deeply, sweeping his hand against his mouth, then his forehead, in a grand gesture of obeisance. There is a haughtiness about him too. His eyes always rest on a spot above Sybil's head. He takes no notice of the British regimental lieutenant in scarlet coat saluting Sybil with a white-gloved hand, then leading the remainder of her armed escort toward the guardhouse. The eunuch never speaks. When he guides Sybil through the massive marble doors, the palms of his hand flash yellow, like fish turning.
Sybil trails the eunuch through rooms of rich furnishings and enormous fine carpets. Oil paintings and framed Quranic inscriptions are hung high up near the ceiling. She can see her reflection in the mirrored walls—a white wraith gliding behind a black eunuch, two ghosts in the halls of empire.
At a door carved with gilded swags of roses, the eunuch gives her yellow slippers embroidered with flowers made of tiny colorful crystals. But the women who receive her beyond the door are dressed in European fashion, Oriental only in the surfeit of gold and silver thread and embroidery covering every surface. They are encased from top to bottom in jewels, like Fabergé eggs. They sit stiffly in upholstered armchairs, held upright by their corsets. Some have silk scarves draped rakishly over their hair, pinned by diamond brooches.
What, oh, what have we wrought, Sybil thinks dejectedly, if this is what the world has learned from us?
Asma Sultan rises and walks toward Sybil, hands spread in greeting. Her face is round and pleasant, with a button nose and small eyes. An undistinguished face, the kind one sees but doesn't remember seeing, sipping afternoon tea in a hotel lobby or handing tuppence to a grandchild. Delicate white skin hangs loose along her cheeks and below her chin. The eyes that look her guest over, however, are sharp as flint.
"My family is honored by your presence at my grandson's circumcision."
"I'm happy to be here, Your Highness." Sybil can't remember whether she should bow or curtsy, does both, and stumbles in the unaccustomed slippers.
Large windows frame the blue expanse of the Bosphorus. A French door stands open. The scent of jasmine drifts in from the terrace. The room is flooded with light.
"May I introduce Sybil Hanoum, daughter of our illustrious English ambassador," the hostess announces in slightly accented French.
The women smile and greet her in their high-pitched voices. Sybil responds in Turkish, causing murmurs of approval. She moves around the room, stopping before each woman and waiting while the hostess introduces the guest and mentions, in flowery Turkish praise, the positions of each woman's husband or father. The women are introduced in order of their prestige.
"Your coming is welcome."
"I am happy to find myself here."
"How are you?"
"Fine, thank you. And you, how are you?"
"I am fine, thanks be to Allah."
"How are your father and mother? Your family?"
"They are well. And your father, is he well?"
Of course, the hostess will have told the women all she knew about Sybil before her arrival. They would not ask about a mother who was dead, or a child, when Sybil is unmarried at what most would consider the advanced age of twenty-three. Clearly, after the death of her mother, Sybil has devoted her life to caring for her father, forgoing a family herself. A good, dutiful daughter.
All the chairs are pushed against the walls, as if the women are still reclining on a long divan. This makes conversation impossible with anyone other than Sybil's immediate neighbors, so she has trouble following the conversations. One of the women switches to French, but Sybil's French is poor, so they return to Turkish.
The seven-year-old boy who will shortly be lifted into manhood at the point of a knife is dressed in yellow and blue silken robes and struts about among the women like a peacock, trailed by his governess.
Later in the afternoon, the women move through the French doors and across the patio toward a shaded grove beyond sprays of jasmine and stands of roses for refreshments. Sybil finds herself walking beside Asma Sultan. Her hair is bound up in a turban of silk gauze edged in pearls and held in place by a diamond and ruby ornament made to resemble a bouquet of flowers. One side of the turban hangs free. The silk slips across her face when she moves.
"Tell me," she asks Sybil as they walk through the garden, "what is life like for a woman in Europe?"
Having had little experience, Sybil tells her about Maitlin's struggle to become a doctor.
Asma Sultan interrupts. "What about Paris?"
"I've never been to Paris, Your Highness," Sybil admits reluctantly, stung by her lack of interest in Maitlin's accomplishments. "But London is a fascinating place," she ventures, launching into a somewhat imaginative account of life in London, where she has been only briefly, but has read about in Dickens and Trollope. She throws in the new underground railway she heard was recently completed.
Before long, Asma Sultan interrupts again. "My nephew went to Paris many years ago." Then she falls unaccountably silent.
Sybil now realizes that Asma Sultan's previous questions were mere preludes to this, the important matter. She also has the impression that Asma Sultan herself is surprised and disconcerted by her admission but, at the same time, compelled to speak it.
She inquires tentatively, "Did he enjoy his stay?"
"He died there."
This, Sybil thinks, is the key to the matter.
"May your head remain healthy."
They walk in the garden apart from the others.
"Ziya was a good man. I wished him to marry my daughter, Perihan, but as the sultan's granddaughter, her hand was too valuable to waste on a relative. My husband thought it more useful to buy the loyalty of a minister. My husband is clever, a ship with sails that catch the slightest wind. He did well under my father until he helped depose him. Now my husband serves the present sultan."
Sybil tries to hide her surprise at Asma Sultan's admission. "But that's normal, isn't it? When there's a change in government, people serve whoever is in charge of their country."
"You do not understand, Sybil Hanoum. We are all slaves of Allah. But we are also slaves of the sultan. His will determines all our fates. The palace is not a place or a government, but a body that reaches every corner of the empire. My nephew could not escape it even in Paris. I am less than the tip of a small finger. Even though I myself am the daughter of a sultan."
At the palace, Sybil has heard, loyalty counts for everything, kinship and friendship not at all, unless one is born of the same mother. Those closest to the sultan are in the most danger, as they are directly in the compass of his critical eye. She wonders whether this is true also for the relations of former sultans. Perhaps more so, she decides, since they might be competitors for the throne. The eldest male of the family inherits.
"I was there when my father was deposed by his own trusted ministers," Asma Sultan continues softly. "They shamed him until he took his own life. The most powerful man in the world and he wasn't allowed to see anyone except his women. Ordinary guards watched his every move, can you imagine? It was unspeakable."
Shocked, Sybil can offer little comfort. "How dreadful, Your Highness."
In a melancholy voice, Asma Sultan continues. "He loved my mother and he loved me because I was her daughter. He loved us most of all. We wiped the blood from his arms with our own veils."
Sybil doesn't know what to say. She had arrived in Istanbul just before the coup and remembers the frightening riots in the streets, the talk of troops and warships surrounding the palace.
"It destroyed my mother," Asma Sultan whispers.
"My mother told me about her, Your Highness. She met her once," Sybil says in a sympathetic voice.
Asma Sultan turns sharply. "When?"
"It must have been 1876, just before..." She leaves the thought unfinished. "Mother visited the harem in Dolmabahche Palace while my father had an audience with your father. I remember she said he had brought a pair of pheasants as a gift for the sultan."
"My father had a passion for colorful animals," Asma Sultan recalls fondly. "Parrots, white hens with black heads. He even had a collection of cows of many colors, beautiful animals."
"My mother told me she thought your mother very beautiful."
"She was a highborn Russian lady, educated in France. Her ship was captured on the high seas and she was sold to the palace. Her given name was Jacqueline, but in the harem, they called her Serché, "the Sparrow," because she was so small. The other women were jealous of my father's love for her."
Sybil waits for Asma Sultan to continue the story of her mother, but she turns and walks on without another word. Still curious, Sybil follows her.
After a few moments, Asma Sultan turns to Sybil and says, "There is no loyalty except blood, Sybil Hanoum. One's duty to one's parents is paramount. You have done the right thing by staying at home with your father. The world is in your hands. When one marries, the flame extinguishes."
Sybil is taken aback by this admonition. "But Your Highness, a woman's duty to her parents doesn't have to take the place of having a family and a home of her own."
Asma Sultan turns her sharp eyes on Sybil.
"How is your father, Sybil Hanoum? Is he well?"
Sybil is startled by the sudden change in her tone. She is briefly tempted to say the truth, but instead responds diplomatically, "He is well, thanks be to Allah."
"You use the name of Allah, yet you are Christian."
Sybil has not expected a theological argument. "It is the same God, Your Highness."
Asma Sultan sighs as if vexed with herself. "Don't mind me. I'm only concerned for your health and that of your family."
She leans toward Sybil, her veil falling across her mouth, and lowers her voice. "Perhaps you could deliver this message to your father."
"A message?"
"Yes, that we are concerned for his health, which is so vital to the health of our empire. It's hard for us to know what is happening outside these walls, and it is really not the concern of women. But I would like your father to know that I rely on him, as the representative of your mighty empire. You have helped us in the past, and you will help us again. Our road is hard, but we endure. Will you tell him this, in these words?"
Puzzled, Sybil responds, "Of course, Your Highness. I will tell him. And we thank you for your trust. We do what we can for freedom in the world." Sybil winces at her own grandiose statements, but reminds herself that this is the way diplomats speak.
"There is no freedom, Sybil Hanoum," Asma Sultan responds dryly, "only duty. We go where our betters command. Equally we do not go where they forbid us. Please deliver the message just as I have spoken it."
Some of the other women are looking at them.
"May Allah protect you." Asma Sultan turns and walks down the path.
Asma Sultan's daughter, Perihan, appears beside Sybil and, giving her a long look, compliments her on her Turkish.
## 15
## July 1, 1886
Dearest Maitlin,
My life has taken quite an exciting turn. Please do not scold me for taking this initiative, dear sister, you who have always known your own mind. I know that you would disapprove of my interest in these murders for fear that I might stir up a hornet's nest and be myself stung. But, dear sister, those fears, while demonstrating sisterly love, are misplaced. After all, I am not a governess and I have a protector, which Hannah and Mary did not. And it is to help Kamil in his inquiries that I am pursuing this matter. I can't imagine that you would behave any differently, given the opportunity to help solve not one murder, but perhaps two. Your life has been filled with such excitement. Do not begrudge me my own small portion. But, as you know, I am nothing if not careful and deliberate in my actions, so there is no need for you to fret.
I have made some interesting discoveries. I hasten to assure you that I was not pushing myself forward, but that the information fell into my hands much like a ripe apple falls from the tree into the apron of someone standing, quite by chance, beneath it.
Yesterday I visited the grand vizier's wife, Asma Sultan. Her father was Sultan Abdulaziz, who was deposed in 1876 and then committed suicide. The sultan's ministers forced him to abdicate because they wanted a constitution and because he was bankrupting the empire with his extravagances. Mother told me he kept a thousand women in his harems and had over five thousand courtiers and servants. He built two new palaces just to house them. Asma Sultan's mother was one of his concubines. Mother met her once, before the coup. She said she was tiny, with a pale cameo of a face. She thought her beautiful and romantic.
At that time, Asma Sultan was already married, so she escaped the fate of her mother and the other women in the sultan's harem after he killed himself—banishment to the old, crumbling Topkapi Palace. Asma Sultan's husband was made grand vizier in the new sultan's government, so she is now very powerful. I don't know what became of her mother. I hesitated to ask in case the answer was unwelcome. Understandably, she is quite bitter about the coup against her father. Apparently, her husband was involved, and she witnessed her father's suicide. Isn't that dreadful? I feel very sorry for her. Despite all her wealth and power, she is a sad woman.
She seemed quite concerned to wish Father well, as if she knew about his condition. For obvious reasons, we've tried hard to keep it from becoming public knowledge. Still, she did ask me to tell him that she—I think she meant the empire—continues to rely on him, so perhaps I misinterpreted her words and she was not referring to Father's illness at all. I didn't tell Father. If he thinks word has gotten about, it would just make him more anxious.
I did learn something that might be of interest to Kamil. Asma Sultan implied that her nephew, Ziya, was killed on a trip to Paris by someone from the palace. This happened right around the time that Hannah also was killed. I've since learned that Ziya's fiancée, Shukriye, was in and out of the harem where Hannah worked, and that Shukriye too disappeared from the city soon after. She was married to someone in Erzurum, on the other side of the country. So many simultaneous disappearances and deaths of people who knew one another surely can't be coincidence? In any case, Shukriye is returning soon to visit her ill father. Being a man, Kamil won't be able to approach her, so I'll pay her a visit and see what I can learn about Hannah.
Bernie sends his best. He requested that I add a note to Richard. Bernie wants to know whether he remembers the Chinese poem about a brush and a bowstring (I hope I've remembered that correctly), and to tell Richard that he has recently come across the poem again in a surprising place.
Well, with that mysterious flourish, I will end this missive. As always, I send my love to Richard and the boys. Don't let them forget me.
Your loving sister,
Sybil
## 16
## The Clean Soil of Reason
On a September day in the Rumi year 1294, or 1878 by your reckoning, I accompanied Hamza as he led his horse toward the main road. Slick yellow leaves plastered the ground. The forest exhaled a dusty, pungent odor of rain. It was one month since I had found the woman in the pond. Madam Élise was gone and Ismail Dayi was away, so Hamza had come to visit openly. He wanted to see Mama. She served us tea in the reception room, pleased at seeing him after all this time.
"Mama so enjoyed your visit, Hamza. I haven't seen her this lively in a long time. It makes me happy to see her smile; she doesn't very often. I wish you would come more often."
"Your mother has always been very good to me."
We reached the gate.
"It has always surprised me that your father took a kuma," he said without looking at me, "given his views."
"His views?"
"He's a modernist, Jaanan. A man who believes, as many of us do, that the empire will survive only if we learn the secrets of Europe's strength. Some think it's enough to copy their technology. But there's more to it than that. If we are ever to be respected as a great power again, we have to join the civilized world. That means we must change the way we think and live."
He turned to face me. "Polygamy has no place in this new world."
"Who will decide what's allowed in this new world of yours?" I asked with an asperity that surprised me.
"Scientists, statesmen, writers. There are more of us than you might imagine, Jaanan. Some of us have gone to Paris, but we have many supporters here as well." His voice was low and rapid. "We publish a journal, Hurriyet. Perhaps you've seen it in your uncle's library. I know he collects reformist journals, although I don't know whether he reads them. You should read the journals, Jaanan. We are going to rip the empire up by its rotten roots and plant it in the clean soil of science and rational thinking."
I felt rather alarmed at the extent of what he was proposing. There was nothing rotten here that needed fixing. Science and rational thinking rattled dry as bones in a cup.
But I did not say any of these things. To please him, I would look at the journals later.
Hamza smiled down at me, and tugged gently at a curl that rested on my shoulder beneath the loose drape of gauze.
"I won't be able to come see you for a while, princess." The soft, stretched vowels and sibilant tail of the French word wound themselves about me and muffled his unwelcome news in a haze of pleasure. "I'll be traveling."
"For how long? Where are you going?" I asked plaintively.
He shook his head. "I can't say. I have to be careful. The sultan has suspended parliament. He's gambled away a third of the empire to the Russians. If not for the British, we would have lost Istanbul and much more. And just when we need Europe most, he's threatening it with a worldwide Muslim revolt that he claims as caliph he could lead. It's time for us to act. We're Turks, Jaanan. Your ancestors and mine rode the steppes of Asia, women and men together. There's no need for religion in a Turkish empire. Religion is the enemy of civilization." He cupped my chin in his hand and added softly, "But not everyone wants change. I don't want to get you or your family into trouble, so I can't come here anymore."
"It's also your family."
I felt angry at Hamza and his politics that took him away from me. I didn't think my evenings studying Islamic texts with Ismail dayi were uncivilized. I took a step backward in protest. Hamza reached out his hand and gripped my arm so tightly that it hurt.
"Hamza!" I yelped in protest, and pulled away, but he drew me over so that his head was next to mine.
He slid an object into the shawl tied around my waist, his hands leaving a burning trail, and whispered, "Your eyes are as luminous as this sea glass."
Then he dropped my arm and, without another word, mounted his horse and rode away.
I reached into the folds of silk and extracted a smooth green stone that seemed to glow from within. It was encased in gold filigree, hanging from a slender chain.
Could this beautiful object really be the mundane shard of a medicine bottle after years of being battered by the sea and scoured by sand? I felt then that there was a meaning to be grasped, a parable of some kind, but it eluded me.
## 17
## July 3, 1886
Dearest Maitlin,
Father has had one of his spells again. I think Mary Dixon's murder has upset him. He cannot bear to be reminded of Mother's death, of any death. He sleeps in the library and takes all his meals there. I will see to it that his mind remains untroubled by such things in the future. Otherwise, he is as dutiful as ever, seeing to the interminable paperwork himself. He recently let go of his secretary because he said he wasn't to be trusted. Perhaps Father is right, since after his dismissal, the man remained in Stamboul and has set himself up as an agent of trade instead of booking return passage to England. That may sound melodramatic in Essex, but it is true that, here, one must always be on guard against spies in the pay of the sultan or other foreign interests, even British ones. I still worry about Asma Sultan's concern for Father's welfare. How many people know about his decline?
I find myself wondering what it would be like to remain here, especially as Father shows no interest in leaving. There is much to be admired in the life of an Ottoman lady, although there is something childlike and seductive about it, quite unsuitable for the civilized mind. They seem never to use their heads for more than interminable intrigues, like squabbling children, although with rather more severe consequences. Still, these women are not as soft and passive as they appear. They can move from languorous and childlike to regal and commanding in moments. Their nature is not fixed, like ours.
As you can see, I have retained my objectivity and have not, as you suggested in your last letter, "gone native." These days, though, the families of officials I visit with Father live much as we do. The women's gowns are the latest Paris fashion, likely more up-to-date than those of Essex ladies. The men too dress in European style. Men and women dine at table together, then retire to separate rooms, as we do at home. It is true that their taste in European furnishings is untutored. The coat rack might be placed right next to the piano. They have a love of ostentation that renders even the best gown hideous when topped by a jewel-encrusted kerchief. And the men wear that tasseled, round felt flowerpot on their heads. But this is simply inexperience with the medium of civilization, as natural as children learning to walk. If ever I have my own household here, I will entice you and Richard and the boys to come visit, and perhaps the Orient will seduce you, as you claim it has seduced me.
I'm sitting in the shade of the pines on the patio and can hear the cheerful toots of the steam ferries that ply the Bosphorus beyond the Residence wall. I do so wish I could share my thoughts with you here by my side. I have been trying to rein in my imagination, as you have so often advised me to do. Shukriye is arriving in a few days. I think I will visit her first and see whether there is anything to learn before mentioning it to Kamil.
You know, when Kamil comes by, we sometimes sit in the kitchen, quite companionably, like an old couple over a cuppa'. I've invited him to dine with Father and me this evening. Our old chef, Monsieur Menard, has come to mind quite a bit lately. A sign of impending age, perhaps—reminiscing about the past, though I have precious little past to occupy me. However, as you are fond of saying, there is always the future.
I've rambled on much too long again, my dear. You write that you avidly read these digressions of mine and that they are a welcome respite from your duties. Nevertheless, I feel I impose myself far too much with these long missives. In my own defense, I have never felt so alive. And who better to share this with than my devoted sister with whom I have ever enjoyed a rare friendship and commonality of mind and sentiment? In the name of that friendship, forgive my imposition on your busy day with these fanciful accounts of mine.
As always, my love to you and the men of your family, for that is what I will find when at last I see my dear nephews.
Your loving sister,
Sybil
## 18
## Kismet
After dinner, Sybil and Kamil stand on the balcony off the second-floor reception hall and look out at the dimly lit city beyond the high stone wall surrounding the compound. Dusk has taken them by surprise. The Bosphorus is an emptiness beyond the city, sensed rather than seen. In the middle distance, a garland of lamps swings between the minarets of a mosque marking the holiday that celebrates the breaking of the month-long fast. The moon, slim as a fingernail paring, hangs above the dome.
"Do you really believe in kismet, that our fate is written on our foreheads?" asks Sybil.
"There's no such thing as kismet. It's just an expression, a superstitious belief, the resource of those too lazy to struggle to make something of themselves."
"That's rather uncharitable, isn't it? Think of all the people out there"—she waves a hand toward the dark city—"who try their best, but still lead miserable lives."
"Yes, that's true. But I think many people don't try as hard as they might. I mean, the thought of being completely responsible for one's own future is exhausting to contemplate. It's an enormous responsibility, some might say a burden, to place on the ordinary man."
Sybil turns to him in surprise.
"So you think people are simply too lazy to better their lives, or incapable of taking the responsibility?"
"I suppose it does sound rather mean-spirited, when you put it that way."
"I think that people can be relied upon to do their best with what they're given. A poor man, with only a shilling in his pocket, will nonetheless spend it to clothe and feed his children."
"Or buy rounds for his friends."
"That's terribly cynical." Sybil's voice has risen.
"I suppose it's true," he agrees, attempting to smooth the tension between them, "that I've been blessed with a wealthy, well-placed family, a house, an education, so it's easier for me to be progressive." He spits out the final word, surprising even himself. When did I become so cynical? he wonders.
"Do you think it's Islam that is holding people back?"
"Kismet has nothing to do with Islam. It's simply a superstition, like the evil eye."
"People need religion, don't they?" Sybil asks thoughtfully. "How else could they bear up under all the misery and hardship?"
"Religion is the scaffolding within which we build our lives. It falls away when we no longer need its support."
"What a curious definition of religion. What is religion without belief, without faith? Isn't faith necessary?"
"I wouldn't know," he answers wearily. "Religion seems to me nothing more than a set of empty rituals and linguistic niceties that mean nothing more than what they say."
"Everything means more," Sybil counters adamantly. "What you describe isn't a life, it's a shell of a life. What is progress, then, when nothing means anything?"
"Progress means to act rationally, on the basis of known facts, not according to one's kismet or the mumblings of a hodja."
"Surely it also means to lead a morally correct life. To give your shilling to your children, instead of drinking it away, as you yourself said."
"Yes, of course. Civilization doesn't mean everything is acceptable. On the contrary. There are standards that everyone can learn."
"And where do they learn moral standards? In church, in the mosque."
"From parents. And in schools that can correct for the parents' shortcomings. Proper schools that teach science and the arts, the truly great moral triumphs of the modern age, not the niggling do's and don't's of the prayer books."
"Niggling? My God, those do's and don't's are civilization. They're a moral compass. Without them, people are empty vessels, no matter how clever and rational they might envision themselves to be."
Kamil does not like heated arguments, but respects Sybil for holding her ground. He is tired, his investigation finding no foothold.
"I should go, Sybil Hanoum." He sees the sadness in her face and feels ashamed that he was the cause of it. He doesn't move.
"Yes." She seems at a loss for words. They remain on the balcony, leaning on the wrought-iron railing. Looking out at the dark shapes of trees and buildings, Kamil reflects on how many colors there actually are in what is carelessly called black.
Finally, she says, "I do agree that religion isn't the only way to learn moral behavior. And it is true that religion is often used unscrupulously to manipulate people and to encourage and justify uncivilized behavior. We've had enough of that in England, with our various kings and wars and injustices. But it would be so sad to lose"—she tilts her chin and looks up at him—"those 'little niceties.'"
"Yes, perhaps you're right." He is intrigued by the discussion and finds himself oddly at peace. She is standing by his left elbow, turned to face him. Their hands on the rail are almost touching. I could stand here forever, he thinks. He looks at her closely in the light spilling from the room behind them. Large, guileless eyes in an earnest face, plump neck, the pearl nestling in the indentation at its base, a faint lilac scent. Her hair is coiled loosely at the back of her head, tendrils escaping around her forehead and ears. He senses pressure behind the cloth stretched across her bosom, a will to expand toward him. As he looks, he sees Sybil's cheeks warm. The pearl stands out like a full moon against her flushed skin. Gerdanlouk, he thinks. An evocative Turkish word, with Arabic roots. It means jewelry, but only jewelry adorning a woman between her lower neck and the top of her breasts. Gerdanlouk. He looks away.
Kamil lingers on the balcony, looking out toward the darker space beyond the trees, hoping the chill, bracing air will cleanse his mind of distractions. The distant pinpoint lights above the mosques waver and wink in the wind, marking the end of Ramadan. A new season, he thinks, a new moon. People cleansed by a month of fasting. Maybe that's a good thing, to be able to start over every year, fresh as a newborn. Free of sin and vices, the Christians would say. For Muslims, who have no concept of sin, reform means to readjust one's behavior so that it is impeccable in the eyes of others. It's never too late for that. What others don't see, well, that's another story.
He turns abruptly and enters the room. A moment later, Sybil follows him. Neither looks at the other's face in the appalling light.
EARLY THE FOLLOWING morning, Kamil rides to his sister Feride's house. One morning every week, he visits his sister and her twin daughters, Alev and Yasemin—aptly named Flame and Jasmine, the one restless and inquisitive, the other amiably tranquil. They breakfast together. Sometimes they are joined by Kamil's father, Alp Pasha, who lives in a separate wing of Feride's mansion. Kamil avoids coming at times when he would encounter his brother-in-law at home. He does not like Huseyin Bey, a distant cousin and a minor member of the imperial family. To Kamil's mind, his brother-in-law is a palace loyalist, but more crucially, an opinionated and self-centered man.
Kamil senses that, despite her large house filled with servants and children and a constant round of visiting, his sister is lonely. For Feride, social life is a desperate, well-oiled mechanism.
Commotion alienates the heart, he muses. It's easier to be at peace when the world has retreated to an observable distance. But he knows Feride doesn't understand this and wouldn't believe him if he tried to explain it to her. As a girl, she desperately wanted to go on social outings and visits, yet when she returned, he remembers her face as wistful and bewildered. She rarely brought friends to the villa. He thought at the time that she was ashamed of living in such an unfashionable house, but now thinks she was lonely even then. The difference between them is that he relishes his solitude, while Feride fights it with continual activity. He spears a piece of melon from his plate and chews slowly, watching Alev try to squirm out of her mother's grip as Feride reties the satin bow at the back of her dress and then tells her to sit at the table next to her sister.
His father sits at the head of the table, gaunt and bowed over his untouched food. His lips and fingers are stained brown. Kamil can see the naked scalp through his father's thinning hair, a sight that pierces him with regret. Kamil tries to get his father to look up, so that he can see his eyes. Regret gives way to anger. Alp Pasha does not look up or respond to his son's attempts to draw him out. Alev and Yasemin also are unusually silent, their eyes drawn inexorably to the shadowy figure hunched beside them. Feride continues chatting amiably, as if she were in full command of her audience.
"When are we going to find you a bride?" she asks with a teasing smile. "The other day, I visited Jelaleddin Bey's household. His daughter is lovely, educated, and of the right age. She is as beautiful as a rose. Don't wait too long or another family will pluck her from under your nose."
Kamil circles his palm in the air to signal exasperation, but he is smiling. This is an old game between them.
"A well-run marriage will bring you back to us." She looks at her silent daughters and gaunt father. "If you were married, we would all go on outings together with our new sister-in-law. Wouldn't that be fun, girls?" Feride has two sisters-in-law, her husband Huseyin's formidable sisters, but they are not the friends she seeks. The two women jealously guard their brother's interests against any encroachment by his wife.
"Yes, Mama," Kamil's nieces answer in unison.
His father heaves himself to his feet and, with unseeing eyes, moves toward the door. A servant shadows him, in case he should fall.
Feride looks meaningfully at Kamil, but he doesn't meet her eye. He fights down the anger his father's rejection always evokes in him. It is an unworthy feeling that he tries to hide from Feride.
Kamil uses his bread to capture a piece of goat cheese from his plate and glances surreptitiously at his sister, who is helping the girls finish their breakfast. He wonders how, despite all her duties and worries, she always manages to look so calm, her hair sleeked back under an intricate cloth cap festooned with ropes of tiny pearls, her gown pressed, her hands resting quietly in her lap or working efficiently at some task. Her long, pale face, with its straight nose and thin lips, is not conventionally pretty, but has a seriousness about it, a peaceful radiance that is attractive. Has this life made her content?
It is a contentment that can kill, he thinks. Always forgiving the gentle violence done to one's time and aspirations. Making minutes into hours and days into years, when there is so much to be done. He does not want to pour his life into a leaky hourglass.
There is no concept of time in the Orient, he thinks grimly. Time is when you marry and have children, then your children marry and have children of their own. That is how lives are reckoned. Between those markers, people sit in the shade, drink tea with their fellows, and make their neighbors' hills into mountains or cause mischief.
He prefers to measure his time and calculate what can be done with it minute by minute. His hand automatically finds the pocket watch his mother had given him before he went away for his year at Cambridge. He strokes it absentmindedly.
When the girls have finished eating, they run off. Feride and Kamil move to the sitting room. Feride closes the door.
"I don't know what to do," she whispers anxiously. "You saw Baba just now. It has become unbearable. He rarely speaks and never leaves the house. All he does is sit in his quarters smoking his pipe. Not only does he refuse to speak with Alev and Yasemin, now he avoids them in the house. When I asked him about it, he claimed that they're of an age where it's inappropriate for them to be in the same room with an older man. He wants them to cover their hair!"
"But they're only children."
"I know. It's ridiculous," Feride says crossly. Two vertical lines between her eyebrows spoil her otherwise smooth face. "He's their grandfather, after all. No rules forbid him seeing them. The girls love their grandfather. He used to play with them when they were younger. Now they think they've displeased him somehow.
Kamil has a sudden insight. "You know, Feride, the girls are beginning to look just like their grandmother, with that reddish hair and freckles. And their voices, especially Alev. Do you remember how you once described Mama's voice, like doves cooing? Maybe Baba can't bear to be reminded," he suggests.
"Nonsense. He's simply allowing himself to be old and unpleasant."
"Have you told him that they're upset and miss his company?"
"Of course. But he says, 'It's Allah's will.' Since when has he cared a kurush about Allah's will? The only will he ever cared about was his own," she adds bitterly.
Kamil suddenly perceives that Feride has a very different experience of their family. Certainly he has never thought of his father as strong-willed—just the opposite. What else has he been blind to?
"I can't figure out what's happening to Baba. And he's not eating anything," she adds in a pained voice. "You see what he looks like."
Kamil takes her hand. "It's the opium, Feride. After a while, it weakens the appetite. Have you noticed anything unusual about his eyes?"
"His eyes?"
"Are they darker?"
"I haven't noticed. Is that a symptom?"
"I believe so."
She stares at him, then pulls her hand away. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"
"I only just learned it myself. I read it in a book," he lies. "It happens in the later stages of addiction."
"You and your books. Well, what should I do? Should I try to stop his opium? I can order the servants not to get it for him, but he might have other sources, and it would only make him angry. What should I do?" she asks again, exasperated.
Kamil is reminded of Sybil and her father. He wishes he could talk to her about his father. Perhaps he will. Why not? He looks again at his sister and wishes he could smooth the frown from her face as he had done as a boy. How would she and Sybil get along? Like fire and fire, he thinks. Or ice and ice. He leans over and brushes his index finger along her brow as if wiping away her frown. For a moment, Feride is stiff and silent, then she begins to cry.
"Don't cry, my soul." Kamil sits next to her and holds her until she is quiet. Then he pulls out a handkerchief and hands it to her.
Kamil sits back, frowning, and reaches for his beads. "It might be possible to take Baba's opium from him, but it will make things worse for a time, much worse. And it'll be you who bears the brunt of his wrath."
"But what else can we do? Things can't go on like this. He'll starve to death."
They sit silently for a while, side by side.
"Maybe we can arrange for the opium to be diluted slowly until he's weaned." Feride sits up straight, her eyes still blurred by tears, but excited by her idea. "Yes, yes. That's what we must do. Do you think he'll notice? If we do it very, very slowly? The servants will help me."
"I don't know, Feridejim." Kamil pats her hand. "The paste is very distinctive. He's sure to notice any change. I'm not even sure it can be diluted. I'll do some more reading about it. For now, try to cut down the quantity and make sure the servants don't smuggle in more. In the meantime, you should prepare the little ones for a difficult period. Baba might lash out at them. That will be even worse than neglect."
"Maybe I should send them to Huseyin's mother for a while." Her voice is unsteady and she begins to cry again.
"You know you don't get along with your mother-in-law, Feride. Let the girls stay here for now. Just keep them away from Baba if he begins to act differently. It's a big house."
"Yes, my little brother. Yes, that's what I'll do," she says with more confidence than she feels. "Thank you. You always know what to do."
You will face the consequences if I'm wrong, he thinks, but does not say to her.
## 19
## The Crimson Thread
When I was seventeen, Papa decreed that I move from Chamyeri back to Nishantashou to live with him and Aunt Hüsnü. He was claiming me, as he put it to Mama, for civilization.
"Enough of this indolence, sitting on cushions and eating honey lokum. You and your brother are filling her head with nonsense. Poetry is well and good, but what does she know of running a household or moving in society? What husband wants a wife who has been raised by wolves?"
Violet and I looked at each other. We were squatting behind the rhododendron bush beneath the latticed windows of the harem sitting room. I quaked with anger at my father's harshness. How could he know what went on in this house when he was never here? He had not visited for over a year. The angry words spilling from the window weighed down my limbs. I tried to rise and run away, but Violet took my arm and pulled me back. She shook her head impatiently and pressed herself more tightly against the house wall. I could hear my mother weeping quietly. I willed her to speak, but she didn't argue, she didn't fight for me. I knelt, shaking, under the bright blossoms until we heard the rumble of Papa's coach. I could not be distracted that night by Violet's petting, so she stilled me in the vise of her arms. The following day, I discovered five round plum-colored bruises on my arm where Violet had anchored me.
On the day of my departure, Mama did not look at me, although I knelt for some time on the carpet at her feet, holding in my hand the corner of her robe. She was hunched under her sable on the divan. I knelt before her and kissed the back of her hand, then pressed it respectfully against my forehead. Her hand was as light and insubstantial as a moth. My mind was racing to find the right words, the magic ones that would break her trance and bind her to me, a bright crimson thread wrapped once around her wrist and again around my waist, a thread that would extend between the farthest corners of the empire and this room in Chamyeri. Whenever I touched the thread, I would feel her pulse beat the lullabies of my childhood in Nishantashou, before Aunt Hüsnü came.
I assured her that I would be safe, that I would write and visit, but I could not be sure that she heard me.
"Goodbye, Mama. May Allah hold you safe."
She turned her head toward the golden light that flowed into the room from the garden beyond. I saw shadows move across her face, but no tears.
I pressed the corner of her robe to my lips and lowered it onto the divan, the material almost black against the bright cushions. My fingers slipped across the satin as I stood. I moved backward toward the door. I could still feel the cool slick of her robe like water on my fingertips.
Violet was ready with our few bundles and our wooden chests. We did not have much in the way of clothing. My chest was heavy with books. Ismail Dayi had called me to his study the night before and pressed upon me all my favorite volumes. The lamplight accentuated the sharp planes and hollows of his face. I thought he looked tired.
"I can always replace them, my daughter. They are yours—these and anything else you wish to take. This house will be yours upon my death. No, don't interrupt. And it is yours while I live, as well. I have no children of my own. You are my only child. This is and always will be your home. I tell you this now so that you will feel secure in your future and—well, perhaps I shouldn't meddle."
He took my hands in his slim fingers, pursed his lips, and examined my face in the candlelight while he considered.
"Do not think, my dear, that you need to marry in order to be secure. You have the wealth to make your own decisions. Take your time in everything, until you feel the pull within yourself. Do not let yourself be guided by fear, or even by desire. And certainly not by the will of others, although"—and here he smiled fondly at my upturned face—"I cannot imagine a will strong enough to pull you off your path, my little lion."
We walked over to the open window and watched the moonlight dance on the Bosphorus.
"Like the moon and the tides, the human heart has many phases. Wait for them. They will not be rushed."
I was not sure what Ismail Dayi meant, but in his gentle shadow, I was able to cry.
THE FORTUNE-TELLER behind the Spice Bazaar was almost blind. He had a long white beard and wore a tattered brown robe and a striped cap. Violet gave him a kurush and he opened the wooden cage. A fat white rabbit with black markings emerged timidly onto the fortune board. After a moment, he nudged the board with his quivering pink nose and the old man worried free the tiny piece of paper pegged to the board at the place the rabbit had indicated. Violet reached out to take it. I nudged her and she gave the man another kurush. The rabbit emerged again and nuzzled another piece of paper. Violet and I took our fortunes to the adjoining park and sat beneath a tree to read them. On my paper was written: "Always an abundant day. A life of movement and novelty." On Violet's paper: "Loyalty at the right place and the right time will rescue you from a difficult situation." The fortunes were written in an elegant script and we conjectured about the identity of such a fine hand. The fortune-teller's son, perhaps. Surely the old man did not earn enough money to hire a scribe to write out his fortunes.
My fortune, I mused, appeared to be marriage and I didn't see what that had to do with abundance. Movement and novelty, certainly. Abundance of wealth, too, perhaps. But not the abundance of cheerful, fat-cheeked women in their songbird-filled rooms. I would always be the sparrow pecking at the bars.
Papa had decided that I was to marry his colleague at the Sublime Porte, Amin Efendi. A man fifteen years my senior, with a bristling mustache that extended beyond his cheeks on either side. The first time I saw him was when he came with a group of men to visit Papa. I had thought it odd that Papa asked me, and not the servant, to bring the men coffee. I couldn't help but notice the man I later learned was Amin Efendi. His knees made sharp points in his trouser legs. He rested his right elbow on the arm of the chair and trailed his long, white fingers in a slow, indolent circle across his shirtfront. His eyes followed me around the room as I served small cups of coffee from a silver tray. When I leaned over to bring the tray closer, I smelled boiled wool and a faint odor of roses, which I find repellent on a man. I could feel his eyes follow the movement of my breasts under the cloth. He took the cup and, for a brief moment, we were touching through the tray. I jerked away, spilling coffee from the other cups.
Papa insisted that I dress in Western gowns when he entertained guests. He allowed a trailing scarf over my hair when strangers were present, but insisted that my face be uncovered. I did not mind wearing such dress, but I resisted the corset. What kind of civilization, I wondered, tortured the body by compressing it so that it was a challenge to breathe and move and even made it difficult to sit on the already uncomfortable Frankish chairs? As a servant, Violet had been spared my father's civilizing efforts. She laced my corset, but did not put much effort into drawing it tight. Aunt Hüsnü, whose maid laced hers so tightly that her body took on the shape of a wasp, looked askance at me when I emerged from my room. But she said nothing. My loose curves and easy movement set off to good advantage her own disciplined torso. My gowns slipped messily over my hips and along my shoulders, while hers looked perfectly proportioned, like the drawings of fashionable Frenchwomen in magazines.
A FEW WEEKS after I had served coffee to Papa's guests, he called me into his study. I stood on the blue Persian carpet in front of his desk. He sat behind his desk, hands folded on his lap, his lips curved upward at each corner. He had a wide, kind face, a face that promised that he would listen patiently and understand what you had to say. The only hint that you might be wrong in your presumption was that his eyes remained cool and appraising. The smooth outlines of his jaw and features made his face unreadable. I was wrong often enough then, but only now have come to realize that his face encouraged you to project the response you needed and desired onto it.
Papa told me that his colleague, Amin Efendi, wanted to marry me.
"Don't you think it's time for you to start a family of your own? You're twenty years old. He's a good, steady man, reliable. He can provide you with a fine household. His wife died two years ago. He wants to remarry, and he wants to marry you."
When I didn't say anything, Papa added, "You needn't be concerned. There are no children from the first marriage."
I looked at him and tried to smile. "But I'm not planning to marry, Papa. At least not at the moment. And I don't wish to marry Amin Efendi. He's much too old for me."
He opened his mouth as if to speak, but said nothing. During the long silence that followed, he sat back in his chair and regarded me with an unreadable expression. In order not to think, I counted the objects on his desk—two inkwells, a letter opener, a stack of white linen paper, four pens. One of the pens was leaking ink onto the blotter.
"Your pen is leaking, Papa," I blurted out nervously, pointing to the stain.
Papa stood abruptly and stalked out of the room. Later, at dinner, he didn't look at me but said matter-of-factly into his stewed lamb, "You will be engaged to Amin Efendi in three months. That will give you enough time to prepare. Allah knows where we'll be able to procure a trousseau for you. Your mother taught you nothing. We'll have to buy it." He looked at Aunt Hüsnü, who nodded.
"I will not marry him, Papa. It is forbidden by the Holy Quran to force your child into marriage." I set myself against my father. My mother's approving presence seemed to regard the scene from afar.
"What rot is that? Is this what that ignorant Ismail Hodja taught you?" Papa shouted. "Filled you with religion like a stuffed dolma. This is a modern household and I expect you to obey me, not a musty old book muttered over by a lot of dirty old men with one foot in the darkness of history and one foot in the grave."
Aunt Hüsnü continued chewing throughout this exchange, as if nothing at all could suppress her enjoyment of stewed lamb with apricots.
Violet came through the serving door behind Papa and Aunt Hüsnü carrying a tureen. I saw her spit into the soup.
## 20
## Avi
The high, clear notes of the boy's voice rise above the clamor of Kamil's outer office.
"I can't tell you. I'm only supposed to tell the bey."
Suddenly the boy begins to cry. There is the sound of a scuffle.
Irritated, Kamil calls his assistant and asks him what is going on.
"A boy claims to have a message for you and refuses to divulge it to the head secretary."
"All right," Kamil sighs, "send him in here."
The boy is about eight years old, slim and wary as a street cat, his hair cut close to his head. He is dressed in lovingly patched trousers and a colorful knit sweater. Upon seeing Kamil, he falls to his knees and prostrates himself on the floor, his nose pressed against the blue arabesques on the carpet. Kamil sees that he is shaking. He walks over and puts his hand on the boy's bowed back.
"Stand up," he says gently. "Stand up, my boy."
The boy cautiously lifts himself from the floor, but stands with his head lowered. Kamil sees, however, that the boy's eyes dart around the room, noting everything.
"What is your name?" he asks, trying to put him at ease.
"Avi, bey."
"Well, then, Avi, why did you need to see me?"
Avi looks up at Kamil. His brown eyes are enormous in his fine-boned face. Kamil thinks to himself that these are eyes that see everything, ravenous eyes. He feels a pang of longing for the omnivorous freedom of a child's appetite for life, not yet disciplined to distinguish raw from cooked, feasting without caring whether life is served at a table or from a tray on the floor. He smiles at Avi.
"Amalia Teyze sent me. From Middle Village. She said to tell you that she has some important information for you." Kamil notes with approval that the boy's words are unhurried and that he has regained his self-confidence.
"What is the information?"
Hands clasped behind his back, Avi continues in a singsong voice, as if he were reciting, "She said to tell you that some weeks ago the gardener for a konak at Chamyeri found a bundle of clothing by a pond in the forest. She said you would know which house. The gardener burned the clothing, but one of the maids saw him. The maid has relatives in our village. When she came to visit, she learned that Aunt Amalia was interested in such things and came and told her."
The boy stops, still standing ramrod straight. His eyes, however, stray curiously to the silver inkwell, pens, and open books scattered on Kamil's desk.
"That is, indeed, important information," Kamil says, reaching in his waistcoat for a silver kurush. "We thank you for bringing it."
"I can't take payment," he replies. "I was doing my duty."
Kamil reaches over and plucks a quill pen from its holder. He holds it out to the boy.
"For your service, please accept this pen. If you learn to use it, come back and see me."
The radiance of the boy's face as he solemnly accepts the pen shoots Kamil through with a delicious pain, a mixture of regret, longing, and pleasure.
"Thank you, Avi. You may go. Please thank your aunt."
He turns his back to the boy so that he should not see the emotion on his face, he—the rational administrator, representative of the all-powerful government.
## 21
## The Bedestan
"We're lost," I said querulously.
Violet claimed to know her way around the Grand Bazaar, but we had twice passed the same marble fountain on the Street of Caps.
"I know where I'm going," Violet repeated for the fifth time.
I stopped in the narrow street and took my bearings. Violet looked over her shoulder and, seeing that I was no longer following her, returned and waited impatiently beside me, her eyes roaming over the shop displays. She had assured Aunt Hüsnü that she knew her way through the maze of covered streets, even though Aunt Hüsnü knew as well as I did that this was untrue. As my companion, she went where I went, and I had never been to the Grand Bazaar. Aunt Hüsnü seemed as relieved as we were that she would not be required to accompany us on our expedition to purchase items for my trousseau. I had no intention of purchasing anything of the sort, but adventure beckoned. The glittering bazaar cast its spell over me as soon as I passed through its massive gates.
We were to go to the shop of a friend of Papa's, a goldsmith on the Avenue of Jewelers, to look at bracelets. At first we dawdled at every shop, overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of slippers, bolts of cloth, carpets, hamam supplies, and precious stones, each with its own street of shops selling the same items in almost unthinkable profusion. When a shop owner spoke to us, we shied away, only to stop again at a different shop a few steps on.
Finally, I said, "Let's find the goldsmith's shop. Otherwise Papa will be angry."
And that is when we became lost on the Street of Caps.
"Look," Violet pointed. "An entire street of clothing."
She drew me toward a shop selling brocaded vests. I purchased a vest for Violet and a bolt of cloth for myself and arranged to have them delivered to Nishantashou. Then I asked the shopkeeper for directions to the goldsmith's shop.
"Follow this street," he instructed us, pointing deeper into the bazaar, "until you come to a gate. That's the entrance to the Bedestan. Pass though it. Outside the gate on the other side," he assured us, "you'll find the Avenue of Jewelers."
Violet was already pulling me away.
Before long, we came to a set of thick, iron-studded gates. They led inside a room as large as a building embedded right in the heart of the bazaar. I craned my neck at the high, vaulted ceiling above the narrow lanes of shops. A wooden catwalk stretched around the periphery just beneath the ceiling. Violet nudged me and pointed at a tiny shop crammed with antique silver ornaments and vases. A slim woman in Frankish dress was bowed over a tray of necklaces. The shop next door sold gold jewelry, but of a design and quality I had never seen. Similar shops stretched before us down narrow lanes beneath the dome of this strange room like a stage set in a theater. My father's goldsmith was forgotten.
"What is this place?" I asked the old Armenian shopkeeper wonderingly as he placed another tray of gold bracelets on the counter before me.
"This is the oldest part of the bazaar, chère hanoum," he explained proudly. "It's where all the most valuable things in the bazaar are kept. It's fireproof and at night, after the gates are locked, it's patrolled by guards." He pointed at the catwalk high up under the roof. "This is as safe as any bank in Europe."
Next door, the Frankish woman was trying to bargain with the shopkeeper, who suddenly no longer understood English. Leaving Violet to pay for the gold bracelet I had chosen, I entered the silver shop.
"Can I help you?" I asked her.
She turned and I was caught up in the startled gaze of her blue eyes. She seemed to see directly into my own, as if through a window. We smiled at the same time and, without another word, turned to the shopkeeper. I did not have much worldly experience, but I had good nerves, and soon the Frankish woman had her silver necklace at less than half the price the shopkeeper had at first demanded.
"Thank you," she said when we had stepped back into the lane. "My name is Mary Dixon."
## 22
## Crevice
Kamil finds Halil cleaning his tools inside a shed at the back of the garden. By the flickering light of an oil lamp, Kamil sees a single low room. Halil looks up from the bench. His eyebrows are so dense and wiry that his eyes are almost invisible. The front of the room is stacked with neatly organized garden implements and tools.
To Kamil's question, he answers, "Yes, bey. I found some clothes. It's true. And I burned them."
"Why did you do that?"
"They were women's clothes, bey."
"What difference does that make?"
"Who knows what went on with those clothes? In the woods. It wasn't fit for anyone else to wear them. So I burned them."
As an afterthought, Halil adds, "Why? Did someone complain they were missing?"
"No, but it's possible that they belonged to someone who was killed recently."
"Killed." It is a statement, not a question. With his good hand, he absentmindedly strokes the stumps of his missing fingers.
Kamil wonders how much he knows about Mary Dixon's murder. Surely the villagers all know.
"Where did you find them?"
"By the pond."
"Show me, please."
Without a word, Halil merges into the afternoon shadows outside the door and leads the way through the garden. The air is heavy with bees. They pass the pavilion and climb over the ruined wall into the loamy gloom of the forest. The pond lies behind a screen of rhododendrons.
"There." He points behind a group of moss-covered boulders.
Climbing carefully over the slippery stones, Halil points to a narrow cleft. "Pushed inside."
Kamil slips on a patch of wet moss and catches himself on a bush, swinging nearly to his knees as the branches give way under his weight and others flail at him. He hangs there for a moment, breathing heavily, before pulling himself upright.
He goes over the ground carefully, sweeping aside the leaves, but too much time has passed for there to be any sign of a struggle. Beneath a top layer of crisp brown leaves is a slick wet mulch of debris from previous years. He kneels beside the boulders and peers into the crevice. Deep inside the rock there is something light. He reaches in gingerly, but emerges only with scraped, muddy fingers. He takes off his jacket and rolls up his sleeve. This time, he forces his entire arm into the cleft. His fingers touch cloth. He snags it with the tips of his fingers and carefully pulls it out. It is a woman's blouse. He scours the area systematically and discovers inside a hole, at shoulder height in the trunk of a tree, a pair of women's lace-up shoes. Put there by someone who knows this forest well, he thinks. If the clothing is Mary Dixon's, it would be a concrete link between her death and Chamyeri. Another link is Mary's pendant. It fits into Hannah's box, and Hannah was killed here. Mary and Hannah, linked by the sultan's seal and a scrap of verse.
The shores of the pond are preternaturally still, except for a clearly etched ripple at the far end of the metallic water where it is fed by a spring. Kamil imagines Hannah Simmons floating in the black water, her clothes billowing about her. He looks at the slippery moss and layers of dank leaves with distaste.
His arms and face scraped and his trousers covered in mud, he returns to the city with the blouse and shoes wrapped in an oilcloth.
MICHEL CAREFULLY CLEANS the mud from the shoes and places them on the shelf in Kamil's office next to the folded blouse and the items found in the sea hamam. Kamil stands for a few moments before the neatly displayed items as before a shrine. He is reminded that most things we choose to care about are fleeting. To dispel the melancholy that had begun to settle on him, he turns to Michel and suggests, "Shall we go to the coffeehouse? I think we've earned a rest."
"I have a better idea," Michel counters. "Let me take you to a very special eating house I know. Their Albanian liver is delicious. And the owner's daughter is too," he adds, laughing.
## 23
## The Modernists
Some days after Papa and I fought over Amin Efendi's marriage proposal, he invited his political friends to a soiree at our house. Aunt Hüsnü and I were to appear in Western dress and greet the guests, entertain them at dinner, and then withdraw, leaving them to discuss politics. I had listened to them before. On the evenings when Papa had guests, I moved quietly through the dark corridors and took up a position in a chair in the next room where I could hear their discussions. Servants are invisible even in the light, so Violet found reason to hover in the halls and warned me if anyone approached my hiding place. This rarely happened, though, since the men did not feel free to move through my father's house, lest they trespass into the private realm in which women dwelled. We were only appropriate when on display. Otherwise, we were dangerous and forbidden fruit.
The men arrived, along with their wives. The women, stiff and uncomfortable in their unaccustomed corsets, adjusted the pearlseeded and embroidered veils that framed their open faces. They were dressed in the latest Paris fashion. The women's eyes were lowered, whether from modesty or embarrassment was hard to gauge. They flocked toward Aunt Hüsnü and me, away from the men, and greeted us effusively, as if we had rescued them from a shipwreck.
Amin Efendi politely greeted all the women together, but his eyes locked onto mine. I was embarrassed and looked away, hoping no one had noticed. I could not imagine him as my husband. I could not imagine a husband in any case. I thought of my cousin Hamza. I thought of Papa's exasperated voice behind closed doors. That was all I knew of men and husbands.
We walked in two flocks, men and women, to the parlor. The women clustered together on one side of the room. The men broke into twos and threes and thus took up more space, but did not move beyond the sofas, an unacknowledged boundary.
I heard the doors to the room creak on their hinges, and I heard the men's voices in the room falter, then increase in volume. I turned to see Hamza standing inside the door. At first I didn't recognize him. It had been seven years since the day he gave me the sea glass and went away, leaving me alone at Chamyeri. I had heard he was in Europe. His features were sharper, as if drawn by a knife. The thick curls I remembered were slicked back against the sides of his head. Permanent lines creased the space between his eyebrows, giving him a seriousness that I found intimidating. He looked leaner and more vital, like a spirited horse whose every small movement is a barely contained shorthand of great power.
He was looking at me, then turned his face to greet my father, who had walked up to him. Hamza leaned down to kiss Papa's hand in the traditional manner of honoring one's elders, but Papa pulled his hand away and reached it out to be shaken. I assumed Papa did not allow Hamza to kiss his hand because he had accepted him as an equal. But I caught sight of Papa's face as he snatched his hand away, and afterward I was not so sure. There are many reasons not to allow someone to honor you.
Papa pulled him briskly to the men's side of the room. Hamza shook hands all around, although I noticed a distinct lack of enthusiasm in the men's brief nods of acknowledgment. Then Hamza turned and strode behind the couches and extended his arms to me. We leaned toward one another and kissed on both cheeks. We were, after all, cousins and childhood friends. His touch sent my pulse racing. The room was entirely still.
"How are you, Jaanan Hanoum?"
I was flustered by all the attention and curtsied as I had been taught. Aunt Hüsnü moved between us and directed Hamza toward the men waiting on the other side of the room. Heads began to move toward one another, a flutter of sound like birds taking wing. Defeating my effort to focus elsewhere, my eyes fled again and again to his face across the room.
PAPA WAS A modernist, but he was also a loyalist and the men expended great heat excoriating the Young Ottomans that they believed were undermining the empire with their talk of a parliament.
"The empire is being threatened and all men should speak with one voice. Otherwise our enemies will perceive our division as weakness and take advantage of it."
The men clustered near the French doors open to the twilight garden. I could hear their conversation clearly through the chime and tinkle of women's voices around me. Hamza sat nearest the garden, his face in darkness.
"It's one thing to be modern," my father expounded, "but it's quite another to be a traitor to your sultan." Several men cast pointed looks at Hamza.
"These journals spread vicious propaganda. All this talk of liberty and democracy promotes the separatist movements in the provinces and plays into the hands of the Europeans. The journals must be closed down and the radicals arrested."
There was a general mutter of assent. Several men shifted uncomfortably in their chairs.
A distinguished, gray-bearded man turned toward my father. His broad chest was spanned by loops of gold braid and a sash gleaming with medals. Although he spoke slowly, weighting each phrase with the gravity of silence, no one interrupted.
"I agree. It's quite possible to be civilized without aping the Europeans in everything they do. We don't need a parliament. We have mechanisms that have worked perfectly well for five hundred years. Our experienced officials can do a much better job of running the government than a group of hotheaded young men uneducated in the principles of just rule. Who is to ensure that they promote the interests of the government and don't misuse their power to support this group or that, undermining the unity of our glorious empire? Do we not already have an enlightened system that allows everyone in the empire, whether Muslim or minority, to thrive?" He extended his hand expansively. "Look around you. The sultan's banker is an Armenian and his advisor on foreign affairs is a Greek. His physician is a Jew. Indeed, there is almost no work for us poor Muslims except in the army and behind a desk!"
This occasioned laughter among the men and even some titters from the women.
"Anyway, there is no such thing as a European civilization." My father picked up the thread. "Europe is nothing more than a region, home to a lot of squabbling nations that can't even agree among themselves. European civilization is a myth foisted upon us by those seeking to destroy our way of life and undermine our government. These radicals are working at the behest of the European powers, who would like nothing more than to divide us among ourselves and see the empire carved up into pieces that they can easily swallow."
Hamza spoke up. "The empire is weak because we've allowed the Europeans to buy us. We're in debt and whatever taxes we can flay from the backs of our poor peasants goes only to pay the interest. It's not ideas that threaten the empire. Only ideas can save it."
"There's nothing civilized about your ideas," a man countered heatedly. "They're a threat to public morality."
"Yes, that is so." A murmur of approval rose from the company.
"You are absolutely correct."
Amin Efendi added, with a sly glance at Hamza, "The other day, a woman of my extended family attended, if you can believe it, a political lecture."
There was a ripple of laughter.
"A lecture by a man," he added.
The men turned to each other in consternation. Several women stopped speaking. Without turning their heads, they continued to smile politely at their neighbors, but their ears clearly were on the debate across the room.
"I put a stop to that, of course." A few of the men nodded appreciatively. "It is unbecoming for a man to lecture before women. It doesn't matter what the subject is, or even whether it's a lecture for women only. It's immoral."
Another man chimed in from an armchair across the room. His voice seemed too loud and more women stopped to listen.
"A woman's calling in life is to marry and be a mother, to be a support to her husband, and to run the household. She doesn't need to learn about science or politics. We don't need women technicians or, Allah forbid, women politicians. A woman should learn the things she needs to know to run her home and be satisfied with that."
The man with medals across his chest disagreed. "But you must admit, Fehmi Bey, that an educated woman makes a better mother."
"No doubt, but after she marries and becomes a mother, all her energies should be focused on her duty, guarding the well-being of her family. These modern women are selfish and egotistical. They think only about themselves. If we all thought like that, it would lead to the destruction of our society. We need mothers and wives, women who can train the next generation."
My voice, once launched, carried across the room like a bell chiming in an empty chamber. "The rights a modern society gives women are no different from the rights women enjoyed in the earliest periods of Islam. The rules laid down by the Prophet, peace be upon him, protect the rights of women. But over time, these rules have been diverted from their true purpose. By giving women rights and freedoms, we're not aping Europe. We're reaffirming our own tradition of respecting women. After all, Europe is far from being such an enviable paragon. It has long restricted the rights of its own women. Women have an important place in a modern, civilized Muslim society. They have a duty to society, as well as a duty to their families."
I found I had risen from my chair. There was a hush, a heartbeat of silence, before Papa coughed and turned to speak to the man at his side.
"Proper women have always fulfilled their duty to society by being good mothers and wives," he said. "There's no need to change the family just to be modern. The traditional family is wide open to modern ideals, whether that family is in Europe or here. There's no difference. What some consider Eastern manners are nothing more than the manners of the civilized world everywhere—solidarity, attachment to family, respect for elders, and concern for those who are weaker and dependent on you. The modern European family doesn't reject these traditional values; there's no contradiction there at all. Modern etiquette is an indicator of civilization everywhere. We must be open to this. I see no reason to fear the disintegration of society. Our family system is resilient, like a tree."
Taking Papa's cue, the men continued to converse, although the rumble of their voices had risen in intensity, as though their words had been driven to greater speed by embarrassment.
The women had begun whispering, the direction of their eyes indicating the destination of their tongues. I sat heavily, my entire body throbbing in time to my heart.
I could not see Hamza's face, once I dared turn my eyes to him. His posture was guarded. I simply assumed he agreed and approved. I could think no other way. When I looked next, he was gone.
## 24
## The Kangal Dog
They turn into a narrow alley, Kamil leading the way. It is dark, but a faded moon sheds some light. The day has been rainy and unseasonably cold. Yellow mud has congealed into viscous waves and troughs. Bernie slips and Kamil catches his arm. A faint tendril of music snakes through the alleys. They follow it like the lost children in one of Karanfil's tales. Kamil ducks through a low doorway into a smoky room lit by oil lamps. The proprietor hurries over and welcomes him effusively. He motions a young man to take their coats, then leads them to a table at the front of the room. Kamil whispers in his ear and the man bows his head and leads them instead to a small alcove at the back where they can converse undisturbed, but which still affords a view of the performance. A young male soprano is singing an Italian canto, accompanied by a mixture of European and Oriental instruments that add an air of lamentation to the song.
Two glasses of raki and small dishes of hummus, stuffed vegetables, yoghurt sauces, spiced fried liver, and bread appear magically on the table before them. As the evening wears on, empty dishes disappear, to be replaced by new and different delicacies. Empty glasses are refilled. Kamil and Bernie engage in spirited discussions on Italian opera and the role of folk songs in classical music.
"I must say," Bernie comments, stretching his legs contentedly, "people here certainly know how to have a good time." He nods at the plates spread across the table before them.
"We call it keyif. A feeling of well-being." Kamil tilts his chin toward the sweating musicians and the tables buzzing with conversation and laughter. "In the presence of friends, fine food, and a pleasant setting."
Very late, they stumble out of the low doorway, this time Bernie supporting Kamil. They head toward the Grande Rue de Pera, where carriages await customers until late into the night. Behind them, the compact shape of a man glides through the darkness, moving from one doorway to another. Suddenly an enormous black object hurtles forward and jumps on Bernie's chest, its weight throwing him backward. Kamil reaches for his dagger. The kangal dog's massive jaws struggle toward Bernie's throat, kept only centimeters away by Kamil's grip on the dog's neck. A sharp blast, then a high-pitched scream, and the kangal falls heavily to the ground.
Kamil shields Bernie, who is doubled over and gasping for breath, a small silver pistol dangling from his left hand. A tavern door opens for a moment as a patron peers curiously into the street. The light spilling from inside illuminates the face of a man pressed against the wall, watching intently. His eyes meet Bernie's before he slips around the corner into the alley.
"What in damnation was that?" Bernie coughs out.
"A kangal dog. They're bred to guard villages. One rarely sees them in the city."
Kamil puts his arm around Bernie, feels a sticky wetness on his shirt.
"Where are you hurt?" he asks anxiously.
Bernie stands up straight and pats himself, then brings his hands closer to his face.
"I think that's from the dog, but my hands are pretty darned banged up. Jesus," he whistles. "That was a close call." He looks down at the dog and nudges it with his foot. "It's good and dead."
"Come on." Kamil puts his arm around his friend, completely sober now. "Let's get you cleaned up. Do all Americans carry a firearm?"
Bernie attempts a weak grin. "Even in the bath, buddy. Even in the bath."
## 25
## Deep Sea
In April, the slick currents teemed with fish struggling north to spawn in the Black Sea. Lufer, palamut, istavrit, kolyos, kefal, tekir. Large, heavy-bodied fish moved more slowly with the bottom currents, long-lived fish with histories and personalities, unlike the extroverted, superficial crowd above, dripping silver as they leapt and foolishly displayed themselves to the larger creatures haunting the shore. Kalkan, iskorpit, trakonya, kaya. Fishermen called these "deep fish." Their bodies had the meat and heft of an animal. They were hoisted by the tail to hang in the poisonous air. Their wounds bled where the rope cut their flesh. People wandered over and marveled at the animals that lived in the deep. Each was as big as a child.
Violet never minded these fish, hung from a wooden beam in the thatched café where the fishermen and other men gathered, but I felt wounded by their deaths. I laid my hand once against the belly of such a fish, almost as tall as me. Although the fish was dead, its brown eye fixed on a single, last point, its flesh felt muscular and vibrant, and I almost expected it to breathe. This was more startling to me than if the fish had been slippery cold and slack, as my inexperienced hand had expected, and I was torn between recoiling and continuing to stroke the dead body.
Despite my refusal, the date of the engagement ceremony had been set for two months hence, the next step after Papa's acceptance of Amin Efendi's suit. I waited for Hamza to call on me, but he sent no word. I felt if only I could speak with him, the path before me would become clear. Papa said he didn't know where Hamza was, but I didn't believe him. I thought of confiding in Mary Dixon, but when we met for our weekly lunch at the Palais des Fleurs and she made me laugh with her stories of the palace women, I realized I simply wanted to enjoy the bright company of my new friend without burdening it with earnestness.
Amin Efendi brought me a gold watch to seal the pledge, but I refused to open the box. Papa may have promised me, but I had promised nothing. Nevertheless, Aunt Hüsnü had allowed Amin Efendi to sit with me in our parlor attended only by the ever-present servants, while she disappeared.
I tried to make the best of things, but found little in common with him. He was a man whose eyes looked to himself and who saw the world only peripherally. Perhaps it was simply shyness. Violet did not like him.
As for me, I could not imagine spending all the evenings of my life sitting with such a man. I tried to engage him in political discussions, but he was a loyalist and understood as treachery all criticism of the sultan or talk on the merits and demerits of political alternatives. I knew that such things were discussed openly in my father's house and that Amin Efendi was present at these conversations, but I suspected he was concerned that as his future wife my ideas flew too wide. Perhaps Papa was right. Perhaps I had been raised by wolves and it was their spoor that set Amin Efendi's nostrils alert above the sharp line of his mustache. I sometimes thought that he did not see me, but sensed a disturbing presence that both attracted and repelled him.
I had given him no reason to think I was in agreement with plans for our engagement and, indeed, had tried to hint that I did not wish it. I considered the possible effect of stating this to him outright—perhaps he would agree to drop his suit. I would happily return the watch. But I feared not. He had the tenacity of a hungry street dog. I was uncomfortable when he looked at me. His eyes owned me. I consistently refused to meet with him, but Aunt Hüsnü ambushed me with his presence. I was too polite to walk away, as I wished to do. A guest is sacred, and I dared not breach the custom of welcoming one, even one that is unwelcome.
One day, Aunt Hüsnü announced that Amin Efendi and I would make our first public excursion, walking together in the pleasure garden of his patron, Tevfik Pasha. The pasha had agreed, all the preparations had been made, and the guests invited, she told me. Not to go would shame my father in the high circles to which he owed his position. I decided to go, but planned to use the occasion of a stroll, away from the ears of the household and Aunt Hüsnü, to tell Amin Efendi that I did not wish to marry him. I would give him the chance to save face by being the one to break it off.
I arrived in a closed carriage. He was waiting at a marble archway at the entrance to the park. I saw no servants to help me climb down from the carriage and, after a moment's hesitation, accepted his hand. His long fingers curved around mine. They were cool and dry as parchment. In deference to the unseasonably hot weather, I wore a white silk feradje. A yashmak of delicate silk gauze covered my head and lower face. As I descended from the carriage, the heel of my shoe caught on the step. I stumbled slightly and his hands flew up to hold me. The palms of his hands pressed against my feradje and seared my breasts. I was flustered and confused. Should I have expressed gratitude for his assistance or outrage? I looked at Amin Efendi closely but saw only solicitous politeness. Where were the pasha's servants?
Amin Efendi told the carriage driver to leave. He then led me through the gate into the park, where I expected at last to see our company and the other carriages. But we were alone. It was utterly quiet; even the birds were waiting.
"Where are the servants and the guests?" I asked, willing away the quaver in my voice.
Amin Efendi smiled. I saw his teeth under his mustache, stained brown with tobacco. "They're waiting for us at the lake with the refreshments. I thought it would be good for us to have some time together away from the others."
"I am not comfortable with this arrangement," I stated, trying on the haughty voice Aunt Hüsnü used to put errant servants and tradesmen in their place.
"Well"—Amin Efendi smiled tightly, pointing to the empty road behind and the red path ahead—"there's nothing to be done now."
He held out his arm. "Surely you can put up with your fiancé for a short walk along the sea."
"You are not yet my fiancé." I ignored his arm and strode ahead.
His steps were longer, and he easily kept pace with me. I opened my parasol and kept it between us. I knew we should not be alone before we were married, or at least formally engaged. It was very hot and my linen dress had many layers. The veil clung to my sweating face, making it hard to breathe. I slowed my pace. The hem of my feradje turned red from the dust of the path.
"Papa will not be pleased that we are unchaperoned. What is it you wish to speak with me about that requires such a breach of honor?"
He did not look startled by my words. Instead, his smile widened.
"Your father doesn't mind."
I turned to look at him. "He agreed to this?" I asked incredulously.
"Your father will do what is in his best interest."
"His best interest," I repeated blankly. "What do you mean?"
"I've watched you since you came back to live at your father's house and I've decided that you are exactly what I want, beautiful, smart, but with spirit. You don't want me. That much is clear. But that will keep things interesting. I'll make you into the perfect wife. It will be my great pleasure to instruct and form you, and you will eventually be grateful that I did so."
I backed up until stopped by the trunk of a pine tree. I was so angry, I could only repeat his words. "Instruct me? Form me?" He made it easy to speak my intentions. "I will not marry you."
One step brought him in front of me. "Yes, you will." He gripped my wrists and pushed me against the tree. The scent of roses was overpowering.
"You're hurting me. Stop it! Now!"
I could feel the entire length of his body pushing against me through the layers of my skirts. He placed a thick, hard object into my hand, like an eel, but warmly alive and with the silkiness of skin. I recoiled and tried to throw the object from my hand. Amin Efendi uttered an epithet that was as shocking to me as if he had slapped me. Using my wrists, he pushed me down onto the red earth. I struggled against his grip but my wrists were as delicate in his grasp as the pine needles on the ground around my head.
With sudden clarity, I remembered stories told by the women in their summer villas about young women compromised who were unable to marry or whose families or husbands rejected them. Stories spun in the minds of little listening girls who later weave lives from them. Or deaths.
He lifted my skirts over my face and trapped my arms in them. His sharp knees dug into my thighs, pressing them apart. Then my body was cut by a knife of pain that pierced even my brain. I was certain that I screamed, but I heard nothing except the grunting of an animal nearby. The sounds took on the same rhythm as my pain and I realized it was Amin Efendi. I could not see what he was doing. I saw only the red inside my head.
He shouted a blessing, a sacrilege, and my thighs were flooded with hot liquid. Suddenly the knife-edge dulled, and I could hear myself moaning. I opened my eyes and saw light through the cotton gauze. My arms and legs ached and something had opened a wound in my very center. The sky was a hostile witness.
The light blinded me as he pulled the skirts away from my head and disentangled my arms.
"Here." He pushed a towel into my hands. I realized with a start that he had planned this. I had not opened my eyes. They were still innocent.
I could feel his presence astride me, the toe of his boot pressing my knee outward. His gaze seared my wound, and I struggled to cover myself. I heard him chuckling.
"Now you will have to marry me, my lady. No one else will."
I opened my eyes. He looked exactly the same. His suit was immaculate. His fez rode his head like a demon.
"I will never marry you," I spit. "You can kill me first."
He chuckled. "I won't have to. Your father will insist, if he doesn't wish his honor to be stained. A daughter who gives herself like a common woman of the street. Imagine what that would do to his career."
"You did this to me against my will. He will believe me."
"If word gets out, that will make no difference. And whether anyone finds out...well, my silence will be my bride payment."
I thought of Hamza and Ismail Dayi. They would not accept this as a stain on me. They would avenge me. I was certain of it. Society's demands that a woman remain innocent of such cruelty clearly could not always be met. Nor should society's angry expectations always be honored that a wronged woman cleanse her sins—her sins?—by death or exile. I realized this in a momentous rush of clarity that was to change my life forever.
I sat up and gasped at the pain and the sight of blood on my dress.
"I'll take you somewhere nearby where you can clean yourself up. Then you can get back in the coach and go to the picnic or you can plead illness and the driver will take you home. No one will know what happened except your father, and he'll want to keep it that way. Come. The coach is waiting by the gate."
He reached his hand down for me, but I struggled to my feet unaided. My stomach heaved at the thought of his touch. My parasol was covered with pine needles. When I lifted it, the needles showered my hand in a caress. The forest forgives me, I thought.
I straightened myself to face Amin Efendi. His hands were clasped behind his back, eyes unfocused, lips parted slightly, as if reliving a pleasurable moment. I cast the tip of my parasol deep into his right eye.
## 26
## Salt, Not Sweet
"Yes, this might belong...have belonged to Mary. I think I saw her wear one like it." Sybil holds up the soiled blouse. They are sitting at the broad kitchen table, its rough wood worn concave by decades of scrubbing. Sybil led him here without thinking when he said he had something to show her, then asked the servants to leave and close the door. It seemed somehow appropriate that the kitchen be the scene of revelations.
Her voice cracks just enough for Kamil to see that, beneath her calm manner, she is aware that it is death she is touching, the last moments of Mary Dixon. He fights his desire to hold her in his arms as he has done Feride. She has much in common with her, he thinks. A kind, dutiful daughter dealing alone with a difficult father absent in mind and feeling. Spirited and intelligent. A modern woman with Ottoman virtues. A good wife for the right man. It is permissible for a Muslim man to marry a giavour woman, but he does not care about such rules anyway. He will marry or not as he pleases, and marry whom he pleases. He takes a deep breath, pushing his hands into his jacket pockets, and leans back in his chair. The fingers of his right hand tangle in the chain of amber beads, while his other hand closes around the cool metal of his pocket watch. In any case, he thinks with guilty relief, her family would never approve. He is aware that Europeans distrust a Muslim man, no matter whether he wears a fez or a top hat.
Sybil lets the blouse drop to the table. It is not ripped or soiled, but badly crumpled, as if it had been wadded up wet and dried inside the rocky niche. Its pearl buttons are intact. Life, Kamil thinks, clings desperately to everything, against all odds. He lets go of the watch and reaches for Sybil's hand. Sybil's eyes meet his. They sit unmoving, each unwilling to risk losing the other's touch by changing anything. Every word, every movement constitutes a risk.
A knock on the door startles them and their hands fly apart.
"Miss Sybil, should I make the tea now?"
"Not now, Maisie." She struggles to put a cheery tone in her voice, but it comes out hoarse with nervousness. "Later. I'll ring for you."
"Yes, Miss Sybil." The maid's footsteps recede down the hall.
Sybil smiles shyly, no longer willing to meet Kamil's eyes. Kamil too is smiling, his cup sunk deep in the jar of well-being. One sip, he thinks. Is that enough?
Suddenly aware of what might now be expected of him, Kamil rises abruptly to his feet.
"I apologize, Sybil Hanoum. I should go." He begins gathering up the objects on the table and wraps them in the oiled cloth.
"No, please don't go yet." His abruptness has soured her pleasure. Exasperated that suddenly it is she who is pleading, Sybil points to the table. "We haven't finished looking at these things." There is an edge to her voice that halts Kamil's hands in their frenzied activity.
He leans forward, props both hands on the table, and takes a deep breath. He doesn't know what to say.
"Please sit, Kamil Bey." Sybil regally indicates the chair at his side. "I know you're very busy, but since you came all this way"—she smiles brightly at him—"I would like to be of help."
Kamil sits and, for a brief moment, regards the objects on the table without seeing them, then looks at her. "Thank you, Sybil Hanoum." He relies on her to know what he means.
Sybil pulls the cloth bundle nearer, unwraps it again, playing her fingers lightly across the objects assembled there.
"I don't know about the shoes, but it seems the type she would wear. She wasn't terribly fashionable, and this is a common enough shoe in Europe. Turkish ladies, you know, prefer leather slippers, like this one here." She points to a torn and badly soiled slipper. "Wherever did you find these things?"
"We found the shoes and the blouse in the forest behind Ismail Hodja's house in Chamyeri."
"These," she adds, pointing to the hair comb and mirror, "are quite common. They could belong to anyone." She touches her thumb to the blade of the knife. "Sharp. Was this found with the other things?"
"These things are from a place north of there."
"Do you suspect Ismail Hodja, then?"
Kamil pauses, then draws a deep breath. "No."
Sybil brushes her hand across his sleeve. "Does this help you at all?"
"It confuses matters. She drowned in salt, not sweet water. But what was she doing at the pond?"
"Maybe she fell into the Bosphorus and someone hid her clothes at the pond later," Sybil suggests.
"We thought we had found the place where she drowned, a sea hamam. It's closed for the season, but someone used it recently. There was no evidence, though, that anyone was killed there, just a dead dog we found nearby." He shrugs. "Dogs are everywhere. Who is to say that this particular dog has anything to do with the murder?"
"Why a dog?"
"The fishermen heard a dog bark that night." He smiles wryly. "I know. Not much to go on."
"So she could have been pushed into the strait anywhere."
"What we really need to know is where she drank the tea that paralyzed her before she was pushed. A young woman like that might have been able to save herself otherwise."
"Does datura paralyze you?"
"It makes it difficult to move your limbs and to breathe. It depends on the dose. People don't die right away. It can take hours. First their throat becomes dry and they have difficulty swallowing. Their pupils dilate and don't respond to light. They can become blind. There's a slow paralysis of the limbs, vertigo, hallucinations. But she didn't die from that. She drowned."
Sybil feels her throat constricting. She does not move, but Kamil notices her pale face and the beads of sweat on her upper lip. He lays his hand on her shoulder.
"Sybil Hanoum, are you all right? I'm so sorry. That was needlessly graphic. I do apologize."
"No, no need to apologize. I want to know." Sybil's eyes meet his. "I need to know."
The space between them seems to shrink by some formula of physics as yet undiscovered. Their lips meet. Suspended in a universe that begins and ends at the intersection of their skin—until Maisie's footfalls outside the door repeal the wonder.
## 27
## The Smell of Roses
I felt numb and somehow relieved. After I had stumbled out of the forest onto the grounds, the women who had gathered for the picnic led me to the pasha's garden house and laid me on a chaise. They crouched around me, their whispering voices lilting with concern, hissing with curiosity. I remember Violet's brown face leaning over me. One of the women sprinkled my hands and face with rosewater. The smell of roses made me feel ill and the rosewater, as it fell, burned my skin. I remember twisting violently to get away from it and the silver ewer crashing to the ground. The smell became overpowering and I vomited. Then I finally slid into the blackness that had been waiting invitingly at the edge of my vision.
I woke to a man's face by my chest and started back with fear. The man drew away, but continued to sit in the chair by my side. Violet sat grimly on my other side, clutching my hand. I turned and smiled at her. The world was only as deep as the people standing beside me.
The man was clean-shaven, making his face look like that of a child, but his voice was low and assured. He spoke with a pronounced French accent.
"I am the pasha's physician. You need not be concerned. You are safe now."
I stared at him. I was safe? I began to remember. Had they found him? Would I be arrested?
"Can you tell us what happened?"
Would anyone believe me?
"Amin Efendi."
"He has been taken to hospital. He was unable to tell us anything. Were you attacked by thieves?" His face betrayed anxiety that brig-ands were nearby and had penetrated the pasha's pleasure gardens.
The pain spread outward from my loins until I glowed with it. It made me feel strangely powerful. I told him everything.
I WAS BROUGHT home, put directly to bed, and sedated with a tincture of opium. Violet lingered downstairs. The pasha himself came, she told me, along with his doctor. Papa stood frozen by the door. Aunt Hüsnü leaned against the mantelpiece. The pasha apologized that such a terrible thing had happened while Papa's family had been under his protection. Violet said that when they finished, Papa tried to say something in response, but was unable to speak. The two men helped him to a chair and brought him a glass of brandy. Aunt Hüsnü's expression, however, did not change, Violet noted. When the men had settled Papa into his chair and had managed to calm him somewhat, Aunt Hüsnü offered them refreshments. They declined and, embarrassed and confused as to what else to do, took their leave.
WHEN I WOKE, I found Papa sitting on the divan, looking out my window, smoking with a soldier's intensity. The glass tray beside him was full of cigarette stubs. When he heard the bedcovers rustle as I attempted to sit up, he turned his face to me, but it was shadowed and I could not read his expression. Did he believe me? Blame me? What would he do now? I was too inexperienced to know what repercussions this would have on Papa, but knew well enough that the honorable standing of a man's family always affected his career.
"I'm sorry, Papa."
He did not seem to hear me, so I repeated it more loudly.
"I'm very sorry, Papa. Please forgive me."
Papa stood and walked slowly toward me. He settled himself with a sigh onto the chair next to my bed. His big body in its uniform of dark blue worsted looked too large and out of place in this room of delicate pastel embroideries and doilies. Lace fringe from my bedsheet clung incongruously to his woolen trousers.
"Jaanan." He stopped, embarrassed. He took a cigarette from his pocket, lit it, and inhaled deeply.
"Jaanan, I haven't been able to provide you with a good upbringing," he said into the smoke. "You've grown up wild. I blame myself for that."
"But Papa—"
"You must listen." His voice had regained the familiar clipped tones of authority, but I could hear the urgency in it. "This family has acquired a formidable enemy. Amin Efendi." He choked at the title. Efendi is not only a title of honor, but implies an exemplary lifestyle, a man of honor. "He has lost his position at the palace and the support of his patron, but he still has other powerful friends. And he has lost an eye." Here Papa looked at me curiously. The cigarette dangling between his fingers released arabesques into the air.
I did not respond, but waited for him to continue.
"He is not a man to forgive these things. He will work to destroy us."
I could not imagine what it meant to be destroyed. I thought of the fish hung by a rope. I began to cry.
His eyes swept the room as if an object there might rescue him, but saw only the delicate, fragile weavings of a girl's life, nothing to hold on to. When he turned back to me, I thought the corners of his eyes were moist.
"It's not your fault, my daughter. I shouldn't have forced this marriage on you. I had no idea of this man's low character. He was highly recommended by all who knew him professionally. Hüsnü Hanoum made inquiries into his character among the women. She assured me they all said he was a kind and generous man."
He paused as if something had just occurred to him.
Frowning, he continued, "I think it best if you went to your mother's side. You can rest there, while we decide how to proceed."
He patted my hand without looking at my face, then got up and strode quickly out of the room.
## 28
## July 9, 1886
Dearest sister,
If it is not too much of an imposition on the bond between you and your husband, I would ask that this letter remain between us. I am in need of advice from you. There is no one here I can ask or trust. How I miss Mother. I'm sure she would have been able to guide me. No, there is nothing seriously amiss, although I am feeling quite dislocated these past few days. I find myself spending altogether too much time thinking about Kamil Pasha, the magistrate I mentioned before. After all, despite his civilized demeanor, he is an infidel and I have no right to imagine a life that would cast any aspersions on Father's career. Kamil Pasha has not stated his case for me in so many words—he is not given to rambling protestations—but his meaning is clear. What shall I do, dearest Maitlin? It is impossible to say I will not see him again—he comes here on official business regarding the murder of Mary Dixon. I have never before felt such attraction. It is quite as if I were astride an uncontrollable horse where my only choice is to follow his lead or to fall off at great pain to myself. Is this what happened between you and Richard?
But my real fear is that I might shame Father. I am filled with self-loathing that such thoughts should even enter my mind. I am speaking of marriage, of course, Maitlin. I would not countenance anything else, regardless of the attraction. We all have seen what happens to young women who are too eager to give up their only asset and find themselves devalued before society. I am less concerned with society for my sake, but much more for Father's sake. He could not do his work here if there were any taint of scandal. And there is the question of religion—the scandal of his daughter marrying a heathen would do almost as much damage.
Lately, Bernie has been spending the night. He says he has put his writing project on hold for the moment, that he needs time to rethink his approach. I'm so glad he has decided to stay here. I do so enjoy his company and welcome the diversion during the long evenings. I have for some time suffered from loneliness, particularly at night, something I never shared with you because I didn't want you to worry about me. That loneliness is now accentuated by the absence of someone whose figure does not even fit into the composition of my life, at least as it has been painted by British and Ottoman society. There is a stubborn strain in the women of our family, a deep need to alter the frame into which we have been placed. But I cannot sacrifice Father to that temptation. You know of what I speak.
I look to you, my wise and dear sister, for advice.
Ever yours,
Sybil
SYBIL PUTS DOWN her pen and, taking the sheer white veil from the bed, sits before a mirror and pins it to her hair, snugging it against her forehead. She flings the veil over her head so that it hangs like flowing hair down her back and laughs. The laughter bubbles from deep inside, from a place Sybil has not realized was hers. The veil is nothing, a bagatelle, if by wearing it she will be able to move in society by Kamil's side.
But she doesn't believe he will require her to wear it. She pictures a house, one of those lovely Ottoman confections overlooking the Bosphorus. She will decorate its rooms in Oriental style—flowered carpets, damask cushions, velvet drapes—with enough chairs and couches to host the receptions she is sure will be part of her role as wife of a high Ottoman government official. One could say, she thinks, that she has been training for this role all her life. She will also help Kamil with his work, as she has helped her father. She could be his eyes and ears among the women. Finding Shukriye, a witness to the circumstances surrounding Hannah's death, will prove her worth.
In her mind, Sybil populates her new house with children, a son and a daughter, and her dear nephews. Perhaps they would choose to stay. The boys could attend Robert College, in its forested eyrie high above the Bosphorus. Surely once they had seen it, they would want to stay. Maitlin could start a hospital for women. Richard would agree, as he always has. Perhaps he could hold an embassy post, finally take the reins from her exhausted father. And Bernie would be here, a familiar face.
A pleasant thought suddenly strikes her. They could all live on adjoining properties as Turkish families do. When Turks marry, they move into houses next to those of their parents and siblings. Their children grow up slipping through hedges that divide one garden from the next.
As she thinks of children, Sybil blushes. She pulls the veil across her face and sits heavily on the bed. Kamil's physical presence, the memory of his lips heavy and demanding on her own, overwhelms her senses like a tidal wave. The timbre of his voice thrums in her a desire to submit that, in her capable persona, she would never reveal. Beneath the veil, within that narrow, lush chamber of solitude, she feels unfettered. Nana would say, running with sap.
## 29
## Visions
Kamil sits on a cushioned bench under a trellis of jasmine in the garden of his mother's house, reading Reese's Manual of Toxicology, which he has borrowed from Michel with the excuse that it would help him with his investigations. Kamil has always taken satisfaction from knowing exactly how things work. But his reading today is in the service of a more uncertain project, his father. Opium poisoning, he reads, leaves few consistent clues in the body after death. The pupils are often contracted, but may also be dilated. Death may be sudden, or staved off altogether, depending on whether the stomach was full or empty, how many grains of opium were administered, and whether the poison was in liquid form or solid, as tincture of laudanum or crystals of morphia. But a drop of starch diluted by iodic acid will identify a residue of only one ten-thousandth of a grain of morphia by turning blue. There is nothing in the book about weaning a man from the habit of opium.
Sparks of light from the strait give the garden an air of motion and exuberance that intensifies its tranquillity. One of Kamil's most vivid childhood memories is of the delicate, colorful crocheted butterflies edging the cotton scarf draped loosely over his mother's hair. When she leaned over his father to serve him tea, the butterflies vibrated in the breeze and seemed to be trying to lift the scarf away from her face.
Why had his mother chosen to live here on her own? he wonders again. Her presence in the garden is strong. He can almost believe he sees her, stitching her tapestry on the bench beside the roses. Maybe he is seeing visions like Baba, he muses. He supposes his mother tired of the immense staff, the constant surveillance, the wives and families of officials and other visitors she was required to entertain at the official residence. During this time, Kamil remembers watching his parents carefully when they were together. One day, from behind a door, Kamil saw his father embrace his mother, swiftly, almost furtively, in a passageway. This embrace, though brief, relieved Kamil's fear that his parents would part from one another, that he would lose them. At that moment he became aware of this possibility, lodged like a splinter in his heart.
After this, the family moved permanently to his mother's house. Kamil's father came twice a week, bringing his documents and a small retinue of assistants. He settled himself to work at a table under the short, sturdy pine tree overlooking the roses and, beyond them, the strait. Kamil's mother refused to let the servants pour her husband's tea, but took the empty glass herself to the samovar steaming on a nearby table. She spilled the remnants in a copper bowl, washed the glass with hot water from the spigot at the samovar's base, emptying this water too into the bowl. Then she carefully poured two fingers of the rust-black concentrate from a small china pot atop the steaming brass urn, topping it up with hot water. Holding the glass against the light, she carefully inspected the color of the tea, adjusting it with more tea concentrate or more water until the color was just right—a brilliant brownish red that she called rabbit's blood. She brought the glass to her husband balanced on her smooth palm and bent to place it on the table before him.
Enraptured by this peaceful memory, Kamil drowses. His grasp on the book weakens and it slips from his hand. He is awakened by the clink of glass against glass. For a brief moment, in the late afternoon shadows on the patio, he thinks he sees his mother standing by the door. Her face hidden behind a wing of cloth, she is wearing Sybil's dress. When she moves into the slanted sunlight, he sees it is Karanfil, the cook, bringing him tea.
## 30
## Feet Like Milk
"I'm like the cook on a Black Sea grain ship. The cook is set afloat in a small dinghy attached to the ship by a long rope, so that when he cooks over a fire, he doesn't endanger the ship with its combustible cargo."
Violet and I were walking in the garden. Over my shoulder, the sky smoldered orange behind the hill. Our leather slippers made delicate scuffing sounds on the paving stones as we approached the pavilion. The sky over the strait had been leached to ash.
"How do they get the food from him?"
"They wait until he has put out the fire, then pull him back in. But it's dangerous. If there's a storm or a fire, he is lost."
"How do you know this?"
"Hamza told me."
Violet said nothing, but I sensed her disapproval. She never liked Hamza and spied on us when he visited until I scolded her for it.
I had not heard from Hamza since the dinner at our house in Nishantashou, even in the weeks since Amin Efendi's attack. This weighed on me. If he had sent a message, Aunt Hüsnü might not have bothered to pass it on to me here. Nevertheless, I was hurt by his silence. He must have heard what Amin Efendi had done. The city vibrated with the news.
My feelings had not been steady since the attack. Self-pity overtook me during sleepless nights. I disowned it and wished to cut it from me like a useless limb. The bitter rage I relished, as it made the pain recede. But my anger flooded over. I snapped at Violet, and raged silently at mother, Ismail Dayi, and Hamza for not protecting me, even though I knew they could have done nothing. Most of all, I was angry at myself for having gone along with the charade of visits. But beneath the anger was a calm lucidity, a new confidence that I was closer now to understanding death. That it was really rather simple, after all.
THE GARDEN PATH wound around the base of the small hill on which perched the glass-walled pavilion. Violet wandered a few steps ahead of me, but my eyes were drawn to a motion inside. At first I reached out to alert Violet, but then withdrew my hand at the thought it might be Hamza. Her dark profile turned back toward me. Behind her, the sky was ash gray.
"Go inside," I told her. She looked surprised, then displeased. Without a word, she swung around and marched toward the house, the tail of her head scarf swinging hard with every step.
I waited, gazing toward the water, until she had closed the door. My ears strained for Hamza's nightingale call, but found only the commotion of common birds. The ashes in the sky bled and infected the air, now dense with dusk. An owl mourned in the forest.
I turned and climbed the path to the pavilion. The door was ajar. I pushed it open and slipped inside. No one was there. I sat heavily on a cushion. Most of the shutters were closed and the room was dark and chilly, but I no longer cared enough to rise. I heard a moan and realized it had come from my own chest.
I remember clearly the small, cool hand that settled on my arm out of the darkness. I looked around at a bright shimmer suspended in the dark, like a white veil. Startled, I said nothing.
The apparition settled beside me. Its hand moved to my cheeks and stroked them dry, first one, then the other. A small kindling.
"You mustn't cry," the face said in English.
"Mary? Is it you?"
"I came 'round to see you, but your maid said you weren't at home. So I decided to rest here for a bit before driving back. It's such a long way. I left the driver snoring in his carriage outside the gate. I guess he's used to long-winded women's visits."
"I didn't know you were here."
"You weren't at the Palais des Fleurs at the usual time, so I sent you a message at your father's house. I was worried you might be ill. Then I heard about what happened to you and that you were staying up here, so I had to come see you. I didn't realize it was so far. I sent you a message to let you know I'd be visiting today, but you never responded." She shrugged. "I came anyway."
"I never received any messages from you, Mary, either at Nishantashou or here."
Mary sat back, frowning. "But I sent them. The messenger said he gave them to your maid."
For a few moments we gazed at the ink-washed sky outside the unshuttered pavilion window, each lost in our own thoughts. What else had Violet kept from me?
"So you had no idea I was coming," Mary said incredulously.
"No," I responded, smiling at her, "but I'm very pleased you're here. I too wanted to see you, but life became too, how shall I put it, different. Else I should have sent you a message too—or responded to yours. You are so kind to come all this way."
"I'm sorry about what happened, Jaanan." She moved closer, linking her arm through mine. We looked for a while at our reflections in the black dusk of the window.
"You know," she whispered finally, "something like that happened to me too."
Her hand remained hot through the cloth of my sleeve.
I didn't know what to say, so I kept my eye on her reflection. Her hair looked like it was made of light.
"Your fiancé?" I asked finally, to help her.
"No. Punishment." Her voice was bitter.
"For what?"
"For not wanting them."
I didn't understand the meaning of her words, but saw she was sad and angry. She withdrew her hand and sat, head bowed, in the shadow.
"There were three of them. A lodger and his cronies. They saw me kissing a woman friend. They spied on me in my room while we were together."
"What evil is there in a kiss among women?"
Mary looked at me wonderingly.
"When my friend left, they forced their way in and said they'd hurt me if I didn't do the same to them."
"How awful," I exclaimed, remembering the stories of young women who flung themselves to their deaths rather than be touched by a man before their wedding day. I supposed that included a kiss, although now that seemed harmless enough to me.
"What did you do?"
She said softly, "I did what they wanted. What else could I do? They threatened me. They said they'd tell the landlady. I worked there, in the kitchen. I would have lost my position. I had no place else to go."
"What about your friend?"
Mary stared at the dark window for a long moment before answering. "She's the one who told them where to look. She sold me for a few pence."
I didn't see why men would pay to see women kiss. Perhaps in England women were kept hidden as they are among the Ottomans, and unscrupulous men paid to look at them.
"People heard about what happened anyway. They went around bragging about what they had done. No one would hire me. I lost everything." I could hear Mary quietly crying, her face in shadow. "The wife of the minister of our church took pity on me and gave me a good reference, but only if I promised to reform. So I came out here."
I leaned over and caressed the silken filaments of her hair. She let me stroke her hair, as she had my cheeks. She was lovely, taut, confused. I thought to gentle her in the way among women.
When after a while she touched her lips to mine, I misunderstood and she fell back.
"You startled me," I said.
"It's only a kiss," she said breathlessly. "Won't you let me?"
"You are right," I admitted, ashamed of having repulsed her. "There is no shame among women, only comfort."
We smiled bashfully at one another, our faces close enough to see in the gloom. I allowed her to kiss my mouth, then my neck. It reminded me of the balm that ran through me when Violet calmed my fears as a child and, after Hamza no longer visited, eased my sorrow. I had not desired Violet's pity since Amin Efendi's shameful attack, but this pale woman's touch brought me back to my body. It is a blessing of womanhood that we may gather strength and pleasure from one another.
Like a mariner in uncharted seas, her hand traced the pulse in my throat to the top of my breasts, sheathing them in flames. Our lips lay together as twins. I felt myself arching back against the cushions as her hands pulled away the layers of cloth between us.
"Never strangers," she breathed into my ear. "Not from the very beginning."
She did not speak again, not even when I lay shuddering in her arms, my body her supplicant.
This was not the bread and water of Violet's caress, but a veneration.
AFTER THAT WE resumed our weekly meetings. As the months passed, I thought less and less about Hamza, who did not come again. Instead, I savored the unfamiliar sensations of my first real friendship with a woman. Mary rented a carriage and we went for drives through the autumn countryside. When we discovered the abandoned sea hamam, we began to go there for our picnics. The driver returned at a given time or waited, snoring, by the road.
I unstacked the copper warming pots and laid them in a circle on the table. We threw a fringed cotton blanket on the mattress to cover the damp boards. Our bare feet hung in pairs, hers pale as milk, mine the color of fine china. As always, Mary had brought coal and kindled a small fire in the brazier. The jewelry I had given her winked from the shadows as she heated water for tea. From a corner nook, I extracted two tea glasses, the cheap kind bought in the market.
Perched on the mattress under a quilt, we fed each other pockets of flaky dough stuffed with cheese and parsley, tart fingertips of grape leaves rolled around rice and currants, fragrant bread kept hot in the tinned copper pans. After we ate, we smoked cigarettes and threw the remnants from the shady portico into the bright captive square of water. In another season these walls would hold the racket of children's calls, shrill volleys of sound amid the placid murmur of their mothers' voices telling and retelling. Their legs shyly entering the sea up to the ribbon at the knee. Bathing costumes worn like daring fashion gowns. The vulnerable body quickly pressed between plush towels so it did not sicken from a draft.
But not yet. It was still our sun and sea, our banging shutters, our sighing under the weathered boards. We lay still like split mussels, gathering a crust of salt. Her yellow hair was cut short, like a boy's, and when she slicked it back wet, her face became naked.
## 31
## The Girl Wife
To Sybil's surprise, it is not difficult to arrange to see Shukriye. The women's gatherings buzz with the news that she is staying with her sister, Leyla. The women prepare to visit the house in droves to offer sympathy to the sisters, whose father lies dying, and to assuage their curiosity about this member of their society so long gone. On the family's first receiving day, Sybil joins the assault of the concerned and curious. Sybil hears the woman beside her whisper to a neighbor that Shukriye has borne three children, but that only one survives, a boy, just two years old.
"Mashallah, by the will of Allah," the other woman answers in surprise, turning her head and looking appraisingly at Shukriye. "The poor woman. But at least she has a son."
Shukriye, a plump woman in a caftan of exquisite brocade, sits on the divan, her face half hidden behind the wings of a gauze scarf that hangs to her breast. Sybil can see that her eyes are red from weeping. Shukriye's sister, Leyla, keeps up the formal greetings and directs the servants to offer the guests tea, cakes, and savories from large silver trays. Another servant stands in the corner with a small stove and implements, ready to make coffee for anyone desiring it.
Sybil notices Asma Sultan's daughter, Perihan, sitting next to Shukriye, her hand occasionally reaching to smooth Shukriye's robe. She remembers that Shukriye had been engaged to the man Perihan wanted to marry. Perhaps, she thinks, they are united as friends in sorrow at his death.
An old woman in a corner of the divan by the window moves her head rhythmically side to side, intoning a litany of prayer, interspersed with loud sighs and appeals to Allah.
"That is Shukriye's grandmother."
"May Allah protect her. She is praying for her son."
There is a commotion among the women, a rising whisper and flurry of silk as they make way for a tall eunuch that Sybil recognizes as the one that had ushered her into Asma Sultan's house. The women fall silent. Behind him, Asma Sultan enters the room. She looks tired and older than Sybil remembers from the circumcision party two weeks before. She is dressed in a tight-waisted European gown and walks stiffly past the row of women in loose Turkish robes propped comfortably on the divan.
Leyla hurries toward her, arms extended in welcome. Signaling to Shukriye and Perihan to follow her, she leads Asma Sultan into an adjoining private room. As Asma Sultan passes Sybil, she stops and, with an amused smile, gestures that she should come with them. This occasions a flurry of whispers among the other visitors. The eunuch waits beside the door, arms folded, and when the five women have passed through, closes it behind them.
Sybil finds herself in a sitting room furnished only with a low cushioned divan around three sides of the room. In the middle is a carpet of cheerful colors on which are scattered small low tables of wood inlaid with ivory and mother-of-pearl. The windows behind the divan open onto the Bosphorus, quaking with light. She hears the sad query of a dove from the garden.
Asma Sultan is given the seat of honor in the corner of the divan, Perihan beside her. With a curious look, Leyla seats Sybil to Asma Sultan's left.
This is followed by the formalities of introduction and inquiries about health. Servant girls bring refreshments, then withdraw. Shukriye slumps on the divan. She does not eat or speak beyond the required formulaic responses.
Finally, Asma Sultan asks, "What is the matter with her?" To Shukriye she says encouragingly, "Pull yourself together, dear girl, and tell us what has befallen you in these eight years since we last saw you."
Leyla, beside her, adjusts the cushions at her back and gently draws the veil back from her face. She speaks to her in a low, soothing voice, as to a child.
"My rose, remember, I've petitioned the palace to bring you back to the city. Everything will be all right."
Shukriye stops crying and sits up straighter. She squeezes her sister's hand. Her eyes are red-rimmed, but her face is white and round as a full moon, with even features and a small red mouth. A headdress of tiny gold coins sweeps across her forehead.
Asma Sultan continues in a kind voice, "That's better. Now we can see you. What is it that is troubling you, my dear? I know. Your poor father, of course. May his illness pass." Sybil knows this is simply a formula of comfort. She has heard that the man is near death.
Leyla holds her sister's hand and strokes her cheek, murmuring, "Shukriye, my dearest, my rose. You're home at last. We've missed you very much."
Shukriye sighs deeply, as if reaching for all the air in the room. When she finishes, she says to no one in particular, "What is to be done? It is in Allah's hands."
She notices Sybil for the first time.
"Who is that?" she asks.
Leyla introduces Sybil again, emphasizing the fact that her father is the British ambassador.
Sybil begins repeating the ritual formula of greeting. Leyla interrupts, waving her hand exhaustedly and says, "Sybil Hanoum, you are welcome. We consider you a member of our house. Please sit."
Leyla calls to the servant waiting by the door and tells her to bring coffee and then to leave and make sure they are not disturbed.
When the girl has served the coffee and gone, Leyla says, "When you're ready, my rose, tell us everything."
"I have a large house," Shukriye begins slowly, "with enough servants that I cannot say I'm not comfortable. And people say that my husband is a good man." She pauses and loses her eyes in the play of light beyond the window. "Perhaps he is," she whispers, "but he's also a weak man. I feel as if I'm married not to him, but to his mother." Her face winds into a grimace and she begins to cry again, an ugly outraged crying.
"She is responsible for the death of my children," she chokes out.
The other women sit tense and rapt. Sybil is startled to see a smile of satisfaction flash across Perihan's face, but then decides she must have been mistaken.
Finally, Shukriye calms down and continues in a hoarse voice. "My daughters fell ill after eating her food. I think she poisoned them out of spite because I hadn't borne a son. She didn't allow me to take the children to the doctor in town. Instead, she called her faith healer. All he did," she says disgustedly, "was write some Quranic verses on a piece of paper and throw it in water, then had the girls drink the water. Can you imagine?"
Perihan says softly, "Imbibing the word of Allah is a blessed remedy, Shukriye dear. Perhaps they were not meant to live. It is Allah's will."
Shukriye closes her eyes. "Surely treating illness with medicine also finds favor in Allah's eyes."
Asma Sultan asks, "Are you not worried about your son during your absence?"
"Of course I am, but he has a guardian now."
"Your husband?"
"No, he's still his mother's slave. After my children died, my husband took a kuma. His mother suggested it, of course. Then she handed him the stick for our backs," she adds angrily.
A second wife, thinks Sybil, appalled.
Seeing the women's stricken faces, Shukriye tells them, "It's not so bad. She became like my daughter. I tried to protect her, but every month laid a year on her face. She became pregnant and miscarried in midwinter, with no midwife able to reach her through the snow in time. She can have no more children, the poor girl."
Shukriye's hand traces the flowers on a cushion.
"Since her misfortune, her spirit has hardened. Even our husband fears her temper. And she has the support of three brothers who live nearby. My son is safe in her hands."
The room falls silent.
Finally, Sybil ventures, "You must miss your family terribly. I haven't seen my sister in England in more than seven years, and I've never met my nephews at all. Sometimes it's hard to bear. Tell me, why did you marry so far away?" Flustered, she adds, "I mean, if it's not impertinent of me to ask."
"I don't know, chère hanoum. I was engaged to marry my cousin, Prince Ziya." She struggles to control her voice. "He was killed and then my life was taken from me. Whoever killed him, killed me too. I refuse to believe that my life in Erzurum was kismet. Someone besides Allah had a hand in it." She adjusts her veil so that it covers the lower part of her face, then looks up at the women and adds softly, "Those who take fate from the hands of Allah are guilty of pride and will surely be punished."
"Allah knows our fates," Perihan counters. "They are written on our foreheads at birth. No earthly being can alter them." Her voice has a sharp edge that can easily be confused with sorrow. She pulls her veil across the bottom of her face, but Sybil sees the deep crease between her eyes.
"Perhaps you're right. But what was the point of his death? I don't believe for a moment that he was killed by thieves in a house of ill repute, as they told me. I'm sure the palace had him killed. They think all the Turks in Paris are plotting against the sultan. But they're wrong. Ziya was there to oversee the signing of a trade agreement, nothing more."
Leyla tries to hush her sister. "My dear sister, please don't excite yourself. Allah is the only witness." Trying to change the subject, she turns to Sybil.
"You remind me of a governess we had in the palace long ago, may Allah rest her soul. You have the same pale eyes."
"Hannah Simmons?" Sybil feels her skin prickling with excitement.
"Yes, that was her name. Did you know her?" Leyla leans closer to Sybil. "You seem too young."
"My mother did. Please tell me about Hannah."
"A calm girl, sweet as honey lokum." Leyla looks around the room. "What else is there to tell? Asma Sultan, you must remember her."
Asma Sultan thinks a moment, then answers, "No, regrettably I do not. Though, of course, we all know what happened to her."
Perihan looks at her mother in surprise and seems about to speak, then thinks better of it.
Leyla also appears surprised. "But she was a governess in your house."
"We have many servants," Asma Sultan snaps irritably.
Perihan adds in a conciliatory tone, "She wasn't very memorable. I'm sure her death is the only reason we can remember her at all."
"I thought her quite pleasant," Shukriye chimes in. "I often saw her at the women's gatherings and at the hamam. She had charge of the young girls. I once tried to give her some satin cloth, but she seemed content to dress like a colorless sparrow. Poor woman. She seemed uninterested in even the simplest embroidery or jewelry."
"Just that silver necklace she always wore," Leyla adds. "Do you remember it, Shukriye? The only time she ever took it off was to sleep and at the baths. I was surprised that she took it off even then, since she insisted on wearing a chemise. Perhaps she had a disability?" She looks at Sybil inquiringly. "I never understood why she hid her body in the bath. It's ridiculous. We're all women. What is there to hide?"
Sybil can think of no response that wouldn't offend her hosts. On the lowest physical surface, what Leyla says makes logical sense, but it takes no account of higher, more civilized notions of modesty. She smiles nervously.
"Why didn't she take the necklace off? Was it something special?" asks Shukriye.
"I don't think so. Just a round silver bauble," Leyla says dismissively.
Sybil speaks up. She wants to defend Hannah from these women's disparaging judgment. "I think it was probably quite a valuable piece. At least, it seems to have been made at the palace."
"Why do you think that? I don't remember anything particular about it," asks Leyla curiously. "Of course, it was all such a long time ago."
"It has a tughra inside," Sybil says brightly, relieved at not having to defend British modesty and proud that she has something to contribute to the conversation.
Leyla draws her breath in sharply. "What? Where would a foreign girl get such a thing? You must be mistaken."
"No, really. I saw it myself."
Leyla looks at Asma Sultan. "It must have been a gift from someone in the harem."
"I'm not in the habit of giving valuable gifts to servants," Asma Sultan answers with mild reproach.
"Sybil Hanoum," Perihan asks, "did you say you saw it? I thought the police would have taken it."
The women's heads all turn to Sybil.
"The young Englishwoman—Mary Dixon—who was killed last month had it around her neck. You've heard of her death, surely." Turning to Perihan, she adds, "She was your governess, I believe."
"Mary Hanoum," Perihan mutters. "An odd woman, but I wished her no ill. May Allah have mercy on her soul." To Sybil, "I never saw her wear such a necklace."
"How do you know it's the same one Hannah had?" Leyla asks.
Sybil explains about the box. "It's also special because it has Chinese writing in it."
"Chinese?" the women exclaim.
"Then it must be something from outside the country," Perihan suggests. "Maybe the sultan's seal was added later."
Leyla agrees. "Our food in the palace is served on porcelain brought from China."
"And aren't those enormous vases in the reception rooms from China?" Shukriye adds. "I remember almost knocking one over as a child."
"Didn't your mother have a collection of Chinese art?" Leyla asks Asma Sultan.
Asma Sultan doesn't answer the question. Instead, she asks Sybil, "How do you know it's Chinese?"
"My cousin Bernie is visiting here. He's a scholar of Asia. That is, he's writing a book on relations between your empire and the East. Anyway, he was able to read it. It's part of a poem."
"A poem," Asma Sultan repeats knowingly. "Of course. It was probably a gift to Hannah from her lover. But how did this woman Mary come to have it?"
"Hannah had a lover?" Sybil tries to hide her excitement.
"Someone she met on her day off. She was allowed to leave the palace once a week, but Arif Agha kept an eye on her."
"Arif Agha?"
"One of the eunuchs. Every week, Hannah got into a carriage with the same driver and didn't come back until early the next morning. Arif Agha asked her where she went, but all he could get out of her was, 'To visit a friend.' He tried to have her followed, but that incompetent fellow couldn't manage it. And then it was too late."
"Did Arif Agha describe the driver?" Sybil asks.
Asma Sultan thinks about this. "He said the driver was scruffily dressed, not in livery as one might expect if she were visiting a home in good society. But such families would have sent an escort. Anyway, Arif Agha told all this to the police." Then she mutters to herself, "That fox-tongued fool always talked too much."
"Is Arif Agha here?" Sybil thinks Kamil might wish to speak with him.
"He retired. His incompetence lost him our trust."
"And his venality," adds Perihan.
"It was stupid of the girl to get into a carriage unaccompanied," Asma Sultan observes. "Anything could happen."
"And clearly did." Perihan completes her mother's sentence in a satisfied voice.
"Was the driver a Turk?" Sybil asks.
Asma Sultan sighs deeply, unable to hide her annoyance at the continued questioning. "I don't think so. According to Arif Agha, the man had Arab hair the color of sand. Perhaps a Kurd. Their hair is curly like that, but they are usually darker. One of the minorities? But which one?" She throws up her hands in mock despair. "How is one to tell?" After a moment, she adds darkly, "If you toy with a snake, it will bite you."
Perihan asks Sybil, a bit sharply, "Why do you want to know this?"
Leyla intercedes. "Of course, she was one of your people," she tells Sybil kindly. "It's natural that you should want to know as much as possible about her."
"Her killer was never found," Sybil adds.
"Under a rock, no doubt, among others of his kind." Asma Sultan shrugs.
"Do you think it's of any importance now?" Shukriye asks.
"I don't know. I'm helping Kamil Pasha, the magistrate investigating Mary Dixon's murder. He seems to think there's some connection between the two deaths." She turns to Asma Sultan. "Did you say your mother had a collection of Chinese art? My cousin would be most interested to take a look at it, I mean, if that's permitted. And I'll be sure to tell Kamil Pasha about it." She says his title proudly, as if it already belongs to her, relishing the heft of it on her tongue. "He's coming to dine with us the day after tomorrow."
"My mother has passed away," Asma Sultan replies stiffly.
Sybil is mortified. "I'm so sorry, Your Highness. I didn't know. Health to your head."
"It was a long time ago." Asma Sultan rises to her feet. "Now it is time for us to leave."
Shamed by her gaffe, Sybil watches as Asma Sultan, ignoring Leyla's protestations, walks to the door and raps on it. It is opened immediately by her eunuch. She waits while Perihan kisses her hostess on both cheeks in farewell. Sybil feels Asma Sultan's eyes on her, but when she turns, Asma Sultan is gone.
## 32
## With Wine-Red Necks
It was early in the day. The lane leading to Chamyeri Village was still cool beneath the pines and I shivered in my light feradje. The air was lush with the smell of pine. I tasted salt on my tongue.
"It's been nearly a year. Why should I be banished any longer? There's no one to talk to here and nothing to do," I added petulantly.
I did not mention Mary. Violet did not like her, as she had not liked Hamza, my only two friends. I had scolded her for withholding Mary's messages. If Violet had not been a servant, I would have suspected her of jealousy. It was true that I no longer enjoyed her company as much as in the past when I had no friends of my own. It was true that I had outgrown her touch. The last time she came in the night wanting to share my quilt, I told her we were no longer children who could tumble about unconcerned like the kangal dog's new puppies. She sat on the edge of the quilt, sullen, her mouth downturned. I noticed the deepening lines beside her mouth and between her eyes. I reached, out of habit and concern, to smooth them away. She caught my hand and nestled her cheek in my palm. When I tried to withdraw it, she caught the edge of my hand between her teeth and shook it, for all the world like a kangal, before releasing me and slipping out of the room. I stared at the indentations left by her teeth in my flesh, wanting to laugh, but also curiously afraid, as if a violent current had disarranged the air.
She was dear to me nonetheless, as she ought to have known. We were always together, except when Mary fetched me for our excursions. During the coldest months, snow-blocked roads had ended our meetings. The boat that delivered our coal also brought letters from Mary early that winter. But I had not seen or heard from her in months, even though the roads were now open. She had written that she had some business to see to and would come to me as soon as she could. But I no longer wished to circle the shallows waiting, and decided to throw myself back into the current of life.
"Ismail Dayi is hardly ever here and Mama refuses to listen to anything. It's as if I'm a child again." I thought of poor Mama lying on her divan, coughing, wrapped in her fur cloak despite the warm balm of spring, and felt my complaint stick in my stomach. "I hope Mama gets well soon," I whispered by way of apology. What is written will come to be, but what is spoken also provokes fate.
Violet walked silently by my side. I had become accustomed to her new silences. I remembered her crying in her room when she first arrived at Chamyeri. She must be lonely, I decided. I looked at her out of the corner of my eye. Her mouth was tight and a frown had settled onto her forehead. Perhaps it was time I asked Ismail Dayi or Papa to find her a husband.
We passed orchards behind crumbling brick walls. Fig leaves draped the walls like dark green hands moving in the slight breeze, guarding the small, prim sacs of fruit. Pairs of doves with wine-red necks called softly to one another. We entered the shade of a narrow lane beneath overhanging second stories.
Violet looked about nervously.
"What is it?" I whispered.
"Nothing. Nothing at all."
Violet was lying. Something was worrying her.
At the open square in the center of the village, the small grocery stall was still closed. Two bony dogs slunk grudgingly around the back of the stall at our approach. Another dog lay on his side in the dust, his back leg twitching. Several old men were sitting on low, straw-thatched wooden stools under a tatty awning, drinking tea. Their eyes shifted to watch us pass.
We crossed the square quickly and plunged into the darkness of a narrow street leading to the shore. The overhanging upper stories of the wooden houses almost met overhead. We were here to rent a boat that would take us down the strait to Beshiktash, the nearest pier to Nishantashou. I knew Mama would not allow us to go. Without her authority, I could not send a servant to hire a boat, so I convinced an unwilling Violet to come along. I left a note for Mama and Ismail Dayi, telling them I had gone back to Papa's house. My uncle's house would always be home, but I felt the need to resume my life. Now that I was no longer to be married, I had to think about what to do. I had never much desired the company of society, but I was lonely too. In the city, I hoped at least to resume my education.
As we passed beneath the Muslim houses, I heard women calling to one another behind the wooden lattices covering the windows. Suddenly a bucketful of foul water landed beside us and exploded over our cloaks. Appalled, I stopped and looked up at the woman still leaning from her window, bucket in hand, smiling. Voices and muffled laughter came from behind the lattices along the street. Violet took my hand and rushed me forward, almost knocking over the man ahead of us.
We ran to the open area by the shore. Young men sat on the stones and mended nets. The fishing boats had left long before dawn. The men stopped their work and looked at us curiously. Our feradjes were spattered with yellow stains. We adjusted our veils more tightly. My hand was still in the vise of Violet's grip. I had understood what Violet already knew. We had to leave here. Surely the matrons of Nishantashou would not throw slop on us. I felt certain they had more sophisticated means of cutting the rope that tethered me to society's ship.
I was suddenly very angry. I loosed my hand from Violet's, straightened my shoulders, and walked to the man tending the samovar.
"I would like to rent a boat and a boatman to take us to Beshiktash pier. You will be well compensated."
VIOLET'S SMALL FACE was dark and strong, almost muscular, made up of planes and angles. She was attractive in a masculine way, the only hint of softness rich, liquid brown eyes that tilted up at the outer corners like almonds. Impatient, she continually shifted and readjusted her position, her thin fingers pulling at her clothing, so unlike when she was naked in the water, where she became tranquil and sleek.
I remember how disgusted she was at the exorbitant price of ten kurush the boatman demanded. Then he had the temerity to require another two kurush for the tea seller.
"They can smell desperation, these lowlifes," she whispered through our yashmaks. "They'd take advantage of their mothers."
The trip down the Bosphorus was uneventful. The boatman hardly had to move the oars; the current did all the work. He spent his time leering at us. When we landed at Beshiktash, however, he handed us onto the pier without incident.
Violet had charge of the purse. She was much better at keeping an eye on it in a crowd. The quay was crowded—boatmen, passengers, fishermen unloading their catches, buyers for the fish, and the usual street vendors, porters, and beggars. Violet kept hold of my arm as we pushed through the crowd, looking to hire a carriage to take us to Nishantashou. We were not on a main street. She pointed to a large carriage—really, much too large to have any business on that street—stopped right by the pier. We noticed it right away because the horses had such colorful traces—red and blue. The driver was short and powerfully built, with light-colored hair in tight curls, like the spring lamb Halil once bought to be slaughtered for our feastday meal. Dressed in ordinary working garments, he wore the black shoes of a Jew. Violet haggled briefly and then helped me into the box, while the driver climbed up front. I remember she was puzzled by the low price. "He wasn't at all interested in bargaining," she told me. "He looked rather like he was in a hurry."
The carriage was very dark when I climbed in. When I turned to look for Violet a smell suddenly caught at my throat. The coach jerked harshly forward. Dark wings gripped me in the small space. I saw a flash and Violet flung into the light. Then only the light remained, then nothing.
THE LOW, PLAINTIVE call of the itinerant scrap merchant. It was so familiar; the drawn-out first letter, a rapid stutter of consonants, then the tail of the word, laid like a peacock's fan over the street behind his cart. I was in my room at Nishantashou, waiting for Violet to draw the curtains and wake me. I began blissfully to stretch my limbs, but the dimensions of the bed were wrong, the covers too heavy.
I opened my eyes and saw an unfamiliar ceiling high above me, consisting of parallel rows of shallow arches. The tall windows were blocked with white-painted iron shutters, held shut by a heavy crossbar. I was in a narrow bed, covered by a heavy blue comforter. I was fully dressed, except for my shoes, feradje, and veil. I walked to a window, but the bar was locked in place. Street sounds penetrated faintly through the shutters—the rattle of a cart, vendors calling their wares, the sudden shriek of a child. I put on my shoes. My cloak hung from a hook on the wall. It had been cleaned and pressed. The yellow stains were gone. I moved quietly to the door. To my surprise, it was unlocked. I pulled down the handle slowly, opening the door only a fraction, then pressed my eye to the crack.
An old woman was sitting on a carpet on the floor, a copper bowl of aubergines between her legs. She took a vegetable in her hand, carefully cut off the stem, then skillfully cored it. Replacing the end, she laid the now-hollow eggplant into another bowl beside her.
"Come," she said, without looking in my direction. I opened the door another fraction. Where was Violet?
"Come, come."
I opened the door wide. There was no one else in the room. It was furnished with a divan covered not with silk and velvet cushions, but with colorful flowered cotton. The carpet was threadbare, but the broad wooden boards beneath it gleamed. The windows were open and a soft breeze carried into the room the sounds I had heard before. From one window, I saw the façade of another building through the lace curtains; from the other, the leaf-laden branches of a linden tree, wagging in the sunlight. The room was cool.
The woman looked at me and smiled. I could see that she was missing several teeth. "Welcome."
I squatted on the carpet. She continued disemboweling the aubergines.
"Please, can you tell me where I am? How did I come to be here? There was another young woman with me. Where is she? Do you know?"
The old woman laid aside her knife, wiped her hands on a cloth, and stood. She adjusted the wide white apron attached to the front of her dress. I recognized the style. She was Jewish.
"Come, sit over here," she said, pointing to the divan. Her Turkish was lightly accented. I climbed onto the flowered cushions, tucked my legs under me, and waited in the dappled light. I felt unaccountably peaceful, given the situation. What was the situation? Had I been kidnapped?
The woman returned with two glasses of tea on a gleaming silver tray with ornate handles, the only item of luxury I had seen. I thought: from her dowry.
We sat in silence for a few moments. Her face was serious, but her rheumy blue eyes regarded me kindly.
"I cannot tell you my name and I do not know yours," she began, in her lilting accent. "It is safer that way."
"Am I in danger, then?"
"I understand you are in very grave danger. That is why you were brought here."
I was stunned. "What danger am I in? And who brought me here?"
"It is better for you not to know right now. My son understands these matters. I don't interfere." She regarded her tea glass. "Although I am not in agreement. It's much too dangerous." She looked at me so that our eyes met. "He is my only son."
"It's generous of your son to help me. What is his name?"
She examined me cautiously, then looked away.
I was suddenly anxious. "Violet? The young woman who was with me at the pier?"
The old woman frowned. "Your maid ran away. This creates a dangerous situation for us. She will raise the alarm and they will try to find you in Beshiktash."
She looked at me questioningly. I nodded in agreement. She added thoughtfully, "But they should have no reason to widen the search to Galata."
I'M CERTAIN ISMAIL DAYI went for help as soon as he realized we were missing. I suppose, after reading my note, he would go directly to Papa's house, but find we had never arrived there. He would send Jemal to Chamyeri Village to ask whether anyone had seen us. The fishermen might report that two girls rented a boat and that the boatman dropped them at the Beshiktash pier. But the trail would disappear there. Was my uncle angry at me for leaving? I suppose he would seek advice from his old friend, the white-bearded kadi of Galata. What could a kadi do? He was a judge. The situation was still incomplete, like a cooked egg not yet peeled. Too early for judgment. The kadi would set the police on our trail.
The police would suspect the fishermen, of course. The lower orders are always looked at first, since, having so little, they have the most to gain or reason to envy. But if the police only thought about it, they would realize that the fishermen would never harm two girls from a well-known and important household. The police would disagree, arguing that someone might have paid the fishermen to abduct me. They would have learned from Papa—or, really, from anyone—that Amin Efendi was out for revenge.
Or perhaps Ismail Dayi told no one I was missing for fear of destroying what little remained of my reputation.
I felt no tug on the crimson thread around my waist that tied me to Mama. Did she think I was safe?
Violet would be awake, I knew, black eyes gleaming like fireflies in the dark, as I had often found her in my childhood when I couldn't sleep and asked to spread out my quilt next to hers.
THE JEWISH WOMAN sat on a cushion against the far wall, hands tatting furiously. Beside her squatted the broad-chested young man with the tight cap of blonde curls, the carriage driver, whom I assumed to be her son. Her agitated whispers refused to be calmed by his low, measured responses. They spoke what I recognized as Ladino, the archaic Spanish of Istanbul Jews who fled to the benign reign of the Ottomans after Queen Isabella expelled them from Spain. They kept their eyes averted from the divan where I sat. An untouched glass of tea rested on the divan between my knee and Hamza's.
"I've been here for days with no idea why and no way to tell Ismail Dayi that I'm safe. Allah only knows what he is thinking."
Hamza was dressed as a simple workman in baggy brown trousers and white shirt, a striped shawl wrapped around his waist. His cotton turban was gray from many washings. He had grown a beard.
"Forgive me, Jaanan. This was the only way I could think of to keep you safe."
"Safe? Safe from what?"
"I tried to reach you at Chamyeri but your Violet has set up an impenetrable cordon around you. Did you get any of my letters?"
"Letters? No, I haven't heard from you since that evening at Papa's house." A note of bitterness crept into my voice. "That was nearly a year ago. I assumed you had gone abroad again." Suddenly I remembered Mary's undelivered messages. Had she intercepted Hamza's letters too?
Hamza shook his head in frustration. "I was in Paris until recently. I wrote to you."
When I shook my head, he continued. "So that's why you never answered. Anyway, when I couldn't get in touch with you, I hired someone in the village to keep an eye on you. He learned where you were going, then overtook your boat to send me word that you were heading for the Beshiktash pier."
"You had me watched? Why?"
"You're in danger. I was worried about you."
"You keep saying that, but I don't understand what danger. Why didn't you just come to see me at Chamyeri and warn me against whatever it is that so worries you?"
"I wasn't sure Ismail Hodja would have approved. He never liked me."
"That's not true," I exclaimed.
"Anyway, I came by twice when your uncle wasn't home, but Violet wouldn't let me in."
"What? Violet is my servant. She has no control over what I do or whom I see."
"She told me you were unwilling to see anyone. I waited in the pavilion and called to you." He pursed his lips and fluted a nightingale call. "But you didn't come. I suppose Violet kept you occupied indoors when she suspected I was nearby. I don't know what her motivations were. Maybe she's in on the plot."
Exasperated, I raised my voice. "What plot? If you were so concerned about me, why didn't you meet me yourself at the pier instead of hiding inside the carriage like a thief? Or simply reveal yourself to me once we got in?"
I became agitated as I remembered the details of what I had experienced as yet another assault. "And why the chloroform? I presume that's what you used."
Hamza looked down, his long fingers toying with his tea glass.
"I can't show myself. I'm wanted by the sultan's spies for sedition," he added hastily, glancing at me. "I was in Paris when I heard about what happened last year."
I looked puzzled and he averted his eyes, turning toward the yellow light filtering through the leaves outside the window.
"With that pimp, Amin." He realized with a jolt his unseemly language and looked at me, finally. His face was red. "Sorry. I'm very sorry."
When I didn't answer, he stumbled rapidly on.
"I heard about Amin's plans for revenge and as soon as the roads were open, I started back. There's nothing I can do to change what happened, but at least I can make sure you're safe."
"You shouldn't have put yourself in danger by coming back."
"I know Amin," he responded fiercely. "You have no idea what he is capable of."
"What is this plot from which you're saving me?" I asked, gritting my teeth. "You should have told Papa or Ismail Dayi. What is the point of bringing me here? Everyone will be worried about me and think the worst. Have you considered the consequences?"
"I'm not worried. It's worth the risk to see you are safe."
"The consequences for me," I almost shouted.
Grim-faced, Hamza explained, "Amin is a scoundrel who will stop at nothing."
"Why didn't you tell me that last year when my father first spoke of an engagement? Why didn't you tell Papa then?"
Hamza gulped the tea from his glass in one draught and put it down on the saucer with such force that I jumped. I saw the old woman's eyes skim nervously in our direction.
"I had to spend years in Paris because someone turned me in to the palace as a traitor. When I came back two years ago, it didn't take long before I was being followed and harassed again. Do you think your father would listen to me? He despises me. He despises my ideas. He has befriended reactionaries in order to advance his own position. And I'm certain he is the one who reported me to the secret police, then and now."
"I don't believe that," I countered with some heat. "Papa would never do that to his own nephew. You lived in our house, ate our bread."
Hamza barked a short, bitter laugh and shrugged. "There's a lot you don't understand, princess."
"That does me an injustice, Hamza. I know my father and I'm not entirely ignorant of what goes on at the palace. I know there are factions and intrigues. Perhaps Papa doesn't share your views, but I'm certain that blood also counts. Papa is not always right in his actions, but at heart he is a good man. Who told you it was Papa who betrayed you?"
"I know it was him."
"Fine," I snapped. "Make your accusations, but if you care at all about the precious justice you are always going on about, then let me hear the evidence."
"Your father was promoted to the position of counsellor in the Foreign Ministry just days before treason charges against me were sent from that office to the minister of justice. His friend Amin sponsored him for that position. Now that Amin has been disgraced and transferred, your father's position is in danger too. Never take a criminal as your patron," he spit out.
"Well, then we wouldn't have many people left in government, would we? Papa was your patron," I shot back.
Hamza looked disconcerted. This conversation clearly was not what he had expected.
"Your father doesn't respect me," he mumbled.
"Nonsense. You have no evidence that Papa did this. It could just as well have been Amin. He has no liking for you." It occurred to me that Amin might have seen Hamza as a rival for my hand, but I didn't mention this. I remembered the look on his face the evening Hamza greeted me at the soiree at our house. It would have been typical of Amin simply to have the hurdle forcibly removed, rather than attempt the more complex and time-consuming task of winning my affections.
"Possibly," Hamza agreed reluctantly. "Someone turned me in after that evening at your house. I had to return to Paris or risk arrest."
I wondered why Hamza was so angry with my father. Was it because Papa had wanted me to marry Amin? Then why had Hamza not stepped forward and offered marriage himself? I had not been formally engaged yet. As my cousin, Hamza had a right to my hand, regardless of what Papa thought of him. Surely he knew I would have agreed. I looked at him carefully. He was different somehow, aside from the beard, but I couldn't pinpoint what disturbed me.
"Why did you attack me in the cab?"
He was taken aback. "I didn't attack you, Jaanan. I would never do a thing like that."
"You used chloroform! And what happened to Violet? You didn't hurt her, did you?"
Hamza jumped to his feet. "Jaanan, how could you even imagine such things? I had to keep you from crying out or trying to escape when you saw that there was someone else in the cab. I couldn't risk that you wouldn't recognize me and cause a scene that would attract attention. The punishment for treason is death, Jaanan. I can't afford to be noticed in even the smallest way. Violet is fine. She jumped from the cab and ran away. She's back in the Nishantashou house.
"She's very resourceful," he added with a smile. "She attacked me to save you."
It was the charming, self-deprecatory smile I remembered from Chamyeri. I couldn't help but return it. A warm current joined us again. What I had perceived before was its absence.
"You still haven't told me what you needed to rescue me from."
Hamza sat back on the divan, moving our tea glasses to the tray on the floor. He took my hands, palms together, and pressed them between his hands.
"Amin is plotting to—" He stopped uncertainly, then continued in a low voice, "To damage you. I heard that as soon as you returned to your father's house at Nishantashou, he planned to take you from there to his konak. Once you were seen to be living in Amin's house, willingly or not, you would have to marry him."
"Take me from my own house?" I scoffed. "How could he do that? No one would permit him entry. Has he bribed the servants?" I was so aghast I almost did not believe him.
"My sources tell me he has made an arrangement with your stepmother.
"I'm sorry," he added rapidly, seeing the look on my face.
"Who are your sources? Are they reliable?"
"Yes."
"Don't treat me like a china cup," I told him impatiently. "Tell me everything."
"He's in desperate circumstances. He already laid claim to you once. This would make it irrevocable. Not even Ismail Hodja or your father could avoid the shame if you didn't marry him then."
"He neither loves nor respects me. What does he want from me?"
"He gambles too much and has expensive taste in women. He's deeply in debt. He desperately needs your wealth and he needs it soon."
"But the wealth is Papa's and Ismail Dayi's. I have nothing of my own."
"You'll have a substantial dowry when you marry and later a sizable inheritance."
I could not read Hamza's face. His eyes were focused on a distant point beside my head. The current between us had become blocked, just as in the days when he was my tutor. He was reciting facts.
I was suddenly engulfed with rage at Amin for stealing both my childhood and my future, and at Hamza for not asking for me in marriage long before and sparing me this grief. He must have known I would agree and I'm sure Papa would have given his consent. I knew marriage now would be difficult, but surely that wouldn't matter to Hamza.
"So your friends have told you Aunt Hüsnü is helping that man"—I could not say his name—"that he intends to kidnap me from my own house and blackmail me into marrying him."
"Yes."
"And that is why you brought me here."
"Yes. I didn't know what else to do. I couldn't get a message to you at Chamyeri telling you to stay there. I wasn't certain you were safe there either, despite Violet's precautions. And I wasn't sure of Violet's motives."
Misinterpreting the look on my face, he added quickly, "I know you're close to Violet, but you should open your eyes. There's something odd about her, hungry. The way she watches you."
"Of course she watches me," I snapped, still defensive of my companion despite my growing doubts. "She sees to my needs. As for...that man, what possible advantage is it for him to do something like this? He must know by now that I would never marry him."
"Jaanan"—he squeezed the words from between his teeth—"you would have no choice. Believe me. It is his way of returning the harm you have done to him."
I thought for a few moments. Perhaps he was right. I was untutored in many of the ways of society, but I clearly remembered the warnings and stories that circulated in the summer harems.
"Now what do we do?" I was aware that I had put myself in Hamza's hands. He leaned forward and laid his hand on my shoulder. His fingers played with a lock of hair that had escaped from the scarf draped over my head.
"I don't know," he said softly. "You'll be safe here for a while, but you can't go out. The neighborhood women sit at the windows and watch who comes and goes."
"So I exchange one prison for another," I said softly, to myself.
"It's only for a short while, until we figure out what to do."
We...Was Hamza suggesting he would marry me himself? I waited for him to speak again, but he did not.
I wondered what my disappearance would mean. Did I still have a reputation that could be damaged? I had not had time to think about my future, to test which roads were still open to me. Had this closed another road? So far, the pens of others had drawn the features on the map that was my life.
I regarded Hamza, who was still silent.
"What do you think the consequences of this will be for me?" I asked him, hoping by his answer to decipher the calligraphy of his life on the thin pages of mine.
"Consequences? Of what?"
"Of my coming here."
"What do you mean?"
"The world will believe that I've been abducted."
"I had thought of it as a rescue," he responded defensively.
We sat for a while, busy with our own thoughts.
"May I speak plainly?" he asked.
"Please do," I said, perhaps more emphatically than I wished.
"I don't mean to hurt you, Jaanan." He paused, searching my face. "But since the attack by Amin, it has been difficult for you. Society doesn't forgive. I know." There was an undercurrent of bitterness in his voice that I had never noticed before. I was curious what his experience might have been. He had never spoken of it.
"I'm aware of that, Hamza. But I'm not alone. Papa won't forsake me, nor will Ismail Dayi." Nor would you, I added to myself, but with less certainty.
"You must tell Ismail Dayi that I'm safe," I insisted.
"I'll go myself and tell him." Hamza rose and signaled to the young man.
As her son embraced her, the old woman began to rock and keen quietly. Gently he pulled her hands from his vest and spoke to her again in Ladino, the vowels falling like rain onto her parched, beseeching face.
YOUNG ALMONDS, peeled and eaten raw, leave a raspy feeling on the tongue as if you have eaten something wild. The almond seller exhibited them like jewels: a pile of almonds in their thin brown skins resting on a layer of ice inside a glass box, lit by an oil lamp. Wheeling them about the streets on warm spring nights, the almond seller had no special call—his cart was a sacrament and people flocked to it.
The following evening, Hamza returned and brought me a plate of chilled almonds. We sat on the divan by the window, the plate between us, and talked. I pulled my thumb over the fragile skin. It slipped away suddenly, leaving a gleaming, ivory sliver between my fingertips. The Jewish woman had withdrawn to another room at the back of the apartment. We were alone. This no longer worried me.
Hamza threw the almond into his mouth without peeling it. In a swift movement he was next to me and had wrapped his arms around me. My face was crushed to his chest and my head scarf fluttered to the floor. He smelled of leather.
"Jaanan." His voice was thick and rough. I thought of the carnations embroidered on Mama's velvet cushions in stiff gold thread. They scratched my cheek when I laid it against the rich velvet.
I didn't struggle. This, then, is the path, I thought. Without hesitation, I opened the gate and stepped out.
## 33
## Elias Usta's Workmanship
Kamil can go neither forward into the second courtyard nor back out the wrought-iron gates. He sits in the guardhouse and waits with increasing impatience for the soldiers to allow him entry. They stand implacably at each entrance to the squat stone building, clutching their rifles. The air smells faintly of flint and leather. Kamil stood waiting at the outer gate of Yildiz Palace for over an hour before he was allowed to advance to the guardhouse. He bided his time at the gate with pleasurable thoughts about Sybil, with whom he is invited to dine the evening after next.
At least, he thinks, here I am allowed to sit. On the opposite bench sits a clearly irritated sharp-nosed Frank in stately clothing.
When the shadows have fallen the length of the courtyard, a blue-turbaned clerk appears at the door. The guards snap into rigid poses and bow in unison, their leather armor creaking as they make the gesture of obeisance. The clerk barks at the ranking soldier and motions peremptorily to Kamil to follow him. The Frank also stands expectantly, but one of the guards steps in front of him, hand on the dagger at his belt. With a heartfelt comment in his own language, the Frank falls back onto the bench. Kamil bows but the clerk's back is already turned and he is hurrying away. Kamil lengthens his stride to keep up with him. The young man's lack of decorum and self-importance amuses him. At that moment, the clerk swings around and catches the expression on Kamil's face.
Cheeks flaming, he demands, "You. Show proper respect. You are not in the bazaar."
Kamil's clothing identifies him as a magistrate. He is surprised at the disrespectful tone. The clerk is very young. Probably a youth raised in the palace, Kamil decides, one of the many children of the sultan's concubines. They are educated and given responsibilities without ever having set foot beyond these yellow walls. Certainly never to the bazaar.
Kamil smiles at the clerk and bows slightly. "I am honored to be received by the palace."
Mollified, the clerk turns on his heels and hurries through an ornate gate. From behind, Kamil can see the young man's slight shoulders straighten as more guards snap their weapons into place and salute him. Kamil notes, with pleasure, that the wall is covered in white and yellow banksia roses, passionflowers, sweet verbena, and heliotrope. Silver-gray pigeons waddle complacently on the lawn. In the distance, behind a marble gateway, Kamil sees the square classical façade of the Great Mabeyn, where the everyday business of the empire is conducted by palace secretaries, where the sultan's correspondence is composed, and where his spies send their reports. His father must have reported to the sultan in that building, Kamil thinks.
They approach a two-story building so long that it stretches out of sight on one side. The clerk leads him through a door, along a narrow corridor, then out again into the blinding light of a large yard. Small workshops line the back of the building. Faint hammering and tapping, a strange creaking leak from their windows. The clerk stops by a room larger than others they had passed. Inside, a group of middle-aged men in brown robes and turbans sit drinking coffee from tiny china cups.
When the clerk appears, the men bow their heads in respectful greeting, but do not rise.
"I'm looking for the head usta." The clerk's voice is unnaturally high-pitched.
A man with a neatly trimmed white beard looks up.
"You've found him."
"Our padishah requires you to assist this man"—he looks disgustedly at Kamil—"with his inquiries."
"And who is this man?" asks the head craftsman, looking benignly at Kamil.
"My name is Magistrate Kamil Pasha, usta bey." Kamil bows and makes the sign of obeisance.
The usta sweeps his hand toward the divan, ignoring the clerk standing by the door.
"Sit and have some coffee."
The clerk turns abruptly and leaves. Kamil hears laughter blow through the room, faint as leaves rustling.
A servant brews coffee in a long-handled pot over a charcoal fire in the corner and hands Kamil a steaming cup properly crowned with pale froth.
"So, you are one of those new magistrates."
"Yes, I'm the magistrate of Beyoglu," Kamil answers modestly.
"Ah." Knowing nods circle the room. "I'm sure you have your hands full with all those foreign troublemakers."
"Yes, I suppose so, though bad character knows no religion."
"Well said, well said." The usta glances at the door through which the young clerk had left.
After the required pleasantries and answers to the men's request for news from outside the palace, the head usta asks, "How can we help you?"
"I am looking for the workshop and the usta that produced this pendant." He passes the silver globe to the head usta, who looks at it with an experienced eye.
"This is Elias Usta's workmanship. It must have been made years ago, though. Elias Usta has long been retired. When his hands were no longer steady, he went to work as keeper at the Dolmabahche Palace aviary. We have heard nothing about him for many years. But this is definitely his work."
He signals an apprentice to bring a lamp and peers inside the silver ball.
"Yes, this is an old tughra. It belonged to Sultan Abdulaziz, may Allah rest his soul."
"Sultan Abdulaziz's reign ended ten years ago. Could it have been made after that time?"
The head usta ponders this. "It would not have been officially approved. But it is true that, with Allah's will, anything can be done at any time."
"Would Elias Usta have needed permission to engrave a tughra?"
"Permission must be obtained for each item to be inscribed with the seal."
"Who can give that permission?"
"The padishah himself, the grand vizier, and the harem manager. She would need instructions, however, from one of the senior women."
"I would like to speak with Elias Usta."
"I will send him a message. If he agrees to meet with you, I will let you know right away."
Kamil tries to hide his disappointment at yet another wait, but he needs permission to approach anyone inside the palace.
"Thank you." He bows.
Another man chimes in, "And we'll make sure they send an adult with a mustache to fetch you!"
To the sound of laughter, Kamil bows out of the room and follows an apprentice through the warren of corridors and courtyards to the front gate.
THE NEXT DAY, the apprentice appears at Kamil's office with a note:
It is with great regret that we inform you that Elias Usta was found dead this morning in the palace aviary. May Allah rest his soul.
Paper still in hand, Kamil stares unseeing out the window. It is the first sign that he is moving in the direction of the truth. Was it worth this man's life? He feels cold, but, as a sacrifice to the dead usta, does not move to close the window against the chill.
## 34
## The Eunuch and the Driver
The Residence is in a wing at the back of the embassy building. Kamil pushes open the iron gate leading to the private gardens. The air is still crisp in the shade of the plane trees, but there is a delicate sheen of heat beyond its perimeter. Kamil looks up at the enamel-blue sky against which the silver leaves of the plane trees twist and flash. The sight cheers him momentarily, despite the new shadows that have entered his life.
His father has become more irritable and aggressive as Feride, with the collusion of her servants, slowly reduces the amount of opium in his pipe. He strides through the house, flailing at objects that fall to the floor and break; the noise seems to intensify his frenzy. Then suddenly he collapses onto a chair or bed and curls up like an infant. Feride and her daughters are terrified, her husband angry at the disruption. Kamil is unsure where this will lead. He has found nothing in books to guide him and worries that he is killing his father instead of helping him. He is too ashamed to ask the advice of Michel or Bernie. His only close friends, he realizes with a start. Perhaps today he can raise the subject of fathers with Sybil. He is reluctant to reveal himself about something so personal, but he is drawn to see Sybil. Even if the problem of his father is not broached, he thinks, he will find solace in her company.
Mary Dixon also has begun to shadow his life. At his last audience with the minister of justice, Nizam Pasha asked him pointedly what progress had been made in discovering her murderer. It has been almost a month since her body washed up behind Middle Village mosque. His impatient gestures implied that Kamil had failed not just the ministry, but the empire. And perhaps it is so. If he did not know the English ambassador, he might assume pressure was being placed on the minister from that direction. But Kamil thinks Sybil's father too distracted to muster a sustained attack. Did the British government take such an interest in a mere governess that it would pressure the sultan's closest aides or even the sultan himself? He wonders, could there be another reason for Nizam Pasha's intense interest? He remembers the old police superintendent's intimation of palace involvement in the murder of Hannah Simmons. Were they watching to make sure he found the killer this time, or that he didn't find him?
And now Elias Usta's untimely death. Kamil is worried about Sybil. Two Englishwomen were already dead.
Sybil opens the door herself almost as soon as he raises the knocker.
"Hello." She smiles a brilliant welcome.
"Good morning, Sybil Hanoum. I hope I haven't come too early." He finds it momentarily awkward to account for his presence. The reasons he gave himself for stopping by seem fanciful now. "I hope you forgive my intrusion. I know I wasn't expected until tomorrow evening."
"I received your message, Kamil Bey. It's always a pleasure to see you." She is blushing.
"I hope I find you well."
"Oh, very well. Very well, indeed. Isn't it a glorious day?" Sybil steps onto the path and looks about her with the serene enjoyment of a child. She is wearing a dress of pale lilac, trimmed in maroon. The colors reflect in her eyes and give them the same depth as the sky. She walks to the edge of the patio and gazes down at the red-tiled rooftops of houses clinging to the lower hillside, suspended above a sea of fog.
Kamil stands beside her. "Thick as lentil soup, I believe you say."
Sybil laughs. "That's your national dish, not ours. It's pea soup. Thick as pea soup." She turns to him and touches his arm. "Won't you come in? Have you breakfasted?"
"Yes, thank you. I have. But I wouldn't mind some of your delicious tea." For the British, drinking tea seems an end in itself, he thinks with relief, a ritual to which he can moor his visit.
She leads the way inside to the room off the garden and opens the French doors wide to let in the scented sunlight.
"How is your father?" he asks.
"He's well, thank you. Busy as always. He's been inquiring about some of the journalists we know. Apparently there's been a crack-down and many were sent into exile."
"These are dangerous days, Sybil Hanoum. Your father is a powerful man and protected by his office, but still he should be careful." What he means is that Sybil should be careful.
Sybil stares at him for a moment. "Do you really think Father is in danger? I can't imagine that anyone would harm the British ambassador. Think of the consequences for your regime. It would be an international incident. It could even lead to military intervention by Britain. Surely no one in their right mind would risk that."
"Unfortunately, these days one can't count on rational thinking. There are other forces too, not under our control. Even in the palace. This is strictly between us," he adds quickly.
"Of course. I wouldn't breathe a word."
Her pleasure at this confidence inspires him to continue. "The palace has destroyed other powerful people who became, shall we say, difficult. Besides, these things can be made to appear an accident. As you know, relations are strained between our governments. Some might wish them to deteriorate further. But I don't mean to worry you, Sybil Hanoum. It was, perhaps, impolitic of me to speak of this to you. But I know how much you care for your father. Perhaps a word or two from you about being careful and always taking a retinue with him, his clerks, a dragoman, a few extra guards. There are other means of protecting oneself that are less obtrusive. I'd be happy to speak with him about it, if he's so inclined."
Distressed, Sybil shakes her head. "Father has never been careful. I'm sure his safety doesn't concern him a bit. He has always lived just for his work," she says sadly. "It's as if he has put to bed all other parts of his mind, so that he has no distractions from his duties. But if you think it necessary, I'll try to get him to take some precautions."
Kamil understands from the flatness of her voice that her father, like his father, inhabits a land inaccessible to his family. He remembers a conversation he had with Bernie about Western and Eastern civilizations. Bernie argued that people in the West saw themselves as individuals, each with his own rights and responsibilities, in charge of a destiny of his own making. This could lead to sharing, if one had the same interests, or selfishness, if one did not. In the East, on the other hand, people were first and foremost members of their family, their tribe, their community. Their own desires were irrelevant; the solidarity and survival of the group paramount. Selfishness couldn't occur, because there were no selves, only fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, husbands and wives. Bernie's comparison seemed to make sense, at least in a general way, although Kamil could think of numerous exceptions, including himself. Yet he couldn't deny that there was in Ottoman society a widespread belief in kismet and in the evil eye that brought misfortune. And family feeling was very strong.
Still, he remembered thinking that his fellow classmates at Cambridge, young Englishmen away from home for the first time, were not so dissimilar from the young men he knew at school at Galata Saray. One loved one's parents, certainly. But once out from under their supervision, there was plenty of personal ambition and mischief. If, as the English say, 'Boys will be boys,' then why couldn't 'fathers be fathers,' regardless of which society they belonged to? And here is Sybil, a representative of the individualistic West, tending to her father like any good Ottoman daughter.
"Perhaps you could simply be a fly in his ear. The important thing is to be aware of the risk."
Sybil giggles. "A flea in his ear."
"Ah, of course. Although I find that image, well, rather unappetizing. I think I'd prefer a fly in my ear." Kamil laughs. "English expressions. I've never gotten used to them. I think you have to be born English."
"It's the same with Turkish sayings. You have sayings for everything. But even when someone explains them to me, I don't understand them."
"Oriental inscrutability. It's what has kept us independent for so long. No one understands what we're saying, so they can't conquer us!"
The sun falling through the French doors has become hot and Sybil stands to draw the lace curtains. She sits again on the couch and, eyes lowered, adjusts and readjusts the folds of her dress. The room falls into a hush.
After a few moments, flustered, she raises her chin and says, "Oh, I promised you tea."
"That would be lovely. Thank you."
Sybil jumps up and runs to the velvet bellpull by the door. Her skirt catches Kamil's leg as she passes. They wait in companionable silence for the tea to be brought. Each spark of conversation is muffled by the still, amber air, then extinguished, as if the air in the room is too thin to support speech. The click of fine china, the sough of tea poured, and the thin rap of spoons against the porcelain cups embracing their warm liquid take the place of conversation.
Sybil slides her cup and saucer onto the side table. They seem too fragile suddenly in her hand. She is excited about what she thinks of as her investigation, but also nervous about Kamil's reaction.
"I saw Shukriye Hanoum, the woman who was engaged to Prince Ziya. She remembered Hannah."
"I see." He looks surprised. "Where did you find her?"
"She's here in Istanbul. Her father is dying. She came to pay her last respects."
She tells him about the death of Shukriye's children, her accusations against her mother-in-law, and the young kuma.
"That's barbaric. Did she tell you all this in front of the others? You said there were many visitors."
"No. I joined her and her sister in a private room afterwards."
"How did you manage that?" he asks, smiling and shaking his head at her audacity. "I thought you didn't know them."
"Asma Sultan and her daughter were there and, when they moved to another room, they took me along."
"What did you learn about Hannah?"
"Shukriye and her sister Leyla remembered Hannah from their visits to Asma Sultan's household where she was employed. I presume they were visiting Perihan, who seems to be a close friend. That surprised me, since Shukriye was engaged to the man Perihan loved. Perhaps Perihan is a more generous soul than she appears."
Kamil smiles at the innocence of Sybil's assessment. He knows better the unforgiving nature of royal intrigues that rage among the women as much as the men.
Sybil relates the conversation as she remembers it: Shukriye's belief that the secret police were responsible for Prince Ziya's death; Arif Agha's discovery that Hannah was meeting someone every week.
Interrupting the easy lope of her story, Sybil pauses and reaches for her tea.
"A carriage?" he prompts her impatiently.
She sets the tea down, clattering the cup. "Yes. The eunuch told Asma Sultan that the driver had light-colored hair like a European, but tightly curled like an Arab's. She thinks he might be a Kurd."
At this, Kamil is speechless. Ferhat Bey had claimed to know nothing of the driver. Perhaps the eunuch had told the superintendent a different story. Too many links in this chain, Kamil thinks irritably, and he doesn't know if one is connected to the next.
Sybil looks at him with a worried frown.
"Did they know where the carriage was going?" he asks brusquely.
"No." Puzzled, she adds, "Asma Sultan said her eunuch told all this to the police."
"The superintendent wasn't as forthcoming as I would have liked," he admits. "What else did you learn?"
"The women remembered Hannah wearing the silver pendant. They don't remember Mary wearing it. I told them the pendant was made in the palace, with the sultan's seal inside. They thought Hannah's pendant must have been a gift, maybe from the person she visited every week, perhaps a lover. Or from someone in the harem."
"You told them all this?" Kamil's back is suddenly tense.
"It just came up in conversation," Sybil equivocates uncomfortably. "Are you angry?"
"I'm not angry, Sybil Hanoum. I'm just very concerned." To calm himself, he reaches for his cup. The tea has developed oily streaks on the surface but he draws it down his throat. The room is stifling hot.
"You are not to repeat these things to anyone, do you understand? Shukriye accusing the palace, the necklace, or what is in it." He thinks of Elias Usta, dead among his birds. He had questioned the apprentice and learned that the usta died of a weak heart, but that none of his family had known the usta was ill. Kamil is certain Elias Usta's death was meant as a warning not to seek the door to which the pendant is the key.
Sybil is taken aback and a little offended by his stern tone.
"Why not? After all, that's how I got the information about the carriage. I tell the women something to get the conversation started in the right direction. It's like putting a grain of sand into a clam. It irritates the clam so it coats it a bit at a time and eventually you have a perfectly lovely, usable pearl." Sybil is proud of her skill in obtaining information and of her metaphor. She doesn't understand why, instead of thanking her, he has become so angry.
Kamil's face has drained of color. He rises to his feet. "You have no idea what you've just said, have you?"
Sybil stands also. They are face to face, only a few feet apart.
"What's the matter? I try to help you and now you're angry with me."
Sybil has backed against the door. She begins to cry.
"What have I done? What's wrong? What harm can any of this do?"
"What harm?" echoes Kamil hoarsely. "You have no idea, no idea. What else did you say to these women? Allah protect you, Sybil Hanoum. Did you think there were no spies in that room? Every word has been reported to the secret police, I can assure you of that."
He wipes the palms of his hands over his face.
"Don't you know that you've put yourself in great danger—and perhaps other parties to that conversation?"
"I didn't know." The pearl at the base of Sybil's neck rises and falls rapidly. Her cheeks are flushed and wet with tears.
"I'm sorry. My tone was unforgivable," he says in a low voice. "But, please, Sybil Hanoum, promise me you won't go to see these women again, at least not without my approval."
She nods, wiping at her eyes.
"And that you won't go anywhere without an escort."
"I won't be a prisoner in my own house." She stares at him, her hands in tight fists at her side. "I couldn't stand that."
"Of course not," he adds soothingly. "You are free to go out, Sybil Hanoum, but I beg you not to go alone, for your own safety."
She nods, but turns her face away.
Kamil stands by the door, his hand slick on the brass door handle, and watches her carefully for a moment.
"I'm only concerned for you. I'm not angry. You've given me some important information and I thank you for it."
He walks swiftly through the garden. The fog has burned away, replaced by a veil of dust thrown up by animals and carts. At the gate, he spits out the grit that has already accumulated between his teeth.
## 35
## The Dust of Your Street
In the days that followed, the old woman no longer spoke with me except to announce that a meal was ready. I understood her completely and didn't blame her. She had thought she was harboring a decent young woman in danger of her life, but found that her home had become a place of fornication. I smiled at her, but brought the food into my room to eat alone. I knew she was more comfortable that way. Because of her son, she could not object to our presence.
Except for a narrow slot of light where the shutters met, the room was always dark, making it difficult to read the books and journals Hamza brought me. But I didn't feel imprisoned by the dark. On the contrary, it was there that I became free. I swam in it as I swam in the pond at Chamyeri, when I discovered my body for the first time. My only regret was that Mama, Papa, and Ismail Dayi were worried about me. But Hamza had promised to tell Ismail Dayi I was safe.
Was I safe? I wasn't sure what that meant anymore. At what point has one sacrificed enough to be safe? Lines by Fuzuli came to me unbidden in the dark:
I have no home, lost
In the pleasure of wondering
When at last I shall dwell
Forever in the dust
Of your street.
THE OLD WOMAN knew something was wrong. Her face was tense and the tendons in her neck protruded. She did not answer when I asked her what was happening, but projected a silent fury. In response she shoved a bowl of rice-stuffed peppers in my direction. The languorous disconnection that had muffled my thoughts for the previous week was dissolved. I left the food on the plate and withdrew to my room, closing the door. I sat on the chair by the bed. It was completely dark. Without even a shadow, what was I, other than a vessel forged in Hamza's hands? I couldn't weep. There was too much danger.
FINALLY, HAMZA'S VOICE at the door, the woman in her hurry fumbling the lock. Hamza came into the room, disheveled, his turban rimed with dirt. The woman spoke four words, hurling them at Hamza.
"My son is missing." She stood with her back against the door, red hands twisted into her apron. "He has stopped going to his place of work." Her voice was reedy, wondering, already disbelieving. She was shaping her memories to hold the future. "He never missed a day in fifteen years. He has always been completely reliable, my son." The room vibrated with her fear.
Hamza sat heavily on the divan. "Shimshek is dead, teyze," he said finally.
She didn't react at first.
"What happened?" I asked him. He shrugged wearily.
The old woman began to shake. No sound came from her mouth and no tears from her eyes. Instead, I wept for her. I went to embrace her, but at my touch, she began to struggle and a hoarse scream rose from her fragile, sagging throat.
Hamza rose and grasped her thin shoulders. "Madame Devora, you must be quiet. Please. Please."
Madame Devora. It was the first time I had heard her name. Over his shoulder, her red-rimmed eyes sought me out by the window. "Damn you."
My eyes slid away from hers. I was distressed to have caused her this much grief. I too was sick with feeling. I was sick with a surfeit of memories that deprived me of clarity. Should I act or wait? What could I do? What could I ever do now? It slowly dawned on me that not only was I living outside society and outside of time, but there was no way back. My shadow in the world was the effect my actions had on my family. That was all that could still be observed.
The old woman took Hamza's arm and spat, "Take her out of here," indicating me with her chin.
"I'll do what I need to do," he snapped. "Let go of me."
I went into my room and brought out my feradje and veil and laid them in readiness on the divan. I had nothing else. Hamza stood beside the open window, peering through the curtains.
"I spoke with your dayi," he told me, never taking his eyes from the street. "He said you should go back to Chamyeri."
He turned and looked at me directly for the first time. Dark shadows chased across his face. His sleeves were torn.
I reached for his arm. "You look tired, Hamza. You need to rest first."
I saw him hesitate.
WE BOTH HEARD the voice at the door, a man's voice with the same inflection as the old woman's.
"Madame, we would like to speak with you. It's urgent."
A neighbor? I could feel Hamza tense, an animal deciding which way to spring.
The voice at the door spoke quietly, but in my mind I already heard neighbors rustling behind the other doors on the landing. The old woman was backed into the farthest corner of the divan. I went to the door and put my ear to the wood. The man on the other side and I could hear each other breathing. I pulled at the latch, but Hamza sprang forward and caught me by the arm. As he pulled me away, there was a sharp crack; the wood splintered and the latch gave way. Two men pushed their way through. One was short and stocky, the other lean and quick, but it was the small one I distrusted instinctively, like one shies away from a snake even before recognizing what it is. Hiding behind me, Hamza held me by the waist and pulled me with him toward the window. Confused and angry, I struggled to loosen myself until, with a curse, he suddenly released me. I saw a flash of white at the window. The tall man leapt across the room and caught me as I stumbled forward.
"There." He pointed his chin at the window and the other man turned and ran down the stairs with an agility unexpected in one of his heft.
"Are you all right?" The tall man led me to the divan. "Please sit. There's nothing to worry about. You're safe now."
I nodded, shivering.
He crossed the room to the old woman and squatted before her.
"Are you here about my son?" she asked in a barely audible voice.
"Your son?"
When she didn't answer, he turned and looked at me curiously.
"Madame Devora's son has died," I explained.
His green eyes rested on me a moment, evaluating. "You are Ismail Hodja's niece?"
"Yes, how did you know?"
"We have been looking for you." He turned back to the old woman crouched on the divan. She was rocking back and forth, staring uncomprehendingly at the palms of her hands, clenched stiff as claws in a parody of prayer.
"Madame," he said softly, "Madame, we know nothing of your son's death. We are here for the girl. Can you tell us what happened? We'd like to help you."
She continued to rock, as if she had not heard.
"She only just learned of it," I explained.
"It often takes time for such a message, although heard by the ear, to be understood by the head," the man said to me quietly. "But never understood by the heart," he added, shaking his head sadly.
"Are you the police?" I asked anxiously.
"We didn't involve the police. I am Kamil, the magistrate of Beyoglu. The kadi of Galata asked me to find you. My associate"—he pointed with his chin toward the door—"works for the police, but as a surgeon. He'll be discreet. No one but your family will know you were gone."
I didn't respond. The experience of lying with Hamza that had so transformed me was to remain invisible, then, a footprint on wet sand to be erased by the next tide. While the other experience with Amin in the pleasure garden that had changed my body but left no other imprint was to be known to the world. I would need to formulate an explanation to my family that left out all that was important. I began to see that it was riskier to offer one's heart than one's body.
NEIGHBORS WERE CROWDING in at the door. The magistrate beckoned to a buxom woman in a pink-striped entari who bustled over importantly.
He identified his position to the somewhat disbelieving woman and told her to take charge of Madame Devora. He sent another neighbor for the rabbi. It occurred to me that Madame Devora had not asked Hamza how her son had died.
The magistrate surveyed the room, pushed the crowd out into the hallway and closed the door behind him. Madame Devora keened softly and rhythmically behind the broad striped back of her neighbor.
"Are you all right?" he asked me. "Are you hurt? Is there anything we can do for you before we bring you home?"
"Home?" I said the word as if I were looking it over for possible meanings. "I can't go home."
"Please come over here." He led me to the side of the divan farthest away from Madame Devora. I sat again and he squatted patiently before me. We were face to face. A handsome man, I thought, but hard.
"Tell me what you can, please, Jaanan Hanoum. Or, if you like, we can discuss this later after I've taken you to your father's house. I'm sure they'll be happy to see you are safe."
"No," I insisted, "I can't go there."
"Surely your father will have you back, Jaanan Hanoum. He was very concerned about your disappearance."
"You don't understand," I explained in a whispered rush. "I can't go back because I'm in danger there." I told him about my stepmother and Amin Efendi's plot. I didn't say where I had learned this.
He nodded but said nothing. There was a commotion outside the door. The magistrate's associate pushed his way through and shut the door decisively behind him. He was panting and the sides of his forehead were slick with sweat. It seemed improbable to me that this short, bulky man was a surgeon. I put on my feradje and yashmak, hiding my face, as was proper—although some might say I remembered this too late.
The magistrate motioned for him to stay where he was, then joined him. The room was small, however, and sound carried under the vaulted ceiling. Still breathing heavily, the surgeon told the magistrate, "He ran up the street and through the front entrance of an apartment building. I followed but just outside the back entrance is a big hamam. He must have entered the baths by one of the back doors. He could have hidden in any of the alcoves, or even run through it to the street in front of the hamam. I tried, but I couldn't find him."
"Did you see his face?"
"No, but his turban fell off. He had curly black hair and a beard. That's all I saw."
"I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry," I whispered to Madame Devora.
She didn't respond. The neighbor, however, scowled and I backed away.
"Will she be taken care of?" I asked the magistrate. "I'd like to help, if I can."
"I'll let you know if anything is needed, Jaanan Hanoum. But usually the community takes care of its own people."
He crossed the room to Madame Devora and asked the woman in pink stripes to leave them alone for a moment. She frowned again crossly, but moved away. The magistrate squatted before Madame Devora, so his eyes were level with hers. I could feel him willing her to look at him.
"Who was the man that ran from here?"
Madame Devora froze in place, only her eyes in motion, anxiously scanning the room. I looked hard at her, willing her not to answer. Her reddened hands were clenched in her lap.
"What happened to your son, Madame Devora?"
"That woman killed him." Her eyes locked onto mine.
"That's not true," I cried out.
"Was the man who ran from here involved too?"
"It's impossible," Madame Devora whispered.
"Impossible? Why do you say that?"
"They were friends."
"Who was?"
"It must have been..." She didn't continue. I let out my breath.
The magistrate signaled to his associate to bring Madame Devora tea from the kettle brewing in the kitchen.
When the surgeon arrived with a glass of tea balanced on his thick fingers, the magistrate stood aside. The man handed Madame Devora the tea, took the magistrate's place squatting before her, and addressed her in Ladino.
Madame Devora's eyes swept the room and stopped at my face with a look of hate. Then she responded in the rolling syllables of her dying language.
"No."
I understood that word. Madame Devora put her tea glass on the divan beside her and wrapped her white muslin head scarf around the bottom of her face, hiding her expression and refusing to say anything more. She began to cry.
The surgeon strode across the room and whispered to the magistrate. I positioned myself to hear what they were saying. I had spent long hours in this room and understood the qualities of sound projected by its thick walls and arched ceilings.
"She told me this woman caused everything. If it weren't for her, her son would still be alive."
"What does she mean by that? Was her son in an accident?" The magistrate bent his head toward his associate.
"I don't think so. I think he was killed. She told me a 'Turko,' a Muslim, brought the girl to this house. She claims not to know his name. Her son begged her to do this, although she herself thought it was wrong. She said she didn't know when she agreed what they planned to do here."
"What did they do?"
"She said they turned her house into a brothel."
My face burned.
"I see." The magistrate looked speculatively in my direction and moved farther away. It did him no good, as I could still hear.
"Why did her son agree to this?"
"From what we know of him, I doubt he would ever have dishonored his mother in such a way. Maybe he was coerced by this 'Turko' to put the girl up here. That might be a motive for a fight in which he himself was killed. Just speculation, of course."
"How long did her son know this man?"
"Eight or nine years. She doesn't know where they met. Her son told her very little—just said they worked together."
"At what, I wonder."
The rabbi of Galata hurried in. His velvet kaftan floated open behind him. A red turban wrapped around a felt hat framed his forehead. The rabbi's eyes surveyed the room, taking in the situation. Seeing Madame Devora, he slipped off his outer shoes and walked toward her. A young man who followed behind carried their Holy Book.
"We should go." The magistrate's associate was keeping a crowd of curious neighbors, mostly women, at bay at the end of the corridor.
"TAKE ME TO my uncle's house at Chamyeri, please."
A crowd of people had gathered on the street. The surgeon stood by an enclosed coach, his eyes darting in all directions. The magistrate spoke to him in a low voice. As soon as we were inside, the man vanished into the crowd.
When we had settled across from each other and the coach began to move, the magistrate said, "I've sent ahead to obtain your father's opinion on the matter of where you are to go." Seeing my anxious face, he reassured me, "I revealed nothing, but I urge you to tell him what you told me. He is your father." After a moment, he added, "It might not be as you think."
His attention was caught by a commotion on the street. When he turned back to me, his face slashed by light from the closing curtains, he offered, "If you wish, I will explain things to him."
"No, thank you, magistrate bey. I will do it."
A chain of amber beads slipped through his fingers in patterns as intricate as smoke. His long legs were tucked along the far side of the cab a discreet distance from my own. His eyes rested at a respectful remove, on the empty seat beside me.
"How did you find me?" I asked him as the carriage negotiated the steep, tight curves. Jeering children followed us all the way up Djamji Street.
"My associate's mother."
"His mother?"
"The women know everything that happens in the neighborhood. They watch from their windows and pass along gossip."
I said it sounded frightful.
"But wonderful for enforcing public safety. Although," he added, "they don't necessarily tell us what they've seen. Your maid fell out of the carriage as it rounded a corner and ran into a courtyard to get help. Apparently no one offered to help her, although she said she attracted a curious enough crowd."
"I suppose they wouldn't want to come to the notice of the police," I ventured, "since suspicion would fall on them before anyone else."
He gave me a brief, curious look. "Yes, I suppose that would be one reason."
We fell silent as the carriage passed through a market area, unwilling to compete with the hoarse cries of vendors, alternately aggressive and cajoling, and the quarrelsome voices of prospective buyers.
When we had rounded a corner onto the Grande Rue de Pera, he continued.
"Luckily, your maid remembered the direction of the carriage. South toward Galata. My associate happens to live in Galata. One day, his mother visited a relative on Djamji Street. Some other women there began to discuss the old woman who lives across the street, Madame Devora. For some time, the shutters to her bedroom had been closed in the daytime. The women worried that she was ill, since her son didn't seem to be around to take care of her and no one had seen her come or go. Yet just the other day a neighbor had seen her lowering a basket on a rope to the vegetable seller. She bought so much fruit she could barely pull the basket back up. They surmised from the quantity of food that she must be expecting guests, but then no one noticed any visitors."
"They probably knew just how much money was in the basket too," I exclaimed.
He laughed. "If these women were working for us, we'd solve many more crimes."
One front tooth was slightly awry. The hidden flaw introduced by its maker into every carpet that marks it as the work of humankind, not Allah who alone is perfect. The stern, efficient magistrate was just another man.
"Once the gossip started, I can imagine them bringing every detail to bear. Someone saw a strange man entering the building, a workman carrying tools, but no noise was heard from the building. The man apparently tried to keep out of sight, arriving in late afternoon, when the women's husbands weren't home yet and the women themselves were busy preparing dinner, but he was seen nevertheless. One hot night, the neighbors kept their carpets out on the sidewalk, sleeping in the open air. They said the mosquitoes kept them awake. A strange man came out of the building in the hour before the morning call to prayer. Unfortunately, they didn't see his face."
He looked pointedly at me before continuing.
"So they took action. They went to visit Madame Devora. Of course, they knew she was home. They know everything! When she didn't answer her door, they became convinced something was wrong, and they delegated my associate's mother to report it to her son, who came to me. We had already been looking in Galata, thanks to your maid's information. And that is how we came to find you."
Thus was I found and lost all at the same time, in both cases through the tongues of women, a force that shamed and secluded me for nothing more than losing a bit of flesh, and then rescued me from a shame and seclusion that I desired. We stopped at an official-looking building and the magistrate disappeared inside. When he reemerged he brought with him a taciturn widow in an all-enveloping black charshaf that covered even her lower face, who accompanied me for the rest of the trip home.
AT CHAMYERI, ISMAIL Dayi helped me from the carriage. The chaperone, who for the entire trip had stared silently through the gauze-curtained window, refused refreshment and ordered the carriage to return to the city. Ismail Dayi's shoulders looked stooped and thinner under his robes than I remembered. His face was pinched, his beard flecked with gray, and small spots of red glowed on his cheekbones. I bowed before him, took his hand and kissed it, then touched it to my forehead. He pulled me up.
"Jaanan, my lion."
"Where is Mama?" I asked, looking past him into the dim interior beyond the doors.
He took my hand. "Come inside, my dear."
Violet was waiting in the entryway. An egg-yolk-yellow kerchief tied around her head emphasized her black eyes screened by long lashes, eyebrows like an archer's bow laid across them. She moved toward me and we embraced. I inhaled the familiar smoky scent of her skin. Her cheeks under my lips tasted of salt and milk. But the tinder did not kindle into joy. The cook's boat had been cut adrift, then burned.
I pulled from her embrace and went to Ismail Dayi. He led me to his study, where we had spent so many happy winter evenings. Now the windows to the garden were open and the familiar scent of jasmine twined into the room.
Ismail Dayi lowered himself onto the divan. Violet adjusted the cushions behind his back. He waved his hand to indicate that she should leave. With obvious reluctance, she backed out of the room. For some moments we sat silently, our limbs wrapped in the scented warmth from the garden.
Finally, Ismail Dayi spoke.
"My daughter." His voice was husky—with illness? I did not know and I was suddenly ashamed of how much I had tested him.
"My dear dayi," I said, "you're the one who has worried and suffered for all of us. I'm so sorry to have been an added burden to you."
"My daughter, there was never a burden as sweet as you. I thank Allah for bringing you into my life."
He paused for a moment, then continued.
"Jaanan, I'm sorry, but I must tell you. Your mother has passed away."
I felt nothing. Or rather, only a rushing sound far away, as if a monumental wave were coming closer, but was still too far away for me to run for cover. How did I know about such waves? They were there in Violet's sea, in the lost fingers of Halil the gardener. They were the crushing, grinding behemoths that tortured Hamza's sea glass on their forges of sand until the stones glowed from within like blue eyes.
I was speechless. What opportunities had I missed? My hand remembered the feel of cold satin like a ghost limb.
Ismail Dayi tried to take my hand, but I pulled it away.
"What happened?" My voice sounded too steady, too matter-of-fact, and I felt ashamed of that too.
"She caught a draft and it went to her lungs. It was very rapid. May your life be spared, my dear."
He squeezed my arm. His touch opened a channel through which a current of sorrow began to flow. But I resisted it. Another vein of weakness when so much of me had run dry.
The waves were nearer. I bowed my head and let them rage through me, but said nothing.
Ismail Dayi stared sadly into the fire. "I never told her you were lost. I told her you had gone to your father's. I didn't want to worry her. She loved you greatly, my dear daughter."
## 36
## Sea Glass
It was late spring that year when Mary finally came to visit me. I hadn't seen her since the fall. I took her hand and led her into the harem reception room. Now that Mama had cut the thread that bound her to the world, I was mistress of the cool blue and white tiles and splashing water. My body moved to a different music learned in Galata. I felt powerful. I wondered whether something in Mary would stir in response.
We sat on the divan. I signaled Violet to bring us tea. Mary was dressed in a loose white gown embroidered with red flowers that echoed the enamel blossoms in the gold cross she always wore at the base of her throat. It had been her mother's, she told me when I admired it. A lace bodice hid the mole on her shoulder.
Violet stood by the door, silver tray balanced in her hands.
"Put it here, Violet," I called, my eyes studying Mary. She seemed absorbed in the movement of the tray, following it to the low table, watching Violet's strong hands pour the coffee into tiny cups.
We waited for Violet to leave.
"I'm sorry about your mother's death. I thought, I must come to see you."
"Thank you, Mary. That is kind of you."
I said nothing to her about about my stay at Madame Devora's. It was a willing union that undid the other, unwilling one. I had found Hamza's sea glass necklace at the bottom of my jewelry casket and now kept it close to my breast.
Our cups chimed in the awkward silence.
"You know, I tried to come see you before, but your maid told me you weren't here. She wouldn't tell me anything more. Where did you go?"
"I was at my father's house in Nishantashou," I quickly improvised.
"Of course." She looked at me curiously and I was suddenly afraid she had also sought me there. "I wish I had known. It's much closer. Why didn't you send me a message? Didn't you know I was back?"
Seeing my look of confusion, she spat out, "Violet, again."
I glanced quickly at the door, then nodded. "I've received no letters since winter."
I could see Mary fighting down her anger. "Well, we're here now. I know you haven't gone out much since you speared that bastard Amin last year. I'm sure a stay in the city did you good."
I was surprised that the mention of his name no longer affected me.
"Well, I haven't been invited to many society events since then. I suppose people blame me, and perhaps they're right to. I was very stupid. I always thought I should be able to move about without a chaperone like any modern woman."
"In England, young women of quality"—she worked the word uneasily in her mouth, like a moldy fruit—"also are guarded by female watchdogs. It has nothing to do with being modern. We still hold the leashes of our own sex."
Women of quality. Mary did not seem to be quality in the English way, which I presumed to mean much the same as here—wealth and indolence. Was I still a woman of quality? I was wealthy, was I not? And inactive, again imprisoned in my golden cage at Chamyeri.
"You must have been bored out here," she continued. "That Violet can't be a very pleasant companion. She's so sour she'd curdle milk." I didn't tell her that the object of her scorn was probably listening on the other side of the door. Her description of Violet irritated me.
"She was my companion when we were younger, and she has been a good and loyal servant to my family. There is no cause to disparage her."
She reached over and took my hand. "I meant no offense. Forgive me."
My small hand nestled inside hers like a young bird.
"I've missed you, Jaanan. We haven't seen each other for a long time, but I haven't forgotten." She smiled at me uncertainly. "I wrote to you often. And I had to go back to England for a while. I hope you don't blame me for not coming to see you after I returned. It was impossible to get up here. The roads were impassable and none of the delivery boats would take me. Believe me, I tried. And then, when the roads were open, I thought you went away. I wish I had known you were in Stamboul," she added fiercely.
I looked into her light blue eyes, the color of beads used to ward off the evil eye. When I didn't respond, her hands parted the gauze panels of my veil and lifted them behind my shoulders. I felt suddenly naked, as I had never felt in the room in Galata.
To cover my confusion, I said in a polite voice, "Please have some more coffee." I rang the silver bell by my side.
We sat silently until Violet arrived with the coffeepot. She looked at us slyly from under her lashes.
Had I changed in some fundamental way? People project themselves onto the screen of society like shadow puppets. Perhaps the lamplight was too low and I was no longer recognizable. Had I forgotten my lines? Was there a plot at all? I no longer believed so.
Violet spilled some coffee on Mary's arm, then tried to wipe it away with her hand. Embarrassed, I pushed her away from Mary and asked her to leave. I dabbed gently at Mary's arm with an embroidered cloth. Violet had been a restless shadow to my every movement since my return. I asked her to sleep in her old room at the back of the house, but found her waiting for me wherever I came and went. I understood that she must feel guilty about leaving me in that coach, but explained to her that no harm had come of it. I had asked Ismail Dayi to find her a husband, as was his duty as her patron. I suppose she knew of this, since she listened at doors.
Violet still stood by the door, her black eyes intensely following every move of my hand as if she were devouring it. Mary too noticed and shifted uncomfortably.
"Make fresh coffee." I couldn't hide the annoyance in my voice. While I was away, she had slipped out of my control.
Mary's stockinged feet dangled uselessly from the divan, her slippers fallen to the carpet. I had hoped to please her with Mama's reception room, but she didn't seem to notice her surroundings. I straightened the gold bracelet on her wrist that Violet had knocked awry, my affection relearning its accustomed channels. I was reminded of her great kindness, and my body relaxed toward her.
"I came to tell you I was leaving."
"Leaving Istanbul?" I felt regret and relief. I pulled my veil across my breasts. "When?"
"In a few days."
It was too soon. "Has something happened?" I shivered with dread at losing my friend. The strength of my feeling surprised me.
"A good thing, Jaanan," she said with a grin. "I still can't believe it." "Tell me," I demanded. "I am full of suspense."
"Well," she began, drawing it out, "I am now a woman of means."
"Means?"
"Rich, Jaanan. I'm rich!" She bounced on the divan.
"Why, that's wonderful." I laughed with relief. "I'm so happy for you, my dear friend. Congratulations."
"It means I can do as I please. When you have money, no one can tell you how to live."
"How did it happen?" I had assumed that since Mary worked, she belonged to a family without wealth, but I realized then that she had never told me anything about her family.
"My father died."
"Oh, I'm so sorry. Health to your head, my dearest." I reached out to comfort her, but she leaned back so she could see my face, grasped my arms, and beamed at me.
"I'm not sad, Jaanan. Not sad at all. My father threw me out when I was young. That's how I ended up in a boardinghouse, exchanging kitchen work for rent."
I gasped. "How is such a thing possible?"
"He said I had unnatural inclinations, as he put it. And he didn't like my friends."
"But had you no other family to turn to? Your mother? Your siblings?"
"My mother died when I was born," she explained, a flicker of sadness passing through her eyes, her finger caressing the gold cross at her neck. "I have no brothers or sisters. It's not like here where you can fall back on dozens of people you call family. In England, you're on your own."
"And your friends?"
"Well, I told you about my friends. They turned out less than worthless. On that account, my father was right."
"That's terribly sad, Mary, dear. You have a family and friends here, though. I am here for you, and all my family is yours."
Mary's eyes fell to one side. "I know," she whispered. "Thank you.
"Actually, Jaanan"—quickly, almost shiftily, the pink tip of her tongue moistened her lips—"I came here to ask you something."
There are moments when you understand that something is going to happen before you know what it is. There is an unpleasant weightlessness at the back of your neck. Time yawns as if to show its unconcern, then rushes toward you at breakneck speed.
"Would you come with me to England?"
I was speechless.
"It would be great fun. We could live in a grand place, much nicer than here." She waved her hand around the reception hall.
She leaned closer and stroked back my veil again.
"We could be together, Jaanan. You and me. We wouldn't have to sneak off to that shack on the water." Her lips brushed my ear. "We could be together all the time."
I admit to confusion and knowledge chasing each other through my heart. Mary was my friend and I loved her. Now she was offering me a new life, a life of novelty and adventure, as had been foretold. I considered carefully. What life was left to me in Istanbul? Perhaps this was my kismet.
Mary mistook my silence for refusal. "If you're worried about missing your family, Jaanan, you could travel here whenever you like. The Wagons-Lits Company is building a direct rail line. Before long you'll be able to get on the Orient Express in London and get off in Stamboul." She clapped her hands. "Wouldn't it be wonderful? We could have such a life together."
Hamza, I thought. My hands toyed with the sea glass dangling from my neck. Hamza would never leave here. England would be exile.
"I don't know, Mary." I said slowly. "Let me think about it."
Mary leaned closer to read from my face what she could not read from my words, but I'm certain my confusion made me illegible.
She stroked my cheek, then pulled my veil back across it. "I'll wait patiently until you decide, Jaanan."
AFTER MARY LEFT, I found Violet in the kitchen wrestling a bucking fish from the pail at her feet onto the cutting board. She pierced its neck with the point of her knife and it stiffened.
"Where is the cook?" I asked her.
"Her mother is ill, so she went home early. I told her I'd prepare the meal."
The scales sprayed from beneath her knife as it scraped across the firm blue flesh. I watched as she held the fish down and, entering at the throat, slid the knife delicately down the chest and along the belly. Its ruby secrets spilled into her hand.
I FOUND THE letter under a pile of manuscripts on a shelf in Ismail Dayi's study. I had been looking for an illustrated copy of Fuzuli's romance, Leyla and Mejnun, that Ismail Dayi had found for me at the bookseller. It was to be a gift for Mary, in remembrance of our friendship, a celebration of her new life. The letter was on ordinary parchment of the kind used by clerks in government offices, but I immediately recognized Hamza's handwriting. It was dated two days after I had arrived in Djamji Street. The message began with a standard formula of greeting, then, in a kind of convoluted eloquence:
The honorable Hodja is advised that certain necessary actions must be taken promptly in order to alter to everyone's advantage the unfortunate circumstances prevailing today. If you succeed in turning minds toward the good and only possible path toward a modern society, this will benefit many, but especially someone close to you.
ISMAIL HODJA SAT stiffly on the divan, the tea on the low table before him untouched. I sat beside him, holding the letter in my hand.
"Why did you never tell me about this, dayi?"
"It seemed an innocuous letter, on its face. It says nothing about kidnapping. I wasn't even sure the writer was asking me to do anything. I brought it to the kadi because it was an odd letter, dropped on my doorstep, while you were gone. Possibly it was an appeal to me to support the reformists. But whoever wrote it was too clever for his own good. He disguised his intention to such a degree that I couldn't make it out. Nevertheless, I believed there may have been an implied threat in the letter, that if I did not do this, harm might come to someone close to me. I didn't want to take any chances, my lion. You were missing and I had no idea where you had gone."
"But you knew who I was with."
Ismail Dayi looked at me curiously and took my chin in his hand.
"Of course not, Jaanan. If I had, we would have been able to find you sooner."
"No one came to you?"
"What do you mean?"
"I thought you knew," I whispered, half to myself.
"The man who kidnapped you was never identified, Jaananjim. We have no way of knowing his motivation."
Ismail Dayi looked at me oddly as he said this, as if he guessed that I was keeping something from him. Hamza had disappeared out of the window in Galata and out of my life. After my return home, it had seemed inappropriate to speak of Hamza to my dayi and, out of embarrassment, I avoided the subject other than to assure him that I was unharmed. So Hamza had lied about speaking with Ismail Dayi and he had never learned that I was safe. What else had he lied about? The thought infuriated me. He had lied and then he had disappeared again.
It was true that Madame Devora's son, the only other person who could have identified Hamza, was dead, but I was surprised that no one knew it had been Hamza fleeing through that window. I was certain, for instance, that the magistrate's crafty-looking associate had learned his name from Madame Devora. While they were speaking Ladino, I'm sure I heard Hamza's name among the unfamiliar words. I told my dayi that it had been Hamza who "rescued" me from Amin's plot and kept me in Galata. He looked shocked.
"It's hard to believe Hamza would do such a thing. I immediately thought of Amin Efendi—that he had abducted you and sent this letter," he said. "But it seemed an odd thing for him to do. I think he knows that a pinch of prosperity has more value than an okka of revenge. He's in exile in Crete now and has been very careful not to give any further offense. He wants to improve his chances to be called back to the capital. It would be foolish of him—and very unlike the man I know—to write a letter opposing the government. In his heart, Amin is a coward."
Ismail Dayi patted my hand. "He may not be entirely without blame, though. Hamza might well be right. Amin is certainly in debt. He could have had designs on you, even from Crete. Accomplices are cheap. Certainly your father believed what you told him about Amin's plan to take you from the house. Your father has banished Hüsnü Hanoum from his sight. Amin's sword struck wide. Such folly." Ismail Dayi clicked his tongue in disapproval, I could not tell whether of Amin, my father, Aunt Hüsnü, or of humankind.
Amin Efendi was a thousand years ago, I thought. I placed my hand on Ismail Dayi's arm, angry at the needless pain Hamza's silence and my own had imposed on this man, my chosen father. Hamza had written a letter in effect blackmailing my uncle. The language expressed perfectly his warring desire for approval and a blacker motivation that I had briefly glimpsed at the apartment on Djamji Street.
Ismail dayi looked thoughtfully at the letter in his lap. "So you think Hamza sent this."
"It's in his handwriting. What did the kadi say when you showed him the letter?"
"He sent me to Magistrate Kamil, who is more experienced in these matters. He thought we should take the implied meaning seriously—that if I didn't help the reformists, something might happen to you. He suggested I step up the tempo of my meetings with a variety of highly placed people here at home. It would look on the surface as if I were doing what the letter demanded. But we wouldn't necessarily discuss reform. He said we could debate the price of Smyrna dates, if we wished, as long as it seemed to a casual observer that something, possibly a political something, was happening."
"And what is the price of Smyrna dates, dayi dear?"
"I couldn't tell you, little one."
We both laughed, although my laughter was mixed with pain. I thought of Nedim's lines:
You and my mind treat each other as strangers
As if you were a guest in my body, you, my heart.
To save myself, I had bound my little craft to a mirage.
I SAT BY the edge of the water, cradling the sea glass in my hand, wondering what it had endured to earn its beauty, then let it slip slowly from my hand back into the elements.
## 37
## Enduring Principles
Last autumn's leaves rustle underfoot behind the pavilion. A nightingale trills in the darkness, perhaps dreaming. The moon that silvered Mary's blind face has fattened in the sky, then faded again until the world is dressed in shades of mourning. Ten miles to the south, Kamil Pasha studies an engraving of Gymnadenia, before his finger falls from the pages of the book in sleep. A shadow slips into Ismail Hodja's kitchen door and moves swiftly through the corridors toward his study. Light streams from beneath the door. The figure pauses, presses his ear against the door, and, hearing nothing, pushes it open.
He sees two men kneeling side by side before a low table. Jemal is all in white, a loose cotton shirt and wide shalwar. His hair flows down his back like a river of ink. Ismail kneels beside him, dressed in a quilted robe. Without his turban, Ismail Hodja looks fragile, a fringe of thinning hair exposing a pale scalp. In his hand is a brush, poised over a square piece of parchment across which extends an elegant trail of calligraphic writing. A bottle of black ink and several more brushes rest on the table above the paper. Jemal holds a turquoise ceramic bowl in his right hand. Both are sunk in concentration; neither hears the door open. There is enough time for the intruder to note the muscular shoulders pushing against the shirt of Ismail Hodja's companion. He had expected Ismail Hodja to be alone. Suddenly Jemal turns and, before the man can escape, springs and winds himself about him like a snake, his angry, kohl-rimmed eyes close to the man's face. The bowl falls heavily to the carpet. A puddle of gray water seeps rapidly into the colorful wool.
Ismail Hodja lays down his brush and stands. "Why, Hamza, welcome. I wasn't expecting you at this hour." He gestures to Jemal to let Hamza go. Jemal does so with obvious reluctance, and squats nearby, within easy reach.
"I almost didn't recognize you," Ismail Hodja adds, gesturing toward Hamza's worn workman's clothing and his beard.
"I've come to ask for your assistance."
"Of course, Hamza, my son. I will do whatever is in my power. What is it that you need?"
"I'm sorry to intrude, my hodja," Hamza says softly, glancing nervously at the window. "I'm leaving for France tomorrow and I wanted to see Jaanan." His eyes take in the fallen bowl and wet carpet. "I'm sorry." He looks up anxiously. "Jaanan, is she here?"
Ismail Hodja looks at him carefully and suggests, "It's rather late to call on a young lady."
"Please. I need to speak with her."
"I'm sorry, my son. My niece has gone to France."
Hamza's face reflects his confusion. "France? Why on earth...When?"
"Last month. We'd been discussing it for some time," Ismail Hodja answers kindly. "You know how difficult life has been for her this past year."
"I wanted to protect her," Hamza says, half to himself. "She's in Paris?" he asks eagerly.
"Yes, your many stories of the city made an impression on her. She wants to study. She's safe there now, living with family."
"I thought"—Hamza begins, then stops.
Ismail Hodja regards him thoughtfully, waiting for him to continue.
"Why did she decide to go now?" Hamza asks.
"She has lost a friend and we thought it best that she recover far from anything that could remind her of it."
Hamza sits heavily on the divan by the door and puts his head in his hands. "I didn't mean to disappear for so long. I suppose she thought I was dead or—worse—that I didn't care about her. But when I get to Paris, I'll explain everything."
"It is not your absence she is mourning," Ismail Hodja explains. Hamza's head jerks up. "Although I know she is fond of you."
"Who, then?" Hamza demands.
"Her English friend, Mary Dixon."
Hamza looks puzzled. "What does Jaanan have to do with Mary Dixon? I don't understand."
"They met at an embassy function and became friends. My niece was much alone and it gave me great pleasure to see her bloom in this friendship. The poor woman drowned."
"Yes, I know."
"Then you probably also know that the police believe she was drugged before falling into the Bosphorus. Perhaps even pushed, Allah forbid. The world would be an unhappy abode indeed were it not for the strength of our faith. The following day, Jaanan's servant Violet had an accident and nearly drowned, but she survived, praise be to Allah. In any case, it is prudent that Jaanan be in a safe place, at least until the culprit is caught, lest his evil eye fall on other young women." He eyes Hamza's stunned face. "What is it that you wish to tell her, my son? I can pass a message on. Or, if you prefer to write, I can forward a letter to her."
"Nothing. I...it was nothing." Hamza stands. "If I could have her address, I will see her myself when I get to Paris. That is, if she's willing to see me."
Ismail Hodja studies Hamza's face for a long moment, then says, "She is staying with her father's brother near Arly."
"Yes, I know the place." Hamza bows his head. "Thank you, my hodja."
"I know you and my niece have been friends for a long time, but my advice is not to presume on that past tie." Ismail Hodja frowns. "Much has happened. You will have to regain her trust."
"I understand, my hodja." Hamza pauses, then stutters, "Actually, I came to ask something of you."
Ismail Hodja extends his hand toward the divan. "Let us sit together and talk."
Hamza doesn't move.
"We must have a parliament to rein in the sultan," he blurts out. "I beg you to ask the ulema, the religious scholars and judges, and your friends in the government to pressure the sultan."
"Why would I do something like that?"
"He's a tyrant, my hodja," Hamza begins earnestly, "arresting people, ruining them on a whim. His spending is bankrupting the country."
Ismail Hodja looks at Hamza curiously. "My dear son, as you are no doubt aware, I have tried to steer clear of politics. I have my own pursuits. These have endured"—he waves a hand at his library and the calligraphy on the table—"and outlived the minor lives and squabbles of ambitious men. Knowledge, beauty, and appreciation of Allah are the three enduring principles. Politics is just a fleeting shadow thrown against the wall by the sun."
Hamza's voice takes on a wheedling tone. "You have enormous influence, Ismail Hodja. How can you not use it for good? A word from you would move important men to reconsider their positions. If the ulema issued a fatwa in favor of reinstating the parliament, the sultan would have to listen."
Ismail Hodja wags his head from side to side. "You overestimate my influence. I am just a poet and a scholar. I am not a politician. I have a minor official post. I am a teacher, an observer, nothing more."
"You are a Nakshbendi sheikh. You have friends throughout the government. I know that people come here to seek your advice."
"How do you know that?"
"I've watched what goes on here. Princes and ministers arriving secretly at all hours. You can't tell me you're not involved in politics." Hamza's tone has become heated.
"I don't wish to argue politics with you, my son." Ismail Hodja puts out his hands and sighs deeply. "But you are overstating Sultan Abdulhamid's flaws. He has done much to modernize the empire. And despite his idiosyncrasies, he cares about his subjects."
"You're on the wrong side, my hodja. We will continue to work for a constitution and parliament from exile and we will succeed. The sultan himself may have to be eliminated. I came to warn you and ask you to join us before it's too late."
Ismail Hodja looks at Hamza with a puzzled frown. "There is something I've been meaning to ask you, my son. I know it was you that kidnapped Jaanan. Did you send me a letter threatening to harm her if I did not support your project?"
"What? I never threatened her."
"Yet the letter seems to be in your hand. Jaanan said she recognized your writing."
"Jaanan saw the letter?"
"Yes. I didn't show it to her. She found it among my papers."
Hamza is pale. "I didn't mean to threaten her."
"We have been like your family since you were a boy. My brother-in-law sponsored your career. You ate his bread. We are all fond of you, my niece more than anyone. How could you even think to hurt her?"
"I would never hurt Jaanan. It was only to get you to support the reforms. I would never have done anything to harm her. But she'll never believe that now. I only meant to help her."
"By kidnapping her and telling no one where she was? You let her believe we knew she was safe."
"I meant to come and speak with you, but...things happened that stopped me. My driver was killed, and I feared for my life. I didn't dare come here. Otherwise I would have explained the letter to you myself. It contained no threat to Jaanan, only a request for your help."
"Please sit," Ismail Hodja offers again. "We are your family. Everything can be discussed and, with the help of Allah, we will come to an understanding."
Hamza doesn't answer, his lips pressed in a grim line. "It's over now. She'll never..." He doesn't finish. Suddenly his fist punches through the wood of the door. Jemal moves to restrain him, but Ismail Hodja catches Jemal's eye and raises his chin slightly to indicate no. Hamza examines his bruised hand as if it belongs to someone else.
"You think you're my family?" he says finally, his voice bitter. "I had my own family. Thanks to you and people like you, they were destroyed. You're all hypocrites!" he bellows. "Look at you!" He eyes Jemal, who is poised to spring on him. "What would happen if everyone knew the truth about the respected hodja?"
Ismail Hodja lets himself down on the divan and shakes his head in disbelief. "Is that what you plan to do now, son?" he asks sadly. "You can no longer use my niece as leverage, so now you threaten my reputation?"
"It's people like you who are destroying the empire. You crush people like my family without a second thought. You and that buffoon, the sultan. You are all evil, dissolute autocrats, playing with life and death."
"It is your grief speaking, my son. Not the honorable young man I know. Your family lives in Aleppo, is that not so?"
"Leave my family out of this!"
"Your father was a kadi, was he not? What happened to him?"
"You know perfectly well what happened to him. It was your doing, you and the sultan. You poisoned his life," Hamza chokes out.
"The poison has entered your veins, my son. We must bleed it out. Your father embezzled funds from the royal treasury, if I remember correctly."
"That isn't true." Hamza lunges at Ismail Hodja, but Jemal is faster and catches his arms. Hamza twists in Jemal's grip.
"That may be, that may be." Ismail Hodja sighs. "It wouldn't be the first time that the palace has resorted to artifice to eliminate an opponent. But your father gave information to the Arabs, did he not? He tried to enlist French support for a revolt. A kadi acting against his own government."
Hamza stares at him. "How do you know this?"
"Those arrested gave information about your father's role."
"He always had the interests of the empire at heart. That didn't mean he had to follow what the sultan commanded, if it was against what he thought was right."
"The money was for the movement, then."
"What money? What are you talking about?"
"And that is what you're doing now, is it? Discarding the rules of law, morality, and human sentiment to do what you think is right. What is it you are trying to do?"
"Look who's talking about morality!" Hamza spits out, looking pointedly over his shoulder at Jemal. Jemal twists his arms until Hamza yelps with pain.
Ismail Hodja smiles calmly. "You do not know everything you think you know. And what you do know, others know as well." He shakes his head. "The hubris of the young. There is no profit in that direction, my son."
Hamza looks puzzled.
Ismail Hodja smoothes his beard thoughtfully, then fixes Hamza in a steady gaze.
"I will not help you in your political goal, my son. I do not support violence or, may Allah protect him, the overthrow of the sultan."
"It's the only way."
"I don't believe that. I will not support the reintroduction of parliament under such conditions. There are other, more civilized ways."
"You may change your mind," Hamza says viciously.
"If Allah wills it. Let him go, please, Jemal."
Jemal gives Hamza's arms one more twist before he lets them fall.
As Hamza reaches the door, Ismail Hodja calls to him, "Hamza, my son. How is your mother? You had a sister, did you not?"
Hamza pivots and leaps for Ismail Hodja's throat, Jemal right behind him. The two wrestle on the floor, upending the table and scattering sheets of paper. Unperturbed, Ismail Hodja gazes sadly at the blackness pressing in against the window. China cups and other small objects clatter to the floor. The glass narghile tips over, releasing water into the carpet.
"Don't you dare mention my sister," roars Hamza, struggling against Jemal's grip. "She will be your last victim. I'll make sure of that."
"Allah is merciful, my son. May the poison in your veins be cleansed now. Examine your true motives in this. I know you are a good man." He bows his head. "Selam aleikhum. Peace be upon you."
Jemal wrestles Hamza to his feet and pushes him out the door. As soon as they are out of sight of Ismail Hodja, Jemal kicks Hamza so that he falls to the ground. With one motion, Jemal lifts him and throws him over his shoulder. He carries him to the gate and drops him stomach first onto Hamza's horse tethered there, frees the reins, and slaps the animal's rump. When the horse has disappeared down the dark road, Jemal returns to the house, stopping in the kitchen to fetch a glass of water for Ismail Hodja before returning to the study. He was the one who had found Hamza's letter on the doorstep. He makes it his business to know about anything that might endanger his master. He does not believe in the peaceful draining of venom.
HAMZA CURSES AS he struggles to right himself in the saddle. The anesthetic of anger is rapidly giving way to pain as memories of his lost family mingle with the realization that Jaanan too is now lost to him. I will find her in Paris, he thinks, and explain everything. But he knows it will be difficult, if not impossible, to regain her trust. He halts and remounts properly. With determination, he spurs his horse onto the moonless road and turns south toward the city. What did she have to do with Mary Dixon? he wonders, glancing anxiously back at the screen of trees behind which Hannah too had abandoned him.
Suddenly the horse stops short. Someone is pulling on the bridle. Hamza hears a lightly accented voice.
"I thought you a better rider than this, Hamza Efendi. You were sitting on the horse backwards. Let me help you. Ah, I see you have righted yourself. No matter."
Strong hands pull Hamza from the saddle. He lands off balance, but with both feet on the ground. The dust he kicks up makes him cough. Hamza can make out only the shape of the man, black against black. He is short and stocky. Hamza twists and attempts to leap away, but the man moves quickly. A blade glints briefly like a firefly. In less than a heartbeat, it is at Hamza's throat.
"You'll come with me," says the figure.
"Who are you?" Hamza's eyes dart toward the forest, but he cannot run. The blade stings his throat and every breath causes it to intrude farther. He tries to calm his breathing. When he dares, he clears his throat.
"You have something to say?" The knife moves away infinitesimally. Hamza can't feel the blade, but knows it is still there.
"Who are you? What do you want with me? I have little money, but you can have it."
The shadow man laughs as if at a very good joke.
"You can take the horse too," adds Hamza nervously. There is something very familiar about the man, but Hamza cannot place it. He jerks away but the blade finds him again.
"What do you want?"
"I want to know why you're back."
The man whistles shrilly and a carriage approaches. The shadows of three men wrestle Hamza inside.
## 38
## A Shared Pipe
Kamil accepts the long chubuk pipe Ismail Hodja's servant has filled with fragrant tobacco, draws up his legs, and leans back against the divan cushions in the hodja's study. The morning ride was brisk and Kamil is glad of the warmth between his lips. The hodja is smoking a narghile, the long cord looped once around his arm, amber mouthpiece in his slender fingers. The servant checks the coal atop the rose-colored glass flask. As Ismail Hodja draws from the mouthpiece, the coal glows beneath the tobacco, its smoke bubbling down through the cooling liquid and along the tube to the hodja's mouth. His face beneath the turban is calm, but his eyes are troubled and red-rimmed with exhaustion.
"Have you learned anything, Magistrate Kamil?" he asks softly. "The police last night told me only that they arrested Hamza and wished me to make a complaint about his violent behavior." His eyes rest on the hole in the door. "I declined, of course." He adds angrily, "I can't imagine how they could presume to know what goes on in my house."
"I visited Hamza in jail on my way here this morning," Kamil says. "The police are accusing him of murdering the two Englishwomen."
"What? That's preposterous."
"Hamza admits he betrayed your hospitality last night, but denies having anything to do with the murders. I must admit his arrest was a surprise to me. The police say they have evidence that Hamza met Hannah Simmons in your garden pavilion on the night she was killed." He looks at Ismail Hodja curiously from under his eyebrows, respectfully avoiding eye contact.
Ismail Hodja looks surprised. "When my niece was a child, Hamza used to come to Chamyeri to tutor her and then spent the night in the men's quarters. I banned him from my house after my groom Jemal saw him sneak out one night and bring a woman into the pavilion."
"You didn't tell the police this?"
"I never spoke of it to anyone."
"Did your groom identify the woman?"
"No. You may ask him if you like. It was in the months before that poor young woman was found dead. Jemal said he didn't see the woman up close, but thought she might be foreign by her dress. I remember because he was worried it might have been my niece's governess. But we had her room checked, and she was asleep." He puffs on the narghile. "I suppose it could have been Hannah Simmons."
Ismail Hodja's narghile has gone out. He gestures to the servant, who fetches a fresh piece of coal in his tongs and places it on the flask.
When the servant has withdrawn to the far side of the room, Ismail Hodja continues in an urgent voice. "There is no proof that Hamza did this crime. I know Hamza well, and I do not believe him to be capable of it."
"Did Jemal see a carriage?"
"Yes, and the driver. He was parked outside the gate by the road. Jemal went to ask him who he was waiting for and apparently received an insolent answer." He smiles fondly. "Jemal does not suffer insults lightly."
Kamil's pulse races. "What color was his hair?"
"I don't believe Jemal said. We can ask him. A great deal of time has passed, but since we were so concerned about the matter at the time, it's possible he might remember."
"You said you had banned Hamza from Chamyeri some time before Hannah's death."
"Yes, but there is something I must tell you. I had a long talk with my niece before she left for Paris. She admitted to me that Hamza flouted my ban and continued to come here to see her. He had a secret call, like a nightingale, to tell her when he was in the pavilion. She was a child at the time and they were very close. She said when he came, they used to sit in the pavilion reading and playing games."
"So it's possible that he continued to use the pavilion at night for his trysts."
"Yes, I suppose so, but indiscretion does not make a young man a murderer. It was a long time ago, when he was a crazy-blooded youth"—he smiles at Kamil—"as I believe we all were at some point. I don't believe he had anything to do with the killing of those unfortunate women."
"Why did he come here last night?"
"He wanted to see my niece. And to ask me for some small service, which, unfortunately, I was unable to grant him."
Kamil waits, but the hodja does not elaborate.
The arrest report stated Hamza had threatened Ismail Hodja. Kamil asks, "Did your refusal make him angry?"
"Hamza's anger is directed at himself and against those who love him. We hate those who have seen us weak, magistrate bey. Our deepest rage is reserved for those who have seen us shamed and vulnerable and who responded with generosity. To be the object of a person's generosity is, in some basic way, to be humiliated. My brother-in-law treated his sister's son like his own, gave him a home, supported his education, helped him find a government position. What you might not know is that, without his uncle's help, Hamza would have had no life at all. His father had squandered his future before Hamza ever had a chance to claim it. Unfortunately, the fruit does not fall far from the tree."
"His father was kadi of Aleppo, I believe."
"Yes, a wealthy and powerful man, but a man with expensive habits and a pragmatic sense of loyalty. Hamza's father acted as liaison between a few of our Arab subjects and the French who hoped to wrest the province of Syria away from the empire. That was in the time of Sultan Abdulaziz, may his memory be blessed. When the plans were discovered, Hamza's father was ruined. He was accused of embezzling money from the treasury to finance a revolt, although it's possible he did it to pay his own debts. He was stripped of his position."
"Was he exiled?"
"In a sense. He was forbidden ever to return to the capital."
"Did Hamza know the reasons for his father's banishment?" Kamil beckons the servant to relight his pipe.
"He was studying in France at the time. When he returned to Aleppo, apparently he found his father sitting on a chair in the middle of an empty apartment. The creditors had taken their konak and even their furniture. His father refused to speak or eat, just sat staring at the wall. Hamza tried to rouse him, told him about Paris, his plans for a career. He promised to take care of the family's expenses, but his father never even looked at him." Ismail Hodja pauses to take another draught from his narghile. He exhales a thin stream of smoke.
"My brother-in-law learned all this in a letter from his sister," he continues. "After seeing the letter, I was inclined to view Hamza's behavior with more compassion. I am also certain that he meant Jaanan no harm. Quite the contrary." He frowns and shakes his head. "I tried to tell my niece this, but I'm not sure she is convinced. She has had more than her share of disappointments."
"I'm glad no greater harm has come to her."
"I was inclined to think badly of Hamza when I learned it was he who took her to Galata. She never spoke of it until recently. She thought I knew, since Hamza had promised her he would tell me where she was. He never did. Last night, he told me he had been in hiding since then, fearing for his life, and so was unable to keep his promise to tell me. He said his driver had been killed." He looks up at Kamil. "Is it the same man Jemal saw?"
"Yes. It must be. A man called Shimshek Devora. Jaanan Hanoum was held in his mother's house. Shimshek was killed that same week. Supposedly in an accident."
"May he rest in Allah's care."
They are silent for a few moments, their thoughts tangled in skeins of smoke. Birds squabble outside the window.
Finally, Ismail Hodja continues. "I've come to believe since then that Hamza was telling the truth. My brother-in-law—Jaanan's father—thinks it's possible that Amin Efendi was planning to abduct Jaanan from his home, with the connivance of...well, that is a matter for my brother-in-law. It would satisfy Amin Efendi's desire for revenge against the family and, if he could force the marriage, his need for money. So you see, Hamza, in his own misguided way, was trying to protect my niece. As for those unfortunate Englishwomen, my heart refuses to accept that he would harm them. Indeed, given what happened to his sister, I would have expected him to be kind toward women."
"What happened to his sister?"
"Ah, that poor girl. As the penniless daughter of a traitor, she was unable to contract a marriage. Who would bring her into their family and risk official displeasure? She was quite attractive, I understand, and many good families had inquired about a possible match when her father was still kadi. She had her heart set on one particular young man, so she refused the others. Her father doted on her and didn't insist, but he disapproved of the man she preferred because he was merely a merchant, although quite wealthy. After the disaster, even that family withdrew their suit. She threw herself into the moat of Aleppo's citadel when it was swollen with rainwater and drowned."
Ismail Hodja takes another long draw from his mouthpiece and lets the smoke dissipate before continuing. His shoulders slump with exhaustion.
"I can't tell you, my dear magistrate efendi, what any of this has to do with the deaths of these young Englishwomen. It is true that after his sister's passing, Hamza became harder. But that is a long way from a man capable of killing. For murder you need powerful meat—hatred, greed, jealousy, or ambition—not the thin gruel of self-hate.
## 39
## The Gate of the Spoonmakers
Kamil waits on a stool under the giant plane tree in Beyazit Square that a poet once called the Tree of Idleness. Behind him stretch the outer wall of the War Ministry and the domes of Beyazit Mosque, its courtyard garden visible through the stone portal. The square hums with traffic, vendors of sherbet and baked simits crying out their wares, porters hissing their way through the crowd, trotting horses, carts, and children dodging one another.
Kamil spies Bernie's red hair approaching amid a sea of turbans and fezzes.
"Howdy. Been waiting long?"
"Not long. It's good to see you. Please sit. Would you like some refreshment?"
"Sorry. Afraid I have to decline. I can't stomach the tea here or the coffee. Both thick as tar. I don't know how you drink so much of it. No offense."
"None taken. They are quite strong."
"Maybe we could just walk around a bit. I don't know this area very well."
"Have you seen the booksellers' market? There's a good place to eat lunch nearby."
Kamil leads the way through the throng to a gate beside the mosque.
"This is the Gate of the Spoonmakers." To Bernie's questioning look, he shrugs. "I have no idea why."
They enter a quiet, sun-dappled courtyard. Each tiny shop around the yard is stacked to the ceiling with books and manuscripts. A few apprentices hurry past carrying packages to be delivered to customers at their homes. In the center is another plane tree, under it a bench next to a small fountain. Bernie lowers himself onto the bench and spreads his arms across the back, embracing the old vine-draped buildings. "Keyif," he mutters contentedly.
Kamil holds a tinned cup chained to the fountain under the stream of water and takes a draught.
"You should try this water. It's from a spring."
Bernie points to the ancient stone portal at the far end of the courtyard. "And what's that gate called?"
"What? Oh, the Gate of the Engravers."
"Of course."
Cup still in hand, Kamil frowns in the direction of the gate.
"You look like you've got a swarm of termites under your vest today, Kamil, ol' chum."
Despite himself, Kamil laughs. "That's disgusting."
"Well, it's true. Something isn't sitting well with you. Not well at all. Might help talkin' about it."
"There's too much happening, Bernie, and I'm not sure what to think about it all."
"Like what?" Bernie moves his arm to make room for Kamil on the bench.
"There's been an arrest."
"You mean for Mary's murder? That's great. Who's the scoundrel?"
"And Hannah's murder too."
"You're joking?" Bernie sits up and turns to look at Kamil.
"No, no, I'm not." He notices that blood has darkened Bernie's face so it looks burned by the sun. "Are you all right?"
"Yeah, sure. Dying of curiosity. Who did they arrest?"
"Hamza, the journalist. My associate, Michel Sevy, happened to be nearby when Hamza broke into the home of Ismail Hodja last night and threatened him. Apparently, Hamza confessed."
"Michel Sevy," Bernie repeats slowly, then asks, "What did Hamza confess to?"
"When I spoke with him this morning, he denied everything, but on my way back from Chamyeri, I stopped at my office and heard that he has admitted to killing both Hannah and Mary. I don't understand it. I'm going to visit him again this afternoon. I want to hear it from his own mouth. I suppose there's some logic to it," he muses. "At the end of almost every thread of inquiry there seems to be Chamyeri, but I suppose they could also lead to Hamza."
"What's the connection?"
"No proof other than the confession. That's the problem. Just coincidences. Hamza is a distant relation of Ismail Hodja. Some years ago, he appears to have used the hodja's garden pavilion at night to meet a foreign woman. This went on around the time Hannah Simmons's body was found."
"You think it was Hannah he was meeting?"
"The driver was the same man who picked her up every week."
"Admirable detective work."
"Thanks, but I owe some of that information to Sybil Hanoum."
"Wait a minute. Sybil? What does Sybil have to do with any of this?"
"She decided to investigate on her own. It's my fault. I suppose I encouraged her at the beginning. She was so eager to help, and I thought she might pick up some information from the women. I can't speak with them myself, of course. I didn't think there was any harm in it."
"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Sybil. I thought she was just paying social calls."
"From the descriptions, I think the driver was a young Jewish man named Shimshek Devora. He had distinctive hair, tightly coiled like Arab hair, but light in color. A chauffeur by profession."
"Have you talked to him?"
"No. He was killed. Fell under a carriage. Apparently an accident, but Hamza seems to think otherwise. There's one other link between Hamza and Chamyeri, but I don't know what to make of it. A few months ago, Hamza abducted Ismail Hodja's niece and held her in Shimshek Devora's mother's apartment. He told her a story about protecting her from...well, that's immaterial. I think he meant the girl no harm."
Bernie raises his eyebrows skeptically. "He abducted her for her own good?"
Kamil smiles indulgently. "As you know, Oriental motives are often inscrutable. In any case, Michel and I found her with some help from his mother who lives in the same neighborhood, but Hamza escaped. In fact, I didn't know it was Hamza until this morning when the hodja told me. When we found the girl, he ran off and we never saw his face."
"His mother?" Bernie mutters.
"Pardon?"
"Nothing. What else?"
"This Shimshek was involved—together with Hamza, as we now know—in some kind of business dealings, but we never discovered what. He died while the girl was being held."
Bernie gets up from the bench and stands by the fountain, staring at the trickle of water from the metal pipe. He reaches down to give the spigot another twist. The water continues to flow. He turns around to face Kamil. Arms folded protectively across his chest, he appears vulnerable, a boy in an elongated body.
"This Shimshek. Where did he live?"
"Galata, the Jewish quarter. Why?"
"Just curious."
Kamil looks closely at Bernie. "Did you know him?"
Bernie frowns and doesn't answer right away.
"I heard the name somewhere, but can't remember where. If it comes to me, I'll let you know. So this Shimshek used to pick Hannah up and took her to the pavilion in the hodja's garden to meet Hamza."
"The pavilion is only a short distance from the pond. Hamza could easily have strangled Hannah, thrown the body in, then driven off."
"But Hamza hasn't spilled any details about the murders yet?"
"Not that I know. Right after Hannah's death, Hamza went to Paris for several years. I suppose now we know why."
"You don't sound sure."
Kamil takes a deep breath. "I don't know. He had political reasons for leaving too. I'm sure the secret police had him in their sight. He was rumored to be a radical and he wrote inflammatory articles for a reformist journal."
"But why would he have killed Hannah?"
"That's what disturbs me. I can't think of a motive." He crosses his legs and takes out a cigarette, then looks up without lighting it. "Perhaps Hannah was pregnant. It's not in the police report, but it's possible."
"Sounds a bit far-fetched, if you ask me. Which you haven't." Bernie shakes his head no to Kamil's offered cigarette.
Kamil puts his own cigarette back, slips the silver cigarette case into his pocket, and takes out his beads. "It's not unheard-of. He doesn't seem the kind to want to settle down."
"I'd think it would make Hannah want to kill him, not the other way around."
They share a chuckle.
"Maybe she was angry enough to spill all his beans on him. After all, she was employed by the palace. If he was wanted as a radical, she could have turned him in with just a word to the right person."
"Spill the beans, pardner, the beans."
"Okay, spill the beans on Hamza. It's an odd image. What kind of beans? And why spill them? Why not throw them?"
Bernie mimics a sigh of exasperation. "I don't know. If Hannah was pregnant, it doesn't make sense that she would turn the father of her child in to the police. What about Mary? Why do you think he killed her?"
"I don't. But the police claim he confessed to it. Perhaps he was her lover, too. Why do people kill? Revenge? Maybe both women spurned him."
Bernie sits down on the bench beside Kamil. "I'll take one of those after all," gesturing toward Kamil's jacket pocket. Kamil fishes out his cigarette case and, snapping it open, offers it to Bernie. They sit for several minutes, Bernie quietly smoking and Kamil lost in thought, amber beads slipping like sand through his fingers.
"There's still the unexplained matter of the pendant." Kamil breaks the silence. "With the Chinese inscription." He looks curiously at Bernie. "It doesn't fit any of the motives. Both Hannah and Mary had it. I suppose Hamza might have given it first to one, then the other as a gift. Perhaps taken it from Hannah when he killed her."
"A gruesome thought."
"It's an odd gift, though. How did he get it? I'm sure it was made in the palace."
Bernie doesn't answer. He stares unseeing at the fountain.
"You don't look surprised."
"Well, I figured it was, what with the sultan's signature—unless it's a forgery."
"I don't think so. I showed it to the head craftsman, and he identified it as the work of a particular silversmith at Dolmabahche Palace."
Bernie stares at Kamil. "And did he tell you who he made it for?"
Kamil returns his look. "No. He was found dead the day after I asked to meet with him. They said his heart gave out."
Kamil gets up and walks over to the fountain. He stares at it, as if he has forgotten what it is for. "His family says he didn't suffer from a weak heart." He turns to Bernie. "But I suppose it's possible."
Bernie leans forward, elbows on knees, head propped in his hands. "Kamil, old buddy," he mumbles, "You'd better watch your back."
"What am I watching for?"
"You don't think it's too much of a coincidence that the old man dies just when you announce you want to meet him?"
"Of course I think it's suspicious. I don't believe in coincidence. Someone in the palace doesn't want me to know who had that pendant made," he adds thoughtfully. "It must be a powerful person to orchestrate these deaths and someone with a powerful motive to risk so much. The grand vizier? A minister? Perhaps the sultan himself?"
"Covering their tracks."
"Yes." He sighs and turns to Bernie. "The palace is out of my jurisdiction. You're right that anyone looking in that direction is in danger. If I were wiser, I would leave the question of Hannah alone." He thinks with greater sympathy of Ferhat Bey and his pauper's pension.
"Then why don't you?" Bernie suggests.
"Because I'm required to solve the case of Mary Dixon's death. The Minister of Justice Nizam Pasha seems to have taken a particular interest in my progress in this case. Perhaps he has come under pressure from the British. I don't know. Anyway, the evidence suggests that the key to Mary's death lies in deciphering Hannah's.
Bernie turns suddenly to Kamil and asks, "How did this Michel fellow happen to be at Ismail Hodja's place just in time to arrest Hamza? It's pretty far out of the way."
"I don't know," Kamil admits. "I imagine he had information through his informants."
## 40
## July 17, 1886
Dearest Maitlin,
I was so happy to receive a telegram from you this morning. Please don't think me ungrateful for your advice, after having importuned you for it in so many of my own missives. I am aware of the difficulties posed by becoming wife to a Mohammedan, as you put it. In my letters, I've tried to paint a fuller picture of society here in order to relieve your mind. Kamil is British trained and a thoroughly modern gentleman. He is charming and commands such a high standing in society—he is a pasha after all—that I'm sure he will win over even old Lady Bartlethwaite, who is surely the hardest nut to crack in Essex. Truly, there is no cause for distress, only the greatest happiness for my future. Surely this is the future, and the adventure, dear sister, that you have always wished for me.
I have little to tell you, as I've stayed close to home recently. Kamil has gotten it into his head that the palace women are dangerous and has asked me not to visit them anymore. He thinks this only because he has never been inside the imperial harems. There is a great deal of intrigue, but they are all schemes by women trying to position themselves ahead of other women in the palace hierarchy. I don't see how that has anything to do with me. I am only another woman to tea, an entertainment that can be mined for information about the outside world. Really, they are more bored than dangerous, and, if dangerous, only to themselves.
Nevertheless, I was touched by Kamil's concern, which I take to be just another sign of his affection. In any case, I stay out of mischief by keeping busy with embassy affairs. Father has left more and more of the daily running of things in my hands, which is not always welcome, but does help to pass the time. A new embassy secretary has been appointed, but won't come out for another month. I'm worried about Father, Maitlin. I haven't been as honest with you as I should about the situation. Can you imagine—I have to coax him to bathe. He sleeps in his office now, rather than in the Residence, so his staff has set aside another room where he can receive visitors. I know you think I should ask the embassy staff to file a report suggesting he retire, but that isn't my place. They are beginning to talk, but the thing is that when he is at work, Father still cuts a good figure. He reads his reports, makes decisions, even gives speeches, although he doesn't travel much anymore. Some would simply say he works too hard, but I worry that there is more to it, and I am at a loss to think of a solution. If he were to return to England, Maitlin, I think he would die. There is also the selfish matter that I wish to remain here, and I can't see how that is possible if father is forced to leave. Kamil has not yet proposed the obvious solution. Until he does, I do what I can to make a go of things at the embassy.
I desperately need a diversion. Bernie has returned to his quarters at college to work on his book. A messenger came early this morning with an invitation—really more of a summons—from Asma Sultan to visit her at her summer place in Tarabya. That's the lovely, wooded area on the northern Bosphorus where Turkish society goes to escape the summer heat. The embassy has a summer villa nearby, but it's under repair, so I haven't had much opportunity to get away. Surely Kamil can't complain about my spending a pleasant afternoon with a starchy matron at her summer villa. It's to be very informal, the messenger said, and Asma Sultan will send a coach for me.
I'd better stop writing now and get ready. I remember it being quite a long way, although I haven't been there in years, so perhaps I exaggerate. It can't be that far if I am invited to come and go in one day. I must make sure to be back in time for dinner, as Kamil is dining with us tonight. I'll write more when I return. I'll pay special attention to everything so I can give you a full accounting.
## 41
## Beautiful Machinery
Returning from Beyazit, Kamil encounters a crowd on the Karakoy end of the Galata Bridge. He calls to a group of young gendarmes and asks them what is going on.
"Bey, a criminal has been staked."
Kamil grimaces. He despises the old custom of impaling the head of a criminal in a public area, ostensibly as a lesson to the people that this is their fate if they stray from the path. These days, criminals are hung from lampposts, for the same effect. Under the present sultan, however, death sentences have usually been commuted. There have been no executions for some time. He worries what the foreign community will think when they see this, as of course they will. This time, the stake has been placed right at the base of the hill leading to Pera. The Karakoy side of the bridge is within the jurisdiction of his court, yet he knows nothing about anyone being sentenced to death. Perhaps it was a matter decided by the provincial Court of Inquiry. But even that court must have its death sentences ratified by the grand vizier, acting for the sultan. Either way, he should have been informed. Kamil spurs his horse onto the bridge.
The gendarmes keep ahead of him, pushing people back. When he reaches the far end of the bridge, he is directly before the stake. A sign hangs at its base: Traitor. The head has not been cleanly separated from the body, a hasty and unprofessional execution. The man must have just been killed. The tissue still appears soft. The tip of the man's tongue protrudes from a beard stiff with dried blood. Soft black curls fall forward over the unnaturally inclined forehead. Kamil looks more closely at the blood-caked face. Hamza's eyes are wide open as if in surprise.
KAMIL THROWS THE bridle to a groom and runs into his office, startling the clerks who are cleaning their pens at the end of the workday.
"Who ordered this execution?" he bellows.
The head clerk comes forward, head bowed, and makes the sign of obeisance. "Magistrate Efendi, you did. The directive has your signature and seal."
"I never authorized such a thing."
"But it said you were carrying out the wishes of the court, that the decision had been ratified, and that the execution was to be carried out immediately."
"I did not write it. Who gave it to you?"
"Michel Efendi brought it himself, so we could register it. Then he took it to the warden."
"Michel? Where is he?"
"I don't know, bey."
The clerks make no pretense of returning to the files and papers on the desks before them, but whisper nervously to each other.
Kamil slams his door shut and falls heavily into the chair behind his desk. His chain of beads whips around his hand.
Michel has no authority to order an execution. And he, the magistrate, will be held liable for executing a man without a trial or the grand vizier's approval. What possible motivation could Michel have for doing such a thing, for killing Hamza and putting Kamil's career at risk? Did Hamza know something that threatened Michel?
What does he, Kamil, really know about the surgeon? It's true that they went to school together, but they only came to know one another much later. How did they meet? That's right. He ran into Michel on the street in Galata. That would make sense. Michel lived there with his mother. Didn't he? Kamil's beads fall silent.
Michel's mother, who had led them directly to Jaanan—and Hamza—at Madame Devora's house. Kamil had never met Michel's mother. It is improper to bring an unrelated man into one's home, so he had only Michel's account of where he lived.
Kamil thinks about this for a while. How could Michel have known Hamza would be at Ismail Hodja's house last night? He must have been lying in wait for him.
Kamil hates coincidences. But he can see no link between Michel and Hamza. Why was Michel interested in Hamza? How did he know to associate him with Chamyeri at all? How would Michel even know what Hamza looked like?
He opens the door and calls the head clerk.
Keeping his voice even, he tells him, "If Michel Efendi returns, please tell him that I have gone home, and that I would like to see him here as soon as possible, at the latest tomorrow morning before the second call to prayer."
"As you wish, bey." The clerk bows.
Kamil strides through the door and around the building into the stables. He chooses a fresh horse, waiting impatiently while the groom saddles it. He suddenly remembers the missing kitten. Had Michel lied about the tea they found at the sea hamam? If he knew the kettle had contained datura and that Mary had been killed there, Michel would have had a head start in finding the killer. And perhaps Michel had evidence that Hamza had killed Hannah as well. Why keep the information from him? Weren't they both after the same thing? Weren't they both working for the same people?
When the horse is ready, Kamil mounts and forces himself to ride away at an even pace. As soon as he is out of sight of the gate, he heads his horse north and spurs it to a gallop.
A SURPRISED YAKUP runs onto the front drive and takes the reins of the lathered horse as Kamil jumps down. Kamil wipes the sweat from his face with a dusty hand. Without a word, he charges into the villa and climbs the stairway to the study he made out of his mother's bedroom.
Going to his desk, he unlatches a side drawer and pulls out his father's revolver. He holds the weapon in his hand for a few moments, stroking the polished wood and tracing the grooves on the engraved barrel. The beautiful machinery of conquest and death. He lights a lamp so he can see better, loads the revolver, and fills a leather pouch with extra ammunition. He wraps a holster around his waist, then drops the gun into its sheath and the pouch into his pocket. He takes a deep breath, unsure of what to do next.
Lamp in hand, he walks into his bedroom and dips a cup into the clay jar on his dressing table. He takes a long draught of the cool water, then turns and descends the stairway at a more measured pace. His feet take him through the corridor leading to the back of the house, past the sitting room, to the stained-glass door, dark with moisture, leading to his most prized possessions. As he slips inside, the heavy, fragrant air thrills him, as it always does. A soft green light quickens the glassed-in room. He makes his way along a path between large-leafed palms and bromeliads. He has neglected to change to house slippers, so his boots click on the tiles. He places the lamp carefully atop a small table.
In the middle of the winter garden, shaded by the larger plants, stands a square bench filled with damp pebbles that hold thirty small earthenware pots, filled with slender green arches bursting along their stems or at their tips into a phantasm of colorful shapes. It reminds him of the fireworks celebrating the end of Ramadan. He stops at a large shadowy bloom and lowers his face to the velvety petals, inhaling its perfume, a mixture, he thinks, of vanilla and jasmine. It reminds him of a favorite milk pudding Fatma made for him as a child, and of the place between the Circassian girl's white thighs. The bright blue speculum seems to regard him warily. He resists the urge to draw the tip of his fingers over the black fur of the petals.
Loud voices recall him from his reverie. He turns to find a flustered Fatma at the door.
"Bey, there is a man at the door who insists you want to speak with him. He won't give his name. Yakup is still in the stable, so I answered the door."
"What does he look like?"
"Dressed like a tradesman, but very neat. He doesn't strike me as a tradesman at all. He acts as though he knows you, though. I'm sorry. Shall I ask him his name again?" She looks terrified that he might ask her to. "I told him to wait in the hall."
"Thank you, Fatma. Just leave him there. I'll come right away. Go back to the kitchen and send word to Yakup that he should return to the house."
He can still hear the slapslap of her slippers receding when the door opens and Michel steps through.
"Close the door," Kamil says quickly. "There's a draft."
Michel is the color of sand, from his mustache to his light brown shalwar. His hair is slick with sweat and a cloak is thrown over one arm. He is breathing heavily.
Michel stares directly at Kamil. "I understand you want to see me."
Kamil automatically slides into a new level of alertness.
"I wanted to ask you about Hamza Efendi's execution. Who signed the order?"
Truth and decorum.
"But you did, bey."
"I did no such thing. There was no trial."
"I wondered about that myself. But I was given the order and asked to bring it to the warden so that the sentence could be carried out immediately. It had all the correct seals, even the grand vizier's."
"Who gave it to you?"
Kamil notices the infinitesimal pause before Michel's answer. "It was brought to the police station, I presume by a messenger. My clerk gave it to me. I wasn't sure why you sent it to me first and not directly to the warden, but I thought you must have had your reasons." Michel's eyes have not wavered from Kamil's face.
Can a lying man keep such an expressionless face? Kamil wonders. Michel had brought the document himself to the Beyoglu Court, then to the police station. Perhaps immobility is a sign of the effort required to keep the muscles of his face under control, the ones that would otherwise betray him. Kamil would like to feel outraged by Michel's blatant lies, but against his better judgment wonders whether there is some truth in them. Perhaps someone else composed the execution order and forged the signatures. The grand vizier himself could have ordered it, bypassing lower administrators like himself. There is one way to find out.
"Where is the order now?" he asks Michel. "The signatures will tell us who authorized it. It will not be my handwriting or my seal on the paper."
Michel's expression does not waver. He is not surprised, Kamil thinks. "I gave it to the warden."
Kamil is suddenly certain that the document will never be found. The warden will put it into a file, and that file will disappear. He sighs, his legs and shoulders weary from standing.
"Come," he offers, walking behind the orchid box and indicating two chairs under the leaves of a small palm tree. "Let us sit and discuss this."
"I can't stay."
"You must make the time. I'm still curious about other aspects of the case." He walks over to one of the chairs and sits. Still holding his cloak, Michel moves closer until he is beside the other chair, but remains standing.
Kamil looks up at his associate's immobile face, wondering where is the man he had thought to call a friend. This is his outer shell, but the man scrutinizing him through those liquid brown eyes is a stranger. "How did you come to arrest Hamza?"
"All the indications pointed toward Chamyeri. You said that yourself."
"Yes, but others live at Chamyeri—Ismail Hodja, his niece, their staff. Only Hamza doesn't live there. Yet you chose to arrest him."
"What difference does it make? He confessed to the murders."
"When I spoke with him this morning, he denied it."
"You know the police have more efficient ways to gain the truth than simply asking for it." Michel shows a row of small teeth, half smile, half grimace.
Kamil ponders this. It is true that men's denial breaks readily under duress, but so does their will. He has never believed that a man's word forced from him is evidence. It is merely expedience.
"I'm still curious—how did you know to arrest him in the first place? What made you associate him with Chamyeri and Hannah Simmons, or with Mary Dixon?"
"Shimshek Devora, the driver." Michel shrugs. He has been so still that Kamil is startled by the sudden movement. "We know Shimshek picked up the woman Hannah," Michel continues in the droning voice of a schoolmaster, "and brought her to Chamyeri to meet Hamza. Hannah was found dead at Chamyeri. Who else could it have been? It was Hamza who abducted Ismail Hodja's niece and took her to Shimshek's mother." He shows Kamil his hand. "They're like fingers on the same hand."
"How did you know that was Hamza?"
"Madame Devora, of course."
"She didn't tell me that." Kamil pauses. "And neither did you. I only found out this morning. Ismail Hodja told me, and he himself only learned it recently from his niece. You are the only one who knew this, yet you said nothing."
He stares up at Michel, who has not moved. Kamil sees again the brown spider, absolutely still until startled.
"Is it ambition, Michel? Do you wish credit for solving the case yourself? It's all the same to me." Kamil gestures carelessly with his hand. "But you are a surgeon. Your promotion doesn't depend on solving cases."
"I don't know what you're talking about. I've kept nothing from you."
"How did you know Hamza was at Chamyeri the night you arrested him?"
"Ismail Hodja's house was being watched. Hamza was bound to show up sooner or later."
"Why were you looking for Hamza, when we at the court were singing an entirely different song?" Kamil could not help the bitterness and disappointment bleeding into his voice. "What about the pendant? Hamza has no link with the palace. How do we know there isn't more to this?"
Michel smiles mirthlessly. "It's not my business if the honorable magistrate is out of tune. I do my job."
Kamil feels hot, his heart galloping in his chest. He closes his eyes for a moment, inhales the fragrance of the room, and tries to calm himself.
Michel has come closer. "We're on the same side, Kamil," he says in an intimate voice. "We need stability and security, not this chauvinistic nationalist dream that could turn into a nightmare for the minorities. We're not Muslims and we're not Turks, we're Ottomans. It's a formula that has worked well for the Jews and for everyone else for a long time. People like Hamza want to destabilize the empire and sell it off piece by piece like scrap from a junk dealer's cart. Then, when all that's left are Turks, it'll be a Muslim Turkish empire, with no place for people like us. European nationalism—that crazy idea that every folk with its own language and its own religion deserves its own nation—it's infected the Young Ottomans. Mark my words, before long they'll drop their masks and call themselves what they really are, Young Turks. And where are we to go, I ask you? To a Jewish nation? There is no such thing on earth."
"I understand your concern, Michel, but I am on the side of impartial justice. No matter what Hamza did, he deserved a hearing. Execution without a trial is unjust, even if he was guilty. That betrays our country and its principles as much as the radicals. You of all people—a surgeon, a scientist—you should know that."
Michel shrugs. "Fate can be unjust."
"Fate." Kamil spits the word out. "Listen to you. You took this man's fate in your own hands and crushed it. It was your doing, not the hand of Allah. In any case, Nizam Pasha will not agree," he adds angrily. "He insists on the mechanism of the law, not telling a suspect's fortune."
"You'd be surprised at how open-minded Nizam Pasha can be," Michel responds.
Kamil looks up at him, startled. How far does this conspiracy of injustice extend? he wonders.
"I suppose it shouldn't surprise me that corruption is so resistant to change. I thought by taking part in this new judicial system, we could bring fresh straw into this stable of a city, but the same things go on, the same people"—he looks directly at Michel—"fouling the ground we walk on."
Kamil sees a flash of anger on Michel's face as he turns on his heel, cloak sweeping at the end of his arm. Then he is gone. A loud crash brings Kamil to his feet. The orchid box lies tipped on its side, spilling pebbles over the tiles. Atop the pebbles and shredded bark and soil, a rubble of color. Kamil falls to his knees and searches frantically, finds the black orchid, and lifts it tenderly. Its bloom is unblemished, but its neck is broken.
A harsh sob emerges from his throat as he grabs his revolver and slams through the door, brushing aside Yakup, who has come running at the noise.
"Did you see where he went?" he asks Yakup.
"No, bey. I saw no one. But this message just came from Feride Hanoum." Yakup takes a letter from his sash and hands it to him. "The messenger said to tell you she would like you to come right away."
Kamil breaks the seal and unfolds the letter.
Dear Brother,
Baba has fallen from the balcony. He is not aware of anything, but still lives. The surgeon says he cannot feel pain. That is a blessing, but he may not be with us long. Please come right away.
Your sister Feride
## 42
## The Eunuch
A closed carriage pulls up at the embassy gate. The gatekeeper hurries up the path, followed by a black figure in a bright white robe and large turban.
"A royal coach has come for m'lady," the gatekeeper announces breathlessly.
The Residence guard asks Sybil whether she would like an escort.
"I think not. Thank you. I'm sure the palace has taken care of that." She relishes visiting Stamboul homes without fanfare and a trail of armed embassy guards—a precious relic of normalcy, simply a lady invited to tea.
The eunuch bows very low, touching his palm to his forehead and chest, then waits impassively to escort Sybil to the carriage. She has not veiled, but the eunuch seems not to notice. It is not the same self-confident, broad-shouldered eunuch that had accompanied Asma Sultan before. This man is tall and wiry, with a lined face the color of smoke and long, powerful hands. He does not speak or look at her, although Sybil has the feeling it is not out of respect, but aversion.
Servants and guards cluster at the doors and windows, whispering. Most have never seen a black eunuch except at a distance, when on horseback, escorting the carriages of royal ladies.
Sybil follows the eunuch to a carriage elaborately decorated with painted flowers. It is not the usual bulky conveyance that seats four or five harem ladies at once, but a sleek, smaller model designed for speed. The eunuch helps her up the steps, his hand black against her sleeve. When she has settled among the velvet cushions, he pulls a sheer curtain across the windows so she can look out without anyone seeing in and barks a command at the driver. He mounts a white stallion, its saddle embroidered with thread of gold and studded with rubies and emeralds. A long curved sword is cradled in his arm. She notes with surprise that there is no retinue, but supposes the armed eunuch is sufficient for an informal outing.
The carriage winds down the hill, then turns north on the shore road, picking up speed. Before long, they pass the entrance to Dolmabahche Palace. After that, the road winds inland through forested areas and then skirts villages built around inlets and coves. The closed carriage is hot and increasingly uncomfortable as the sun rises in the sky. The road has become a track and Sybil is jarred back and forth. She has forgotten the tedium of the trip to the summer villas. It has been many years since she last accompanied her mother to the British residence at Tarabya, although they had gone more comfortably by boat. She wishes she could fling back the curtain. The sheer cloth provides a narrow, blurred vantage on the landscape racing by and blocks the air. The velvet cushions stick to her sweat-drenched back.
She begins to worry that it was a mistake to accept this invitation. She will be able to stay only a short while in order to be back in time for tonight's dinner. Even if Kamil were not coming, she would still have to return in time to eat with her father. It has become their ritual to eat together. He becomes agitated when rituals are not carried out. Perhaps Kamil is right that I am too precipitous, she thinks, then chides herself for her lack of spirit. Maitlin, she concludes, would have done this without cudgeling herself with self-doubt.
Three long hours later, the carriage turns off the road. Sybil peeks out between the curtains and sees a white villa, a fairy-tale house of pitched roofs, lacelike trim, ornate turrets, balconies, and patios. The eunuch draws back the curtains and unlatches the door. She ignores his hand and climbs out of the carriage clumsily, her legs stiff from immobility. The eunuch moves to the end of the drive and waits. Sybil doesn't follow right away, but instead stands with eyes closed, breathing the scent of pine and sea and sun-warmed wood. She realizes that she feels happy and optimistic about life when she leaves the Residence grounds. She thinks how lovely it would be to live in such a house, a smaller one, of course, but overlooking the water, with Kamil. He had said his house was set in a garden by the Bosphorus, had he not?
Cheered by this thought, she looks around for a servant. She has brought a gift of realistic-looking wax flowers under glass, the latest fashion in England. The grounds appear deserted. Sybil points to the large box in the carriage. The eunuch picks it up and she follows him into the house. Behind her, the traces jangle as the driver turns the carriage.
## 43
## The End of Dreams
Kamil strokes his father's motionless hand. He seems unhurt, the wound on his head hidden by the pillow, his broken limbs under the comforter. The comforter moves up and down slowly, irregularly, with the old man's breath. His face is puffy, eyes closed.
"He looks like he's sleeping," Feride says in a voice hoarse from weeping. "As if he'll wake up at any moment."
"You said the maid saw him climb over the railing?" Kamil is empty of all emotion, but he is aware that this is a temporary state, a putting off of the final reckoning.
"She said he was smiling and reaching out to someone. Maybe he thought he was going to Mama?"
"Yes, perhaps that's where he went."
"They'll be together soon. That's what he wanted more than anything else." Feride bows her head over her father's chest. "Baba." She stiffens. "Baba?"
The comforter is unnaturally still. The pasha's features have been sharpened by death, but the faint imprint of a smile remains, a footprint on the farthest shore of a man's life.
Feride begins to wail.
Kamil is silent, the storm still building in his chest. He puts his arm around Feride and holds her.
"Oh, what have we done?" she cries out. The question pierces Kamil and he begins to shake.
"Don't, my dear sister. There is no blame. We only wanted to help him live again."
"We've killed him," she wails. "We wanted him to be there for us, to be a normal family again. It was selfish of us. We should have allowed him his dreams."
"Yes," Kamil concedes sadly. "People should be allowed their dreams."
AN HOUR LATER, Kamil is galloping around the steep curves winding up the wooded hill to Robert College. Great oaks and sycamores obscure the sky and cast a green pall over the road as if it were underwater.
At the parade ground at the top of the hill, he flags down a young man and asks where the teachers live. He spurs his horse and, before long, is pounding on the door of a Victorian clapboard house set at the edge of the forest.
When Bernie answers the door, it takes Kamil a moment to recognize him. He is wearing glasses.
"Why, hello, there," he says, taking off his glasses. His hair is uncombed and he is wearing an old shirt and trousers with sagging knees. "You're not seeing me at my best, but do come in."
Kamil pushes past him. In the sparsely furnished living room, he turns and says, "What do you know about Michel Sevy? You know him, don't you? You recognized his name this afternoon."
"What's gotten into you?" Then, looking more closely at Kamil in the lamplight, Bernie sits on the sofa arm and asks, "What's happened?"
"They've executed Hamza." He doesn't mention his father. The memory is too raw to touch.
"What? But you haven't even held a trial yet."
"I know. It was done without my knowledge. By Michel Sevy."
"Damnation." Bernie looks up at Kamil, who is still standing in the middle of the room, hands on his waist. He takes a deep breath. "Kamil, my friend, sit down and let me get you something to drink."
"I don't want..." Kamil is still shaking with rage and with regret.
Bernie gets up and waves his hand. "Just sit. I'll tell you everything you need to know. But first you have to calm down."
When Bernie returns with two tumblers of scotch, Kamil seems calmer, but his nerves have simply welded into an iron resolve. He takes the glass from Bernie, but doesn't drink. He puts it on the table too hard, liquid spilling onto some papers lying there. Bernie rushes over and dabs at the papers with a handkerchief.
"My new book." He smiles sheepishly. Then, catching Kamil's intensely focused gaze, he turns a chair around and sits.
"Michel is a police surgeon?"
"Yes, you know that," Kamil snaps. He stands and moves toward Bernie. "Either you tell me who he is or I'll shake it out of you."
"Hey, hey, my friend. No need for violence. It's too late now, anyway, for poor Hamza."
"You knew him too?"
"Yes. Look, can I trust you not to pass this on to your superiors?"
"No." Kamil is still standing, one hand flipping his chain of beads back and forth in a steady rhythm. He is breathing heavily.
"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. What on earth has happened to get you all in a lather like this?" He holds out a cigarette.
Kamil shakes his head impatiently.
Bernie sighs. "You'll need more than a cigarette to digest this news. Why don't you take a swig of your scotch?"
"Just talk."
"All right, then. But in the name of friendship—we are still friends, right?—I beg you to keep this just between us."
"I'd like to hear it first." He doesn't deny, nor does he acknowledge, the friendship. At this moment, it is irrelevant.
Bernie crosses his legs, then uncrosses them and leans forward, the scotch glass forgotten in his hand.
"All right. I do hope you have enough sense, after hearing this, to keep it to yourself. Eight years ago, Hamza was part of a group trying to engineer a coup against the sultan with British help. The sultan had just disbanded the parliament, so there were a lot of angry reformists, even in his own nest. Prince Ziya was one of them. He put the Brits in touch with someone in the palace. Hannah was the go-between, with Hamza receiving the information outside the palace and passing it on."
"How do you know all this?"
Bernie does not answer right away. He gets up and paces the room as if looking for a way out, drawing deeply on his cigarette. His other hand still holds the glass of scotch. Finally, he stops before Kamil and gives him a long look.
"You're my friend, Kamil. I don't want you any deeper in this shit. You're already up to your shirt collar in it."
"Are you involved in this?" Kamil asks sadly.
"Well, not precisely."
Bernie and Kamil stand tensely facing one another. Kamil's beads flip back and forth in a staccato.
"I need your assurance that this stays between us."
Kamil meets his eye. "I cannot give you such assurance."
Bernie sits suddenly on the chair. "Oh, what the hell," he mutters angrily. "I'm sick and tired of this skulking around. For what? So more people can get killed? I was shanghaied into this and I'm damned ready to get out."
"Into what?"
Bernie squints up at Kamil and says, "British Foreign Service."
"What? You? You're American."
"Good disguise, eh? Well, yes, I am American, but one of my relatives in England is in the Foreign Ministry—Sybil's brother-in-law, actually. They thought I would be less obvious. Who'd suspect an American of anything more than rudeness and bad taste?"
Kamil doesn't smile, but pulls over a chair and sits. "Go on." The puzzle of the case is calming him, as if each piece he puts together redeems a piece of his shattered life.
"Hamza was having an affair with Hannah. Our correspondent in the palace had the pendant made and Hamza gave it to Hannah as a gift. If someone inside wanted to communicate with him, they'd wait until she took it off, put a note in it, and she'd carry it out when she met Hamza. It was cleverly designed. You needed a key, but the lock was invisible unless you knew it was there. She probably didn't even know it could be opened. We used it to schedule our operation."
"And the Chinese—that was your contribution?"
"No. Our contact inside the palace came up with it. He has some kind of interest in China and copied out the characters, although not perfectly. It's why they called me in on this. I can read the characters. I puzzled over why that particular poem, but I can't figure it out, other than the possible connection to the revolutionary, Kung. It probably has a personal meaning to whoever sent it from the palace."
"Who is it?"
"We never found out. Even Hamza didn't know. The messages went in through the harem, but we don't know who sent them out. We've always assumed it was Ali Arslan Pasha, the current grand vizier. The top women in that part of the harem where Hannah worked were related to him.
"So you used Hannah."
"Yes, although we never thought any harm would come to her."
"What Hamza did was harmful."
"You mean, sleep with her or whatever they did in that pavilion? That was his business. Anyway, he was a free man. We had no say about what he did or didn't do."
"Did he kill her?"
"I don't see it," Bernie says thoughtfully. "There was no reason to. He seemed like a pretty good guy. I think he genuinely cared for Hannah. I'm not sure what motivated him, whether it was patriotism or something else. He did seem to honestly believe in modernizing the empire, but there was a real bitterness about it, like there was something personal in it for him, so I just don't know." Bernie throws up his hands. "Anyway, around that time everything went to the dogs."
"What do you mean?"
"Someone was on to us and spilled the beans. The secret police moved in. They got Prince Ziya. Killed him in Paris. I guess to warn off anyone else thinking of bucking the sultan. Then Hannah turned up dead. We never figured out how they found out about Hannah—who ratted. Anyway, I got out fast, so did Hamza. He had a driver, that Shimshek Devora, who must have known about all this too, but someone finally found him and shut him up for good. We always assumed the secret police were responsible for Hannah's death. I guess probably Mary's too—then framed Hamza for it. That would be typical. Two birds with one stone. Hamza comes back from exile years later and—boom—they use Mary to bait their trap. The secret police have long memories. They keep files on everything. Your government must have warehouses full of secret reports. Maybe that's why they have to keep building new palaces. They get pushed out by all that accumulated paper."
"What does any of this have to do with Michel?"
"Remember that night we went out on the town and that dog almost had me for dinner? That animal belonged to your associate Michel Sevy."
"How do you know that?"
"I saw him duck down an alley after I shot the dog. I recognized him. I have to admit, I was pretty surprised when you told me the name of your associate. I paid his office a little visit and, sure enough, it was the same guy on our tail eight years ago. Michel Sevy. The Chameleon, we called him. He didn't even bother to change his name.
He doesn't work for you or for the police. He's one of the sultan's own. I reckon he didn't like me snooping around."
"That's outlandish. Michel in the secret police?"
"Why not? Did you have anything to lead you to Hamza until Michel laid it all in your lap?"
"No. Most of the clues led in other directions."
"I remember you had a gut feeling that something wasn't right. Ask him yourself how he knew about Hamza."
"I did. He said he was having Hamza watched. He withheld evidence from me. But he didn't explain why."
"So now you know. Whether or not Hamza killed those women, he was going to hang for it because it let the secret police nail him as a traitor. I don't know why they didn't just shoot him on a dark night and get it over with the minute he stepped back in the country. Although that would have killed any chance they had of finding out who his contact in the palace was."
Kamil jumps up from his chair, fists clenched, knocking his glass to the floor. "We're a civilized country, Bernie," he shouts. "We have a judicial system. We don't just gun down people in the street like in America."
Bernie laughs. "That's what you'd like to believe, my friend. It's very unlike you to disregard all the evidence." He flings away the stub of his cigarette, which has burned out between his fingers. "Just listen to yourself. Like a preacher with a rod stuck up his ass."
Kamil takes a step in his direction. "How dare you!"
"Hey, hey, now. Whoah." Bernie stands up and backs away, hands held defensively before him. "What the hell is the matter with you today?"
Kamil's face twists grotesquely with the effort to contain his emotions. He is weeping, he knows—he can feel the wetness on his cheeks—but is powerless to stop.
Bernie seems stunned. "Kamil, old buddy. Calm down now. Obviously I don't have the whole story. Something's happened. Now, why don't you sit down over there?" He points at the sofa. Kamil doesn't move. "I'll be right back." He edges carefully toward the door.
Kamil can hear the creak of a cabinet opening, then the muffled clank and splash of a metal scoop descending into a clay jar of drinking water. Bernie returns a moment later, carrying a glass of water. Kamil is sitting on the edge of the sofa, head in his hands.
Bernie pushes the glass within reach on the side table and pulls a chair over to sit in front of Kamil. He waits quietly until Kamil raises his head, then hands him the water.
"Sybil told me you like a drink of water to calm the jitters," he admits bashfully.
Kamil takes a sip, then another. He sits back and closes his eyes for a few moments. When his breathing is back to normal, he asks Bernie for a cigarette. They sit for a while in silence, smoking. Bernie sips at his scotch.
Kamil is the first to speak. He wants to tell Bernie about his father, but doesn't.
"If Hamza didn't kill those women, who did?" His voice retains a small tremor, but he feels himself gaining strength. He will tell Bernie about his father later, when he has command over himself again.
"Michel is a foot soldier. It could have been him or someone like him. They found out about Hannah, so she was a target. Maybe they thought she could tell them who the traitor in the palace was. That's what they're really after. The shark in the sultan's pool. But she didn't know, so she had nothing to tell them. None of us knew." He looks away. "I hope she didn't suffer too much. She was a nice girl." A sip of scotch. "They probably would have killed her anyway."
"The silken cord. It was a warning to the plotters."
"What's that?"
"She was strangled with a silken cord, the traditional method of executing members of the royal family."
"I thought she drowned."
"She was strangled first."
Bernie wants to ask more, but decides he would rather live with a question than an answer. They sit together in silence, each weighing the burden of his own thoughts.
"What about Mary Dixon?" Kamil asks finally. "Why would the secret police want to kill her? Was she part of this?"
Bernie stands and walks to the window. His back to Kamil, he says thoughtfully, "That's the rub. There's something going on, but as far as I know Mary had nothing to do with any of it. I almost swallowed my tongue when you showed me the necklace she was wearing."
"What is going on?" Kamil asks carefully, bracing himself for an answer he is sure he doesn't want to hear.
Bernie turns to face Kamil. His expression is obscured by shadow but his hair, caught by the light, coils like hot wires around his head. He runs his hand through it, then goes to the sideboard, opens a fresh bottle, and pours himself another scotch. He holds the bottle out to Kamil, who shakes his head no.
"You remember that Chiraghan Affair a few years back—another attempt by the Young Ottomans to replace Abdulhamid with his brother Murad. The sultan's been walling himself up ever since. I understand he might be a bit sore after the Brits occupied Egypt, but that was four years ago, water under the bridge. No reason for him to turn his back on us and start hobnobbing with the Germans. That's never a good idea. And he's threatening to head up some kind of international Islamic movement. Those are dangerous games. We've got to stick together. What with Russia tearing up the countries around it like a hungry bear, we're just a little concerned that the Ottomans don't become their next meal. They've already taken a few good bites."
"I'm aware of the situation," Kamil says dryly. "What does this have to do with Mary Dixon?"
Bernie waves his scotch at him. "No offense meant. I'm just setting the stage, so to speak." He takes a long sip. "Well, as I said, we don't like the direction this sultan is taking. We need your empire stable to keep the Russians in check in Europe. That's better achieved under British protection, not by getting in bed with the Germans and with radical Islamic movements. The opposition, the Young Ottomans, were pretty well crushed after the Chiraghan Affair. But last year, we had a new communication from someone inside the palace, a letter posted in Paris and addressed to a safe house in London. It contained the same two characters for brush and bowstring. It proposed our assistance in a coup in exchange for British control over Syria. We provide a little money, a little muscle—and in return strengthen our own position in the region—well, that sounds like a mighty good bargain."
"The lion keeps the bear at bay so it can tear the haunches off its prey without being disturbed," Kamil comments sourly.
Bernie sips at his scotch and smiles indulgently at Kamil. "Kamil, my friend. This is politics, not philosophy. How do you think your empire got as fat as it is? By stealing food from the tables of other empires." He shrugs. "Besides, your grip on that province is pretty tenuous these days anyway. It's only a matter of time. Better to cut your losses now and let the Brits deal with it. They have plenty of experience wrangling territories that are trying to throw their riders."
Kamil glares at him. "Go on."
"Anyway, I came here to investigate—to make sure it was serious. This time we decided to cut out any middlemen, like Prince Ziya. Hamza was already back, but since the police knew about him, he kept his role in this quiet."
"What was his role?"
"To try to make a connection with the person in the palace. I had no idea he was using Mary, or the pendant again. We thought the pendant was lost until you found it on Mary's body.
Kamil is aghast. "An innocent young woman loses her life in this crazy scheme the last time and so you try it again, with the same degenerate accomplice? Mary had no idea, did she?"
"Probably not, assuming that's what happened. And I can't think of any other reason Mary would be wearing that pendant. I agree with you about Hamza. He plays his role too well. Played. The poor bastard." He looks for a long moment into his glass, then meets Kamil's eye. "This is not a pretty profession, magistrate bey. And to tell you the truth, I'm sick of it. This is my last assignment. I just want to go back to writing my book."
"So you really are a scholar."
Bernie looks offended. "Of course."
"Who else here knows about this?"
"No one, other than me, Hamza, and the person pulling strings in the palace. We kept the circle small." He takes a sip of scotch. "And now the secret police, God bless them. But for the life of me, I can't figure out how they would know about this latest communication. It's too early in the game. In fact, there is no game. We never received any messages after that first contact."
"What about Shimshek Devora?"
"Hamza's driver? I can see Hamza tying up loose ends. He's meticulous when it comes to self-preservation." He shakes his head slowly. "Still, he's known this Shimshek for years. Hard to fathom that he would kill a friend. He was pretty broken up about Hannah. Still, if the executioner's blade is aiming for your head, you'd probably shift whoever you had to, to get out of the way."
"And the pendant?"
"I'm still wondering how Mary got hold of it. Maybe Hamza took it back when Hannah was killed—I guess that makes him look pretty suspicious—and later gave it to Mary to wear into the harem, thinking someone would see it and put a message in it like before. Baiting the hook. But I still have a hard time believing he would murder the women."
He splashes scotch into a glass and hands it to Kamil, who takes it this time.
"I wonder who has such free access to the harem," Bernie continues. "Maybe one of the eunuchs. He could come and go, take the message to whoever it is outside the harem that's orchestrating this whole shebang. We just don't know."
Kamil tilts his glass and watches the golden liquid swirl, then takes a sip. "Whoever reported on Hannah could still be there, see the new pendant on Mary, and report it again."
"A snitch in the harem. Maybe," Bernie replies, rolling the word around his mouth. "But why? It would put that person in danger from the people behind the plot. I'd be surprised if whoever snitched the first time would still be hanging around the same harem, alive. I'd bet the snitch didn't know the whole story. You sell out a couple of people, but you don't realize they're just the small fry. There's a big hammer behind them just waiting to come down on you. Whoever knows about the plot—and the pendant—would be a target."
Kamil jumps to his feet. "May Allah protect her. Sybil Hanoum! She told the women about the pendant."
Bernie swings around and stares at Kamil. "What women?"
"She visited Prince Ziya's fiancée, Shukriye Hanoum."
"My God, I thought she was dead."
"She married someone in Erzurum. But she's back in the city, so Sybil Hanoum went to see her. Sybil Hanoum told the women there that both Hannah and Mary had the same pendant with a tughra inside. She probably also told them about the poem. Shukriye Hanoum apparently thinks she was punished because the sultan wrongly thought Prince Ziya was part of a plot to overthrow him." He looks at Bernie. "Maybe no one made the connection," he adds hopefully.
"Who else was there?"
"Shukriye's sister, Leyla, Ali Aslan Pasha's wife Asma Sultan, and her daughter Perihan."
Bernie closes his eyes. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph."
## 44
## The Past Is the Vessel of the Future
Sybil and the eunuch pass noiselessly through enormous, high-ceilinged rooms, past vases taller than a man and table-tops of semiprecious stone balanced on elegant pedestals. Every surface is crammed with vases and statues. The room's contents are multiplied in enormous mirrors in gilded frames that line the walls. Sybil stops to admire a life-sized dog in translucent jade. She does not see the tiny figure, a statue come to life among the multitude, approaching her in the mirror.
Asma Sultan wears an unadorned brown gown with a simple veil of silk gauze draped over her head, a wren in a peacock house. She leads Sybil by the hand to a patio paved in intricately patterned colored tiles and overlooking the Bosphorus. There, behind a windbreak, waits a table laid with sweets and savories and a silver platter of fruit. The thin eunuch stands next to a brazier ready to brew coffee. Sybil wonders where the other servants are. She has seen no one else.
"Forgive my informality, Sybil Hanoum. As you see, this is more a picnic than a proper meal. I hope you don't mind. I am honored by your visit, but at my age, I prefer good company unadorned by the usual pomp and frippery."
Sybil is startled at Asma Sultan's command of English. They had spoken Turkish at previous meetings, so she had assumed Asma Sultan didn't know English.
"Thank you, Your Highness. I much prefer that myself."
"So I have heard."
Sybil straightens her skirt and tries to remember the correct manners. She remembers that it is rude to look someone directly in the eye. In the harem, women usually are seated next to one another, but here she is face to face with her hostess. She compromises by looking at a spot above Asma Sultan's left shoulder.
"Your English is flawless, Your Highness. Where did you learn it?"
"From my mother, a rare woman. She had a dazzling mind, a rage for life. She surrounded herself with the best art and literature from around the globe, in French, English, Persian, even Chinese. Particularly those designed or created by women. My mother herself was Russian, you know. She grew up in Paris and traveled a great deal before she was captured from a ship and sold to the harem. Once here, though, she made good use of the power and wealth that comes to a woman in the sultan's household, especially if she captures his eye."
"These artists were all women?" Sybil asks curiously.
"Some were wealthy women, like my mother, who commissioned art, and even played a role in designing it. But there are such creatures, you know, women artists and scholars. They are less well known because, sadly, only the men find patrons. My mother was a great patron. I profited from growing up surrounded by such a wealth of foreign culture and knowledge. In a sense, I was the ultimate project completed under her patronage. Few can appreciate that in a woman," she adds, with an undertone of bitterness. "Perhaps as an amusement when one is newly wed, but one that does not wear well. What use has one for such novelties in a harem, eh? Better to excel in needlework than foreign languages. That has been my daughter's approach, though I cannot say it has helped her."
Sybil does not know what to say and looks at her hands.
"As I said to you last week, my daughter had different expectations. She foolishly fell in love with her cousin Ziya. I was fond of my nephew and pushed for the match, but my husband gave her to a family with which he wanted an alliance. Where would politics be without brides, Sybil Hanoum? Empires would grind to a halt and begin to crumble. Perihan is unhappy, but uncomplaining. I point out to her that she escaped the fate of Shukriye, married off to the provinces." She smiles fondly. "And she spends as much time as possible with her dear mother."
"I think it shows a generous spirit that Perihan is so close to Leyla and Shukriye."
"Yes, she keeps an eye on them."
Sybil feels uncomfortable discussing Perihan's personal life in such detail when she isn't present. She is ashamed for Perihan.
To change the subject, she says, "You must have had a lovely childhood." She plucks a pastry filled with minced lamb from a serving plate and takes a bite.
"I suppose I did, but it was a childhood in a hundred rooms. I was never allowed to go out into the world and see it for myself. Still, I feel I have my hand on the pulse of the world, even here. My mother gave that to me." Asma Sultan silently regards the opposite shore as if seeking something there. "I remember the exact day she died, February 15, 1878, in the Old Palace. The Russian army was just outside the city. I could see the smoke of their campfires." She smiles. "I couldn't help but wonder if their generals were our relations. It's almost as if they were signaling to Mother, telling her to hold on, that they were almost there."
Sybil shifts uncomfortably in her seat. A breeze has begun to blow and she is feeling chilled.
"But they were too late." Asma Sultan turns back to Sybil. "She fell from the window of a small observation tower above the harem where she often went to get away from the other women. She told me once that from there she imagined she could see Paris and Saint Petersburg. They said it was an accident, but I never believed it." Her voice is bitter. "She would never have leaned out that window. She was afraid of heights."
"How awful," Sybil exclaims, shivering with cold and an unnamed anxiety. "Who would have done something like that?"
"She was Russian, Sybil Hanoum. The enemy was at the gates of the city. Perhaps they listened in on her silent communion with her uncles. I'm sure Sultan Abdulhamid feared her. He destroyed her like he destroyed my father."
Asma Sultan suddenly scrapes her chair back and stands. She leads the way to a plush divan on a sheltered portion of the terrace.
"Let us sit over here. It's more comfortable. Tell me about your life, Sybil Hanoum," she says lightly, as if nothing of consequence has been revealed.
Sybil sinks gratefully onto the soft pillows and wraps her shawl around her shoulders.
"I've hardly been anywhere. I came here when I was young. I have memories of the Essex countryside, a very brief stay in London, and then Stamboul. Which is lovely," she adds hastily.
"Ah, then you have traveled much farther than I, my dear. Tell me about Essex. You spoke of it the other day, but we were interrupted."
AS THEY REMINISCE, the sun edges closer to the wooded hills. The eunuch serves coffee.
When Sybil has finished sipping from the tiny cobalt blue cup, Asma Sultan reaches for it and turns it upside down on its saucer. She smiles slyly.
"I can tell your fortune."
"Your Highness has unexpected talents," Sybil laughs. She feels reckless, but also lulled by the jewellike fruit on her plate, the flashing expanse of water at her feet, the precious memory already framing itself in her mind of dining with royalty in the most beautiful spot in the world.
Asma Sultan tests the bottom of the cup several times with her slender finger. When she judges it to have sufficiently cooled, she picks the cup up and peers into it intently. After a few moments, she tilts it slightly to show Sybil.
"See? There is your past and here is your future." She points to clots and filigrees of rich brown that coat the sides of the cup, coffee ground as fine as powder.
"Can you read me my future, Your Highness?" Kamil must be there, she thinks with the guilty hope that her desire be revealed as fact.
"Of course, my dear, of course." Asma Sultan scrutinizes the inside of the cup, turning it this way and that until Sybil fears she can no longer bear to wait.
Finally, Asma Sultan says, "The past is the vessel of the future. Let me try to understand the shape of the vessel first."
"Yes, of course," Sybil responds, disappointed.
"A man, an old man who has known you all your life. Here he is." She points to a long streak extending from the dregs to the rim of the cup.
"That must be my father."
"There is also a woman here, a mother, your mother, I think. You were very close to her."
"Yes. Yes."
"Here she disappears from your life." Pointing into the cup, she looks up. "I'm sorry for your bereavement."
"Thank you, Your Highness." Gulls argue hoarsely high above. "She's been gone some years now."
"And here are other women of the same age as you."
"One must be my sister, Maitlin. I don't know the others. Who might they be?"
Asma Sultan twists the cup and holds it close to her eye. "They are English. I see this by their dresses."
"Goodness," Sybil exclaims. "You can see that much detail?"
Fixing her black eyes on Sybil. "Oh, yes, my daughter, I can see."
"Two Englishwomen? In my past? My aunt, perhaps."
"Recent past. The cup is deep with time and I am moving up toward the future."
"Then perhaps someone at the embassy."
"Is there a woman important to you? A simple employee wouldn't appear in your cup."
Sybil thinks. "Really, I can think of no one who is English. I have a close acquaintance, but she is Italian."
"No." The slight tone of impatience in Asma Sultan's voice is immediately submerged by resignation.
"Ah, my foolish girl. You do not see your life as clearly as the eye of this cup does."
Stung, Sybil prompts, "Perhaps I'll have better success with my future."
"No, no, we cannot go on until the past has been fully explored. These women, look here, their signs end. Perhaps they returned to England?"
"Good heavens. It must be the two governesses. They have played quite a prominent role in my life of late."
"Governesses?"
"Hannah Simmons and Mary Dixon. The governesses who were killed. We spoke of them the other day at Shukriye Hanoum's."
"Of course. But why are they in the vessel of your past? You must have known them well, that they should play such a big role in your life?"
"No, I didn't know Hannah at all and I met Mary only a few times. We barely spoke. I suppose they appear in the cup because of their murders. I've been helping with the inquiry." Sybil couldn't quite hide the pride in her voice.
"I see." Asma Sultan's eyes slide closed for a moment. "Please continue."
"Well." She hesitates. "It seems the two deaths might be linked."
"Linked? How?"
"Of course, to start with, both were employed by the palace. And they were found in the same area."
"Where was that?"
"One at Chamyeri and one at Middle Village."
"Those are some distance apart."
"Mary's clothes were found at Chamyeri."
"I see. But all this might have been coincidence. Were there any other links?"
Sybil hesitates again, remembering Kamil's warning, but decides that the horse has bolted from the stable. She had already spoken of this at Leyla's. "They both had the same necklace."
"Why would that be of significance? Perhaps they frequented the same jeweler."
"But it had a tughra and a Chinese inscription."
"What did the inscription say?"
"Oh, I'm sorry, Your Highness. I can't remember." Sybil is flustered. "Something about a bowstring."
There is a pause before Asma Sultan asks, "That is unusual, but what would it have to do with their deaths?"
"It's not as trivial as it seems. It's possible that it's a secret code for some kind of plot against the sultan." She tries to be matter-of-fact, but excitement and pride color her voice.
Asma Sultan smiles thinly. "That is indeed important. So, these are the two women shaping your future."
"Oh, I wouldn't say that, Your Highness. I'm just helping, nothing more."
"Who else shares your theory of a plot centered on that necklace?"
"It's Kamil Pasha's idea, not mine."
"Who is this Kamil Pasha?"
"Magistrate of Beyoglu Lower Court, Your Highness."
"Ah, Alp Pasha's son."
"Do you know him?" Sybil asks, unable to keep the excitement from her voice.
Bemused, Asma Sultan responds, "I knew his mother. You are fond of the magistrate?"
"Why, no." Blushing. "I mean, I think he's a splendid investigator. If anyone can discover the truth of the matter, he can."
"I see. And who does he think is behind this plot—or is it plots? Has he had anyone arrested yet?"
"I don't think he knows yet. I suppose Hannah and Mary couldn't be involved in the same plot, since there are so many years between them. But it is odd that they both had that necklace, isn't it?"
"Forgive me. It all sounds rather fanciful."
"Yes, when I tell it to you like this, it does rather." Sybil smiles wanly.
Asma Sultan's intent questioning has made her uncomfortably aware that she has broken her promise to Kamil. She has lost any desire to hear her future foretold. The shadow of the villa has fallen over the patio, and her shawl is no longer sufficient to warm her. Sybil considers the long shadows and becomes concerned about the time. She is suddenly anxious to get away.
"Your Highness, it has been a great pleasure to speak with you and I treasure your hospitality, but I must beg leave to return home or I'll be late to dinner. Father doesn't like me to be late."
"Of course, of course. I'm glad to see you are a dutiful daughter. Fathers—they do expect so much of one. And you are expecting the magistrate to dinner tonight, aren't you?"
"How did you know?" Sybil is flustered.
"You mentioned it the other day at Leyla's."
"Oh, of course." Sybil beams and rises to her feet. "It was such a pleasant afternoon. Thank you very much."
"Oh, before you go, my dear, I'd like you to see something. Come, come over here."
Sybil follows Asma Sultan to an area of the patio screened by a stone lattice.
"I am going to show you something quite special. Not many people know about this. One of my mother's protégés was an architect. She designed this especially for her. Arif Agha, go and steady Sybil Hanoum."
The eunuch appears beside Sybil, takes her arm in his long, steel fingers, and looks expectantly at Asma Sultan. Sybil is uncomfortable and wants to leave, but the eunuch holds her arm tightly. When she pulls at her arm, his grip tightens.
"Don't be alarmed," the old woman says gently. Her hand glides over the carved stone and stops over a protrusion. "You see this lever here. When you pull it, an extraordinary thing happens."
She pulls the lever and the part of the floor on which Sybil and the eunuch are standing begins to move downward with a low grinding noise. The eunuch lets go of Sybil's arm. She runs to the edge and tries to catch onto the receding tiles.
"Isn't this marvelous? This is a device that allows the women of the harem to fish and dabble in the sea without ever being seen by anyone outside."
Sybil claws at the tiles, but can't lift herself out. Soon the patio is far above her. She can see Asma Sultan's head silhouetted against the sky. She is still explaining.
"You can swim in complete privacy. My mother spent time here, fishing. Remarkable, isn't it? She said it reminded her of her girlhood, when she was free. After my father died, she was sent with his other women to live at the Old Palace. She never left there again. She told me she missed this spot most of all."
"Please let me up, Your Highness. I would love to hear more about your mother. She sounds like a fascinating woman. Your Highness?" Sybil's voice sounds hollow, reflecting from the cavernous walls.
"The seawater comes in through the grate behind you. You're perfectly safe. No one can see you."
"Please let me up now. My father will be worried. They'll call out the guard if I don't appear for dinner."
Asma Sultan steps closer to the edge of the patio high above. "Arif Agha," she calls down. "Another Frankish woman, Arif Agha. You're not deaf. You heard her. She has the ear—and perhaps something else—of the magistrate." She wheezes a laugh. "Haven't you had enough? Your fate is tied to mine. That's the way things are. You know what you have to do." She pauses, peering down into the shadows, then continues in a wheedling voice. "Some things can't be restored, Arif Agha, but others can." Her voice turns hard again. "And there is much to lose."
The eunuch listens spellbound, head tilted toward the sky, open-mouthed. Sybil thinks she hears him groaning. When she looks up again, the opening contains only sky.
Asma Sultan's disembodied voice floats down. "The past is the vessel of the future, Sybil Hanoum. Just as I said."
"I don't understand. Why are you doing this?" Sybil yells.
There is no answer except the seawater sloshing through the ornate ironwork grill set into one end of the room. Sybil looks around at the high arched ceiling of the underground space. It is painted to resemble the sky, one side light blue with clouds, the other fading to night, decorated with tiny stars and a sickle moon. She can dimly see that the platform on which she and the eunuch stand is an island about fifteen feet square and rests just above the water.
The eunuch is pacing back and forth, his eyes never leaving the square of sky high above them.
Sybil turns and asks him in Turkish, "What is happening here? Isn't she coming back?"
The eunuch stops; his gleaming eyes fix on Sybil. They hear the sound of oars splashing just beyond the iron grill, then receding.
"Do you know a way out of here? There must be a way up. I can't believe the sultanas would let themselves be trapped down here at someone else's mercy."
She speaks to the eunuch in Turkish to keep her spirits up, even though he hasn't said a word.
"I'm sure someone will come and get us. The embassy staff knows where I went." Even as she says it, she is unsure whether she told the staff her exact destination. They might think I've gone to the palace, she thinks. But surely they would find Asma Sultan and ask about me.
A sudden realization chills Sybil: Asma Sultan could say she hasn't seen me; that it was a mistake on my part; that I must have been invited by someone else. There's no proof that Asma Sultan invited me. It was a verbal message delivered by a servant. But I was picked up by Asma Sultan's eunuch. Everyone saw him. He will have identified himself at the embassy gate.
The eunuch looks up at the sky, his body tense, listening. Sybil kneels and looks over the edge of the platform. The water isn't very deep. The underground walls are lined with marble reliefs of trees and flowers mottled with peeling paint. A small rowboat bumps against one far wall. She looks anxiously around for a way up or another lever, but sees only a marble stairway resting against the platform and leading down into the water. So that the women can swim, she thinks.
She paces about the platform, then sits at one end, trying to make conversation with the stubbornly silent eunuch. Above her, the square of sky slowly becomes streaked with pink, then blends more and more with the darker half of the ceiling.
Sybil is cold and her legs are stiff. Tired of inactivity, she bunches her skirts and folds them over her arm, stepping carefully onto the slick marble stair. When she has descended so that the water reaches her chest, her feet encounter the paved surface of the floor. Her skirts are drenched and heavy. She looks around at the eunuch, who hasn't moved, then climbs partway up again, removes her skirts, and heaves them onto the platform. This time, there is less resistance as she pushes her way through the water to the boat. She can't swim, so she is wary of a change in depth and pushes each foot forward carefully, but the floor is even and she reaches the boat without difficulty. Inside are the remains of a velvet carpet, silk cushions, and two oars. A brass lamp hangs from the carved prow. She pulls the boat back to the platform to examine it. She is shaking with cold. The eunuch squats and stares at her wordlessly.
"Well, we've found a boat, although I can't imagine how we'll get it past that iron grate." Suddenly she looks down at the water. It is still at the same height. "We don't have to worry about high tide, do we?" she asks anxiously.
The eunuch doesn't respond.
"And we have a lamp. Let's see if we can light it."
She looks inside, then says excitedly, "Look, there's oil in here." In a small container in the base, she finds flint and lights the lamp. The eunuch turns away as if the light hurts his eyes. Sybil climbs into the boat and rows inexpertly to the wall. Holding the lamp high, she inspects every inch of it, fingers scrabbling among the flakes of paint, searching for a mechanism to make the platform ascend. Soon it is so dark she can no longer make out the eunuch on the platform, only the ghostly glow of his white robe.
## 45
## A Thin Blade
"Miss Sybil was picked up by a eunuch in a carriage early this morning. She said she was visiting a member of the Ottoman royal family," the butler says officiously.
Kamil tries to keep his voice patient. "Do you remember who she was visiting?" Bernie paces the floor behind him.
"No, sir. I'm sorry, I don't." A note of anxiety has slipped into his voice. "Has something happened?"
Bernie strides over and confronts the butler. "Freddie, aren't you responsible for knowing what goes on here?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then how can you not know where Miss Sybil has gone?"
"She didn't tell me, sir. It wouldn't be proper for me to ask."
Bernie regards him with a look of disgust. "It's your business to find out, Freddie, not just let anyone walk off with her."
Freddie barks at a servant to fetch the head English gatekeeper. The young man hurries away.
Kamil asks the disheveled butler kindly, "When were you expecting her to return?"
The butler's eyes move to the dusk infiltrating the Residence windows. "She usually returns in time for dinner."
Kamil turns to Bernie. "I was expected for dinner about an hour ago."
"The ambassador has just finished dining, sir. I'm sorry." The butler looks abashed. "If Miss Sybil isn't here, he eats in his office," he explains.
Bernie's voice is menacing, "And you didn't think to be alarmed when Miss Sybil didn't return, even though she had invited a guest to dinner?"
"What could I do, sir? She's probably just delayed," he adds uncertainly.
Kamil takes Bernie aside and asks, "Should we tell the ambassador?"
Bernie shakes his head. "Do more harm than good. My uncle is a good man, but, between us, a bit of a loose cannon."
"I know what you mean." Kamil is relieved not to have to deal with Sybil's father now. He wants to find Sybil, and it is all he can do to stop himself from rushing out the door.
"Do the maids know anything?" he asks Bernie.
"No. I talked to the whole staff. The maid who helped Sybil dress said she told her she was going to visit someone in the palace. That's all. Let's go look in her room." He strides up the stairs two at a time, Kamil right behind him.
With some trepidation at this invasion of a woman's forbidden realm, Kamil follows Bernie into Sybil's bedroom. The room is spare but feminine, all white and beige, the room's outlines blurred by soft fabrics edged with delicate laces.
"Over here." Bernie gestures at a piece of paper lying on Sybil's writing desk.
They read Sybil's letter together. Kamil is startled by the revelation that she was waiting for him to ask for her in marriage.
"Damnation. Let's go find her." Bernie calls down to the butler, "Get Sami. We need the phaeton." He turns to Kamil. "It'll be faster."
When they arrive downstairs, Freddie is gone, but the gatekeeper is there. They ask who picked Sybil up that morning.
"The, er, the eunitch"—the gatekeeper blushes scarlet as he pronounces the word—"the Negro, 'e gave me a paper." He holds out a piece of expensive parchment with a gold-embossed crest. On it are two lines of Ottoman in a practiced calligraphy, sealed in red. "I couldn't read it, sir."
Bernie snatches the paper out of his hand. "It never occurred to you to ask someone what it said? If anything's happened to Miss Sybil, it'll be on your head." The gatekeeper looks horrified.
"Miss Sybil?" he stutters. "What's 'appened to 'er?"
Ignoring him, Bernie shows the paper to Kamil. "What does it say? I have trouble with this kind of fancy writing."
"It's an invitation to lunch."
"From Asma Sultan."
"No. From Shukriye Hanoum." They look at each other speechlessly.
Kamil adds, "It's her family's seal."
"What in damnation...?" He looks over Kamil's shoulder. "Where?"
"It doesn't say. It only specifies the date and time and that Shukriye Hanoum's servant will pick her up."
"But the eunuch brought it when he came to get her. It wasn't sent ahead of time."
"There must have been an earlier message. Clearly, this one is meant to deceive anyone looking for her."
"Mother of God. If Sybil hadn't left that letter, we'd be off on a wild goose chase. Come on in here. Be quick, man."
Bernie runs into a room off the main hall, pulls a volume from the bookshelf, and extracts a key. He unlocks a drawer and pulls out two pistols. He checks to see if they are loaded, then holds one out to Kamil. Kamil points at his feet. "I'm armed."
"You mean with that religious mumbo jumbo in your boots?" Bernie snorts. "That won't get you very far against a bullet!"
Kamil pulls a needle-thin blade from his boot. "Allah helps those who help themselves." He opens his coat to reveal the holster on his hip. "I need some paper."
Bernie points to a writing desk.
Kamil takes out a blank sheet and writes several lines in Ottoman, the script flowing smoothly right to left. He signs with a flourish, then rummages in the drawer and pulls out a cylinder of sealing wax. He removes a small brass seal from his pocket and imprints the insignia of his office on the bottom of the letter and again on the envelope.
Sami is waiting at the door with the phaeton. Kamil takes him aside and hands him the envelope.
"You are to mount the fastest horse in your stables and ride ahead of us to Middle Village. Do you know where that is?"
"Yes, efendi. I know the area well."
"Take this letter directly to the headman of Middle Village. It asks him to take his sons and go to the commander of gendarmes, not to the police. Sybil Hanoum's life may be in danger. Do you understand?"
"Yes, efendi. Not the police."
"Go with him. The headman is to show them this letter. It commands the gendarmes to issue them weapons and to accompany them to Asma Sultan's summer house in Tarabya immediately. Allah willing, their presence will be superfluous."
Kamil jumps into the phaeton. Bernie is already seated, hunched forward and restlessly twisting the reins.
"If we alerted the British guards, we'd have to tell the ambassador," Kamil shouts. "And I'm not sure of the loyalty of the police anymore. This is the best way."
The horses clatter down the drive toward the gate.
## 46
## A Hundred Braids
I wanted a celebration, a proper setting for my response to Mary. Violet insisted on coming, saying she had prepared special foods for us. By the time we arrived at the sea hamam and the driver was dispatched with instructions to return in three hours' time, the lip of the sky bled magenta. But inside the walls of the sea hamam, we could see only the sky's unclouded blue eye following Violet as she spread the covers, set up the brazier, and unpacked the copper pans of dolma, cheese pastries, fruit, and savories. It was a feast. I slipped off my feradje, revealing a new gown of sheerest apricot silk under a striped satin tunic of apple and ginger. My breasts were wreathed in a transparent cloud of silk gauze. My hair was woven into a hundred braids wrapped in diamonds and pearls.
Mary had taken off her shoes. Her slim white feet dangled over the pool. In water, she was slippery as an eel. Like most women, she couldn't swim, but the water in the sea hamam wasn't very deep. I remember it made her anxious when I ducked below the surface. I used to slip along under the boards and burst up in a spray behind her so that she shrieked with fear. The hamam walls protected us from the wind, and the strait here was tamed, drawn continually like a fan across the sand. The water was so clear one could mistake it for a shadow.
I wondered whether anyone else had come here since we had abandoned it the previous year. The winter damp had warped some of the boards. I noticed that our mattress, the mattress Mary had hired someone to bring here in anticipation of our first visit, was stained where it had not been stained before. I supposed anyone could have come here while we were gone, perhaps young boys thrilled at being masters of a realm that soon would be off-limits, haram, dangerous. Once we had spread our new quilt, though, we were almost as before.
"Why did you bring your maid?" she whispered, looking at Violet sitting in a cubicle near the brazier.
"Violet? She can serve us. Don't you like being served?" I cocked my head at her, but I could see she hadn't decided whether I was joking.
"Well, I suppose."
"She insisted on coming and I couldn't say no. She's so unsettled by everything, even though my father has found her a good husband—so she won't be alone."
Mary looked at me expectantly, but I said nothing more.
I knew Mary didn't like to undress in front of strangers, so she wouldn't go into the water tonight. It was too cold, in any case.
"We'll just chat, then." I pulled the quilt out to the walkway circling the water and lay on it with my face to the sky. She came and sat next to me.
"Lie down, Mary. Come see the stars."
She let herself down, using her elbows, and arranged her skirts so that they covered her legs. She wore a simple white blouse. Her cap of hair shone gold in the dark.
The quilted satin smooth against our palms, we looked up into the square of night sky revealed by the geometry of the hamam walls.
"It looks like your hair, Jaanan. Braided with diamonds," she whispered.
I took her hand.
## 47
## Villa at Tarabya
Agibbous moon floods the Bosphorus with light and throws into sharp relief the trees and bushes rushing by as the phaeton races north.
If anything happens to Sybil Hanoum," Kamil points out, "the blame would fall on Shukriye Hanoum, since the invitation is written in her name. Clever. I wonder why Shukriye Hanoum, though. She's not a threat to anyone."
"Well, someone sure doesn't like her."
After a while, Kamil adds, "Sybil Hanoum said she thought Perihan Hanoum was angry because she had wanted to marry Prince Ziya but he became engaged to Shukriye instead. Apparently Perihan Hanoum's marriage is unhappy."
Bernie slaps the reins across the horses' backs. "Well, there's a motive to hate Shukriye enough to set her up. What do you know about her mother, this Asma Sultan?"
"A rather formidable but harmless lady, according to Sybil Hanoum."
Bernie grimaces. "All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand."
"Pardon?"
"Shakespeare. Macbeth."
"It might be Perihan Hanoum at the villa, not her mother," Kamil cautions.
"Well, we'll see what we're up against. The woman or her daughter. Maybe the whole harem." He laughs nervously and turns his wind-reddened face to Kamil. "Think we can handle this?"
Kamil doesn't smile. "We don't know who else will be there. Perhaps the grand vizier himself." Grimly, "But I'm ready for a fight."
Bernie grins. "I'll bet you are." He pats his holster. "I'm glad you and this other friend of mine here are along for the ride."
By the time Kamil and Bernie reach the turnoff beyond the village of Tarabya, the moon has contracted to a mottled white disk.
"Asma Sultan's villa is farther north, I believe." Kamil uses his handkerchief to wipe the dust from his face as the phaeton slows at a crossroad.
"Git up," Bernie urges the horses.
The road ascends sharply again and the horses strain. A stand of pines and cypresses blocks the view before the vista opens onto an expanse of water milky in the moonlight. The phaeton picks up speed. After a while, they hurtle downhill again. Kamil can make out the enormous bulk of a house silhouetted against the reflected light.
"That must be it." Bernie points. "Strange. I don't see any lights."
"They might have their shutters closed."
The phaeton pulls up to the wrought-iron gate.
"There should be a night watchman," observes Kamil as he jumps to the ground. "He's probably asleep."
He peers around the gate, but the guardhouse is empty. Bernie has come up beside him.
He looks through the gate at the dark house. "Looks like no one's home. Do you think we got the wrong house?"
"It matches the description they gave us in the village."
"Does she have another one? She's a sultan's daughter. They have cartloads of money."
"It's possible. I suppose the invitation could have been to Perihan Hanoum's villa or even the vizier's villa. They all have their own konaks and summer houses."
"Do you know where they are? We'll have to check them all out, one at a time."
"I don't." Kamil tenses. "We'd have to go back to the village and ask the headman."
"Well, then, let's get on with it." Bernie looks closely at Kamil, staring at the dark villa. "What is it?"
Kamil shudders and turns. "I don't know. I think you have a saying, 'A crow walked across my grave.'"
"I never heard that one, buddy."
"You know, the old Greek name of this village, Tarabya, was Pharmakeus." He thinks of his father's body being washed in the mosque at this very moment, prepared for burial tomorrow morning.
"Pharmakeus. The medicine man?"
"The poisoner. Medea was said to have thrown away her poison here."
"Well, this place gives me the dithers. Let's get out of here." He climbs into the phaeton.
Holding the reins, he turns to Kamil. "You don't suppose she really did go to visit Shukriye Hanoum?"
"I suppose that's a possibility. But why would she write something different in her letter?"
Bernie shakes his head. "Maybe showing off for her sister. There's always been a kind of rivalry between them. Maitlin's the successful one." He flicks the reins. The phaeton strains after the horses. "Sybil's the one with fantasies. She's been stuck here too long looking after my uncle. No wonder she's invented herself a whole Orient of her own."
## 48
## The Net
The moon appeared in our square of sky, bleaching us of color.
Mary turned her head to me. "Thank you for being a good friend to me. I wouldn't have lasted here without you." She moved her face forward and kissed me chastely on the lips.
I squeezed her hand. She lay with her head flung back, letting the moonlight seep into her eyes. I heard the chortling of the kettle boiling on the coals.
After a long while, she whispered, "Do you remember the sugared almonds?"
I didn't. "Yes, of course."
"And the time we caught a fish in here."
"You caught it with your hands."
"It was weak and tired. Who knows how long it had been trying to get out."
"It's cruel to have a net around the pool."
"Are they afraid the women will escape?" she asked, laughing at her own wit.
"I think rather it's to keep the men from looking in."
"Men will get in anyway," she said with a resigned certainty.
I leaned on my elbow and looked at her. Her hair was white. I let it flow through my hand.
"Together we're safe," I assured her.
She turned to me, surprised. The blue of her eyes came back into focus.
"Will you come?" she asked hesitantly.
I nodded yes and let my head rest beside hers, our eyes on the heavens. The moon had become a small, hard disk the color of alloyed gold. A wild dog barked nearby.
Violet put a glass of tea beside Mary and handed another to me, then withdrew into the shadows of her cubicle. I could see only the red eyes of the charcoal peering out of the brazier below the steaming pots.
## 49
## The Floating Stage
Sybil sits shivering on the platform, holding the lamp. Her clothing is disheveled, hastily thrown over her wet body. Her throat is hoarse from shouting. Her eyes keep scanning the walls.
Sybil looks up at the eunuch. He is sitting just outside the circle of light, eyes closed. She wonders what kind of life eunuchs live. It is said they are powerful, but this man's shoulders are thin, his face a grim mask. His large hands are laced together in front of his knees.
"Arif Agha," she calls, thinking he might respond to his name.
He doesn't answer, but she sees a flicker of white under his lids.
"I do wish you'd say something. I think you can understand my Turkish. Can you speak English?" Exasperated, she adds, "Look, we have to get out of here. Parlez vous Français?"
Speaking in French reminds her of her visit to Shukriye Hanoum. She had found her story appalling but somehow fantastic, as though Shukriye were a character in an Oriental opera. She thinks wryly that she too is now an actor in a potentially tragic play, an Englishwoman and a eunuch trapped on a floating stage. She finds herself laughing. The eunuch's now-open eyes register surprise and, she fears, disapproval.
I'm being hysterical, she thinks, and forces herself to stop. Another look she has seen in the eunuch's eyes—malevolence—puts her on guard. She moves closer to the boat.
Suddenly she remembers where she has heard Arif Agha's name before.
"You're the one who told the police about the British woman Hannah, about the carriage that picked her up."
She isn't sure in the dim light, but thinks the eunuch grimaces.
When he doesn't answer, Sybil murmurs, "They never found who murdered her."
She peers at him suspiciously through the deepening gloom. It occurs to her that Mary worked for Perihan, and that Arif Agha had probably encountered her as well. Sybil wonders where retired eunuchs go. Arif Agha seems to have retired in plain sight.
"Another young woman was killed recently, Mary Dixon. Did you know her too?"
When the eunuch still doesn't answer, Sybil forces herself to stand and walk toward him, her hands held out before her in a conciliatory gesture.
"Look, Arif Agha, I don't care what happened. All I care about now is getting out of here. We have to help each other or we'll rot in here." She stumbles over the Turkish word for rot. "No one will find us here. We'll starve."
When she is an arm's length away from Arif Agha, she stops.
"If you're worried about getting in trouble, I can help you. When we get out of here, I'll take you to the magistrate of Beyoglu and you can talk to him, tell him what you saw. The police will be grateful if you help them. They won't hurt you. I promise." Sybil is aware of the duplicity of such a promise, which she has no way of keeping, but she needs Arif Agha's cooperation or, at least, his goodwill. She wonders anxiously whether the danger from the eunuch isn't as great as being trapped in this underground chamber.
She decides to make small talk, both to keep his attention and to keep her rising fear under control. "Have you been in Asma Sultan's service a long time?"
With a strangely distorted, high-pitched squeal, the eunuch scuttles backward like a crab and crouches at the far end of the platform.
"I can see why you'd be afraid of her." She looks upward at the now-dark sky. Suddenly animated, she moves closer to the eunuch and says, "I have an idea. I think I can protect you against Asma Sultan. I'm a friend of her daughter and other important people. I can make sure someone takes care of you." Smiling, Sybil spreads her hands. "I'll tell them you saved my life."
The eunuch uncoils himself in a sudden violent movement and leaps at Sybil. His mouth is stretched wide but emits only a strangled sound. With her arms, she wards off his hands groping for her neck. As they struggle, the lamp illuminates their faces. At the back of the pink cavern of his mouth is a lump of scar tissue. His tongue has been cut out.
The lamp rolls into the water. Sybil screams into the darkness.
## 50
## Barely a Sound
When Mary next looked at me, her eyes were like coals. She blinked and shifted her gaze around the platform.
"It's so dark. It's hard to see." She pushed herself laboriously up to a sitting position, then to her feet. "I'd like to go home. I don't feel well."
I got to my feet and took her elbow. "What's the matter?" I peered into her face.
"I don't know. I can't see." She shook my hand away.
"You're getting a chill. Have some more tea." I signaled to Violet that she should refill our glasses.
"I can't move my arm." Mary's speech had become slurred, with a hysterical undertone.
She staggered away from me, her foot knocking over her tea glass. The moonlight caught the edge of Violet's kaftan.
"Violet, come and help me. Mary Hanoum is ill." I realized suddenly that the carriage wasn't due to return for us for at least another hour and the village was half an hour's walk away.
I heard a splash behind me and swung around. Mary was gone. I raced to the pool, knelt on the boards, and looked over the edge. The obsidian water reflected rocking shards of moon.
"Bring the lamp," I shouted. I turned and climbed into the water. The light of the lamp made the surface more brilliant, but revealed nothing beneath it. I struggled through the pool, fighting my billowing clothing, my face against the water, feeling beneath the surface with both hands.
"I'll find her."
I looked up. Violet's lean brown body trailed a black shadow across the walls. She slid beneath the surface with barely a sound.
## 51
## The Ming Vase
Bernie pulls on the reins.
"Why are you slowing down?"
"I thought I heard something."
The night is alive with animal sounds, sudden trills, fish falling into the water just beyond the road. An owl hoots from the forest.
"There it is again," Bernie whispers. An odd cry, faint as if muffled.
"It must be coming from Asma Sultan's villa," cries Kamil. "There's no other house near here."
Bernie swings the phaeton around, whips the horses, and thundering back down the road, they halt at the gate and jump out.
"Let's get the lamps lit so we can see better."
"The gate is locked." Kamil clambers up the ilex that covers the wall like a green mantle. He reappears on the other side of the wrought-iron gate and unlatches it.
The iron creaks as they push the heavy doors open.
They move quickly down the carriageway toward the house. Kamil pushes open the unlocked front door. Washes of light dart across the walls as they move through the entry hall and down a corridor. They emerge in a room so vast that their lamps pick out only patches of parquet floor and the bases of man-width marble pillars.
"This must be the reception room," Kamil notes.
Bernie's lamp moves off and is soon lost in the gloom. Kamil hears a crash of crockery. Suddenly the air jumps with shadows as Bernie lights a gas lamp on the wall.
"Holy Mother of Jesus!" Bernie stares at the shattered object on the floor.
"What is it?"
"A Ming vase. I've never seen one that big before. It's priceless."
They look around. The room is hung with enormous gilded mirrors that multiply the illumination. Swags of colored glass chandeliers hang from the ceiling.
They pause, listening carefully.
"Nothing," Bernie says finally.
"She must be in this house somewhere. We should be quiet, in case the others are still here. We'll have the advantage of surprise."
"The hell with that," Bernie says, and shouts, "Sybil."
## 52
## The Eye of the Pool
I was in waist-deep water tearing at my clothes when Violet's head emerged beneath my legs.
"Where is she?" I cried. "Why haven't you found her?"
Violet lifted herself onto the platform with her muscular arms, her body streaming with water. "She's stuck in the net."
"Allah save us! Can't you get her out?" I scrambled onto the platform to better take off the ballooning trousers that hindered me from submerging enough to join the search.
She moved rapidly to the pile of her clothing and returned with a short knife. Her body sliced into the black skin of water.
I removed the last of my clothing, held my breath, and flung myself in after her. My hands scrabbled about in the darkness like crabs. Handfuls of sand. Under the floorboards, even the moonlight disappeared. The slimy rope scraped my palm. I held fast and, tucking my foot into the net behind me, began to crawl sideways along it. When my breath gave out, I pushed off to the surface to get air. My foot twisted in the rope and I struggled to free it. Suddenly, powerful arms wrapped themselves around my chest and pulled me loose.
"Get out of the water and watch for her from up there," Violet demanded, thrusting me toward the steps. When I tried to return to the water, she warned, "If she dies, it'll be your fault. I can't take care of you both at once. You'll do more good up there. Hurry up."
Shaking, I climbed onto the platform. I hunched tensely by the side of the water, scanning the surface for signs of movement. Violet was gone a long time, and I began to worry that she too was caught in the net. I rocked back and forth, naked in the lamplight, uncertain what to do. I heard my voice, keening a prayer between chattering teeth. At last Violet's head appeared.
"She's gone. I don't think it's a good idea to bring her body up here."
I began to climb into the water again. "She must still be alive."
Violet blocked my way. "I've seen her. It's too late. She wrapped herself up in the net. I wasn't able to cut her loose."
"Allah protect us," I cried, struggling to get past her. I had seen the dead, but this was a death that I fully possessed. Violet's arm circled my waist and anchored my flesh to the wooden boards. When I had exhausted myself with struggling, she let me go.
"What should we do?" I knelt by the side of the pool, blinded by tears, by the lamplight. Violet's eyes were in darkness, but I could sense the intensity of her gaze.
"We can let the current take her," she said matter-of-factly, as if she were disposing of kitchen leavings. "No one will know where she died or how. By morning, she'll be frolicking with the dolphins in the Marmara. But we'll have to get her farther out where the current is stronger."
Frolicking. I couldn't decide whether to be appalled by Violet's levity or absurdly comforted by the image of Mary, golden hair streaming, riding a dolphin like a Greek deity.
"We have to call the police," I said numbly. "Ismail Dayi will know what to do."
"And tell them what? That three women were alone at night in an abandoned sea hamam and one died? How are we going to explain how she died? They'll blame you, you know."
I looked up at her. "Why me? It was an accident."
"They always blame the weakest person. The cracked vessel shatters first." Her face, lit from below, was distorted by the lamplight.
I rocked back and forth, eyes on the black window of water.
Violet submerged again. After a while, her hands pushed a shoe onto the platform, then another, Mary's skirt, shirt, and undergarments. I crouched by the pitifully small pile.
"The clothes would make the body float," she explained, gasping, climbing out of the water. "I couldn't get the jewelry. I'll try again." The bracelet of woven gold from the Bedestan where we first met. The silver pendant I unclasped in childish greed from Hannah Simmons's neck and gave many years later to Mary, who adored Ottoman jewelry. The necklace of a drowned woman was clinging to Mary, who had suffered her same fate.
Appalled, I stayed Violet with my hand on her thigh. "Leave it."
She explained in a calming voice, as if to a child, "I'm going outside now. There's a landing in the front. If I jump in there, I can pull her through from the outside. There's a strong current just a short way out. Stay here." She disappeared into the shadowy corridor. A dog barked, then was abruptly silent.
I sat on the wet quilt, its satin stained by seawater, regarding the garments of my friend whom I had meant tonight to join in living. They lay before me like the remnants of a lifeless sea creature. I pulled the lamp closer. The pool's black eye regarded me malevolently. The sound of a splash tore through the silence. A thin line moved across the water.
## 53
## Chaos in the Tapestry of Life
They move cautiously through the opulent rooms, listening for a reply to their calls.
Bernie looks around at the man-high china vases, the cabinets of china, gilded screens, statues, wall hangings. "The person who collected all this is obsessed by China. These are all Chinese antiques, extraordinary antiques."
"Asma Sultan?"
"That's what it looks like."
Bernie stops at a shelf containing rows of scrolls. He unrolls one and holds it close to the lamp. He beckons Kamil over.
"Look at this—a Chinese manuscript. Someone here can read this stuff."
"Asma Sultan is your contact inside the palace?" Kamil asks incredulously.
"That's what it looks like." Bernie shakes his head in wonder. "Why would she want to overthrow Abdulhamid? Her husband is his grand vizier."
"Perhaps she is unhappy with her husband."
"That would give half the women in the world a motive, but they don't go around scheming with foreign governments to overthrow their husband's employer just to get him fired. Besides, she'd be undermining her own welfare."
"Not really. As daughter of a sultan, Asma Sultan is wealthy in her own right."
"Well, her father was deposed and then killed himself, so I guess that could leave a chip on your shoulder about whoever replaced him."
They move from room to room, calling Sybil's name.
Kamil emerges from one of a series of bedrooms along a corridor. "It's an enormous house, but it looks abandoned. Perhaps it belonged to Asma Sultan's mother. She would have moved to the Old Palace after her husband's death."
"So maybe it's her mother who's out for revenge. Angry at being booted out of the palace after her husband is deposed. It fits the poem. Is her mother still alive?"
"I don't know."
Bernie swings the lamp around the room and calls out Sybil's name again. "We have to find her. I wonder if Asma Sultan killed Hannah. Once the secret police started sniffing around, she might have eliminated anyone who could lead them to her. She probably thinks Sybil knows something that could give her away."
He holds the lamp up to Kamil's face. "Can you have her arrested?"
"Arrest a member of the royal household?" He doesn't meet Bernie's eye. "No, my friend. My jurisdiction doesn't extend that far," Kamil answers slowly, shielding his eyes from the light.
He remembers Ferhat Bey's evasiveness that he had interpreted as incompetence. Perhaps the old superintendent had more courage than he, Kamil, the rational bureaucrat who cuts his morality to fit his jurisdiction. He reaches into his pocket for his beads, but they offer no comfort.
"In any case, I might no longer have a post. My superior, Nizam Efendi, will be delighted to hold me responsible for executing Hamza without a trial."
"Thanks to our friend Michel." He casts a sidelong glance at Kamil's grave face. "Anyway, I'd put my money on the secret police being behind all of these killings, not Asma Sultan. They probably wanted to find out from the girls who their contact inside the palace was. Problem is, they didn't know anything. I wish I knew who ratted on them."
There is a sound of glass grating under his boots.
"What's this?" Bernie brings his light closer to a broken object on the floor. "Well, this sure doesn't belong in here." He touches it with his toe.
"What is it?"
"Wax flowers under glass—the latest obsession in England. Looks like someone dropped it here. A bit incongruous in a house full of Chinese art, wouldn't you say?"
They look at each other's faces, grim in the lamplight.
"Sybil would have brought a gift."
Bernie calls out, "Sybil!" his voice lost in the cavernous room.
"We've checked the whole house. She's not here."
"Let's look outside." Bernie pulls open the glass doors and unlatches the shutters. They step out onto the patio.
Kamil gestures that they should stop and listen. There is the low boom of water echoing, but no other sound.
"What's that?" Bernie walks to the edge of the patio and looks over the balustrade. "Look. The water comes right under the house."
"That's so the residents can get into their boats directly from the house." Kamil peers into the darkness below the balustrade. "There might be some kind of boathouse down there."
Footsteps cause them to whirl around, hands on their weapons.
The embassy driver, Sami, emerges from the house with another lamp.
"Well met, Sami," Bernie greets him with a nod. "Glad you found us. Are the others coming?"
"Yes, efendi. They'll be here soon. I rode ahead."
They walk along the patio, shining their lamps in all directions.
"Over here." Kamil holds his lamp over a small table still set with food. "It's fresh." He reaches into his boot with his other hand and slides out the long, thin blade.
"Damnation. I'll bet the other guest was Sybil. Where the heck is she?" He calls out, "Sybil!"
"Help! Get me out! Help!" Sybil's voice is faint and curiously distorted. It is followed by splashing, then silence.
Kamil shouts, "Sybil, keep talking. Where are you?" He looks over at Bernie, whose mouth is set in a thin line. "It came from over there." He points toward the far end of the patio. "Be careful."
Bernie calls again, but there is no answer. He pulls out his revolver.
The men fan out and move slowly across the tiles toward the wall at the end of the patio. When they get closer, Kamil whispers, "Look. This isn't a wall; it's a carved screen. There must be something behind it."
He holds up his lamp and peers around the screen.
"Allah protect us. There's a hole in the floor. It's a good thing we have lamps."
"She's in there," Bernie says, and throws himself to the ground. "How deep is this? Jesus, if she fell down this..."
Kamil and Sami also lie on their stomachs peering into the dark square below them. Their lamps pick up the glint of water around what appears to be a central island. The island is empty.
"Look." The others move their lamps in the direction Kamil is pointing. Far below, a figure in a white turban is struggling through waist-deep water toward something lost in shadow. Sami hangs over the lip of the opening and dangles his lamp lower. The shadows flee, revealing Sybil, standing in a small boat bobbing against the wall, an oar in her hand. The figure is moving inexorably toward her, though gingerly, as if afraid of the water.
Sybil screams. They can see her face, the O of her open mouth.
"Put the light out," she shouts. "He can see me by your light. Get me out of here."
She had been hiding in the absolute darkness, afraid that any sound would reveal her position to the eunuch.
"Don't worry. We'll get you out." Bernie calls down. "But we need the light."
Bernie aims his gun at the eunuch, but hesitates. Sybil is too close.
Kamil pulls Bernie back. "The bullet might ricochet."
Bernie peers appraisingly at the water far below. "We can't jump in. It's too shallow." He turns to Sami. "Do you have a rope?"
"No, efendi. I'll go look for one."
"Sybil, how do we get down there?"
"The lever. There's a lever in the screen." The figure is close to her now and she stands, back against the wall, oar raised.
"Keep an eye on her," Bernie tells Sami. He and Kamil begin systematically to check the screen.
"Wait," they hear Sybil shout. "If you pull the lever the floor will go up and trap me down here. I think he doesn't understand English, so try this. Tell me when you've found the lever, but don't do anything until I say, 'Pull.'"
"Yes," Kamil shouts back. "We'll do that."
"I think I found it," Bernie grips the end of a stone protrusion, disguised as a tree in the stone carving. He pulls it slightly. They hear a grinding sound.
"Not yet," Sybil screams.
"We found it," Bernie calls to her. "Tell us when you're ready."
"Put your lights away," she calls.
"Are you sure?" Kamil asks anxiously.
"Do it!" Sybil shouts. Below them, they see her aim the oar at the white turban. Then all is dark. Sami has swung the lamps, still lit, out of range.
They listen intently, but hear only water splashing.
"Now." The word echoes. Bernie pulls the lever and the grinding noise begins again. They hear scuffling and a splash.
When the island comes into view, Sybil is lying face down on the tiles in wet bloomers and chemise, her hand still grasping the oar. As soon as the floor is flush with the platform, Bernie rushes to her and turns her over. Her eyes are open.
"Well, cousin," she gasps, smiling. "Wait until Maitlin hears about this."
Kamil keeps his face turned until Bernie has wrapped a cloak around Sybil, then takes her shoulders in his hands.
"Sybil Hanoum." It is all he can manage. His eyes linger on her plump neck bisected by two folds like a baby's wrist. He does not meet her eye. She is still smiling but has begun to shake violently. Under the pretext of adjusting the cloak, he wraps her in his arms for a moment, then hands her to Bernie. The English, he knows, consider their cousins too close for marriage, unlike the Ottomans. Still, he feels bereft when Bernie settles her in the phaeton inside the circumference of his arms.
Kamil climbs up front and takes up the reins. He is jealous, he realizes. He feels momentarily disloyal to his father, that a trivial emotion like jealousy could grow in the field of his grief.
On the road, they encounter the headman, his sons, and a group of armed gendarmes on their way to Asma Sultan's villa. Kamil stops to give them instructions for finding Sami, left to guard the hidden chamber, then snaps the reins.
"That was Arif Agha, Asma Sultan's eunuch," Sybil explains between chattering teeth. "The one who reported Hannah's trips to the police."
Kamil and Bernie exchange looks.
"He probably snitched to the secret police back then too."
"The police superintendent hinted that Arif Agha took bribes. I assumed it was just from the municipal police. It didn't occur to me that he also sold information to the Sultan's spies. A eunuch who knows too much and talks too much," Kamil muses.
"A rat by any other name."
To Kamil's puzzled look, he replies, "Shakespeare. Romeo and Juliet."
"A fool."
"Why did he attack you like that?" Bernie asks Sybil, rubbing her shoulders.
She shrugs. "It doesn't make any sense. After all, we were both in the same predicament down there. I told him if he helped get me out, I'd protect him against Asma Sultan by telling everyone he had saved my life. He'd be a hero. That's when he jumped at me. The poor man," she whispers. "He's had his tongue cut out. He's probably terrified."
Sybil's eyes wander toward the shimmering sheet of water appearing and disappearing below them as they move through the wooded hills.
After a while, she continues, "Asma Sultan called something down to him just before she left. She told him his fate was tied to hers, and that he knew what he had to do. Maybe she was telling him to attack me."
"Could be." Bernie rubs Sybil's hands to warm them. "Did you see all that Chinese stuff?"
"Yes, I did. It belonged to Asma Sultan's mother. I meant to tell you about it."
Surprised, Kamil turns and asks, "You knew about it?"
"I heard about it at Leyla's the other day. I had planned to tell you over dinner tonight. Yesterday, you were too worried about me to listen." She smiles happily.
"As you can see, I had good cause to worry." But Kamil is smiling too. Bernie looks from one to the other, amused.
"The Chinese collection was the missing piece," he says.
"Of what?"
"Asma Sultan had that pendant made. She is our correspondent inside the palace."
"Your correspondent?" Sybil is confused.
"It's a long story, cousin. I'll tell you when we're warm and cozy in front of a fire."
Kamil turns to Bernie. "I wonder if her daughter is involved."
"Is this a plot?" Sybil asks excitedly. "There really was a plot?" She claps her hands with pleasure. "Oh, wait until Maitlin hears about this."
"Sybil Hanoum," Bernie says with mock seriousness, "may I remind you that you were almost killed?"
"Yes, isn't it marvelous?" They all burst out laughing. Kamil turns away to hide the tears of relief, mixed with sorrow, blurring his sight.
"Perihan and her mother are very close," Sybil explains. "I can't imagine one would do something without the other knowing." She thinks a moment. "Asma Sultan said an odd thing this afternoon. We were talking about Perihan and Leyla being friends, and she said Perihan was keeping an eye on her. Do you think she was spying on Leyla?"
"They watch Leyla," Kamil muses aloud. "They try to incriminate her sister Shukriye in Sybil Hanoum's disappearance." He realizes with a shock that he almost said death. "Why?"
"Leyla reports to the secret police?" Bernie ventures.
"That would make her very dangerous to Asma Sultan."
They ride for a while in silence. Bernie keeps his arm around Sybil's shoulder. A filigree of moonlight illuminates the road's dark tunnel through the trees. The horses' backs shudder with light. Kamil counts his accomplishments like a child warding off the darkness. Sybil is safe. He allows himself a glance over his shoulder. Her hair has tumbled out of its pins. Her eyes meet his and he looks quickly away, but not before she has seen his smile. Hamza, a traitor, responsible for seducing and possibly killing young women, has been stopped. If instead the secret police killed Hannah and Mary, these, like Asma Sultan, are beyond his reach and he must defer to Allah for their judgment.
But Baba, Baba, whose dream he had stolen.
Perhaps it is true that only Allah is perfect and human endeavors intrinsically flawed. In an otherwise orderly and rational universe, Allah has woven chaos into the corner of every man's life as a reminder.
After a while, the carriage emerges on a hillside overlooking vineyards and the vast sparkling waters of the strait. The upper side of the road is tangled with raspberry bushes. Fireflies throb in the vineyards below, exhaling light. Far in the distance, night fishermen row across the silver water.
## 54
## Death Is Too Easy
The river Seine is frozen. I cannot see it from my window, but I have walked on its back. The snow reminds me of Istanbul, the long cypress shadows, the brilliant glint of icicles hanging from all the eaves, a gerdanlouk for our house at Chamyeri. White chunks like common sea glass melting. I hadn't expected Hamza to die, not in that way, not in any. It is true what philosophers say, that words have the heft of a sword and must be wielded as carefully. In my anger, I hurled words into the world, spoke Hamza's name, and impaled him on it. How was I to know that my words would put him together in that pond with Hannah, he embracing from above, she from below? Never can I believe that he read fairy tales to me in the afternoon and killed her in the evening. But it doesn't matter now. I have killed him. And Mary has given me life. Mary. My friend, my love, yellow-haired queen of the dolphins. It is because of her that I am now here in the world.
Vengeance. Another word. Perhaps you say I have wielded enough words and should now be silent, that I can't be trusted with words. But come now, haven't I pleased you with my array of sentences, my whispers—let's be clear—my honesty? I am not a killer.
What about Violet? you ask. The pond in the forest behind Chamyeri is clear-eyed. Violet owned the water, or so she thought. But I had learned that one could drown in knee-deep water, especially with the senses obscured and limbs made dumb by a special tea. I served her the same tea she had given Mary. When Violet slipped on the rocks in the pond, I held her head, stroking her black hair streaming in the water. At the last moment, I took Violet's hand and turned her to face the sky. I saved her so the regret would be hers, not mine. So that she remembers. Death is too easy—I have learned how dreadfully easy.
I had found the second teapot when I went back to the sea hamam the following day. I wanted to make sure I wasn't dreaming, to rest my hand in her grave. There was no tea in that pot, but long, thick strands. Dried tube flowers, like the ones Violet had prepared as an infusion for Mama to breathe into her lungs to ease her cough. I hurled the pot, like a snake, into the water, but the poison had long done its work. When I confronted her, Violet admitted she had kept Mary below the water until she exhausted herself. It was to save me, Violet insisted. I have been saved from myself so thoroughly that I am left with a stranger, I replied before leading her to the pond. There our bond was forged, and now it is cut.
Mary, though—she is not dead, but one of those princesses of my youth pinned to the sand, waiting. My words will make her live again. Her feet like fresh milk cupped by my hands.
A fire is burning low in the grate, but the room is warm with the colors of home. My dayi has sent me carpets and books and even a samovar so that I may feel his proximity. I spend my days in study and learn to wield many kinds of words, gauging their power. The secret is in how you hold the sword, in the flick of the wrist.
## Acknowledgments
I am deeply grateful to my agent, Al Zuckerman, and to Amy Cherry, my editor, for their faith in this book and for their expert guidance. I also wish to thank Stephen Kimmel, Edite Kroll, Elizabeth Warnock Fernea, Roger Owen, Donald Quataert, Kevin Reinhart, and Corky White for reading and commenting on the manuscript; Feride Çiçekoğlu for her gift of a pomegranate; and Carl Leiden for getting the ball rolling. Thanks to Linda Barlow, friend and mentor. A special debt of gratitude is owed to Michael Freeman, tireless editor, muse, and hand holder, who believed it would happen.
|
{
"pile_set_name": "Books3"
}
|
/**
* Gets the value at `key` of `object`.
*
* @private
* @param {Object} [object] The object to query.
* @param {string} key The key of the property to get.
* @returns {*} Returns the property value.
*/
function getValue(object, key) {
return object == null ? undefined : object[key];
}
export default getValue;
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{
"pile_set_name": "Github"
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Q:
Can an estate be forced to sell real estate to cover debt if the home was bequeathed to an adult child?
My mother died in West Virginia. I am her son and the executor of her will, in which the home was bequeathed to me. The estate has insufficient funds to pay medical and other debts. Can WV probate court force me to sell the home to pay the medical and other debts? Can liens be placed on the home prior to, or after probate closes (and the home, I presume, will become mine)?
A:
I am sorry for your loss, and that you have to deal with bills on top of everything else.
The quick answer is yes, you might have to sell the house to pay your mother's bills.
As you probably know, the estate includes both your mother's assets (cash, house, car, and so on) and her debts. In general, to "settle the estate," the executor must pay all debts before she gives away any of the assets.
Legal Aid of West Virginia has a helpful website about West Virginia probate law. Here is what it says about this issue:
If you can’t pay all of your family member’s creditors from the person’s available money, you must sell off the family member’s property and pay the creditors in the order listed in W. Va. Code § 44-2-21; W. Va. Code §§ 44-1-18 to -20. You may have to sell the family member’s land or home in order to pay creditors. W. Va. Code § 44-8-7.
Added after comments
Under WV law, it does not matter that you were bequeathed your mother’s house. The law gives debtors priority over heirs. This means debtors are paid before any heir. Heirs are “paid” from whatever is left in the estate after the debts are paid. So if the estate is underwater, if it owes more than it is worth, there will be nothing left in the estate to give to the heirs.
As executor, your job is to carry out West Virginia law.
The nuts and bolts of what happens if you refuse to the sell the house depends on WV law. You might be able to find the details by searching on line, but your best bet is to probably to talk to an attorney who specializes in WV probate law. An attorney will know both the law on the books, and how that law is implemented. They will be able to advise you on what options you really have, and the costs and benefits of those options.
If the estate is underwater, you could buy the house from the estate. If you do that, you will not be liable for any of your mother’s debts; those are owed by the estate. Depending on how the sale is handled, this may be your (financially) best option.
(Depending on whether the price covers the debt, and on what other heirs are bequeathed, the court might worry about you selling yourself the house at a discount price, and thus look at the sale very carefully.)
A:
You have to pay the debts from the assets that comprise the estate, to the extent that it is possible, but the executor has some discretion in how that happens. This law determines what order debts are to be paid in: funeral expenses are high on the list, last-illness debts are lower but still ahead of "everything else". §44-1-17 though -21 cover assets to be sold or not sold, but except for the family food and fuel exemption, anything can be sold, and debts must be paid. There will not be any debts of the estate after the estate is closed, more or less by definition. There is a Final Settlement form where you say what was in the estate and what claims there were, and how the property was disbursed and the claims satisfied. If there are still debts, you have to pay those debts and can't e.g. sell the house and divide the procedes without paying those debts. (By "can't", I mean that as executor you get in legal trouble).
You will know what those debts are because creditors have 60 days to file a claim. You have to publish a notice, in a form prescribed by law, that basically says "X died, send your claims here" (read the statute to get it right). If somebody comes along a year later and demands payment, they are out of luck.
A creditor can't just "put a lien on a house", although a contractor who did work on the house could put a mechanic's lien on the house if they were not paid for their work. The IRS can put a lien on your house for non-payment of taxes. But if a bank lends someone money to run a business and they don't pay off the loan—unless the loan was secured with the property as collateral—they can't just put a lien on the house. Nevertheless, as executor, you have to pay that debt at least to the extent that there is any property at all in the estate.
A:
Yes, in theory, but pursue other options too
Yes, in theory, the estate would have to liquidate property to cover those debts. In theory.
First, it doesn't necessarily need to be the house. If other assets are saleable, that will suffice.
Second, the estate does not necessarily need to sell the house. It could, for instance, mortgage the house to obtain cash to settle the debts. Who would write such a mortgage? Someone friendly - a family member - maybe even the person to whom the house is bequeathed. It also may be possible to structure a deal with a commercial mortgage wherein the estate takes the mortgage (with you as co-party) and then you take possession of the house with assent of the mortgage writer. Now you own a house, albeit with a mortgage.
Haggle those debts mercilessly - especially medical debt.
Many firms, especially those who function in the elder-care/end of life business, "know the drill". For instance my grandparents both got medicines from a company which is a darling of nursing homes. So most of their business is geriatric. When my grandmother passed, they cheerfully settled her outstanding invoice for half, without even putting up a fight - the estate was fully attachable, they didn't even try. When her husband passed, they just walked away and settled for $0. This is old-hat for them.
Many other medical bills are insanely "puffed up" for business reasons. Hospitals' bread-and-butter business is in-network insurance work, where they are locked down by contract to "Reasonable, Usual & Customary" industry rates, such as $47 for a blood test series or $70 for a COVID-19 test. However, when dealing out-of-network or with the uninsured, the prices suddenly puff up to $320 (happened to me) for a blood test or $2,315 for a COVID-19 test. The hospitals have no realistic expectation that a cash patient will pay this.
They do it a) to profiteer off medical tourism (wealthy people in the third world think America has a wonderful healthcare system; and they can and do pay those crazy numbers). Many people who can pay won't put up a fight, and it's easy money - like taking candy from babies. (think about that before you scream "morals"). For those who do fight, it gives them a ridiculously highball number to start with; "I'll knock it down from $2315 to $1000 if you pay today for that $70 COVID test". (again, anyone care to argue a moral duty to pay $2315?) For the vast majority of customers who can never pay, it allows the hospital to puff up their paper losses for fundraising reasons. "We donated $1.2 billion of services to those who couldn't pay" (read: after we burned their credit rating to the ground trying to collect).
All of that to say, you must look at those medical bills not at all like a real number, but as an absurd highball number from which you start negotiating. But you have to handle that creditor by creditor: I saw $105 bills for a doctor's visit with an independent doctor; that guy was clearly not profiteering, so I paid that in full).
And you can haggle down any creditor, and be ruthless!
The creditor cannot simply attach a lein on the estate; they have to go through a huge rigmarole of dunning, filing suit, battling with your lawyer... they know perfectly well that if you dig in your heels, they will probably spend $5000 and possibly $10,000 just getting to a judge's verdict, and that only allows them to start another long road: the collections process, and they have to grind through all of that (possibly another $5000) to finally attach that lein on the house.
So figure that into your offers: if the estate owes a credit card $7000, offer to settle the debt for $500. It's lowball, but you may both find a happy number in the $1000-3000 range. Creditors do this all the time.
A hospital could take their outlandish bill down 75% or more if you are extremely persistent.
To be clear: They cannot sue you or attach debt to you, in any way whatsoever. So they can scream and howl all they want; they cannot do anything to you; they can only target the estate. And that's a long, long road to payback, for them. Never assent to take on the estate's debt personally - that's just suicide.
Well, there might be a case for personally accepting some estate debt as part of a plan to eliminate all the estate's debt and leave you in a good position, but that is so complex and dangerous you must only do it on advice of your lawyer who is fully in the loop. The asset protection questions are too complex - will this house be homesteaded, will you be converting secured debt to unsecured, etc. You need a pro.
|
{
"pile_set_name": "StackExchange"
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|
{
"pile_set_name": "Pile-CC"
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