“It’s disgusting,” Elif said.
“Suyutsuz,” Melda corrected her: undignified.
Elif nodded. Undignified was better. It was a proper harem word. The harem had a language that was all its own: words and phrases that you had to learn unless you wanted to look like a novice. It went with a way of speaking that was softer and more sibilant than the street language of the ordinary Turks, grander, more easygoing. That harem lisp was like having soft hands: it showed your rank. The voice of a harem girl was like a caress.
But not today.
Elif stuck with Melda, who seemed to know where she was going.
4
The lady Talfa stepped out of the room, hand across her mouth, the sound of cannon and the screaming in her ears.
She saw women sweep down the corridor, hammering at the doors, dragging at each other’s clothes, and baring their teeth, like wolves.
A vase wobbled on its stand, between two windows. As the lady Talfa watched, a skirt brushed against the stand. A woman flung back her hand and caught the rim of the vase as it circled. It swung wide and went over with a smack, shivering to pieces on the wooden floor.
Slippered feet trampled over the fragments.
Two girls ran past, hand in hand, laughing. The lady Talfa saw the color in their cheeks, the sparkle in their eyes.
She stepped forward.
“Who are you? Where do you think you’re going?” she hissed.
Elif’s head whipped around. She saw a woman in the doorway. “It’s our turn now, auntie,” Elif spat. She laughed at the shock on the older woman’s face and her pretty blue eyes narrowed. The woman was jowly and pallid and she had lost her waist.
Elif cupped her hands beneath her breasts. “We’re the pretty girls.”
She saw the look of hesitation on Talfa’s face, and her glance shifted over Talfa’s shoulder. “What’s this room, Melda? What’s in here?” she said, tugging at her friend’s hand.