The Appointment in Istanbul
Today, I remembered the Mesopotamian tale of the appointment in Samarra. Pair my updated version with Desert Rose by Sting featuring Cheb Mami
The first time we met was at the Souk Al-Zal in Riyadh. I had come to the market to find a new saif — the long swords used in the traditional ardha dance — since I had had to leave one behind at a job a few days before. I had stopped at a small booth to admire the Qom carpets from Iran, the finest kind there is. I ran my fingers across an exquisite silk rug with an intricate droplet pattern in yellow and gray tones when my hand hit his. I startled in surprise to see him. It couldn’t be.
I had stared at his picture all morning, committing his face to memory. The eyes set close to each other. The pouches underneath. The marks on his cheekbones. The almost rectangular shape. I always have to study the permanent features. The photo was part of the paperwork to put him on the calendar next year at the consulate in Istanbul. That was a long way out. Not my usual turn-around of days or just hours. But the requester was not in a hurry and I like to be well-prepared.
He was just as surprised to see me. No, not surprised, in horror. He ran out of the booth as if I was going to take him right then and there. But that is not how I work. Once an appointment has been made it is not up to me to change the schedule.
The second I stepped into the lobby I saw death. He was dressed in white thobes and had a golden saif at his side. I recognized him from the market the year before when he let me know he was coming. He scared me. I was not ready back then. I tried to get as far away as I could. I moved to the States. If not for me they would at least stand up for my case. My death would not be in vain. Or so I thought. I knew I could not outrun him. I had a feeling this morning. That is why I gave the cell phones to her. She would have to take it from here. Call the Turkish authorities and raise a stink. Leverage the contacts I gave her.
I had no regrets. Not even coming here for my scheduled appointment. It was worth the gesture to Hatice. I wanted her to know I had every intention of marrying her. Take it as far as I could on my borrowed time. And I had done a lot. I had written and spoken my mind. That is all any man can do. My only wish was for a swift process. That was not granted.
Regitze Ladekarl has re-emerged as a raconteur after a long, successful career elsewhere. She crafts universal tales from everyday lives with an honest, sharp and witty pen. Besides working on a forthcoming novel, she flexes her voice with personal essays, flash fiction, and method writing here on Medium.
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