Alanzo had received word mid-morning that a Sultana wanted to peruse a selection of glass vases at the palace mosque. He had been working in the bazaar since dawn, hoping that he would receive this message. He smiled to himself and then set about the task of preparing his best glass vases for transport to the mosque.
Alanzo was the son of one of the wealthiest men in Venice. He wasn’t one of the normal Italian merchants who visited Istanbul, and his wears and clothing reflected his higher status. Alanzo wore a modest navy blue quilted doublet that was made of the finest fabrics but lacked the fancy embellishments he would have worn back in Venice. He wasn’t wearing a jerkin over his doublet, mostly because of the suffocating heat of the bazaar. He had matching breeches and hose. The one truly extravagant piece that he had on was a tall hat with feathers that billowed from the top. He let his facial hair grow to a length in between scruffy and a full beard, giving him a roguish look.
He was born a third son and therefore, unlike his older brothers, he had had some freedom in the choices he made with his life. In a busy port city like Venice, it had been easy for his adventurous spirit to carry him out of the city and away from the easy comforts of his home and family. His charming smile and quick wit had made him a natural salesman. He traveled anywhere he could, selling his family’s expensive products—which included the best in Venetian glass and art. When a Sultana wanted to peruse Venetian art, he had naturally been called upon to showcase his wears privately to the Turkish princess. That had occurred over a week ago.
He arrived at the mosque well before the Sultana and her entourage. He set up his glass vases in a line so that she could walk down the line and admire each one individually. As he worked he recalled that first day he had met her. Her mouth and head had been carefully covered and only her gold-flaked, brown, almond-shaped eyes looked out at him as she had asked questions about the oil paintings he had displayed for her in the very same mosque he now set up his glass vases. She had smelled like cinnamon and yenibahar, and the mix had intoxicated him. All he could see of her face were those brown and gold eyes and he felt naked under her gaze. There was a twinkle there, with a secret smile he felt must be for him. While nerves seemed to bring a certain clumsiness to his actions, his natural charm still flowed from him and they spoke for a long time about art and Venetian culture. After purchasing one of his best paintings, all she had left him with was the memory of her aroma, the vision of those eyes looking directly into his soul, and a large bag of coin. That is, until two days later when she requested that he show her his best marble figurines.
He had just finished setting up the final vase when the Sultana and her entourage entered the viewing room set aside in the palace mosque for occasions such as this. He had to restrain himself from letting his jaw drop when he looked upon her. She wore a golden Yashmak that covered the lower part of her face and head, as was the tradition of women in public. Her Jelick vest was exquisitely embroidered and was worn over a simple white gown and billowy salvar trousers. Even though she was covered from head to toe in fabric, the Jelick clung to her curves alluringly. He lowered his eyes and bowed deeply before her. “Welcome, your Grace. I have brought my best pieces for your inspection”
She answered in nearly perfect Italian and walked past him to the first vase, “Thank you for coming on such short notice.” She stood for a moment, taking in the line of Venetian glass. “These are remarkable… Could you tell me, Signore, how Venetians are able to make these?”
“Of course, however there are some portions of the process that are unknown even to me, so I would not be able to explain it all. However, I do know the basics of the process,” he said, joining her by the first vase.
“Sand is the basic starting point for the entire process. It is heated and other elements are added to it to create the colors you see before you. Different additives create different colors. As the mixture cools it comes to a point where it is neither liquid nor solid and it can be shaped by expert hands. They are able to create the patterns in the glass by stretching the mixtures in to long strings that are then wrapped around each other before they are able to cool. This is one of the more basic techniques. There are many other techniques, of course, but such things are the closely guarded secrets of the artisans.” He stood as close as decency would allow and even that garnered looks from the large black eunuchs who accompanied her.
She looked over the line of vases in front of her. Each was colorful and miraculous in its own right. The one in front of her was fluted and clear except for the symmetrical handles to each side, which were made of strings of delicate cameo daisies. She exhaled and he could see her veil billow out from her face with her breath.
“I have never seen anything so beautiful in all of my life,” she said, looking down the line.
His response was so soft that she barely heard it. “I have.”
She glanced at him briefly, the slightest smile crinkling the edges of her eyes. She turned from him and continued down the line. “I am overwhelmed by them all, which one would you suggest?”
He did not hesitate. He moved towards a vase in the middle of the line and beckoned her to come nearer. Before them stood a paisley blue vase that had a simple hourglass shape, but that was the only thing that was simple about it. The glass had a latticework texture, yet it seemed as if it had been pulled into a spiral around the circumference of the vase. A line of the most intricate glass peacock feathers spiraled up the vase, finally looping out into a singular handle. The whole vase sparkled with inlaid crystals that caught the light no matter which angle the vase was viewed from. Hawwa looked upon the vase in silence for a long moment before a singular tear rolled down her cheek. “Yes, I think you are right. I will buy this one.”
He gave her the largest smile that he could, revealing how devilishly handsome he could be. “Excellent choice, your Grace.”
She turned to him for a moment and said, “As always, Signore D’amore, your expertise overwhelms me. You have a keen eye for beauty.”
He smiled slightly and looked to the ground for a moment. “Everything has beauty…” He then lifted his eyes to hers, keeping his face turned towards the ground as he finished the quote, “…but not everyone sees it.” He could see her eyes widen a little in surprise at the notion and his slight smile spread across his face into a toothy grin. “-Confucius.”
Her eyebrows furrowed slightly, “What?”
“Confucius. He was a philosopher who lived long ago in the Orient.”
She nodded her head as understanding came to her eyes, the ghost of a smile returning to her eyes. “And tell me Signore, do you see all the beauty that the world has to offer?”
His smile faded as he said in an almost whisper, “I see the beauty in front of me.” Her eyes seemed to burn into him but all she did was nod her head slightly and turn on her heel. As she left the room she snapped her fingers at the eunuch.
The large man stepped forward, sweat glistening off of his smooth chocolate black skin. He handed the merchant a small leather bag that jingled with many coins and walked away, making preparations for the transportation of the vase.
Alanzo swallowed and hoped that he had not been too forward. His heart seemed to physically constrict in his chest at the thought of having to wait the next couple of days for her to summon him, not to mention the distinct possibility that she never would. He did not like the idea of not being firmly in control of the situation, but what could he do? This was not his culture, and he knew, strictly speaking, that he was not allowed to even touch her. In his brain, Alanzo knew that he should flee from this place as soon as possible and not let himself be slowly strangled by this hope. Alanzo had told this to himself so many times, yet he could not bring himself to leave. He moved quickly to pack up the remainder of his wares and left the mosque. As soon as he returned to his booth within the grand bazaar, he opened the coin bag and dumped the contents into his coin chest. His eyes widened as he looked upon a small parchment that had been rolled and hidden within the coin purse. He worked to slow his racing heart as he read the note that gave him a time and location.
ns 15.158.61.51da2
