Chapter II

Chapter II

That day, Constantinople, Tsari Grad or Istanbul, as they call the Ottoman Empire’s capital, was boiling with people. It seems like the entire world had flooded the streets and alleys, the taverns, the baths and the inns. Located between “Halich” (“Golden Horn”. Peninsula and Bay, known as Haliç in Turkish) and the “Bosphorus”, Istanbul pulsated with life at every corner. Apart from Turks, there are others: Arabs, Kurds, Armenians, Jews, Latins and Christians from Rumeli (Turkish Rumeli – The Ottoman province on the Balkan Peninsula, included in which are: Albania, Bosnia, Bulgaria, Walachia, Greece, Serbia, Moldavia, Macedonia and Montenegro; closest being: Thrace, Macedonia and Anatolia). There was a river of people there whose course rippled with horsemen, camel riders and coach drivers. There was a variety of gowns, scarves, shawls, fezzes, turbans and all kinds of other headgear available for sale.

A whirlpool of people and everything that was grounded, entrenched, or rooted; from house to tower, from lawn to tree and from spring to river was surrounded by Roman style hedges from antiquity. They had the city wrapped in a long, triangular contour which looked like a necklace, and those double towers erected every fifty metres or so were like ornaments on it. There were many roads including those from Edirne which led inside the city through the six city gates. The gates were surrounded by a strong fence made with wedges and heavy planks. There was a road coming out from the northernmost gate near Halich, known as “Egri Kapia”, extending to the centre of the “Aivan Sarai” neighbourhood, and branching south into the “Balat” and “Fener” neighbourhoods. These three neighborhoods encompassed a third of the Halich coast, in which Christians and Jews were squeezed together living in wooden huts that hung over alleys, lanes and pathways. Pedestrians and horses walked along one of those streets in Balat which gently bent towards the ports. This is where Dimitri was leading the first horse and

Despina and Stefan the second. Next to the third horse was Father Daniel Zihnenski, Despina’s brother. Father Daniel and Stefan were going to Varna. After that they planned to go to Bucharest by coach. A short walk later they arrived at the bazaar near the port.

“Bozaa, bujrum bozaa!” yelled one street vendor just like the others who were carrying well-balanced yokes over their shoulders, balanced with their bodies. Tied to each end of the yoke were ropes on which hung a barrel, a copper vessel shaped like a jug used for carrying and pouring liquids and a small metal drinking vessel in the shape of a cup. The vendors routinely served the public from the youngest, with moss under their noses, to the oldest with hunched shoulders. The vendors easily moved on the cobblestones wearing their sturdy but comfortable shoes. Other street vendors used planks with belts tied at each end, placed over the back of their necks. The planks hung in front of them and on them were placed simits, zelniks with toppings, and pastries whose aromas spread all around. There were piles of watermelons and pumpkins resting next to the shops as well as sacks full of grain. Hanging on hooks on the walls were bunches of herbs and other goods. Dimitri had gotten used to the chatter after living here for five summers. In addition to the celebratory fanfare that existed here there were also quarrels, robberies and sadness. As a result people tended to stay on their own streets. The Christians and the Jews didn’t stray too far from their neighbourhoods which they occupied according to their countries of origin and the places from which they had come.

“Who cares about time!” said Father Daniel, looking at Stefan who was shopping with his father. “When I started out it was for six or seven months and now it’s been twelve or thirteen summers.”

“You left without telling anyone!” rebuked Despina.

“I was young and hot-headed; I had faith that we would preserve the autocephaly in Ohrid which had existed for centuries. Unfortunately Samuel Handzherli’s cunning did us in. Using corruption and slander, he abolished the Serbian Church in Pech and then, in the summer of 1767, he abolished our Church in Ohrid from which Arch Bishop Arsenei, a Macedonian by birth, left. Two Slavonic churches were shut down by non-believers, and Orthodoxy in

Europe fell to its knees,” said Father Daniel and pointed to the Patriarchate palace on the hill located in the east part of Balat. That “palace” became the Turkish “Balat” because the palace existed before the Turks took it over. Now it has become the Greek “Phanar” (the followers of this church policy are called “Phanariots”).

“They imposed Greek service, duties which were worse than the Turkish ones and our priests were left unprotected,” replied Despina.

“That’s very true, sister. Since we couldn’t reconcile our differences with the ‘Phanariot’ government, we took other measures to save our heads. By God’s providence, I crossed over the Danube and arrived in Bucharest at the ‘Koltea’ Monastery (which existed from the early 18th century to the end of the 19th century when a large part of it was demolished. It was later completely destroyed by earthquakes and bombings). The ‘Phanariots’ thought it was a good idea that we left. Those who remained behind were always sent to desolate and remote places away from their homeland. It was okay with the Phanariots if we carried on with dignity in the Christ-loving countries where we were, as long as we stayed away from our patriotism. Their aim was to uproot us from the love for our own churches and countries.”

And indeed, with humility, devotion and honesty, Father Daniel became the church warden of proceeds and then abbot of the “Koltea” Monastery. There he brought chandeliers, an ark, some holy books and various other necessities from Istanbul and now he came back to take his nephew Stefan so that he could study religion. Dimitri and Stefan arrived here and then they all left.

“You say it’s better over there?” asked Despina.

“There is no such thing as “Sharia” (a right with which a Muslim is always right in a court of law) because Istanbul is afraid of the nearby Christian kingdoms led by women – the forty year-old Maria Theresa of Austria and the nearly twenty year-old Catherine the Great of the Russian kingdom. Both women possessed Walachia; the Russians until five summers ago.”

“The Russians seem to be making more of an effort!” noted Dimitri.

“Yes, because they have Suvorov, an invincible, dry and cruel warrior, as well as someone named Potemkin who moved Russians into the conquered lands. It was with people like these that the Russian queen defeated the sultan. Ships are now sailing through there... The guardian of Walachia is also interfering in the legal affairs of the ‘Porte’ (the word ‘High Porte’ referring to the Ottoman government comes from the gate in front of the Vizier’s palace where the ‘Davin’ and his assistants sat to conduct state policy)... Istanbul’s first fear surfaced seventy years ago when Tsar Peter the Great made his way to Moldavia and Walachia and abolished their rule. They were afraid that the local people might elect their own government and with Christian help, might take Moldavia and Walachia They turned to their trusted in the ‘Fanar’ with properties and people who lived there. But confirmation for the chair cost bags full of gold,” said Father Daniel.

“We know,” said Dimitri, “here, they will do anything to celebrate the chair. The week we arrived in Istanbul, they were appointing the current prince of Walachia.”

“Did you see the procession?”

“I had to. The Patriarchate and the Porte are the authority - the former spiritual, the latter corporeal. The new ruler was sitting on the chair in the middle of the procession and everyone was walking around him; from janissaries to cooks. They moved along riding their horses covered with beautiful rugs. The saddles too were made of rugs tied with threads of gold and cords. Above the new ruler were two white sheets and below him were long sticks carried by servants. He wore a hat, with markings of the country he was going to rule, and expensive clothing. The procession lasted hours,” said Dimitri and walked out in the open where there was a nice view of the buildings on the hill; mosques with pointed minarets, Amams, sarais, ...harems.

“Sultans, viziers and pashas endeared their Allah with their highness when they were advanced! ...But for the glory of their own names they named buildings after themselves,” remarked Father Daniel.

But then they looked at the smoke-filled walls of a building without a roof. He continued: “There were mosques and churches that were destroyed by fire so that smaller buildings could be raised.”

“This was St. George,” said Dimitri pointing to the ruins of a church with a large courtyard located near where they walked. It was fenced by its fallen walls and the green growth that grew all around it. “This is how it has been for the last forty summers when it was under the Patriarchy.”

Dimitri and Despina knew this place well. They often came here to light candles and grieve. They walked along the path to the entrance and entered the crumbled building over the fallen walls. Inside they stood in front of the smoky fresco of “St. George” and prayed. They found the need to remember the two Giorgis, Despina’s first born son and her father in law. They prayed for them and for all their neighbours who had suffered five summers ago. And outside, in this once beautiful church garden, were sprouted trees and roots and decaying stumps. Among the stumps and bushes rose and spread a web of wild blackberry vines. The cinder on the beams, reminiscent of the ruined church in their own village, the overgrowth and noise from Halich, brought Dimitri and Despina back to their mountainous hometown near the river Belitsa. They plucked from the distaff of their memories, threaded threads and slowly wrapped them on the spindles of their subconscious; for this, they were told, was the healer of consciousness.

“Of course fire turns to ashes in so much water!” said Father Daniel breaking the silence on the shore, greeted by sea air. “It’s nice here where vapours from the sea mix with the breeze. I was suffocating from the smell of goods and spices in the bazaar.”

They were truly calming, the sea and the air... Ships with magnificent sails on masts sailed across the bay. Commercial and military, galleys and boats came and went. Those anchored, on the other hand, were waiting for cargo to be loaded or unloaded or to have repairs done. Father Daniel and the others approached the port of Balat, which was connected to the port of Fener at the bend of Pomal at Halich Bay. There, towards Balat maala, just before entering Fener maala, was the oldest part of the city where Jews

came over to meet them. It has been said that the first Jews in Istanbul came from Macedonia, from Ohrid to be exact, during the second summer when Tsar John Paleologos was on the Roman throne. They built the “Ohrid Synagogue” at the incline in Balat. A quarter of a century later, during the summer when Mehmed conquered Istanbul, more Jews came from Macedonia. Some came from Kostur and built the “Kostur Synagogue” on one of the streets in Balat towards “Edirne Kapia”. The Spanish Jews and Jews from other countries began to arrive forty summers later and, because they were culturally different and had different habits, often quarreled. The Jews of Kostur and Ohrid were closer to the Macedonians than they were to the other Jews. (The Ohrid Synagogue was called “Аhridа Sinаgоgu” in Turkish and was the largest synagogue in Istanbul. It was built in l427 with a capacity for 500 people. The “Kostur Synagogue”, called “Kasturya Sinаgоgu” in Turkish, was built in 1453 with a capacity for 150 people. Only the Ohrid Synagogue survived to this day.)

“Are you leaving Dimitri?” asked Isaiah, a wrinkled old man who ran into them.

“No, I’m sending Stefan with his uncle to learn a craft.”

“That’s good. I saw the priest and your cargo all alone so I thought something bad had happened to you. I’m glad you’re all okay. Gook luck to you and have a safe trip.”

“Thank you Uncle Isaiah. Thank you.”

When the old Jew understood that all was well he smiled and continued on his way home. Isaiah lived on the same street just below Dimitri. His son Moses was a rabbi and was familiar with the Talmud (the Jewish holy book). He was also experienced in interpreting law. The other two sons, Abraham and Elijah lived separately but on the same street. Shortly after Isaiah left, a small group of passengers arrived near the port of Fener where many people including porters, port workers and sailors were waiting. They were waiting to go on the ship to load the trunks, barrels, sacks and baggage made of leather and linen. After a while they loaded Father Daniel’s baggage. At the same time passengers getting on the

ship were saying goodbye to their loved ones standing on the shore. Dimitri and Despina hugged their son with trembling hands and hearts, repeating the advice they gave him as they said goodbye. When he finally left, they stood in disbelief - their child was leaving them. His frightened eyes reminded them of that difficult truth...

Yes, this was the real world of the living driven by the need or compulsion to say goodbye and travel. Dimitri and Despina were overwhelmed by feelings that brought to mind memories of the many experiences they had had with Stefan since he began to crawl and walk growing up... until this moment. But, hope was smouldering inside them because Stefan was the kind of boy who had youthful vigour and was prepared for almost everything. Young people didn’t usually torment their brains with things, especially with details and time; they just burrowed through and went straight. Stefan and Father Daniel walked over the planks from the platform, supported by wooden green pillars beneath the sea, to the moored ship. A man with a yellowed moustache sat on the ship’s deck and made notes of the passengers. They gave him their names and he entered them in his book. The ropes then came loose and the heavy chain began to knock, raising the great anchor out of the water. A short time later the ship began to detach itself from shore and slipped away into the water. Tears began to slide down Despina’s face as the ship moved away. Many others who were sending their loved ones away also cried. Their tears detached from their eyelids as they stood on the long platform watching the ship move.

“Our fate… Five summers ago they took our firstborn; now we are sending away our second. What will this 1780th summer bring?” asked Dimitri with a worried look. He had regrets about losing Giorgi. He felt he’d made the wrong decision in sending him alone. The only thing that put him at ease was teaching his other children to be cautious and take care of themselves.

About a month after arriving in Blatsa their relatives were able to help them minimize the wounds to their souls, after the death of family members and neighbours, whose bodies Dimitri found the morning after the attack. Like he said, Dimitri went back to his village as soon as he’d left his wife and children in Blatsa. When he arrived he found his poor mother, father and brother Jovan dead.

They were killed in the yard of their neighbour Marko who lived two houses away from them. They either went there to hide from the attackers or they were gathered there to be slaughtered. But, as Dimitri discovered, two bodies were missing; that of his son Giorgi and his daughter-in-law Ilina, wife of his younger brother Jovan. When he discovered that Giorgi and Ilina might still be alive Dimitri was compelled to look for them. He began to loudly call their names all through the ruins. He yelled as loud as he could but it was all in vain. The last part of the candle of hope that was burning in him was extinguished; he became aware that something terrible might have happened to them. The Arnaut robbers targeted young women and children especially in order to sell them as slaves or to change their religion. When he thought that this might have happened to Ilina and Giorgi, Dimitri started having bad feelings. He was confronted with the difficult question of which was worse, to find them dead, or alive with their lives spent in slavery. They could have been taken anywhere from Egypt, Arabia, Moldova to Bosnia or even somewhere else. Drowning in tears Dimitri gathered the dead bodies he found and, using his livestock, took them to the cemetery and buried them. From that day on, the dream he had the night before the attack, became his nightmare. It followed him like a shadow wherever he went. And so he searched for them for three whole summers. During that time he looked everywhere, asking everyone he met but found nothing. He even looked for people that had survived the massacre in Linotopi, people who weren’t in the village the day of the attack. All had heard about the slaughter but all they could tell Dimitri was what he already knew; that some were taken to harems and others sold as slaves. No one could tell him what had happened to his son Giorgi.

And here is Dimitri now worrying about his son Stefan. His eyes were glued on the ship moving away and shrinking as it gained distance while Stefan’s eyes were glued to the shore. And as the ship floated away and reached the middle of the bay, the buildings on the opposite side, along the shore of Halich, became clearer. Stefan turned to look because he knew he might not have another opportunity to see them. As the ship approached he focused on the “Galata Tower” as it rose from afar. It was colossal with its layered roof looking very impressive. It looked the same even when they turned into the Bosphorus flow. For a moment it looked like it was

piercing the sky. But as the ship made its way away from it, its greatness and that of Istanbul began to diminish in Stefan’s eyes. And after a while the big city too was gone. It hid behind the bluish hills that followed one after another; and then they too disappeared into the blue of the sea and sky. As the hills faded away it was difficult to recognize them in the fog. Eventually they slowly disappeared. Now there was only endless blue water rustling as the ship rhythmically flowed through it.