who spoke no English but managed to communicate to me that her name was Melek. She ushered me into a tiny dressing room, pantomiming actions that could only suggest I was to remove my clothing. In a matter of moments, she had whisked my dress over my head and turned her attentions to my corset. I was two shades from mortification, a condition not helped in the least when I realized that the towel—tiny and made from the thinnest-possible cotton—she was handing me would provide all the cover I was to get. She slipped wooden-soled clogs onto my feet and motioned for me to follow her.
Hobbling behind her, I focused on keeping my feet from sliding on the slick marble floor while at the same time gripping my toes lest the slippers fly off. She opened a wooden door and led me into a large, domed room made entirely of gray marble. The temperature was warmer than in the outer chamber, but not so hot as to be uncomfortable. Evenly spaced washbasins lined the perimeter, their faucets fashioned in elaborately patterned bronze. Marble benches ran continuously between the sinks, and on them sat more than a dozen women of the harem, all of them completely unclothed.
So shocked was I by this sight that I did not notice my attendant pulling my less than adequate towel away from me, leaving me in the same vulnerable state. I leapt for the nearest bench, falling onto it in a manner lacking any and all grace. Melek picked up a silver bowl, filled it in the basin, and dumped steaming water over my head. She repeated this several times before handing it to me and motioning for me to continue myself.
With a smile so weak as to be all but nonexistent, I dipped the bowl into the sink, sending water spilling over the sides. There were no drains. The water ran into a trough in the floor and disappeared beneath a wall, the sound of its travels dancing through echoes of the bouncing hum of the faucets. The warm stone felt good against my back, but there was no part of me finding even slim comfort in the situation. Other than the sound of water, the room appeared silent until I began to listen with focused attention. All around me, the women were whispering to one another, leaning forward to circumvent the basins, heads bent together as they spoke, coming apart when they lifted their bowls above them.
I looked at my arms, astonished to find that even my limbs had blushed crimson, and dropped my head back against the wall, ashamed of myself. Much though I wanted to throw myself into the local culture and behave nothing like the typical Englishwoman, I was failing miserably at the hamam . Still holding my now full bowl, I clenched my teeth and poured the water over my head. Bound and determined to enjoy myself, I dunked the bowl back into the sink and sloshed the contents onto my hair, which, thanks to Melek, was hanging loose down my back.
Meg would be beyond horrified when she saw me.
A petite blonde sat at the basin next to mine and began dousing herself. “I understand we are to be kind to you,” she said. “An unusual directive.”
“Is it?” I planted my elbows on my knees and rested my chin on them, trying to hide my body.
“You should relax.” She tipped her head back and poured more water. I looked away, focusing on the floor. The marble, a superior grade, better than any I’d seen in England, shimmered in the soft light but was not enough to keep my attention. I tried the ceiling instead, counting the small circular windows cut into it and then analyzing the color of the sky, not quite cerulean. My neighbor’s laughter floated into my false reverie. “Is it so taxing?”
“Taxing?” I asked, forcing myself to meet her clear eyes.
“I have heard stories of the West, of the European courts. Didn’t believe them, but perhaps I should have. Is everyone in England so tense?”
This made me smile. “Yes, actually.”
“Tedious.” She pushed her hands against the bench, straightening her arms and arching her
Hobbling behind her, I focused on keeping my feet from sliding on the slick marble floor while at the same time gripping my toes lest the slippers fly off. She opened a wooden door and led me into a large, domed room made entirely of gray marble. The temperature was warmer than in the outer chamber, but not so hot as to be uncomfortable. Evenly spaced washbasins lined the perimeter, their faucets fashioned in elaborately patterned bronze. Marble benches ran continuously between the sinks, and on them sat more than a dozen women of the harem, all of them completely unclothed.
So shocked was I by this sight that I did not notice my attendant pulling my less than adequate towel away from me, leaving me in the same vulnerable state. I leapt for the nearest bench, falling onto it in a manner lacking any and all grace. Melek picked up a silver bowl, filled it in the basin, and dumped steaming water over my head. She repeated this several times before handing it to me and motioning for me to continue myself.
With a smile so weak as to be all but nonexistent, I dipped the bowl into the sink, sending water spilling over the sides. There were no drains. The water ran into a trough in the floor and disappeared beneath a wall, the sound of its travels dancing through echoes of the bouncing hum of the faucets. The warm stone felt good against my back, but there was no part of me finding even slim comfort in the situation. Other than the sound of water, the room appeared silent until I began to listen with focused attention. All around me, the women were whispering to one another, leaning forward to circumvent the basins, heads bent together as they spoke, coming apart when they lifted their bowls above them.
I looked at my arms, astonished to find that even my limbs had blushed crimson, and dropped my head back against the wall, ashamed of myself. Much though I wanted to throw myself into the local culture and behave nothing like the typical Englishwoman, I was failing miserably at the hamam . Still holding my now full bowl, I clenched my teeth and poured the water over my head. Bound and determined to enjoy myself, I dunked the bowl back into the sink and sloshed the contents onto my hair, which, thanks to Melek, was hanging loose down my back.
Meg would be beyond horrified when she saw me.
A petite blonde sat at the basin next to mine and began dousing herself. “I understand we are to be kind to you,” she said. “An unusual directive.”
“Is it?” I planted my elbows on my knees and rested my chin on them, trying to hide my body.
“You should relax.” She tipped her head back and poured more water. I looked away, focusing on the floor. The marble, a superior grade, better than any I’d seen in England, shimmered in the soft light but was not enough to keep my attention. I tried the ceiling instead, counting the small circular windows cut into it and then analyzing the color of the sky, not quite cerulean. My neighbor’s laughter floated into my false reverie. “Is it so taxing?”
“Taxing?” I asked, forcing myself to meet her clear eyes.
“I have heard stories of the West, of the European courts. Didn’t believe them, but perhaps I should have. Is everyone in England so tense?”
This made me smile. “Yes, actually.”
“Tedious.” She pushed her hands against the bench, straightening her arms and arching her
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