26

I shivered with excitement as the Lobsters and I walked beneath a large, ornately decorated stone archway: the main gate of the Grand Bazaar! According to my tourist map, it was a labyrinth of squares and corridors, roughly divided into zones—textiles, jewelry, ceramics, clothing, and more. In real life, the bazaar was overwhelming, stretching out in all directions and teeming with shoppers. The vaulted ceilings rose so high it hurt my neck to look up.

“Seems like anything you’d ever want to buy can be found in the Grand Bazaar,” Maeve marveled. “My goodness. Where to start?”

“How about we don’t start,” said Milton. “Let’s quit while we’re ahead and not buy anything here.”

“Oh, don’t be such a yobbo, Milton,” said Maeve. “You act like I’ve got no self-control, and that couldn’t be farther from the truth.”

“Oh, come on,” groaned Milton. “I don’t give a rat’s arse about this stuff. You’re bleeding me dry, Maeve, with all this bloody spending.”

While they bickered, I studied my map carefully and found Café Mozaik. It was a tiny box practically in the center of the Grand Bazaar.

“Milton,” said Maeve. “Wake up. We’re in Turkey. We live in Australia. I’m seventy-one years old, and I’m likely never coming back here, so I intend to enjoy myself. These are unique items. And what we don’t have room for or what we can’t give to the kids as gifts, I can sell online and get some money back.”

“You always say that, Maeve, but it never happens! You’re a right hoarder!”

I checked my watch. I was due to meet Sage in ten minutes. “Maybe you guys could start browsing, and I could pick up some coffees to go, for energy. And I’ll come find you.”

“Oh, no, dear. I’m afraid you might get lost,” said Maeve. “Let’s all stick together.”

“Then let’s start shopping at the heart of the bazaar and work our way outward,” I suggested. That way I could pretend to get lost, and duck into the Café Mozaik to find Sage.

Milton sighed. “Fair enough. Lead the way. Let’s get this over with.”

We ventured a few yards down a corridor, and were instantly followed by men hawking their wares. It was like the Marmaris docks all over again.

“Hello! Bonjour! Excuse me! What language do you speak?”

“Can I offer you some tea?”

“Family! Nice family! Come and see our carpets, nice family!”

“I swear,” said Milton, “if I have to see one more carpet in this country, I am going to go out of my bloody mind.”

“Oh, stop. You’ll do no such thing,” scolded Maeve, who seemed to be perking up now that she was in shopping nirvana. “You’ll buck up and see what there is to see.”

“We’re in the seventh circle of hell. Or square of hell, I should say,” Milton muttered.

As we walked deeper into the bazaar, I realized that Aunt Jackie was right: this wasn’t a regular mall. There were lots of Turkish crafts, including all types and sizes of nazar boncuus, and textiles galore. Also, there were hustlers everywhere. Drink vendors with those giant cases on their backs, like the one who’d served me in Sultanhamet Square yesterday, pouring juice into cups. We passed stalls selling all kinds of spices, mounds of rich red, yellow, and bright green powders. Some spices were labeled “Aphrodisiacs” and “Turkish Viagra,” which made Maeve blush and Milton chuckle. We also passed some strange things for sale: Jars of leeches. Live chickens and rabbits in cages. Sets of false teeth laid out on silver trays. One vendor shook a whole tray of glass eyeballs at me. I shuddered and hurried on.

But something about the bazaar felt familiar at the same time; not everything about it seemed sinister. There were plenty of regular people like you’d see in any shopping center. Mothers, some in head-to-toe black veils, pushing strollers and gazing at window displays. Little kids, racing around and pushing each other. Teenagers loaded with shopping bags, laughing, talking, and texting. I felt an aching sensation. It was like seeing my old life on display in some parallel universe.

Maeve paused at a pashmina stall to admire some cashmere wraps hanging on a rack.

My eye caught sight of a rack of scarves nearby, and with a start, I noticed that some of them were indigo with little white stars. Exactly like the scarf Sage had worn on the boat! Maybe she’d even bought it here, at this very stall.

Maeve selected five pashminas, and Milton tried to haggle with the vendors. He was fighting a losing battle, turning red now not from sunburn, but from a smoldering rage about being overcharged. I checked my watch again. Five minutes to noon. Realizing this transaction could take a while, I took the opportunity to slip away. The café wasn’t so far.

I broke into a jog, then a run. Vendors called after me:

“Slow down, beautiful girl!”

“Stop, stop! Why in such a hurry, my friend?”

Then it dawned on me that maybe I looked as if I’d stolen something. I could attract the wrong kind of attention if I kept running. I slowed down to a fast walk, my eyes fixed forward. One more corridor and I would be at the Café Mozaik, according to my map. And finally I would see Sage again.

Suddenly, I heard a hissing sound off to my right. Like a cat, or maybe a snake. I looked all around me, and the hissing continued. I saw a small, dim shop filled with elaborately decorated plates and tiles, and ornate hanging lanterns made out of glass. In the doorway was a rack full of blue nazar boncuu amulets. There were tiny earrings, bracelets, and necklaces; amulets hanging from strings; and even glass eyes that were the size of dinner plates.

The hissing sound came again. And then, from behind a rack of dangling evil-eye amulets, another set of eyes emerged, blinking slowly at me.

Eyes that belonged to Lazar.