“And did you at last reach your friend?” I asked.
“What friend?”
“Was it not to rescue some friend that you faced death?”
“No,” he said, “for pleasure.”
“For pleasure,” I repeated, and he burst out laughing.
He spoke of this as if it were something of which to be proud, “and his oft-repeated encounters with death,” he said, “only whetted his appetite for more.” Was life then of so little value to this man that he could risk it so easily?
Naturally in trying to explain this curious existence I compare it with our life in the harem, and the more I think the more am I astonished. What I should like to ask these people, if I dared, is, are they really satisfied with their lot, or are they only pretending to be happy, as we in Turkey pretended to be happy? Are they not tired of flirting and enjoying themselves so uselessly?
We in Turkey used to envy the women of the West. We, who were denied the rights of taking part in charitable works, imagined that the European women not only dared to think, but carry their schemes into action for the betterment of their fellow-creatures.
But are these women here an exception? Do they think, or do they not? I wonder myself whether they have not found life so empty that they are endeavouring to crush out their better selves by using up their physical energy. How is it possible, I ask myself, that, after all this exercise, they have strength enough to dance till midnight. Life to me at present is all out of focus; in time perhaps I shall see it in its proper proportions.
We go down sometimes to see the dancing. Since I have been here, I perfectly understand why you never find time to go to balls, if dancing in your country is anything like it is here. When we were children of twelve, before we were veiled, we were invited to dances given in Constantinople. I have danced with young attachés at the British Embassy, yet, child though I was, I saw nothing clever in their performance.