Opening doors

November 2022, Brooklyn, NY.

Azra was doing her homework in the bay window niche of the Cobble Hill brownstone when the box arrived. A buzzing made her look up. Outside, a drone deposited its load on the stoop. She swiveled in her chair and announced into the room.

“Grandma, there’s a box on the stoop.”

“A box?”

“Yes. A drone put it there. Perhaps it’s from Amazon.”

“OK, Azra. Go bring it in.”

Azra rose from the desk, dragged her 12-year-old feet to the front door, opened it, and picked up the box resting on the top step. Turning around and closing the front door behind her, she brought the box inside to her grandmother, Sophia. Her grandmother thanked her and stared at it.

It was the size of a tissue box, made of once glossy lacquered redwood now dulled and worn. It gave no hint of its origin. Sophia turned the object over and around. But from every angle, it offered no clue as to its provenance or why it was there.

Azra asked her what it was. And her grandmother reflexively started to answer that she had no idea, when a memory pricked her consciousness - not a memory, more a sense of familiarity. The feeling had no solidity but was like a shadow flitting across the edge of your vision that disappears when you turn your head to look at it.

Sophia continued to stare at the cube in her hand. It was too light to be solid. But there was no obvious method to open it. She handed it to her granddaughter and asked Azra if she could see a way. But her granddaughter's young eyes saw no anomaly in the smooth surface. Azra handed the box back to her grandmother and returned to the homework she had to finish before she went to Janelle’s house.

Sophia also gave up and set the box down on the table beside her old cracked leather wing-back chair.

At 72, there was nothing old about Sophia. But for all her vitality, there was no denying that she had lived a life. The fine wrinkles around her eyes, arthritis in her fingers, and her sweeping mane of graying chestnut hair bore testimony to time’s passage.

In the evening, with Azra gone, Sophia sat at the kitchen table eating a cucumber salad and the manti dumplings Melek had made for her. Azra called to ask if she could stay over at Janelle’s. Sophia assented. She was glad to be alone. She loved her granddaughter, but Azra was always rushing around, knocking things over and apologizing.

She put her dirty plates in the sink for Melek to deal with in the morning and poured herself another glass of wine. She went up to the second floor and dressed for bed. She stepped onto the terrace overlooking the back garden and sat in a comfortable chair, smoking a joint and sipping wine.

Then she brushed her teeth, brushed her hair, and splashed her face with warm water before drying it with a face towel. Lastly, she went to bed with the book she would fall asleep with.

Sometime later, she woke up. The light was on. She reached, eyes closed, for the switch when her hand hit something, knocking it to the floor. Unwillingly, she rubbed her eyes and leaned over to see what it was. On the floor lay the box she had left downstairs. She picked it up.

In the morning, the box was still on her bedside table.

After she had showered and dressed, Sophia brought it downstairs to the kitchen. She made herself breakfast and coffee and ate while catching up with the news on her iPad. Without Melek or Azra, the house was tranquil.

A key in the lock announced Melek’s return from a family visit. The Turkish woman entered the kitchen loaded with plastic bags of her native food. As she put it away, she quietly answered Sophia’s inquiries as to the state of her relatives. The old were getting frailer, the young were getting older, and new arrivals gladdened the hearts of the extended clan.

Melek made Turkish coffee on the stove. She poured out two small foam-topped cups. She handed one to Sophia, who sipped the bitter-sweet creation with pleasure. They chatted idly as close friends do.

Melek saw the box which Bunny had used to prop up her iPad. She paled. And pointing, she asked her where it had come from. Bunny took the iPad off the box and picked it up. And put it down in front of Melek.

“Why do you ask? Does it mean anything to you, Mel?” she inquired.

September 1968, Istanbul, Turkey

Freshly graduated from one of the venerable all-girls boarding schools that ushered aristocratic young English girls from innocence to young adulthood, Bunny Arbuthnot-Coutts told her parents she would travel during her gap year. Her mother threw herself eagerly into the task.

The English old-girls network was boundless. In every corner of the former Empire lived a venerable British family who would willingly house a well-bred young woman with wanderlust. But Bunny told her mother she wanted to see something of “the real world."

Her mother, despite her studied vagueness, was a percipient woman. She realized it was time for her chick to leave the nest. And with some trepidation, she acquiesced to the plan. She had one condition. Bunny was to stay in a decent hotel wherever she chose to go.

They sealed the deal. And in September, Bunny’s parents drove her to Heathrow. She took a BEA flight to Istanbul’s Yeşilköy Airport. There she checked into Pera Palace Hotel.

One day, as she left her key at the front desk, the clerk asked her if she was happy with her stay.

Bunny replied, “It has been delightful.”

“Why are you lying to yourself.” the young clerk asked.

The reply stunned Bunny. And for the first time, she looked at the modestly uniformed woman standing behind the reception desk. The clerk was at most a few years older than the now speechless Bunny.

“Meet me here at six,” said the clerk

“All right,” Bunny meekly agreed.

At six, she returned to reception. The clerk had swapped her uniform for a dress and had freed her long black hair. She wore no makeup. Her dark eyelashes and angular face needed no enhancement.

“Come with me Miss Arbuthnot,” she said. “I want you to meet someone.”

“Please call me, Bunny. May I ask what your name is?”

“Melek”

The two young women walked out through the hotel doors into the bright warmth of the early Turkish autumn. They were soon in a neighborhood new to Bunny. The redolence of spices floated over the earthy odor of the ubiquitous donkeys pulling carts.

They passed shops selling necessities and local food. Fishmongers pressed up against butchers. Bakers were neighbors with fabric vendors. Itinerant knife grinders, jugglers, and street musicians plied their trades.

Children ran underfoot, giggling without modesty. World-weary wizened men drank strong coffee and discussed politics and football. Women with bulging bags haggled from store to store to provision their homes.

Malek turned down a narrow alley. It opened into a large, tree-lined courtyard. On the opposing side stood a substantial three-story house, old but well-maintained. Stone steps led to a double front door of highly polished wood adorned by gleaming brass hardware.

Melek led Bunny up the stairs and opened one of the unlocked front doors. They went in.

Inside was a cool room containing a carved stone fountain splashing water into a vibrantly tiled basin. Melek ushered Bunny through a tall door. The room inside rested in the gloom as the daylight diminished and no lights were on. A voice spoke from the darkness,

“Melek,” it said. “Is this the English woman?”

The man spoke with the well-educated drawl of a stiff-chined member of the English upper class. But the accent was too precisely mannered and well-enunciated for the speaker to be British.

“Yes.”

“Your words have done her charm and intelligence an injury. Although I concede, it would be hard to do justice to her vivacity.”

Bunny wondered how he could say so much about her as she could not see him in the shadows. She supposed he was used to the dimness.

“Bring her here. Let her sit next to me.”

Melek led Bunny to a large sofa where she could see a person seated at one end. It was too dark to make out more than a vague outline. She offered her hand to the man. He took it in his and, raising it to his lips, brushed a kiss against its back.

It was both intensely formal and disturbingly personal. Bunny had suffered the fumbling ardor of teen suitors full of ambition blunted by clumsiness. This was an effortless intimacy that presented no threat.

“What troubles you, Bunny?” he asked. “Why do you not flee your prison?”

His directness, rare to the English, disquieted her, and she wanted to tell him he had no business making such personal observations. But in opening her mouth to express her feelings, she said,

“I am so sorry, but I do not know your name.”

“I apologize, I thought Melek had told you. My name is Şeytan.” He added, “please forgive my abruptness. I try not to be rude. But I sometimes forget who I am supposed to be.”

This seemed to Bunny an odd way to put it. Nevertheless, in her nervousness, she pressed on.

“Please think nothing of it.”

“Your soul is kind. You should not have to bear the burden of uncertainty. Tell me your fears.”

And Bunny, to her surprise, did. She said she wanted to live free. But tradition and the chains of propriety bound her to a straight and narrow path. She felt ordained to motherhood and destined to be a sidekick to a successful husband.

She told Şeytan she feared a life of sock washing, menu planning, and fevered, scraped-knee, demanding children. She dreaded the truth of discovering her husband was an adulterer or a fraud. She shuddered at the possibility of scandal while also wondering if it might not be the only exciting that would happen to her.

Şeytan was correct. She was in prison - serving a life sentence.

In the dark room, she told the stranger things she had never permitted herself to think. He remained silent, barring an occasional prompt or a short encouragement to say more. He did not offer Bunny much. It was her cell, and only she could figure out how to unlock the door.

Then there was silence. The door to the room opened. And Malek entered, silhouetted by the bright lights of the court beyond. And hearing the splash of water, Bunny felt herself wake as if from a trance.

“Come, it is getting late and you must eat something before the restaurants close.” said Malek.

Bunny stood up. She turned back to bid goodnight to Şeytan. There was no one there. The light from the fountain room showed that where he had been sitting was now just plumped cushions.

Confused, Bunny shrugged and left with Malek. The young women stopped at a bistro. They chatted idly, and Bunny quizzed Malek on life in Istanbul. She was determined not to mention anything about that evening. Finally, Malek addressed the subject.

“How did you find Şeytan?” she asked.

Bunny replied, “I trusted him.”

Malek nodded. She escorted Bunny back to the hotel.

For several evenings Bunny returned to the house in the square and talked to Şeytan. One night, as their conversation ended, Malek entered the room as she always did. And Bunny, out of the habit of good manners, turned back to say goodnight. She expected to see nothing. But tonight, a man lay reclined against the back of the sofa.

It was hard to tell his age. He seemed in his thirties - but his eyes were as experienced as the grave. He was slim with long fingers, one of which sported a blood-red stone. His lustrous dark hair slicked back from a tanned and unlined forehead. He had prominent cheeks and lips that were both thin and sensuous. And he was impeccably dressed as an Edwardian gentleman.

He uncoiled from the sofa and stood. A little over six feet, he gave the impression of immeasurable height. He bent at the waist with great formality and kissed her hand. Standing straight again, he kept hold of her hand. His coal-dark eyes gazed unblinkingly at her as he said,

“You will be all right now. You have found your path.”

Bunny looked at him wistfully. And walked through the doors of the house for the last time

December 21st, 1999, Manhattan NY

The founder of Crawford Investments took the stage at the start of the company’s annual Christmas party at the Pierre. Once again, she would celebrate the continued success of the firm. And raise a glass to profits that shattered previous records.

An open bar and bonus checks had warmed the company's partners and associates. They anticipated her usual brief and laudatory speech. After which, they would assault the largesse the company laid out every year.

Instead, they listened to an unusually restrained Sophia Crawford speak of the past and the future,

“Dear friends, this will be the last time I address you," she said as the audience gasped. "When I started this company 25 years ago, I dreamt of modest success. It has surpassed that ambition - a thousand-fold. But I am not here tonight to rehash the past. God knows our website gilds that lily.”

“I have been asked the secret of my success,” she continued. “My response has always been, you work hard at what you believe in. You hire good people, you let them do their job. And you are honest with your customers. But that is no secret. Every management book written has offered that piece of advice.”

“Here is the truth. You have to stop doing what others expect you to do. You have to do what you want to do. You must shed your fears and take a chance. Do not wait, do it now.”

"Some of you have made more money than you ever dared to dream," she continued. But ask yourself, ‘am I happy?' If the answer is ‘yes’, carry on.”

‘But if you have the slightest doubt, do not be here next year. Be where you want to be. If your friends do not understand your chosen path, get new friends. If your family is disappointed, wait them out - if they love you, they will come around. Mine did."

Finished, she walked out the ballroom doors.

November 2022, Brooklyn, NY.

Malek had left the house on some errand after doing the washing up. Azra later returned from Janelle’s and eagerly shared the scandals of her 12-year-old set. Night fell and Azra went to bed. Sophie Crawford went through her nightly routine.

Within minutes she was asleep. And in her dreams, she saw Şeytan. He was still the old young man she had shared intimacy with 54 years ago. And in her sleep, she regarded him fondly.

Sophia was startled awake. She turned on the light and noticed the box on her night table. It was open.

She heard a suppressed hiccup of a laugh and realized someone else was in the room. She turned. And saw Şeytan sitting across from her. He was as he had always been, still clothed in Edwardian finery and young.

Sophia was silent. Şeytan laughed and asked,

“Cat got your tongue, Bunny?”

“How in God’s name did you get here?” was all Sophia could think to ask.

Şeytan glanced at the box and replied, “I get around. And by the way, it had nothing to do with God.”

“What do you mean?”

“If it were up to Him, everyone would get their instructions weekly from a dusty old manual so unclear it could have been written by a committee of engineers.”

“You, darling Bunny, made a different choice," he continued. “You choose to lead the life you could lead because you broke the bonds of expectation.’

“You were one of my favorites you know, You showed no fear.” He added, “I have been watching you. From poor little rich girl to self-made billionaire. Delicious. And then you gave it all away.”

“Not all,” Sophie replied. "And I needed to give those girls opportunity.”

"Talking of girls. I am sorry about your daughter.”

“I told her to do what she wanted to do. And she did. We all knew the risks of mountain climbing.”

“I love little Azra.”

“Yes, she is a joy to me.”

“I remember when you said you hated the thought of children.”

“I was wrong,”

“That's what happens when you are human”

“So what brings you to Brooklyn?” Sophia asked as she wondered at herself for being so quick to go from the miraculous to the mundane.

“I discovered there are some women here who are on the straight and narrow path to heaven. I thought I should give them permission to live before they die. Besides, I wanted to see you. Now I have to go now.”

He rose, walked to the top of the bed, and took her hand. He stooped low and brushed his lips against it. Then straightening up, he kissed her on the forehead. Sophia fell asleep. And as she drifted off, a distant voice in a well-educated British accent laughed and said, “If anyone asks, tell them 'the Devil made me do it'.”

In the morning, Sophia woke up. There was no box beside her bed. She went downstairs and found Azra sitting at the kitchen table. Sophie greeted her and asked how she had slept,

"Fine," replied Azra,

Then Sophia asked her, “Have you seen Melek yet?”

Her granddaughter replied, “Who’s Melek?”