The Architect's Apprentice

by Elif Shafak

Then, as if in unison, people stopped saying it was because of them. It was others who had brought this upon the city, others with their impiety and debauchery. Fear turned into resentment; resentment into rage. And rage was a ball of flame you could not hold in your hands for too long; it had to be thrown at someone.

Beyond the observatory grounds was an expanse of onlookers and well-wishers, their voices carrying in the wind. Foreign envoys observing the happenings, merchants calculating what this could bring to them, pilgrims murmuring prayers, beggars seeking alms, thieves searching for prey, and children perching on their fathers’ shoulders to get a glimpse of the place where you could watch the sun and the moon, and even learn where the shooting stars went when they tumbled down.

In the ensuing days Istanbulites talked about nothing else. Fearful whispers and dark foreboding seeped into the cracks in the walls, filled in the gaps in the cobbles, passed through the holes in the locks, flew down the sewers, sullied the very air. Soon