Small and terrified of almost anything one could name, Şevket Tezer had appeared before Süleyman shaking almost as much as he had when he’d first seen the peeper. It had seemed almost cruel to ask this lad any more questions, but Süleyman had done it anyway. He’d also told the boy he knew he was gay. Şevket cried by way of reply. Yes, İzzet Melik had been right about at least these two boys plus Ali Ceylan, who had woken to find the peeper actually masturbating in his room. They were all, at the very least, ‘interested’ in men and they had all mentioned two places that they all had in common. This, the Saray Hamam, tucked away amid the vertiginous and seedy streets of Karaköy, was one of them.
As Süleyman looked up at the forbidding black bulk of the hamam he wondered at why he’d never noticed this place before. He had, after all, lived in Karaköy for a number of years with his old colleague Balthazar Cohen when his first marriage to his cousin Zuleika had come to an end. A voracious appreciator of women with no morals, Cohen had quickly shown Süleyman all of the local whore houses, pavyons and gazinos that the district had to offer, but he’d never shown him this. Perhaps Cohen didn’t know that this place even existed. One could be forgiven for overlooking such an ugly structure and men, after all, had never been to Balthazar’s taste in any shape or form. There had been a time when he had suspected his friend Mehmet Süleyman of such practices, when the latter had, indeed, been young and painfully repressed. But that was a long time ago and Süleyman was now both a father and an erstwhile lover of his wife and, at times, of other women too. So this was a whole new world . . .
As he leaned up against the shuttered doorway of the hardware store opposite, he watched as the men around the hamam conformed to what seemed to be a standard routine. This started with hanging around looking as if one didn’t know or even care where one was, perhaps accompanied by the lighting of a cigarette, either from one’s own or another’s lighter. Moving closer to the building and sometimes to other men in the vicinity then ensued, followed by a final dash to the main entrance at the side of the great, brooding structure.
Süleyman, now with a lighted cigarette of his own, watched it all. The eye contact, the almost imperceptible pout of the lips, the bolder holding up of the OK sign made with the thumb and index finger which, in this society had another, more directly sexual meaning.
‘Trying to decide what to do?’
Süleyman turned quickly to find himself looking at a very good-looking man of about his own age. Expensively dressed, he smoked, like Süleyman’s father, his cigarettes through a long, metal holder.
Süleyman smiled and said, ‘Yes.’
‘Well, I think you’ll find a very . . . diverting group of people inside,’ the man said. ‘I think many might really take to you.’
‘Oh.’
The man had a very sensual mouth that smiled easily and eyes that, Süleyman noticed, gazed quickly up and down his body with practised intensity.
‘But it’s up to you,’ the man said with a shrug. ‘It’s always ultimately up to the individual, isn’t it?’
And then he made his way forward towards the building, his thick dark overcoat swishing about his tall, elegant form as he moved. What had he been, Süleyman wondered, the man who had come on so casually to the lone policeman? A lawyer? An advertising executive, or someone ‘big’ in PR? Whatever he was he had wanted to get into the hamam and he had wanted to take Süleyman with him. For just a moment, he smiled. He’d only ever briefly entertained thoughts that he might be homosexual and, although he was now sure that he wasn’t, it was still flattering to have been ‘hit on’ by another attractive man.
He was just about to leave when he saw another figure in another doorway about fifty metres down from where he was standing.
As Süleyman looked up at the forbidding black bulk of the hamam he wondered at why he’d never noticed this place before. He had, after all, lived in Karaköy for a number of years with his old colleague Balthazar Cohen when his first marriage to his cousin Zuleika had come to an end. A voracious appreciator of women with no morals, Cohen had quickly shown Süleyman all of the local whore houses, pavyons and gazinos that the district had to offer, but he’d never shown him this. Perhaps Cohen didn’t know that this place even existed. One could be forgiven for overlooking such an ugly structure and men, after all, had never been to Balthazar’s taste in any shape or form. There had been a time when he had suspected his friend Mehmet Süleyman of such practices, when the latter had, indeed, been young and painfully repressed. But that was a long time ago and Süleyman was now both a father and an erstwhile lover of his wife and, at times, of other women too. So this was a whole new world . . .
As he leaned up against the shuttered doorway of the hardware store opposite, he watched as the men around the hamam conformed to what seemed to be a standard routine. This started with hanging around looking as if one didn’t know or even care where one was, perhaps accompanied by the lighting of a cigarette, either from one’s own or another’s lighter. Moving closer to the building and sometimes to other men in the vicinity then ensued, followed by a final dash to the main entrance at the side of the great, brooding structure.
Süleyman, now with a lighted cigarette of his own, watched it all. The eye contact, the almost imperceptible pout of the lips, the bolder holding up of the OK sign made with the thumb and index finger which, in this society had another, more directly sexual meaning.
‘Trying to decide what to do?’
Süleyman turned quickly to find himself looking at a very good-looking man of about his own age. Expensively dressed, he smoked, like Süleyman’s father, his cigarettes through a long, metal holder.
Süleyman smiled and said, ‘Yes.’
‘Well, I think you’ll find a very . . . diverting group of people inside,’ the man said. ‘I think many might really take to you.’
‘Oh.’
The man had a very sensual mouth that smiled easily and eyes that, Süleyman noticed, gazed quickly up and down his body with practised intensity.
‘But it’s up to you,’ the man said with a shrug. ‘It’s always ultimately up to the individual, isn’t it?’
And then he made his way forward towards the building, his thick dark overcoat swishing about his tall, elegant form as he moved. What had he been, Süleyman wondered, the man who had come on so casually to the lone policeman? A lawyer? An advertising executive, or someone ‘big’ in PR? Whatever he was he had wanted to get into the hamam and he had wanted to take Süleyman with him. For just a moment, he smiled. He’d only ever briefly entertained thoughts that he might be homosexual and, although he was now sure that he wasn’t, it was still flattering to have been ‘hit on’ by another attractive man.
He was just about to leave when he saw another figure in another doorway about fifty metres down from where he was standing.
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