Chapter 3 White Castle 1

1(1) We were sailing from Venice to Naples when the Turkish fleet blocked our way.We were only three boats in all, and the train of wooden boats emerging from the fog seemed endless.We panicked, and immediately there was a wave of fear and confusion on board, with shrieks of joy from the oarsmen, mostly Turks and Moroccans.Like the other two, our oars landed and headed westward, but could not gain the same speed as theirs.Fearing punishment if caught, the captain was unable to give the order to flog the oarsmen.In the following years, I often thought that my whole life was changed because of the cowardice of the captain at this time.

And now I think that if our captain hadn't been suddenly overwhelmed by fear, my life would have changed from that moment on.Many people believe that there is no predestined life and that all stories are basically a series of coincidences.However, even those who hold such beliefs come to the conclusion that at some point in their lives, when they look back, what seemed to be coincidence for many years was in fact inevitable.I, too, had a period: I have entered it now, sitting at an old desk writing, thinking of the colors of the Turkish fleet ghostly appearing in the mist.I think this should be the perfect time to tell a story.

Seeing the other two ships escape from the Turkish fleet and disappear into the mist, the captain took heart again, and finally dared to whip the oarsmen, but it was too late.When slaves are animated by the passion to be free, not even the whip can make them obey.A dozen Turkish ships suddenly appeared in front of us through the daunting barrier of thick fog.Our captain has now at last decided to give it a go, and I believe he is struggling not with his enemies, but with his own fear and shame.He ordered the slaves to be whipped mercilessly, and the cannon to be ready, but the ardor for the fight was too slow to kindle, and was soon quenched.We were under heavy broadside salvo, and the ship would be sunk if we did not surrender immediately, so we decided to raise the white flag.

We stopped in the calm sea and waited for the Turkish ship to approach the side of the ship.I went back to my cabin and put my things back, as if waiting not for an enemy who would change my whole life, but for a friend who would come and visit.Then, I opened the small suitcase, rummaged through the books, and lost myself in my thoughts.Tears welled up in my eyes as I opened a book that I had bought for a fortune in Florence.I heard wailing from outside, and hurried footsteps coming and going.All I could think about was that someone would snatch the book from my hands in a moment, but I didn't want to think about it, just thinking about what was in the book.It was as if the thoughts, sentences, and equations in the book contained all the past lives I was afraid of losing.I whispered the words I came across randomly, as if reciting a prayer.I'm trying desperately to get the whole book in my memory so that when they do come, I don't think about them, or what misery they're going to bring me, but remember who I was, like a flashback I am delighted to recite the wise words in the book.

I was a completely different person in those days, not even called by my mother, fiancée, and friends by the same name.There are times when I still dream about the man who was, or now believe to be, me and wake up drenched in sweat.The man in memory has faded, like a country that no longer exists, or like an animal that never existed, or like those incredible weapons whose colors are dreamlike and ethereal.At that time, he was twenty-three years old, had studied "science and art" in Florence and Venice, and thought he knew some astronomy, mathematics, physics and painting.Of course, he is conceited: for everything that others have done before him, he doesn't look down on him, and he sneers at all of them; he has no doubt that he will have better achievements; he is invincible; He thinks he is smarter and more creative than anyone else.In short, he was an ordinary young man.When I have to invent a past for myself and think that this young man who talks to the man he loves about his passions, his projects, and the world and science, and takes for granted the admiration his fiancée adores him, is me, let I feel pain.But I console myself with this: Someday some people will patiently read all that I have written now, and they will understand that that young man is not me.And, perhaps these patient readers will think, as I do now, that the story of the young man who gave up his life while reading his precious book will pick up where it left off.

When the Turkish sailors boarded our ship, I put the book in the trunk and went out.Chaos broke out on board.They drove everyone on deck and stripped everyone naked.I thought for a moment that I could jump overboard in the chaos, but I guessed that they might shoot arrows after me, or catch me and kill me immediately, and I didn't know how far we were from land.Nobody bothered me at first.The Muslim slaves let go of their chains, shouting with joy, and the crowd immediately took revenge on those who had whipped them.They found me in the stateroom in no time, rushed in and robbed me of all my belongings, rummaging through the trunk for gold.While they had taken some books and all my clothes, and I was agonizing over the few books that were left behind, I was seized and brought before one of the captains.

I later learned that the captain who treated me well was a converted Genoese.He asked me what I did for a living.To avoid being caught rowing, I promptly claimed knowledge of astronomy and night navigation, but to no avail.Then, with the anatomy book they didn't take, I declared myself a doctor.When they brought in a man with a broken arm, I said I wasn't a surgeon.This displeased them greatly, and just as they were about to send me to the oars, the captain saw my book, and asked me if I knew how to do urine and pulse.I told them I knew, so I avoided paddling and saved a book or two of mine.

1(2) But this privilege has cost me dearly.The other Christians who were taken to boats immediately hated me to the bone.If they could, they would have killed me at night in our cell, but they didn't dare, because I made a relationship with the Turks very quickly.Our cowardly captain had just been burned, and the sailors who had whipped the slaves had their ears and noses cut off and set adrift on rafts as a warning.After several Turks whom I treated with common sense rather than knowledge of anatomy, whose wounds healed themselves, everyone believed me to be a doctor.Even those who, out of jealousy, told the Turks that I was not a doctor at all, demanded treatment from me in their cells at night.

We entered Istanbul with great ceremony.It is said that the young sultan was also watching us.They hoisted their own flags on every mast, and hung our flags upside down, with images of the Virgin Mary and crucifixes, for the hooligans to shoot arrows at.Then, the cannon fires into the sky.Like many of the ceremonies I watched from land in later years with a mixture of grief, disgust, and joy, this one lasted so long that some people even fainted from the sun.We dropped anchor at Kasem Pasha towards evening.Before being taken to the palace and before the Sultan, they chained us, made our soldiers wear armor backwards and forwards absurdly, put iron hoops around the necks of our captains and officers, and swaggered and shouted loudly Horns and trumpets taken from our ships.People from the city stood in rows in the streets and alleys, looking at us with interest and curiosity.The sultan, hidden from our sight, singles out his slaves and separates them from the rest.They sent us to Galata and put us in Shadek Pasha's prison.

This prison is a miserable place.In low, cramped, dank cells, hundreds of captives rotted in squalor.I met a lot of people there, got to practice my new profession, and actually cured some of them, and prescribed the guards for back pain or leg pain.So, here I was treated differently than everyone else, and got a sunny cell.Seeing what happened to others made me try to be grateful for where I was.But one morning, they woke me up with other prisoners and told me to go out to work.When I protested that I was a doctor and had medical and scientific knowledge, I was met with a laugh: the pasha's garden needs to be fenced higher and people are needed.Every morning, before the sun rose, we were chained together and led out of town.After a day of carrying stones, we trekked back to the prison in the evening, still chained to each other.I thought to myself, Istanbul is indeed a beautiful city, but one must be a master here, not a slave.

However, I'm still no ordinary slave.Now I not only tend to the debilitated slaves in the prison, but also to other people who have heard that I am a doctor.I had to take a large part of my medical income and give it to the stewards and guards of the slaves who took me outside.With the money that escaped their eyes, I was able to learn Turkish.My teacher was a kindly old man who took care of the pasha's affairs.He was very happy to see that I was learning Turkish quickly and said that I would soon become a Muslim.Every time he collects tuition fees, he is timid.I gave him money back to buy food for me because I was determined to take care of myself. One foggy night, a steward came to my cell and said the pasha wanted to see me.Surprised and excited, I immediately took care of myself.I thought to myself that a well-to-do relative in my hometown, maybe my father, or my future father-in-law, had sent me the ransom.Walking through the fog and down the winding, narrow streets, I felt as if I would suddenly return to my own home, or wake up from a dream and see my family.Perhaps they managed to get someone to intermediary my release; perhaps, tonight, in the same fog, I would be taken on a boat and sent home.But after entering the pasha's mansion, I realized that I could not be rescued so easily.People there walk on tiptoe. They first took me into a long corridor to wait, and then led me into one of the rooms.A small, kindly man stretched out under a blanket on a small couch.A burly and powerful man stood beside him.The man lying down was Pasha, and he beckoned me to come closer.We talked.He asked some questions.I said that I studied astronomy, mathematics, and a little engineering, and I also had medical knowledge, and I treated many patients.He kept asking me questions, and when I was about to tell him more, he said that I must be a smart person to learn Turkish so quickly.He mentioned that he had a health problem that other doctors couldn't help, and after hearing the rumors about me, he wanted me to try it. He began to describe his problem, and I couldn't help thinking that it was a rare disease that would only afflict the one and only pasha in the world, because his enemies had deceived the gods with rumors.However, his complaints sounded like shortness of breath.I asked carefully, listened to his cough, and went to the kitchen to make mint-flavored green lozenges from ingredients I found here.I also have cough syrup on hand.Since the pasha was afraid of being poisoned, I first took a sip of the syrup and swallowed a lozenge in front of him.He told me that I must leave the mansion quietly and return to the prison, taking care not to be seen.The steward later explained that the pasha did not wish to arouse the envy of the other doctors.The next day I went to the pasha's mansion again, listened to his cough and gave the same medicine.He was as happy as a child when he saw the brightly colored lozenges I left in his palm.As I walked back to the cell, I prayed for his speedy recovery.The next day a northerly wind blew and was mild and cool, and I thought the weather would improve my health even if I didn't want to, but no one came to see me. A month later, I was called again, also at midnight.The pasha stood up vigorously by himself.I was relieved to hear that he was still breathing well as he berated some people.He was very happy to see me and said that his illness had been cured and that I was a good doctor.What do I want in return?I know he won't let me go home right away.So I complain about my cell, and the conditions in it.I explained that I would be more useful to them if it were in astronomy, medicine, or science, but the heavy toil was too exhausting for me to perform.I don't know how much he listened to.He gave me a purse full of money, but most of it was taken by the guards. One night a week later, a steward came to my cell and, after making me swear not to attempt to escape, unchained me.I'm still called out to work, but the slave foreman is paying me better now.Three days later, the steward brought me new clothes and I knew I was under the pasha's protection. I'm still called to different mansions at night.I prescribed medicine for old pirates' rheumatism, young sailors for stomachaches, and bled those who had itches, or pallor, or headaches.I once gave some syrup to a servant's son who was suffering from a stammer, and within a week he was talking and reading a poem to me. Winter passed under such circumstances.When spring came, I heard that the pasha, who had not summoned me for months, was now in the Mediterranean with the fleet.During the hot summer days, people who noticed my desperation and depression told me that I really had no reason to complain, since I made a lot of money practicing medicine.A former slave who converted to Islam many years ago and married advised me not to run away.Just like keeping me, they will always keep slaves who are useful to them, and will never allow them to return home.If I had converted to Islam like he did, I might have bought myself freedom, but that was all.I thought he was just trying to test me by saying this, so I told him I had no intention of running away.It's not that I don't have the heart, but that I lack courage.All those who fled were captured before they could escape too far.I was the one who anointed the wounds of these unfortunates in their cells at night after they had been flogged. As autumn approached, the pasha returned with the fleet.He saluted the Sultan by firing his cannon, trying to inspire the city as he had done the year before, but they had clearly had a poor season, bringing back very few slaves to jail.We later learn that the Venetians burned six ships.I looked for an opportunity to speak to these mostly Spanish slaves, hoping to get some news from home, but they were taciturn, ignorant and timid, and had no intention of speaking except to beg for help or food.Only one man intrigued me: a man with a broken arm who spoke optimistically of an ancestor who had suffered the same catastrophe but survived and wrote chivalrous legend with the remaining arm.He believed he would be rescued to do the same.In later days, when I was writing the story of survival, I remembered this man who dreamed of living to write the story.Before long, an epidemic broke out in the prison, an unlucky disease that eventually claimed the lives of more than half of the slaves.During this period, I protected myself by paying off the guards. Those who survived began to be taken out to do new jobs.I did not join.In the evenings they talked about making their way to the top of the Golden Horn, doing all kinds of crafts under the supervision of carpenters, tailors and painters: they made paper models of ships, castles and towers.We later learned that it was the pasha who was going to give a spectacular wedding ceremony for his son to the grand vizier's daughter. One morning I was summoned to the pasha's mansion.I arrived at the mansion thinking it was a relapse of his old shortness of breath.They said Pasha was busy and took me to a room to sit and wait.After a while, another door opened, and a man about five or six years older than me walked in.I looked into his face in shock - instantly terrified.