Okay, this is the chapter you want to read if you want a bit of intense emotion. It's not the erotic stuff some of you were hoping for - but it is a true story - so I resisted the temptation to spice it up.

Sunday dawned and again it was a lovely day. After breakfast we sauntered down for what we thought would be our last visit to the town. We had run out of gin some days ago and decided to try to local brew, Raki, an aniseed flavoured spirit similar to oozo. We found it went down very nicely so wanted to buy bottles to take back with us. We called in at Niyazi's shop and found that although his wife and son had arrived that night, his wife was not feeling well, having “female problems" and was staying at her hotel for the time being. She however had brought the kilim he requested, and he was so eager for us to see it.

The first piece was a rough dark tweed with a green stripe, and the second a grey one with an orange stripe. He said they were £10 each. But when Pat went on ahead of me, he said it would be £5 to me but not to tell the others. I hadn’t intended to buy anything more - certainly not anything so big, but hiw wife had carted these two enormous pieces of material on the bus from Izmir, and he so much wanted me to have it, that I just had to buy it. "I will worry later about how to use it ." I thought. (Can’t now remember what I did with it.) But it ws the sort of weight of material that would make good placemats.

We had had another discussion with him earlier about the embroidered cloth he had on the little table that was the only furniture in the shop except for the desk where they did their transactions and put their money. This table was covered with a maroon piece of material with embroidery on all of the edges - each side different and beautifully done. But the material itself had holes in it. I thought it was something they had rejected for selling because it was worn out, and that I could have it cheaply. So I asked if it was for sale and Niyazi said, "Everything in this shop is for sale.” But when I asked how much for the torn cloth, he said £60, which I felt was unjustified for something that would only be useable if it was completely remade. But he insisted that the age of the material was part of its value and that to the right buyer the holes would not matter.

We left the shop and wandered down the road to tell people who were interested in seeing Niazi's son-in-law's  jewellery to meet at the shop at 3 o’clock  Then we went and had another of our meals at the local bistro. My donna kebab was not quite so good and we had to wait ages for it. This time we got the money right. Pat chose to hae a sort of soggy omelete with lots of vegetables cooked up in it and a cheese sauce on top and some fried aubergines and marrow with it. She liked it very much.
When we went back to Niyazi’s shop his family had obviously arrived. There were his daughter, a pretty girl with long medium brown curly hair and her two little children dressed in very fancy clothes. Next to her sat a quiet very dark haired woman with her hair tied severely back in a bun. Niyazi introduced her as his “bride.” His elder son was shorter and thinner than he, and wore glasses. He looked very shy. He was nearly bald and obviously not very much at ease. His father told us this son smoked but that he would not smoke in front of his faher because that would be disrespectful. But Niayazi himself admitted he smoked up until 6 years before when he suddenly stopped. The son-in-law was smoking openinly in fron tonf Niyazi and nobody seemed to mind.

The women and children were eating a sort of rich-looking chocolate cake. The youngest son, the one Niyazi was trying to get married off, was there too. He sat apart from the others. His name was Mustafa and he was slightly taller than Niyazi, lighter in colouring, and although I wouldn’t have described him as handsome, as Niyazi did, he was nice looking and very pleasant in manner. He also seemed very shy but none of the family had a good command of English and we were interrupting their party, so we quickly said we were there to confirm the time of the jewellery showing. The son-in-law said he would prefer it to be at 2 o'clock as he had to visit his family members too and they didn’t want to be too late going back to Izmir that night. So we left and promised to pass the message on.

We had told about half a dozen people to come at three and now we had to see if we could find them all to tell them to come at two. The most important one was Pat of the migraines. She had started the whole jewellery lark off with wanting her ruby ring. We finally found all the people and lots of others who also seemed interested and the message was duly passed on.

When we returned to the shop it was earlier, more like 20 past 1. I wanted to buy the kilim before the other got there so they wouldn’t know the price. Niyazi was alone in the shop. His wife still wasn't well and his daughter had taken the children back to the motel for a nap and his son-in-law and daughter had gone off visiting somewhere else.

We told him what a lovely family he had, and he beamed. He was so proud of them all. "And did you like my little one?" he asked me. “Yes,” I said, “I thought Mustapha was very nice. But I think perhaps you shouldn't keep calling him your little one considering his size."
 
I did say I thought he looked younger than 22  but Niyazi said that was because he didn't eat  enough to fatten him out. He said he worked each day from eight in the morning until midnight and had no time for anything but work. I thought he should get a cassette of English to learn it better and his father said he had bought him one but that he just didn't have time.

Pat then went off to sit in the sun until two. I paid for the material and put it to one side. I told him I thought his wife was very young looking which surprised me because he had said she looked very old.

“My wife was not here.” 

“But you introduced that dark lady as your bride.” 

“Oh no,” he said, “She is my son’s wife - do you not say bride for that?”

“No,” I said, “in our language a bride would be your wife.”

Then I asked him if in his religion he could have more than one wife.

"Mohammed allows four wives, he said. "He was married four times. The first time his wife was 15 years older than he, and that wqs a good thing."
 
"My mother was ten years old than my father, I said.
 
“And they were happy, were they not?” he asked.

Yes, I agreed, but with certain reservations. I didn't really think the age mix was a good idea.
 
“I would not mind if the girl Mustafa married is older than him,” he said.

"Do you have more than one wife?" I asked.
 
"No," he said. "Our religion allows more than one but the Turkish government will let us have only one wife at a time. We cannot have two wives living in the same house. But Mohammed made very special rules about the treatment of the wives -  they must be, treated equally.  If a man buys a present for one wife, he must buy the same thing for all the others. If he sleeps with, one wife one night, he must then sleep with others each of the next nights until all have had him equally."

“I would be very jealous if my husband had more than one wife,” I said. 
 
"If I took you to bed with me,” he said, “my wife would kill me. She would not mind if you came to stay in our house, but if I took you to bed, she would be very jealous. She would kill me," he repeated.

"I expect she would kill me too," I giggled, feeling this conversation had taken a far more serious turn than I had expected or could cope with.

Luckily about that time, the son-in-law came with a box covered with newspaper, and Pat returned too. We sat and looked at the items he had brought. If he had had more time, more warning, he would have brought a bigger selection, Niyazi apologized.

There were 4 gold chains; 2 ruby rings, one with 8 largish stones and one with 8 smaller ones; there were 4 little pendants in different shapes. 3 had Turkish writing on and Niyazi told me said "God be with you". I had asked him to bring small items, not very expensive for me to buy for my daughters. There were other rings too and 2 sets of lovely earrings with stones in them.

We waited until about 2:15 with baited breath before the other Pat arrived. She had been held up over her lunch. She immediately fell in love with the ruby ring with the larger stones, and decided to buy it. I was so relieved. I worried that this whole jewellery party might have ended up without a single sale.

Two of our other bridge friends had come in and one of them, Bess, bought 2 of the smaller carpet squares - the sort to cover a stool with. They were £9 each. Migraine Pat bought the ring which cost £130 which was less than we had been quoted in the nearby jewellery shop.

Niyazi told me, when the others were not there, that some of the jewellery we were seeing were things that actually had been on sale in Cesme in the various jewellery shops that morning. His son was the wholesaler for his jewelry and he had just gone and withdrawn certain items from stock in order to have things to show us. I have a sneaking suspicion that the ruby ring Pat had bought was the very one she had liked so much in the shop next door. It certainly appeared identical. The only thing was that the shop didn't get their cut on the price - an extra £20.

Now Pat, my roommate was in a quandry. She also wanted a ring, but she wanted an emerald one. There were none like that in his box. So Niyazi told his son who made a quick trip down the road and soon came back with a ring with 7 small emeralds which he then made to fit Pat. She paid £77 for it. She was very pleased.

Now it was my turn, I asked him the price of each of the golden pendants. The smallest was £22 and the rest between £30 and 38. I had really only wanted to spend about £10 on each of my daughters, but there was nothing that cheap, and only one at £22. And having told the other ladies that my daughters were good Christians, they told me that they might not appreciate Moslem symbols and writing on their jewelry. I thought they might have a point about that.

The only other item on the tray that I was tempted towards was a cross. It was four rubies with a brilliant in the middle. It was a beautiful delicate design. Everyone thought it would make an ideal 21st birthday present for my daughter. I bought it. £180 and I nearly bled while I gave him my credit card. Everyone, including Niyazi felt that I had made the right choice. I was pleased too but felt guilty at spending so much more than I had intended. Niyazi whispered in my ear that I had a very good bargain indeed. That his son-in-law had said that mine was the finest of all the pieces he had brought. I trusted him. It might be glass, but I trusted him that it would be worth the money.

Before we left, we asked Niyazi if he and his wife would join us that evening for a walk in the town and we would buy them a drink of something.  He said he couldn’t promise but he would do his best. I said we would come down to the shop after his work - he said 9.30 would be best. Then he discovered that mirgraine Pat who bought the ruby ring had left her Eurocheques behind. So I took them to give aback to her and we said goodbye until the evening.

That afternoon the sun was hot and beautiful. We lay in the sun for as long as I could stand it, and then went and got some cards. For an hour or so, we played bridge with stones holding down the cards on the table as it was so windy. But what a civilized thing to do - playing bridge in swimsuits outside by a pool. It was lovely and I enjoyed that bridge as much as any on the whole holiday.