Disclaimer, bladda-yadda: ain't none of it mine, ain't none of it for profit. See the excessive notes for further details.
Gold.
Hello, my friend. Please, sit – may I help you with that? Thank you; I'm fond of the smell myself, and I assure you the taste of this tea is even better. No, please do not bother yourself – I will serve it. For us, it is a ritual. You see? When you mix this in the right way, it is the same golden color of the sand. Thank you, and the peace of Tash be to you. I thank you for offering me the blessing of Aslan in return.
I do love entertaining Northerners; you're such delightful people. I am pleased that our peoples are speaking to each other again, after the unfortunate aggression last year.
Khamsana, my Tarkaan, calls me many names, for he has the soul of a poet. Rarely does my Tarkaan call me by my name. He calls me a child and a pet and a doll. Sometimes as a joke he calls me his ghanima, which in our language means a useless thing acquired in war. When he is most pleased with me, he calls me his golden gazelle; my eyes, he claims, are large and wild like those of the animal. I call him my Tarkaan, although that is the least of his titles; it is the one that I helped him secure, and by doing this I remind him of what we can do together.
There are many things about Calormen that outsiders do not understand, which I find funny because Calormen is so large. Every country that we know exists has some contact with Calormen, in trade or in travel, and in Tashbaan where we live it is not uncommon to meet people from five different countries in as many minutes. And yet, in a gathering of such people, it is always the Calormenes who are the least understood.
I am often asked, as the companion of a Tarkaan, to entertain his guests. The Northerners are the most curious, both men and women and all of the unusual beings you call countryman, or cousin. It is difficult, when I am entertaining Narnians, to occupy them with music or poetry; your people love stories, which is a tradition I respect. Since you have expressed interest in my own story, I shall tell it to you.
I was not always the person you see before you; this is a thing I feel I must explain although it should be obvious. Who of us are the same selves that we were a month or a year or a decade ago? But what I mean is that I was not born to this responsibility, and when I was a child I had no idea that I would become what I now am.
I was not born in Tehishbaan, as is often assumed, but in one of the small cities near it. When I was ten years old I was taken to Tashbaan for the spring festival of Tash the Creator. You see, we have a god with many faces. It is the same with Zardeenah, the companion of Tash; she has four faces, like the phases of the moon. Tash the Destroyer is the face that most people outside Calormen know, since that is the face our soldiers speak to. But Tash has others, as well; in our faith Tash creates and protects and destroys, each thing coming after the next, because life is a cycle of creation and destruction. I understand that your Aslan is not so different, and I thank you for offering me his blessing in return.
At the festival, my father was approached by a man with expensive clothing and a red-dyed beard. They spoke at length about many things of little consequence, because it is considered rude here to jump straight to business. I know that you in the North do things differently – well, the world would hardly be as interesting as it is if we were all alike! Politeness is of utmost importance to us, and in many cases it does resemble ritual. This tea we are drinking is, itself, a ritual: it is a thing one does with new friends. After taking tea together in this way, sharing our stories, I do hope that you would want to call me a friend. I would consider you one. We are like this as a way of putting others to ease, although I often hear that Northerners are taken aback by it. I assure you that no offense is meant; nor do we take offense at the more direct ways of the North. They are simply different ways to live.
Yes, this courtesy is complicated. We spend years studying it in the kotha. If I may return to my tale, I can try to put this into a picture for you. When the strange man spoke to my father, they had arranged to meet at the festival and already knew what they would discuss. Yet, every statement and question was prefaced with an apology of sorts. When the man made to approach my father, he excused himself and explained that he had been led to believe that a man of noble birth had wished to speak to him, but he could not be sure if my father was the correct man. My father then stated that he could understand the man's confusion, as – so my father said – we displayed little wealth on our clothing, for ones of noble birth. In truth, our clothing was neither the most elaborate nor the simplest, and everyone at the festival knew who everyone else was. It is just our way; if my father had, for example, decided against their pre-existing agreement – although I do not know why he would – he would have told the man that he was mistaken, but they would both know he was not.
I have long thought that we are this way because there are only humans in Calormen, and there are so many people here. Where you come from, I am sure there are ways that one should or should not approach different beings. I would imagine that it is easier, because you can see what the differences are. But here, when we are all of the same species, we must have ways to speak to each other that cause no offense and allow for mistakes.
The agreement my father came to with the man was that, in the first summer after I became a woman, I would leave our home and come to Tashbaan, to become what we in our language call an awai. In your tongue, perhaps, we would be called courtesans or hostesses. I am not sure that you have a word for what we are, although I can tell you in your language what we do. It is our responsibility to ease the meetings between people of importance.
As an example, it is not uncommon, when two businessmen or politicians meet, for them to do so in the context of a gathering of awai. The businessmen would arrange to meet with one or more awai to have dinner and entertainment, and while all of that is going on, they would discuss their business. That way, when a contract is signed at the end of an evening, it is a fortuitous accident. If a contract is not signed, no offense is immediately taken. This is not to say that businessmen do not regularly offend each other, but I think you understand what I am trying to say. It is a common saying among awai that we ease the path, and that we provide company along the way.
It is the same word for one of us as for many of us. It is also an acceptable title if you do not know her name. If you did not know I am called Halah, you would be right to address me as awai. I am glad that you understand.
To continue my story further I will have to tell you of my training. Awai are trained at schools called kotha. Not all girls who train at the kotha become awai; some go there to become more attractive marriage prospects, or for an education. We are taught what we call the complementary arts, which are the arts of entertainment: the ceremonies for tea and alcohol, singing and dance, the playing of musical instruments, the telling of stories and recitation of poetry. We are taught the personal arts, of massage and relaxation and seduction. We are also taught many other things, such as calligraphy, mathematics, astrology and astronomy, and medicine – for who knows when such a thing will be useful? The awai is at her ease in the Tisroc's throne room or in the smallest home, and by her presence she makes others comfortable.
There is a reason for our education: if our guests wish to discuss business or history or the arts, we must be able to hold up our end of conversation. If our guests wish entertainment in the form of music or stories, we must be able to entertain them as well. Even if this was unnecessary, many feel that education is its own reward. A person of knowledge never regrets having it, as the poets say.
You see, we have an important role in Calormene society. There is another saying: one is never wrong-footed if one watches awai. We know the finest points of etiquette as easily as we breathe, and you and I both know that Calormene etiquette can be complex indeed. We ease the path, and we teach with gentleness. But that is not all we do. It is widely known that women have more even tempers than men, and are more likely to seek diplomacy before aggression. It is not uncommon for feuding individuals to contract with awai, who after hearing each side of the argument will present a solution. This is done carefully, with consideration taken for both sides. In your Lone Islands you have men called arbiters, who make a decision when two parties cannot. This is not what awai do. We help people along the path towards compromise, which is easier than you would think, since it is considered unlucky to go against the advice of awai.
Oh, no, please, let me refill that for you – and do you see? This is how we teach. Now you have learned from me that in a meeting with awai, she serves the tea, and she does so in a certain way. Any other awai you meet will serve you as I have, and you will accept it as you have. You see, we consider everything a performance. My pouring tea for you is a performance, and to show appreciation, you would accept the tea, as you have. Not every girl who wishes to become awai does; it takes an ability to give without losing of oneself. We wish to make others comfortable, and if we can do so by our presence and our actions, we are well satisfied with that. The reward is in the doing; the wealth we accrue is to proclaim our status to those who are too coarse of spirit to recognize what we offer.
When our training is complete, we formally join the ranks of awai, who from then on become as our sisters and are closer to us than our own families. There is an organization of sorts; the center of awai teaching is in the largest kotha in Tashbaan. This is also where we perform the ritual that turns us from novices into full-fledged awai. This is half ceremony and half party. The ceremonial half is done only in the presence of our sisters and of course the new-moon face of Zardeenah, who gives her blessing. The party afterwards is where the new awai is introduced to society. It is there that the contacts we make during our training can become partners or sponsors. It is not uncommon for the new awai to leave her ceremony with arrangements made for lodging in the home of a high-ranking priest or warrior or among the nobility. Not all do, however. Some prefer to teach, and some prefer to make appointments autonomously while living in a kotha. No matter what happens to us, we are never homeless or without resources; a full-fledged awai always has a home available in a kotha.
It was so with me; when I became awai I lived for two years in one of the Tashbaan kotha. I did not leave that place until I had acquired the patronage of my Tarkaan, which is when I changed residences to this palace of his. At the time he was a young man, some years younger than me, and bent heavily under the weight of new responsibilities. My Tarkaan was not the oldest son. The eldest was a gambler and a drinker, who assumed the family wealth would be his upon his father's death. The second son felt called to the priesthood, and had no need of wealth. The youngest joined the military, not entirely against the wishes of his father, and after working his way through the ranks is widely regarded as a brilliant tactician. Of the four sons, then, the choice of heir was down to two, and of those two one would have gambled it all away within a year. Inheritance is often about age, but not always; it is just as often about who is most suited. The poets say that a man who covets wealth ought not have it, while the one who sees it only as a responsibility will manage it well. I have found that this is true.
I think what we call poets you would also call philosophers. Isn't that funny? They are the same, to us; a great thought is beautiful, and a beautiful thought has greatness. We do not see a difference.
I met my Tarkaan at a party held by a woman of great beauty but few brains – Maialeen, who is wife to Asmarka and mother of Lasaraleen. I see you've met Lasaraleen? She is a dear girl, but she embodies that poet's concept perfectly, if you understand what I mean. I am not sure that years studying under awai would have helped, as Maialeen is much the same. It is hard for people to embrace more than one way of learning. It does mean, however, that they both throw fantastic parties – and that is how I met my Tarkaan.
I had been invited as one of many awai, for when a noble house such as that arranges a party, it is expected that the host or hostess will call for awai to be in attendance. If such a house has awai in residence, she will arrange for some of her sisters to attend, with the host paying their fees. If the household does not include awai, then the hosts will arrange for several to visit. Too, it is not unusual for the guests to bring awai with them. Maialeen's husband Asmarka – you know him, yes? – had for a time before his marriage held the patronage of the awai who taught me my calligraphy, so when he invited her, she invited several other sisters, including me.
I cannot honestly tell you that when I first met my Tarkaan anything unusual happened. In fact, I did not know that he was there for more than half the party. I found him deep in conversation with a shipping merchant. They were in disagreement on some small point – I believe it was whether the going rates for silk were higher in Azim Balda or in Tehishbaan. When I passed by, it was the merchant who drew me into conversation. I recall his words precisely – he told me that he and his new friend were both foolish and forgetful men, and they wished to prevail upon my superior memory to determine the truth of the matter. I turned it into a game, which involved a small wager, and the two men made their guesses. I then determined the truth of the matter. As it turned out, my Tarkaan was correct. This small disagreement could have become a large one, and the merchant was wise to ask for my assistance.
For the rest of the evening, my Tarkaan monopolized my time, since he thought that I possessed more knowledge of business than he did. He was exceedingly polite, as a student would be to a teacher, and I enjoyed discussing matters of commerce with him. At the evening's end, he asked me if I would be willing to visit with him again, and I said that I would.
For months it was business, as he learned to navigate the waters of commerce. I helped him in the ways that I could. I introduced him to others, always ensuring the meetings would benefit all involved. I taught him things about finance, so that he would not be easily cheated (for, as polite as a businessman is, he does not consider it his affair to ensure that the other end of a transaction gets a fair deal) and would better understand the goings-on involved.
After that it became pleasure as well, for we found ourselves well-suited to each other, and of course our meetings until that point had not only been work. It would not be inaccurate to say that we became friends as well as lovers; it is not unusual for awai to have close friends of the male gender, although it is less so, I'm told, for most women.
Things continued in this way for two years, and then my Tarkaan extended an offer of patronage to me. In this time I had had other offers, but I had not accepted, for one reason or another; it is awai's prerogative to accept or deny as she sees fit, and the honest truth is that I had not seen a situation that would benefit me more than my current place did. My Tarkaan, of course, changed that.
He was so tender when he asked me; so tender and afraid, as though he felt his offer was not good enough for one such as me. In truth it was a handsome offer, even amongst those promises often given to awai, and I could see no fault in it. What struck me, then, was his way of asking, as though he wished to give me something precious and was terrified that I would not want it. I suppose he did feel that way.
I could not agree at once, of course; not formally, and of course etiquette required that I give the matter some thought and consult with an older awai over the fine terms of the contract. However, for the rest of the evening, I made little references to things that would happen when we were together, which was the best way I could tell him that I approved. When he left me, early the next morning, he did so with a spring in his step and renewed love of life.
All the contracts were deemed appropriate and I took residence with my Tarkaan some three weeks later. I was given an entire wing and a team of staff to care for my every need. It quickly became a joke that my Tarkaan should have given me a quarter of the space he did, as I was with him for most of my time. Even if we did not see each other during the day, we slept in each others' arms, and oftentimes that was comfort enough for him after a trying day of business.
I see this confuses you. I am sure you have noticed that in Calormen there are slaves, and harems, and women of the night. They are nothing like us. Sometimes we are intimate with our guests, but that happens at our discretion or not at all. Awai is a valuable person in her own right, and she is on a social standing equal to that of any man she meets. Indeed, I have noticed that she is often better educated than the men she entertains – except, perhaps, for the physical arts of warfare. It takes money to house us, and to train us, and to clothe us. This makes us valuable. When we do engage in the personal arts with our guests, it is done at our will and solely at our discretion. This, too, makes us valuable – for, when a man is wealthy he can buy anything but the gifts awai decides to give. In order to receive those, he must make himself worthy of the personal attention of awai, and when he does so he betters himself as a result. Any man who forces himself upon awai – and this is so rare as to be almost unthinkable – will be brought before the Tisroc, for such an attack is said to be an action against Tash. I do not wish to speak of what happens to those men, for it is not at all pleasant.
Let me make something else clear for you. I have noticed Northerners say that it must be difficult to be a woman in Calormen, as we are often so well-dressed and ornamented. It is not for any restrictive reason that we do this; far to the contrary, women can dress in any manner they choose. It is just that most women's' fashions tend to follow the dress favored by awai, although in daily use it is less elaborate than the things awai wear to perform their services. Dress is, to awai, both part of the personal arts and of the complementary arts. What a man cannot see, he will imagine, and the imagination of a man is wilder than anything. Yes, even your Northern men! Although they tend to be more direct in expressing what they wish.
When I was young and beginning my training, the fashion was for awai to wear veils over their faces. This has since fallen out of fashion for us, but women still do it, because the ways awai dress often become the ways women dress everywhere. If they dress in similar ways, they evoke the feelings in others that awai do. Even if a man has never seen awai with his own eyes, he knows who and what we are.
There is, though, one thing that fires all Calormene men. I am sure you remember that Prince Rabadash, during his ill-mannered pursuit of your Queen Susan, often went into paroxysms of poetry on the subject of her hair. I am sure you wondered why.
In Calormen we have a fine appreciation for the human form. Our athletes often compete nude, and it is unusual for our statues to be clothed. Men are not accustomed to seeing women with their hair flowing freely outside the bedchamber, and in truth it is quite suggestive to them of what happens therein. One of our personal arts is the removal of a complicated hairstyle before time spent in bed. There are ways to do this to oneself, and also if one's guest is female, for her. So you will understand that, to us, the sight of unstyled hair holds more suggestion than nudity. Imagine the surprise we all felt when the first Narnian envoy visited and your women were bare-headed, with free-flowing hair. We know now that it is your way, and that your ways are not like ours, but it was no small surprise at the time. If you've ever heard us say that a man has been ensnared in a woman's hair – well, now you know what that means.
Queen Susan, whether by accident or design, had ensnared Prince Rabadash so thoroughly in her hair that he made an absolute fool of himself, going against the wishes of the Tisroc and attacking Archenland. Foolish man. Although I must agree; I have met the Queen once or twice, and her hair is so fine that I think styling it would lessen its splendor. If it ensnares men and makes them think only of taking her to bed, well, then that gives the Queen an edge in conversation! It gives her power over them. Power is another thing that awai understand; we know that it does not come only by the sword, but by gentler things as well.
My Tarkaan understands this well, and for the first year or so of his patronage he availed himself of many facets of my training. It was not uncommon for me to be hosting five different gatherings in a week, with guests ranging from sons of the Tisroc to local cloth-merchants. It is difficult, sometimes, for such a mixed company to find a gentle accord and pleasant conversation. This is where awai does her best work, because she knows how to draw out the similarities in people, as well as the complementary differences. Too, since everyone else present always follows the lead of awai, it is easy for a pleasant accord to be reached at a mixed gathering of people when awai are present. If awai requests your presence, the saying goes, she does so with purpose, and it is upon you to allow her the opportunity to reveal what that purpose is.
During those early years my Tarkaan told me no less than once a day how invaluable I was. His father was a remarkably old man, and in his age had not kept as tight a rein on his holdings as he ought to have. He was a proud man, too, and until his dying day felt convinced that he could run things himself. My Tarkaan learned well from that lesson. He never balks at asking for assistance, either from me or from people to whom I introduce him.
You see, in Calormen, there are not strict rules about what people can and cannot do, although most occupations fall into one category or another. Men can be warriors and priests. Women can be priestesses and wives. It is traditional for men to be merchants, although not always, and likewise it is usually women who are teachers and archivists. Surgeons are more often men, but midwives and healers tend to be women. The place of awai is that we know all of these things well enough to discuss them with the people that do them. Because of this, another thing that we do is provide connections. I can tell you how this works, if you'd like.
Several weeks ago, I entertained a man who wished to have a portrait made of his daughter. Another of my frequent guests is a brilliant painter – the painting of the golden gazelle in the oasis, there to my right, is one of his pieces. When the father admired the painting, I offered to introduce him to the painter. So, because they both knew me, the way was eased for the two men to do business with each other. It has been a profitable encounter for them both, and for me as well – aside from the ordinary costs involved in arranging meetings with me, both men sent gifts of gratitude. The painting itself was a gift from the painter. It also serves as an advertisement for his skill, and I am pleased to help promote such an artist.
That is my story, at least in essence; many other things happened in it, of course, but that is how I went from being a young girl in Tehishbaan to a well-known awai in Tashbaan. I hope that by hearing it you have a greater understanding of Calormen itself, for it is a beautiful place despite its flaws – but then, are not all places beautiful in their own ways?
I have now been with my Tarkaan for ten years and I cannot see my life without him; nor, I expect, can he imagine his life without me. I doubt that we will marry, since I would then have to resign my position as awai in order to follow the more restrictive role of a wife. It is no matter; I am my Tarkaan's companion and the children I bear will be considered his heirs. I hope that the one I now carry is a daughter, to train to the life of awai.
I see that your eyes are drawn to the painting I mentioned, of the gazelle standing upon a rock in an oasis. As I said, that was a gift from the artist I mentioned; it was to celebrate that my Tarkaan and I have been together for a decade. When the artist painted it, he had me sit for him, so that he could put my eyes on the animal. I often tell my Tarkaan that he is the rock upon which I stand, and I am, as he says, his golden gazelle.
Notes! In profusion! It's me, of course there's notes!
On people who are awesome: endless thanks to rthstewart, for her help, ideas, and willingness to listen to me natter at length about nothing important. Also, especially, for revising this when I'd stared at it so long it stopped being in recognizable English.
On challenges: this is for Breeze's color challenge, which was posted to the NFFR forums. If you haven't been there yet, go forth and frolic!
On names and nicknames: Halah got her name from the Mazzy Star song – turns out this is a proper Arabic name, too. Her Tarkaan's name, Khamsana, is a somewhat misspelled embiggening of the word khamsa, which is another spelling of hamsa, the hand-shaped amulet used to ward off the evil eye. Ghanima, of course, is a 'Dune' reference.
On influences: those of you familiar with Firefly and 'Memoirs of a Geisha' will realize just how much I stole. The biggest non-pop-culture influence, however, is the Indian concept of tawaif, which is basically the same as a geisha or a courtesan. The word awai obviously comes from that, as does kotha for the training houses.
On brain-twisting: the biggest challenge for me, writing this, was figuring out a way that women could have power in such a strictly hierarchal and patriarchal society as Calormen. There really isn't such a thing as too much female autonomy. I hope I've made it believable.