Everyone was going to be talking about this—all the staff at the university, the lecturers, and the students. Everyone was going to be making crude jokes about an eighty-seven-year-old man in bed with a thirty-six-year-old woman.
And what about Kerem? He didn’t read the papers and his friends didn’t know me, but he might come across the news on the internet.
After a while the drug started to kick in. I felt numbness in my limbs and my mind stopped racing. I still felt deeply upset, but I began, slowly, to see things more objectively. I lay facedown on the bed, watched the light on my phone as it kept flashing, and felt my mind slowly go blank.
I don’t know how long I lay like that, but when I got up, I felt better. I had a hot bath and forced myself to eat something. For a moment it all came back to me and I started to cry. Then I pulled myself together again and started to make a plan. I wasn’t going to let that miserable Süleyman ruin my life. I was smarter than he was, and I was going to put up a fight.
I picked up my phone and called the reporter who had called me that morning.
“Yes, Sibel speaking.”
“You called me this morning,” I said. When she heard my name, she gave me all her attention.
“I’d like to make a statement.”
“May we come and interview you?”
“No. I just want to make a statement.”
“What kind of statement?”
“The story you printed is completely untrue.”
“We didn’t say it was true, Mrs. Duran. We just said that these allegations were being made at the university.”
“Now look, I’m a mother. I have a fourteen-year-old son. I have parents. I have a brother who’s a colonel. Just imagine how your news makes me seem to them!”
“Calm down, Mrs. Duran.”
“How can I calm down, I’ve been humiliated in front of the whole country. Please print my statement. At least write that I categorically deny these allegations.”
“We’ll come and interview you straight away. You can say whatever you want.”
I was annoyed enough at her to agree.
“Let me give you my address.”
“We know your address, Mrs. Duran. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”
I had to do this to clear my name. I made myself presentable and tidied up the sitting room. In the meantime, I saw on the phone that my mother had called five times, so I pressed the call button.
“Mother.”
“Oh, Maya! I’ve been so worried. Where are you, darling?”
“Mother, have you seen the news in the papers?”
“Yes, I have.”
“It’s a lie, it’s all a lie. It’s cheap slander!”
“Of course it’s a lie, my darling. Do you think I don’t know you?”
“A reporter is on her way here, I’m going to put the record straight. Just hang in there ’til tomorrow. Is Dad all right?”
“Yes, thank God, but of course he’s upset.”
“Tell him not to get upset. I’ll set it all straight, I’m going to sue the people who did this.”
Just then the doorbell rang.
“They’re here, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you back later.”
“God bless you, sweetheart.”
I opened the door. A young, dark-haired woman and a young man with a huge camera slung round his neck came in. I was annoyed that she’d brought the photographer, but there was nothing I could do. I tried to look as resolute and sure of myself as possible.
As I sat talking to the young woman, the young man was circling round us, changing lenses, and taking our picture.
“I just want to say that this gossip is completely fabricated. It’s just a malicious attempt to hurt me.”
“OK. Who’s trying to hurt you?”
“The rector’s driver, Süleyman.”
“Why?”
“He wanted me to talk to the rector for him about getting his cousin a job and I didn’t think this was appropriate. He also tried to steal the visiting professor’s violin. I caught him and got the violin back to the professor. He wanted to get back at me.”
“Wait a minute. Did the professor play the violin?”
“Yes.”
“Did he play his violin for you?”
“Of course not.”
“Well, did he at least play well? I mean professionally? A scientist playing the violin seems rather odd to me.”
“I don’t know, I didn’t get much of a chance to hear him play, he probably did play well, but that’s not the issue.”
“I’ve seen photos of Professor Wagner. He’s a very good-looking man.”
“So what? What does that have to do with me?”
“He is a good-looking man though isn’t he?”
“He might be…So?”
“Well, did you go to Şile with him?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you want to go to Şile on a winter’s day?”
“I didn’t want to go, he did. It had to do with something in his past. We took him in the rector’s car, and Süleyman drove.”
“But you were alone for a few hours in the Black Sea Motel.”
“Yes, the rector’s old Mercedes broke down, as it often does. Süleyman went to get a mechanic from Şile. We didn’t want to wait outside in the cold.”
“Süleyman came later.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry to ask you this, but is it true that he saw you both stark naked in bed?”
Well, this I couldn’t explain. If I said I’d undressed him and held him to my half-naked body to stop him from freezing, that I only did it to save his life, no one would believe me.
To keep the reporter wondering why I’d paused, I acted as if the question had annoyed me—as if I’d paused to control my anger.
“No! What bed?”
“In other words, you’re saying that nothing like this happened.”
“It didn’t!”
“OK. That’s all we need”
I stopped her at the door, took her hand, and looked her in the eye.
“Now look,” I said. “We are both women. We know how women are viewed in this country, especially divorcées like me. I have a fourteen-year-old son. I’m asking you as a woman to put this right. I swear that all this is slander.”
The reporter gave me a sympathetic look. She was the type of woman who always seemed to be in a hurry, but at that moment she slowed down. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I understand. I’ll do my best.”
After they’d gone, I felt a bit more relaxed. Everything would be straightened out by tomorrow.
I called my mother and told her that the newspaper was going to print my side of the story. Then, making an effort to control my anger, I called Ahmet.
“You’re the one who should be ashamed, attacking me like that because of some slander you read in the paper. Buy the paper tomorrow and read it.”
I hung up before he could answer.
After that I called Tarık and then Filiz. I told them both what had happened. Then it was time for the last and most difficult phone call. I called the rector’s office. I asked Neylan to put me through to the rector. She made me wait, and then said that the rector was busy and couldn’t speak to me.
I’d said the same thing many times to people he had wanted to get rid of. He wasn’t going to speak to me.
I called the secretary general on his cell phone and he answered.
“Someone is spreading malicious gossip about me and I want to come in and set things straight.”
“Aren’t you ill, Mrs. Duran?” he asked scornfully.
“Yes, I am. Under other circumstances, I wouldn’t leave my bed but I have to clear my name. Besides, the newspaper is going to tell the real story tomorrow.”
&n
bsp; “Do you know that we’ve opened an administrative inquiry into the matter?”
“I know, I read your statement. That’s why I want to come and explain, to tell you what really happened.”
“Do that, but first, let me warn you that it won’t be easy. There’s a lot of evidence against you.”
“What you call evidence amounts to nothing more than Süleyman’s lies.”
“It’s not only his evidence.”
“What other evidence could there be?”
“The boy who worked at the Black Sea Motel. The waiters at the Pera Palas, the people on duty at the reception desk and room service, even Ilyas!”
I was taken aback. Things looked bad for me. They’d connect the Black Sea Motel with the dinners at the Pera Palas Hotel and the night I spent in Max’s room. Then nothing I said would change anyone’s mind. Still, I had no choice but to try my best anyway.
“When should I come in?
“Tomorrow morning. The rector is furious and he wants this dealt with as soon as possible.”
We hung up.
I understood. They’d already decided to fire me, and the inquiry was just a formality.
I began to scramble desperately, like a trapped animal, to think of a way out of this mess and to rationalize the situation I was in
It didn’t matter that much if I got fired. I could find another job, perhaps even a better job. I’d been unhappy there for some time anyway. Besides, Tarık said I’d made quite a bit of money on the stock market. As long as the newspaper presented my side of the story convincingly and cleared my name, there was no problem. A significant change in my life could do me good. I could move to a different city, perhaps even a different country. I kept telling myself the same thing over and over again in different ways, and as I did so I felt a growing urge to leave this life far behind.
The doorbell rang. It was Kerem, and as soon as I saw him, I realized I’d been deluding myself. I wasn’t free to just pick up and go wherever I wanted. I was tied here. I was trapped.
I could tell right away from Kerem’s attitude that he had no idea about what was going on. I didn’t turn on the television after dinner just in case some news program or talk show might mention the story. Everyone loved a juicy bit of gossip.
Kerem never visited news sites on the web, but just in case I asked him to look into getting online access to the archives in Bad Arolsen and see if he could find anything on Scurla and Wagner. He was eager to try and got right to it.
What an odd relationship there was between the written word and people’s lives. Like flying, writing is something invented and not part of the natural order. Hence we’re often as frightened of the written word as we are of flying. Claude Lévi-Strauss went as far as to associate the regression of humankind with the invention of the written word.
The most innocent of human actions could take on a sinister air when put down in words, especially when they became news. In the evening you could leave home, meet a friend in Beyoğlu, eat dinner at Rejans, and return home. Nothing could be more natural. But when a newspaper article or a police report described the same events, they could seem incriminating.
“The subject left the house at 19:14, got into a taxi, license number 34 AF 6781, and went to Taksim. The subject proceeded along Istıklal Avenue and met another individual in front of the French consulate. They proceeded along the avenue to a restaurant called Rejans, founded by Russian émigrés. Two hours later they parted in front of the restaurant. The subject then proceeded to Taksim where he entered a taxi, license number 34 ZD 2645, and arrived home at 23:27.”
The written word could imply guilt and destroy a person’s reputation. A film of the same incident would show how commonplace it was, would show the facial expressions and the friendly banter and reflect the harmlessness of the meeting. But the written word could be charged with insinuation and imply significance where there was none.
Of course it was a double-edged sword, and the written word could have a positive influence as well as a destructive one, could clear up misunderstanding, and could elucidate. It depended on who was writing what and why. After all, both Hitler and Tolstoy wrote books. Even the word of God is transmitted through writing. But then, didn’t God exist before the invention of writing?
I went to bed and curled up under the quilt. I felt deeply hurt and deeply frightened. I felt as I had as a little girl when I was terrified at night by a moving shadow or a creaking floorboard, and I’d rush to my grandmother’s room for comfort and reassurance.
But now I had to face the monsters all alone, without my grandmother to stroke my hair and make me feel safe.
CHAPTER 17
I woke before dawn after an uneasy, fitful sleep. The first thing I did was rush to the door to see if the paper had arrived. It hadn’t.
I went back to bed but sleep was out of the question. I was too worked up. Then I remembered the pills. Why hadn’t I thought of them last night? Filiz had told me to take a quarter of a pill, but I took half. I didn’t think even that would be able to calm me down.
I went and checked for the newspaper three more times. Then I heard the janitor’s footsteps as he went slowly from door to door. I waited inside, and heard him pause outside my door and then move on. I waited until I heard him head upstairs, and then opened the door and grabbed the paper.
There was nothing about me on the front page, but I was stunned to see a large picture of me on the second page. I was looking at the camera with a coy smile, and the caption read, “He was a very good-looking man.”
And beneath this, “The woman at the heart of the university scandal.”
There was also a photo of Max.
I was quoted as having said, “He was a good-looking man. He played the violin beautifully.”
I was furious. I immediately grabbed the phone and called Sibel, the reporter who’d interviewed me. They told me she wasn’t in yet. I called every ten minutes. The fourth time she answered herself. I shouted at the top of my voice.
“How can you do this to me? Is this what I told you? I’m going to talk to my lawyer and get a court order for a retraction.”
I was so angry that I couldn’t control the pitch of my voice or what I said.
The quotes and the pictures were so skillfully manipulative that they painted a picture of a slutty university clerk having a fling with an elderly, romantic, violin-playing professor. They also made a point of stressing that I was divorced.
After a while I heard the reporter say, “I’m sorry. You’re right—I was very upset too. I really think you should fight this.”
“Then why did you write such a skewed article?”
“Believe me, I’m not responsible. I just wrote down what you said and handed it in, that’s all. My headline was, ‘It’s all slander!’ ”
“Well, what happened then?”
In a low voice she said, “This is what the editor wanted. I’m just a lowly reporter. I don’t get to decide what they print.”
“But why are they going after me? Don’t they have any regard for the truth?”
“You’re right. Please believe that I’m truly sorry. I think you really should take them to court.” She said this very quietly and I believed she meant it.
“I’m sorry I screamed at you.”
“It’s OK. I understand.”
As I hung up I was startled by Kerem’s voice.
“What’s the matter? Who were you shouting at?”
“It’s nothing,” I said. “There are some problems at work and…Come on, I’ll get breakfast ready.”
After sending Kerem off, I called Tarık. I told him what had happened, what the editor had done, and said I needed a lawyer.
He told me to be calm and not to panic. He would find a lawyer, and he also had friends at the newspaper. He would ask them to retract the article and print an apolo
gy.
“Just hang in there. There’ll be a bigger scandal next week and another the week after, and in a month no one will remember.”
“But my relatives, my neighbors, and my colleagues will remember. Besides, I can’t just take this lying down. They have no right to do this to me.”
“This is nothing, much worse things happen in this country every day. Killers are set free; rapists are imprisoned for a year or two and then released. Reporters are put in prison on trumped-up charges. Writers are imprisoned for treason for books they haven’t even published. People are put on trial for belonging to organizations that don’t exist. The prime minister closes all the public theatres in the country because his daughter didn’t like a play she saw. I could go on and on.”
He wasn’t belittling my situation. He was just trying to put it in perspective, but this didn’t make me feel any better.
“You wouldn’t talk like that if you were in my shoes.”
“You’re right, but that doesn’t make what I’m saying any less true.”
After a long silence he said, “We could hold a press conference if you want. I could say, ‘she’s my fiancée, I believe her, she wouldn’t do that kind of thing.’ We could hold hands and smile sweetly for the cameras.”
“No thanks, I can’t see myself doing that. And it would probably just make things worse.”
“What are you doing today?”
“I’m going to the university,” I said. “They’ve started an administrative inquiry.”
“Call me later and I’ll arrange a meeting with a lawyer. We can sue the university, too, if we have to.”
I hadn’t expected him to be so kind and supportive. It’s only when you’re in trouble that you find out who your true friends are. But things weren’t as clear-cut as Tarık thought. Witnesses could testify that I was half naked in bed with Max, that we’d had meals together, that we’d had drinks sent up to his room, and that I’d spent the night with him there. I knew that I was innocent, but how would I be able to prove it?
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