I got dressed, choosing a very plain and sober outfit, and went to the university. The sedative had calmed me down a little. I was ready for the veiled looks, the smiles, and the whispering.
I went straight to the secretary general’s room. This time he didn’t look at my breasts. He did his best to be very stern.
“Sit down, Mrs. Duran. You’ve put our university in a very difficult position.”
“No, I don’t accept that. What the newspaper printed was a lie. I’ve done nothing wrong.”
The secretary general took me to the rector’s office. I walked past the people in the outer office with my head high.
The rector was very distant. There were a few other faculty members in his office.
The secretary general said, “Mrs. Duran denies everything. She says it’s all slander.”
The rector asked the private secretary to call Süleyman and he entered the office cringing with embarrassment. He waited with his hands clasped in front of him. He didn’t look at me at all.
The rector said, “Mrs. Duran says you’re lying. Tell us what you saw.”
“I swear, I swear to God, may I be struck down if…”
“Stop swearing and tell us what you saw.”
“That day we set out for Şile before sunrise. That man started playing the violin at the edge of the sea. I thought he’d gone mad. Then we brought him to the hotel so that he wouldn’t freeze. The car had broken down. I went to Şile to look for a mechanic. When I returned about three hours later I saw the two of them naked in bed.”
The rector turned to me. “What do you say to this?”
“It’s true, sir.”
They’d been expecting a flat denial and were completely taken aback.
“What do you mean?”
“Everything he says is true.”
They looked at each other in surprise.
“In that case, you admit your misconduct!”
“No, I am not guilty.”
“Explain yourself.”
“The summary of the incident is correct but the interpretation is wrong.”
“Did you get into bed with Professor Wagner or not?”
“I did but not in the way you mean.”
“Well, in what way then?”
“The day that he wanted us to go to Şile to relive an old memory was the coldest day of the year. Please recall 24 February. Imagine how much colder it was on the Black Sea coast. The professor had been standing on the shore for a long time and risked certain death. We dragged him into the car, but it had broken down. The heater wasn’t working either. So we dragged the professor to a motel on the hill. There was no heating there either. When I put him on the bed and covered him up, he was purple. His hands were rigid. I thought he was going to die.”
The moment I stopped I realized this was not the time to pause so I continued.
“I got into bed to warm him with my body heat. It worked; it saved his life. Süleyman abandoned us there and he might still have died, but I managed to get someone to take him to the hospital. You can check with the hospital, their reports will show that he’d been exposed to extreme cold. I did what I could to keep our guest from dying of exposure. That’s all I’m guilty of.”
They all looked at each other again; the rector began to doodle on the paper in front of him. They were taken aback and didn’t know what to say.
“There is one more thing, sir,” I said.
“What is it?” the rector asked,
“Süleyman, I mean, your driver, wanted me to ask you to employ his cousin. When I refused to do so he was angry and wanted revenge. He’s also guilty of another offense.”
“What offense would that be?”
“The professor left his antique violin in the Mercedes. When I asked him about it, he said it wasn’t there. Ilyas can confirm this. We went to the mechanic’s shop and found the violin deliberately concealed in the trunk. We were able to get it back to Professor Wagner. Here’s Riza the mechanic’s card, he can confirm the story.”
I left the card on the rector’s desk.
I felt as if I’d set everything straight, as if I’d been vindicated. Meanwhile Süleyman looked terrified.
“You’ve taken the word of a dishonest man and of a sensationalist newspaper over that of a loyal employee with a long record of honorable service. I’m a respectable citizen and a mother, my mother is a retired teacher, and my father is retired bank employee. I can’t believe you would treat me like this.”
The rector had clearly changed his mind. He was just about to get up and apologize to me. But then, just when I thought the whole nightmare was over, the secretary general chimed in.
“May I ask you a question, Mrs. Duran?’
“Of course.”
“When the professor was released from the hospital he was healthy, wasn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“And the central heating in the Pera Palas was working.”
I knew where he was going with this.
“It was.”
“In other words, the professor was not freezing as he was in Şile.”
“No, he wasn’t.”
“Well, in that case why did you choose to spend the night in his room, in his bed? Were you trying to save his life again?”
“No.”
“Did you order a bottle of Martell brandy to warm the professor up even more?”
“I can explain everything. The professor lived through some very traumatic experiences when he was in Istanbul. He wanted to talk about them; he needed someone to hear his story. I was just listening.”
This time the secretary general openly looked at my breasts and laughed, “That was very generous of you.”
Everyone else except the rector laughed as well. The rector seemed sympathetic to me and believed I was telling the truth, but there was nothing he could say.
I knew then that I’d lost, that they weren’t going to take anything I said seriously.
The rector said, “I’m very sorry Mrs. Duran, but after all of this I don’t see how we can work together. I appreciate the work you’ve done during your time here. Would you prefer to resign or to be dismissed for moral turpitude?”
There seemed no reason to pause and consider this, so I gave my answer right away.
“I’ll submit my letter of resignation at once.”
The rector glanced quickly at the others.
“This meeting is adjourned.”
I went straight to my office, sat down at my computer, and wrote, I hereby resign my position at the university because of victimization based on slander and the lack of support from the university administration. I printed the letter, signed it, and left it on my desk. I packed up all my things, a few books, a picture of Kerem, and the various odds and ends that had accumulated over the years, and left the building without saying goodbye to anyone.
There were a few people, like Nermin in the archives, whom I’d have liked to say goodbye to, but I didn’t have the strength. It was all I could do to keep myself from crying. But once I got into a taxi, I couldn’t hold back anymore and burst into tears.
The poor driver didn’t know what to do.
“Don’t worry, it’ll pass. Death is the only thing we can’t find a remedy for.”
By the time we were passing Sirkeci Station I’d calmed down a bit and stopped crying.
The driver turned to me and said, “I can stop and get you some tea if you like.”
“Thank you, that’s very kind of you but it’s not necessary.”
As we crossed the Galata Bridge toward Karaköy, I watched the dozens of ferries coming and going, with flocks of seagulls following them. There were dozens of boats moored to the quay selling grilled fish, and again the driver turned to me, “I could stop and get you a fish sandwich, that might make you
feel better. Don’t worry, I’ll turn the meter off.”
“Thank you again, that’s very thoughtful of you, but I’d really just like to get home as quickly as possible.”
In our culture, food is the remedy for everything, and offering food is sometimes the only way people know how to express sympathy and offer condolence. When my grandmother died in Antakya, the neighbors wouldn’t allow us to cook at home, and they took turns bringing us food. Food was eaten “for the souls of the departed,” as if it would do them any good.
When we reached my house, the driver didn’t want to accept any money.
“I can’t accept money from someone who’s grieving. Please allow me to just show you this one kindness.”
He had no idea why I was so upset, and he didn’t want to know. All that mattered to him was that I was in a state of grief. I did my best to pay the fare, but he refused to accept it.
I called Tarık right away, and he came and got me in his Jaguar. I could imagine the neighbors thinking, she’s moved straight from that elderly professor to this rich young man.
He took me to one of the fanciest and most expensive restaurants in town. I told him that I didn’t want to go there, that I wasn’t in the mood for that kind of thing, but he insisted. The headwaiter knew him and addressed him by name, and led us to one of the best tables. When the enormous menus arrived I told Tarık to order for me, and he ordered very well. He told me that I had to eat and keep my strength up. His attitude was no different from the taxi driver’s, except that the driver’s horizons only extended to a fish sandwich from a rowboat, while Tarık could afford this place.
The restaurant was usually full—people often waited a week for a reservation—but today it was relatively empty. The economic crisis had hit the kind of people who could come here, and those who still had the money didn’t want to be seen as guilty of conspicuous consumption.
The food, the surroundings, and Tarık’s conversation did take my mind off things a bit, but the pain was still there, and from time to time, it rose to the surface.
At one point I asked Tarık if he’d found me a good lawyer.
“Have you calmed down a little?” he asked.
“What do you mean, ‘have you calmed down?’ I’ve just been fired, the newspaper humiliated me in front of the entire nation, and I don’t know what I’m going to say to my son. How can I calm down?”
“You need to listen to me calmly,” he said. “I didn’t speak to a lawyer.”
“What?”
“Because a lawyer isn’t what you need.”
“A least I could expose the newspaper for lying, I could get them to print a retraction and sue them for defamation of character.”
The waiter asked us if everything was to our satisfaction, and we thanked him and said it was. We were drinking water because I didn’t want to mix the Lexatonil with alcohol.
“Look. Let’s say we consulted a lawyer. And he prepared an affidavit. It would go to court and they might decide in your favor. At this point the newspaper could choose to print a retraction.”
“What do you mean they could choose?”
“They’re allowed to delay for a hundred days. Even if they did print a retraction, it wouldn’t make a difference. They would pay a small fine, and months from now everyone would be reminded of the story and it would be in the news again.”
“What about suing for damages caused by defamation of character?”
“The way the legal system works here, the case could drag on for at least five years. Then they could appeal. If the appeals court dismisses the case the whole thing would start again from the beginning.”
“Is it really that hopeless?”
“Unfortunately, yes. The courts have such a backlog of cases that the system barely functions anymore. I advise you to give it up. It’ll just wear you out, and every time you appear in court you’ll be in the news again.”
“How can anyone in this country ever get justice?”
“They can’t. There are cases that have dragged on so long that criminals get off because of the statute of limitations. I know of cases that have dragged on for thirty years.”
“Thirty years?”
“Yes, thirty years.”
I was so discouraged by what he’d said that I could barely eat.
“So what am I going to do?”
“First you can stop playing with your fork and finish your dinner. Then you’ll go home and have a good sleep.”
“Then what?”
“Tomorrow there’ll be an article in the paper defending you and telling your side of the story.”
“You spoke to your friend?”
“Yes. Just take it easy, and we’ll think about what to do later. Would you like some panna cotta?”
“No.”
“Tiramisu?”
“No,” I said and laughed.
“Why are you laughing?”
“Everyone’s trying to get me to eat today. Am I still making money?”
“Of course.”
“Good, I’m going to need it because I won’t be getting a paycheck anymore.”
“Don’t worry. There are plenty of jobs you can get.”
When I got home I sat on the couch for a while and thought things over. Tarık’s support had done me a world of good. He might be a show-off with his expensive car and clothes and watches; he was a playboy, not really my type, and we didn’t share the same values, but he had a good heart and was a good friend and I was very grateful to him.
I wasn’t going to say anything to Kerem unless he’d already heard. I’d talk to him after this next article was published, if in fact it was. I didn’t really believe it would be, but Tarık seemed quite confident it would.
I drift off to sleep on the couch, and in my dreams there’s an earthquake. The couch is shaking so badly I almost fall off. This, I thought, is the big one. The whole city will be destroyed and everyone will be killed: the people at the university and the people at the newspaper. After this, nothing is going to matter anymore.
* * *
—
Someone taps my shoulder.
“Madam, please fasten your seat belt.”
It’s Renata, the flight attendant who helped me earlier.
“We’re experiencing some turbulence.”
Drowsily I fasten my belt. The huge plane keeps shaking. Even the lockers above our heads creak. I’d fallen asleep. In the meantime the blinds have been opened. It is bright inside the plane. The passengers have a breakfast tray in front of them and they’re holding on to their orange juice, coffee, or tea to keep it from spilling. The flight attendants have stopped serving. The couple who were snuggling under the blanket have woken up from a deep, happy sleep. Their faces are sparkling, and they gaze into each other’s eyes.
“Oh that beautiful sleep of youth.” Who said this? Max, of course.
He sent me an email. He told me he’d had a comfortable journey, that he’d never forget the week he’d spent with me in Istanbul, and asked how I was. I answered briefly that I was fine, and didn’t mention the trouble he’d got me into.
CHAPTER 18
I used the drug to help me sleep again, and when I woke the next morning all my joints were aching, probably from all the tension I’d been feeling. I also felt a sense of gloom and doom, a sense that something was wrong. Then, slowly, I remembered all that had happened and the pain and despair rose to the surface.
I forced myself out of bed and hobbled to the door to get the newspaper, and then turned the pages hopefully. There was nothing on the second page, or the third, fourth, fifth, or sixth,…I kept turning the pages. I was just about to give up hope when I saw a small article on page twelve.
UNIVERSITY SCANDAL WOMAN
INSISTS SHE’S INNOCENT
There was a new development yesterday in t
he scandal that rocked Istanbul University two days ago. Maya Duran, the public relations officer who was accused of conducting an illicit affair with visiting professor Maximilian Wagner, has stated that the allegations are false.
Duran said that “there was nothing improper or unprofessional about my relationship with Professor Wagner, and all suggestions to the contrary are malicious slander and patently absurd. Professor Wagner, who is of an advanced age and has held a position at one of the world’s leading universities for many years, is highly respected both for his work and for his exemplary character, and my record as a loyal, honest, and diligent employee of Istanbul University speaks for itself. I am a good Turkish mother and an upstanding Turkish citizen, and am outraged by these spiteful allegations.”
I was flabbergasted. I was certainly pleased that they’d published the article, but I’d never actually said what they quoted me as saying. They’d given my invented statement a patriotic slant to appeal to their readers. They also hadn’t mentioned that I’d been fired from the university. What a powerful tool the press was; it could destroy you or make you a hero.
Then I noticed a picture just below the article, and was struck by how much it resembled Ahmet. I looked more closely, and was stunned to realize that it was in fact Ahmet, my ex-husband.
I was surprised I hadn’t recognized him at once. There he was, sitting with the same reporter who’d interviewed me, the same close-set eyes, the same haircut, though his hair was starting to thin out. I’d known him so well once, but at the same time I felt I was looking at a picture of a stranger. Perhaps it was the expression on his face that made him seem different, an expression I didn’t remember ever having seen.
The camera had caught him while he was talking. His mouth was partly open and he had a slight frown, and there was something in his eyes that made him seem strong and determined. Beneath the picture were a caption and a brief statement.
SUPPORT FROM MAYA DURAN’S
FORMER HUSBAND
Ahmet Baltaci dismisses the allegations against Maya Duran, from whom he was divorced eight years ago.
Serenade for Nadia Page 23