The Peace Machine

by Oezguer Mumcu

  They stopped at the edge of a neighbourhood where the city’s grand buildings gave way to huts with roofs no higher than the head of the horse pulling the carriage. Apis leant across Celal and opened the door.

  “Walk down the road between those two shacks for about ten minutes and you’ll see your people from the circus. You’ve done your part, we’ll handle the rest. Enjoy the rest of your time in Belgrade.”

  With one foot still on the carriage step, Celal turned to Apis and said, “Colonel, it’s not a sunny day.”

  “Well, then find something else to pray for, Celal Bey.”

  Celal made his way down the hill gnawing the inside of his cheek as he butchered a tongue-twister that he couldn’t quite remember. Rain started pattering down on the road.

  When it’s raining, do you get wetter if you walk slowly or if you run? The question was moot on streets as muddy as those. In no time at all the soles of Celal’s boots were coated in a thick layer of earth, making it difficult for him to walk, let alone run, so he picked up a stick lying by the side of the road and used it to guide himself through what was now practically a river of mud. He started singing the few lyrics he could remember from an old Celali brigand shanty:

  “They will hunt you down no matter where you go / Not even a hundred prayers will save your soul / They strung them up one by one / And skinned Mehdi who was on the run.”

  “What if,” he thought, “I just up and died in some unknown place, like on a miserable muddy slope. Or what if one of Apis’s thugs, or one the Queen’s men, laid me out with a bullet to the back of my head in a remote corner of the city. There I’d be, wearing the uniform of a foreign army, dead.”

  He was so distracted that the stick slipped from his grasp but at the same time he was overcome by a feeling of peacefulness that he’d never experienced before. When the rain started pouring down, he remembered the rest of the song and sang it at the top of his voice.

  The run-down shacks lining the road started thinning out. At one point Celal looked around and realized that he was in the middle of a field, up to his knees in mud as the rain hammered down. He pressed on. Through the curtain of rain he spotted a rocky knoll in the distance and headed in that direction. The knoll appeared and disappeared in the deluge of rain like a fairy-tale castle, and just when he thought that he still had a way to go, he found himself at the foot of it. He clambered to the top.

  Despite the rain, the earth was firm. Atop that solid soil were four hooves, and above the hooves a majestic horse. Seated on the horse was a hooded rider wearing a hunting jacket.

  The rider signalled and Celal clambered onto the horse. As they set off, the horse’s hooves skipping over the water, Celal held on to the rider’s slender body.

  “They will make your life a misery / So leave off your wicked ways / Crows will devour you one day / As your fame and glory fade away.”

  “We haven’t put up the main tent yet. But you should see it, Celal, it’s magnificent. It would be a bit of a squeeze but you could fit a whole town in there. They were awestruck in Vienna. And you know the Viennese, they are hardly ever in awe of anything. All they know is theatre and classical music. Even the high-school pupils—almost all of them are set on becoming art critics. Pale-faced runts as short as toy soldiers. Their parents are just fatter versions of them, and less scrupulous, too. But we bewitched them all, children and adults alike. Even aristocrats came and watched the monkey acrobatics, mouths agape as if they were watching an Ibsen play. The tent was packed for weeks on end. If we were to set it up again, the tent would echo with German cries of astonishment once more. That’s how well it went.”

  Céline stopped and looked at Celal as he sat on a stool in his muddy uniform trying to warm himself with a blanket thrown over his shoulders. She tossed a few logs into the stove beside him and closed the lid halfway with a pair of tongs.

  “But Celal, you were only told to infiltrate the coup plotters, not bring yourself to ruin. Look at yourself. Why don’t you take up acting on the Vienna stage? You’d be a star.”

  Celal said nothing in reply. First he took off his muddy boots, and then his pants. After wrapping the blanket around his waist, he dragged the stool closer to the stove.

  “I hope there’s someone who does laundry in this circus. I need to wash my uniform. I might need it again sometime.”

  “Tomorrow you can give it to the stable boy. He takes cares of those things along with the horses.”

  “Very well.”

  The fire crackled and they fell silent.

  Céline took off her hunting jacket and ran her fingers through her hair. Then she sat down at the dressing table with her back to Celal and started brushing her hair in the mirror.

  Even though the stove was already filled with wood, Celal shoved in another piece, choking the flames. A thin, dark trail of smoke wafted from the stove into the room. Using the tongs, Celal poked the wood around until it started burning again and the smoke started going up the chimney. He met Céline’s gaze in the mirror.

  “The cut on my palm hasn’t healed yet.”

  “Probably because you didn’t want it to. Which means you didn’t miss me,” Céline said with a wink. “But I still rescued you like a knight in shining armour when I pulled you up onto my horse just now. I think you got carried away with playing soldier and you didn’t want me to come along and spoil your fun, so you didn’t let it heal. You knew if it did, that would mean the time for our reunion was drawing near.”

  “Céline, you couldn’t be more wrong. I think you missed me so much you couldn’t bear to wait any longer.”

  “Celal, please. More than enough time has passed for a little cut to heal.”

  “Well, now that we’re together again, I hope it heals up. If I’m going to be a secret agent, I certainly don’t want to have any scars that’ll give me away.”

  “It’s nice to see that you’re so excited about being a spy.”

  “Stop that rubbish. Why did you stay in Vienna so long?”

  Céline handed him a towel so that he could dry his hair.

  “We never got news that a revolt was breaking out. And while we’re not strong enough yet to stir up a revolution that will take down the Habsburgs, as I told you, we were able to gather intelligence up there. It’s shocking—people are suspicious of everyone and everything these days, but when they go to the circus they’re suddenly as naïve as newborn babes. I’m sure we found out more about the Empire than Emperor Franz Joseph himself knows.”

  Céline got up and tossed Celal an open-collared lace-up shirt. He took off his uniform and asked, as he pulled the shirt over his head, “Have you heard anything from Sahir?”

  “We met a few times at his place in Vienna. He stayed for about a week. He was in such a good mood that his eyes even cleared up a bit. Well, as good a mood as Sahir can be in. Any particular reason why you asked?”

  “Not at all. I hardly heard anything from you, so how could I ask any loaded questions?”

  “You know, Celal, reproach is unattractive in a man, especially when it is underhanded. I always took you to be the kind of person who speaks his mind.”

  “Okay, maybe there was a particular reason for my question. I’ve been here for months now. Does Sahir really think that people like Apis are going to bring peace to the world? I’m starting to have doubts.”

  “To tell you the truth, I’m not sure myself what he wants any more. But based on what he said in Vienna, he seems hopeful about the intelligence we’ve gathered. Emperor Franz Joseph knows that a revolt is in the works in Serbia, but he’s happy to let it go ahead. He thinks that if the uprising fails, it will bring the Serbian King and Queen closer to him. On the other hand, if it succeeds, he thinks that he’ll be able to bring the new king Karageorgevic under his influence, too. He’d probably try to buy him off by giving the Serbs in Bosnia some autonomy, or by selling him cheap munitions. At least, that’s what he said. Oh, and he said this, too: ‘Thank Celal for me. He did a sp
lendid job.’”

  “So what are we going to do now?”

  “We’re going to teach you some circus acts. The show’s going to start soon. By the way, I hope you’re not afraid of lions.”

  “I don’t take myself seriously enough to be afraid of anything.”

  “Now you’re the one talking rubbish. A man who doesn’t take himself seriously wouldn’t assume a fake identity and meddle with conspiracies in a foreign city just for the sake of changing world history. Or stick his head into a lion’s mouth, for that matter.”

  “My lady, may I point out that you hadn’t mentioned that last part before?”

  “Don’t worry, it’s a well-trained lion. Its teeth have been filed down and they’ve got rubber caps.”

  “Being comforted like that is worrying in itself.”

  “See, you do take yourself seriously. While you work on your routine I’m going to meet up with my penfriend Vesna. Sahir’s orders.”

  “If Vesna’s in on the job, why did I spend months working to get Dragan taken on as a guard?”

  “She’s not in on it. But if the revolt fails, we may need a way to influence the King and Queen. Sahir thinks that Karageorgevic is a better choice for bringing democracy to Serbia, but he also said that if Apis and his revolution don’t succeed, the King and Queen might be persuaded to at least let the people have some say in the running of the country. Now, we know that the Queen likes to write and draw. She’s even had a few articles and stories published in foreign magazines under an assumed name. Vesna submits the pieces for her. So, recently Sahir started a literary magazine in France. It’s actually quite decent. Even those snobby highschool children in Vienna who don’t like anything can’t put it down. I’m going to meet up with Vesna as the magazine’s representative and tell her that I’m doing a tour of Europe to promote it. So as you can see, whether the revolt happens or not, Sahir has a plan.”

  The rain and wind started to die down, and the small room was warming up as the stove crackled.

  Celal got up and approached Céline. Taking the brush from her hand, he started brushing her hair, which he then stroked with his wounded hand. He ran his fingers over her shoulders and leant down to kiss her neck. Then he reached around and pressed the wound on his palm to her lips. At first she nibbled at it, but her bites got harder and harder.

  Céline spun around, pulled her skirt up to her waist and spread her legs. Grabbing Celal by the hair, she pushed his head down. Celal fell to his knees.

  Placing his bloodied hand on the floor, he tried to push himself up so that he could kiss Céline but she held him down. Their first kiss was worthy of Şerif Bey’s erotic books.

  Celal was unable to shake off the nightmare he’d had.

  Not even the storm raging outside could rouse him.

  Nor the stove, which was now cold.

  When someone started knocking on the door, he opened his eyes. The knocks were quick raps at first, and then became more insistent. He ran his hand along the top of the mattress under the warm blanket.

  When the knocking got so hard that it seemed the door would fly off its hinges, he leapt out of bed, put on a shirt and wrapped the blanket around his waist. He opened the door.

  The wind swung it open, slamming it against the wall outside.

  Céline was standing there with a blond man of average height, with a drooping moustache. They quickly came inside to get out of the wind. Celal struggled to get the door closed, and when at last he managed it he saw that the man was lighting the stove. When the stove was burning steadily enough to warm up the room again, the man got up and kissed Céline’s hand with exaggerated pomp.

  With the same affected air, he presented her with a box of sweets and a bouquet of violets. As she was setting the gifts aside, the guest approached Celal and, placing his hands on his shoulders, pulled him in for a tight embrace. Stunned, Celal stepped back and held out his hand. They shook. With his index fingers, the guest wiped away the water dripping from his hair to his eyebrows.

  Céline motioned for the two men to sit down.

  The guest popped a chocolate into his mouth and offered one to Celal. As he sucked on the chocolate, the guest said in a hoarse voice, “The name’s Celal, right? I hope you’ll be able to follow what I’m about to tell you. As you know, time can be a restless thing, unlike history, which is quite prone to laziness. And when time begins to fly too fast, history can’t keep up. It just looks on at the merry-go-round of time as it whirls round and round… And in the end it’s all too much. History gives up and collapses on a chair. It becomes so lazy, so very very lazy, that it doesn’t even bother to repeat itself. And you know, Celal, I think that is how we can spot moments of historical significance: when the whirl of time stops the repetition of history. Did you see what Count Zeppelin did? Two years ago, he filled a huge sack with hydrogen at Lake Constance and flew up into the air. I saw it with my very own eyes. It was nothing like a hot-air balloon. Let me put it this way: if a hot-air balloon is a rowing boat, von Zeppelin’s creation was a frigate. Of course, history knows nothing of frigates soaring through the air, and so as it looked on it started to feel dizzy, and now it has stopped repeating itself. But we shouldn’t put much faith in the pauses of history. The important question is: how will the Zeppelin be used? To whisk letters across the Atlantic to America? To drop bombs on battle lines? If it’s the latter, then we’ll know that history has got used to the merry-go-round, sat up in its chair and started repeating itself again. It’s those moments that matter.”

  The guest undid his wig-clips and tossed his blond wig on the floor. Reaching down, he picked up a leather bag that was sitting between his legs and held it out to Celal.

  “Here’s your money. Please forgive me for upsetting you with that disappearing act and causing you so much trouble.”

  Scratching his beard, Celal took the bag and tossed it on the bed beside him. He got to his feet and looked at the wig for a while, and then he picked up one of the clips to examine it. When the silence became unbearable, he said, “Jean, is this some kind of vaudeville act? What need is there for all these shenanigans: the wig, the empty chatter, as if you were trying to dupe a villager at the county fair. Is this the time or place for games? You come here and ramble on about history, repetition, and how Count Zeppelin flew off into the sky… And to top it off, the two of you were in cahoots, preparing this surprise for me as if I was some kind of aristocrat fallen on hard times who needs some entertainment on his deathbed. Jean, I rarely get upset. Very rarely. And I never know what’s going to upset me. But when I heard that you’d been killed, I was devastated. What was I to you? Just some Ottoman gentleman writing tasteless yet saleable stories? A sucker? As if that wasn’t enough, you seem to think that I’m so exotic that you can put me on display in the circus. Is that how it is? Am I just a stranger to you, expected to make do with whatever information you see fit to pass on to me? Am I no more than a loyal fool doing your bidding? A mere nobody to be swallowed up by your lofty schemes? A monkey wearing a fez? Jean, I need you to tell me something. Please understand, I’m not threatening or blackmailing you. Maybe I really am a loyal servant. If not, I’d be even angrier than I already am. I’m not sure. But I would like to know what’s going on. Tell me, please. As an equal. What’s happening? And, more importantly, why?”

  Celal stared at Jean, his stern gaze demanding a reply.

  Jean slowly shook his head. “I’m sorry, Celal,” he said. “I suppose that I thought you would see the funny side of it all. But I was wrong. It’s my fault. When I’m feeling uneasy, I become blind to what other people are feeling. I hope you can forgive me.”

  Celal cupped his chin in his hands and leant forward. “You haven’t changed at all, Jean. At school, when you sliced open that poor boy’s face during fencing practice you didn’t feel an ounce of pity for him. True, you stood there in shock and the first words out of your mouth were, ‘My apologies, please forgive me.’ But the fact is, you were using a real
foil, not one of the practice ones. I may have said I wasn’t threatening you, but I’d recommend that you explain yourself before I change my mind. I’m starting to have second thoughts about holding back my anger.”

  “You’ll restrain yourself. You always have. That ‘poor boy’, as you called him, was also using a real foil. Yes, I asked him to forgive me, but not for the reason you think. We used to call him ‘the blond fibber’, and his nickname for you was ‘the Sultan’s whore’. He used to go around saying that all you wanted was to get your hands on a huge French cock. You were new at school and, if you recall, I was the only person who would talk to you. I’ll admit, I only objected to what he was saying because I didn’t want people to gossip about me, not because I wanted to defend you. When I cut his face open like that, I felt bad for agreeing to fence with him, and I still feel bad.”

  Celal walked over to the dressing table and returned holding a small mirror, a blusher brush and a piece of soap, and then he poured some water from a pitcher into a small metal bowl, which he set on the stove. When the bowl started steaming, he set it on the side table. He picked up a piece of flower-patterned cloth hanging beside the table and wound it around his neck. After putting the soap into the water, he used the brush to whip it into foam, which he then lathered onto his face. Looking intently into the mirror, he started shaving his unkempt beard with slow, even strokes.

  Whistling, Celal carefully shaved every inch of his face and then unwound the now soaking-wet piece of cloth from his neck. He tossed it on the ground and used it to meticulously wipe up the hair on the floor. Satisfied with his handiwork, he stood up, walked over to Jean, and gave him a slap that sent him sprawling to the floor, his head colliding with a side table as he fell, knocking out two teeth.