In the Shadow of the Yali

by Suat Dervis

  He’d liked Celile from the start, too. It was after they were introduced that he’d suddenly changed his mind and agreed to stay for supper.

  He might not have admitted it to himself at the time, but he’d stayed because of Celile.

  One look at this woman, with her solemn smile and her pristine summer dress, and he knew that he would very much enjoy an evening in her company.

  He was intrigued by her manner. Though he found her neither haughty nor proud, he discerned a reserve that set her apart from all others.

  That evening at Nuri’s table had brought him no remorse.

  He almost never sought to please, but on this occasion he was forced to admit that he had.

  She demurred from pointless conversation, and when things beyond her understanding were being discussed, she knew to stay silent.

  She was remote. Modest. Chaste.

  Try as she might to be courteous to those around her—and despite her fine manners, it was always an effort—she held herself back.

  Her bright-brown eyes—like a leopard’s, flecked with yellow—were impossible to read.

  No way of knowing how she felt about those around her, or what she thought about what they said.

  And so, for the first time in his life, he was giving this woman the sort of attention he might afford a male peer. Not, perhaps, with the same degree of interest and respect. There was something stronger. He noticed, also, that she showed him no special interest.

  Ahmet had been as good company at supper as he had been that afternoon on the ferry. All in all, the evening had made for a welcome change from the tiring artifice of his usual circle. In actual fact, he always enjoyed being with Müjde and Nuri. This new couple seemed the perfect addition.

  And so that was why he’d invited them all out to lunch.

  He’d assumed Ahmet and Celile did not know who he was and indeed had no interest in his wealth or reputation.

  It wasn’t until he took them out on the cruiser that he found out Ahmet was in business.

  When he invited them to the gazino, he’d already begun to ask himself what the spirited, affable Ahmet might want from him.

  It hadn’t taken him long to find out. For it was that very evening that Ahmet had proposed his two-hundred-thousand-lira deal.

  Until that night, Celile had been growing steadily in his estimation, while his feelings for Ahmet grew steadily warmer. But once Ahmet began talking about that bank guarantee, once Muhsin understood the man’s true motives in befriending him, he felt only rage.

  He’d met plenty of Ahmets in his time.

  Fools who were never content to live within their means.

  Possessed by delusions of grandeur, they never asked themselves what they might usefully do with a modest fortune. Instead they dreamed of profits in the hundreds of thousands.

  He knew how they operated.

  In their greedy desperation to make their dreams come true, they grasped at any and every opportunity that came their way, no matter how lowly or demeaning.

  In truth, Muhsin had been unsettled all along by Ahmet’s way of pushing his wife forward, but once he’d heard about the two-hundred-thousand-lira deal, he saw a new meaning in this ploy of his, and it filled him with disgust. By unfortunate coincidence, it was during this same evening that he saw a new light in Celile’s eyes.

  In fact, he’d glimpsed it a few times before, but it had come and gone as fast as lightning. Tonight, on the other hand, the fire in her eyes had burned on. If Ahmet had not been chosen that same evening to make his brazen approach, this change in her might even have gladdened his heart.

  Now, though, he saw something altogether different in her burning gaze. Even so, he couldn’t stop it from working into his very marrow.

  He was drawn to her. Very much so.

  He desired her. This he could afford to admit. Never in his life had he desired a woman this much.

  Were he younger, he would have thought himself in love. It was, he admitted, something close to love.

  Was this love? Why, then, was he so angry at her?

  She had looked at him so sweetly. And he had put her on such a high pedestal that he was jealous of everyone around her. Sometimes, bizarrely, he was even jealous of himself.

  But this was the oldest story in the book, was it not? A rich man meets someone who wishes to take advantage.

  A little businessman and his wife befriend the richest man in the land.

  There were thousands of couples like this one. As Muhsin had discovered to his cost.

  He never wanted to see these people again.

  They weren’t like Nuri and Müjde, whom he had known for so long! Why, then, was Muhsin so angry?

  There was nothing surprising, after all, about a man like Ahmet trying to exploit his friendship.

  And with Ahmet making so much of an effort, wasn’t it natural for his wife to show an interest? An interest in his money, that is. Muhsin was certain now that money was all this pair cared about. Wasn’t it natural, under the circumstances, for the wife to give him her special attention?

  Or was he mistaken? Such anger he felt at that moment. He would never forgive Celile. Never!

  He knew how conniving people could be.

  Life had taught him this lesson over and over.

  It would not be the first time the wife of a man wishing to do business with him had given him a special look.

  If it had been any other woman, he would have taken it in his stride, and even regarded it as natural, but when he saw that fire in Celile’s eyes, he was as troubled as if she had sinned against God.

  Of course, it always disgusted him when people were this ruthless, this eager to debase themselves.

  Celile had seemed so different. So ethereal, with her slender form, her broad forehead, her lovely arched eyebrows. How could it be that this splendid creature could walk through life with such dignity and still engage in low deceptions, just to help her husband get ahead?

  She treated the world around her with such indifference that the slightest spark of interest in her eyes seemed more repugnant to him than an approach by a looser sort of woman.

  How he hated her.

  Wasn’t this his fate, after all? He was rich. There would always be people wishing to exploit his friendship.

  In his previous entanglements, Muhsin had always taken care not to look too long or too deeply into a woman’s eyes. The very thought had filled him with dread. The very idea of looking into those eyes to catch even a glimpse of the plots and schemes they concealed…

  He’d never seen eyes, though, like Celile’s. Beneath their hooded lids, they knew how not to speak.

  They allowed no one in. But now, all of a sudden, they had opened up, shown an interest. And this Muhsin could not forgive.

  For Muhsin had enjoyed a comfortable childhood and a prosperous youth. There’d always been money for everything he needed, and that money had come to him without his making the slightest effort. He’d never had to beg, or work to please, or curry favor. So he couldn’t understand why anyone could harbor such fierce desires for the things they didn’t have, or be willing to degrade themselves in their zeal to acquire them.

  He’d never been belittled or humiliated.

  He’d always had power.

  And a solid wall to lean on. He could afford to speak openly to friend and foe. What he said to a competitor was the same as what he said to an associate.

  He had never had to demean himself by pretending to go along with an idea he hated, or a plan he didn’t like, just to please the man in charge.

  He’d always held the reins, and he had no time for those who debased themselves.

  Upstarts, trying to make names for themselves…

  Too many to count.

  Like Ahmet, they dreamed of great fortunes. Again like Ahmet,
they lacked professional training. And neither did they have experience from life itself. In no way were they prepared for the world of commerce. They entered the arena with a single ambition—to make as much money as they could.

  By and large they did not come from money, but from decent families of modest means. Their excellent manners kept their true intentions hidden for the first three or four meetings.

  When they met a rich businessman, they were never deferential in the way that a real businessman would be. Instead they would seek to establish a friendship by devious means. Nothing made Muhsin angrier than falling into their trap.

  How had Ahmet burrowed his way in?

  How had he managed to stay in Muhsin’s good books for so long?

  What part had Celile played in this plot? He had wanted to catch her out.

  How he had raged against this wondrous woman that night at the gazino. Even as he was suddenly overcome by a surge of admiration, and warmed to her.

  When he whispered those words into her ear—”Because I’m so close to you, my lovely, and yet so far away”—he’d felt as sure of himself as he ever had.

  And it was probably not Celile who gave him his courage. That courage came from inside, from his own mad insolence. And behind that insolence was a wish.

  He had wanted Celile to take offense. Push him away. Slap him! But she hadn’t even scolded him. Instead she had reciprocated, body and soul, taking him by surprise and sending him wild with joy.

  Never in his life had he been prey to such conflicting emotions.

  He hated Celile. He adored her.

  Ahmet disgusted him. He wanted to punch him in the face…

  It could not be a coincidence, he thought, that she had chosen to change her spots on the very evening her husband had made his approach. And yet on that dance floor, as he held this woman in his arms, pressing her into his chest, he’d felt a deeper excitement than he’d ever encountered with any woman he’d ever known. He’d lost all sense of himself, as a wave of agonizing pleasure washed through him.

  He hated this woman for having cheapened herself to help her husband with his business. But even more, he hated to think that she would be going home tonight with that same husband.

  Yes, Ahmet had resorted to devious means to cement their friendship, and now he was respectfully proposing his plan.

  He had dropped his mask. No more subterfuge. He was entirely open.

  These little men were always like that.

  Like so many who had come before, he’d seized on a deal that would bring in a two-hundred-fifty-thousand-lira profit. In two days’ time, he’d come to Muhsin’s office with his bills and books and arrangements, and for this same reason he was pretending not to notice that Muhsin had been so bold as to romance his wife right before his eyes.

  And then, even then, he had continued to urge her on. How disgusting. How foolish and detestable.

  And yet there had been those strange and intimate moments on the dance floor. Love and hatred battled for dominion over his heart.

  And how was he to understand this war going on inside him? Was this obsession? Addiction? Passion?

  It was all those things, most certainly. But there was only one word to describe what he felt for this solemn, silent, and infinitely remote woman, even as his mind brimmed with furious accusation.

  Love.

  Even as he railed against her in his mind for cheapening herself, for conniving with her husband, he could hear its soft lament:

  This woman in his arms. This wondrous gift. She astounded him. He was mad with awe.

  The way she drank in his words. The way she’d let her body fall into his arms as they danced. The way she looked at him in silence, like no other woman he had known. In her every gesture, she had remained her own mysterious self.

  A flower unfurls. Its colors have never before graced this earth. Its fragrance has no name.

  An apple falls from the tree. He picks it up, bites into it. How strange it tastes. Not like an apple at all.

  A creature consigned long ago to extinction. Her curves. Her compliance. Her formidable reserve. Everything about this woman hearkened back to another age.

  Such sorrow she’d brought him. Such happiness, too. How it would have upset him had Celile protested and pushed him away.

  But if she had ceded to him on her husband’s behalf? It undid him, destroyed him, just to entertain the thought.

  Even as his heart opened up to her, beat by beat.

  She was sapping his strength. Soon there would be nothing left of him. She’d sigh and move on.

  Arriving home that night, he examined the scratches Celile had left on the palms of his hands. They were bleeding.

  He longed to kiss them. Had he not wished to save his dignity, he would have kept his lips on those scratches all night long.

  “Celile!”

  All night long, and until the moment he picked up the phone the next day, she ruled his thoughts and his mind and the very blood in his veins.

  How he longed for her. Hungered!

  How his heart pounded when he finally picked up the phone and heard her voice.

  “Celile, I need to see you. Alone…”

  At the other end of the line, he heard her trembling voice: “That’s not possible! Not possible!”

  How it soothed him to hear those words.

  She didn’t want to give in to him, not right away.

  “Celile, I beg you.”

  “It’s not possible!”

  And she put down the phone. Her voice still echoing on the line. Misery overtook him. How he longed for her to come to him, to accept his invitation and find him waiting and share his joy. All he wanted was to go to her, as fast as his feet could take him.

  That night, again, he lost himself to misery and fever.

  The next day, when passion got the better of him once again, he picked up the phone once more.

  Once more, he begged.

  “Celile…Celile…don’t you understand? I must see you, alone.”

  He could tell, just from her quiet breathing, that his words brought her joy.

  But then she spoke: “It’s not possible!”

  “Celile, listen. Please. I really must see you.”

  “It cannot be!”

  Again, she hung up. Left holding the receiver, Muhsin felt a bit annoyed, a bit disappointed, a bit ashamed, and extraordinarily happy.

  She had turned him down!

  She was not going to rush to his side just to help her husband’s case.

  Or was she waiting until the deed was done, and she could thank him?

  When Ahmet turned up at his office that same day, he put aside his anger and disgust and greeted him with open arms. There was no harm, after all, in continuing the conversation, even if nothing came of it.

  He greeted Ahmet with a warm smile. Offered him cigarettes and coffee. Commented on the heat. Shared thoughts about the news of the day.

  And soon he was able to recall why he had come to like this smooth-talking man so much during the first days of their acquaintance. There was so much more to him when he wasn’t with his wife. When he wasn’t at her beck and call, following her around like a dog.

  What a loathsome creature he became when she was at his side. Showering her with compliments. Playing the willing and adoring slave.

  As if he wished to advertise her virtues to all and sundry.

  Muhsin could make no sense of it.

  Unless this was what he always did—put his wife on exhibit, extolling her fine points to any man who might need a few perks before agreeing to go into business with him.

  That, Muhsin thought, was unforgivable.

  After enough time had passed, Ahmet mentioned his proposal. He’d prepared a few words about the possibilities it might offer. Of course, he’d al
ready given Muhsin a sense of the big picture, but if he could take this opportunity to run through the headlines once again…

  Ahmet prattled on, and Muhsin sat back, formulating his own thoughts as he listened, in the time-honored manner of businessmen the world over.

  Business was business. It did not matter who proposed it. If something was worth exploring, then it needed to be explored.

  But from the moment Ahmet opened his mouth, Muhsin knew exactly what this particular proposal was about, and how much it was worth.

  Over the past two weeks, there had been countless others seeking Muhsin’s good counsel, or rather his assistance in procuring a bank guarantee. Always with the same outcome in mind.

  A two-hundred-thousand-lira profit!

  It beggared belief.

  As for those other supplicants. A number of them had come with proposals that were in every way superior to the one now before him. But even after stretching their every calculation to its logical limit, their imagination stopped at a hundred thousand.

  And here was Ahmet, determined to double his chances from the start. Yet another count against him.

  Not a dreamer then. Ahmet was an out-and-out speculator. He’d had plenty of them walk through his offices, too.

  If Ahmet had not been Celile’s husband, he would have cut him off then and there. He would have stood up and made his apologies, invented an urgent matter he needed to see to. Bundled him out of the office, with no chance of a second invitation.

  But Ahmet was Celile’s husband. And Muhsin did not wish to sever relations entirely.

  He needed to continue seeing this man. Keep this relationship going.

  When Ahmet had finished speaking, Muhsin responded with a single sentence: “We shall meet again soon.”

  Ahmet was beside himself with joy. Muhsin had shown an interest. In his mind, this was as good as a solemn pledge.

  When in fact Muhsin dismissed the whole troublesome business from his mind the moment Ahmet left.

  The next day, he called Celile again. And the next day, and the next. Meeting each time with the same refusal.

  Ahmet had held back, too. Though he was already prepared for a second meeting, he’d not wished to press him. He’d decided to wait until after the weekend. He’d take his papers over on Monday or Tuesday.