In the Shadow of the Yali

by Suat Dervis

  Now she was weeping. In spite of Muhsin’s protests, she could still not believe he’d been joking. Why had he said all that?…What pleasure had he taken from it? Where was the joke in it? What had prompted him?

  No, no matter how hard she tried, she could not stop crying.

  It was without doubt the first time she had ever cried in front of another person.

  “Celile! My darling!”

  Muhsin was kissing her eyelids, her moist cheeks, her chin, her mouth. He wouldn’t stop. He pulled her to his chest, embracing her like a little child.

  Muhsin was elated! Muhsin was sorry!

  Celile did nothing. Made no complaint. She just cried. Cried and cried. Did he finally have to believe this woman?

  Or was this great display of tenderness yet another lie?

  No, Muhsin wanted to believe her now.

  “Oh, what a brute of a man I am. What a crude and cruel joke I made.”

  “I thought you meant it,” said Celile, still sobbing like a child. “I thought you were tired of me. I was afraid you’d fallen in love with someone else and didn’t want me anymore.”

  “Are you crazy? How could I not want you? How could that ever be? Do you have any idea how much I love you? How mad I am for you? Do I need to throw myself at your feet and declare myself your slave?”

  Celile was crying more softly now.

  “But tell me,” Muhsin continued. “Tell me, please. If I love you that much, and you love me back, why am I so miserable? Why am I bereft? Did I just say I didn’t want you to come to me again? That was a lie! What I wanted to say was, don’t leave me! Celile, don’t go! Don’t leave me sitting here alone, and feeling so desperate, so empty and alone. Celile! Don’t leave!”

  Celile’s moist eyes began to shine with joy.

  A happy smile formed on her lips.

  “If you don’t want me to leave, dear Muhsin, I shall not! I shall stay.”

  No! This was impossible. No, this was going too far. Celile couldn’t stay there with him. How could Muhsin countenance such a disgrace? He couldn’t just kidnap another man’s wife! Why would he want to take responsibility for such an outrage? Celile was a married woman. She had her reputation to think about. Not to mention her husband. Or her place in society. How could Muhsin even think to propose such a thing to a married woman?

  He might ask Celile to stay…

  And just by saying it, he might find relief, if not from all his woes, then at least a large part of them.

  But no! Men like Muhsin did not surrender so easily. He wasn’t going to be so foolish or irresponsible as to ask a married woman to stay.

  No, never!

  Because if he did, he’d have to take the consequences.

  This woman would become his responsibility.

  He would be under an obligation to give her back her good name.

  No! He could never do that! And neither could he pluck Celile from her marriage and turn her into his mistress.

  NINE

  But the words had been said. His wish was now clear.

  “Don’t go!

  “I want you here—with me!”

  He had never admitted to this desire, not even to himself, but now it burst into his mind in the shape of a single word.

  There it was, for all to see. Desire.

  And from the moment he uttered the word, Muhsin also knew this: he did not want Celile going back to her husband, did not want her to belong to another man. Never again would she be known as Ahmet’s wife.

  Was this what he’d wanted for some time now? He didn’t know…

  But from the moment he asked her not to leave, he convinced himself that this was what he’d wanted from the day they’d first met.

  If Celile had been a woman of little consequence, Muhsin could have plucked her out of her marriage without attracting notice.

  It could have been done quietly, to avoid scandal.

  But now that Ahmet had made his mark in the silo construction business, he and Celile had been admitted to the ranks of Istanbul’s business elite.

  Never mind that it was Muhsin who’d made this possible. Their names now carried weight.

  Ahmet could look forward to a lifetime of prosperity and respect.

  But if Muhsin now took Celile for himself, what could he offer her?

  He was in no doubt that he could give her a life of even greater luxury. And love, so much love…

  But how could he ever undo the damage to her reputation?

  Here was a woman who had deceived her husband. If she was prepared to leave him and run off to her lover, thereby disrespecting her marriage vows, how could Muhsin ever trust her, how could he abandon his pride, throw his dignity to the winds, and give this woman his name?

  This was not possible.

  It ran counter to his principles. Muhsin was a man who valued honor and respect.

  He was forty-five years old. He was not about to go against the ideas that had guided him all his life.

  If he was to ask Celile to leave her husband, he had to be ready to take full responsibility for her.

  He might love her dearly, even madly, but to take this woman from her husband and give her an official role in his own life—this would be unthinkable.

  What if she deceived him? Dragged his name through the dirt? The fact of the matter was that Muhsin didn’t trust Celile. And he did not see how he ever could.

  He had seen how she’d deceived her husband without a moment’s hesitation.

  And that was why he now wanted to forget those words he’d uttered in a fit of passion, without a thought for the consequences. He wanted Celile to forget them, too.

  But all his efforts were in vain.

  The words had been uttered, the wish expressed. Desire had found its language. It could no longer be contained.

  Neither Muhsin nor Celile could forget what had been said.

  So now, every time they met, there was a question hovering on Celile’s lips: “Shall I stay?”

  And every time they parted, there was that other question, hovering on Muhsin’s lips: “Do you have to go?”

  These words were never said. But desire, now unleashed, consumed their every hour. From the moment they parted until the moment they met again, it tormented them.

  Until Muhsin could no longer hide from the truth. He had gone fishing in his unconscious, and pulled out this shocking wish, and now here it was.

  This was what he wanted. This was the unconscious wish that had been causing him such torment. The time had come to decide what to do about it.

  He wanted Celile to be his. He wanted Celile!

  She was making him jealous. So jealous he wanted to die. Or kill someone. His jealousy was driving him mad!

  Couldn’t he just lay claim to her?

  Wasn’t he the sort of man who took charge of what was his? Why then was he hesitating? Why didn’t he just take action and ask Celile to stay?

  If he asked her to stay, he was certain that she would.

  Not a doubt in his mind. She would.

  He knew this, and it frightened him. Why did it frighten him? Was Ahmet the sort of man to fear?

  Could Celile ever be happy with this man, or truly worthy of respect?

  Ahmet had handed over his wife to Muhsin in thanks for services rendered. What would stop him doing the same again?

  After the great success he’d enjoyed with Muhsin, why would he want to stop using his wife as bait in his future negotiations?

  Surely his methods must by now be known to all of Istanbul?

  Of course, no matter how much this parvenu might rise in the world, now that he had made a profit of several thousand liras, there was nevertheless a yawning gulf between what Ahmet and Muhsin had to offer.

  And Muhsin had the upper hand.

 
If Ahmet now wanted to increase his profits and grow his capital, he would continue to throw Celile into other men’s arms.

  No mistress of his would ever wish to involve herself in shabby plots such as these, not if they could help it.

  And however much Celile loved Ahmet, Muhsin knew that she preferred him.

  And she made that preference abundantly clear.

  She felt no bond with her husband of ten years.

  Not once had she suggested that she couldn’t countenance leaving Ahmet. This consoled Muhsin and bolstered his confidence.

  What a terrifying woman she was, this Celile.

  But if she was willing to leave her husband today, without so much as a backward look, what was to stop her doing the same to him one day, for no apparent reason?

  No! He couldn’t trust her. He couldn’t risk his honor for her, or his good name.

  He could love her, but that was all…

  It would be madness to make her his partner in life. And Muhsin was no madman.

  How, then, to lay claim to her? That was the question.

  Celile wanted to leave her husband and come to him.

  What was her reason? Was it love?

  Or was it…

  Celile did genuinely love him.

  No matter what she’d had in mind at the beginning, she’d not managed to ensnare him.

  The day he told her never to come back—how terrified she’d been! How she’d cried!

  Such sobs! Such tears! You’d think he’d raised his hand to her. She’d cried like a motherless child thrown out into the street.

  Had those tears been fake?

  What might she have been trying to gain by crying? Her husband had already got what he was after.

  And when Muhsin asked her not to go, her face had lit up like a spring morning. How happy she had looked.

  “Shall I stay?”

  How had Muhsin found the strength to change the subject? Oh, Celile was a terrifying creature. Whatever bound her to Muhsin—be it ambition, or greed, or love—one thing was in no doubt—she knew no equal. She did not hold herself back. She kept her eyes on the prize.

  This was a woman who would not suffer a single pang of conscience in leaving her husband of ten years. This man who worshipped her and followed her around like a dog.

  One thing Muhsin knew for certain: if he had pressed her just a bit more—dropped the pretense of a joke and asked her seriously—Celile would have stayed.

  Celile was playing with her life. Playing with her life without a thought about what it might mean.

  This was a woman who was prepared to wreck her future for a word, leave her marriage of ten years just because he’d asked.

  And if she did leave her marriage? Where would that leave him? What would he do? He had no idea. His mind was a blank.

  Why did she trust him so?

  She’d never made herself clear.

  And Muhsin had never made it clear what he knew.

  Since the very beginning, he’d kept her in the dark about his doubts and theories, and even worse, his convictions.

  He knew just as little about her.

  He had not the faintest understanding of her character. Her thoughts, her soul—they were closed books.

  But what kind of man was he? What was he thinking, what was this love? Where had all this hatred come from? What did he believe, or disbelieve? What did he value, or dismiss as unimportant? Celile had never wondered about these things, not even for a second.

  Celile loved his gaze, his white hair, the warm harmonies of his voice. She loved his strong arms. She loved only his compliments, his love.

  And that was all. It had never occurred to her to ask if he was a man worthy of her faith and trust.

  She had no interest in counting virtues.

  They might have been lovers for six months by now, but in all that time, they’d never found a moment to get to know each other better.

  Muhsin had questioned Celile’s sincerity and judged her harshly. Celile had not judged Muhsin at all.

  She loved him.

  She was willing to wreck her marriage to be with him. But how could she be sure how much longer Muhsin would love her?

  Not even during their wildest moments of lovemaking had Muhsin ever sworn eternal love.

  He had made no commitment to her. Promised her nothing.

  Celile, for her part, had never asked him to promise him anything, or asked him to explain his feelings, or spoken to him of her own feelings, or even told him what she loved about him.

  She’d stayed silent. She’d made love. That was all!

  If Muhsin asked her not to go, and she stayed, who could say how long this life would last? Who could say how long Muhsin would want her at his side?

  Would Muhsin love her forever? Would Muhsin tire of her?

  If she left Ahmet, would Muhsin marry her? The question never even passed through her mind.

  She made no calculations.

  To love Muhsin, to want to be with him, to desire him…these were not the sort of things you planned.

  She loved Muhsin. And when she was with him, all was bliss. That was why she was prepared to take any risk just to be with him, and to stay with him as long as she could.

  Because she loved Muhsin, she was willing to do whatever she could to spend as long with him as possible.

  Whenever they had to part, it was this love from which she drew her strength.

  Without a doubt, she was ruled by her emotions.

  Without a doubt, she had as little control over her actions as she would if she were mad.

  Those words Muhsin had uttered—they were always there, hovering between them, almost close enough to touch.

  They were never repeated, but they remained.

  Not just when Muhsin and Celile were together. Even when they were apart they could hear those words:

  “Don’t go!”

  “Shall I stay?”

  Their day would come. This much was certain. One day, Muhsin would not find the courage to pull away from her embrace. One day, he would wrap his arms around her more tightly and those words would ring out like a siren: “Don’t go!”

  And Celile would gaze up at him, and in her eyes he would see a hundred happy promises, a thousand feminine wiles. And in that trembling, duplicitous voice he had come to know too well, she would ask: “Shall I stay?” And she would stay!

  It was ordained.

  That day was approaching. They both could feel it.

  As a precaution, Muhsin had been keeping their farewells short.

  As that moment approached, he would try not to look into her eyes or hold her for too long in his arms.

  She was so much his, this woman, that to send her off to another man, even if that man was her husband, now seemed to Muhsin to be the greatest imaginable insult to his dignity, his honor, and his good name.

  TEN

  The cloud was soon to burst, but still Ahmet refused to see it.

  Celile had become a stranger to him.

  But even when he came home one night to find that she had moved into a separate bedroom, he told himself that this was just another sign of how far they had risen in the world.

  It did bother him a little. No—it bothered him a lot. But he said nothing to Celile.

  Because he was sure Celile had made this change because she knew this to be the custom in polite society. When he was a little bank clerk, it was fine for him to share a bedroom with his wife. But now that he was a wealthy entrepreneur, things had to change. The gentleman in one room and the lady wife in another.

  Their new sleeping arrangements must be a mark of their new status. Sharing a bedroom was considered coarse, perhaps.

  Ahmet trusted Celile unconditionally.

  He based that trust on their te
n happy, peaceful years of marriage.

  Even as a young and inexperienced new wife, her eyes had never wandered. Why would she change now? It never occurred to him that a day might arrive when she would deceive him.

  Her love for him might cool. Yes, that was possible. But to deceive him…Never!

  She had agreed to be his wife, had she not? And all these years she had stayed at his side. What better proof of her devotion?

  Why would a woman as splendid as Celile live with a man like Ahmet, unless she loved him?

  What was Ahmet, next to her? Nothing!

  It was luck that had led him to Celile, luck that had brought them together.

  And if she had never once thought to deceive him when he was just a little bank clerk, then why would she do so now, when her husband of ten years had become a rich man?

  There was, he reasoned, no cause for jealousy or suspicion.

  Even as her manner changed, he still saw no reason to suspect her.

  All of Istanbul knew by now that Celile was making daily visits to Muhsin’s apartment, and brazenly refusing to conceal her comings and goings.

  But no one had passed the gossip on to the cuckolded husband. Ahmet was the only person in Istanbul who didn’t know.

  On the day he discovered the truth, the horror of betrayal would therefore also carry the sting of public humiliation.

  It had never occurred to Celile that the truth might undo him.

  All she could think about was herself, and her love. Nothing else was real. Not for a second did she think about him. It was as if he’d been erased from her life.

  This was not to say she wished him to suffer.

  In this she resembled a pasha from the old days, taking on a new odalisque and forgetting that the old one might shed tears—or even if the thought did occur to him, not caring.

  In much the same manner, her husband of ten years had, from one moment to the next, become a stranger to her.