In the Shadow of the Yali

by Suat Dervis

  She could not say exactly how or when he’d been erased.

  All she knew was that he’d vanished from her heart without a trace. She could no longer remember ever loving him or even feeling close to him.

  If she felt anything about Ahmet, it was rage.

  Rage that he had come into her life. Rage that they had met.

  For now he stood in her way. Simply because he existed and was her husband.

  In her mind, he was no longer a husband, but an impediment, a chain…

  As she distanced herself from him, cutting the bonds of intimacy one by one, she was merciless, utterly merciless. Not once did she suffer a pang of conscience.

  Ahmet might be the obstacle—the reason why Muhsin had not asked her to be his. But if Muhsin ever asked her to come to him, to stay and never leave, then nothing could stop Celile from staying.

  It troubled her that Ahmet had yet to ask her if she was having an affair.

  She had grown cold, distanced herself—done so much else to make it clear to him that she no longer loved him. But not once had he asked her to explain the changes in her attitude or behavior. He’d simply refused to see.

  If he’d asked her the tiniest question, even once, she would not just have answered him. She would have told him everything.

  Because she hated having secrets from him. Only telling him everything would bring her peace.

  It was to force a question out of Ahmet that she had moved to her own bedroom.

  But Ahmet accepted this without a word.

  Celile wanted one thing: to tell Ahmet the truth.

  It had been fated. The breaking point had been reached.

  She could not live like this anymore.

  All she wanted was for everything to come out into the open, so that they could speak about it plainly, as honest, honorable people should.

  Sometimes, when she returned home after visiting Muhsin, she felt herself on the verge of exploding.

  She wanted to take her husband by the collar and shake him and scream: “Ahmet, are you blind? Can’t you see? I’m in love with another man. I’ve just spent the afternoon with him. If I could, I’d go straight back.”

  That was what she longed to say to him. But by nature and disposition, she didn’t know how.

  Because even in the throes of reckless passion, she was still a woman who could not raise her voice or make the slightest fuss. No matter how outrageous her behavior, she remained calm.

  ELEVEN

  And so this was why, when she did the most shocking thing of all, she made it look ordinary.

  Outside it was snowing. Inside the heat was turned up so high it felt like sun on their skin.

  The curtains were drawn. In the dim light, the lovely red roses in their vases looked like flames dotted around the room.

  Celile was wearing a black velvet dress with a narrow waist and a wide skirt.

  A lace collar the color of ivory. A turquoise necklace.

  The red curls framing her face gave her the look of a Renaissance Madonna.

  Celile was sitting, and Muhsin stretched out on the sofa.

  Resting his head on her knees.

  Celile was stroking his forehead. The lace on her sleeves brushed across his face, soft as velvet.

  Muhsin’s eyes were closed.

  Celile’s were downcast. Her eyelids a dusky pink.

  She was watching him.

  No one spoke.

  This was their way, after all. They hardly ever spoke.

  And when they did speak, it was almost always Muhsin who did the talking, and Celile the listening. Occasionally, if he asked her a question, she would offer up a word or two. Nothing more.

  Now, again, they were silent.

  But this silence was different. This silence seemed full of meaning. The air was restless with every word left unsaid.

  Muhsin could hear his heart waging war with itself.

  In a few moments, Celile would stand up and take her leave. She would walk through the door, taking her glow and her violet scent with her.

  And Muhsin would be alone, alone in this little apartment. Lacking the strength to remain here without her, he too would leave…

  To go where?

  Would he go home? Drop by on a friend?

  Go to a bar, a restaurant, a club? Nothing appealed.

  After coming to know Celile, after the happiness her company had brought him, how could he ever again take pleasure in any of those dreary places?

  Even so…

  Yes, there were still things that brought him joy.

  His sisters. Their homes, ringing with their children’s happy cries.

  Unlike his own home. So vast and so very dull.

  He didn’t like being there anymore. He only felt at home in this little apartment.

  But when Celile went back to her own life, leaving him alone in this apartment still fragrant with her memory and the scent of violets, he couldn’t bear this apartment either.

  But maybe, after a few hours with friends at a restaurant, a gazino, or some such place, he could forget she was gone?

  Outside the sky was darkening. Soon Celile would have to leave her beloved and return to the home where she was now a total stranger. The prospect filled her with dread.

  How cold it would be outside. How empty every hour they would spend apart.

  Whenever she left him, she felt as wretched as a dog put out into the cold. Left alone, her every hour was drained of joy, and nothing mattered.

  All she wanted was to belong to the man she loved. To stay at his side.

  But the hours were rushing past with hateful speed. A winter’s night had settled down on the world.

  And now she was going to have to leave this warm apartment, make her way through the mud and the snow, rush out to the corner in search of a taxi.

  And after that…

  She couldn’t bear thinking about it.

  Her home now seemed to her as cold as a graveyard. Her maids had the doleful look of prison guards.

  And her husband…

  Her husband…Ahmet. She couldn’t abide the thought of him. Couldn’t bear to think about the evening looming ahead.

  Muhsin, too, was fearful of solitude this evening, and feeling as wretched as she was.

  Lying there on the sofa, his head on Celile’s lap, he could not forget that their blissful peace was soon to be interrupted. What a torment it was to think that she would soon be going home to her husband’s embrace.

  He couldn’t bear the thought. He was just like a little child. Like a child who doesn’t want his mother to go out, and who already misses her, already fears being left. Never in his life had he felt so miserable, so distraught.

  How weak he was. Far too weak to resist her.

  He thought about his life. Nothing in it had meaning, except for the hours he spent with her.

  Never had he felt as peaceful as he did with his head on her lap. Nothing in his life of wealth and success had given him such pleasure.

  He was not without ambitions. He’d long aspired to a role on the national stage. For was he not already a known and respected industrialist?

  He now wished to build on that reputation.

  But even as he imagined his wish coming true, even as he imagined waking up tomorrow to find himself in the National Assembly, acknowledged by all his fellow deputies as the most powerful in their midst, he knew that this moment of triumph would not make his heart soar like the moment when he could call Celile his and his alone.

  Tonight, he wanted just one thing: for Celile not to leave.

  He never wanted to be parted from her, not ever again. So there he lay with his head on her lap, waiting for her to stir.

  Not moving a muscle. Silent, with his eyes shut tight. Almost feigning sleep.

&
nbsp; Because he was terrified, absolutely terrified.

  If Celile stirred, if she tried to get up, he would not be able to contain himself. He was afraid he might lose control, wrap his arms around her waist, and cry, “Don’t go! Don’t go! I beg of you, don’t go! Stay…”

  He feared he lacked the strength to stop himself from such madness. It frightened him to think how weak he was.

  And it was as if Celile could feel his fear, for she did not move a muscle.

  She’d even stopped stroking his hair.

  She just sat there, still as a statue. The dark room became darker as evening turned into night.

  The room became darker still. Through a gap in the curtains came the weak glow of streetlamps, but that was all.

  Celile had become a shadow, and so had he. Was she thinking about going home, he wondered? Minute followed minute. Hour followed hour.

  But still Celile gave no indication that she wanted to leave.

  There he lay in the sweet silence of that warm room, his head still resting on her lap. Neither said a thing as they drifted together towards the point of no return.

  Without admitting to themselves or each other that there would be no going back.

  What would happen if Celile did not leave very soon? If she got home late? Did they not understand what this might mean? Did nothing worry them? How did they find the courage to just sit there in silence?

  Sooner or later, one of them was bound to break the spell.

  Certainly, one of them would return to reason.

  It terrified Muhsin to be reduced to mute inertia. He could see now how much he needed this woman, and how tightly bound to her he was.

  And still he waited, pretending to ignore the ticking clock.

  If she didn’t move, if she made no effort to leave, what then should he say?

  He did not want to ask her to stay. But that didn’t mean he didn’t want her to stay.

  He was certainly going mad.

  Just because Celile had put off leaving, that didn’t necessarily mean that she wanted to stay!

  Maybe her husband was out tonight.

  Maybe Ahmet had asked her to come home late. In which case, how could Muhsin tell her to go?

  No…He couldn’t do that.

  Especially when he was going to feel so lonely and miserable and jealous once she was gone. He couldn’t tell her to go just because she was late.

  Why couldn’t he?

  Why couldn’t he pull himself out of this torpor and say, “It’s late, you’d better go home”?

  What right did he have to pluck her out of a respectable marriage just because he was feeling weak, and keep her here for his own pleasure?

  If he asked her to stay, what could he offer her?

  What did he have to give her, apart from love and money? He would never be able to restore her honor, or return her to respectability.

  How could Muhsin allow this married woman to just sit here, languid and half-asleep?

  If she moved now…If she rose now to leave, he would remark on how late she was, and offer to take her home. This he would have to do.

  It would cause him such pain to let her go home tonight. To think that they might never share a night like this again—that the pain might never stop. If he told her to go, he could be closing the door on happiness forever.

  All his life, he would regret it. That he had loved this woman and failed to claim her. This was how it might turn out. But it must not. Of this he was certain.

  There was one other thing of which he was just as certain. He could never give his name to a woman who had left her marriage to spend a night with her lover.

  It would be madness to offer a woman capable of such madness the security of marriage.

  Even if they remained lovers, with love their only bond, the fact of her infidelity would continue to cause him anxiety, and even misery.

  But if he took her as his wife and presented her to the world as his wife, her scandalous past would not just bring him misery. It would turn him into a laughingstock.

  And he was in no doubt that misery would be easier to bear than ridicule.

  There was no suffering worse, in Muhsin’s estimation, than that which came from ridicule and the loss of dignity.

  He was madly in love with Celile—this was not in doubt.

  Neither was he in any doubt that Celile loved him.

  He knew he was loved.

  But Celile remained a woman who had sacrificed her good name to be with him.

  She remained a woman who, when she wanted something, would not hesitate to do whatever was necessary to get it.

  For that same reason, she was a lover like no other, willing to offer herself up to pleasure at any cost. But from the moment love died, she would walk away without shame, remorse, or a moment’s hesitation.

  Even when Muhsin was certain that she loved him, or rather, certain that she looked to be in love with him, he could not help but doubt her sincerity.

  Because he’d never understood her. Because he came from people who counted everything, calculated everything. Who understood life itself as a bill to be settled.

  That was what he’d been taught, and that was what he still held to be true. He left no room for sudden decisions, mad sprees, or surprises.

  He had never done anything without calculating in advance how best to profit from it.

  Celile, meanwhile, was the child of a family that had never planned ahead. Bills had no meaning for them.

  Their surface calm was not a cover for caution or speculation. The very idea of profit was alien.

  She had been brought up to be indifferent to such calculations, and that was still her way. Never had she thought how best to advance her own interests.

  She might be thirty-five years old, but Celile had no experience of life.

  She had lived on the sidelines.

  She was now like a baby learning to walk.

  She had no idea where she was heading. Like a baby, she was enjoying each new step she took without any concept of danger. Seeing a fire burning red in the distance and racing towards it.

  How to keep her from jumping right into it?

  Muhsin might love her dearly, and even madly. But Muhsin had never, ever understood her.

  And he never would.

  He could not be sure of her motives, after all.

  And how could he ask a woman to throw her whole life away just to prolong his pleasure and satisfy his desire?

  In all conscience, he could not permit himself to do so.

  But still he could not bring himself to sit up and say, “Celile, this is madness! You must go!”

  Just the thought of her springing to her feet, suddenly aware of the time and rushing for the door to go back to her old life—it terrified him.

  Celile’s mind was in a very different place. Celile wanted to stay.

  She was ready to sit here drifting in silence until it was it was too late to do anything else.

  She had made no calculations.

  She had not given a single thought to what she might be sacrificing or what she had to lose or gain.

  She wasn’t even wondering how long she could stay here or how long this happiness might last.

  All she wanted was to be here…

  All she wanted was to live in this bliss for as long a time as was allotted to her.

  Hours passed. It was late now, and the room was still warm.

  Muhsin’s head, still on her lap, felt burning hot, but because she did not wish to break the spell, she remained motionless.

  They did not speak…What need was there to speak? They both knew.

  They knew without speaking. Celile was never going back to her old life.

  Celile would stay here, with Muhsin, in this apartment, forever and ever
.

  Muhsin knew this was madness. He was in no doubt that he was making a huge mistake.

  He knew he would pay dearly for this lapse, and that he would live to regret it greatly.

  He knew all this.

  The only thing he didn’t know was how to be his own master. Tonight, it seemed impossible.

  His weakness had brought him so low that, fearful of what might happen if Celile suddenly came back to herself, he was keeping his eyes closed, pretending sleep.

  No…no…he no longer had the strength to live without Celile.

  He wanted her here with him. He wanted her for himself. Her lover and her protector.

  He wanted to be the man who loved and supported her.

  Even as the voice of reason pleaded for caution.

  Enumerating the consequences and the trouble lying ahead.

  But even after he had counted up the likely costs, the cost of living without Celile looked even greater.

  This, then, was his greatest weakness: even in the throes of passion, he was still drawing up a balance sheet.

  Having done so, he decided that living with Celile would be easier than living without her.

  With the night advancing, it was clear that Celile would not be going home.

  Knowing that she would stay, Celile felt her old life drawing away from her, second by second, as Muhsin’s world drew her in.

  She was staying!

  She was leaving Ahmet! From now on, she would give herself body and soul to Muhsin.

  But still Muhsin said nothing. He was still lying on the sofa with his head in her lap.

  As the first morning light seeped into the room, Muhsin slowly opened his eyes.

  Celile was still in the same place. Slumped against the wall.

  Her eyes were half-closed.

  And through those half-closed lids, those eyes looked so blissfully happy.

  To open his eyes to this…

  Muhsin said nothing. He just smiled. Celile smiled at him, just as happily.

  Then she leaned over, closer and closer. Close enough for him to feel her warm breath caress his face.

  She was so close now that he couldn’t see her face.

  He felt her velvet skin on his.