by Kulin, Ayse
“Mom always does that,” Sude said.
“It’s a wonderful Turkish custom,” Hirsch said. “It means ‘Go like water and return like water. May your journey be as smooth as flowing water.’”
“I know what it means, Uncle Hirsch. But what good does it do?”
“We’ll talk about that when we get home safely.”
“Sude’s a teenager,” Gerhard said. “She has the right to object to everything.”
“I’m a young woman,” Sude snapped. She crossed her arms and stared out the window.
Assuming she’d fallen asleep, Gerhard and Hirsch were soon deep in conversation.
“Zuckmayer had a much harder time than we did,” Gerhard said. “Did you know that he wasn’t granted Turkish citizenship, even though he applied? He spent eighteen months interned in Kırşehir back in 1944.”
“Yes, but did he ever tell you what he did there? He formed a choral society. The internees sang and played instruments. They started giving concerts every weekend for the locals.”
“Did you know that the Red Crescent gave all the internees monthly aid of twenty lira?”
“Really?” Gerhard said. “I didn’t realize.”
“Not that there’s much to spend money on in Kırşehir. Even the most beautiful Dirne out there couldn’t have charged more than five lira.”
“Assuming Zuckmayer could ever look up from his violin long enough to notice her.”
Both men burst out laughing.
“Shh,” Gerhard said. “Sude will wake up.”
“I’ve been wide awake the whole time.”
“You mean you were listening to us?” Hirsch said.
“No, she wasn’t,” Gerhard said. “You were sleeping, weren’t you, Sude?”
“Grandpa, what’s a ‘dirne’?”
“I’m glad you’re awake. There’s a lot you can learn from Hirsch. Did you know the pivotal role Zuckmayer played in popularizing classical music in Turkey? He arrived in Ankara a few years after we came to Turkey and founded the music department of the Gazi Teacher Training Institute. You’re a very lucky girl to have had him as your teacher.”
“Grandpa, what’s a ‘dirne’?”
Hirsch intervened. “Sude, when Zuckmayer was finally allowed to leave Kırşehir, a huge crowd assembled to see him off. They showered him with gifts. And even in spite of being interned, he still loved Turkey so much that when his wife and daughter moved back to Germany, he stayed at the institute, living in a single dorm room. Did you ever go there for your lessons? If so, you must have seen all the keepsakes from his days in Kırşehir.”
There was no response from the backseat. Gerhard turned and looked.
“Thanks, Hirsch. Your lecture must have put her to sleep. Hopefully, she won’t ask again about ‘dirne’ when she wakes up.”
“I think you might have to tell her. Kids remember the craziest things.”
When they reached their hotel in Ankara, Sude was still sound asleep. She staggered to the hotel room, rubbing her eyes. She slipped into her nightgown, and was soon oblivious to the world, on the bed by the window.
Gerhard was surprised at how difficult it was to wake Sude the next morning. Because of her, they were nearly late for the ceremony at the institute. It wasn’t until they ran into young Kurt Lütfü Heilbronn, the son of a German botanist and his Turkish assistant, that Sude seemed to fully wake up. Kurt’s eyes widened in amazement when he realized that the beautiful young woman shaking his hand was none other than Sude Atalay, whom he remembered as a shy little girl with stringy hair who kept her nose in a book.
It didn’t escape Hirsch’s notice when Kurt and Sude sat next to each other at the ceremony. He nudged Gerhard. “Looks like Sude made a friend.”
But Gerhard was too preoccupied with old friends to take much notice. He gazed around the room at the men and women who had shared his fate all those years ago. Some had gone bald and grown a bit stooped; others looked like wrinkled versions of their younger selves. He spotted the mathematician, Prager, and the professor of dentistry, Kantorowicz. He’d heard that the latter had returned to Germany and settled in Bonn. Perhaps he spent part of the year in Turkey as well? It was Kantorowicz who had fitted orthodontic braces for Peter and Suzi, without which they would both be slightly buck-toothed today. It was also Kantorowicz who had been urgently summoned to Dolmabahçe Palace in 1934. Apparently, the shah of Iran had so admired Atatürk’s teeth during a state visit that he’d asked to meet the Turkish president’s dentist.
Gerhard smiled at the memory: a German refugee crafting false teeth for an Iranian shah in the middle of the night in a former Ottoman palace. Then he thought back to that evening when he and Hirsch had looked out at the Bosphorus from a window in that same palace. He had so much to be grateful for. He’d survived and thrived, had children, and lived to see his grandchildren. So many hadn’t . . .
“Are you thinking about Zuckmayer?” Hirsch asked. “You don’t seem at all interested in your granddaughter’s little flirtation.”
Gerhard looked over to where Hirsch was pointing. But then he felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around—Kosswig! Gerhard hadn’t seen Kosswig since he and Elsa moved to Frankfurt. They kissed each other on both cheeks.
“That’s how you know we’ve spent so many years in Turkey,” Kosswig said. “Otherwise, we’d have settled for a stiff handshake.”
“It’s wonderful to see you. And you’re looking so well. How are your bald ibises?”
“My birds are fine, but Leonore’s ailing. She wasn’t feeling well enough to come today. I’d love to have a chance to sit down and talk with you, Gerhard,” Kosswig said.
“Let’s go somewhere after the burial. Hirsch and I drove up from Side. We don’t have a bus to catch.”
“How are Elsa and your kids doing?”
“Everyone’s well. The kids are all grown up! In fact, do you see that young lady sitting over there next to Kurt? That’s my granddaughter, Sude.”
Kosswig craned his neck. “I don’t believe it! She’s the spitting image of Elsa in her youth. The only difference is that Sude’s hair is darker.”
Gerhard regretted having asked about Kosswig’s birds instead of his wife and wondered if he should offer to examine Leonore. Maybe he should stay in Ankara a while. If Hirsch and Sude were eager to get back, they could take the car, and he’d catch a bus later.
To be fair, Curt Kosswig was famous for his birds. A student’s description of a bird with black plumage, a bald head, and a curved, red beak had sent the professor in pursuit of the northern bald ibis, an ancient species that would probably have gone extinct in Turkey if not for his tireless conservation efforts. It was also Kosswig who documented the flora and fauna in the Bird Paradise in Manyas, a wetland designated a national sanctuary in 1959.
The ceremony was about to start. Everyone took their seats. The mood in the hall was somber. The youngest of that group of men and women who had arrived in Turkey in the 1930s was at least seventy. Whose funeral would they attend next?
About ten days after Gerhard’s return from Ankara, Peter arrived in Side with his wife and children. The sun was out, as always, and everyone was either stretched out on the white sand or splashing in the surf.
Elsa peered out at her grandchildren from under the brim of her straw hat. “Look at them, Gerhard. Here we are, a German Jewish couple on a Turkish beach. Our son is American, and our daughter is Turkish. Our grandchildren are all Christian or Muslim. Was this our destiny?”
“I don’t have any complaints, Elsa. And anyway, don’t blame destiny. Blame Hitler!”
Sude returned to school at the end of the summer, relaxed and tanned. She continued to do well in her classes, with perfect grades in German boosting her grade point average even higher. Most weekends were spent with her grandma Bedia, and every Sunday morning, she would play the violin with Hirsch, who had moved to Istanbul. She spoke to her parents at least once a week and visited them during semester breaks and holid
ays.
Sude finally got to know the handsome boy from debate club. They were in the same circle of friends, and started going to the same parties, plays, and movies. His name was Enver. During one of their weekly phone calls, Sude told her mother she’d met a boy who was smart and kind. Suzi asked if Enver was as handsome as Hirsch’s son with the same name. Maybe not, Sude admitted.
“But he’s so nice and he’s got a great smile. And he makes me feel special.”
“Are you head over heels?”
“I mean, it’s not like how you feel about Dad. But I like him a lot.”
“What do you mean, not like how I feel about your father?”
“It’s like you two were made for each other. Like you could never love anyone else. The way I feel about is Enver is more—reasonable.”
“Good luck with that, sweetie! When will I get to meet this ‘reasonable’ boyfriend of yours?”
“I’ll introduce you at the graduation ceremony.”
In bed that night, Suzi turned to her husband and said, “I think our little girl’s fallen in love.”
“Good for her,” Demir said. “You worried she was unfeeling. See! Sude has a heart after all.”
Grandma Bedia had far more questions about young Enver than Suzi did. She ticked them off: What did his father do? Were they well-off? Where was his family from? Did he have any brothers or sisters? Enver Semercioğlu, she learned, was the son of a processed food industrialist with his own factory on the outskirts of Istanbul. The family was originally from the provinces, but had grown wealthy. Since graduating from Robert College, Enver was studying at a local university. He had two sisters. Bedia Hanım thought it was safe to assume that the father’s factory would be passed on to his only son. While her own son hadn’t turned out quite as she’d hoped, it would be wonderful if his daughter enjoyed a comfortable life with the kind of enterprising young man Demir had never become.
A Door on Life
Sude wore a sleeveless white mini-dress with beige polka dots to her commencement. Suzi and Demir marveled at their daughter’s beauty. Her thick chestnut hair hung down to her shoulders. She had her mother’s complexion, nose, and mouth, and was nearly as tall as her father.
Bedia Hanım had already produced a handkerchief and a few tears to go with it. When Sude saw that her family was comfortably seated, she dashed off to get into her gown and cap.
Suzi ran after her and asked, “Is Enver coming?”
“Mom, don’t look now, but he’s talking to his friends right over there. The tall one in the red tie and white shirt. Whatever you do, don’t point him out to Grandma!”
Suzi snuck a glance. He looked like a nice enough boy for a first crush.
Ten minutes later, the students filed into the auditorium to the strains of Pomp and Circumstance and took their seats behind the faculty members. An illustrious alumnus walked to the microphone and began delivering the commencement speech: “A high school diploma opens a new door on life, but you will be faced with many different paths once you have passed through that door . . .”
Sude started fidgeting almost immediately. She glanced over at Enver, who was sitting in the fifth row, and blushed when their eyes met.
When the ceremony was over, Sude introduced Enver to her family. They stood and chatted for a moment. Enver, who had graduated from Robert College the year before, explained that he was studying at Bosphorus University, but planned to transfer to a school in America. Sude was trying to hide her dismay at hearing this when Enver surprised her once again.
“The graduation party is tonight, at the Hilton rooftop,” Enver said to Demir. “With your permission, I’d like to take Sude to the party. I’ll drop her off at her grandparents’ house afterward.”
“I’ll agree on one condition. I don’t want her staying out too late,” Demir said.
“Demir, it’s such a special occasion,” Bedia Hanım chimed in. “You could be a little lenient, just this once.”
“All right, but make sure she’s home by one o’clock.”
“Come on, Dad. Please make it two,” Sude said, looking at her grandmother for support.
Enver took Sude’s hand and led her from the rooftop dance floor to the elevator. A few moments later, they were walking along a winding path through the grounds of the hotel. They reached the swimming pool and sat down side by side on a lounge chair.
“Sude, I’m sorry for surprising you earlier. I—I’ve been accepted at a university in New York, starting in September.”
“Why are you transferring? What’s wrong with the university here?”
“In America, you’re allowed to take extra credit hours and graduate in three years. My father’s eager for me to start at the family company. I’m doing it so I can finish my studies and get started in life.”
Sude studied Enver’s face for a moment. “What do you expect me to say?”
“Come with me.”
“I was planning to study in Germany. My parents would never let me go all the way to America.”
“My parents would let you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Let’s get engaged, Sude. Then we can go to America together.”
“My parents would never allow it, not in a million years. I’d be disowned.”
“But if we got married . . .”
Sude’s heart started beating faster. Was this a marriage proposal?
“You don’t know my parents.”
“I don’t want you to study in Germany all alone.”
“I won’t be alone, Enver. I’ll live with my grandparents in Frankfurt.”
“Think it over. Why not talk to your parents and see what they say?”
“Okay, I will,” Sude said.
Nobody else was sitting at the pool, so they kissed for a while. Then, still holding hands, they returned to the rooftop and joined the other couples dancing cheek-to-cheek. Several drinks later, the DJ switched to Turkish pop and everyone started singing along to Ajda Pekkan. Finally, when it was nearly two, Enver dutifully drove Sude home in his new car.
The steady decline of Beyoğlu had caused Nazmi Bey and Bedia Hanım to move to Şişli, several miles away. Most of the apartment buildings vacated by the Greeks were now occupied by the poor migrants flooding into Istanbul from the countryside in search of jobs. Demir and Suzi continued to rent out the place they’d inherited on Grenadier Street in what was an increasingly undesirable neighborhood. They stayed with his parents whenever they were in Istanbul.
After their good-night kiss in front of the door, Enver said, “Talk to them.”
“Don’t you think we’re rushing things a bit, Enver? I graduated from high school today. Why don’t we wait until the end of the summer?”
“I need to know before you go to Side. Talk to your mom tomorrow morning. She’ll help you persuade your dad.”
“Okay, I’ll talk to her.”
A bouquet of white roses was delivered to the Atalays’ apartment the next morning while the family was having breakfast. The card said: “Let’s step through the door to life together.”
Sude felt cornered, and as though she had to tell not only her mother, but also everyone. Bedia Hanım congratulated her granddaughter on making a good match, but Demir immediately put his foot down.
“She’s far too young to get engaged.”
“Sude, what do you think?” Nazmi Bey said.
“I need to think it over.”
“That’s good. But you’d better decide before his family comes and asks for your hand. It would be shameful if they came here with flowers and chocolates only to be refused,” Nazmi Bey said. “You know that an official engagement is nearly as meaningful as a wedding for us Turks.”
After Sude fled to a friend’s house, her parents and grandparents debated the matter for the rest of the day. It was finally agreed that Suzi would meet with Enver and Sude for a cup of tea, learn all she could about him and his family, and provide a frank assessment to the others. They weren’
t trying to stop Sude from getting engaged, but they thought it wise to delay things for as long as possible.
Enver responded to the invitation to tea with a counterproposal for dinner. Suzi agreed and a date was set in late June, just before the family was to set off for Side.
Enver picked up Suzi and Sude and drove them to Abdullah Efendi Restaurant in Emirgan, where he’d reserved a table by the window.
Once they were seated, he said, “I wanted to bring my mother as well. But Sude wouldn’t let me.”
“I do hope to meet her one day,” Suzi said.
A bottle of fine wine was opened, and Enver urged Suzi and Sude to order the most expensive items on the menu. Barely pausing to draw breath, he earnestly explained in minute detail the courses he intended to take, the number of credits he would earn each semester, and the responsibilities and salary of the position awaiting him at the family company when he returned to Turkey.
Rather than peppering Enver with questions, Suzi kept trying to guide him into more general conversation, both to help him relax and to give her a better sense of who he was.
“Do you know what your name means?” Suzi asked with a smile when she found an opening.
“It was my grandfather’s name. My father’s father.”
“But do you know what it means?”
“No. I never thought about it.”
“It’s a lovely name. It’s Ottoman for ‘an enlightened person.’ It’s derived from the word münevver.”
“I should have brushed up on my etymology before having dinner with a professor.”
They both laughed.
“The only reason I know is that a close family friend of ours chose to name his son Enver Tandoğan. Perhaps you’ve heard of Ernst Hirsch? He’s one of the architects of the Turkish legal system.”
“But Enver is a Turkish name.”
“They became Turkish. Just like my family.”
“Do you mean you aren’t Turkish?”
“I’m Turkish, but my mother’s parents are German,” Sude interjected. “I mean, they’re Turkish citizens of German descent. My grandfather’s Turkish is better than mine, but Grandma still has an accent.”