by Ahmet Altan
He heard the servant’s timorous voice:
“Who’s there?”
“It’s me, Ragıp. Open the door.”
When the door opened he heard Dilara Hanım’s voice from the stairs.
“Who is it?”
“It’s Ragıp Bey, ma’am.”
The door flew open. He glanced at the sleepy servant who had a coat draped over his shoulders, then turned at once to look at Dilara Hanım, who was standing halfway down the stairs leaning on the bannister, and the first thing he saw was her hair. Her hair was tidy, it was still tied up.
At that moment he realized in shame that his hand was on his holster and that he’d been pounding on Dilara Hanım’s door as if he was pounding on the door of a Galata brothel. He stood in the doorway looking at the woman he loved, knowing that she had the right to berate him and that he would deserve it if she did.
Dilara Hanım told the servant to make tea and to rekindle the fire, then descended the stairs.
Ragıp Bey was unable to come in through the door, he stood on the doorstep with his face flushed with cold and shame, his long greatcoat covered with snow.
Dilara Hanım came over to him and took his hand.
“Why are you standing there, come in. Your hands are cold, you’re cold, a tea will warm you up.”
Ragıp Bey murmured, “I was late getting back to the barracks, I couldn’t find a caique to get home.” Dilara Hanım didn’t even listen to his excuses and acted as if it was completely normal for him to come at that time of night.
“Take off your coat, did you walk all the way in this weather?”
She helped him take off his greatcoat and seated him across from the fire, to which the servants had added fresh logs. They’d brought the samovar and had prepared a tray of food in case he was hungry. Dilara Hanım poured tea and added a little cognac to it.
“First drink this to warm up. Have something to eat, too, you must be hungry.”
Ragıp Bey drank his tea in silence, his body was ice cold and he felt a strange pain as he began to warm in front of the fire, he didn’t touch his food, and when Dilara Hanım realized he wasn’t going to eat she poured him a glass of cognac and put some tea next to it.
Now, sitting next to Dilara Hanım in front of the fire, those long, cold streets, the snow, what he’d felt as the snow flew into his face and eyes, the pain he’d felt in his chest when he’d seen the light in her window, none of it seemed real anymore, it was as if he’d never walked those streets, as if he’d never worried, as if he’d never been jealous. His mood warmed and melted just like his cold body, he just felt slightly ashamed deep down, as well as a strong gratitude to Dilara Hanım, not for welcoming him the way she had, without blame, questioning, or pushing him for explanations, but for being alone in her room at that time.
They drank their cognac in silence.
When they’d finished, Dilara Hanım stood.
“Let’s go to bed if you wish, you must be tired.”
Dilara Hanım sensed that he was ashamed and didn’t once mention how late it was.
They blew out the lamps and climbed up to the bedroom together.
The bed was made, there was only a small indentation that seemed to have been made by her body, and one of the foreign novels Dilara Hanım liked to read was open next to the bed.
That night, in contrast to their usual habits, they made love very softly, very slowly, feeling each other’s bodies with love and tenderness rather than with lust; perhaps that night for the first time lovemaking became a reflection of love and gratitude rather than an aim in itself, rather than enjoyment and pleasure.
He learned that just as there are different kinds of love-making with different women, one could make love to the same woman in different ways, depending on changing feelings; for the first time he held a woman’s hand and kissed her hand with love while making love, for the first time between bouts of lovemaking he laid with his head on a woman’s chest; for the first time he felt the body of a woman he was making love to as of it was his own body. Perhaps it wasn’t as fiery as their previous lovemaking, as burning, as capable of making them feel lightheaded enough to forget everything outside the bed, but it carried the lovemaking out of bed, every touch created a deep and permanent love and attachment.
On that cold night, as the city surrendered to the snow, Ragıp Bey learned to trust a woman and to feel gratitude to the woman who had taught him this.
Later he told Osman, “The sweetness of trusting the woman you love is something you can’t find anywhere else, anyone who experiences this becomes enslaved to it.”
But the following morning, after leaving the house happy as usual, he once again began to worry that a sentence was missing.
8
At that time Reşit Pasha spent most of his time at the palace with the Sultan, so it fell to Hüseyin Hikmet Bey to find the right waterfront mansion for Mihrişah Sultan, who was impatient to come to Istanbul.
Hikmet Bey, who had lived a secluded life of exile in his mansion reading books and spending time with Hediye since he’d returned from Salonika, and who hadn’t seen his friends from the Committee who were now in power, accepted this duty happily, realizing that he missed being in the streets and seeing people.
One day when he was out looking for a waterfront mansion he ran into Selim Bey, a childhood friend from Kanlıca, and he realized that his short friend with his symmetrical face, a fiery man who loved to talk about politics and women, had hardly changed at all. He embraced Hikmet Bey in a friendly manner that he hadn’t seen in any of the friends he’d met recently and invited him to his waterfront mansion, which was next to that of the Sultan’s nephew, which had a hundred and twenty-seven rooms.
Hikmet Bey wondered if his friend knew about what had happened to him, but nothing could remain a secret in the capital, and gossip about people connected to the palace spread particularly quickly, it was almost impossible that Selim Bey, the son of Cypriot Mustapha Pasha, hadn’t heard that doctor Reşit Pasha’s son had shot himself because of his wife.
When they entered the waterfront mansion Hikmet Bey regretted having accepted the invitation, the mere thought of meeting Mustapha Pasha, a friend of his father who he’d known since childhood, or his wife, confused him. He realized he was not yet ready to meet people, to speak to them, to see the look of pity in their eyes. He thought about coming up with an excuse and fleeing, but Selim Bey put his arm through his as he walked quickly and bantered about the members of the Committee; if he’d stopped for a moment Hikmet Bey would have excused himself and left, but Selim Bey never stopped talking.
He gave orders to the servants who greeted them then without letting go of Hikmet Bey’s arm, he rushed him down the long corridors toward his quarters in panic at the prospect of meeting someone at any moment. Hikmet Bey’s face was pale with a fear he found meaningless and that he was ashamed of, there were beads of sweat on his forehead, they finally arrived at Selim Bey’s quarters without encountering anyone and sat on benches by one of the large windows that looked out over the Bosphorus, which was flowing grey-green under an ashen sky, then Selim Bey looked at his friend in surprise.
“How are you? Is anything the matter?”
“Thank you, I’m fine, we walked here from the woods a bit quickly, it must have tired me out, I haven’t been out of the house for quite some time.”
Selim Bey studied his friend’s face, and Hikmet Bey slowly caught his breath and managed to free himself from the strange and meaningless fear that had taken hold of him suddenly.
“They’ll bring us tea now, we’ll catch our breath, I suppose I talked too much when I ran into you, sometimes the way I talk makes people feel seasick, when they listen to me they feel like they’re on a ferry in stormy weather.”
Hikmet Bey laughed.
“Not at all. I’m already feeling better.”
> After the tea arrived, Selim Bey asked the first question he needed to ask.
“What were you up to around here on a winter day like this, were you on your way to visit someone, am I delaying you, if it’s something you can’t talk about, just go, I won’t ask any questions.”
“No, it’s nothing like that, my mother is coming here from Paris, we need to find a waterfront mansion for her, I was tired of sitting around at home, looking for a house has given me an excuse to be out and about, when I ran onto you I was about to go ask the tobacco merchant on the pier whether there were any vacant waterfront mansions in the neighborhood.”
“You’re looking for a waterfront mansion for Mihrişah Sultan?”
“Yes.”
“You know what they say about being in the right place at the right time, it just happens that the place next to us is vacant, like ours, the woods behind it stretch as far as the top of the hill and there’s a six-or-seven-room lodge up there for summer . . . It would be perfect for Mihrişah Sultan.”
“That’s wonderful, Selim, I’ll go talk to them right away.”
Selim grabbed Hikmet’s arm like a spoiled Pasha’s son who believed that everything in life would turn out well.
“Hold on, what’s the matter with you, we’ll tell our butler to go talk to them and handle it and we can talk here in the meantime.”
He immediately called the butler, gave him instructions, and then went back to talking about politics and what the Committee was up to. “Do you see anyone from the Committee?”
“I don’t see anyone.”
“But you’re probably aware of what they’re up to, while we were celebrating getting rid of one tyrant, a hundred more tyrants took over, they don’t tolerate even the slightest criticism, they resort to threats and blackmail at once.”
He suddenly stopped talking to avoid saying anything insulting.
“Are you still with the Committee?”
“I’m not sure, Selim, perhaps I was never really a staunch supporter of the Committee, that’s how it seems when I look back, I just wanted to get rid of tyranny and breathe some freedom.”
After a brief pause, Hikmet Bey added:
“I think that what I really wanted was to make this place like Paris, but now I see that’s not as easy as I thought it was. A childish dream . . . ”
“Isn’t that what we all want, in fact, don’t we want this wreck of a nation to be like the cities we see in Europe? But in order to do this we have to get rid of any kind of authoritarianism. I was talking to a friend recently and, strangely, he gave the example of France just as you did, he said they overthrew the tyranny of the king by rising up themselves and shedding blood, this is true deliverance, you can’t seek deliverance at the hands of soldiers the way we do. In short, it can’t happen without the people.”
Hikmet Bey shook his head in despair.
“But the people here don’t act, Selim.”
“Do you know Ahmet Samim?”
“From time to time I read his column in the newspaper.”
“He’s a dear friend of mine, you’ll like him when you meet him, he and a few other friends like him try to enlighten the people by writing articles, but the Committee rains threats on them every day. Still, no matter what happens we have to say what’s going on, we have to communicate the truth to the people through articles and speeches.”
Hikmet Bey suddenly started to laugh. Selim Bey was slightly offended.
“Did I unintentionally say something funny?”
“No, no, it wasn’t anything you said. Something else came to mind. When my father was the palace physician and I was a clerk for the chamberlain, one day a childhood friend, the son of a pasha, told me that we had to tell the people what was really going on at once, and I, despite being from a family that supported the palace, joined the opposition, now the people I joined have won the fight and seized power, another childhood friend who’s also the son of a Pasha comes and tells me that we have to tell the people what’s really happening at once and calls me to join the opposition. Life keeps putting me among the people holding power, and the sons of pashas keep convincing me to join the opposition. And it’s always the sons of pashas who talk to me about the people. So Selim, can you swear to me that you wouldn’t laugh about that?”
Selim Bey laughed as well, then became serious again.
“In this country, can any honest person have any destiny except to be in the opposition, Hüseyin Hikmet Bey, son of Reşit Pasha?”
Hikmet Bey became serious too.
“To tell the truth, I don’t know, Selim. I keep wondering whether I deserve to be considered honest. I wonder what I’ve done to deserve considered being honest.”
“You were born honest, Hikmet . . . There’s nothing else you can do. That’s your destiny, whether you deserve it or not. It’s some people’s fate to be honest.”
There was a silence.
“Come on,” said Selim Bey, “let’s go see my parents, we’ll eat together, you can stay the night and we can talk a bit.”
Once again Hikmet Bey felt a sudden sense of panic.
“I haven’t socialized for a long time, it’s been quite some time since I’ve taken part in conversation at the dinner table, I don’t want to be a bore for your parents, in any event, if we rent the place next door we’ll be seeing a lot of each other, tonight, if you’ll excuse me, allow me to go back home without meeting anyone.”
Selim Bey realized that Hikmet Bey was truly uneasy and didn’t insist.
“As you wish. Then come tomorrow morning so you can see the place next door in the daylight, I do hope we’ll have the honor of having Mihrişah Sultan as a neighbor. Anyway, let me tell them to get the motor launch ready so they can take you back to the other side.”
After giving the orders for the motor launch to be readied, the two of them left the waterfront mansion together, then stood in silence listening to the Bosphorus currents until the launch with green and red lights on the sides appeared in the darkness. Before getting into the launch, Hikmet Bey asked after Selim Bey’s brother.
“He’s fine . . . You know he’s in Paris, but he’ll be returning soon.”
“Give him my regards, I’d love to see him too.”
“I hope you will . . . I’ll be expecting you tomorrow morning, I’ll have the key sent over, if Reşit Pasha would be kind enough to come as well he could join us so he can see it too.”
“I’ll send my father word when I get home.”
“Sometime this week I’ll invite a couple of friends I’d like you to meet, let’s have dinner together. There’s no reason to go wild, they’re all good people and I’m sure you’ll like them.”
Hikmet Bey didn’t beat around the bush.
“Fine, fine, it would do me good to see a few people.”
They embraced before he boarded the launch. Selim Bey stood on the shore watching the back of the launch until it disappeared from view, and Hikmet Bey was pleased at having received a friendly embrace that he’d needed for a long time.
Despite the chill and the harsh Bosphorus wind on his face, he stood in the back of the launch. Selim seemed to be feeling the same kind of excitement he himself had felt when he joined the Committee, and he guessed that he’d joined some kind of opposition movement.
There was something brotherly in the friendship he’d offered Hikmet, and from experience he knew that this kind of brotherhood could only be found in opposition groups rebelling against those in power; his first period of working with the Committee had been the best time of his life, they’d prepared for their rebellion with a common sense of anger and fear, they’d entrusted their lives to each other. Now Selim Bey had given him the hope that he could experience this again; even though he never left the house, he knew that the Committee had become authoritarian and corrupt and that they’d been incapable of gove
rning the nation since they came to power. Nor could he forget the despicable way they’d left him out in the cold without even daring to take his side, how they’d silently distanced themselves from him for fear of being tainted by scandal, if the same thing had happened to any of them he wouldn’t have abandoned them, or at least he thought he wouldn’t have.
The lights on the far shore were getting larger, there were lights here and there in the woods, which looked like a black engraving, he held his fez with one hand so it wouldn’t fly away and held the collar of his coat closed with the other.
Suddenly he remembered his fear of meeting Selim Bey’s family; this fear showed him that the wounds to his soul had not yet recovered, had not yet healed, that the shame of a failed suicide and his longing for the woman who had left him still remained, together with all the humiliation.
Sometimes he forgot Mehpare Hanım, a few days would pass without her coming to mind, then suddenly he remembered her with a burning pain, at times like this there was nowhere he could take shelter, neither in a job nor in a fight nor with friends.
He called Hediye, rested his head on her lap, and remained like that for hours, he tried to find closeness, if not consolation, in the warmth of her body, tried to withstand the loneliness that engulfed him.
Hediye, who’d become accustomed to the sad look in his eyes, to his sudden silences, and to the way he embraced her without lust, sat still and in silence for hours; she already knew that after resting his head in her lap for hours he would erupt with lust like a volcano, embrace her, and drag her to bed. Although she guessed she was replacing another woman, she never voiced this and never complained about it.
She greeted him at the door when he got home, it was clear his lateness had worried her but that she knew she had no right to express her concern; for whatever reason, she was always afraid something would happen to Hikmet Bey. She took his coat in delight.
“You must be cold, sir.”
“Yes, I am a bit cold. It’s cold outside.”