Love in the Days of Rebellion

by Ahmet Altan

  Dilara Hanım gave an answer that could be considered cruel.

  “They’re the ones who like being lost.”

  Hikmet Bey told Osman, “I thought about these words a lot, but I decided it wasn’t true, no, they don’t like being lost, it’s just that they’re not protected against their own feelings, they don’t struggle to free themselves from the temptation to experience these feelings as far as possible.” He paused and added, “I don’t know, in fact I wasn’t able to make a clear decision, is it possible to like being lost, did we love being lost in a woman more than we loved the woman herself, was this a weakness or a strength, my opinion about this changes every time I think about it.”

  After dinner they retired to Hikmet Bey’s study and continued their conversation in front of the fire, Hikmet Bey liked Dilara Hanım’s talk, she could occasionally be stern and cruel; when her intelligence was mixed with her merciless words there was a burning yet delicious taste, and she managed to present this in an elegant way.

  Hikmet Bey enjoyed listening to her, sometimes his mouth burned as if he’d eaten spicy food, but what caught his attention more than Dilara Hanım’s talk was Dilevser’s silence. Dilevser was able to use her silence effectively; in some, silence might seem like a fault, a void, ignorance, but in Dilevser it was like a plain jewelry pouch of unadorned but valuable leather, you wanted to open it to see the jewelry inside. As Hikmet Bey told Osman, “The power to create this effect isn’t something learned later in life, it just comes to some people naturally, the desire to open the pouch made one uneasy, anyone who spoke in the face of that silence felt a fear of being demeaned.”

  Hikmet Bey kept trying to draw Dilevser into the conversation, hoped to hear a few words signaling that the young girl admired his talk, but it couldn’t be said that he succeeded at this; every time Hikmet Bey asked her a question, Dilevser looked at her mother with a smile as pure and innocent as her hands and waited for her to answer.

  Hikmet Bey liked Dilara Hanım’s talk, her intelligence, and the breadth of her knowledge, but he was attached to Dilevser’s silence. At first glance, it was as if uneasiness and curiosity attracted him to the silence, but these weren’t the only reasons. There was something else that was inexplicable, even though they hadn’t known each other long, their only conversation had been the one about literature that morning, but when he looked at this young girl, Hikmet Bey felt a strange closeness that was difficult to explain, as if they’d spent many years alone together on a deserted island, as he confessed with slight surprise later, “A closeness like love, but completely without any reason.”

  As is always the case when this happens, the inevitable desire to form a bond appeared immediately, he opened his wings like a peacock showing off to his mate, relating a narrative adorned with his memories, thoughts, poems, anecdotes as if he was throwing a spear to pierce the silence that faced him. When he talked he implied that he’d had adventures in his youth that would shock and agitate a woman, especially a young girl, but what was actually seen when he opened his colorful wings was the purity and innocence he’d never lost despite everything he’d lived through; some people brought the scent of sin to even the most innocent subjects they brought up, but Hikmet Bey added childishness and innocence even when he touched on the greatest sins. Both mother and daughter sensed this, Dilara Hanım found in it a suggestion of a friendship she could trust, and Dilevser found a sheltered attraction that she felt only when she read novels, when she was absorbed by the lives of the people who wandered amid the rustling of pages and the smell of paper.

  Dilara Hanım felt the bitterness felt by women accustomed to being admired everywhere all the time, when they see that someone else, even if it was their daughter, had been chosen; when she realized the man was interested in her daughter she felt a sudden ache, but this passed so quickly it surprised her, and it was replaced by a motherly curiosity as she started to size Hikmet Bey up to see if he was suitable for her daughter. He was a wealthy man, he was the son of the palace physician, he had a very good education, he was elegant, he was well-intentioned without being boring, these were his good sides, but he’d suffered a heavy blow in the past, she was certain it would not be easy for them to see the scars left behind by this, but they were hidden somewhere. How would such a wound impact their future, would he forget his former wife, could a young girl who knew nothing except books heal a wound left by a cunning and seductive woman whose beauty was legendary; she weighed all of this quickly with the cold-blooded impartiality peculiar to women and decided not to stand in their way but to watch how things unfolded.

  They spent that anxious night like three people who liked each other and found each other’s presence reassuring, who had gathered around a fire on a remote mountain, Hikmet Bey parried Dilara Hanım’s sardonic attacks with understanding smiles and little jokes, once Dilevser laughed aloud at one of his jokes, surprising both her mother and Hikmet Bey, and also pleasing him. She didn’t know that night, or indeed ever, that this little laugh created a tremor in Hikmet Bey’s soul, that she had unwittingly pointed out a harbor to a lost soul who was seeking shelter.

  In this laugh there was an unexpected bubbling of joy seen in somber young girls who are mature for their age and in unhappy women, the glittering, crystal melodiousness of a happiness that had been suppressed for a long time, that had become accustomed to being concealed, that searched for a way out and the grateful pleasure of finally being able to laugh. This laugh was so effective, it evoked the same pleasure and joy in those who heard it, and the thought of having caused this laugh’s glittering reflections led Hikmet Bey to consider it a great success. For a face that had regarded life from a far and distant place, a face that had become so accustomed to unhappiness and hopelessness that it couldn’t express its unhappiness, to be illuminated by a sudden cheer and participate in life, the sparks created by the abrasion of an excitement that had been closed for ages against the unhappinesses as it gushed to life was surprising and joyful, like fireworks suddenly exploding on a deserted and gloomy shore.

  That night Hikmet Bey didn’t go to his room as before, with the heavy silence that besieged the city and the frightening echoes of gunshots, but rather with the chiming of a laugh; he couldn’t see the pathetic helplessness of the joy of having been able to make a little girl laugh; he couldn’t decide if he missed a laughing woman or being able to make a woman laugh.

  When he entered his room he saw that Hediye was waiting for him. As usual, she was silent; she helped Hikmet Bey undress without a word, without raising her head, laid him in the bed she’d warmed with hot-water bottles, took the bottles and went to her room without saying anything. With the frightful selfishness of happy people, it was only in the morning that he noticed Hediye hadn’t stayed the night with him.

  Dilara Hanım sensed that Dilevser had a dreaminess about her that resembled happiness, that this time her usual indifference to what was going on around her was because she was weighing many of the sentences that had been uttered that night and trying to reach conclusions from them, but unlike her daughter and Hikmet Bey she wasn’t someone who could easily detach herself from life and close herself up in her feelings to be happy or distressed about them. At every moment she was also aware of the truths that floated around all of these feelings; she also wondered about what was going to become of them, about what was going to happen, about how and where Ragıp Bey was.

  Life, which is a master at converting simple truths into endless worries, traps people in a web of vague and complex questions like a spider whose legs are all made of the unknown, it enjoys watching them struggle to free themselves from the web and answer the questions, it brings its cruelty to the point of believing that people are excited by this and would get bored without it; among the many people who were worried about someone, Dilara Hanım and Ragıp Bey worried without knowing they were only three hours away from each other, without knowing that simple truth.

&n
bsp; As Dilara Hanım thought about Ragıp Bey in the mansion in Nişantaşı, Ragıp Bey, in a churchyard in Yeşilköy, looking out over the white tents illuminated by torches that stretched as far as the countryside, the lights in the windows of the mansions that the pashas were using as headquarters, and the cold night that adorned the dark shadows of this little fishing village with a leaden, snowy brightness, was also thinking about Dilara Hanım and the attempt that would be made the following day to capture the capital of the empire.

  In Çatalca he’d managed to catch the train from Salonika that had set out with the vanguard units, he was assigned to an infantry unit at once, and found his brother Cevat Bey as he was getting off the train at Yeşilköy. They embraced happily, spoke briefly, concealing their long-held suspicions about the Committee beneath the excitement of preparing for battle, then parted, one to join his unit and the other to join his comrades from the Committee. The officers and parliamentarians who’d managed to flee Istanbul were coming to Yeşilköy, sometimes in groups and sometimes alone. Parliament met unofficially in Yeşilköy.

  Day and night, smoke-spewing trains came and went, they were carrying soldiers, munitions, and provisions from Salonika to Yeşilköy. It was as if the sound of marching military units had become part of the ground, it echoed in the villagers’ ears even when there were no soldiers marching.

  The Committee made a sudden decision to appoint Third Army Commander Mahmut Şevket Pasha to command what Mustafa Kemal had named the “Movement Army,” and Enver Bey rushed to Yeşilköy from Berlin. As Cevat Bey explained to Osman later, the Movement Army’s general staff had placed the nation’s future in the hands of three people, but at the time no one, not even those people themselves, was aware of this. Later Enver Bey, Mustafa Kemal Bey, and İsmet Bey would come to power in succession; these three men, who had such different temperaments and didn’t resemble each other in any way, tied the nation’s destiny to themselves like a military chain. Enver was the bravest and most intrepid of the three, Mustafa Kemal was the best organizer and the most passionate, and İsmet was the most cautious and the best soldier; how strange that of these three men who used military force to come to power, the best soldier was the last to do so.

  As Ragıp Bey smoked in the churchyard that night, no one knew what was going to happen yet, or if they were going to be alive the following day.

  He’d found the churchyard while he was looking for a quiet place to conduct the brief and secret ritual that every soldier conducts before engaging in battle. This stone courtyard, paled by the night, seemed the most appropriate place to conduct this ritual. He would order all of his emotions again before facing death, bid farewell to his life as he had done many times before, strip whatever belonged to life from his soul, bury all feelings about life and expectations for the future in a deep place where he could find them if he survived the battle, see the following day as the only future that awaited him, distinguish everyone as either friend or foe, and devote his daylong life to hating his foes. He voluntarily relinquished his hopes and dreams. War had to be the only thing on his mind, any dreams or yearning he clung to would lead him to fear and avoid death.

  As he finished his cigarette, he was prepared to enter death’s presence, to submit himself to it the following morning along with thousands of others. As he crushed his cigarette butt with his boot he looked up at the sky, smiled as he did every time, and whispered in an almost mocking tone:

  “Only you know what comes next.”

  As was his custom, he washed life off and prepared for death, but he was unable to erase Dilara Hanım’s face from his mind. He was at ease about his mother because he had entrusted her to Sheikh Efendi and to his brother, but there was no one to whom he could entrust Dilara Hanım. Like many men in love, he worried that without him, the woman he loved would be subjected to evil, be insulted by other men, and be polluted, and he couldn’t shake this feeling; like all feelings he couldn’t shake, this made him angry, he wasn’t even able to realize that this feeling wasn’t worry but yearning. He ran into his brother as he was leaving the churchyard.

  “I was looking for you,” said Cevat Bey, “they told me you’d headed this way.”

  Since arriving in Çatalca, Cevat Bey had a spring in his step, his soul was once again in ferment, his anger and ambition had reached a level that could conceal the doubts about the Committee that had been eating at his heart for some time, he was the kind of person who always had to fight and to struggle against an enemy, he couldn’t fit into the small jigsaw puzzles of life, he couldn’t find happiness and the power to live in the daily life of mortals, when he had no great goals or great battles he became doubtful, apprehensive, and uneasy.

  Now he had regained his foe and his battle, because he was unable to live for himself, he was dependent on fighting for the happiness of others and this reminded him that he was alive, that he existed, his mission was to be among those who were preparing once again to save the empire.

  “Come, let’s smoke a cigarette.”

  They lit their cigarettes and leaned against the church wall.

  “Mustafa Kemal Bey has gone back to Salonika,” said Cevat Bey.

  “Why?”

  “Some say that he went back of his own accord when Enver Bey was appointed chief of general staff, but others say that Enver Bey wanted him sent back.”

  Both of them were aware of the frightful jealousy and conflict between Enver Bey and Mustafa Kemal Bey concerning the general staff. Even though, like everyone else, they appreciated Mustafa Kemal’s skills, they found themselves more in tune with Enver Bey’s unflinching courage and temerity.

  “This time we’ll drag that cursed old man off the throne,” said Cevat Bey.

  “They say Mahmut Şevket Pasha sent a telegram to the Sultan declaring loyalty.”

  “He did, but only to stall him, so that he doesn’t support the mutineers . . . Also, should this miserable, so-called Sultan dare to call on our soldiers to join his ranks and defend the caliphate, we don’t know what they would do.”

  Cevat Bey paused and sighed deeply.

  “Ragıp, to tell the truth, even now I’m not sure about our men. It’s not just me, no one is. We have no idea what they’ll do tomorrow. If we can’t crush the mutineers in the initial attack, every hour after that works to our disadvantage, the soldiers could switch sides at any moment. Be very careful tomorrow, never forget that this time the enemy is not just the other side, the men behind you could also be your enemy.”

  “Any man I go into battle with is my man, brother, I have to trust them.”

  “Don’t trust the men, Ragıp, weren’t these mutineers someone else’s men? God knows, there are some among them who’ve gone into battle and fought with you many times. You know better than I do, but still, never forget, soldiers are like harvested wheat, they can scatter wherever the wind blows, take care of yourself.”

  “Don’t worry, brother, tomorrow, God willing, we’ll take Istanbul. There are no real officers leading the mutineers, they can’t hold out long.”

  “I’m confident of that too, but you never know what this cursed Sultan might do, he has a lot of tricks up his sleeve.”

  Ragıp Bey looked at the village’s silhouette.

  “Forty years ago the Russian army was right where we are now.”

  Cevat Bey looked at his brother and tried to figure out what he meant.

  “Destiny,” he said.

  “If it’s destiny, what a strange destiny it is, we’ve come to capture our own city, I don’t know what kind of destiny this is, brother, we’re going to march against our own men tomorrow.”

  “They’re not our men anymore, Ragıp, they’re our enemies. How many officers have they killed . . . ? Who needs men like that.”

  Once again Ragıp remembered what he’d experienced a few days earlier.

  “I know, how could I forget what happened
, they made a mockery of soldiering, you can’t imagine how much I want them to pay for this, but it’s still strange to me that the people who made me so angry were our own men.”

  Ragıp Bey stubbed out his cigarette.

  “Whatever, I need to get back and check on the final preparations, it’s not good to leave soldiers idle for too long.”

  The two brothers embraced.

  Cevat Bey said, “May God be with you, Ragıp.” Just as they were about to part, Ragıp Bey stopped, it occurred to him to entrust his mother to his brother, to say, “Take care of our mother.”

  “Is anything wrong, Ragıp?”

  “No, God willing, we’ll see each other tomorrow.”

  He walked along the shore, heading toward where his unit was among the sea of tents; soldiers sat around fires among the tents and murmured among themselves. The camp was fairly quiet. It was as if the tension preceding the battle suppressed all sounds, no one, not even the horses and cannon mules, made a sound.

  The main part of the army was positioned at Çatalca; apart from the Third Army, there were Bulgarian guerillas against whom they’d fought for years, Greeks, Albanians, young students taking up arms for the first time, teachers and lawyers who had volunteered. They didn’t in fact need these volunteers from a military point of view, but they gave the movement of the army that was on its way to dethrone the caliph the appearance of a people’s army. The superiority of the Movement Army to the mutineers in weapons, numbers, and capability was indisputable, but the Committee worried that the Sultan might alter the balance with his words, those who’d come to end the mutiny might join the mutineers.

  Ragıp Bey walked toward his unit past fires that smelled of wood and smoke and that made the shadows of the soldiers sitting cross-legged larger, he strode toward his men, gestured for them to remain seated when they started to stand, and called to the cross-eyed sergeant.