by Kulin, Ayse
Saraylıhanım worried that Mehpare was literally being run off her feet. The poor girl was growing paler by the day, and dark circles had formed under her eyes.
She was right: Mehpare was exhausted. Late at night, after she finished mopping and sweeping in preparation for another day of guests, she would climb up to her room on the top floor, more dead than alive, leaving the door ajar so that it wouldn’t squeak later. Finally, when everyone else in the house was sound asleep, she’d steal into Kemal’s room and slip into his arms. Kemal made love to her fiercely, as though determined to make up for the long years of military service, captivity and convalescence. He was insatiable. All through the night he nibbled her lips, breasts and shoulders, basking in her scent, allowing himself to run riot. And Mehpare, too, was ravenous—she submitted her body to his, fought back screams, clapped her hand over her mouth, sank her teeth into the pillow, writhed and flailed under his slender frame. Later, in the hushed hours just before dawn, she would float back to her bed, spent but sleepless, her soul still overflowing with vitality. As the sun came up, she would creep down to the hamam to perform her ablutions and return to her room for morning prayers. Then she would prepare breakfast and go again to Kemal, this time with a tray. He was usually sound asleep, and she’d kneel at his bedside, lightly stroking his cheek, running her fingers through his hair as she waited for him to wake. For the rest of the day, she would seize any excuse to visit him . . . I’ll bring sir his lunch . . . I’ll be right back after I take sir a cup of coffee . . . I think I heard him call for me, sir may want something . . . It’s time for sir to take his medicine . . .
“Dear girl, between Kemal and the guests you’ve been worn to the bone. Be sure to take care of yourself or you’ll get ill as well,” Saraylıhanım admonished, as Mehpare grew daily more hollow-eyed and wan.
– 5 –
Flight
One morning, Saraylıhanım and Behice were sitting opposite each other on the low backless couches lining the bow window. They’d risen early and dressed to receive, but were enjoying their cups of coffee and the sweet languor that came from knowing that few, if any, visitors were likely to call that day. Wailing sirens had made for another restless night, but neither of them knew, or cared to know, the exact target of the raids conducted by the occupying forces, who seemed to spend all their time and resources chasing after members of the resistance—“the rabble rousers,” as Saraylıhanım insisted on calling them. Both women had grown accustomed to the sound of distant gunshots, and were not at all rattled. Reşat Bey had long since left for work. Leman was seated in front of the piano practicing for the lesson she was to receive later in the day. Suat sat near her mother’s skirts, scribbling on sheets of paper she’d spread across the floor, her morning classes having been cancelled due to a performance of some kind being put on by the senior girls.
“Don’t disturb your sister while she’s having her lessons today. I’ll inform your father if you do, and he’ll be very angry with you,” Behice said.
“I don’t bother her. I just watch.”
“She doesn’t want you to watch, so don’t.”
“She’s scared I’ll learn to play better than her.”
“But you didn’t want lessons.”
“I did so!”
“No, you didn’t! You preferred the violin. And it was a wise choice, too. You and your sister will be able to give your father a concert one day,” said Behice, “and, even better, you can take your violin anywhere you go. Your sister has no choice but to play at home.”
Behice was slightly ashamed of her words. The reason Suat had been denied piano lessons was that Leman wouldn’t let anyone else touch the instrument, becoming particularly enraged when the trespasser was her younger sister. The piano had been purchased when Leman turned ten. As they were in no position to afford a second piano, Suat had been encouraged to take up the violin. Even so, whenever her sister wasn’t at home Suat would rush over to the piano and do her best to replicate a melody she’d overheard.
“You’ll also learn to play the ud, of course,” said Saraylıhanım. “Every girl in the house should know how to play the ud. I taught Mehpare myself. She plays beautifully.”
“Teach me too, nana.”
“We’ll begin just as soon as school lets out for the summer, my dear. And you know what? Your grandfather says he might come in June. He loves listening to the ud.”
“I wish he was here with us now,” sighed Behice. “He hasn’t seen the girls for months. The last time he visited, Leman was a child; next time he’ll find a young lady. She’s grown so tall this winter.”
“Never mind, he’ll be visiting soon enough, once we’re out on the island.”
“I expected him to come the moment he learned of Reşat’s appointment. We’d have been off to the island shortly afterwards, and we could all have gone . . .”
Behice stopped mid-sentence as the housekeeper rushed into the room looking unusually alarmed.
“What is it now?” Behice groaned.
Saraylıhanım immediately broke in with, “Mercy me, Gülfidan, don’t tell me visitors have arrived at this early hour.”
“Aret Efendi is here. He wants to speak to you, ma’am.”
“How strange! What’s he doing here today?” said Behice. “And so early in the morning? Tell him to wait. We’ll be down right after we finish our coffee.”
“Something terrible is happening in the city today, ma’am. He asked me to tell you immediately.”
Behice and Saraylıhanım simultaneously leapt for the door. Suat raced after them. Behice made way for Saraylıhanım to exit the room first, and, eager as she was to get to the ground floor, tried to be patient as her mother-in-law slowly took one step at a time. Suat did what her mother could not: wriggling past Saraylıhanım on the stairs, she was the first to reach the floor below, where Aret Efendi and Hüsnü Efendi waited in a state of high agitation.
“What’s going on Aret Efendi?” Saraylıhanım asked.
“Forgive me for the disturbance, ladies, but the streets are dangerous today. I thought you should know. You’d best stay indoors. I left home at six this morning, and I’ve only just made it here. The city’s crawling with military police and soldiers.”
“Why? What happened?” asked Behice.
“Have the streets been blockaded again?” asked Saraylıhanım. “I was just asking myself where Leman’s piano instructor could be.”
“Don’t expect him. No one’ll be able to go anywhere today.”
“Does that mean I can’t go to school?” whined Suat.
“I’m told they’ve begun detaining people,” Aret Efendi said.
“What about me? What about school?”
“Hush girl,” Behice scolded, “and we’ll find out what’s happened.”
“Are they rounding up CUP partisans again?” asked Saraylıhanım.
“I don’t know, efendim. But they were everywhere.”
“Who was everywhere?”
“Foreign soldiers. The English. They’ve cordoned off all the main roads. I made my way here through the back streets. The high street is closed.”
“I’ll go out there and have a look,” Hüsnü Efendi volunteered.
“Go, bring us news. You have us worried now,” said Saraylıhanım. As Hüsnü and Aret walked together to the door Behice gathered her skirts and began climbing the stairs. Suat managed to dart ahead again.
“Careful,” Behice said, “you’ll trip me up. You’re nothing like your elder sister. Since you insist on behaving like a boy, would that Allah had blessed me with a son instead.”
“I wish I’d been born a boy,” Suat agreed, “I wish I could go climb trees in the garden instead of embroidering.”
“As if that weren’t precisely what you do anyway!” Behice had no idea how to handle her younger daughter. While Leman was serious and serene, Suat was quite the opposite: as impish, fidgety and exuberant as a boy. The name Suat had been chosen when Behice thought sh
e was expecting a boy, and she sometimes blamed herself, as did Saraylıhanım, for having insisted on giving that name to a girl. The pillow cases and tables embroidered by Leman when she was Suat’s age were so beautiful that Behice couldn’t bear to use them. Suat hadn’t yet mastered even basic backstitching, but she’d shone at school, where she effortlessly studied with girls two years older than herself. Her writing abilities nearly matched her sister’s.
So much intelligence, Behice thought. What a waste.
Behice and her daughter settled onto the couch in the bow window. Only fifteen days earlier she’d been able to scan the street from the left side of the window; the view was now completely obscured by the leaves of the almond tree. Saraylıhanım appeared in the doorway, looking worried.
“Go and join your sister, Suat. She’s doing embroidery in her room.”
“I want to stay her with you, nana.”
“Your mother and I have something to discuss. Come on, off you go.”
“Can’t I listen?”
“No, you can’t.” Saraylıhanım opened the door and called up the stairs: “Mehpare, come down and get Suat. Keep her entertained for a moment . . . Mehpare! Where are you?”
Hearing Mehpare’s tread on the stairs, Suat dashed out of the room unprompted.
Saraylıhanım made certain the door was fully closed and took a seat next to Behice.“Behice, hear me out. If what Aret says is true . . . if they’re rounding people up, they’ll come here.”
“But what for! There are no CUP people here. We’re all devoted servants of the Sultan.”
“That may be true, my dear, but, were we to take precautions nonetheless, what would be our best course of action?”
“What precautions could we possibly take, Saraylıhanım?”
“We could help Kemal over the garden wall and into the neighbor’s house.”
“You mean Ebe Hanım, the midwife?”
“Yes.”
“Would she agree?”
“Were we to request her help why shouldn’t she! After all, it was she who helped to bring our children into the world.”
“But Saraylıhanım, wouldn’t we be declaring to the neighbors that we’ve been harboring a criminal?”
“Then let’s consider the alternative. Is it better to surrender Kemal to the police or to endure a few wagging tongues?”
Behice was feeling sick at heart. They’d already been disgraced once in the neighbors’ eyes, when the police had arrived at the house after Kemal’s falling out with CUP. Would they never be rid of him? Had she no right to lead a peaceful life with her husband and daughters? Just as she’d begun rejoicing at her status as a minister’s wife, this had to happen.
“I couldn’t answer that. I suggest we ask Reşat Bey.”
“We can ask him, yes, but where is Reşat Bey right now? And, with the roads blocked, what time will he be coming home?”
“Late, as always,” was Behice’s reply.
“Your husband is not the corner grocer. Men of high rank come home when they can. You’ll have to accept that.”
“I wasn’t complaining,” said Behice, desperate to put an end to the conversation. The last thing she wanted was to receive a long-winded lecture on the virtues and attributes of her esteemed ancestors. Saraylıhanım stood up, hands on her hips.
“This is now the home of a minister,” she declared, “and nobody’s going to enter it unannounced and uninvited.”
“The occupiers and their municipal police force couldn’t care less whose house it is,” said Behice, who clearly hadn’t had time to appreciate the significance of her husband’s appointment. “Behice, dear girl, your husband isn’t just any Reşat Efendi—he represents the Ottoman State. If the invaders dare to enter this house they will be made to answer for it.”
When the housekeeper announced that Hüsnü Efendi had returned they all went down to the ground floor.
“I hear they’ve forced their way into Parliament,” said Hüsnü Efendi, looking shattered. “They’re detaining anyone who’s associated with the resistance in any way, and conducting house to house searches.”
Behice blanched. Was her husband in danger? Reşat Bey is a smart man, she told herself, and knows how to keep his head even in desperate times. But what about the fugitive in the attic? If they searched the house and stumbled upon Kemal, there was no telling what would happen to the rest of the family.
When Saraylıhanım began ascending the stairs Behice assumed she was going up to Kemal’s room, and followed her. The two women breathlessly entered the sickroom on the top floor only to find Mehpare stirring a cup of linden tea and Kemal busily writing at his desk.
“Son, the situation is dire. You must leave immediately,” said Saraylıhanım.
“But where will he go?” asked Mehpare. “He’ll catch his death out in the streets.”
“Mehpare, stay out of this,” Saraylıhanım snapped. Kemal rose from his desk and pulled out a footstool; perching on it, he peered out of the window. “Where am I supposed to go?”
“I thought it best for you to hide at the midwife’s house. No one would search the house of an old woman living with her daughters.”
“But would she agree to hide me? Why should she jeopardize herself?” asked Kemal.
“I just thought of something,” Behice said. “Azra Hanım lives nearby. You could get there through the back alley. She’s full of ideas, just like you, Kemal, and if we were able to let her know of our situation . . .”
“That sounds like a good plan,” said Kemal. “Azra’s a brave woman and accustomed to fighting back. She’s done so much for the Association for the Protection of Women’s Rights. She’d be happy to help me.”
“No! Stay here,” pleaded Mehpare, terrified. “We’ll hide you. You can hide in the pantry. They’ll never find you there.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Mehpare,” Saraylıhanım said. “They’ll be searching every corner of this house. We’ve been blacklisted.”
“Won’t they search Azra Hanım’s house too? If she’s been poking her nose into those sorts of things, she’ll have been blacklisted as well, won’t she,” argued Mehpare.
“Mehpare, has anyone asked for your opinion? Know your place, girl. And what are you doing here anyway? Go down to the children,” Behice said. The girl was normally so reserved and respectful, but fear and excitement seemed to have got the better of her. Mehpare blushed and bowed her head, but refused to budge.
“There was a secret crawlspace in Azra’s garden,” Kemal said, “years ago, when we were children, we’d go through a doorway and all the way back to the house, without anyone hearing a thing. If the military police show up there, I’ll use it to come back here. It isn’t as though they’ll be able to raid every house simultaneously. They’ll be searching one by one.”
“How could you possibly remember all this about secret passageways?” asked Saraylıhanım.
“How could I not! Don’t you remember, Azra used to live right next door. We’d play together ever day, along with Ali Riza, may he rest in peace.”
“Well wherever you’re going, be sure to wear a çarşaf, sir,” Mehpare said.
“Great idea! All right then, quickly everyone,” Behice said.
“Mehpare, you’re the tallest. Run to your room and get your çarşaf.” Mehpare didn’t move. “I’m talking to you. What’s come over you today?”
“I’m going with Kemal Bey.”
“Oh? And why’s that?”
“We’ll be two women on their way to the marketplace, arm in arm. And if anyone questions us, I’ll do the talking. Kemal Bey won’t have to speak. ”
“Such a clever girl, didn’t I tell you?” said Saraylıhanım, voice full of pride. She’d resented the way Behice had rebuked the girl a moment earlier. “Circassians are like that, clever as can be! Well then, it’s settled. Now go and get a çarşaf. Hurry up, girl!”
Mehpare was off in a flash.
“And if you’ll kindly leave the room,
I’ll get dressed as well,” Kemal said.
Saraylıhanım and Behice went down to the floor below and reassumed their places in the picture window. But this time, both women were trembling with anxiety. Behice badly needed a cigarette, but knew it was inappropriate to smoke in front of Saraylıhanım. A cheerless silence descended until Saraylıhanım spoke in her sweetest voice. “Roll us each a cigarette, Behice dear. On days like this, we can be forgiven for dispensing with propriety for a moment . . . Go on, don’t be shy. Time simply won’t pass otherwise.”
The old fox has read my mind again, Behice thought to herself. She pulled a tobacco case from her dressing gown and began preparing a cigarette.
“Dear girl, I have a request to make of you.”
Fully aware that such fond terms of address were resorted to only in the name of self interest, Behice looked Saraylıhanım in the eye and waited.
“Would you mind accompanying them as far as Ziya Pasha’s house? I’ll explain why. It’s better they don’t encounter Kemal on their doorstep all of a sudden. We’re old friends but there are no men in their household and it would be inappropriate for him to appear without warning.”
“But Mehpare is going with him!”
“Dear girl, who is Mehpare next to you? You’re the wife of a minister. Your words have weight. They can hardly turn you away at the door!”
“But the children are at home today . . .”
“Have they never been here without you before, my girl?”
There was nothing left for Behice to say. “I’ll go and get dressed.” She rose resignedly and walked to the stairs.
“For goodness sake, do hurry,” Saraylıhanım called after her.
Not long after, three women dressed in black from head to toe, one of them quite tall, hurried out of the house and down the street toward the sea. Keeping off the main road, they walked past a burnt-out lot and through the back streets until they were back in the same neighborhood, at the home of Ziya Pasha. The garden of the stately mansion was much larger than that of their own. They rang the bell at a heavy iron gate, painted green, and waited. “Please inform Münire Hanımefendi that the wife of Minister of Finance Reşat Bey is here to return her recent visit,” a blushing Behice told the manservant who opened the door. She was well-bred enough to know that return visits are not made unannounced, nor so early in the morning, but she was in no position to explain further.