by Kulin, Ayse
The servant showed the guests into the garden, re-bolted the gate and ushered them to the house. They slowly ascended the steps to the front door, and stepped inside. Kemal instinctively headed for the selamlık on the ground floor, but, when the raised eyebrows of the servant reminded him of his female attire, followed his aunt and Mehpare to the reception room on the floor above. The moment the servant left the room, he tore off the çarşaf, determined not to let Azra and Münire see his ridiculous costume.
The tense wait in the reception room seemed interminable; clearly, the ladies of Ziya Pasha’s mansion had not been prepared to receive guests. They were no doubt having their hair arranged and getting dressed. Azra Hanım entered the room alone, looking pleased and surprised to find Kemal there. Handshakes were exchanged all round, and everyone sat down. Azra tried and failed to conceal her puzzlement at finding the girl who had only last week served her tea now sitting among her guests. The mistress of the house, Münire Hanımefendi, was spending a few days in Erenköy, at her elder sister’s, she told them, before asking how they took their coffee and passing on the information to the housekeeper. Kemal hesitantly attempted to explain the purpose of their early morning visit.
“Well, it’s like this . . . We don’t know what’s happened, exactly, but it seems they’ve begun detaining people again. The roads have all been blockaded. We’re told that houses are being searched here in Beyazit. And as you know, I’m a . . . a . . .”
“I know,” Azra reassured him, “it’s been obvious to me.”
“Does that secret passage still exist?” Kemal asked.
“Yes, but now it opens onto Aksöğüt Lane, not the burnt-out lot. That waste patch where we used to play has become a street.”
“Azra Hanım, would you object to my waiting here until the municipal police arrive? The moment they knock on the door, I’ll leave through the passage.”
“How could I possibly object, Kemal,” said Azra. She turned to Behice. “Behice Hanımefendi, your nephew and I may address each other formally, as Bey and Hanım, but don’t let that fool you. Kemal and I have been close friends for many years. He and my late brother were inseparable. As boys, they were both headstrong, adventure-loving. And as young men, they were no different: neither of them hesitated to go off to the front to fight in what everyone knew was a lost cause. In his infinite wisdom, the Almighty gathered Ali Rıza to his side and spared Kemal. Such is fate. God has watched over Kemal and now it falls on us to protect him.”
“God bless you.” Kemal cut in. “Azra, if you have any qualms at all . . .”
“None. I’ll instruct Hakkı Efendi to stand guard at the front gate. If anyone arrives, he’ll ring the bell. We won’t open the door until you’re safely out of the house.”
“But what if they come to the back gate? Or if they station someone there?”
“A thief entered the house through the back gate last summer and stole my father’s order of merit from the display case. Mother was so upset that she had the back gate removed and a wall built.”
“As the city grows, those sorts of crimes become more common,” said Behice. “In the confusion of that bombing last week someone stole Mehpare’s handbag.”
“My condolences. A city inundated with immigrants is a city less safe. Thieves and scoundrels are certain to be among the newcomers,” said Azra. “But, as they say, there’s a silver lining to every cloud, and, happily for us, the back garden no longer has a gate.”
The coffee arrived in fine porcelain cups wrapped with filigree sleeves. They sipped in appreciative silence.
“I never expected to be playing hide-and-seek at our age,” Kemal remarked
“Did you expect to see Istanbul under occupation?”
“Salt in my wounds,” groaned Kemal, his light tone belying the sincerity of his sentiment.
“There are times when the devil says to me, Get your grandfather’s pistol and shoot some of those invaders down,” Azra mused aloud. Behice gaped in astonishment. What kind of young woman was this?
“No fear, Azra Hanım, for that’s precisely what others will soon be doing,” said Kemal. “Matters can’t stand as they are.”
“How can you say such things, Kemal, when there are no soldiers left to fight the occupiers? Weren’t they all forced to surrender their weapons the moment they entered Istanbul?” Behice asked.
“Not all of them did,” Kemal said. “Some of the commanders kept their weapons. And the remains of the demobilized units are still on the streets. There are efforts underway to form an organization.”
“But what good would they be without weapons and ammunition?” Behice protested.
“That’s the easy part, aunt. Money buys arms.”
“Kemal! Even with money no arms are available. The depots are all under guard. Do you think the English or the French are going to sell arms that will be used against them? You’re talking like a child.”
“Few men can resist money, aunt,” said Kemal. “Everyone has his price. Besides, the foreign troops are thousands of miles from home. It isn’t as though they’re defending their homelands! We’ll get rid of them one way or another.”
Azra listened admiringly to Kemal’s words, unaware that she herself was being studied—somewhat less admiringly—by Mehpare.
“If there’s any way that I can help, Kemal, just tell me,” she said. “I’m ready.”
“How on earth could you help?” asked Behice.
“I could act as mediator. A translator. A courier. I could raise funds.”
“All extremely dangerous for a woman.”
“I understand your reluctance to get involved, Behice Hanımefendi. You have two young daughters. Your husband holds a high office. But I’m not married, I don’t have children. Ever since my husband was martyred my only concern has been the liberation of this country.”
“I understand,” said Behice, “and commend you.” Everyone sat in thoughtful silence for a few moments.
“Aunt, there’s no need for you and Mehpare to stay here any longer. Go home and send word with Hüsnü Efendi if the house is searched. I’ll come back by way of Aksöğüt Street when the danger is past.”
“No!”
Azra, Behice and Kemal all stared at Mehpare, who had opened her mouth for the first time.
“Please don’t, sir. Don’t stay here alone. Behice Abla can go home. I’ll wait here with you.”
“Mehpare, what are you saying, girl,” Behice said.
“Kemal Bey is going to wear a çarşaf again, isn’t he, when he’s out on the streets. What if he’s asked for directions, or anything at all? What if somebody asks what a woman’s doing alone in the street? How could he possibly respond? If I’m with him, he won’t need to.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” said Azra. “She’s considered every detail.”
“She’s extremely intelligent,” Kemal said.
“But how am I to return all alone?” asked Behice.
“We’ll send someone with you, don’t worry. And it’s only a few hundred yards at most!” said Azra, a note of scorn creeping into her voice.
“Well in that case, I ask that you give me an escort immediately and let me go home. The girls are waiting and Saraylıhanım will be beside herself with worry.”
As Azra left the room Behice murmured in a low voice, “Azra Hanım—she’s like a man. So bold . . .”
“She’s always been like that. She’d leave behind her dolls and follow us around, even climbing trees.”
“God forbid our Suat should turn out that way. She’s already a distressingly self-assertive little monster. Not unlike Azra herself, come to speak of it.”
“Why this antipathy towards Azra, aunt?” asked Kemal. “She’s a strong woman, and as intelligent as she is determined. Any other widow in her position would have withdrawn from the world, or remarried. Azra has done neither. She reads, she writes, she translates. Do all women have stay home with their needlework?”
“It befits th
em to do so, yes.”
“Forgive me, but you’re familiar with the expression, ‘if you lie down with the blind, you’ll get up cross-eyed,’ aren’t you? It sounds like Saraylıhanım has rubbed off on you.”
“Just you wait until you’re married yourself, then we’ll see if you prefer a wife with a pen in her hand, or a rolling pin. These are bachelor’s pronouncements.”
Behice stopped talking when Azra reentered the room. Anyone listening would think Behice spent all of her time rolling out yufka, Mehpare thought to herself. In fact, She spent her days playing the ud and the piano, receiving guests or doing needlepoint. She was rarely seen in the kitchen.
“Hakkı Efendi will accompany you home, Behice Hanımefendi,” Azra said. “He’s waiting in the garden.”
Behice embraced Kemal tightly before putting on her çarşaf. “I hope everything goes smoothly,” she said. Then, to Mehpare, “I’m entrusting him to you. You’re far more prudent than he is. But for God’s sake, be careful.”
“Don’t latch the garden gate from the inside, Behice Hanım. We may have to enter in a hurry,” Mehpare said.
“I can’t just leave the gate open, anyone might come in. But I’ll arrange the latch cord—you’ll be able to reach it through the hole with your fingertips.”
Behice and Azra left the room.
“Mehpare, how can I repay you,” Kemal said.
“Stay safe and healthy. That’s all I ask,” Mehpare replied.
Azra returned after showing Behice to the door. “Would you like to go the kitchen, Mehpare?” she gently asked. “Housekeeper Nazik is rolling out some dough; you might want to join her.”
“I don’t know how to roll out dough, ma’am,” said Mehpare, remaining seated.
“Very well then.” A bit taken aback, and not a little put out, Azra turned to Kemal. “Well in that case, come to the library with me, Kemal. The books I ordered last month have arrived and I’d like to present you with one of them. I’m interested to know if you think it’s worth translating.”
Kemal rose and followed Azra out of the room.
Mehpare was alone. She folded her hands in her lap, sitting expressionless, ramrod straight.
“The women of your household are extraordinary,” Azra remarked to Kemal as they ascended the stairs together. “Your aunt is so pampered she’d break if you so much as sneezed at her; Mehpare’s the opposite, a girl of steel. But she seems quite smitten with you.”
“Ridiculous. She cared for me while I was ill. She was most attentive. Now she treats me like an infant, forever trying to shield me from harm. She follows me like a shadow, making sure I don’t forget to take my medicine or keep warm.”
“Patients habitually fall in love with their doctors, and nurses with their patients.”
“How could the girl fall for me? I’m a crippled man, Azra.”
“But you haven’t lost your faculties, have you? I hope you still have the clarity of mind to see that the poor girl is head over heels.”
“Well, what can I do about it?”
“Don’t get her hopes up. Create the opportunity for her to marry someone befitting her station. Don’t let her squander her future on you.”
“You’re as presumptuous as you’ve ever been. I remember the way you used to try to order Ali Rıza about. We used to call you pipsqueak.”
“I’ve touched a nerve.”
“You’re upset with Mehpare because she refused to go down to the kitchen. That’s what this is about. Let me explain something; she doesn’t have the status of a servant in our household. She’s a distant relative of Saraylıhanım’s. Nearly every family has members who, for whatever reason, have fallen on hard times. In our family’s case, Mehpare is the grandchild of an unfortunate uncle. She works hard, but does so by choice. Otherwise, Saraylıhanım would have long since arranged her marriage to a respectable public clerk or some such.”
“Haven’t you ever considered why she would choose service over marriage to a clerk?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“You men are all alike. Blind to the inconvenient facts. Well, here’s one for for: the girl wants you. You are that clerk of hers.”
“Generous of you to say so. But even an impoverished relative would be unlikely to want a man who’s missing several toes, who’s in poor health, and, to make matters worse, who’s a fugitive from the law.”
“I know what you’re doing—you’re looking for flattery. But I won’t rise to the bait. Tell me, Kemal, what do you know about the bombing? It’s interesting, isn’t it, that Mehpare just happened to be wandering in the area that day.”
“Her aunt lives in Beşiktaş. She was visiting.”
“Oh really!”
“Azra, what do want to know?”
“I want to know how deep you are in all of this. You came here for protection: you must trust me. Sharing information could be beneficial to us both.”
“All right then. Are you familiar with an organization called Karakol?
“The old CUP partisans run it, don’t they?”
“They used to, but since then it’s become inseparable from the resistance in Anatolia. The English have gotten the names of some of the high-ranking members there. They have no hard evidence, but their suspicions have been aroused. So they carried out the bombing, as an act of intimidation. But with little consequence, for the organization has simply shifted headquarters.”
“Well, what are your duties?”
“Due to my illness, I’m barely of use to them. I try to be helpful by penning articles or translating secret documents.”
“I’m not ill. I could liaise for you . . .”
“I’d never use you. But I can give you the name and address of a contact. You could apply to speak to them.”
Azra leapt from her chair, pulled a sheet of white paper and a pen from a pigeonhole in the writing desk, dipped her pen in the inkwell, and waited.
Kemal gave her a name and address, adding, “Use me as a reference and let them decide how you might be of use. Once you’ve memorized the name and address, tear the paper to bits—in fact, burn it . . .” He stopped mid-sentence, paused and exclaimed: “Listen Azra . . . The bell’s ringing.”
Both of them rushed for the stairs as Azra folded the piece of paper and slipped it into her dress. By the time they reached the entry hall, Mehpare had put on her çarşaf and was holding out Kemal’s.
Azra leading the way, the party of three hurried down to the floor below, entered the garden though the door next to the pantry and, crouching, scurried along the base of the wall.
“The passage should be around here somewhere,” said Kemal. All three searched for a gap in the wall. Azra found it, and they set about clearing away weeds and other vegetation, exposing the entrance to a crawlspace. Kemal peered inside and said, “You’d better get back to the house immediately, Azra.”
“Don’t worry about me. You’re the ones in danger. If you encounter any difficulties, you can come back here.”
“God bless you.” Kemal entered the narrow opening sideways. “Come on, Mehpare. It’s your turn. Once you’re inside, I’ll cover it back up,” Azra said. Mehpare sidled into the passage and reached for Kemal’s hand. He tugged her into the darkness. They walked for a time, doubled over, cobwebs brushing their faces. A couple of bats thrashed past their ears.
“There’s not much further to go,” Kemal said. “We’ll be at the other end in a moment.”
Back in the garden, Azra hastily concealed the entrance to the passage and ran for the house. She slipped through the back door and raced up the stairs, only to see, through the window, the manservant attempting to explain something to a Greek Ottoman standing next to a uniformed foreigner.
“What’s all this about?” she shouted down. “What’s going on? What do they want?”
“Hanımefendi, they’re searching houses . . .”
“What next! Aren’t they ashamed to be searching the home of a pasha?”
“P
asha masha,” the Greek interpreter explained, “no make difference for us. Today we go into all houses.”
“I’ll get dressed and be down in a moment. I’ll speak to them.”
“No need for talking. I told you their wants.”
“Your Turkish is appalling; how can you possibly communicate in English! Tell them I’ll be down in a moment. I won’t rely on your language skills.”
Azra couldn’t help smiling at this opportunity to bring the Greek down a few notches. She stepped back from the window, took several deep breaths and smoothed her hair. Then she leisurely descended the stairs she had scrambled up only a moment before. Her back straight, her head held high, she walked to the door and entered the garden.
Kemal and Mehpare waited a long time in the long, narrow crawlspace. Then they exited, one after the other, warily surveying their surroundings. According to Azra’s directions, they were now on Aksöğüt Street. The windows opening onto the lane were all closed and shuttered. Without speaking, they marched down this quiet, deserted street, which seemed poised, preparing to ambush an invisible enemy. As they drew closer to the main street, a clamor broke out: the sound of gunshots, shouting, screams, the tinkle of breaking glass, sirens, whistles . . . They exchanged anxious glances.
“Stay here. I’ll go as far as the street and see what’s happening,” Mehpare said.
“No. You wait while I have a look.”
“If you’re caught you’ll be thrown in jail. They won’t do anything to me. At worst, I’ll be questioned and released. Let me go.”
Kemal had no choice but to consent.
“If you sense danger of any kind, go back into the passageway. I’ll be able to find you there,” Mehpare said.
As she moved off towards the intersection of the lane and the main street, Kemal squatted at the foot of the wall. As he waited there, hunched up, his head sinking into his shoulders, his eyes on the ground, he was suddenly overcome with a sense of weary disgust. He was fed up with hiding like a thief, with this endless infirmity. He was too weak to join in the struggle. He was of no use to anyone. After all his efforts to help liberate his country, nothing could be more damning than having to remain in occupied Istanbul. He’d long since given up on the dream of independence, was even prepared to settle for the despotism of the sultan—anything, so long as the enemy soldiers got the hell out of his country. If they stayed, he was better off dead. Or so he told himself. So he wished to believe. Even as somewhere within him a tiny protest registered: a faltering sense of misgiving, of stealthy dissent, a distant voice seeming to say to him: Don’t die, not yet. And as dark as his thoughts were, he saw, in his mind’s eye, a woman. And asked himself, was it this woman who bound him to life. He saw her. The slender form of a young woman.