Farewell: A Mansion in Occupied Istanbul (Turkish Literature)

by Kulin, Ayse

“That’s very kind of you. I don’t need anything. You’re as tired as I am. You can go to bed now.”

  Mehpare didn’t budge. She fastened her eyes on Kemal’s and stared. When Kemal looked again he noticed that she was naked under the nightgown. What had happened to the girl who was too shy to lift her eyes from the floor except when they were making love in bed?

  “What is it?” he asked.

  Mehpare didn’t have the courage to mention Azra Hanım. She opened her mouth to speak but couldn’t.

  “You’ll get a chill here like this . . .” Kemal said, gesturing to her nightgown. “Go to bed. We’re both exhausted.”

  Once Mehpare realized she wasn’t wanted she found she could speak.

  “If Azra Hanım were here instead of me, would you tell her to go, sir?”

  Kemal was completely taken aback. “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “You heard me,” she said. “Azra Hanım would never come to my room uninvited.”

  “Perhaps. But she’d never give her life for you either.”

  “Well why should she? What am I to her?”

  Mehpare’s lip trembled. “She’s your childhood friend. She’s important to you. You can talk about everything with her . . . Everything . . .”

  “Mehpare! You’re not telling me you’re jealous of Azra Hanım?”

  Mehpare’s eyes filled with tears.

  Kemal didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Azra had been right: the girl was in love with him. He was filled with a strange sense of pride. Taking Mehpare by the arm, he tugged her away from the window and threw her up against the wall, roughly pushing against her as he undid his trousers with one hand and lifted her nightgown with the other. Mehpare didn’t protest as he pulled her lips to his and forced his way his inside; in fact, she wrapped a leg around his waist to get even closer.

  Kemal was soon done, and withdrew. But Mehpare kept her arms and leg locked around him and it was only with some effort that he was able to pull himself away. He stuck his hand between her legs. “Is this what you want? Here, here…” She writhed under his hand, strands of wet hair glued to her forehead, her right breast bursting from her nightgown. Kemal leant over and took her nipple in his mouth. A moment later, he was inside her again.

  At the sound of footsteps on the stairs he hastily withdrew. “Quick, put on your shawl, fix your hair,” he whispered.

  “Kemal,” came Behice’s voice from the second floor landing. Opening the door a crack, “What is it now, Aunt,” he wearily asked. “Has Uncle returned?”

  “He’s back. He’s waiting for you downstairs.”

  Kemal pulled his trousers up from his ankles and did up his buttons. He splashed a bit of water onto his hands from the ewer resting on the chest of drawers and smoothed back his hair.

  “I’m going down, get yourself together and go to your room,” he said to Mehpare, who was still splayed against the wall, on the verge of tears and looking deeply humiliated. Kemal gave her a tender kiss on the forehead. “There’s no need for jealousy, Mehpare. No one can hold a candle to you.”

  Kemal hurriedly tiptoed down the stairs so as not to wake his nieces.

  In the darkness of the entry hall, his uncle appeared suspended in mid-air, a haggard ghost bearing a lantern.

  “Uncle!” Ahmet Reşat looked and sounded bone-weary.

  “There are still running battles going on out there, Kemal. Despite all the precautions of the English our underground resistance has not been idle. They’ve attempted to blow up the French barracks in Eyüp,” he said. “Tomorrow will be another trying day.”

  In the white light cast by the lantern, Kemal couldn’t tell from his uncle’s drawn face if he was pleased or concerned by this most recent turn of events.

  – 8 –

  April 1920

  “Münire Hanımefendi is stranded in Kadıköy,” Behice announced. “When I was finally able to call on Azra Hanım yesterday morning, to thank her for the friendly reception she gave us, I learned that the ferryboats aren’t working. Permission is required for travel between the European and Asian shores.”

  “Well I never!” erupted Saraylıhanım.

  “It’s God’s truth. With her mother unable to return, Azra has been all alone in that big house with only the butler and the gardener for company. I feel so sorry for the poor thing.”

  “They’ve always had several female servants in attendance.”

  “Those were the old days, mother. When we last visited, only Housekeeper Nazik had been retained, and recent events have so worried her family that she’s joined them in the village for a time.”

  “Well in that case, why doesn’t she honor us with a prolonged visit? She really mustn’t stay all alone in that mansion.”

  “The same thing occurred to me, but I hesitated to extend an invitation. It might be awkward for her to have to see the piteous state of our dinner table.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Behice. Is there a household in Istanbul that hasn’t been affected by the occupation? Even the grandest mansions are short of food.”

  “Where would she sleep?”

  “Suat can stay with Leman,” said Suat, “and Azra can sleep in Suat’s room for a few days, until her mother returns.”

  “I’m not leaving my room. On no account am I leaving my room. And I won’t sleep with my sister either.”

  “And I don’t want her in my room. I won’t let her.”

  “Leman! I’ll pretend you never said that. And as for you Suat, hush or I’ll give you such a hiding! You’re to listen to your elders, both of you.”

  “I can’t stay with Suat. She’s messy and she pulls my hair every chance she gets.”

  “You’re both big girls now and you’re still bickering with each other. Just shameless, the pair of you!”

  “I’m not staying in my sister’s room. Why can’t the guest stay in the music room?”

  “No! She’ll play my piano!”

  “Either you both keep quiet or I’ll tell your father everything you’ve been up to the moment he gets home. I leave it to you to consider the consequences,” Behice warned.

  “You haven’t been doing your duty as a mother,” Saraylıhanım chimed in. “The girls have grown up impudent, and all the chastening in the world won’t change that now. When I was a girl, we kept our eyes on the floor in the presence of our elders, never mind speaking or making a fuss in front of them.”

  Suat crossed her eyes and looked at the floor. “You mean like this, nana?” Leman and Behice couldn’t help laughing.

  “Go on then, laugh. But mark my words, if you continue this nonsense you’ll end up an old maid. No one wants a girl who disrespects her elders.”

  “I’m not getting married anyway, nana,” Suat said. “Oh? And why’s that?” “I’m going to be a poet.”

  “What’s got into you?”

  “There are women poets nowadays. I’m going to be one of them.”

  “Stuff and nonsense! Both of you, go to your rooms. Out of my sight!” Saraylıhanım said.

  “And send down Mehpare Abla,” Behice called after the girls. “She can prepare the guestroom while I write a letter for Hüsnü Efendi to deliver. Azra Hanım should come over immediately. If we move the piano into the anteroom we’ll be able to set up a bed in the music room. Now why didn’t I think of that to begin with?”

  Because you don’t think, Saraylıhanım sighed to herself as she returned to the subject of Behice’s parenting skills: “This is what comes of sending Suat to school instead of having her tutored at home. Mark my words, that girl will end up a poet. Or worse.” Saraylıhanım had often complained that the girls were overindulged, and considered Suat’s education at a local school to be indicative of a dangerous predilection for modern ideas on the part of her daughter-in-law. Surely it was Behice who had corrupted Kemal and Reşat. Otherwise, what good Circassian family would dare pass judgment on His Majesty or agree to send their daughter to school. Behice was poisoning Reşat and Kemal
. And it was most certainly her fault that only a moment ago Mehpare had grown pale and clutched at the door when told to prepare the music room for Azra Hanım. That poor girl was literally being run off her feet!

  Behice was in high spirits as she searched her room for a pen and paper. It would be good to have a guest in the house, if only for a few days. She was tired of having the same conversations with Saraylıhanım and of being rebuked day and night. Azra would be a breath of fresh air. And, who knows, her presence might even do Kemal some good.

  Ahmet Reşat was still in his dressing gown when he entered the second floor sitting room that morning. At the sight of him, his daughters put down their needlework and erupted in cries of joy: “Father’s staying home with us today!” The women of the house were all assembled on the divans, drinking coffee with Azra Hanım. Saraylıhanım was trying to teach Suat the art of canvas embroidery while Leman’s skillful fingers were busily employed at a bit of lacework.

  “Aren’t you going to the ministry today?” Behice asked.

  “No.”

  “Why not? Are you feeling well?”

  Ahmet Reşat wanted nothing more than to answer that, no, he wasn’t feeling well, he was having difficulty breathing, his chest felt constricted, his heart ached. “The Salih Pasha cabinet has resigned,” he calmly said, “and I’m unemployed.”

  “How can you say such a thing, Reşat Bey! May the wind snatch those unfortunate words from your mouth!”

  “Don’t upset yourself, Hanım. We’ll be continuing with our duties until a new cabinet is formed. I won’t be underfoot here at home, disturbing you ladies,” Reşat Bey said.

  “Ah, Reşat Bey, you know perfectly well how much we adore you. When I saw you were still asleep this morning I assumed you were exhausted, and couldn’t bring myself to wake you even as I worried you’d be angry with me later. I wish you’d told me last night that you would be at home today.”

  “You were asleep when I got home. And I couldn’t bring myself to wake you either, my dear.”

  “Well, since you’re here, I’ll have coffee brought for you,” Behice said.

  “Do that, and I’ll sit among the ladies today and eavesdrop on their gossip.”

  “We weren’t gossiping,” Behice said.

  “These days we women are engaged in far more important matters than idle chitchat,” said Azra, motioning to the periodical resting on her lap.

  “And what matters are those?”

  “We have to do all we can for the betterment of our country. Wouldn’t you agree, sir?”

  “Without hesitation, Azra Hanım.”

  “I was showing Behice some of the articles written here by our valuable women writers. I particularly recommend that she read the one about Nakiye Hanım.”

  “What’s written about her?”

  Azra turned to the page in question and handed the magazine to Reşat Bey, who began reading aloud as he skimmed the article: “Hmm, Nakiye Hanım, the embodiment of feminine virtue . . . hmm . . . If a distinguished, enlightened and singular woman such as herself has set her heart and mind on advancing the national cause it can only be expected that her efforts will match or even exceed those of our gallant men . . . hmm.”

  “Who is this Nakiye Hanım, my dear?” Saraylıhanım asked.

  “She’s headmistress of the Fevziye School in Üsküdar, efendim,” Azra explained.

  “Are women now assuming the responsibilities of men? She should content herself with the welfare of her students!” Saraylıhanım exploded.

  “It’s not only headmistresses who have joined the cause: Naime Sultan, the daughter of Sultan Abdülhamit, and Fehime Sultan, the daughter of Sultan Murat, have seen no harm in working for their country, efendim,” Azra said, after which she turned to Reşat Bey and added: “And isn’t it true, sir, that during the World War your beloved English allowed their women to work not only behind the scenes but on the front lines as well? And didn’t they labor in the shops, the factories and the offices vacated by their husbands, to prevent the collapse of the economy?”

  “They did indeed, and they did well, but since when have I been known as an admirer of the English, Azra Hanım?”

  “The Sultan is pro-English, is he not?”

  “The Sultan might be pro-English. The Freedom and Unity Party may be pro-English. I, however, am neither a follower of that particular party nor the English. My only allegiance is to the Sultan. And that is because His Majesty is a descendant of the House of Osman, the sovereign rulers of these lands for centuries.”

  “I said nothing to the contrary, sir. My only desire is that our women are kept informed of events and permitted to take their places among the ranks of men to combat the enemy.”

  “Agreed, Azra Hanım. And I would also like you to know that the Sultan is a proponent of the education and greater visibility of the women of this land.”

  Bored by the conversation, Leman requested permission to play the piano and immediately began quarreling with Suat, who darted after her.

  “Sit back down and do your needlepoint. Don’t come upstairs and bother me.”

  “You really could treat your little sister with a bit more kindness, Leman,” Behice interceded, trying to put on a suitably stern tone. “Would it be so bad if she sat next to you and turned the pages while you played?”

  “It would be terrible. Her hands are always filthy. She dirtied the keys with her greasy fingers yesterday after she ate a bun.”

  This time, Behice scolded her younger daughter.“Suat! Haven’t I told you not to touch your sister’s piano? If I hear of this one more time I’ll lock your violin in the cupboard and you won’t be able to play it either.”

  “If you don’t want me touching the piano why don’t you lock that in the cupboard too?”

  Azra failed to suppress a smile. Behice turned to her husband imploringly and awaited an appropriate response to Suat’s impertinence. But Ahmet Reşat, a man who had for many years managed the depleted coffers of the Ottoman Empire, was at a complete loss when it came to managing the sharp tongue of his little girl. Mehpare saved him by stepping into the room with a cup of coffee on a silver tray. “Mehpare, my girl,” he said hurriedly, “would you be so good as to go and inform Kemal Bey that valuable opinions on the state of the nation are being expressed at this very moment, right here in the sitting room, and that we would be honored by his illuminating presence?”

  “I’ll go and get uncle,” screamed Suat, elbowing aside Leman, who was walking decorously to the door.

  Mehpare set the tray down in front of Reşat Bey and left the room.

  Pleased as she was that relations had improved between her nephew and uncle, Saraylıhanım had bristled at Ahmet Reşat for having mocked Kemal in the presence of Azra Hanım. She herself didn’t hesitate to employ her sharp tongue on her next of kin, but to guests and strangers she invariably sang the praises of her family.

  “Opinions should be respected, including those held by the young, Reşat Bey, my son,” she began. “But there’s one thing I know and do not hesitate to articulate: politics is for men, and I strongly disapprove of women who meddle in such matters.”

  Adopting the attitude of a patient tutor as she carefully enunciated each word, Azra began to explain why women should be involved in all avenues of life, including politics. Behice listened in amazement; Saraylıhanım stubbornly stared out the window. Reşat Bey, for his part, shared Azra’s views: for far too long, Ottoman women had been as voiceless and characterless as if they’d retreated to an early grave. Fortunately, in recent years schools for girls had been opening one after another. In fact, girls were now able to receive university degrees even from Dar’ül-Funûnu.

  “Would you consider sending your daughters to this school?” asked Azra.

  “I’d be happy to do so, although I naturally consult Behice first on the subject of the girls’ future,” he replied, looking to his wife for her endorsement. Behice, who was a firm proponent of marrying girls off at an
early age, smiled somewhat abashedly at the carpet.

  The sonata being played upstairs was audible in the room.

  “Leman is remarkably talented!” said Azra, and nodded approvingly at the ceiling. “She performed a miniature concert for me last night.”

  “She has a good ear,” Behice said. “Suat’s taken up the violin, but despite her initial enthusiasm for music, I’d venture she’ll never be as accomplished as Leman. She insists on playing the piano.”

  “She’s only just begun,” said Saraylıhanım. “Give the girl some time, would you! She’ll come into her own in a few months.”

  Behice raised her eyebrows at this spirited defense of Suat, a girl SaryalıHanım was forever reprimanding and of whom she had never seemed particularly fond. Well, there was no telling what the old lady would do or say next.

  When Kemal joined the group in the sitting room, talk returned to the state of the nation. Many of the newly resigned members of the government had gone to Anatolia to join the National Independence Army and the general consensus was that the next Ottoman government would be headed by Damat Ferit Pasha, whose admiration for the English was exceeded only by his hostility for the National Independence Army.

  “Damat Ferit is going to be Grand Vizier again? How unfortunate!” said Behice, only now grasping the implications of her husband’s words. “Kemal’s sympathy for the Nationalists has unfortunately led you to view them more favorably of late. That can only mean that your ministerial duties really are coming to an end.”

  “They are indeed coming to an end, though I’ve promised His Majesty that I’ll continue to execute my duties until such time as a new minister is appointed. Cabinets may fall, but the wheels of the state grind on.”

  At this confirmation of her husband’s certain loss of his ministerial position Behice went visibly limp, and seemed close to tears.

  Azra deftly changed the subject. “I was planning to attend a visiting day event tomorrow at which Şükufe Nihal Hanım will give a reading of her poetry. With your consent, I’d like to invite Behice Hanım to accompany me.”