Farewell: A Mansion in Occupied Istanbul (Turkish Literature)

by Kulin, Ayse

  “Why did you visit Kemal?” Saraylıhanım whispered into Mehpare’s ear, the moment she spotted an opening.

  Mehpare blushed as she replied, “I missed him, efendim.”

  “Tell me the truth! He’s not ill is he?”

  “No, I swear he’s not. I kept dreaming about him. I had to see him, and I’m glad I did. I found him well.”

  This time, Saraylıhanım’s whisper was conspiratorial: “Tell me the next time you go. I’ll come with you.”

  Not wishing to distress Saraylıhanım with the news of her grandson’s imminent departure, Mehpare turned her attention back to the lively babble of female voices. Those were the days when the women of Reşat Bey’s mansion were still able to enjoy pleasant conversation.

  – 16 –

  Birth

  Behice’s contractions began in the first week of October, the same week Ahmet Reşat was coping with Wrangel’s army. The abdication of Nicholas II and the subsequent rise to power of the Bolshevik-dominated Soviets had plunged Russia into civil war. Among the generals leading the anti-Bolshevik White Army was Pyotr Nikolayevich Wrangel. Facing the prospect of massive defeat in the Crimea and the decimation of his troops by an unusually early and bitter winter, Wrangel had begun organizing a mass evacuation to the lands of the Ottoman Empire. Soldiers of the White Army joined the waves of White émigrés fleeing for their lives to the opposite shore of the Black Sea. And so they came, by the tens of thousands, huddled in their black coats, packed onto the decks of ships bearing pestilence and vermin, until the barracks and the hospitals, the camps and the churches of Istanbul were overflowing with refugees. An exhausted city still straining to accommodate the previous waves of immigrants from the Balkans and the Caucasus now had to contend with Wrangel’s wandering bands of soldiers as well.

  Two Russian warships were in dry dock at the Haliç Shipyard on the Golden Horn. Ahmet Reşat had received information that the Russian soldiers under Wrangel’s command were to embark on them, along with a number of Greek soldiers, for Ottoman ports on the Black Sea. Their objective was twofold: to prevent small sailing vessels from smuggling arms and volunteers to the Nationalist Army in Anatolia, and to occupy the Black Sea coast.

  After this intelligence was passed along to Ahmet Reşat, he found himself sitting in the offices of the Minister of Marine. Ahmet Reşat had hoped his colleague would share his sympathies for the movement in Anatolia, and he was not disappointed. And thus it came to pass that two Ottoman ministers put their heads together to figure out a way to help the resistance forces.

  The Nationalist movement was besieged on all sides. Not only were they threatened by the army of the Istanbul Government, great swathes of Anatolia were occupied by Allied forces, and, to complicate matters further, the Armenian, Kurdish, Circassian and Greek peoples of the Ottoman Empire were each bent on establishing their own states. The Nationalists would be unable to withstand a flanking movement by Wrangel; they’d have to be informed immediately. And it wasn’t only Mustafa Kemal and the leadership of the national resistance movement who had to be notified: the people of Anatolia needed to know too. The traditionally hospitable and generous Turks living along the Black Sea needed to be informed of the danger posed by the ships bearing Greek and Russian sol- diers. Were they to be caught unawares, their lands would be seized.

  But how were the Ottoman ministers to convey this news to the Black Sea Turks? The Minister of Marine proposed that it be announced in the newspapers. It was a good idea. That way, the information would be conveyed directly to the people. Without delay, the announcement was written up and sent to all the newspapers. What they had failed to take into account, however, was that the Allies would simply censor any reference to Wrangel.

  Ahmet Reşat had arrived at his office early and was scanning the newspapers in vain for the report he himself had helped to write when his office boy conveyed news of a far more personal nature: His Excellency would please be informed that his man-servant was downstairs and requested an audience. Ahmet Reşat was astounded. Hüsnü Efendi had opened the garden gate for him that very same morning. Why had he said nothing then? Behice wasn’t due for another month. Something must have happened to Kemal. Had he been caught and arrested? He had Hüsnü Efendi showed into his room at once. The troubled face of his servant immediately told him something was wrong.

  “Anything wrong? Has something happened?” he asked with a tightening in the chest.

  “Hanımefendi has gone into labor,” Hüsnü Efendi said. “I raced over to the midwife and sent her to the house, then I came straight here to tell you.”

  Ahmet Reşat blanched. “But there’s still time . . .” he managed to say.

  “Saraylıhanım says it’s begun.”

  “Go home directly, Hüsnü Efendi. Stay with them, they may need you. I’m attending to some urgent business at the moment and I have a meeting scheduled shortly. I’ll come the moment I’m free,” he said. “And be sure to let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

  “I won’t disturb you unless it’s absolutely necessary, efendim,” said Hüsnü Efendi, as he took the roll of bank notes handed to him by his master in case of emergency and left the room. Ahmet Reşat was distraught at not being able to be at his wife’s bedside, but in a few moments he would be attending a meeting of the Ottoman Public Debt Administration, after which he was scheduled to meet with the manager of the Imperial Ottoman Bank in order to apply, yet again, for a moratorium on Ottoman arrears of debt . . .

  Women tend to give birth in the early hours of the morning, he muttered to himself. Why on earth has Behice chosen business hours? Was it to make his life more difficult?

  As he opened the door of his office to go to his meeting, he nearly bumped into Doctor Mahir.

  “Mahir Bey? Can it be? You’re back in Istanbul!”

  “Yes I am, efendim. For a short time. The typhus and cholera cases . . .”

  Ahmet Reşat interrupted: “My friend, God must have sent you in my hour of need. There’s no other explanation. You can tell me about typhus and cholera later. You’ve arrived in the nick of time, Mahir Bey: Behice is in labor even as we speak. I can’t go to her; I’ll be attending some critical meetings until this evening. But my thoughts are back at home. Unless you have urgent business, I wonder if I could possibly ask you to attend my wife. It would put my mind at ease.”

  “I’ll go immediately,” Mahir said. “And don’t worry about a thing. I won’t leave your house until you arrive.”

  The two men hurried down the stairs and raced off in opposite directions.

  It was an exhausted and guilt-ridden Ahmet Reşat who finally arrived home that evening, although his sense of remorse was somewhat alleviated by the presence of Doctor Mahir. The only birth Ahmet Reşat had been able to attend was that of Leman. He had bitterly regretted not being by his wife’s side when Suat was born and it had been even worse when their third child had been stillborn: but what could he do! They hadn’t even been in the same city. And now, today, he had been so close to home, yet equally unable provide comfort or assistance. He prayed that there was still time; Behice might still be in labor. If the baby had been born, surely Hüsnü Efendi would have sent someone with the good news?

  He’d been unable to locate a carriage when he left the ministry and had fought his way onto a teaming platform and into an overflowing tram. Then he’d run all the way from the stop on Divanyolu to the top of his street, where he’d paused for breath as he rounded the corner before breaking into a trot the rest of the way. He slid open the gate’s latch and stepped into the garden. The house was strangely silent. He couldn’t hear the cry of a newborn baby. He looked up at the second floor. The sitting room was dark. The bedroom curtains were drawn but there was a light in the selamlık. Mahir must be waiting for him.

  As he strode through the front garden Hüsnü Efendi opened the door and waited for him to enter. No one was in the tiled entry hall. Houses with newborn babies were usually scenes of celebration.
He was filled with a sense of foreboding.

  “Has the baby been born yet?” he asked, dreading the answer.

  “Yes, this afternoon,” said Hüsnü Efendi.

  “But why didn’t anyone tell me?”

  “Hanımefendi didn’t wish it.” Ahmet Reşat went from merely alarmed to devastated. He flung open the door of the selamlık, only to find Mahir sound asleep, an open book resting on his knees.

  “Mahir Bey!”

  As Mahir leapt to his feet the book fell to the floor with a thud.

  “Has something happened? Something terrible has happened, hasn’t it? Tell me, is Behice alright? Is the baby alive?”

  “Everyone’s fine. Behice and the baby are both in good health.”

  “Then why is the house so quiet? Why didn’t anyone send me word? Where’s my aunt? Where are the girls?”

  “Behice Hanım is recovering. I gave her a sedative; she’s asleep.”

  “What about the others?”

  “They’ve gone to their rooms.”

  “Mahir, what’s the meaning of all this? Was it a difficult birth? Is something wrong with the baby, a defect of some kind? For God’s sake, tell me.”

  “Reşat Bey, please sit down. Nothing terrible has happened . . . It’s just . . .”

  “Just what?”

  “Well, everyone’s a bit disappointed. Saraylıhanım and Behice Hanım are most upset because . . .”

  “Because what?”

  “Because it’s a girl. You have another daughter.”

  “Is she healthy?”

  “Yes. And she’s beautiful.”

  “Ah, thank God,” cried Ahmet Reşat. “I was terrified. I thought something had gone wrong. Where’s the baby?”

  “Saraylıhanım placed the baby’s cradle in Mehpare’s room so she wouldn’t disturb her mother. Behice Hanım was inconsolable. We did all we could to comfort her, but forgive her if she’s still a bit cantankerous. New mothers tend to suffer severe mood swings. Be gentle with her, Reşat Bey.”

  “You can’t be imagining I’ll be cross with her simply because she gave birth to a girl. Don’t you know me at all, Mahir Bey?”

  “That’s not what I meant, efendim. It’s just that the women were all so upset; I assumed you’d had your heart set on a boy. Even Leman Hanım seems quite miserable. Apparently, the baby things are all blue.”

  “Has everyone in this house lost their senses?”

  Ahmet Reşat opened the door and called for the housekeeper, who came running up to kiss his hand in congratulations.

  “Tell Saraylıhanım, Mehpare Hanım and the girls that I’m expecting them all in the sitting room,” said Reşat. “Housekeeper Gülfidan, what is the meaning of this? Is this any way to welcome the latest addition to our family? Have you prepared the sherbet?”

  “Of course I have, sir.”

  Hand it round in the upstairs sitting room. Tell Zehra to help you make the necessary preparations. What ingratitude! It would try the patience of the Lord himself,” said Ahmet Reşat. “You’d think we were holding a funeral in this house.”

  A short time later, Mehpare arrived on the middle floor with a swaddled baby in her arms. The proud father pulled back the blanket and peered at her face.

  “My God, just look at her!” said Ahmet Reşat. “She’s so tiny!”

  “She’s slightly premature,” Mahir told him. Then, at the worried frown on Reşat Bey’s face, he added, “There’s absolutely no cause for concern. She’ll be just fine before you know it.”

  Smiling broadly and—for reasons of her own—not at all displeased that the birth had been premature, Mehpare said, “Just look at all that golden hair and that milky white skin; her button nose and rosebud mouth look like the work of an artist. She’s a real beauty, praise God!”

  “Then it’s done, we’ll name her Sabahat—beauty,” Ahmet Reşat said.

  “God willing, her fortune will be as fair as her face,” said Saraylıhanım as she entered the room. Reşat Bey kissed his aunt’s hand and asked, “You’re not upset that it’s not a boy, are you, dear aunt?”

  “It is you who should be upset, not me; it’s you who has his bloodline to consider,” she replied in a voice that was positively waspish. “Behice is awake. She’s been asking for you.” Ahmet Reşat took the baby from Mehpare’s arms, held her close to his chest and started carefully climbing the stairs as Leman and Suat were clattering down.

  “Careful ladies, you’ll wake your sister,” he whispered.

  “Oh, father! It’s another girl, you know that don’t you?” asked Leman.

  “I’m extremely pleased with my daughters. It’s wonderful.”

  “What are we going to name her?”

  “Unless your mother has any objections, Sabahat.”

  “Doesn’t that mean ‘morning breeze’?”

  “No, it refers to beauty, to the fine features of the face. Your sister will grow up as beautiful as you. That much is obvious even now.”

  “What, are we beautiful?” giggled Suat.

  “Indeed you are, although I also expect you to be clever, learned and well-mannered,” said Ahmet Reşat.

  Behice’s head rested on her embroidered pillow like a faded magnolia. Her eyes were swollen and bloodshot. When she saw Ahmet Reşat she weakly said, “I’ve failed you again. I’ve disappointed you.”

  “What kind of talk is that, Behice! You given me a little girl more beautiful than I could have imagined. I’m happy, so happy: just look at the delicacy of her face! And she’s already got golden curls, just like you. I’ve named her Sabahat, in honor of her fine features – that is, unless you have any objections.”

  “I was expecting to name him Raif İbrahim, I hadn’t thought of any girl’s names.”

  “We’ll name the next one Raif İbrahim.”

  “God won’t grant me a son.”

  “It’s best not to meddle in the Lord’s work, Hanım. For now, we ask only that Allah grants us an auspicious son-in-law when the time comes. And may this lovely little girl bring fortune to our family and to our country,” Ahmet Reşat said as he placed Sabahat in his wife’s arms.

  “I’m exhausted. If I nod off, she’ll slip out of my arms. Give Sabahat to Mehpare, would you? Keep her contented until it’s time to nurse.”

  Ahmet Reşat kissed his wife on the forehead and took the baby back into his arms. “Get some rest, my dear,” he said. “Tomorrow we’ll summon the hodja to come and bless our little girl.”

  He left the room, and as he went downstairs he pressed his nose against his newborn daughter’s neck. “Tiny Sabahat Hanım,” he said, “you’ve already gone and upset your mother for not being a boy, but I’m going to ensure you’re educated as though you were one. And God willing, when you’re all grown up, you’ll be a dynamo.” Then he sat down on the stairs, whispered the name Sabahat and a brief prayer into his daughter’s ear, and ritually breathed on her.

  In the anteroom on the second floor, Leman was seated at the piano playing a love song she’d recently memorized for Mahir.

  “Play something proper, my girl,” Saraylıhanım called out as she passed by. “Enough of that jingle-jangle. Play something that sounds like music.”

  “It’s a chanson, nana.”

  “Shamson! Play something with a decent melody. Something Mahir Bey will enjoy.”

  “Don’t mind nana, efendim. She objects to everything,” said Leman, slightly embarrassed that her grandmother was ignorant of the latest French songs.

  “Ah, the children these days,” groused Saraylıhanım, “so disrespectful to their elders. God save us, and it’s all Reşat Bey’s doing, he does spoil them so. May he not come to regret it one day!”

  In order to avoid the squabbling of Saraylıhanım and the girls, Ahmet Reşat had descended to the selamlık. When he found himself alone there with Mahir Bey he said, “Saraylıhanım is having difficulty adapting to the changing times, bless her, and she insists on taking it out on the girls. If only we’d all
managed to adapt and modernize none of this would have happened. But we resisted change of any kind and we failed to adapt to the new age. And because we’ve failed to develop on our own, we’ve been forced to develop by those same countries we’re forced to borrow money from. But coercion only achieves so much . . . It can’t do any more.”

  “Neither the public nor the Sultan look favorably upon the idea of freedom and independence. I can understand the Sultan’s objections. Who would possibly curb his own power?”

  “The Europeans have, efendim! Their kings all have parliaments and legislative assemblies. They share their power with parliament. We’re the only ones who have failed at that.”

  The two men spoke at some length on state affairs. Both were deeply saddened by the humiliation of their empire and sat for a time with heads hung, in silence. “You know,” Ahmet Reşat finally said, “the best piece of luck we have is that neverending enmity between the French and the British. Their rivalry is our opportunity. Had they unfailingly agreed with each other, we’d have been finished long ago.”

  “We’ve also benefited enormously from the rivalry between Greece and Italy. Otherwise, the Italians would never have helped us smuggle weapons into Anatolia.”

  “I’ve always been rather fond of the Italians,” said Ahmet Reşat,” and count some of them among my closest friends. Look, why don’t you spend the night here. I’ll have a bed made up for you here in the selamlık.”

  “Your household is busy as it is. I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you any further,” Mahir protested.

  “Neither the tramway nor the ferryboats are running at this hour. You’ve got no choice.”

  “That’s what happens when you get engrossed in conversation,” Mahir said. “Well, we did have a lot of catching up to do.”

  “I’ll have Gülfidan make up your bed straight away.”

  When Ahmet Reşat had left the room Mahir reflected on their conversation. As far as he understood, the recent matter of Wrangel was deeply troubling to Ahmet Reşat, who was already contending with a thousand and one other problems. Even as the movement in Anatolia desperately battled the enemy, new troubles seemed to be emerging from every quarter. Everyone with a secret agenda seemed to be swarming into what remained of the empire. Naturally! Wolves stalk when the air is hazy. And at that moment in history, a dusty miasma lay over the land of the Ottomans.