Farewell: A Mansion in Occupied Istanbul (Turkish Literature)

by Kulin, Ayse

  “Good heavens! I wonder what he wants?”

  “I can’t say I understand exactly. There’s a list of some kind . . . He insisted on seeing you himself. My word, Reşat Bey, today, of all days, why on earth did you have to come home so late?” asked Behice.

  – 23 –

  Farewell

  Ahmet Reşat studied the early morning, mist-shrouded vision of Istanbul rising from the waters of the Bosphorus, minarets reaching for the skies. He stood tall and unblinking on the shore, imprinting upon his mind a spectacle he’d probably never see again. Drawing the cool sea air deep into his lungs, he closed his eyes and listened to the city. He would impress Istanbul upon all five of his senses. Later, much later, in his mind’s eye, he would behold the minarets and domes, the Bosphorus shading blue to green; his nose would fill with the richness of kelp, the tang of salt, of coal smoke; his ears would ring with the metallic rattling of a tram, the deep moan of a passing ferryboat, the raucous cry of street vendor and gull. He would remember.

  He would never forget.

  Mahir was standing a little way off, and when Ahmet Reşat sensed the doctor approach, he lightly coughed to clear the disquieting lump from his throat, turned to his friend, and said, “Mahir Bey, I can’t expect you to watch over my family while I’m gone, but it would greatly ease my mind if you’d concern yourself with the health of the two newborns.”

  “Rest assured, efendim. I will be caring not only for the babies but for your entire family. If my work in the city is done before you return, I’ll request appointment to a hospital in Istanbul. And if they still insist on posting me to the countryside I’ll resign immediately.”

  “I have no right to burden you with such a responsibility. I only ask that you look in on them from time to time. Behice Hanım doesn’t have a head for figures. If you could help her, perhaps. Ah, if only Kemal were alive . . .”

  The lump was back; Ahmet Reşat went quiet.

  “Reşat Beyefendi . . . I’m having some difficulty putting this into words . . . I’m rather discomfited, but I really feel I must speak to you about a certain matter, and there’s so little time . . .”

  “Yes, do go on, Mahir Bey.”

  “I’m well aware of the difference in our ages, but I do feel that, in your absence, in order to still the wagging tongues of the ladies and to preclude any unsavory speculation, that… were I to request Leman Hanım’s hand in marriage . . . were we to become formally engaged and marry only upon your return . . .”

  “Mahir, asking you to take care of my family is one thing, but this is something entirely different. How could you assume such extravagant generosity? And furthermore, Leman is but a girl.”

  “Leman Hanım is sixteen years old. She’ll be seventeen by the time you return. We can wait.”

  “You mustn’t sacrifice yourself like that on our behalf.”

  “Reşat Beyefendi, it would be no act of self-sacrifice. You see, I greatly admire Leman Hanım.”

  “Oh!”

  “Please don’t misunderstand. She’s a young woman now, and I’m very fond of her. If events hadn’t unfolded in the way that they have, I would never have been bold enough to admit you into my confidence. My admiration would have remained a secret. But circumstances have changed. You shouldn’t leave your house without the protection of a man.”

  “I never noticed that my girl was grown up. Between work and state affairs, it seems like I’ve never even had time to look at my children. I’ve missed out on life, Mahir. And now, life is sending me to a strange land . . .” Ahmet Reşat stared into the distance through tears.

  “Is your response in the affirmative, efendim? Do you consent to take me as your son-in-law?”

  “Could there be a more agreeable groom, Mahir? You’re my dearest friend. Our families have been intimate for generations. Still, I have to consult my wife and daughter first. After all, it’s Leman who’s getting married.”

  “If they consent too, we can be betrothed this evening, before you leave.”

  “I’ll go home and discuss it with my family. If there are any objections, our friendship won’t suffer, surely?

  “Never. I would still look after your family and remain in Istanbul until you returned.”

  “I can’t ask that of you. Let me speak to my daughter . . . then we’ll talk again.”

  “Reşat Beyefendi, you will let me know, won’t you? Even if…”

  “Of course I will. I’ll have Hüsnü Efendi deliver a letter to the hospital.”

  “I’ll be waiting at home,” Mahir said. “It’s closer.”

  “Very well. I’d like to walk along the shore for a bit. The letter will be in your hand right after noon prayers, Mahir Bey.”

  Mahir said good-bye to Ahmet Reşat and strode off towards Sirkeci, his cape fluttering behind him; but whether he was walking or flying, he himself couldn’t have said.

  When Mahir was out of sight Ahmet Reşat sank onto a boulder and gazed into the distance. The sun had not yet risen; the sea stretching out before him had not yet been irradiated a brilliant blue: it was opalescent and shot with rays of red piercing through the low bank of clouds on the opposite shore. The ancient peninsula behind him seemed to enfold Ahmet Reşat, blanketing him in its glories, its transgressions and its virtues. He had been born and grown to manhood here in this city of narrow lanes flowing down to the water’s edge, of crimson vines and dark-green cypresses, of simple wooden houses garlanded with the magenta blossoms of the judas tree, of great lonely squares and a bustling bridge linking the Muslim and Christian quarters: this was a city old, proud and unrivalled.

  Tomorrow, at about this time, the strip of coast now under his feet would slowly pass before his eyes, above it the domes of the old palace and minarets like pens pointing to the sky, as he stood on the deck of an Italian ship, bound for exile, leaving behind his home, his family, his relatives and his friends. He wouldn’t be there to admire Leman in her bridal veil or to dandle his grandchildren on his knee. He wouldn’t be there to see Suat blossoming into young womanhood, the crinkles forming in the corners of Behice’s beautiful eyes and lips, Sabahat and Halim taking their first steps, his aunt’s last years on this earth: in short, he wouldn’t be there to witness any of the ordinary things that give life meaning and consequence.

  His rigorous education, his years of hard work and duty on three continents on behalf of the empire, the orders of merit he’d always made light of, his devoted and dedicated service . . . to a Sultan he had blamed just days ago for having fled on an English destroyer, like a traitor.

  No, he couldn’t blame His Majesty any more than he could blame himself. The poor Sultan had been forced to shoulder problems that had been accumulating for centuries. Finally, the volatile accumulation of lies, the tricks, the plundering, the ignorance, the greed, the cronyism, the bigotry, the thousands of missteps committed in the name of religion, the corruption, the profiteering, in combination with the insatiable appetite of the European states, had exploded in his hand, burning one and all.

  The Sultan was gone. And he too would be going. He repeated the same question to himself: Where was he going, and why?

  Was he running off just to live among strangers, his identity and character in tatters as he struggled to survive . . . To breath in and breath out . . . To eat, drink, and sleep?

  To eat and drink?

  With what money and for how long? Trying to survive on the bit of money he hoped to obtain from the family income . . . What if he lived for a long time? And if the properties he’d pinned all his hopes on were seized—something that could happen at any moment—how would he and his family scrape by? There were six females to consider, two of them babies, one of whom was still in swaddling clothes, an elderly woman, a child, and, perhaps, only Mahir to look after them! Mahir! Had Allah sent Mahir to protect and look after his family? Actually, he could surrender his family to the care of his father-in-law, but İbrahim Bey was now too old to leave his small town and settle in the big
city. And he couldn’t even imagine Behice and his daughters at the farm.

  He gazed at the red ripples on the surface of the water, now becoming marbled with yellow, as though an invisible hand was doing ebru, drawing sharp lines that suddenly softened and merged. If he were to walk out into the sea . . . lift the boulder he was sitting on and walk out… if he were to let himself be slowly swallowed up, sink into the shimmering, marbled water, just off shore. To sink, like the empire he was preparing to abandon. Was his soul so very precious? Wasn’t God going to claim it one day, anyway?

  Ahmet Reşat stood up. Stumbling slightly, he walked the length of the shore, gazing out over a sea now, finally, turning a deep blue. His shoulders sagged and his neck was lost inside his coat. He’d lost his hope, his expectations and his future. The only thing he would be able to give his family from now on was sorrow. And sadness, worry, and maybe even—God forbid—shame. Some would brand his daughters the children of a traitor. That’s what they’d call his loved ones: the wife of a traitor, the aunt of a traitor, the relatives of a traitor. He thought back to the terrible scene with Kemal. “You’ll have me known as the uncle of a traitor! Get out of my sight!” he’d said to his helpless nephew.

  “Allah,” he prayed to himself, “Allah, what have I done that I’m destined for such a life?”

  As he considered once again the safety of his family, he hoped with all his heart that his daughter would accept Mahir’s marriage proposal.

  Tearing open the envelope the moment Hüsnü Efendi handed it to him, Mahir skipped straight to the last lines.

  “Hüsnü Efendi,” he shouted to the servant, who had begun to descend the steps but now stopped, turned round and asked, “What is it sir?”

  “Come here.” Fishing through his pockets Mahir extracted every coin he could find and dumped them into the palm of the servant, who was standing at the front door again. Hüsnü Efendi’s bewildered eyes traveled from his cupped hand to Mahir’s face.

  “Is there something you’d like me to purchase for you, sir?”

  “No. That’s a tip.”

  “Sir, that’s rather a lot of money.”

  “You’ve brought me wonderful news, efendi. Tell everyone I’ll be around the moment afternoon prayers are read.” When Hüsnü Efendi had dutifully trotted off the doctor raced inside, sat on the first chair that presented itself and began savoring each word of the letter. Leman had accepted his proposal. Behice Hanım and Saraylıhanım had voiced no objections; on the contrary, they were most pleased. He was expected for dinner.

  When Mahir arrived at the house, he was ushered by the housekeeper not into the selamlık but directly upstairs to the sitting room. A dinner à la française had been laid on the table in the anteroom. No one was there yet. Mahir set an enormous box of lokum on the console, took a seat on the divan in front of the window and looked outside. The street was in darkness, the lone streetlight at the top of the hill wasn’t burning. Dark streets for dark times. But Mahir was inwardly radiant, if slightly ashamed to be so amid the gloom of everyday life.

  When Ahmet Reşat entered the room he sprang to his feet.

  “My dear man, I’m quite relieved to inform you that my daughter apparently returns your feelings. So, my Leman has reached an age where she’s able to have feelings for men, it’s all quite astonishing for me,” he said.

  Mahir flushed. Reşat Bey was saying that Leman had feelings for him. He was saying other things, too, but, for a moment, Mahir didn’t hear a word above the pounding of his heart.

  “ . . . So, what do you think of my idea, Mahir Bey? Since there are no longer any men at home, there’s no need for a selamlık. As I was saying, if you’d like to remain in Istanbul after the nuptials and open your own clinic, you can use the selamlık.”

  “We’ll hold the wedding only after your return, efendim.”

  “I might never return. Our families will hold the engagement ceremony, then you can wait a bit for the wedding, until Leman is at least seventeen.”

  “We’ll all be there at the wedding.”

  Ahmet Reşat sighed, but didn’t give voice to his doubts. A few moments later, Saraylıhanım, Behice and Suat came into the room. Disappointed to see that Leman had not yet made an appearance, Mahir rose to his feet and greeted the ladies, kissing Suat on both cheeks.

  “Oh, you needn’t have bothered, Mahir Bey,” said Behice as she accepted the box of lokum and handed it to the house- keeper with instructions to arrange its contents in the silver bowl reserved for sweets. “Mehpare’s taken a curling iron to Leman’s hair. They’ll be down shortly,” she reassured Mahir as she sat down.

  “Mahir Bey,” she continued, “Saraylıhanım had noted your interest in Leman but I, for the life of me, wouldn’t have thought such a thing possible. Well, may it all be for the best. Now we’ll have a man at the head of the household and we women won’t go unprotected until my husband returns.”

  “I remain forever at your disposal, efendim,” Mahir said.

  “You’re too kind, Mahir Bey.”

  “With your permission, I’d like to become engaged tonight, while Reşat Bey is still here.”

  “Aren’t we rushing things a little?” Saraylıhanım protested. “Shouldn’t we wait for my Kemal?”

  “If we act in haste, it is only because Reşat Bey is leaving,” Mahir said.

  “It might be the last such occasion on which I’m able to share my daughter’s joy,” said Ahmet Reşat.”

  “How can you say such things, Reşat Bey,” Behice cried.

  “Please don’t wear yourself down with such unhappy thoughts. You’ll be back in a few months. You’ll prove your innocence . . .” Her eyes filled with tears.

  “Have I committed a crime that I’m now forced to prove my innocence?” asked Ahmet Reşat. “Is it a crime not to betray an institution of which you yourself are a part?”

  “Reşat Bey, you were on the losing side. That’s your crime. It’s as simple as that. And if Kemal were alive, he’d be on the winning side,” Behice said.

  “Kemal’s alive. You’ll see, he’ll be here soon, within a few weeks.”

  No one took any notice of Saraylıhanım. “It’s not as simple as that, efendim,” Mahir explained to Behice. “Reşat Beyefendi may not have actively opposed the Sultan but he was of great service to the winning side and to the liberation of our country . . . Behind the scenes, of course. And none of us expected the Sultan to flee.”

  “It was suggested that he might,” said Ahmet Reşat. “That may well be. But he didn’t have to flee.”

  “Anyone in his position would have done the same. Am I not fleeing myself?”

  “You’re not the sultan.”

  Behice tactfully changed the subject. “Mahir Bey, the army barracks have always harbored resentment for the Sultan. Why is that?”

  “That hasn’t always been true, efendim. Only since the reign of Abdülhamit. And, really, can you blame them?”

  Ahmet Reşat was preparing to weigh in when Leman and Mehpare arrived. Leman’s long hair curled down past her shoulders; a hint of kohl had brought out her eyes; she wore a pale lilac dress with a lace collar. All else forgotten, Mahir stared at the girl framed in the doorway, smiling at him.

  Ahmet Reşat was as impressed by his daughter’s beauty as Mahir—and considerably more surprised. He thought back to the swaddled baby in his arms. He’d missed so much of his eldest daughter’s life and now he might not be there to see his younger girls grow up.

  “Welcome, efendim.”

  Both men snapped out of their reveries at the sound of Leman’s voice. Mahir drew her extended hand to his lips. Leman seemed equally taken aback and pleased to have received her first kiss. Pleased to be the center of attention and perfectly aware that her beauty had enchanted Mahir, she realized that everyone in the room had now accepted her as an adult.

  “Now that everyone’s here, we can go in to dinner,” Behice said.

  Mahir stood up. “This morning, I received
your permission to propose to Leman Hanım,” he said. “And so, here and now, in your presence, I would like to formally request the hand of Leman Hanım in marriage.” He turned, looked into Leman’s eyes and asked, “Would you accept me as your husband?”

  Saraylıhanım stirred furiously on the divan, outraged that a marriage proposal would be made directly to a girl, even as her elders were present and available to give their consent. So, the family would have yet another member recklessly enraptured with all things modern! Everyone was silent for a moment. Leman kept her eyes bashfully lowered. Mahir’s heart leapt to his throat.

  Finally, in a low voice: “If my father deems it suitable . . .”

  “But what about you, Leman Hanım?” After a momentary show of reluctance, prettily feigned, “Yes, efendim,” she said.

  Turning to Reşat Bey, Mahir asked, “In that case, would you now permit us to be become engaged?”

  “They already have,” said Saraylıhanım. “But anyway, Kemal was always so fond of you.”

  Mahir smiled and pulled a diamond ring out of his pocket. “Then may this engagement bring blessings upon us all.” Mahir slid the ring onto Leman’s finger. He pulled a second ring out of his pocket and handed it to her. With shaking hands she slid the silver ring onto Mahir’s finger. It was the first time Saraylıhanım had seen a girl place a ring onto the finger of her betrothed. The family elders were supposed to do it! Was the man mad!

  “Leman Hanım, in two days I will be coming to visit you again, accompanied by my elder sister, Şahber Hanım, to bring our family jewels and our engagement gifts. Forgive me for not having been able to complete all the preparations today,” Mahir said.

  “You’ve prepared everything wonderfully, efendim. All right everyone, please go in to dinner,” Behice said, leading the way.

  They were all just about to sit down at the table when they heard a baby crying overhead.

  Mehpare rushed off.

  “Is that Halim crying?” asked Mahir.

  “No, that would be Sabahat. It’s feeding time, you see,” Leman said.