The Black Rose of Halfeti

by Nazli Eray

  “Please,” said King Darius.

  I took the glass of sherbet from the tray.

  To myself, I was saying, “Oh, if Buñuel would only come and see this man . . . it would be incredible! King Darius. This man, a sovereign from who knows how many thousands of years ago.”

  And the ancient man was sitting in the Seyr-i Mardin looking at Mesopotamia.

  Alop the slave took his place behind the king again.

  King Darius was silent and motionless as a statue, examining our surroundings with his gleaming eyes.

  I took a sip from the rose sherbet. It was marvelous, made with lemon. As though it had been specially prepared for King Darius.

  “Were you expecting someone?” King Darius asked.

  “No,” I said. “I like it here. I come and sit here when I have free time. The region, this silence, this extraordinary city behind us, in short everything here affects me.”

  King Darius slowly nodded.

  “It’s like that around here,” he said. “It’s a confined world here. Enchanting and mysterious. It doesn’t easily let anyone who comes in go away.”

  He turned to Alop the slave.

  “Fan us, my boy,” he said.

  Alop the slave pulled out a fan made of woven palm leaves from within his cape. He started to wave the fan gently above our heads.

  “Let’s cool off a little,” said King Darius. “The weather’s heating up. It’s hot here in the afternoon.”

  Alop the slave began to wave the fan a little more quickly now.

  “Your Majesty,” I said. “There’s an air conditioner in my room. There might be a place with air conditioning in the back of the Seyr-i Mardin. If it gets too oppressive, we could go there.”

  The king was intrigued.

  “What’s an air conditioner?”

  “It cools the air,” I said. “You’d like it.”

  “I’ve never heard of it,” said King Darius. He turned to the slave. “Have you heard of it, Alop?”

  “I never have, sire,” said Alop, bowing down to the ground.

  “Let me invite you to my hotel,” I said. “It’s very close by. We’ll turn on the air conditioner. You can cool off a little.”

  “Fine, let’s go,” said King Darius.

  Alop pulled the king’s chair back a little.

  We started to go down the steps of the Seyr-i Mardin with the king in front and me behind.

  In a short time we reached the street. There was no one to be seen in the noon heat.

  We started to walk toward the hotel.

  IZMIR

  “The doctor will come soon to do his rounds, visiting the wards and the private rooms,” said Mehdi. “The morning rounds.”

  I was going through my purse where I lay. I found my mirror with the handle decorated with multicolored stones that I had purchased from a street vendor on Istiklal Avenue. I took a look at my face. I looked without thinking about it, you know, and what I saw in the mirror was the face that I was used to seeing. I straightened out my hair a bit with my hand. My face was pale. It was clear that I was just beginning to struggle to get over the shock of falling in Varyant, breaking my ankle, and all of a sudden finding myself in 1949 Izmir.

  “That’s such a beautiful mirror!” said Mehdi the attendant. His eyes were fixed on the mirror I was holding, whose short handle was covered with sparkling red, green, and purple stones.

  “It’s a cheap little thing,” I said.

  “It doesn’t seem like that at all,” said Mehdi. “I’ve never seen a mirror like that before in all my life. It looks like it came out of a jewel box in a treasury.”

  I started to laugh.

  “You should see what else . . .”

  “It’s really unusual. Enjoy using it,” he said.

  There had to be a lighter set with stones in my purse as well. I got it on Istiklal too, from the same man. I rooted through my purse and found it. There was a bunch of grapes made from purple stones on it. The leaf of the grapes was worked with deep green-colored stones. I had bought it for ten liras and tossed it in my bag.

  “Take it,” I said, and held it out to Mehdi. “You should have it. Take it as a keepsake.”

  Mehdi’s eyes opened wide.

  “You’re giving me such a valuable thing . . .”

  “Take it. I don’t smoke.”

  The orderly took the lighter in his hand. He held it up to the light. He stared for a long time at the gleaming purple spray of grapes and the flashing sparkle of the green stones of the leaf.

  “Thank you very much,” he said. “This is the most valuable thing I own.”

  He took the lighter and put it in his pocket. Next to his cigarettes. The cheap Chinese lighter sold on the street had enchanted the hospital attendant in Izmir.

  I put the mirror in the flap of my purse and leaned back on the pillow.

  The women in the ward were talking with one another.

  “What does that new one who came have?”

  “Her ankle is broken, they say . . .”

  Their voices came to my ear. They sounded like magpies. The windows of the ward, which extended all the way up to the ceiling, were open. The sounds of Izmir and the smell of the sea were drifting in.

  The doctor was beside me.

  “How are you?” he asked. “How did the night go?”

  “I’m fine. I can’t move my foot. No other problem.”

  “Good. Did they give you a painkiller?”

  Mehdi jumped in. “They didn’t. She didn’t want it.”

  “Very good,” said the doctor. “I’m getting you up on your feet today.”

  I looked at his pale blue eyes and seemingly impassive face. In the morning light the lines of his face seemed somehow more defined; he looked rested. His whole appearance was immaculate. It was clear that he was a very fastidious person.

  “Walk in the hall a little with the nurse helping you,” he said. “You’ll use a cane.”

  Mehdi leapt up. “I’ll get the cane.”

  “Tell Nurse Muazzez to be careful when she lifts the patient up.”

  The doctor continued around the ward. He had left me.

  THE ZINCIRIYE HOTEL MARDIN

  I was walking quickly on the road in the Medrese Quarter. The hotel was across from the Zinciriye Medrese. King Darius was walking beside me with his silver-colored cape billowing out behind. Alop the slave followed us.

  We reached the hotel. I took my card from the reception desk and headed toward the elevator.

  “After you, King Darius.”

  “What is this? A little room?”

  “It’s an elevator. We’ll go upstairs in this.”

  King Darius got on the elevator. Alop also reluctantly got on. I pushed the button. The door closed. The elevator started to ascend slowly.

  King Darius asked in astonishment:

  “What is this? Where are we going?”

  “We’ve come up to the top floor, Your Majesty. So that we didn’t have to tire ourselves coming up the stairs.”

  The elevator door opened.

  We came out of the elevator, I in front, King Darius and Alop the slave behind. We started to walk down the stone hallway, the floor of which was covered with brightly colored carpets.

  “It’s unbelievable,” said King Darius. “A room that goes up in the air. Like an ancient tomb. But airy.”

  Alop the slave was very excited. He kept blushing and then turning pale. In his confusion he dropped his fan on the floor.

  “Calm down, Alop!” said King Darius.

  Alop made a reverence down to the floor. He picked up the fan he had dropped without showing it to the king and stuck it in the folds of his cape.

  “Is this where you’re staying?”

  “Here, King Darius.”

  I had come to my room. I opened the door with my card and entered.

  King Darius asked:

  “What’s that thing you opened the door with?”

  “A magnetic card. It�
��s a key, King Darius.”

  “Fascinating,” he said. We went into the room.

  “Now I’ll turn on the air conditioner for you. You’ll cool off.”

  “It’s nice in here,” said King Darius.

  Suddenly I realized that someone was reclining on the couch with the multicolored silk cushions. She was buried in the cushions, all curled up like a kitten.

  It was Silvia Pinal. When she saw that we had come, she sat up a little. She was staring in curiosity at King Darius and Alop the slave.

  “It seems you have a friend,” said King Darius. He was looking very attentively at Silvia Pinal lying amidst the cushions.

  Silvia Pinal straightened up and stood up now. She was barefoot, standing on the carpet. Her sandals decorated with jewels were lying next to the divan.

  “Silvia Pinal,” I said. “The famous star of the Mexican cinema. King Darius . . . king of this region, and his slave Alop.”

  King Darius took Silvia Pinal’s hands in his two palms with an elegant gesture. Alop the slave greeted the blonde by bowing to the ground.

  Silvia Pinal was confused.

  “Are you coming from a film set?” she asked me.

  “No. I came across the king at the Seyr-i Mardin. I brought him to my room to show him the air conditioner.”

  Silvia Pinal became more serious now. She bowed slightly toward King Darius. The king had still not let go of her hands.

  Silvia Pinal’s exotic perfume was wafting in waves across the room.

  King Darius looked at each corner of the room, as though he were trying to get a good sense of this strange world he had entered.

  “Please, sit down,” said King Darius to Silvia Pinal.

  He himself sat down next to Silvia Pinal on the couch with the cushions.

  I pushed the button on the air conditioner. A cool breeze immediately started to blow through the room.

  “Wind,” said King Darius. “The winter wind. How strange.”

  “No, it’s an air conditioner,” I said.

  Silvia Pinal said to me: “I hope I’m not disturbing you. I didn’t know you had a guest. I came to talk a little about that letter.”

  “What letter?” asked King Darius.

  “A letter that was delivered to me at midnight in the city of Ankara,” I said. “A message.”

  The king shook his head from side to side.

  “Was it something important?” he asked.

  “It was,” I said. “A letter that held a mirror up to a person’s soul. Maybe it was that letter that brought us all together here.”

  “Interesting,” said the king. “So a message . . . Does it have any connection with us?”

  “No. It only concerns me.”

  “It makes one curious,” said King Darius.

  Silvia Pinal whispered, “I’d like to read it.”

  “I can’t show that letter to everyone, Miss Pinal,” I said.

  “But you showed it to Buñuel.”

  I was silent.

  King Darius inquired: “Who is Buñuel?”

  “A very famous Spanish director. Miss Pinal is one of his stars,” I said. “She’s a star in his films.”

  “These are things I was completely unaware of,” said King Darius. “So you’re one of Buñuel’s stars?”

  “Yes,” said Silvia Pinal, inclining her head slightly.

  “A star . . . Are you in the sky?”

  “No, I’m on the earth,” said Silvia Pinal.

  “But you’re as beautiful as a star in the sky.”

  The Mexican actress blushed at this compliment from King Darius.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  I pushed the bell.

  “I’d like rose sherbet,” I said. “With ice, please. Four glasses. Put some cinnamon on it.”

  THE WINDOW IN ANKARA

  There was a stirring in the apartment building, a movement. There were sounds on the stairs.

  Elfe said: “The artichoke seller is here, I think.”

  We opened the door. There were snatches of conversation, women’s voices coming from upstairs. I saw the old doctor’s caretaker running down the steps toward us.

  She was very upset.

  “What’s the matter? Did something happen, Müveddet Hanım?” Elfe asked.

  “The doctor,” she said. “The doctor’s run away. Did he come to you, by any chance?”

  “He’s not here. Nobody’s come here,” Elfe replied.

  “He just quietly slipped out while we were putting out tea and biscuits in the salon! We have to find him!” said the woman. “He must have just gone out. He was in his pajamas. They’d notice him right away on the street.”

  Elfe and I became worried as well.

  “Where could he go? An old man . . . ,” I said.

  “He ran away,” said Müveddet. “I’ve had the feeling for days now that he was going to do something like this. And see, we let our guard slip. He just ran out the door.”

  “He must be somewhere right around here,” said Elfe. “Did he have any money on him?”

  “Not as far as I know. But he might have taken some,” said the woman. “He’s wanted to get away from here for a long time.”

  “Where does he want to go?” Elfe asked.

  “Who knows . . . ? To places where he used to live, to worlds that he thinks still exist,” said the woman. “He’s always imagining them. And he’s in love.”

  “In love?” I asked.

  I suddenly turned bright red.

  “Who’s he in love with?”

  “He didn’t say at all,” said Müveddet. “But he’s in love. I know. He used to sit in front of the window and wait all day long for his lover to come. Maybe there is no such woman. She was just an illusion. But the doctor is in love with her, I know that.

  WORLDS STILL THOUGHT TO EXIST

  The old doctor was sitting at one of the garden tables in the Mado Café in Tunalı Hilmi. He had on a shirt and a pair of pants. His slippers didn’t stand out and just seemed like a pair of sandals worn on this hot summer day.

  He was staring at the crowds passing by with his pale blue eyes, as though he were actually combing one by one through the people passing in front of Mado. There was a gleam of happiness and excitement in his eyes. It had been a good while since he succeeded in escaping from the prison where he had been imprisoned in his pajamas.

  He seemed entranced by the flood of people in front of him.

  A little while later he changed his place and went to one of the tables farther back.

  “Did the sun bother you, sir?” asked a waiter.

  “Yes, it got too hot.”

  He was on the alert and realized that someone in the crowd might notice him. Now in the shadows of the café he leaned back, as though adrift in thought.

  At the next table sat an old man with grey hair. He had come in leaning on his cane and picked a table in the back of the café.

  The doctor turned to him at one point. “Where is Gülhane from here?” he asked.

  “Which Gülhane?”

  “Gülhane Hospital . . . Where is it, I wonder?”

  “Really, I don’t know,” said the man at the next table. “Would you believe I’ve never heard of it? I just walk from the house and come here every day.”

  “I know Gülhane very well,” said the old doctor. “But I just can’t figure out where it is . . .”

  “You’ll find it, you will.”

  “I will. I’m determined to find it.”

  “Is it hard to find?” the old man at the next table asked. The hand reaching out for his coffee trembled slightly.

  “It’s not hard . . . but still it’s hard. It’s a strange thing,” said the old doctor.

  “My life passed there. It’s where I spent day and night.”

  “In this city?”

  “In this city. And someplace nearby too,” said the doctor.

  “Then you’ll find it.”

  “I intend to find it.”

&n
bsp; “Very easy things get hard. One day. Out of the blue,” said the grey-haired man.

  “It’s also as though hard things suddenly become easy,” said the old doctor. “To do what the spirit wants.”

  “Is that so? I can’t do it,” said the grey-haired man. “It’s not easy. I can’t do anything.”

  “You got here . . .”

  The grey-haired man moved slightly closer to the old doctor.

  “You know what?” he said. “I’m running away. From the house, from my wife, I’m running away.”

  The old doctor laughed.

  The man continued:

  “I want to escape from the city too, actually. To go farther away . . . My wife scares me. ‘You’ll fall into the hands of a gang of beggars,’ she says. ‘Then you’ll see.’”

  “I don’t think so. Nothing’s going to happen,” said the old doctor.

  He leaned back again. He was carefully scrutinizing the crowd passing in front of Mado.

  “Aren’t you having anything to drink, sir?” said the old man.

  “I forgot to bring money with me.”

  “Let me order you a coffee, if you permit.”

  “Thank you. I’ll pay you back tomorrow.”

  The old doctor’s black coffee arrived.

  He took a sip of his coffee.

  He surrendered himself into the arms of a world that was either familiar or completely unfamiliar.

  KING DARIUS AND SILVIA PINAL

  We were sipping our iced rose sherbets. The hotel room had become nice and cool.

  King Darius got up from his place and walked around a bit on the carpet.

  “The hot air is gone,” he said. “This is something extraordinary. Inside the room here it’s like an autumn day . . . Outside it’s roasting from the heat.”

  Silvia Pinal stared closely at this unusual man. The slave was behind the king, trailing after him wherever he went, and when the king sat down, he stood in readiness at his side.

  Silvia Pinal slowly asked King Darius:

  “Who is this young man? He seems very attached to you.”

  “That’s my slave. My slave Alop. And his father was my father’s slave. He’s a faithful slave.”

  “What does ‘slave’ mean?”

  “A slave, you know,” said King Darius. “Don’t you know what a slave is? My man. I control his freedom. He does everything I want, loves me, and protects me. A helping spirit.”