Istanbul Passage

by Joseph Kanon

  “A speculation. Tommy found out.”

  “What?”

  “That his information is worthless. Something wasn’t right, so he became suspicious. He had a mind like that.”

  “Tommy?”

  Melnikov nodded. “A suspicious man.”

  “Of you, maybe.”

  “Me, certainly. That was his job. And now of Jianu. The minute Jianu sees this, Tommy’s dead. He’s a fantasist, Jianu, but good at protecting himself.”

  “A fantasist. Of course, that’s exactly what you’d want us to think.”

  “But you won’t. You’ll believe him. Whatever he says. A good thing for us, in fact. This has been discussed. Let the Americans have him—believe his lies.”

  “But you want him back.”

  “A question of discipline. In the end, more important. A man who betrays?” He shook his head. “He dies,” he said flatly. “And he will.”

  “Still Stalingrad.”

  Melnikov peered at him, not expecting this, but decided not to respond. “So, is that an answer?” he said, walking away.

  “What was that about?” Georg said, apprehensive. “Such talk. What, Stalingrad?”

  Leon turned to him. “He shot his own men. The ones the Nazis didn’t get.”

  “For defeatism. Disloyalty to the Party.” An automatic response, then, avoiding Leon’s eyes, “He was a hero in the war.”

  “So was Hitler. To millions. It depends where you sit. Christ, Georg. You brought him to Lily’s?”

  “She asked me to bring him.”

  “Someone like that?”

  Georg shrugged. “She arranges meetings. That’s what her parties are. So people can meet.”

  “And who wants to meet him?”

  “I don’t know. You give your old friend too much credit. Would they tell me?” He looked up, a faint smile, a peace offering. “Please, such things. You know where I sit. I’m a Marxist.”

  “He isn’t. He’s a thug. Or can’t you tell the difference anymore?”

  Georg took a step back. “You’re upset. He said something?”

  “Do you know what he is? You must, running errands for him.”

  “Leon.”

  “Part of the dialectic, is that it?”

  “To accept contradictions? Yes.”

  “He threatened to kill me. I’m your friend. How do you reconcile that one?”

  “Threatened you?”

  “He also seems to think I’ll do anything if he waves a dollar bill in my face. Where’d he get that idea? You? Did you tell him he could buy me?”

  “Buy. Some information comes to you. A piece of luck. Why shouldn’t you profit from that?”

  “My fucking four-leaf clover.” He looked over. “Buy, Georg. You made the same offer. It must be what you think.”

  “He asked me to. Not such a nice character. As you say. So I did.” For a second neither said anything, a willed slowing down.

  “Why do you still do it?” Leon said finally. “People like that.”

  “He’s nothing,” Georg said. “But the war— I wanted to help.” He looked up. “Didn’t you?”

  “Help who? That country in your head?”

  Georg’s face went slack.

  “It’s not Russia, the one up there,” Leon said. “It’s not real.”

  “Maybe to me,” Georg said quietly.

  “He is, though. And the people he’s killed. That’s what it is there now.”

  Georg stared at his drink. “Not here,” he said, a finger to his temple. “You don’t know how it was. How much we were going to do. You know I knew Rosa? Luxemburg? The current of history, that’s what she said we had. We could sweep away—” He stopped. “Then they came, the Melnikovs. Maybe they were always there. I knew after Trotsky. But the idea, to keep that alive— So was it right? I don’t know. But it’s too late now. To find another one.” He paused, then finished his glass. “Don’t be offended. It’s not personal.”

  “You were the first friend we had in Istanbul.”

  Georg put his hand on Leon’s arm. “And I’m the only one who’s changed?”

  Leon said nothing, suddenly aware again of the voices around them, the Turkish musicians playing in one of the alcoves.

  “It was different before,” Georg said. “Everything was different. Now, what’s the same? Maybe Anna. Only she’s the same.”

  Leon moved his arm, the name like some physical intrusion, separating them. The noise of the party seemed to get louder.

  “You should take her home,” Georg said, his voice an echo of Melnikov’s, the same bait, what they’d agreed.

  Leon stared at him, white hair and apple cheeks, caught now too, everyone different, except Anna.

  “Where would I get the money?” he said, still staring, until Georg looked away, embarrassed.

  He walked across the big room to the garden entrance, a low-railed seating area with divans and an arched ceiling glowing with mother-of-pearl. Two men smoking a water pipe looked up, waiting until he passed before they started talking again.

  The garden was colder than he expected. He lit a cigarette, looking back at the bright, busy house. People passing in and out of the dining room, standing with meze plates, servants with trays of glasses, flutes of champagne, fruit juices for the observant. One of Lily’s parties. Where you could arrange an import license or plant a story in Hürriyet or hint at an arrangement outside official channels. They’d had a special excitement during the war, Germans across the room, drinking the same wine, British officers just in from Alexandria, Romanians who seemed to belong nowhere, buying and selling. He wondered who wanted to meet Melnikov, say something over a champagne glass that couldn’t be said in an office, but Melnikov had disappeared, swallowed up in the crowd.

  The old parties had seemed more frivolous, flashbulb occasions for the newspapers, but maybe they’d always been the same, little marketplaces, people bargaining, Leon too naïve to notice. Both of them naïve, relieved to be out of Germany, the flowers and soft Bosphorus night part of a larger happiness. Inside, a skirt rushed by one of the dining room windows, and he saw Anna’s dress, the one she’d bought for that first party. “How do I look?” Pleased with herself, buoyant, thinking the dress was a success, when it was really the shiny skin, just being young.

  “Everyone is so nice,” she’d said, “don’t you think?”

  “They like a new face.”

  They were standing by an umbrella pine, the air heavy with fresh resin.

  “And you? Not so new to you.”

  “No,” he said, putting his hand up to her cheek, just brushing it.

  She leaned into his hand, a cat’s movement. “Oh, it’s wrong to be so happy.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “Think of my parents.”

  “They’ll get out.”

  “Buying dresses. Going to parties. Champagne. Who gets to do these things now?”

  “You do,” he said, stroking her cheek.

  “Isn’t it terrible? I’m so happy.” She looked up at him. “I don’t want anything to change. And it will.”

  “What?”

  “Things. Everything changes.” She looked up, a smile. “Maybe not you. So stubborn. So that’s lucky, yes?” she said, her voice throaty, a German inflection, something she would always have, like a fingerprint. She looked back toward the party. “How does she know so many people?”

  “Her husband’s rich. That makes you a lot of friends.”

  “No, they like her. You can tell.”

  Everyone charming then in their new eyes, the room dancing with light. Maybe they simply hadn’t been aware of it, the quiet introductions, the plotting, any of it. Just the sound of dresses swishing, voices spilling out, lapping at the garden.

  “It’s really true? She was in the harem? To meet someone like that.”

  “You could be in a harem,” he said, his face closer, already wanting to go home, those days when they couldn’t get enough of each other.


  “Oh, a dancing girl. With those pants you can see through. Me, a hausfrau.” She looked at him, eyes shining. “Frau Bauer. What if you had never come to Germany?”

  “You’d have found someone else.”

  “No. I’d have waited.”

  “Yes?”

  She nodded. “I’d have waited.”

  For an instant, the memory was so real that he felt her breath on his face. He dropped the cigarette. Before all the luck had run out. But maybe it hadn’t, not all of it. Isn’t that what Georg called it, a piece of luck, meaning something else? Turn the board around. Tommy was gone and no one knew. One word, an address to Melnikov, and Alexei would disappear and no one would know that, either. Money in the bank, a fresh start, for a man not worth saving. A fresh start for Anna. Maybe a chance for her to come back. And Leon still lucky, in the clear, while Frank turned the consulate inside out, every trail getting colder. None of them leading to Leon. He moved the men around the board in his head, looking for the flaw. A straight play, no piece lurking on the side. Except Melnikov, who would know and use that to put Leon in check, another Georg, his man now, cheap at the price.

  “A penny for your thoughts.”

  He turned to the house, his vision hazy, out of focus.

  “All right, a Turkish lira,” Kay said. She was leaning against the doorjamb, watching him, elbow tucked in, holding a cigarette, its smoke curling up past her face. “Two liras?”

  He smiled, back now. “Not worth it. How long have you been there?”

  “Where do you go? When you go off like that?”

  “I was just thinking about Lily’s parties. The way they used to be.”

  “They were different?” she said, walking over to him.

  “Not really, I guess. They just seemed different.”

  “Everyone was younger,” she said, a gentle tease.

  He dipped his head. “That, and the way they spent. Buckets of caviar then.”

  “You could have fooled me,” Kay said, glancing back at the party. “I had no idea she was down to her last nickel. I mean, my god, a fountain in the middle of the living room.”

  “Sofa,” he said then, seeing her expression, “the main hall.” He nodded to a seating area. “I guess that’s where we got the word. Usually there’d be a brazier in the middle, for heat. Fountain out in the garden. Whoever built this was showing off. The layout’s traditional, though. You’d be received in the sofa.” He gestured with his hand, a tour guide. “And mostly you stayed there. But if you were a favored guest, you’d go there, into the selamlik, the men’s quarters.”

  “And the women?”

  “The other side,” he said, pointing. “Where the dining room is now. See the alcoves around the main room? That’s where you sat. No furniture, not like this anyway. All the chairs. It’s a hodgepodge now. Like Istanbul. It can’t decide what it wants to be.”

  Kay stared at the house. “I used to feel that sometimes, didn’t you?” She looked at him. “No, I guess not. Not you. Men. I used to hate it, when I was little. ‘What do you want to be when you grow up?’”

  “What did you say?”

  “Oh, nurse, mostly. You had to say something or they wouldn’t leave you alone.”

  “But what did you want?”

  “What did I want?” she said. “To be married, I guess. I wanted to be safe.”

  “So you got what you wanted,” he said, a question.

  “Yes.” She looked up at him. “And what did you want to be?”

  “I don’t know. What do kids want? Something exciting.” He looked over. “Not safe. Well, and safe at the same time.”

  “Yes.” She drew on the cigarette, her eyes still on him, some conversation she was having with herself.

  “You enjoying the party? Don’t let Lily wear you out.”

  She shook her head. “I feel like it’s someone else, not me. Everybody making a fuss.”

  “Somebody new.”

  “Meaning it won’t last? I don’t care. I have to go back anyway. Put away my new dress. Not that you noticed. Just like Frank. I wear a dress like this and you don’t even notice.”

  “I noticed,” he said, looking at the open neckline.

  She turned her head away and dropped her cigarette. “I didn’t mean like that.” She hesitated. “Maybe I did,” she said, looking back at him. “Anyway, you’re not Frank, are you?”

  “No.”

  “No,” she repeated, still looking. “I can say things to you. I don’t know why. And then I can’t,” she said, her voice running out.

  “What?”

  “Before. I was standing there and all I could think—” She stopped, then took a breath and put her hand on his sleeve. “Do something for me.” Her eyes green again in the light from the house, darting across his face.

  He looked at her, waiting, aware of her hand, the warmth of her, then felt her reach up, pulling his face down to hers. Her mouth just brushed his, a soft pressing, testing, then opened to him, a sudden urgency, as if he were going to be taken away. He put his hand behind to draw her closer, surprised at his own response, alive to her, feeling her down the length of his body. When he started to move away, she held his face to hers again, lips still open, their mouths wet now, excited. They pulled away at the same time, out of breath, staring. Not just a kiss in the garden, neither of them talking, Leon hard.

  He moved first, reaching for his handkerchief and slowly wiping the lipstick from his mouth, his eyes still on hers, some line crossed. No need to do it again, neck like kids. She reached over, taking the handkerchief, daubing a spot at the corner of his mouth, intimate, the way people were with each other after sex.

  The noise of the party inside seemed farther away, the air in the garden still, broken only by night sounds, rustlings. He put away his handkerchief, glancing through the French windows. A few people passing, talking to one another, Dr. Obstbaum standing, looking straight at them. Leon felt the blood pulse through him, a rush of shame. Then Obstbaum turned away, even more embarrassed, as if he could tell, more than a kiss and now none of them safe.

  “What is it?”

  “Somebody I know.”

  “Did he see?”

  “I think so.”

  “Well—” she said lightly, wanting it to pass, looking at him again.

  “My wife’s doctor.”

  “Oh,” she said, physically backing away, some spill spreading toward them.

  “I’m sorry,” Leon said. “I mean, in public. To embarrass you like that.”

  “He doesn’t know me. He knows you,” she said. “Anyway.” She came closer. “It was my idea.”

  “Still.”

  “Still,” she said, looking at him, eyes brown now, only flecks of green.

  “We’d better go in,” he said.

  “In a minute. Just stay for a minute.” Letting the air settle around them, holding on.

  “Look—” he started.

  “I’ve never been unfaithful to Frank,” she said, her voice flat, so that he wasn’t sure what she meant, how to respond.

  “There you are.” Lily’s voice from the steps. “Don’t hide. Everyone wants to meet you.”

  “Everyone has,” Kay said, smiling, a quicksilver moment, Leon a beat behind.

  Lily came out toward them. “A tryst in the garden,” she said, teasing. “Really, Leon. Like a play.”

  “My fault,” Kay said. “I wanted a cigarette. You know how people are—a woman smoking.”

  “Mm, look at them,” Lily said, turning her head to the party. “Stealing husbands. The silver too. Yes, you’d be surprised. But smoke and they’re offended.” She turned back to Leon. “Am I interrupting something?”

  “Would that stop you?” he said, smiling, but still shaken. Do something for me.

  “Of course not. If I am, then it’s a reputation at stake,” she said, having fun, watching them.

  “Not yet,” Kay said easily. “Just a cigarette.”

  “What happened to
your Russian?” Leon said, moving somewhere else. “Bringer of caviar.”

  “Yes, I know, dreadful. But important now. Not very distingué, though, are they, the new ones? Remember the Germans? Of course, terrible people, but the consul was charming. Four languages. Not like the Japanese. You remember, Leon? Two of them. Never a word. Not one. Bowing only. Then like birds, picking at the food, making little sounds.”

  Kay laughed. “And how were the Americans?”

  “Oh, serious. They’re always serious.”

  “Always?” Leon said, half listening.

  “Always. They want to save the world. You have to be serious for that.”

  “The Russians are serious,” Leon said. “What do they want to do? Or didn’t Melnikov say?”

  Lily shot him a look. “Everybody knows what they want to do,” she said, then turned to Kay, light again. “You see? Even Leon. Serious. I had such hopes.”

  Kay nodded, smiling. “But not as bad as they are in Ankara. Not yet,” she said to Leon.

  He glanced back. Something different in her voice, private. Could anyone else hear it?

  “No,” Lily was saying. “So why now at the consulate?” She poked his shoulder gently. “What does it mean?”

  “Just filling in.”

  “Yes? They say you’re a detective now.”

  “Who says?”

  “On dit,” Lily said, brushing this a way. “And have you found him yet? The killer?”

  “No.”

  “No suspects?”

  “Your new guest is everybody’s favorite,” he said, motioning toward the dining room. “At the consulate anyway.”

  “But how could it be? He wasn’t even in Istanbul that night.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Oh, people say things. They think I don’t hear. You know, at Yildiz—you learned to listen. Every sound. A long time ago, but it’s a lesson you don’t forget.”

  “What else are they saying?”

  Lily waved her hand. “Gossip. That’s why I ask you. But you don’t tell me. So come. Before people talk. I don’t care for myself. Refik can’t hear anymore. But Mrs. Bishop—”

  “Refik was your husband?” Kay said.

  “Yes. And jealous too. Ouf. I think it amused him. Some men are like that. They think every man is—”

  “Every man probably was,” Leon said.