Istanbul Passage

by Joseph Kanon

  Leon stood for a few minutes looking down at the card, the noise of the party rising and falling at his back. A direct line to the Emniyet, something that would have seemed surreal a few days ago. He thought of the meeting he and Anna had had with the Gestapo before she had been allowed to leave, the usual summons to Prinz-Albrecht-Strasse, just a formality, all the exit papers in order, but his throat catching the whole time, feeling the sweat under his armpits. Now suddenly on that side of the desk, part of Atatürk’s secret army. Working together. You will keep me informed?

  He put the card back in his pocket, staring at the night garden, the main axis outlined with flickering candle lanterns, but the other paths dark. You had to squint to see them. He replayed the conversation to see how Altan had steered it, but it began to overlap with Melnikov’s. We will find him. But he won’t find him. Frank somewhere in the background too, all of them flailing, like the people in the water when the Bratianu sank, all reaching for him, he could see the hands outstretched, strong enough to pull him under. Protect yourself. Listen to what mattered: the border was being watched and the Greeks were waiting. Not Edirne. A new plan.

  “Leon, it’s too rude. Hiding out here. You’re supposed to be meeting people.” Lily standing behind him, holding two glasses, champagne the color of her hair.

  “They seem to be finding me,” he said, seeing Altan talking by the fountain.

  “Yes,” Lily said, following his look. “What’s he like? Halit brought him. Old friends, apparently, I don’t know how.”

  “Friendly,” Leon said, taking the glass she held out to him. “A big improvement on your Russian anyway.”

  “So everyone says. I think one time only for him, it’s enough. We’ll have to find another Russian. Some chargé d’affaires who doesn’t frighten people. So, my old friend,” she said, shifting her voice lower and taking a sip. “What are you going to do now?”

  A question that seemed part of the conversation in his head. “I don’t know,” he said to the air.

  “You don’t know?”

  He looked out at the lanterns. Extra men at the border. “No,” he said, then turned, realizing she meant something else, her eye to the dining room.

  “She’s talking to Özmen from Hürriyet. You know what that means. She says one thing and he prints another and your consul’s in a rage. Why did you say that? I was misquoted. It’s always the same.”

  “The society column? The consul won’t even notice.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” Lily said, holding up a finger. “The front page, maybe not. But everyone reads Özmen.”

  “I guess,” Leon said, drinking. “All right.”

  “No, don’t go. A minute. I never see you. Anyway, the damage is done.”

  “And maybe she’s more careful than you think.”

  “Ooh la. With Özmen. So tell me,” she said, lowering her voice again. “What don’t you know?”

  “I was thinking before—the first time I came here. Spring. Remember? A long time ago.”

  “Not so long.”

  “Long enough. I don’t even look the same.”

  “Well, it doesn’t matter for a man. They look—how they look. For women, it’s something else.” She reached up, grazing her fingers over his temple. “Some gray, but the same. I remember. So curious, both of you. So many questions. With Georg. He said you had good manners. For an American.”

  Leon smiled.

  “A compliment, from him,” Lily said. “Only the Germans had manners. And music. Kultur. I think he still believes that, even after everything. Anyway, men don’t get old,” she said, moving on. “So it’s not that. Some other trouble. I know you a little. When you think I’m not looking, I see you’re worried. This new work maybe.”

  “What do you mean, worried?” Reading his face like a map.

  “Inquiet. The way people look when they’re late.”

  “Running out of time,” Leon said. Hours to the border, now closed. He caught himself, and made a forced grin. “There. Better? All the time in the world.”

  She smiled, indulgent, playing along, then looked at him. “And how much is that? If we knew. The Hindus think we come back as something else. A bug.”

  “If you’re bad. You can also go up the scale.”

  “Well, up, down, what does it matter? All nonsense. No one comes back.” She pointed up. “No garden in the sky, either. This one, that’s all there is.”

  “Is that what you learned in the harem?” he said, teasing.

  “No, from Refik,” she said, serious. “Who knows how much time? Better to use it, no?”

  He said nothing, waiting to see where she was going.

  “You know what else they believe, the Hindus? Seti. The husband dies, the wife throws herself on his cremation fire. A lot to ask, don’t you think? To follow the other one? Who would ask such a thing? Not Refik. Any of us.” She looked at him. “So why are you out here? Are you waiting for her permission? To keep living?”

  Leon stood silent, feeling heat rise in his face.

  “You know, I thought once, it could be me. We’re easy together. And you look. A woman always knows when a man does that. But it’s this one, I think. There’s something there.” She touched his arm. “We’re alike this way. When Refik was alive, there was only him. No one else. But life goes on.”

  Leon met her look. “Anna’s not dead,” he said.

  She lowered her head, a retreat. “Well, as you like.” She patted his arm. “Don’t be angry. I didn’t mean—”

  “I know.”

  “Come. At least get her away from Özmen.”

  But neither of them moved, not quite finished.

  “It’s a kind of seti,” Lily said. “What you’re doing. You know that?”

  He looked at her, a moment. Then another moment, so quiet that the sound of the crash inside seemed like an explosion. Glass breaking, splintering, voices stopping, then starting again all at once, like birds rushing to a tree.

  “Oh god, the new boy. I told Mustafa he wasn’t ready. And try to find good crystal now.”

  She held up her skirt to walk faster, Leon following. Voices louder, clustered around one of the serving tables in the dining room. Servants ran back and forth to the kitchen, and Leon thought of birds again, the whole room fluttering.

  “Let me through, let me through.” Dr. Obstbaum shouldered his way into the crowd.

  The Turkish musicians, oddly, kept playing, an undertone to all the voices, until one of the servants rushed over to stop them.

  “He was just standing here and all of the sudden he grabbed the table. That fast and he’s down.”

  “Careful of the glass.”

  “Georg!” Lily cried, seeing him now.

  He was on the ground, the edge of a tablecloth still clutched in one hand, Obstbaum leaning over, sweeping away shards of glass so he could kneel next to him, frantically opening his tie, Georg’s face a bloodless white, the forehead shiny with sweat.

  “Call an ambulance,” Obstbaum said. “Give him some air.” He swung his arm in an arc as a signal for people to step back, leaning closer to check Georg’s breathing.

  “What is it?” Leon said, kneeling with him, ignoring the glass.

  “Heart. An ambulance!” Obstbaum said again to the crowd. Two people raced off, presumably to phone.

  But now Georg was moving, shaking his head a little. “Nein, nein,” he said, barely audible, spittle in the corner of his mouth, then a rush of German. “Not here, on the Asian side. A German doctor.”

  “Yes, yes, a German doctor,” Obstbaum said in German.

  Georg had now opened his eyes halfway, his face still contorted with pain. “Leon,” he said, grabbing his hand and squeezing. “A German doctor.”

  “Ssh. Be quiet. Everything’s going to be all right.” But how could it be? He turned to Obstbaum. “Can we get him to the clinic? Would he survive the boat?”

  “I’m not a fortune teller,” Obstbaum said, impatient, feeli
ng the pulse in Georg’s neck. “If he has another attack—”

  “Bebek,” Georg said, squeezing again.

  Leon turned. “Lily, would you get a boat ready?”

  She nodded, leaving, so that Kay suddenly came into view, her arms folded across her chest, as if she’d caught cold, her eyes fixed on him.

  “Will he be all right?” Leon said to Obstbaum.

  “I don’t know. The breathing is better. He should be in the hospital. Here, there, what does it matter? I can go with him if he needs to hear German. Foolishness.”

  “No, Bebek,” Georg said.

  “Can I help?” Colonel Altan said, squatting next to them.

  Leon shook his head. “When the ambulance gets here, we’ll use the stretcher to get him in the boat.”

  “Can you make the water calm?” Obstbaum said to Altan. “A boat. It’s a risk. He needs to lie quietly.”

  “It’s his risk,” Leon said, feeling Georg squeeze his hand again, a thank-you.

  Altan took out a handkerchief and handed it to Obstbaum for Georg’s forehead. “Shall I call the clinic for you? To have them prepare?”

  “Yes, thank you,” Obstbaum said, then turned to Leon. “I take no responsibility for this. He should go to the hospital here. A few minutes can make a difference.”

  “Georg?” Leon said.

  “Please. The boat. I’ll be all right.” He tried a weak smile. “Sea air.”

  Leon looked at the face under the chalky skin, the one he’d always known, mischievous, hunched over his chess set, their first friend in Istanbul. What would happen to the dog? He heard his own voice earlier, baiting, hectoring. He took the handkerchief from Obstbaum and wiped Georg’s forehead, drier now, and smiled. “You always get your way,” he said.

  “Ha.”

  “Has this happened before?” Obstbaum said.

  Georg nodded.

  “What medications?”

  “Ask Kosterman. In Şişli.”

  “Do you know him?” Leon said to Obstbaum.

  “Yes. I’ll call. Keep him quiet, yes? No dramatics. We’re not out of the woods with this.”

  “The boat’s here,” Lily said, coming up to them. “You want to telephone? Oh, your knee.” She glanced down at a bloodstain from the broken glass.

  Obstbaum waved this off. “When the stretcher comes—gently. Understand?” he said to Leon, then glanced over at Kay. “There’s nothing to do now,” he said in general, a kind of dismissal.

  Two houseboys came over to sweep the glass so the crowd backed away, drifting across the room, talking again. Kay stood still, fixed on Leon.

  “What’s happened?” Melnikov, gruff, even the sound of his voice disruptive.

  “Something with the heart,” Lily said, intervening. “Oh, the ambulance. Please, we have to move.”

  Georg had heard the voice and now clutched Leon’s hand tighter, drawing him down closer to his face. “You think I’m not a friend to you,” he said, almost a whisper.

  “Ssh. Never mind about that. The ambulance is here.”

  “No. You have to know. In case—” Georg pulled him closer. “I am your friend.”

  “I know.”

  “I never told him. Melnikov.”

  “Told him what?”

  “Sürmeli. The landlord in Laleli. He thanked me for referring you. He thought I sent you to him.”

  “Georg, later. The stretcher’s here.”

  “No, now. In case. That’s how you knew him, remember? He owned the office building. In Beyazit. So when you took the flat— I never told Melnikov. But I knew. Why would you take a flat? A woman, Sürmeli thinks. Not you, a woman in a flat. So I knew. But I never said. Your friend, you understand?” He opened his eyes wider. “I never said.”

  Leon looked at him, then nodded.

  “We have to get him on the stretcher,” one of the attendants said in Turkish.

  “Georg? You ready?” Leon said.

  “So it’s safe,” Georg said, still somewhere else. “I never said.”

  “Okay, here we go. Just hold on to me.”

  They lifted him, one smooth, fluid movement, and covered him with a blanket, placing an oxygen tube in his nose. The rest of the guests stood watching as the attendants moved out to the landing, Georg still grasping Leon’s hand, Kay following. Obstbaum was waiting in the boat.

  “Where’s Lily? Here, take his hand,” Leon said to Kay, slipping gently out of Georg’s grip. “I’ll be right back. Hold on to her,” he said to Georg. “And behave yourself.”

  Georg smiled faintly. Obstbaum looked up, uncomfortable, Kay’s presence some awkward test of loyalty.

  Leon hurried back into the house. The party was now breaking up, people milling around the fountain. A houseboy pointed him to the telephone room, a small study in what had been the selamlik. The door was already open and he pushed it wider. Altan was hanging up the phone, turning to Lily, both voices low. Leon froze. Not just talking, intimate, their faces close. A couple. What’s he like? she had said. Leon remembered her eyes at the Pera Palas, brushing past him. Now talking just to each other, the way people did in bed. Leon stepped back. How long?

  He waited another minute, then knocked. “Lily?”

  “Yes, yes, coming,” she said, at the door in seconds.

  “We’re off. Oh—” Taking in Altan.

  “These phones,” Lily said. “But finally, the clinic. They’ll meet you on the other side.” Her voice easy, leading them out of the room, as smooth as the attendants lifting Georg. “How is he?”

  “The same.”

  “You don’t mind, I come with you?” Altan said as they walked. “There’s room?”

  “Yes, but now.”

  “I’ll tell Halit,” Lily said. “So he won’t look for you.”

  “A pleasure, Madame Nadir. Thank you for the evening,” he said politely, as if his face had never been close to hers. “I’m sorry that—”

  “Yes, such a terrible thing. Leon, you’ll call? Let me know how he is?”

  They were at the landing now, being helped in, the boat rocking in the wake of some larger ship, so that everything, even her voice, seemed to be shifting, unsteady. He turned to her. A woman who arranged things. How much did Altan tell her? Faces close, whispering. His old friend, her hair golden in the lamplight. Before he could answer, the boat pulled out onto the dark water.

  “Keep the tube in,” Obstbaum was saying to Georg. “You need the oxygen.”

  “On the Bosphorus,” Georg said, but closed his eyes, obeying.

  The air, in fact, was sharp and fresh. The freighter’s wake had passed and the water was calmer, their headlight slicing across the surface, the opposite shore twinkling.

  “My father had an attack like this,” Kay said, her hand still in Georg’s. “He’s getting his color back, see?”

  “Leon,” Georg said, motioning him closer again.

  “Don’t talk. You have to stay quiet.”

  “I didn’t say,” he whispered, his eyes closed. “I didn’t say anything to Melnikov.”

  But he would, his mind filled with it now, brimming, maybe not intending to but letting it slip out.

  “What does he mean?” Kay said.

  “Nothing. Ssh.” Patting Georg’s hand to quiet him. Not here. Not anywhere. What if he talked in his sleep, unaware, sedatives loosening the last restraint?

  “You are old friends?” Altan said.

  “Old. Like a son,” Georg said, his voice faint, eyes moist. “I didn’t say.”

  “Ssh,” Leon said, brushing the hair off his forehead, soothing a child, feeling Kay watching him.

  “Kosterman says it’s the second time,” Obstbaum said, taking Georg’s pulse again. “So it’s dangerous.”

  “My father survived two,” Kay said.

  “But not the third,” Obstbaum said, blunt, dismissing her presence.

  And the landlord didn’t talk only to Georg. A whole neighborhood of friends, eager for news, the sort of gossip Alt
an’s men were bound to pick up. The ferengi renting a flat for his woman. Whom nobody had seen. Imagine the expense. A flat, not a hotel. Someone who couldn’t be seen. He could almost hear the voices, a sibilant buzzing, Sürmeli smoking a water pipe, the center of interest. If Georg had heard, it would be just a matter of time before someone else did, whether Georg talked or not. Running out of time.

  He looked at Kay holding Georg’s hand, wisps of hair blowing across her face in the breeze, a nurse’s calm. Obstbaum deliberately not looking at either of them. How could he bring her to the clinic, Anna down the hall? Georg was mumbling something again, too indistinct to be heard above the running engine.

  “Good. They sent the ambulance,” Obstbaum said, seeing it on the quay ahead.

  Move Alexei, the sooner the better. Not a hotel. Somewhere private. He thought of the house he and Anna had rented one month on Büyükada. Pine forests and empty coves, no one else in sight, afternoons just walking and looking at the Sea of Marmara. An easy exile—Trotsky had stayed there—but also a trap, no fast way off the island if someone found out. Better to hide in plain sight, even the Cihangir flat, the last place they’d expect. Unless someone was already watching it. He glanced over at Altan. His new colleague, expecting a report.

  “Be careful,” Obstbaum said, waiting for the driver to tie up before they lifted the stretcher.

  “You think I’ll break?” Georg said, then gave an involuntary moan as the stretcher jerked, the last heave up to the quay.

  They loaded him into the back of the ambulance. Obstbaum opened the black bag an assistant had brought and took out a syringe, filling it from an ampoule.

  “What’s that?” Georg said. “Kosterman—”

  “Prescribed it. This will pinch. But it’ll feel better, the pain. Just keep calm. We’ll need to monitor you at the clinic, your rhythm’s still irregular.”

  “But Kosterman—”

  “On his way. He’ll meet us there.” He looked up at Leon, standing at the door. “You coming?”

  Kay started toward him, but Leon turned, stopping her. “No, don’t wait. It could be all night. I’ll just make sure his doctor gets here. Colonel Altan, will you see that she gets home? The Pera.”

  “But—” Kay started to protest.