Last Train to Istanbul

by Ayşe Kulin

  Tarık told them how he had also saved some Jews from the Gestapo’s hands. Muhlis described how one old lady Tarık had saved kept trying to kiss him all the way to the consulate in the car, and they all burst into laughter.

  Evelyn too had stories to tell. Apparently she had heard dreadful reports about what was going on in the labor camps, through the fiancé of a girlfriend. How had he found out? It seemed that because he had been pro-German, he had been allowed to carry provisions in a pickup truck into the camp. It was during his comings and goings that he chatted to those working at the camp and found out about the hair-raising atrocities being carried out there. Needless to say, that had been the end of his pro-German views.

  Evelyn, Ferit, Muhlis, and Tarık stayed up talking until the early hours, their voices slightly slurred as a result of consuming wine. Their nerve-racking stories led all of them to agree these poor people needed support, and they promised each other to do everything they could to help.

  “You’re doing everything you can anyway,” Ferit said, “but in our own little way we’re doing our bit too!”

  “Really, what do you mean? Some association, an organization, or what?”

  “Not exactly,” Ferit said, getting up from beside Tarık and switching on the radio, fiddling with the dial until he found a station playing music. The conversation came to an end. By the time Muhlis had another go at the radio and found some dance music, their mood had changed. When the guests had left, Tarık and Muhlis tidied up and retired to their respective rooms. Tarık lay down on his back with his hands behind his head; he was rather drunk but happy. His apartment mate who had verbal diarrhea had certainly managed to add some color to his life.

  ANKARA

  Sabiha was sitting in an armchair with her feet on a footstool in Dr. Sahir’s consulting room, trying to relax.

  “We’ll wait until you are ready as usual,” her doctor had said. “Please don’t talk until you are ready. Just lie back and relax, allowing your thoughts to take over. I can even play some music for you if you wish. I know you like classical music. I’ve got the Brahms piano concerto right here. Would you like to listen to it?”

  “Oh yes, please.”

  Dr. Sahir picked up the big black record, dusted it carefully, and put it on the gramophone. After the initial scratching noise, Sabiha heard the first few notes of the music. She closed her eyes and listened to the concerto she knew so well. It definitely helped her to relax, as if she were half-asleep. She could hear the doctor’s voice but she wasn’t sure where he was. He wasn’t directly in front of her. Was he sitting behind her or pacing around the room? He would talk for a while, then listen, occasionally asking questions.

  “Can you remember the day your sister was born?”

  “Almost, as if in a dream…I was about two or two and a half. I can’t say I remember clearly.”

  “Did you share the same bedroom?”

  “No, Selva slept in our mother’s room for about a year.”

  “You must have been angry about that.”

  “Yes, of course. She kept on taking things away that belonged to me.”

  “That’s a very natural form of jealousy that most children go through when a sibling is born.”

  “I don’t think so! It was a bit different with me. I remember times when I wanted to kill her.”

  “Come on now!”

  “Well, maybe not actually wanted to kill her, but there were definitely times when I wanted her dead. When she had measles, for example, they sent me away because they didn’t want me to catch them too.”

  “Where did they send you?”

  “To my paternal grandmother, because when the measles got serious, my other grandmother came to stay with us to look after my sister. I remember being told to pray for Selva before going to bed. I did pray, but not for her to recover. I prayed for her to die.”

  “Did you feel abandoned?”

  “And how! I was only six; I wanted to be with my family, even at the risk of catching measles.”

  “What happened next?”

  “Next?…Next?…Then Selva’s condition got really bad—when I was praying for her to die, that is. My grandmother was informed of the situation, and she took my grandfather and rushed away. They spent the whole night there. I was scared and cried all night long. Then I started praying continuously for my sister to get well.”

  “And she did.”

  “Yes, thank God, she did, but I must admit I felt remorse and pain for a long time after that. I have always felt guilty toward her for that.”

  “Were there other such occasions?”

  “Not exactly like that. But as we were growing up, there must have been childish feelings, I suppose.”

  “Tell me about them.”

  “Sometimes I would get angry with my sister and wish awful things on her.”

  “Like what?”

  “Oh, I don’t know…once when she was offered the leading part in the school play, for instance, I felt the part should have been mine. I was older than her, after all. I felt it was my right.”

  “Why did they give her the part?”

  “Because she was like a beanpole. It was a male part.”

  “So?”

  “I wished she would get ill and miss the first performance. It was snowing that day, everywhere was covered in white. Wouldn’t you know it? She fell and broke her arm!”

  “Really! That’s incredible! So what did you do then?”

  “I was sorry; my conscience really bothered me. Of course I couldn’t tell anyone. I wanted to clear my conscience, so I became her slave until she recovered.”

  “Did you reveal your feelings to her?”

  “I wanted to, very much in fact, but I couldn’t; she wouldn’t have believed me anyway. She’s very naive and always means well. She thinks I love her very much.”

  “But you do, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I do, very much. But I must have been jealous of her all my life.”

  “Listen, Sabiha Hanım, believe me, all firstborn children have similar feelings when the younger one gets more attention than they do. They feel jealous when they have to share their parents’ love. Gradually, as they grow up, this feeling fades.”

  “That may be so, but I feel the traces are still there. I can’t put my finger on it; it’s like a guilty conscience. I feel I may have influenced my sister’s life in some way by my senseless bouts of jealousy.”

  “None of us is powerful enough to influence other people’s lives entirely.”

  “Not even extremely jealous firstborn children?”

  “Absolutely not!…So, do you think all firstborn children are jealous?”

  “Isn’t that what you just said?”

  “That’s my point of view. I want to know yours.”

  “I agree with you. I actually believe that all firstborn kids are like the wrath of God!”

  “Why?”

  “Because they’re cunning and capable of bad things. Trying to manipulate the lives of those who were born after them. They want all the toys, all the clothes, all the love for themselves.”

  “The firstborn children? Do you mean both boys and girls?”

  “Well, I don’t know about boys. Maybe they’re different.”

  “Is that why you don’t like firstborn girls? What do you think?”

  “Just listen to that music, Doctor. Can you hear the excitement? Da…daa da dada daa da…What a magnificent concerto! I’ve always wanted to play the piano well. Do you by any chance have any of Beethoven’s concertos?” Sabiha was moving her hands like an orchestra conductor.

  “I promise to play Beethoven during our next session. How do you feel now? Do you feel more relaxed?”

  “I certainly do. I can assure you that this is the first time I have admitted my feelings about Selva. I couldn’t have done it with anyone else. But then, you’re different. You understand, don’t you? You’re like a father confessor to me, Doctor. Once I’m in this chair, I start confessing
everything. I relax.”

  “I’m very pleased to hear it.”

  “There used to be someone else I could confide in, a friend of mine; he was the only other person I could talk to about certain things, but not the way I do with you, of course.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “He was posted to Paris.”

  “Were you sorry?”

  “Very! He was my only friend in this city.”

  “So when he left, you turned to the sleeping pills, as if they were going out of fashion.”

  “That’s right! But I think I might not need a handful of them to get to sleep anymore. At least that’s how I feel.”

  “Inşallah.”

  “It’s thanks to you, Doctor. Every time I visit you, I feel that you are getting closer to a malignant tumor in my head. I suspect that you’ll eventually find the spot, lance it, the pus will ooze out, and I will recover.”

  “No, Sabiha Hanım, it won’t be me doing it; it’s you doing the work. We may have indeed gotten close to the tumor, as you call it—with your help—but I’m afraid that we haven’t located the exact spot yet. You’ll continue coming to see me, and when we do find it, we’ll figure out together what caused it and then it will be up to you to lance it. We’re not there just yet.”

  “Anything you say,” said Sabiha. “So next week it’s Beethoven; is that a promise?”

  “Yes.”

  Sabiha got up slowly and yawned. She felt wobbly, as though she had returned from a boat trip.

  Did Dr. Sahir hold on to her hand just a little too long as they said good-bye at the door, or did she imagine it?

  When she left the building, the cold wind felt like a slap in the face. She didn’t want to take a taxi, so she walked home. Dr. Sahir. Dr.…Sahir…What an extraordinary man! He could read her soul like an open book. Read…her soul…her soul…She went home as if she were sleepwalking.

  Sitting at the family dinner table that evening, Sabiha was still daydreaming. Fazıl Reşat Paşa had returned from the hospital about ten days earlier and he was at last joining them for dinner.

  “What’s the matter with my darling daughter?” he asked. “You seem preoccupied.”

  “I’m very tired, Father. I walked a long way today.”

  “You shouldn’t have walked in this weather, my dear; you’ll catch cold,” said Leman Hanım.

  “It’s good for me to walk, Mother. It makes me feel better.”

  “I think you need a holiday, Sabiha,” Macit said enthusiastically. “I can’t commit myself to anything at the moment, but I’ve put my name down for a break the next national holiday on April twenty-third. It falls between two weekends, so if my colleagues can manage without me, maybe we can get away for a few days, just the two of us. What do you think?”

  “April’s a long way off.”

  “I know, but I have to give them plenty of notice.”

  “Where do you suggest we go? There’s war all over Europe.”

  “I wasn’t thinking of Europe.”

  “So where?”

  “I thought it might be nice to go to my aunt’s farm in Gebze. It’s marvelous there in the spring. We could have long walks together, assuming of course that nothing drastic happens at the ministry.”

  “I don’t think I can do that. As you know, I have my sessions with my doctor.”

  “It’s a hell of a long time to April. I’m sure your sessions will have finished by then.”

  “May I come with you too, Daddy?”

  “There you are,” Sabiha said. “You can take Hülya with you. The two of you can have a holiday together, and I’ll carry on with my sessions here.”

  “My goodness! That’s a lot of sessions,” said Leman Hanım.

  Sabiha looked daggers at her mother. “I can assure you they’re doing me a lot of good. I’m already feeling better.”

  Macit looked at his wife in amazement. He remembered the endless efforts he had made to coax her into seeing this psychiatrist that Dr. Celal had recommended.

  “Are you telling me that you don’t want to take a vacation? Weren’t you the one who was complaining you felt trapped in Ankara, and there was no opportunity for us to be together?”

  “Macit, why do you always have to turn things into an argument?” Sabiha asked.

  “I don’t believe you said that! Did you say I pick arguments? Please, God, give me patience.”

  “Daddy, Daddy, please let us go. If Mummy doesn’t want to go, we can go together, can’t we? April twenty-third is the children’s holiday—it’s my holiday anyway!”

  “You’ve got to consider school, my angel. You only get one day off; you can’t be away longer than that. I arranged this for your mother; I thought the change of air would be good for her.”

  “But Daddy, because of the war, summer holidays are starting on April fourteenth this year—have you forgotten?”

  “Oh dear! You’re right, I had completely forgotten. I’ve been so preoccupied with where the Germans will strike next and what the Russians want from us that I totally forgot. I’m sorry, my angel. In that case we can all go on a vacation together. Inşallah, your grandfather will have recovered by then so he and Granny can come too. We’ll all go as a family. We’ll take the train,” said Macit, looking into his wife’s eyes for approval.

  “Enough. You’ve gone on about this far too long, Macit,” replied Sabiha. “In any case, there’s plenty of time; we can think about it nearer the date.”

  When Sabiha’s parents retired to their room, Leman Hanım started to criticize Macit. “I swear I don’t understand that man. He used to complain about Sabiha not seeing a doctor, but now that our poor girl says that she is getting better, he insists that she stop the therapy and take a holiday in Gebze. Gebze, of all places! What sort of vacation can one have in Gebze among the cows and hens? Really!”

  MARSEILLES

  Selva deliberated by the telephone for some time before deciding it would be better to have this conversation face-to-face; she would take Fazıl with her and go to the consulate personally. She imagined that if there was the usual line, as a woman with a child she would be given priority over the others. In any case, Rafo didn’t want Selva to leave Fazıl with him anymore because he had to keep on hiding in the storeroom. Selva did contemplate making an appointment with the Armenian secretary, but then she decided against it because if the secretary refused, she wouldn’t be able to go at all. Having made this decision, she looked in her wardrobe for something suitable to wear. She knew that a well-dressed woman could open many doors, but she had nothing that helped her in that regard.

  In the end, she decided to wear her green coat again and her Hermès silk scarf, and carry the crocodile bag Sabiha had insisted on giving her, which she pulled out from the bottom of the cupboard. She wrapped Fazıl up well, cradled him in her arms, and left the apartment. Before walking to the bus stop, she wondered whether she should tell Rafo where she was going, but she knew that he would try to put her off by telling her that the children of someone she hardly knew were none of her business. He would tell her that everyone had to fend for themselves these days; it was wrong of her to be asking favors for others when she might eventually have to ask for a favor herself. He would surely urge her not to exhaust their chances with the consulate.

  The bus stop was usually crowded, but today it was almost empty. The people of Marseilles had taken to staying at home unless it was absolutely necessary to go out.

  She found a seat near the front of the bus, put Fazıl next to the window, and sat beside him. As soon as the bus pulled away, the conductor came to her.

  “One to the Avenue de Prado, please,” said Selva.

  “Two tickets.”

  “No, just one.”

  “You’re occupying two seats, madame.”

  “But the bus is almost empty.”

  “All the same, you’re occupying two seats.”

  Selva took Fazıl and put him on her lap. “There, now I’m occupyin
g one seat.”

  “But you’ve already traveled this far occupying two seats.”

  “Is this a joke?”

  “Do I look like I am joking? You fare-dodgers are all the same.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Forget it. Pay me for just one ticket and let’s get on with it.”

  “You’re behaving like this because I got on the bus in a Jewish area. I’ll have you know that first of all I am neither Jewish nor French; that must be obvious from my accent. Secondly, I’m of German origin and not only that, I’m also—how shall I put it?—I have friends in high places, very close friends in the Gestapo. Believe me, I will make you pay for this. What’s your name?”

  “I’m not obliged to give you my name.”

  “It doesn’t matter, I’ve memorized the number on your uniform, and I will take the route number when I get off the bus.”

  The conductor started to walk away, but Selva continued. “Wait, I haven’t paid for my ticket yet.”

  “I’m not going to charge you for a ticket. Forget it.”

  “If you don’t collect my fare, I’ll have to report you to the administration office.”

  The conductor gave Selva a contemptuous look and issued a ticket, which she took and put in her pocket. When she reached her destination, she walked by the conductor.

  “I really think you deserve all you are getting with this occupation, monsieur. God appears to be punishing you all for being so arrogant.”

  When she got off the bus, Selva’s legs were shaking, so she sat on the bench at the bus stop to calm down. She reflected that it was just as well that Fazıl couldn’t speak properly yet, and therefore he couldn’t tell his father what had happened.