by Ayşe Kulin
“But I just explained to you. Our carriage is special. It’s carrying Turks who want to return to Turkey from France. It’s very crowded.”
“I don’t know why all these Turks are so keen to go home in these crowded conditions, especially when they’ve been living in Paris,” he said sarcastically.
“They’re running away from the war.”
“But there’s no fighting in France.”
“Don’t you think we’re going through war?”
“Of course, but France is not at war.”
“This is wartime, Mein Herr. It can spread anywhere at any moment.”
“It can also spread to your country.”
“We’re neutral, and we’re doing our utmost to keep it that way, despite the Allies’ insistence that we change our attitude.”
“You don’t say.”
“Yes. For instance, we’re selling chrome to Germany, even though Britain is not at all happy about it.”
“Don’t try to change the subject. You said you wanted your wife to travel first class, yet her compartment was just as crowded.”
“How could I have known in advance that that would be the case?”
“So who exactly are these passengers traveling in this special carriage of yours? Are they Jews?”
“Most of them are Muslim Turks. There are some who are Jewish or Christian. But they’re Turkish citizens, born and bred in Turkey.”
“Is that so?” the German said with a provocative smile.
“Surely, Mein Herr, you don’t think for a moment that at a time when Turkey is struggling so hard to remain neutral she would provide a carriage for the transportation of Jews? There’s a saying we use in Turkish: ‘Even the crows would laugh.’ ”
The German burst into laughter. He seemed to appreciate the joke. Because Evelyn couldn’t speak German, she sat by her husband listening, but not understanding one word.
“In that case, if I were to off-load those few Jews, Turkey surely wouldn’t mind.”
“I’m afraid that’s where you’re totally wrong. Turkey fought for the right to have her citizens returned from the camps, even in France. If you did such a thing, that would be your decision, but I’d have to report your actions to our embassy in Berlin. The embassy would have to make all sorts of inquiries and then send officials here to deal with the matter. We could all be stranded here for days. Not only that, but we’d delay one of your lines as well. All this for the sake of a few people. Is it worth it, I ask you? If it were up to me, frankly, you could take them all.”
“Didn’t you say earlier that Turkey wouldn’t jeopardize her position providing a carriage for Jews? Would she now go to all that trouble for a handful of them?”
“It’s a question of prestige, Mein Herr. Because we are a secular nation, we have to be seen by the world to be abiding by the rules of our constitution. As for providing a carriage for the Jews, surely no one can accuse Turkey for helping its stranded citizens. You understand this is just a token gesture, don’t you?”
“You certainly have a gift for bullshitting. I’m letting you go, because your documents are in perfect order and your wife is pregnant. Make sure you’re not a nuisance to your fellow passengers or the station personnel inside our borders. Is that clear?”
“Yes, of course, Mein Herr, rest assured.”
“Now take your wife and make sure she sits next to you for the rest of the journey.”
Ferit and Evelyn left the stationmaster’s office hand in hand, walking toward the Star and Crescent carriage waiting at the far end of the station.
“Why didn’t you tell me the truth, Ferit?” asked Evelyn.
“I didn’t want to put you in any danger.”
“Why would it be dangerous for me to travel in a carriage sent by Turkey to pick up Turks?”
“That’s not the whole story. There are people on board who have Turkish passports but who aren’t Turkish. If they’re found out, I didn’t want you to be traveling in the same carriage.”
“You made a big mistake,” Evelyn said. She was surprised to be feeling mixed emotions, both relieved and frightened at the same time.
At the end of the asphalt platform, passage became difficult. Stumbling over the railway lines, they held onto each other and walked toward the distant, dim yellow light.
People were leaning over one another, trying to look out of the windows. When they saw Ferit and Evelyn, they all applauded enthusiastically. Evelyn was taken aback. The conductor standing by the carriage door asked to see her ticket. Ferit wanted to tell him to mind his own business, because this carriage was the property of his country, but he put on his most courteous manner and presented it.
“Here you are. Paid for all the way through to Istanbul.”
“Is there room inside?”
“She’ll sit on my lap,” Ferit said, winking at the man.
As they passed Selva’s compartment, Ferit turned to Asseo and said, “I want it to be known, Monsieur Asseo—I expect a concert to celebrate our return.”
It wasn’t until the following morning that the carriage was on its way. The Star and Crescent carriage was hitched to a freight train destined for Bucharest. They would be traveling at a slower speed, but there were no scheduled stops on the way, which was a great relief to them all. Even if they were stopped randomly by the SS, the checks would be less stringent now. They would travel via Leipzig, Prague, Bratislava, Budapest, and finally Bucharest. Once they reached Bucharest, those going to Köstence would disembark, and those going on to Istanbul would wait to be connected to another engine.
Waiting, escaping, hiding, and waiting again for another departure, another way out; going, going, without resting; scattered to the four corners of the world, seeking refuge in every corner, struggling for survival. Uprooting, having to go somewhere else again. Was this the price to pay for not having a motherland?
Old Asseo’s eyes were closed. Those in the compartment thought he was sleeping, but he was only thinking. The train was going through countries neighboring his motherland, the motherland he hadn’t been able to return to since he was twelve.
Lech was born in Poland. His father had died when he was ten. Then his mother had met a German engineer while she was working as a secretary. They’d married and moved to Germany, taking Lech with them. Lech’s stepfather had been kind to him. He had sent his stepson to the Salzburg Music Academy when he realized Lech had a talent for music. Lech studied diligently so as not to let his stepfather down. His greatest ambition was to join the Vienna Philharmonic as a violinist.
When his mother gave birth to his brother, Lech was fifteen. Lech was never jealous of his brother, and when his brother started school, they found out he was a genius. At this time, his stepfather died of a heart attack quite suddenly, much like his own father. After the funeral, when they returned home, his mother held his head between her hands.
“From now on, Lech, you must be your brother’s father. I’m entrusting him to you. I want you to protect him the way your stepfather protected you.”
From that day on, Lech abandoned his dream of becoming a famous violinist. He played anywhere where he’d be paid so that his brother could study. He played for his brother to continue his education in the best intermediate schools; he played to pay for summer schools, for special tuition, to see his brother through university. He kept playing and playing the violin, and never married. He had no children, but he never regretted anything. From the age of twenty, he had felt that his brother was his son. His brother’s success was his own success; his happiness was Lech’s happiness.
His brother managed to get his master’s in America through scholarships, and everyone expected that he would settle there, but instead he returned to Germany because he wanted to give back to his own country. He got married and started a family, and from that time on he and his family enjoyed happy days full of hope. Lech’s brother had reached the peak of his career. He had become famous, successful, and very wealthy. Lech’s s
acrifices hadn’t been in vain. It was too late by then to follow his own dreams, but he had no regrets.
In Germany the brother lived happily and comfortably until Hitler came on the scene. Then all hell broke loose. The family first ran away to Belgium. When the brother lost one of his sons in a street skirmish, the family escaped to France, where he was offered an important teaching post at a university in Paris. They settled in well and got used to living there, until Hitler arrived. Then they fled south, farther and farther south. His wife, who had been ill since the loss of her son, finally lost the will to live during one of these flights and died.
This was just another example of the Jews’ endless flight, a flight that had lasted for five thousand years! The Germans were everywhere. They seemed to permeate Europe like smoke: Holland, Belgium, Poland, France, Czechoslovakia, Austria, and Hungary. There was no getting away. The Germans seemed to be working like a malignant cancer, spreading through the organs of a body. People were continuously on the run, running away under assumed names and holding false passports. Lech had reached the point where he only wanted to rest his tired, miserable body, to find peace pushing up the daisies. He wanted to rest somewhere in the Promised Land, away from German soldiers, SS officers, the Gestapo, and the collaborators.
Asseo became so tired of thinking that he eventually fell asleep. Four SS officers boarded the train. He didn’t hear Rafo and Ferit arguing with them.
“This is a private carriage; as you can see, it is totally full,” Ferit insisted, but eventually had to give in and make room for them in one of the compartments. The soldiers were guarding some war equipment that had been loaded onto the freight train. Obviously they had decided to enjoy the comfort of a luxurious carriage. They thought they’d be able to stretch their legs on the opposite seat and sleep for a while.
It was morning when Monsieur Asseo opened his eyes. He was glad to be with his fellow passengers, who had become like a family to him. It soothed him to feel the warmth of being together. He was going to Istanbul and would find out how to get to Palestine from there—to die in the Promised Land. But now, having met these people, he began to feel different. He wished it was possible to continue this journey forever, as though he were snuggled up in some long black cradle…Clickety-clack…clickety-clack.
They were traveling again through gorgeous countryside: pretty villages with houses made of sun-dried bricks, vegetable gardens, green fields with cows happily chewing their cud, towns with little domed churches, streams cascading down mountains, lush green valleys. The view from the windows was ever changing, all reminiscent of postcards people send with affectionate notes scribbled on the back.
Fazıl, playing with Samuel, was gurgling away happily. The women got down their food baskets and were offering everyone cheese, jam, pickles, cold meat, and fruit. Siegfried played backgammon with Marcel. The train continued its journey, rattling through scenery that was like a kaleidoscope. Not only was the train carrying its passengers through different geographical features, but it was exposing them to life itself, transporting them through different countries and different cultures.
Through conversations in the compartment, fellow passengers had learned that Monsieur Asseo and Samuel and his sister would be continuing their journey to Palestine. Margot would try her luck in Istanbul, hoping that if this turmoil in Europe ever ended, she could return to her own country. Marcel and Constance would stay in Istanbul until they could arrange their passage to America. They had a friend working in the American consulate whom they were counting on to help them. David’s journey would also end in Istanbul, just like Rafo’s, Selva’s, and Fazıl’s.
What about Monsieur Kohen? Siegfried had said nothing about his plans. Whenever anyone asked his destination, he gave a vague answer such as, “I’m happy as long as we keep on the move.” He was fully aware, always frightened, that if the Gestapo should board the train and recognize him, they would take him back to Germany.
If the Germans should get hold of him, they might use his God-given genius to carry out projects that would exterminate his people. Like thousands of other Jews, he had had to give up his job, his fortune, his family, and finally his name. He was running away with a passport bearing a false name, a name he hadn’t been able to get used to. He couldn’t even answer the question, “What’s your destination?” Perhaps he avoided it because he didn’t know if he was going to his death. He had decided to terminate his life if he was caught and had already taken the necessary precautions. But what if he should be saved? He would first of all have to keep the promise he had given to someone dear, a promise he considered sacred. And after keeping that promise, he might eventually be able to devote his knowledge, his experience, and his findings to the benefit of humanity.
The train rattled on through forests of oak and beech, rumbling over narrow bridges connecting high slopes, curving around hills and through deep valleys.
The evening set in. The occupants of the compartment brought down their food baskets, and since supplies were diminishing, they shared what was left. They opened one of David’s bottles of Rhine wine.
“Isn’t there any red wine left?” asked Marcel.
“I’m afraid not. We’ve only got white. If there are many more delays, we’ll have to do without wine with our dinner,” replied David.
“Dinner? You call this just dinner? For someone who had to hide away crouched in the rafters of a house for twelve days, this is a banquet,” Monsieur Asseo said.
Marcel felt embarrassed. True, he and Constance had had to keep on the move from place to place, from one house to another, but they certainly hadn’t had to hide in a cramped loft. He realized they had been lucky. At least they had leftover dry cake, a bit of cheese, and stale bread to eat.
They had been eating dry food, and Fazıl, like everyone else, had become constipated. He kept crying from the discomfort.
“If we do stop in a town or village, we should get some fresh vegetables and fruit,” Selva said to her husband.
“Don’t tell me you’re planning to cook spinach!”
“Don’t make fun of me, Rafo. I’m serious. We should get some salad, fresh eggs, and some tomatoes at least.”
“I don’t know that the soldiers on this train would let us do that.”
“Why not? We can offer them some as well.”
“I’ll see what I can do. I’ll talk to one of them. The dark one appears to be in charge.”
The passengers were getting tired and bored as the train continued its journey, shaking them around. The clouds were rather low in the sky.
“I think it’s going to rain,” said Margot. “It’s getting darker.”
“It’s getting dark because it’s late, not because it’s going to rain,” said David.
“How lovely! Another day over,” said Selva.
They had been traveling for nine days. Sometimes, they had to wait for hours; sometimes they stopped overnight. They’d changed route: south, north, then south again. They’d even had to change engines. Sometimes, they didn’t know where or when the next stop would be. One thing was certain: slowly but surely, at the pace of a tortoise, they were heading toward their destination.
“This is just like playing blind man’s bluff,” David said. “It’s as if they’re blindfolding us: we move on, and then we remove the blindfolds, and presto! We’re in an unexpected town or city.”
“Well, it’s time for me to say good night,” Asseo said, closing the backgammon board. “Let’s see where we’ll be in the morning.”
“We must be very near Bucharest now. If there are no diversions, we should be crossing the Bulgarian frontier by the morning,” said Margot.
“Thank God. This torment is coming to an end!”
“Don’t be too optimistic,” Margot said. “Don’t you remember that night when we thought we’d wake up in Leipzig and found ourselves God knows where?”
“Yes, and I also remember that night when we went to sleep thinking we would wake up in Rom
ania. You were so happy when you woke up and realized that we were still in Hungary. You burst into tears of joy.”
“Since there’s no possibility of going back to Hungary, let’s hope all this is over pretty soon. Aaagh…” moaned Monsieur Asseo. He was clutching at his left side.
Siegfried jumped out of his seat, got his bag down from the rack, and took out some medicine.
“What’s that?” asked Margot.
“I have the same problem sometimes. Can I have some water, please?” He added a few drops of medicine to half a glass of water, and offered it to his friend.
“Why don’t you lie down, Monsieur Asseo?” proposed Selva. “I’ll sit the children somewhere else.”
“Please don’t. I’m fine. It’s just wind, I suppose, right here, that’s all.”
“I just hope to God the wind inside me doesn’t come out. If it does it’ll stink like hell,” David whispered in Marcel’s ear.
“The toilet stinks as well. We’ve all had enough of this,” Marcel said.
On Selva’s insistence, they stretched Asseo out on the seat with his head in his friend’s lap and his legs on Perla and Samuel.
“Please don’t worry about anything. Try to get some sleep. I’ve got the medicine in my pocket in case you have more pain,” said Siegfried.
The rest of the passengers were finally lulled to sleep as the train continued through the night.
Constance was woken in the middle of the night by the sound of snoring. All her fellow passengers seemed to be in a deep sleep induced by the clickety-clack’s lullaby. She quietly jumped over her husband’s feet and crept outside. She decided to use the toilet while everyone was asleep and there was no line. She entered it and held her head briefly under the dripping tap water that smelled of rust. When she came out, her hands and face were still wet. The corridor was dark, and she could see the yellow, melon-colored moon in the sky. It looked like a loaf of bread that had been bitten into. Oh, how she longed to bite into a fresh loaf of bread. She opened the window for a breath of fresh air, but when she realized how icy cold it was, she closed it again. She pressed her forehead against the window and looked at the pointed, flat silhouettes of the mountains. Backlit by the moon, they formed dark-blue shadows. How lovely, she thought to herself. I’m just standing here as nature is parading herself outside.