by Jan Coffey
“Like all of us,” I think out loud.
Yahya’s instructions to me were to keep the doors locked and wait until he gets back. He still has my phone, and I saw him walk in the direction of the Galata Bridge. He showed me some of the texts he exchanged with Elizabeth. They’re to meet on the bridge, but I have my doubts about her actually being there.
Different scenarios are running in my head. My mother could have sent Kyle to talk to him and see what Yahya wants for my return. Or she’d send the police and have him arrested. Or even worse, she’d get the consulate involved, who in turn would get their security people involved. In two of the three, Yahya gets locked up or killed, and that terrifies me.
I don’t have any confidence that she’ll come herself, not to save me. And I don’t know how Yahya intends to settle their unfinished business, as he called it. Is he after money? He said to me he won’t hurt her. I do trust him, but I’m worried he doesn’t know exactly what he’s dealing with when it comes to Elizabeth and her connections.
He’s my father. Zari’s husband. I think of my real mother, and how Tiam told me there’s never been any other man in her life. She thinks Zari is still in love with him. Their wedding picture, the only photo she has of the two of them, is set up like a shrine in the bedroom. Twice before, when I had stayed at the apartment, I looked at the image of the smiling young man standing next to the beautiful bride. And now that I’ve met Yahya, I have no doubt that he is the man in that photo.
I wonder if Zari knows he’s alive. If she does know it, what I can’t fathom is why he hasn’t been part of their lives for all these years. I have so many questions.
When I reunited with my mother, she held me and Tiam in her embrace, and the three of us stood in their apartment and sobbed for what felt like hours. Today, when I learned Yahya’s name, we skipped over my entire fantasy about the moment when I’d finally meet him. But to know him, and for both of us to recognize what we are to each other, is enough. I’ve finally met my father, and I don’t want to lose him.
Time is dragging by too slowly. He’s been gone for a while. He took the car keys with him, so I have no way of knowing how long. Half an hour? An hour? I’m getting restless, and my worry is growing with each passing minute.
Trying to distract myself, I turn my attention to the pier. A ferry that has been carving a wide arc across the Golden Horn in now gliding slowly and smoothly toward the dock. People are on deck, crowding around two openings in the railing where the gangplanks will be placed.
A policeman on a motorcycle passes the car, startling me. Yahya parked the old Mercedes under another tow zone sign, but the cop doesn’t give me a second glance. As he rides off, I look back toward the bridge. Something must have happened. Anxiety is gnawing away at me. And then I see him.
He’s working his way through the crowds on the pier. Beyond him, the arriving ferry sounds its horn. Yahya stands a head taller than most of the people around him, and from what I can see, he is unharmed.
Relief floods through me, and I step out of the car as he approaches. “What happened?”
“She came.”
“Alone?”
Yahya nods and glances back at the bridge.
“I can’t believe it,” I murmur.
“She cares about you.”
Today has certainly been a day for revelations. For thirty years, Elizabeth has played the role of mother to me. I suppose she’s done it the only way she knows. Despite any complaint I might have, however, she showed up for me tonight. For me.
I wonder if I should go there and find her.
“Did you tell her that I’m safe?”
“She knows.”
Before I can ask him any more questions, he goes around the car to the driver’s side. “I must go to the hospital. You should come with me.”
“Why?” My stomach drops. “Who’s in the hospital?”
“Tiam. She is not doing well.”
Before I can say anything else, a loud crack echoes across the water. It sounds like a large firecracker to me, but Yahya utters something angrily and starts running back toward the bridge. I reach inside the car, grab my bag, and hurry after him.
The crowds on the pier have stopped moving. There is a commotion on the bridge, and the sound of shouting rises above the hum of the ferryboats’ engines. On the upper level, people are running, and I can barely keep up with Yahya. Traffic is at a standstill, but in the distance, I hear sirens.
All I can think of is Elizabeth. Kyle told me her name is on a kill list. There has to be a price tag attached. My kidnappers wanted money. Would they go after my mother? I’m hoping the thoughts burning in my brain are nothing more than panic and conjecture.
It takes only a few minutes to reach a large knot of people crowding the sidewalk on the bridge, and I struggle to get closer.
“Let me get through,” I cry out as I shove against the wall of bodies. “Please!”
Suddenly, Yahya appears, reaching toward me through the onlookers. He takes my hand and pulls me through.
“They shot Elizabeth,” he says in my ear. “She is alive.”
I hear the words, but my mind is slow to comprehend. No one wants to move or make room for us to pass, but he bulls his way forward, and I follow in his wake until we reach the center of the circle.
Nausea slithers through me at the sight of blood on the sidewalk. A uniformed policeman is crouching beside the body. The shoes, the slacks, and the purse lying in the dark red pool belong to Elizabeth. I’m vaguely aware of an ambulance coming to a screeching stop somewhere nearby. The lights are flashing.
Finally, the truth hits me. I try to go to her, but a police officer blocks my way.
“Aile,” Yahya shouts into his face. “Kızı.”
The officer drops his hand and allows me to pass. My ears are ringing, and tears blur my vision. My throat is squeezed shut as I kneel next to Elizabeth. Her head lies in a pool of blood. Her eyes are open, but I don’t think she sees me. I grab her hand.
Two EMTs appear, and I’m shoved aside as they start to work on her.
“Kimsin sen?” someone asks me. I don’t know what they’re saying. A hand tries to pull me away.
“No,” I cry out. “Let me stay. I’m her daughter. Her daughter. She’s my mother.”
Elizabeth’s eyes focus on my face and her hand moves. I grasp her bloody fingers in my own again.
“You’re safe,” she murmurs.
The crowd parts and a gurney rolls up beside her.
“Hospital. You go with her,” a policeman tells me in broken English. He motions where I should stand as they maneuver my mother onto the stretcher.
I search the faces of the crowd and find Yahya. His eyes meet mine. He holds something out to me, and I hurry over to take it from him. It’s my phone.
He holds my hand for a second, gesturing with his eyes toward Elizabeth. “Not me.”
“I know.”
They’re moving Elizabeth into the ambulance, and I run over and climb in. An EMT is pressing a bandage against the back of her head, at the base of her skull. The grey blanket they covered her with is already dark with her blood. Everyone is speaking Turkish, and the urgency of their tone tells me how badly she’s doing. Calls are being made, and I assume they’re notifying the hospital to prepare. Elizabeth seems to be drifting in and out of consciousness.
“You’re going to make it,” I tell her. “You will make it.”
Her eyes focus on mine and her lips move. I bring my ear closer.
“Do the right thing.”
I don’t understand what she means. Elizabeth’s right thing has always been different from mine.
“For your sister.”
“My sister?” I look into her face and touch an escaping teardrop.
“Tiam…you...sisters.”
The first thing that comes to my mind is that sometime today, after I’d gone missing, Elizabeth must have finally met Tiam. But Yahya told me Tiam was already in the hospital.<
br />
“Did you meet her? Tiam? Your daughter?”
“Listen.”
“I’m here, Mother.”
“Sister…your sister…Tiam.”
Elizabeth isn’t aware of the fact that I’ve known the truth for the past six months. “I know Tiam. She’s like a sister to me. I’ve met Zari too. She told me what happened in Ankara.”
She closes her eyes and squeezes my hand. When she turns her gaze on me again, more tears escape.
Her words are slurring. “You…Tiam…same father.”
I stare at her as my brain struggles with what she’s telling me. Yahya’s words come back to me about the unfinished business.
“Do the right thing for Tiam,” Elizabeth says and closes her eyes.
Part XIII
Do me justice, You who are the glory of the just,
Who are the throne, and I the lintel of Your door.
But, in sober truth, where are throne and doorway?
Where are “We” and “I”? There, where our Beloved is!
— Rumi
44
Zari
The touch on Zari’s shoulder was comforting and familiar. Hospital hours passed slowly, but Emine came up to the ICU every hour to check on her and Tiam. There was nothing more to be done for her daughter but wait and pray. And pray she did. Zari believed in God and in miracles. At the same time, she feared having exhausted her pleas heavenward. Still, she wasn’t giving up.
“Someone out there wants to speak to you,” her friend said quietly.
Elizabeth left the hospital some time ago, and Zari assumed that she’d returned. “Tell her she can come back in.”
“I think you should speak to him yourself.”
The doctors had been both kind and efficient in letting her know what was happening at every step. For some time now, Tiam had been drifting in and out of consciousness, so Zari reluctantly let go of her daughter’s hand and followed her dearest friend out.
In the hallway, Emine gestured to one of the consulting rooms. Over the years, Zari had learned that the doctors preferred to relay the worst news in the privacy of those rooms. But what could be more crushing than what she already knew? Zari braced herself and her steps dragged as she went in.
The light shone brightly overhead. He was standing against the far wall.
“Yahya?” Her hand clutched the back of a chair for support.
In all the years of knowing he was around, this was the first time the two had been in such close proximity, had stood in the same room. She looked into his handsome face and his troubled eyes. He always found out whenever Tiam was hospitalized, and Zari knew of his presence through the accounts that were settled and the flowers that would appear. She guessed Emine had something to do with him being here tonight.
“I had to come.”
“Of course.”
He ran a hand behind his neck as if he were in pain. Zari wished she’d been brave enough to tell him the truth about the girls long before this moment. She could read the suffering in his furrowed brow and his clenched jaw.
“I’d like to ask your permission to see my daughter…before she’s gone.”
“Of course you can see her. But…” She had to free herself. Zari had accepted his generosity for a very long time, but she didn’t want his grief to be misplaced. “But I need to tell you. She’s not your child, Yahya. Tiam is—”
“Elizabeth Hall’s daughter. I know.”
Stunned, Zari struggled to find her voice. For years, Emine had been in contact with Yahya, but she didn’t know this secret about Tiam. How he’d discovered the truth was a mystery to her.
“I spoke to Elizabeth tonight. Tiam is also my daughter.”
As his words registered, Zari’s legs wobbled, and she sank to the edge of the nearest chair. She stared with unseeing eyes at the white walls, trying to comprehend all that those few words conveyed. Their past was crumbling around her, piece by piece.
She’d believed the promises they had made to each other in Qalat Dizah before he had to leave. The letters they exchanged had been full of hope. Their love was stronger than the ravages of war. When she left their home amid the screaming percussion of falling rockets and bombs, it was the thought of reuniting with her husband that gave strength to her steps. While giving birth to their daughter in the home of strangers, the thought of being with him again was the single thing that fortified her.
But his devotion didn’t match hers. His love for her lacked substance. He’d betrayed the vows they’d taken.
“I was a stupid and gullible young man back then, alone and lost and undeserving of you and your love.”
Zari listened to his words, but she couldn’t bring herself to look into his face. She was angry, wounded, bleeding. Many times during these past thirty years, she’d imagined him married to someone else and having a separate family. But she found it difficult to grasp this admission. Certainly, he must have loved her still at that time.
“I can make excuses and say Elizabeth seduced me, but then I’d be a coward,” he continued. “I must take responsibility for my part in it. I always had the choice of walking away. She couldn’t force me. I had made a solemn promise to you. We’d exchanged vows. But all I can say is I never thought hard enough about consequences.”
“There are always consequences.”
When Zari arrived in Ankara, Elizabeth was already pregnant. She was so generous, giving Zari—a stranger—a job in spite of having no references. At the time, she’d thought it was miraculous, but everything made sense now.
“I thought you were incorruptible, and I believed Elizabeth to be generous. Foolish me!”
“I paid a hard price for my disloyalty,” he told her.
As was right, Zari thought. More than a three decades had passed, and she still hurt. How could he do that to her?
“When she was finished with me, Elizabeth had me arrested. I didn’t know until tonight, but it was because she had become pregnant with my child. She wanted me removed from her life.”
Zari focused on his face. Standing before her was a strong and dangerous man, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to look at her. It was easy and right to lay blame, but she had fallen victim to Elizabeth’s evil herself.
“What did they do to you? Where did they take you?”
“The Americans moved me a few times before handing me over to the Turks. I was taken to the military prison on Imrali Island and remained there for over a year.
When they finally realized I was a nobody and that I knew nothing of any value, I was transferred to Ulucanlar Prison in Ankara.”
Zari knew about both of those places. Kurdish people talked about the nightmare of overcrowding, of hunger strikes, of the torture and the beatings that existed in Turkish prisons, but those two were among the worst.
“Did they torture you?” she asked.
Yahya’s eyes met Zari’s, and his face hardened. “I don’t want you to think about the things that happened to me. I don’t deserve your sympathy.”
“My pain is mine. You can’t dictate how I feel.”
He paused and then nodded. “I was foolish and weak, Zari. I deserved what I got. I learned a grave lesson from it.”
Hot, wild anger erupted and raced through her. Elizabeth did this to him. She did it callously—just as when she stole her daughter—without any thought of the damage she was inflicting on so many lives. She destroyed everything she touched. A few hours ago, Zari stood in this hospital and told her that she’d forgiven her. Now she prayed to Allah to help her, for all the rage was back, pumping fire through her veins.
“Long ago, the Yahya Rahman you married disappeared,” he told her. “But I am also no longer the foolish young man who lost his way in Ankara.”
“You certainly are not.”
“I regret all I did to you, all the disappointment I have caused, all the pain my broken vows have inflicted on you.”
What they had between them was long gone. She’d come to term
s with that the first time Emine told her that Yahya was in Istanbul. But Zari also knew that broken faith was difficult to mend.
“I don’t expect forgiveness. I don’t deserve it. That is for you alone to give.”
The moments of happiness they had shared were behind them. They had traveled separate paths and become different people.
“Tonight, I’ve come here with one purpose.”
Zari stood up slowly. She understood. “You’re here to meet and to say goodbye to your daughter. Come with me.”
45
Christina
For over six hours, I’ve been pacing in the hospital waiting area. I’m already climbing the walls. An administrator has been checking on me occasionally, but so far the only thing I’ve been told is that my mother is still in surgery.
In the distance an elevator dings, and a moment later Kyle comes down the corridor. He’s only been gone from my side for a few minutes, and when I tell him there’s been nothing new, he puts a cup of coffee in my hand and leads me to the chairs lining one wall of the waiting room.
“The meetings with the buyers have been postponed indefinitely. I also called and spoke to Elizabeth’s lawyer.”
Kyle arrived at the American Hospital in the Taksim neighborhood a short time after Elizabeth had been wheeled into the operating room, and he’s been more than supportive.
This has all been a nightmare. She lost consciousness while I was with her in the ambulance, and it was clear the EMTs were doing everything they could to keep her alive en route to the hospital. Since she went into surgery, the wait has been excruciating.
A couple of hours ago, I told Kyle everything about my family, so he knows all about Tiam and Zari and Yahya and me. He already knew about what Elizabeth did years ago working for the US government, but now he’s fully aware of her actions in Ankara. Most of all, he knows that—since she’s not actually my birth mother—I feel unqualified to make any unilateral decisions regarding her health, her life.