The Strange Journey of Alice Pendelbury

by Marc Levy

  “All very poetic, what you just said.”

  “Are you poking fun at me?”

  “Just a little bit.”

  “I suppose you think this shop is a much more romantic subject.”

  “Well, there is a certain poetry in the way he uses his hands. And I’ve always loved the smell at the cobbler’s—leather, glue, wax . . .”

  “That’s just because you like shoes. I’m more of a bakery man myself, but I don’t think I have to explain.”

  A short while later they were walking along the water. Daldry sat down on a bench.

  “What are you looking at?” asked Alice.

  “That old woman near the railing talking to the man with the terrier. It’s fascinating.”

  “She likes animals. What’s so fascinating about that?”

  “Keep watching; you’ll see what I mean.”

  After exchanging a few words with the terrier’s owner, the old woman went over to another dog. She knelt and caressed its muzzle.

  “You see?”

  “She’s patting another dog?”

  “She’s not interested in the dogs; she’s interested in the leash.”

  “The leash?”

  “The leash that attaches the dog to its owner—the fellow fishing. The leash is what allows her to have a little conversation. She’s probably dying of loneliness, but she’s come up with a way of getting a few words out of complete strangers. I’ll bet she comes here every day for a little dose of humanity.”

  This time, Daldry seemed to be right. When the old lady didn’t manage to get the attention of the dog’s owner, she walked a little farther down the waterfront and took some crumbs from her pocket, throwing them to the pigeons. Soon she was chatting with another fisherman.

  “A sad, solitary existence, don’t you think?” asked Daldry.

  Alice turned and looked him in the eye. “Why did you come all this way? Why did you come on this trip with me?”

  Alice had caught Daldry off guard. “You know why . . . We made a deal. I’m helping you find the love of your life, or at least putting you on the right track. While you’re on the trail, I’ll paint under your skylight.”

  “Is that really why?”

  Daldry gazed out over the water and seemed to contemplate the minaret on the Asian side of the Bosporus.

  “You remember the café at the end of our street?” asked Daldry.

  “Yes, of course. The one where we had breakfast together.”

  “I used to go there every day and sit at the same table with my newspaper. One day, when the article I was reading was particularly boring, I looked up, saw myself in the mirror, and suddenly realized how the years had been dragging on. I needed a change of scenery too. But I’ve started to miss London these past few days. Nothing’s perfect.”

  “You’re thinking about going home?”

  “You were thinking about it yourself, not so long ago.”

  “Not anymore.”

  “The fortune-teller’s predictions are starting to seem more plausible. You have a reason to stay now. But I’ve accomplished my mission. I think the consul was the second person in the chain of six, perhaps even the third, if we consider Can the second.”

  “You’re going to abandon me?”

  “That’s what we agreed to, isn’t it? Oh, don’t worry, I’ll pay for your hotel room and Can’s services for three more months. He’s very devoted. I’ll also leave him a generous advance on his expenses. I’ll open an account for you in the Banca di Roma—the branch is right on Istiklal and they’re used to receiving foreign clients.”

  “You expect me to stay in Istanbul three months longer?”

  “You still have a long way to go if you want to get to the end of your journey, Alice. Besides, you don’t want to miss springtime in Turkey. Think of all the flowers you’ll be able to use in your perfumes . . . Think of our business venture.”

  “When did you decide it was time for you to leave?”

  “When I woke up this morning.”

  “And what if I asked you to stay, just a little while longer?”

  “You don’t even have to ask. The next flight for London doesn’t leave until Saturday. We still have a few days ahead of us.” Alice’s face fell. “Oh, come now. Don’t be like that . . . My mother’s health isn’t very good, I can’t stay away for too long.”

  Daldry got up and walked over to the crash barrier, where the old woman they had watched earlier was sidling up to a large white dog.

  “Be careful,” he said to her. “That one looks like a biter.”

  Can arrived at the hotel in time for tea. He looked very pleased with himself.

  “I have fascinating news to deliver you,” he said as he joined Alice and Daldry in the bar.

  Alice put her cup on the table and gave Can her full attention.

  “In a building near to the one where your father and mother lived, I met an old man who knew them. He invited us to come see him.”

  “When?” asked Alice, turning to Daldry to see his expression.

  “Now.”

  11

  Mr. Zemirli’s apartment occupied the third floor of a reasonably well-to-do building on Istiklal Avenue. His door opened onto a hall whose walls were lined with countless stacks of old books.

  Ogüz Zemirli wore flannel trousers, a white shirt, a silk dressing gown, and two pairs of glasses. One of them remained fixed to his forehead as if by magic, and the other rested on the tip of his nose. He alternated between them depending on what he needed to see. His face was closely shaven, apart from a few gray hairs on the tip of his chin that seemed to have escaped the barber’s attention.

  He led his guests into a sitting room furnished with a mix of French and Ottoman furniture and disappeared into the kitchen, returning in the company of a curvaceous woman. She served them glasses of mint tea and Turkish pastries. Mr. Zemirli thanked her and she went back into the kitchen.

  “She is my cook,” he said in an accented English. “Her cakes are delicious. Please help yourselves.”

  Daldry didn’t have to be asked twice.

  “So, you are the little girl of Cömert Eczaci . . .”

  “No, sir, my father was named Pendelbury.” Alice glanced at Daldry in disappointment.

  “Pendelbury? I don’t think he told me . . . Maybe my memory isn’t as good as it once was.”

  Daldry wondered for a moment if their host still had all his wits about him. He mentally cursed Can for bringing them into a stranger’s home and getting Alice’s hopes up.

  “In the neighborhood we never called him Pendelbury, especially back then. We called him Cömert Eczaci.”

  Can interjected. “It means ‘generous pharmacist.’” Alice’s heart started beating faster with Can’s explanation.

  “He was indeed your father?” Mr. Zemirli asked.

  “It’s quite possible. My father was both generous and a pharmacist.”

  “I remember him well. Your mother too, a woman of character. They worked together at the university.” Mr. Zemirli got up from his chair, not without some difficulty. “Follow me,” he instructed, going over to the window and pointing out an apartment on the second floor of the building across the street from his. “They lived there.”

  “The consul said that they lived on the third floor.”

  “Well, I’m telling you they lived on the second. Believe him if you like, but it was my aunt who rented them the apartment. You see, the window on the left was their sitting room, and the window on the right was their bedroom. There was a kitchen at the back that looked out over the courtyard, just like in this building. Let’s sit. My leg is bothering me.” They sat. “In fact, my leg is what led me to meet your parents.”

  Mr. Zemirli explained how, as a teenager, like many of the other boys his age, he liked to come home from school by jumping on a passing tram and riding astride the single taillight on the back of the wagon. One rainy day, Ogüz missed his mark and got his leg caught between the wheel and
the wheel guard. The tram dragged him for several meters before he fell free. The surgeons did their best to stitch up his wounds and saved him from needing an amputation, but he couldn’t do his military service, and his leg always throbbed with pain when it rained.

  “The medicine was very expensive, much too expensive in the pharmacy, but your father brought it home from the university hospital, as he did for many of the needy families in the neighborhood. It was during the war, and many people were falling ill. In their little apartment, your parents established a sort of clandestine dispensary. When they got home from the hospital, your mother would care for patients, while your father handed out the medicine he had found, as well as remedies he created himself from medicinal plants. In the winter, when many children came down with fevers, sometimes the line of mothers and grandmothers stretched into the street. The local police knew what was going on, but since it was entirely voluntary and for the public’s good, they looked the other way. Besides, they sent their own children when they fell sick. I can’t imagine any policeman brave enough to confront his wife with the news that he had arrested the source of the family’s medical care. And believe me, as a child, I knew all the local policemen!” He chuckled.

  “One evening, your father handed out much more medicine than he usually did. He gave away everything he had. The next day, your parents had disappeared. They had been gone for two months before my aunt dared take the key and go see what had become of the apartment. Everything was perfectly arranged and in its place. Not a single dish or spoon was missing. On the kitchen table they had left the rest of the rent they owed and a note saying they had gone back to England. That note came as a huge relief to the people of the neighborhood. We had all been very worried about Cömert Eczaci and his wife, and also worried that our policemen had done something terrible to them and hidden it from us. You know, thirty-five years later, every time I go to the pharmacy to get the medicine for this cursed leg of mine, I can feel them around me. I look up and see Cömert Eczaci’s face in the window of my aunt’s apartment. So you can imagine what an emotional experience it is to see his daughter here before me this evening.”

  Alice could see the tears welling behind the thick lenses of Mr. Zemirli’s glasses, and it made her feel a little less embarrassed about not having been able to keep her own from streaming down her cheeks.

  The flood of emotions had also taken Can and Daldry by surprise. Mr. Zemirli took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed the tip of his nose before leaning over and refilling their glasses.

  “We should drink to the memory of the generous pharmacist of Beyoğlu and his dear wife.”

  They raised their glasses of mint tea in an improbable but heartfelt toast to Alice’s parents.

  “Do you remember me from those times?” asked Alice.

  “No, I don’t recall having seen you. I wish I could tell you otherwise, but I would be lying. How old were you?”

  “Five.”

  “Well, that’s normal. Your parents worked and you must have been at school.”

  “That makes sense,” said Daldry.

  “What school do you think I went to?” asked Alice.

  “You really have no memory of it yourself?” asked Mr. Zemirli.

  “Not the slightest. That period is like a black hole. I only remember my childhood in London.”

  “They’re strange things, our first memories. This is different with everybody, and some people remember more than others. And you can ask: Are those memories real, or have we just created them from what people told us? I personally don’t think I remember much from before I was seven, and still, I might have been eight . . . I do remember telling my mother this once, and it made her very distressed. ‘What? All those years taking care of you, and you don’t remember a thing?’” He paused. “But you were asking about the school. Your parents probably sent you to Saint Michel’s; it’s not very far from here and they taught some English. It was a very strict school with a good reputation, and I’m sure they keep very careful records of their pupils. You should visit them.”

  Mr. Zemirli suddenly seemed very tired. Can coughed and signaled that it was time for them to go.

  Alice rose to her feet and thanked the old man for his hospitality.

  Mr. Zemirli put his hand on his heart. “Your parents were humble, courageous people. They were heroes. I’m glad to know for certain that they made it back to their home country in safety, and even happier to meet their daughter. If they never told you about their time in Turkey, I’m sure it was pure modesty. I hope that you will stay long enough in Istanbul to understand what I am talking about. Godspeed to you, Cömert Eczaci’ nin kizi.”

  When they were back in the street, Can explained that he had called Alice “daughter of the generous pharmacist.”

  It was too late to go directly to Saint Michel’s School, but Can promised to make an appointment for them the following day.

  Alice and Daldry had dinner together in the hotel dining room. They spoke little over the course of the meal, and Daldry respected Alice’s silence. From time to time he tried to amuse her by telling stories from his school days, but Alice’s mind was elsewhere, and her smiles seemed half-hearted and distracted.

  As they were saying good night in the hall, Daldry remarked that Alice had every reason to be happy. Ogüz Zemirli was probably the third, if not the fourth, link in the chain.

  Back in her room, Alice sat at the writing desk next to the window.

  Dear Anton,

  Every evening when I cross the hotel lobby, I hope the concierge will give me a letter from you. It’s a silly thing to hope for. After all, why would you write?

  I’ve made a decision. It’s taken a lot of courage for me to promise such a thing to myself, or rather, it will take a lot of courage to keep the promise. The day I come back to London, I’ll ring your doorbell and leave a packet of all the letters I’ve written in a little box in front of your door. I’ll buy the box in the Bazaar this week.

  Maybe you’ll read them through the night, and maybe the next day you’ll come to my door. I know that makes for a lot of maybes, but maybe has recently become a big part of my life.

  I may have finally found the source of the nightmares that have been plaguing my sleep.

  The fortune-teller in Brighton was right, at least about one thing. My childhood began here, on the second floor of an apartment building in Istanbul. I spent two years here, and I must have played in a little street with a long flight of steps at its end. I don’t remember it, but these images from another life keep coming back to me in the night. If I’m going to understand the mystery that surrounds those early years of my life, I have to keep searching. I’m starting to guess at the reasons my parents never told me anything. If I had been my mother, I would have done the same thing and kept any memories to myself that were too painful to recount.

  This afternoon, I was shown the windows of the apartment we used to live in, where my mother must have watched people passing in the street below. I could almost make out the little kitchen where she cooked our meals, and the parlor where I must have sat on my father’s lap. I thought time had healed the pain of their deaths, but nothing could be further from the truth.

  I’d like to show you around Istanbul one day. We’ll take a walk down Istiklal Avenue, and I’ll show you the building I once lived in. We’ll go for a walk along the Bosporus, you’ll play your trumpet, and the people will be able to hear the music all the way across the water in the hills of Üsküdar.

  See you soon, Anton.

  Fondly,

  Alice

  Alice woke as the sun was rising. Watching the waters of the Bosporus light up and sparkle made her want to escape into the morning.

  The hotel dining room was still empty, and the waiters in their silver-trimmed uniforms were still setting the tables. Alice sat in the corner and read an old newspaper she had found on a side table. The news from London slowly slipped from her hands and into her lap as Alice’s th
oughts wandered from the luxurious hotel dining room in Istanbul to Primrose Hill in London.

  She imagined Carol walking down Regent’s Park Road to catch the bus to work, and she could see her jumping onto the rear platform and chatting up the conductor so that he’d forget to charge her fare. Carol would tell him he looked pale, introduce herself, and then tell him to come visit her at the hospital. About half the time it worked, and she’d get off the bus in front of the hospital having had a free ride.

  Alice thought of Anton walking with his knapsack over his shoulder and his coat open, even in the cold of winter, his hair disheveled and his eyes still half-closed with sleep. She saw him cross the courtyard of the building where he had his workshop, set up the stool in front of his carpenter’s bench, and look over his tools, sorting through the chisels, caressing the rounded handle of a plane, before glancing at the clock and setting to work. She thought about Sam, entering the back door of the bookshop in Camden, taking off his overcoat, and putting on his gray smock before going to dust off the rows of books and stock take while waiting for the first customers to arrive.

  Finally, she imagined Eddy, sprawled across his bed and snoring his head off. It made her smile.

  “Am I bothering you?”

  Alice jumped and looked up to see Daldry standing in front of her.

  “I was just reading the paper.”

  “You must have pretty good vision; it’s lying on the floor.”

  “My thoughts drifted elsewhere.”

  “Might I ask where?”

  “Oh, to London.”

  Daldry turned to the bar and tried to flag down a waiter.

  “Tonight I’m going to take you somewhere incredible. One of the best restaurants in Istanbul.”

  “Are we celebrating something?”

  “In a sense. Our trip together began in one of London’s finest restaurants, and I thought it would be fitting if my leg of the journey ended in a similar manner.”

  “But you’re not leaving until—”