Farewell: A Mansion in Occupied Istanbul (Turkish Literature) (15 page)

“I won’t, Behice Abla,” said Mehpare. “You collapsed. Don’t you think you’d better see a doctor? Don’t you wonder why you fainted?”

“It was the discomfort.”

“No one faints from discomfort.”

“The lemonade disagreed with me.”

“The lemonade was fine. No one else got sick. Why would you?”

“I have a sensitive stomach.”

“Look, I’ll keep your secret on one condition.”

“What is it?”

“That you’re examined by a doctor. We can send word to Mahir Bey, tell him what happened and ask for his opinion. He can examine you in Kemal Bey’s room.”

Behice looked thoughtful. Actually, she did wonder if anything was wrong, but she didn’t like the idea of taking Kemal into her confidence. Mehpare seemed to read her mind. “Kemal Bey wouldn’t tell a soul, believe me,” she said. “He knows better than anyone what a hypochondriac Saraylıhanım can be.”

“All right then,” Behice finally agreed, “Now can you tell me what
Ş
ahende Hanım said? My ears were buzzing so terribly I missed her entire speech.”

“It was a wonderful talk. Anyone listening to her would grab a gun and race off to fight the enemy. She called on us all, men and women, to join the Anatolian resistance movement.”

“So we’re expected to run off to Anatolia, children and all?”

“We don’t have to go anywhere. We can raise funds. We can send blankets, sweaters, shoes and food. We can roll bandages and buy medicines. That’s what she said, anyway.”

“Whatever you do, don’t mention a word of this in front of Re
ş
at Bey. If he found out that Azra had taken us to such a gathering he’d send her packing immediately.”

“I think Re
ş
at Bey loves his country too,” Mehpare said. “So he wouldn’t get angry with us, don’t worry.”

“What a peculiar girl you are,” Behice said. “Is Kemal responsible for teaching you all this?”

“No one is teaching me anything, efendim,” Mehpare said. “We’re all born with love: love for our country, for our children, for our parents . . . for a man. When the time comes, the love inside sprouts and grows. At least that’s what I think.”

“And since when have you been thinking all this?”

“Since all those nights I spent at Kemal Bey’s sickbed, alone with my thoughts.”

“Blessed Mehpare! Stop thinking so much and take care to sleep at night. You’re growing paler by the day. At this rate, you’ll fall ill. You might even faint like I did,” Behice said.

“Don’t worry about me,” Mehpare smiled. “Nothing will happen to me. We Circassians are used to suffering. Just look at Kemal Bey, returning safe and sound from Sarıkamı
ş
, when thousands froze to death. That’s when I truly believed that God is looking after us Circassians.”

“I vividly remember Kemal’s condition the day he returned, and you would probably have to be a Circassian to describe it as ‘safe and sound,’” said Behice.

As the new Grand Vizier, Damat Ferit Pasha, set about forming his new Cabinet, he retained the old finance minister. The position required technical expertise and experience, and Ahmet Re
ş
at had not only served well for many years, he had never exhibited partisan leanings. After Ahmet Re
ş
at learned that his dear friend, Ahmet Re
ş
it, would be serving as minister of home affairs in the new government, Ahmet Re
ş
at was rather less reluctant to accept a cabinet position under a Grand Vizier for whom he had little affection.

When Doctor Mahir arrived early one morning to congratulate his old friend on his reinstatement as minister, as well as in response to the letter of invitation sent by Behice Hanım, he first made his customary visit to Kemal’s room. Shortly afterwards, Behice and Mehpare crept upstairs as well. Eyes on the floor in obvious embarrassment, Behice mentioned a recent fainting fit, nothing serious but perhaps it would be prudent to have a doctor’s advice. She wondered if Kemal wouldn’t mind waiting for a moment in Mehpare’s room.

“Of course not, I’ll just go downstairs,” Kemal complied.

“No, no, don’t go downstairs. Let’s not attract the attention of Saraylıhanım. There’s no need to worry her. Just go and wait in Mehpare’s room.”

When Kemal left the room Behice got to the point. As she’d mentioned in her letter, she had a special request to make of the doctor: it was to be kept strictly confidential, with no one else in the house to know.

With the examination completed, Doctor Mahir asked leave to go and wash his hands. Once he was gone, Behice sat up in Kemal’s bed, rearranged her veil to cover her hair and turned her attention to Mehpare, who waited at the bedside. “Tell Kemal Bey that he can return to his room, would you,” she said.

Doctor Mahir came back to the room and said, “You appear to be perfectly healthy, efendim. What the midwife told you was right: you are most likely with child. I’ll need a urine sample to be absolutely certain and will inform you the instant I am.”

“But how could that be? Good gracious!”

“Why not? This time, you may even be blessed with a son.”

“It’s for Re
ş
at Bey that I want a son, Mahir Bey, not for myself.”

“As far as I know Re
ş
at Bey is perfectly content with his daughters.”

“You also know that he sent Suat to school, as though she were a boy. If he has a son he might let the girls be girls.”

“Is it so wrong for girls to receive an education?”

“Schooling and training are a different matter altogether when it comes to girls. Suat can barely embroider. She can’t play the ud. She’s never home long enough to learn anything. That school of hers has taken over her life.”

“What about Leman?” laughed Doctor Mahir.

“Saraylıhanım was able to rescue her from Re
ş
at Bey. You know, she sees herself in the girl, her eyes, her figure, her fastidiousness. She’s forever teaching Leman Circassian cuisine. But Leman’s quite lazy, she cares about nothing but her piano.”

“It’s a difficult age for girls,” Mahir assured her. “The indolence will pass. She’s betwixt and between at the moment. It’s only natural that she’s at something of a loss.”

By the time Mehpare and Kemal returned to the room Mahir had long since re-packed his medical bag.

“So doctor, have you discovered the why and wherefore of my aunt’s fainting spell?” Kemal asked.

“The why and wherefore is most likely seated at this moment behind his desk at the ministry of finance,” Mahir chuckled.

“You’re not serious!”

“A people constantly at war must constantly repopulate itself, I say!”

“Stop having fun at my expense,” Behice protested. “I may well have fainted from all the excitement. I haven’t been able to stand crowds of any kind ever since our flight from Thessalonica. They give me heart palpitations. So please, don’t speak a word of this to anyone, not yet!”

“Don’t worry, Behice Hanım, information of a confidential nature is kept between patient and doctor. I’ll certainly let you know the results of the test, and the rest is up to you. You can tell whomever you like.”

“And if I’m not pregnant?”

“Unless you faint again, everything is fine. If you do faint, it’s best you come to the hospital, where we’ll run some tests. But what I need you to do right now is to locate a bottle and supply me with a urine sample before I go back downstairs, please.”

As Behice thanked Mahir and left the room Mehpare ran after her. “Behice, we had a bottle of cologne with a stopper. Shall I empty it and wash it out for you?” she asked

“And waste the cologne?”

“It’s nearly gone anyway.”

“Thank you, Mehpare, bring it to my room as soon as it’s ready.”

Behice withdrew to her bedroom. Locking the door she removed her blouse and examined her breasts in front of the mirror. Her nipples had darkened slightly. She had no appetite in the morning and her sense of smell had sharpened. She might be pregnant; but, then again, the gathering that day had been terribly trying, enough to make her faint. Never again would she set foot in such a place. Mehpare knocked on the door, freshly rinsed bottle in hand. Behice raced to the toilet.

With the women out of the room, Mahir gathered the latest batch of translations scattered on Kemal’s desk, took some new journals out of his bag and handed them to his friend.

“Merely doing translations isn’t enough for me, Mahir,” Kemal said. “I feel perfectly healthy and strong. It’s time I joined you and the others.”

“I don’t deny that you’ve made a recovery. But your body is still weak, Kemal. You mustn’t take on too much.”

“Confinement to a single room is taking its toll on my spirit. At this rate, I’m in danger of losing my mind.”

“I know it’s not easy, my friend. If there weren’t a warrant out for your arrest I’d have had you sent to your uncle’s farm long ago. But there are spies everywhere. It’s become more difficult than ever to know who’s a secret agent.”

“I could change my appearance, Mahir. I could grow a beard, dye my hair, wear glasses. Saraylıhanım uses henna from time to time . . .”

“You know, that’s not a bad idea. With your hair tinted red they’d take you for a Jew. You’d immediately be spared the wrath of the occupation forces: it’s Muslims they’re after, not minorities.” Mahir fell silent at a knock on the door. It was Mehpare, bringing Behice’s urine sample.

“Behice Hanım asked me to give this to you,” she said, extending the bottle to Mahir, who checked the stopper was secure before putting it into his bag.

“Kemal Bey, may I ask you something?” Mehpare said. “Go on.”

“What happened to Behice Hanım in Thessalonica? What did she mean, about her ‘flight’? Did something bad happen?”

Kemal and Mahir exchanged glances. “It’s a bad memory, yes,” Kemal said.

“Can I ask what happened?”

“Why are you so curious about it, Mehpare?”

“I thought I might be of more help to her if I knew. If she’s not pregnant, but still continues to have fainting spells, I might be able to do more for her than just offer smelling salts and cologne. I did realize at the gathering the other day that the size of the crowd disturbed her terribly.”

“You were right. My aunt’s been terrified of crowds, of loud noises, ever since that day. My uncle was posted to Thessalonica during the Balkan War and the Ottomans were given very little time to evacuate the city when we lost. He thought it best to send his wife and daughters, who were still very young at the time, on the first ship to Istanbul. Apparently, it had begun to be dangerous for Turks, subjected as they were to the insults and harassments of the Ottoman Greeks.”

“Weren’t you there with them, sir?”

“No, I was here, at boarding school.”

“Did something happen on their voyage back?”

“Behice and her daughters were collected at the door by a phaeton belonging to the Russian Envoy, and taken to the port in his personal carriage. A Russian armed attendant sat next to the driver the entire way to protect them from any possible attacks. As the city was being evacuated, the local Greeks were throwing stones at the carriages boarded by Turks, cursing them, insulting them, roughing up and plundering the personal belongings of anyone they were able to get their hands on. After their rough ride to the port they were able to board the ship, but not before being subjected to vulgarity and catcalls. They were pushed and shoved. My aunt was pregnant at the time and lost her baby during the voyage to Istanbul. Ever since, she’s been terrified of shouting and yelling, of demonstrations, of large crowds of any kind. She wasn’t herself again for quite some time. It wasn’t easy of course, a young woman and two children, without her husband by her side . . .”

“Why didn’t Re
ş
at Beyefendi return with his family?”

“He was in charge of organizing archives going back centuries. He returned a few months later.”

“He came back to Istanbul with my father,” said Doctor Mahir. “See, you’re learning something else today, Mehpare. The friendship between our families goes all the way back to those days in Thessalonica. Not only were we neighbors, he and father were colleagues. They worked together at the provincial office of the director of finance and they shared the risky voyage back home to Istanbul. That’s why they were so close, like family really.”

“May God bless his soul,” Kemal interjected. “Mahir Bey’s father was Uncle Re
ş
at’s superior. You came to live with us not long after Aunt Behice had returned to Istanbul. My aunt was in a feeble condition after the miscarriage and unable to look after her children properly. My grandmother gave us the news that a young Circassian girl was coming to stay and to keep Leman and Suat amused. You weren’t much more than a girl yourself, but you certainly knew how to keep those imps in line. What a clever, beautiful child you were, Mehpare.”

Mehpare blushed. “I was hardly a child . . .”

“What do you mean? You were no more than twelve or thirteen.”

Mehpare became agitated all of a sudden. “Ah, sir! I forget to tell you, now Saraylıhanım will become cross with me. Your grandmother will be wondering why you haven’t come downstairs; she was going to offer refreshments to Mahir Bey in the selamlık.”

“Go on down, Mehpare, we’ll join you in a moment,” Kemal told her.

With Mehpare out of the room, Kemal returned to their earlier conversation.

“Or perhaps I could dress up like a priest?” he mused.

“When it comes time to travel to the farm you can wear a çar
ş
af again. Everything will be fine once you get there.”

“But then what I will do, when I’m out on the streets?”

“You’ll have no cause to be on the streets in the daytime, Kemal. You’ll be working indoors. Demobilization orders and identity cards are being prepared for the officers who have fled to Anatolia. You’ll be helping with that.”

“And running guns at night, right?”

“One of our divisions is responsible for arms smuggling. They’re doing a great job. God forbid you should have to join them. Your duties lie elsewhere.”

“Where?”

“There are some Algerian troops attached to the French army. They’re staying at Rami Barracks. They visit Eyüp Sultan Mosque for Friday prayers. The sermons of the clerics there aim to persuade these soldiers of the treachery of taking up arms against their fellow Muslims. You’ll translate the sermons for the Algerian soldiers.”