Istanbul Passage (16 page)

“Where was this?”

“Beyazit. Was it you?” Not really a question.

“It may have been. I went to see a friend. At the university.”

“Yes? Who?”

“Georg Ritter.”

“Ah, our Marxist philosopher. There? I thought he was in Nişantaşi now.”

“His office. He still keeps one there.”

“He’s well?” The rhythm of conversation, eyes watching carefully.

“Actually, he wasn’t in. Stupid, I suppose, just stopping by like that but it gave me an excuse to go to the book market. You know, by Beyazit Camii.”

“You pronounce it correctly. The
c
, it’s tricky for foreigners. A valuable skill. So few Americans know the language. I’m surprised they didn’t call upon you more, on a regular basis. Not errands.”

“I prefer the tobacco business.”

Altan raised his eyebrows. “On that we agree. We prefer you in it too.” He began to walk, Leon following. “The book market. We had some dealings there once. You know the German bookseller? The corner with the old tree? Not just selling books. The Germans denied it, of course, but they stopped. It’s always better that way, to arrange things quietly.”

“Quite a coincidence, you being on the tram.”

“Yes. Oh, I see, you think on purpose? What would be the reason for that?”

“None.”

“No, I was out in Laleli. A hotel. The police, you know, it’s routine with them to check hotels. After a crime. So we wanted to know, is the Romanian somewhere. Maybe an assumed name, but a
ferengi
, that’s usually remembered.”

“And was he?”

“Two men at this one. On a drunk, the clerk said. Sailors, he thought.”

“But he could identify them if he saw them again?”

“Oh, easily, I think. Both,” he said, looking at Leon. “Of course, the clerk, sometimes these types are not reliable. An unusual drinking party. The room was clean.”

“Sailors are usually neat.”

“Mr. Bauer, have you ever been drunk? Look at your room the next morning.”

“The police could show him a picture. Of the Romanian. Then you’d know for sure.”

“If they had one.”

“Don’t you?”

“Mr. Bauer,” he said, not answering, “the police have their own methods. We don’t interfere.”

“Interfere? Emniyet? You can do—”

“I don’t think you understand. The police must do their work, but it would be better if they don’t solve this crime.”

Leon looked at him, waiting.

“The men are gone, whoever they were. Whatever they did. If the police find who killed Mr. King, friends are likely to be embarrassed. Someone will be put on trial. The Russians are an excitable people. Quick to take offense. We could lose our balance, trip. Much better to deal with this quietly, out of the public eye.”

“What if the Romanian shot him? Would you want to solve it then?”

“Even more quietly,” Altan said, his own voice lower. “After we
find him.” He turned, making a formal good-bye nod. “Thank you for the cigarettes. The Turkish tobacco, it comes mostly from the north coast, I think.”

“That’s right.”

“Your business, it must take you to the Black Sea ports then.”

“Once in a while.”

“Your wife too, I think.”

Leon said nothing.

“A woman with Jewish interests.”

“She is Jewish.”

“Yes, I understand. Terrible things during the war. One can’t help but be sympathetic. To save people, it’s heroic. What is illegal when a life is at stake? Now, of course, a different time.”

“What makes you think their lives aren’t still at stake? Every day you hear stories—”

“And now another friend to balance. The Americans want this, the Russians want that, and the British—the British want us to stop ships. You say refugees, they say human contraband.”

“You were the safety valve. All during the war. The only people who got out, got out through here.”

“But now a flood. And the British turning them back. To where? For myself, I don’t—” He paused. “Your wife, I know, is ill. You don’t share her interests, the old work?”

“No.”

“Good. It’s a difficulty for Turkey.”

“Why do you ask?”

“No reason. Just to know your sympathies. Times change. The Black Sea—a very troubled place now. We think the Romanian came that way. Now all the Jews. A place that needs more ears. Familiar with the ports.”

Leon took this in. An invitation? A warning? But Altan’s face remained blank.

“Have you seen the human contraband? What they look like?” Leon said.

“Yes. Skeletons, some of them.” They had reached the top of the rise, the Sea of Marmara a distant glimpse of blue between rooftops. “To think, when Jason sailed through there,” Altan said, looking down at the water, “the Black Sea was a new place. A treasure house—hides, amber, maybe gold. Now it sends corpses. Europe’s war. And the survivors float to us.”

“They’re just passing through.”

“To where? America? No. Another war. The British took Palestine from us. Now they ask us to help them keep peace there. And we have to do it. Keep our balance.” He stopped. “You wouldn’t want to help anyone pass through. Make difficulties.”

“There seem to be a lot of things you don’t want me to do. But I’m not doing any of them. I buy tobacco, that’s all. And now the Emniyet is accusing me of—I don’t know what exactly. Am I suspected of something?”

Altan looked over at him, taking a second. “Of not being candid, Mr. Bauer, that’s all.” He raised two fingers to his forehead in a salute.
“Hosça kalin,”
he said and turned away, melting into the crowd of people at the funicular station.

Leon stood for a minute, watching, then went back to the end of the square and lit a cigarette, unnerved. What everyone dreaded, a talk with the Emniyet, but what had actually been said? Not said? Everything elusive, like the moustache that came and went with the light. But only one coincidence allowed, not two, and now the tram seemed to be the coincidence. He looked left, down the hill toward Marina’s building. Maybe visiting someone else. But that would make two coincidences. He imagined them suddenly in her room, Altan slipping off the kimono, running his hands along her shoulders. Or talking, cigarette smoke drifting out the window, a notebook of talk, maybe weekly, his Thursdays too.

He tossed the cigarette and started down the street, trying to remember everything he had ever said to her. Did Altan pay her? Something more valuable than her body, a peephole into someone’s secret life. How many, or just him? Everything they said afterward, lying on twisted sheets, Altan listening.

The vestibule smelled of damp plaster, something he hadn’t noticed before, his senses usually overwhelmed by anticipation. And after, the smell of sex, his fingers heavy with it. Quiet on the stairs, a drip somewhere down the hall, gray light through the translucent landing window, his breath shorter now, anxious. Would she lie? A new lie to keep the other one going. The knock sounded loud, not the standard gentle tap, knowing she was waiting on the other side.

It took her a few minutes to answer, Leon straining to hear, listening for footsteps. She’d be surprised, clutching the kimono tighter, belting it. When she opened the door, hesitant, her face was exactly what he expected, puzzled, a little put out. What are you doing here, without her saying it. A silk wrapper, but not the kimono, the bedroom door closed behind her.

“What did you tell Altan?” he said.

She said nothing, looking at him, deciding how to react. “Murat?” she said finally. “How do you know about him?”

“We just had a chat.”

“You’re in some trouble?”

Leon shook his head. “He just wanted to scare me a little. Let me know he’s there.”

She stared for another second, then opened the door wider. “So come in. He told you he comes here?”

“No. He doesn’t know I know.”

“How do you?” she said, lighting a cigarette.

“I saw him coming out of your building. A client?”

She shook her head.

“Just information? He doesn’t take a little something out in trade?”

She looked up, a small flash of anger. “What do you want?”

“He’s Emniyet. What does
he
want?”

“To talk.”

“About me?”

“About everyone.”

“And you tell him.”

“He’s Emniyet,” she said, the anger a little weary now. “I’m a whore. What choices do you think I have?”

“What does he want to know?”

“The man who owns the building. They want to know about him. I don’t know why. Do you think I would ask?”

“Know what about him? What happens in bed?”

Another flash of anger. “You think that’s so interesting, what happens there?” She took in some smoke, calming herself. “What he says. His business. Does he talk about Inönü? Things like that.”

“And me? What do you tell him about me?”

“Nothing. I said when you come here, it’s only for what we do. That’s all. It’s true enough. What do you ever say to me?”

He saw them lying in bed, idle talk, drifting with the smoke.

She put out the cigarette. “Who are your friends? Who in the consulate. Do you have enough money? You know what I tell him? You have enough for me. That’s all I care about.” She stopped and came over to him. “You don’t have to worry,” she said, touching him.
“I don’t say anything to him. It’s Bayar he wants to know about. You only come here to sleep with me. It’s true, isn’t it? That’s why you come.” Stroking his arm. “You enjoy it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why. Because you’d tell me to stop and how could I stop? So then maybe you’d stop coming.”

“And who knows? I might say something one day you could use. In a weak moment.”

“You think I would do that?” she said.

“Maybe. Isn’t that why they came to you? You make a good recruit. People tell you things all the time.”

She turned to him, stung. “That’s right. All the time. Wonderful things. Do you want to hear? Do this. More. Let me see you like that. Yes, open your legs,” she said, everything in a rush, spilling over with it, louder. “Oh, you don’t want to hear? Why not? Wonderful things. All my life. Just to have this,” she said, her hand to the room. “Emniyet doesn’t want to hear, either. Tell us what he says. What do they think men say to a whore?”

The bedroom door opened. Just a head, face unshaven, and the top of an undershirt. A quick exchange in a language Leon didn’t understand, Marina telling him to go back inside. Glowering at Leon, unsure, then closing the door. Marina looked over at him, saying nothing, the mood now slightly deflated, interrupted.

“What was that? The language.”

“Armenian,” she said.

“A specialty?”

“He likes it, yes,” she said, defiant now. “It makes it better for him. His language. Would you like to know what he tells me in it?”

Leon turned away, then caught his reflection, someone unfamiliar, as tarnished as the mirror itself, mottled with age, brown spots spreading around the edges. Wearing out. A place he’d found erotic,
dust in the window light, a sheen of sweat, now just a tired room, a surly Armenian behind the door, a thin girl in a wrapper, waiting to please him, what her life was really like. He stared at himself for another minute, unable to move, the same hollowing out he sometimes felt after sex, the man in the mirror looking straight back, undeceived.

Marina came over to him, touching his arm, tentative, sensing his withdrawal. When he looked down he saw her differently too, more rouge brushed over the cheekbones, maybe the way the Armenian liked it. For a second he had the feeling, a strange jarring, that he had made her up, that all the visits here, those afternoons he’d waited for, had really taken place in his head.

“Come Thursday. Altan, it’s nothing. I tell him nothing. He wants to know about Bayar, not you.” She paused. “And I wouldn’t, you know? I wouldn’t tell him. It’s just—he likes to know who comes here. Come Thursday.” A half smile, squeezing his arm. “We don’t have to talk at all. If you don’t want.”

She moved her hand higher, to draw his head down, but stopped, both of them aware that something had happened, had broken whatever spell the room used to cast, like a crack in the mirror.

“Would you do something for me?” he said.

She raised her eyes, waiting.

“Don’t tell him I know he comes here.”

“Why not?”

“Maybe someday I will tell you something. That he’d want to know.”

“And he’d believe it. Because I told him. You’d use me for that.”

“It wouldn’t be a lie.”

“No? Then tell him yourself. You’re alike, you two. You want to do what he does.”

He moved to the door.

“I don’t sleep with him,” she said, as if it made a difference.

“Yet,” he said.