Last Train to Istanbul (31 page)

Mr. Eden couldn’t help laughing too. Numan had started laughing, but he ended harshly.

“You tried to get the Germans to attack Turkey before they attacked Russia, without realizing how dearly it would cost you.”

Macit and the general secretary looked at each other. Both had a glimmer of pride and anxiety in their eyes. Numan continued on the attack.

“If that wasn’t enough, you’re about to make the same mistake again today, when you’ve got the upper hand. Your request is nothing short of sacrificing Turkey. What’s more, you’re doing it to please the Russians.”

Macit watched as the British listened to the Turkish foreign minister with expressionless faces, carefully avoiding eye contact. Numan was like a tenor walking on stage with a croak in his voice, but gradually overcoming it.

“Who on earth can see reason in inducing the Germans to attack us when you know full well our army is in no state to defend ourselves? What good would it do you if the Germans had control of the areas along the Bosphorus? Would we just sit it out and
wait for final victory and our liberation? Are we supposed to sit there, hoping the Russians come and defeat the Germans and save Istanbul? Are you telling me the Russians will save Istanbul for our sake?”

Numan stopped and took a deep breath. Eden appeared to want to butt in, but Numan continued.

“All this is so clear; don’t you see that threatening to stop supplying aid is pushing us into a vicious situation? If you don’t supply us with the necessary equipment, we can’t join the war. We can’t fight without supplies. Where’s the sense in all that?” he asked.

Mr. Eden sat with a blank face, as if wearing a mask. He seemed neither to agree nor disagree. He merely said, “Will you please relate the wishes of the three great powers, Britain, Russia, and America, to your government, Your Excellency?”

After the delegation returned to Turkey, this matter was discussed for a very long time at the ministers’ assembly. The final decision was a yes to joining the war, with certain reservations, and no to granting permission to use the airfields.

There had been so much to be discussed during the month between the meetings. Macit was so busy juggling all his duties at the ministry, he simply had no opportunity to spend time at home and deal with Sabiha and Hülya. Husband and wife were drifting farther and farther apart. They hadn’t made love for months; for more than a month, they hadn’t even exchanged more than a few words. Macit kept postponing dealing with his problems at home. Once this meeting is over…Once we sign this agreement…Once this summit meeting is over…

Now, finally, the five-day marathon in Cairo was over. They would be flying back to Adana in Churchill’s plane. His father-in-law would be waiting impatiently for his return; he was sure Fazıl Reşat Paşa would stay up, waiting by the window, no matter how late it was. Once a government official, always a government
official. That’s the way it was, even if one was over eighty and retired. Having been a minister in the last Ottoman Assembly, he wouldn’t be able to sleep without first welcoming his son-in-law back. Macit was sure the paşa would be there in his burgundy dressing gown, his glasses halfway down his nose. He sighed deeply. At least someone would be waiting for his return, even if it was his old father-in-law. Knowing he was the old man’s only link with the outside world, Macit started to think about what to tell him.

If he told him that the British foreign minister had fibbed, trying to put Turkey in the firing line, acting on behalf of the Russians and not the Americans, he knew the old man would regale him with stories from history illustrating how untrustworthy the Russians were. He could tell Fazıl Paşa how, when Inönü pointed out that Turkey needed more time before she could join the war and the American president had been supportive, the British foreign minister had said, “Mr. President, you’re forgetting our promise to the Russians,” so loudly that everyone could hear. Then Fazıl Reşat Paşa would go into a tirade about how it had been the British who stirred up the Kurds and Arabs against Turkey.

After going through the various stages of the meeting in his mind, Macit decided that Fazıl Paşa would really appreciate hearing about Numan’s firm response to the insolent Eden. Negotiating the extension of Britain’s military supplies, Numan had said, “This aid that you are offering is sufficient for the defense of the British air bases, not the defense of Turkey.”

“The aid is for the defense of the British bases in Istanbul, Izmir, and Zonguldak,” Eden responded.

Numan replied, “You don’t think the Turks are expecting the British to defend their whole country, Your Excellency. What we want is, if necessary, for the Turks to defend our country with your help.”

Knowing how happy it would make his father-in-law, Macit would tell him how, at the end of the very tough meeting, the American president had insisted he and Inönü should spend a little more time together before saying good-bye. He particularly wanted to tell the paşa about the warm conversation between the two leaders.

Macit was rather surprised at himself for feeling so affectionate toward his father-in-law. He wondered if he had begun to look upon the paşa as a surrogate father.

If I miss my father’s affection that much, maybe I’m desperately lonely, thought Macit.

So as not to be late for the Churchill-Inönü meeting in Churchill’s villa early the next morning, Macit had packed his suitcase the night before. All that was left for him to do was to pack his pajamas and toiletries, don his jacket, and gather his files.

After the meeting, they flew back to Adana on Churchill’s plane and transferred to a train for Ankara. As soon as Macit was in his compartment, he lay down to rest. He was completely exhausted, but a knock on the door caused him to jump up.

“I’m sorry, sir, the president would like to see you for one last assessment,” one of Inönü’s staff said, popping his head around the door.

“I’ll be right with you,” Macit said, yawning. He got up, muttering to himself, and washed his face. What sort of man was this Inönü? Didn’t he ever get tired? Didn’t he sleep? He promised himself he would sleep the whole weekend as soon as he got home.

But Macit didn’t get home when he expected. Heavy snow blocked the line, and they had to wait for hours for it to be cleared. When at last they reached Ankara, they had to go directly to the ministry to show the prime minister the finished version of the report he had to submit to the Assembly the following day. Macit telephoned home to find out how everyone was, and after talking
briefly, urged them not to wait up for him. His conversation with Fazıl Reşat Paşa about his Cairo adventure would have to wait.

By the time he got home, Macit was shattered. His eyes were burning, his mouth was dry, and his joints were aching. He paid the fare to the taxi driver, picked up his small suitcase, and walked to the gate. He opened the door with his key and finally entered his dark, silent home. His first thought was for a bath, but he immediately changed his mind. He thought of sleeping on the sofa so as not to waken Sabiha, but then he realized that he would be awakened by the early risers in the morning. The best thing to do was to undress in the sitting room, creep into bed, and collapse. He left his suitcase in a corner, undressed, and in his stocking feet, opened the bedroom door as quietly as possible. He made his way carefully to the bed, slipped between the warm sheets, and lay on his back. His body was numb. Just as he was dropping off to sleep, he was suddenly startled by Sabiha moving near him. Oh no, he thought, I’ve woken her up. He first felt her slippery silk nightdress on his skin and then suddenly the touch of her warm body. Sabiha pushed her body next to her husband’s and put her arms tightly around his neck.

“Welcome back,” she said. “I missed you so much, so very much.”

PARIS

Ferit walked up the stairs carrying on his back a mattress he’d taken off an old truck.

The truck driver tried to unload another mattress, then shouted after him, “Hey, my friend, you might be as strong as a mule, but I ain’t. You’d better find someone to give me a hand down here.”

“Wait until I’ve taken this one up,” he answered breathlessly. He deposited the first mattress upstairs, then ran down for the next one.

“Is there a dormitory up there?” asked the driver.

“Something like that.”

“Jesus! What the hell are you going to do with all these mattresses? Are you opening a hotel or what?”

“A brothel,” said Ferit. “Why don’t you pop in sometime?”

“Wow, are the girls beautiful?”

My God! thought Ferit, the idiot believed me. What if he gets drunk one night and comes knocking on the door!

“No, it was a joke. My whole family is coming to stay with me.”

“Where from?”

“Come on, be a sport, give me a hand with this one,” Ferit answered. He immediately started whistling a popular French tune.

The man decided to call it a day after carrying just one mattress. Ferit paid him, and lifted another mattress that he had rested by the door.

“Come on, man,” he said to himself, “if old porters back home can carry three times the weight of these without batting an eyelid, surely you can do it.” When he got to the top of the stairs, he nearly collapsed, but hearing the sound of the telephone ring inside, he pulled himself together.

Evelyn sounded cross. “What do you mean you’re renting the apartment? What’s that all about?”

“Please understand, my darling. You know we need to get some money together for our tickets, and my salary just isn’t enough. So I decided to rent out the apartment.”

“Without asking me?”

“There was no time for that. In any case, hadn’t we agreed that we needed to save some money for our journey and the baby?”

“I thought that we decided that I would get a job.”

“I don’t want you to work. You’re pregnant; you shouldn’t tire yourself. Furthermore, the train we want to get on is leaving pretty soon.”

“I still say we should have made this decision together. You should have at least asked me first.”

“You’re forgetting that I’m Turkish, Evelyn. We make our decisions without consulting our wives. What can I do? I can’t help behaving like a Turk sometimes.”

“Don’t try to get around me by turning it into a joke, Ferit.”

“Please believe me, honey, there was no time. Not only were you not here, but you were also too far away in the country. I had to make a quick decision and I did!”

“I hope you realize how ridiculous this is. Where are we going to stay? What are we supposed to do now?”

“You’ll simply carry on staying with your friend in the country and I’ll have to appeal to Muhlis and stay with him. Or I might stay with that teacher friend of mine.”

“So we’ll have to live separately, is that it?”

“Evelyn, how many more times must I tell you? I couldn’t miss this opportunity; we really need the money! We’ll be going to Istanbul together within a fortnight or so, and we’ll never have to part again. I thought it was a good idea to earn some money from the apartment, that’s all.”

“I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous in my whole life, my husband renting out our home without even asking me. He packs me off to a friend and expects me to stay away for God knows how long.”

“Weren’t you the one not being straight with me because you were scared I’d be angry? Telling me how ill your friend was and how you needed to be with her until she got better? Here you are—you can stay with her now, can’t you?”

“You’re really something! Why didn’t you tell me you knew? You’re damned selfish when it suits you!”

“I pretended not to understand only because I knew I’d miss you. I didn’t want you to stay away that long.”

“So what’s changed? Won’t you miss me now?”

“Your crafty husband has found an idiot who’s willing to pay a good sum of money for the apartment and he grabbed it because he’s desperate. All he wants you to do now is be reasonable. It won’t be too long. Tell you what, if the local trains are running tomorrow, I’ll join you when I finish work, and we can spend the weekend talking this whole thing over again. How’s that? I promise to make this up to you, my darling.”

Ferit put the receiver down and took a deep breath. “Wow! I never imagined persuading Evelyn would be so much more difficult than carrying mattresses up three flights of stairs!”

He walked through the sitting room that he’d turned into a dormitory, went into the kitchen, and made himself a cup of coffee. He had stocked up with plenty of bread, cheese, and pasta in the pantry. Now he was ready for his guests to arrive. With his cup of coffee, he walked back into the sitting room. He wasn’t too happy about the way he’d arranged things: it was no longer a sitting room, for a start. Six mattresses were spread out on the floor, and there was another where the dining table used to be. Another three or four people could possibly sleep on thin mattresses scattered around. He had managed to squeeze a camp bed in his own bedroom, and that meant maybe four people could sleep in there. Selva and her family could use the small bedroom and he could use the settee.

Ferit should go see Evelyn over the weekend at whatever cost. If he didn’t, she might take it upon herself to visit him, and then she’d see what he had done. But then, hadn’t he told her he would be staying with Muhlis? If she wanted to come to Paris, he could ask her to come straight to Muhlis’s home. To prevent her from coming to the apartment, he should take all of Evelyn’s belongings to her this weekend. Furthermore, he could arrange for a real estate agent to rent the apartment after they’d left Paris. Maybe he should indeed move to Muhlis’s, to leave room for another person on the settee. He realized he should really be speaking to Tarık about all this. Strange, he thought, that he had chosen to confide in Tarık rather than Muhlis, who had been his friend for the past forty years.