A Mind at Peace (15 page)

Her eyes filled with tears of separation that she’d prepared to shed on command. And deep inside she honestly thought:
Over the entirety of my life, I’ve always been kicked around by people who didn’t recognize my worth, haven’t I? In Bessarabia, hadn’t that landowner done this?
Granted, Emma had made another faux pas then. What call was there to sleep with a stableman, not to mention in broad daylight in the room above the stables? Her entire life had been a chain of misfortunes caused by petty mistakes and lack of foresight. But what could she be expected to do? Men were this way. The landowner, instead of firing his servant, chased her out. The stablehand had pursued her nonetheless. Her fiancé had also left her on account of a similar fiasco. Even if it hadn’t transpired exactly the same way, it was close. But that time she wasn’t to blame. Her prospective brother-in-law was so much younger than Mihael, they had three sisters between them.

“If it’s all right with you, Emma, let’s not go anywhere tonight, okay?”

“As you wish, Fâhir . . . You are aware, I’m also quite exhausted, last night ...” But there was no need to discuss the previous night.

As soon as the words had left her mouth, she blushed. Would they really be staying in tonight? She returned to her lobster in the wretchedness of having to spend the whole evening alone with Fâhir.

Fâhir stared at his mistress with astonishment. He’d never heard Emma complain of fatigue.
And what if I don’t actually leave her, that is, what if she doesn’t leave and go away!

“You are aware, Fâhir, you’ve changed considerably ...”

But Fâhir wasn’t listening. He’d become fixated on the popped button of the waiter’s frock. A popped button could at times be a lifesaver. The space of the missing button gave his thoughts unexpected liberty.
Seeing that I’m actually annoyed by these creatures known as the fairer sex, for whatever reason do I bother myself with them?

Sabih’s aunt was a portly lady whose face emanated decency and joie de vivre. For thirty-five years she’d suffered the tribulations of an asthmatic and ornery husband whose temperament altered hour to hour; one by one she’d paid off his debts, the whys and hows of which she was ignorant, and raised four children whose dispositions and morals, her husband in mind, she couldn’t trust; nevertheless, she’d married the children off one after another, helped them buy homes and settle down, and now her sole occupation was entertaining visitors in her parlor. In her youth, due to her husband’s temperament, she’d nearly pined away for friendships with other young women. For the past seven years, she’d invited countless guests to her house, serving them all the delicacies of a cuisine, the secrets to which very few ladies were privy.

She greeted Adile and Sabih, whom she quite admired, before the garden gate.

“Where on earth have you been, dearest? I’ve long been expecting you.” She felt for one of her triple-tiered pendant earrings. On such days, Sabriye never failed to wear these earrings, which were a gift from her beloved mother-in-law. Since one of the earring’s middle pendants had snapped off, she’d tied it back together with a piece of thread. And since she feared losing the large diamond and small ruby that it held fast, she checked it every second. As Sabih kissed his aunt on the cheeks, he looked at the roof of the old gardener’s shed; it was still in the same state of collapse as three years ago. Sabriye had no concept of repair or upkeep. In any case, what snapped off and got lost was of a different order than what caved in.

“I’ve prepared such delicacies for you.” Turning to Sabih: “And your dietetic meal is also waiting.”

Adile regarded her husband’s abruptly puckered face without concealing her delight. “Bless your heart, Auntie,” she said. “I was terrified he’d eat something that would disagree with him.” Rather than trepidation, her voice quavered with joy.

“My dear girl, would I ever forget about his health? He’s my one and only Sabih.” Adile, contented with this assurance, walked toward the veranda humming the tango she’d learned a few nights earlier. Sabih was simply up in arms.
I’ll show you,
he fumed.
I’ll show you all!
And he decided to explain to them from A to Z the recent articles he’d read about the question of Poland in light of German economic needs. At length he would be avenged; this was a point definitely settled.

Had they refrained from plaguing him with a dietetic meal, he would have related what he knew about the life cycles of seals. These sea creatures led lives of true fascination. Indeed, as he read what was written about them in
Lu
magazine, he pondered:
It’s as if they’re fish in the sea and mammals on land
, and he’d decided to talk about them this way. But now he would mention neither seals nor the unconventional beliefs of the Eskimos – of the puppy who assumed the status of a grandfather because it was born at the exact time of an elder’s demise. Now, then, in light of this abrupt announcement about diets, he’d been forced into the sphere of German industry and economy. Scorn welling up within him, and no longer worrying about the possibility of the large diamond pendant falling and getting lost, Sabih glanced at his aunt’s ear again. All of his detailed information would flow into that funnel projecting at a forty-five-degree angle from the skull! For long years Sabih had used newspaper accounts as something of a means of compliment or commendation. One day, however, while relating a story of this variety to one of Adile’s admirers and habitués to the house, his young interlocutor first yawned to declare his impatience and then stood and left, and Sabih quickly realized that everybody’s response to world affairs didn’t resemble his own. From that moment onward, he’d labored to all but perfect the impact of this “weapon,” which his keen memory and plentiful free time helped him develop.

On the veranda, as always, there were seven or eight other guests. All of Sabriye’s children had left the house, surrendering their friends to her. They were all there: Yaşar, her oldest son’s piquet partner, who was also Nuran’s cousin; Nuriye, her oldest daughter’s sister-in-law; İffet, who’d introduced her middle son to gambling, causing him to forgo his studies while he himself finished first in engineering school; and her youngest daughter’s high school chum Muazzez. Sabriye had long grown accustomed to filling the void left by her own children, who rarely visited, with this group of surrogates.

As soon as Adile stepped onto the veranda, she exclaimed, “Oh my, Yaşar is with us as well. What a pleasant coincidence, my fine gentleman!”

Yaşar combed his prematurely gray hair with his hand and wiped his glasses clean. Next he greeted Adile with full and proper etiquette. He, at the very least, was a man who was familiar with European customs.

“We were just now together with your cousin Nuran. Oh, how dainty she was, you should have seen her.” Then she turned to Sabriye. “And Mümtaz was there, too.”

Sabriye harbored great affection for Mümtaz because he’d found her grandfather’s name and biography listed in the
Sicill-i Osmanî
biographical register of renowned Ottomans. Informing her by telephone that he’d found the entry, which her late husband had promised to locate for exactly thirty years, on the day after she’d brought it up – Sabriye gave particular import to the fact that this musty, bygone account had been conveyed by telephone – struck her as nothing less than miraculous.

“My word, why didn’t you bring him along? I haven’t seen him for months, it’s a shame really. You see, Muazzez is here as well.”

Sabih wanted to forestall the matter before his wife had her chance: “We knew that he was going to meet up with his friends and so we didn’t insist.”

Muazzez rose from the chaise in which she’d been reclining: “Apparently, Suad is ill. He came back to Istanbul for a week, and he’s here at the sanatorium. He was going to meet up with them as well. I saw him on my way here.”

Surprised that this entire horde had been transported here by the morning ferries, Sabih nevertheless commiserated: “How unfortunate ... What’s he have, I wonder? I mean, is it serious?”
No, tuberculosis isn’t such a serious illness; one just needs to eat and drink nutritiously. My own illness, now that
is
truly serious. I’m forced to diet.
In no time at all, over the torment of eating buttered zucchini and carrots, a frisson of jealousy would pass through Sabih – for practically everyone Suad encountered would advise him to eat heartily, partake of rich foods, pastries, grilled meat ... Eat well and you’ll be as good as new!
Now then, this Muazzez is an anomaly. How does she know all of this? Wherefrom? How did she learn it all?

Had it been another day, Adile would have been rather upset at hearing of Suad’s affliction. Few people were as peppy as he was and understood the feminine soul as well. But at this instant, just when she was about to let the cat out of the bag about Mümtaz and Nuran, to Muazzez and Yaşar nonetheless, the mention of Suad was an obstacle for which she had no patience. Like a well-trained racehorse, Adile hurdled this unexpected barrier: “To tell the truth, it’s not that I didn’t consider it ... But he was so consumed with Nuran that we couldn’t get a word in edgewise.” And she glanced at Yaşar out of the corner of her eye. She knew quite well that he’d long had affections for Nuran and that he was jealous of her attentions. Not to mention that he’d played a very devious role in her separation from Fâhir by both facilitating the relationship between Fâhir and Emma while relaying daily developments of their affair to Nuran. Yaşar’s face turned ashen.

He nearly stuttered: “They’ve known each other for some time, you say?”

Adile answered in a state of virtual ecstasy, “No,
we
introduced them to each other.” Then she turned to face Sabriye and added, “Auntie dearest, you should have seen how they twittered and chirped! Honestly, it pleased me no end. You know, it wouldn’t be such a bad turn after all! There’s a bit of an age difference, but ...”

Sabih gawked at his wife in astonishment. In Muazzez’s company, she shouldn’t have ventured such deceit. Dearest Muazzez was so much younger than the rest of them.

“Who is this Mümtaz anyway?”

“He’s a faculty assistant in our department at the university.” Muazzez shook her hair in the sunlight, squinting.
He’s conceited...
Her eyes were fixed perpetually on the large Holland stars in the garden.
Bright red, bright red.
Then she unexpectedly changed her thoughts: “We like him very much, you see.” She was crestfallen, quite so. She’d come here because she’d learned from Mümtaz himself that he’d be coming to the island. But she’d missed him on the ferry.
So then, this very turn of events . . .
She glared with spite at Adile from behind the lashes of half-lowered eyelids.

“My good fellow, how could you ever forget him? You know your father’s friend İhsan, yes? It’s his young cousin. You’ve seen him at our place countless times!”

But Yaşar had completely forgotten about Mümtaz. From inside the house, the clock chimed one thirty. Time for his tablets. For Yaşar, even the possibility of Nuran’s marriage to another man couldn’t make him forget his pills. He produced a small vial from his pocket. He carefully removed the stopper; tilting the vial slightly, he dispensed two tablets onto the packaging tissue without touching them.

“Have them bring some water.” Then he turned to Sabih. “Incredible boost, my friend,” he said. “Vitamins. Since I’ve started taking them I feel much better, more robust.”

Sabih missed the glint of ridicule and contempt in Adile’s eyes.

III

As if previously arranged, they met at the ferry landing on the following night. Sabih and Adile were nowhere to be seen and Nuran had left Fatma with her aunt. The redolence of spring wafted over the landing. Almost every passenger carried a large blossoming twig. A few held fresh bouquets of roses. Seemingly, the entire crowd was returning from a great plunder of flowers.

When Nuran saw him in the distance she made a vague gesture with her hand. Mümtaz ambled toward her, pleased by this encounter, about which he had absolutely no foreknowledge, and by her interest in him, which seemed even more improbable.

“I didn’t think you’d be returning to the city this soon.”

“I didn’t either, but here I am. How did you spend your time?”

Apparently she was asking for an account of his day. Looking behind her at all the splendor of the Anatolian coast and its pastel colors that appeared to have been smudged with blotting paper, Mümtaz answered, “We conversed

... It’s what is most readily done in this country of ours, conversing.” Then, to avoid being unfair to his friends, he added, “But we talked of good things. İhsan was there as well. We solved nearly half the world’s problems ... Later in the evening we listened to a spectacular
ney
-flute performance!”

“By whom?”

“Artist Cemil, Emin Dede’s student! He played the melodies of an array of
saz
-lute instrumentals and old Mevlevî dervish ceremonials.”