Farewell: A Mansion in Occupied Istanbul (Turkish Literature) (10 page)

The old fox has read my mind again, Behice thought to herself. She pulled a tobacco case from her dressing gown and began preparing a cigarette.

“Dear girl, I have a request to make of you.”

Fully aware that such fond terms of address were resorted to only in the name of self interest, Behice looked Saraylıhanım in the eye and waited.

“Would you mind accompanying them as far as Ziya Pasha’s house? I’ll explain why. It’s better they don’t encounter Kemal on their doorstep all of a sudden. We’re old friends but there are no men in their household and it would be inappropriate for him to appear without warning.”

“But Mehpare is going with him!”

“Dear girl, who is Mehpare next to you? You’re the wife of a minister. Your words have weight. They can hardly turn you away at the door!”

“But the children are at home today . . .”

“Have they never been here without you before, my girl?”

There was nothing left for Behice to say. “I’ll go and get dressed.” She rose resignedly and walked to the stairs.

“For goodness sake, do hurry,” Saraylıhanım called after her.

Not long after, three women dressed in black from head to toe, one of them quite tall, hurried out of the house and down the street toward the sea. Keeping off the main road, they walked past a burnt-out lot and through the back streets until they were back in the same neighborhood, at the home of Ziya Pasha. The garden of the stately mansion was much larger than that of their own. They rang the bell at a heavy iron gate, painted green, and waited. “Please inform Münire Hanımefendi that the wife of Minister of Finance Re
ş
at Bey is here to return her recent visit,” a blushing Behice told the manservant who opened the door. She was well-bred enough to know that return visits are not made unannounced, nor so early in the morning, but she was in no position to explain further.

The servant showed the guests into the garden, re-bolted the gate and ushered them to the house. They slowly ascended the steps to the front door, and stepped inside. Kemal instinctively headed for the selamlık on the ground floor, but, when the raised eyebrows of the servant reminded him of his female attire, followed his aunt and Mehpare to the reception room on the floor above. The moment the servant left the room, he tore off the çar
ş
af, determined not to let Azra and Münire see his ridiculous costume.

The tense wait in the reception room seemed interminable; clearly, the ladies of Ziya Pasha’s mansion had not been prepared to receive guests. They were no doubt having their hair arranged and getting dressed. Azra Hanım entered the room alone, looking pleased and surprised to find Kemal there. Handshakes were exchanged all round, and everyone sat down. Azra tried and failed to conceal her puzzlement at finding the girl who had only last week served her tea now sitting among her guests. The mistress of the house, Münire Hanımefendi, was spending a few days in Erenköy, at her elder sister’s, she told them, before asking how they took their coffee and passing on the information to the housekeeper. Kemal hesitantly attempted to explain the purpose of their early morning visit.

“Well, it’s like this . . . We don’t know what’s happened, exactly, but it seems they’ve begun detaining people again. The roads have all been blockaded. We’re told that houses are being searched here in Beyazit. And as you know, I’m a . . . a . . .”

“I know,” Azra reassured him, “it’s been obvious to me.”

“Does that secret passage still exist?” Kemal asked.

“Yes, but now it opens onto Aksö
ğ
üt Lane, not the burnt-out lot. That waste patch where we used to play has become a street.”

“Azra Hanım, would you object to my waiting here until the municipal police arrive? The moment they knock on the door, I’ll leave through the passage.”

“How could I possibly object, Kemal,” said Azra. She turned to Behice. “Behice Hanımefendi, your nephew and I may address each other formally, as Bey and Hanım, but don’t let that fool you. Kemal and I have been close friends for many years. He and my late brother were inseparable. As boys, they were both headstrong, adventure-loving. And as young men, they were no different: neither of them hesitated to go off to the front to fight in what everyone knew was a lost cause. In his infinite wisdom, the Almighty gathered Ali Rıza to his side and spared Kemal. Such is fate. God has watched over Kemal and now it falls on us to protect him.”

“God bless you.” Kemal cut in. “Azra, if you have any qualms at all . . .”

“None. I’ll instruct Hakkı Efendi to stand guard at the front gate. If anyone arrives, he’ll ring the bell. We won’t open the door until you’re safely out of the house.”

“But what if they come to the back gate? Or if they station someone there?”

“A thief entered the house through the back gate last summer and stole my father’s order of merit from the display case. Mother was so upset that she had the back gate removed and a wall built.”

“As the city grows, those sorts of crimes become more common,” said Behice. “In the confusion of that bombing last week someone stole Mehpare’s handbag.”

“My condolences. A city inundated with immigrants is a city less safe. Thieves and scoundrels are certain to be among the newcomers,” said Azra. “But, as they say, there’s a silver lining to every cloud, and, happily for us, the back garden no longer has a gate.”

The coffee arrived in fine porcelain cups wrapped with filigree sleeves. They sipped in appreciative silence.

“I never expected to be playing hide-and-seek at our age,” Kemal remarked

“Did you expect to see Istanbul under occupation?”

“Salt in my wounds,” groaned Kemal, his light tone belying the sincerity of his sentiment.

“There are times when the devil says to me,
Get your grandfather’s pistol and shoot some of those invaders down
,” Azra mused aloud. Behice gaped in astonishment. What kind of young woman was this?

“No fear, Azra Hanım, for that’s precisely what others will soon be doing,” said Kemal. “Matters can’t stand as they are.”

“How can you say such things, Kemal, when there are no soldiers left to fight the occupiers? Weren’t they all forced to surrender their weapons the moment they entered Istanbul?” Behice asked.

“Not all of them did,” Kemal said. “Some of the commanders kept their weapons. And the remains of the demobilized units are still on the streets. There are efforts underway to form an organization.”

“But what good would they be without weapons and ammunition?” Behice protested.

“That’s the easy part, aunt. Money buys arms.”

“Kemal! Even with money no arms are available. The depots are all under guard. Do you think the English or the French are going to sell arms that will be used against them? You’re talking like a child.”

“Few men can resist money, aunt,” said Kemal. “Everyone has his price. Besides, the foreign troops are thousands of miles from home. It isn’t as though they’re defending their homelands! We’ll get rid of them one way or another.”

Azra listened admiringly to Kemal’s words, unaware that she herself was being studied—somewhat less admiringly—by Mehpare.

“If there’s any way that I can help, Kemal, just tell me,” she said. “I’m ready.”

“How on earth could you help?” asked Behice.

“I could act as mediator. A translator. A courier. I could raise funds.”

“All extremely dangerous for a woman.”

“I understand your reluctance to get involved, Behice Hanımefendi. You have two young daughters. Your husband holds a high office. But I’m not married, I don’t have children. Ever since my husband was martyred my only concern has been the liberation of this country.”

“I understand,” said Behice, “and commend you.” Everyone sat in thoughtful silence for a few moments.

“Aunt, there’s no need for you and Mehpare to stay here any longer. Go home and send word with Hüsnü Efendi if the house is searched. I’ll come back by way of Aksö
ğ
üt Street when the danger is past.”

“No!”

Azra, Behice and Kemal all stared at Mehpare, who had opened her mouth for the first time.

“Please don’t, sir. Don’t stay here alone. Behice Abla can go home. I’ll wait here with you.”

“Mehpare, what are you saying, girl,” Behice said.

“Kemal Bey is going to wear a çar
ş
af again, isn’t he, when he’s out on the streets. What if he’s asked for directions, or anything at all? What if somebody asks what a woman’s doing alone in the street? How could he possibly respond? If I’m with him, he won’t need to.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” said Azra. “She’s considered every detail.”

“She’s extremely intelligent,” Kemal said.

“But how am I to return all alone?” asked Behice.

“We’ll send someone with you, don’t worry. And it’s only a few hundred yards at most!” said Azra, a note of scorn creeping into her voice.

“Well in that case, I ask that you give me an escort immediately and let me go home. The girls are waiting and Saraylıhanım will be beside herself with worry.”

As Azra left the room Behice murmured in a low voice, “Azra Hanım—she’s like a man. So bold . . .”

“She’s always been like that. She’d leave behind her dolls and follow us around, even climbing trees.”

“God forbid our Suat should turn out that way. She’s already a distressingly self-assertive little monster. Not unlike Azra herself, come to speak of it.”

“Why this antipathy towards Azra, aunt?” asked Kemal. “She’s a strong woman, and as intelligent as she is determined. Any other widow in her position would have withdrawn from the world, or remarried. Azra has done neither. She reads, she writes, she translates. Do all women have stay home with their needlework?”

“It befits them to do so, yes.”

“Forgive me, but you’re familiar with the expression, ‘if you lie down with the blind, you’ll get up cross-eyed,’ aren’t you? It sounds like Saraylıhanım has rubbed off on you.”

“Just you wait until you’re married yourself, then we’ll see if you prefer a wife with a pen in her hand, or a rolling pin. These are bachelor’s pronouncements.”

Behice stopped talking when Azra reentered the room. Anyone listening would think Behice spent all of her time rolling out
yufka
, Mehpare thought to herself. In fact, She spent her days playing the ud and the piano, receiving guests or doing needlepoint. She was rarely seen in the kitchen.

“Hakkı Efendi will accompany you home, Behice Hanımefendi,” Azra said. “He’s waiting in the garden.”

Behice embraced Kemal tightly before putting on her çar
ş
af. “I hope everything goes smoothly,” she said. Then, to Mehpare, “I’m entrusting him to you. You’re far more prudent than he is. But for God’s sake, be careful.”

“Don’t latch the garden gate from the inside, Behice Hanım. We may have to enter in a hurry,” Mehpare said.

“I can’t just leave the gate open, anyone might come in. But I’ll arrange the latch cord—you’ll be able to reach it through the hole with your fingertips.”

Behice and Azra left the room.

“Mehpare, how can I repay you,” Kemal said.

“Stay safe and healthy. That’s all I ask,” Mehpare replied.

Azra returned after showing Behice to the door. “Would you like to go the kitchen, Mehpare?” she gently asked. “Housekeeper Nazik is rolling out some dough; you might want to join her.”

“I don’t know how to roll out dough, ma’am,” said Mehpare, remaining seated.

“Very well then.” A bit taken aback, and not a little put out, Azra turned to Kemal. “Well in that case, come to the library with me, Kemal. The books I ordered last month have arrived and I’d like to present you with one of them. I’m interested to know if you think it’s worth translating.”

Kemal rose and followed Azra out of the room.

Mehpare was alone. She folded her hands in her lap, sitting expressionless, ramrod straight.

“The women of your household are extraordinary,” Azra remarked to Kemal as they ascended the stairs together. “Your aunt is so pampered she’d break if you so much as sneezed at her; Mehpare’s the opposite, a girl of steel. But she seems quite smitten with you.”

“Ridiculous. She cared for me while I was ill. She was most attentive. Now she treats me like an infant, forever trying to shield me from harm. She follows me like a shadow, making sure I don’t forget to take my medicine or keep warm.”

“Patients habitually fall in love with their doctors, and nurses with their patients.”

“How could the girl fall for me? I’m a crippled man, Azra.”

“But you haven’t lost your faculties, have you? I hope you still have the clarity of mind to see that the poor girl is head over heels.”

“Well, what can I do about it?”

“Don’t get her hopes up. Create the opportunity for her to marry someone befitting her station. Don’t let her squander her future on you.”

“You’re as presumptuous as you’ve ever been. I remember the way you used to try to order Ali Rıza about. We used to call you pipsqueak.”

“I’ve touched a nerve.”

“You’re upset with Mehpare because she refused to go down to the kitchen. That’s what this is about. Let me explain something; she doesn’t have the status of a servant in our household. She’s a distant relative of Saraylıhanım’s. Nearly every family has members who, for whatever reason, have fallen on hard times. In our family’s case, Mehpare is the grandchild of an unfortunate uncle. She works hard, but does so by choice. Otherwise, Saraylıhanım would have long since arranged her marriage to a respectable public clerk or some such.”

“Haven’t you ever considered why she would choose service over marriage to a clerk?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“You men are all alike. Blind to the inconvenient facts. Well, here’s one for for: the girl wants you. You are that clerk of hers.”

“Generous of you to say so. But even an impoverished relative would be unlikely to want a man who’s missing several toes, who’s in poor health, and, to make matters worse, who’s a fugitive from the law.”

“I know what you’re doing—you’re looking for flattery. But I won’t rise to the bait. Tell me, Kemal, what do you know about the bombing? It’s interesting, isn’t it, that Mehpare just happened to be wandering in the area that day.”