Farewell: A Mansion in Occupied Istanbul (Turkish Literature) (23 page)

That woman is pure malice, Behice sighed to herself as she arose from the divan and walked to the door. She turned round just as she reached it. “You’d be ill-advised to berate Mehpare, Saraylıhanım. She’s attending nursing classes with Re
ş
at Bey’s blessing. A country at war is a country in need of nurses. If I weren’t pregnant I’d be going to classes myself.”

Without waiting for a response, Behice bustled up the stairs to her bedroom. Mahir had looked at Leman! Mahir Bey, a courteous gentleman, had made eyes at a mere slip of a girl! No, it was impossible. Saraylıhanım was absolutely intolerable at times. Behice stretched out on her bed and reached out her hand for a bottle of lavender cologne, which she splashed liberally upon her breasts and temples. She felt faint. When it passed, she placed her hand on her belly and waited attentively for signs of life. No, there was no movement at all. The infant in her womb was unusually docile. A clever, obedient son, just like his father. They’d name him Raif, after his grandfather.

Raif Re
ş
at! Her son would be a wonderful person—he would grow to embody the meanings of his two names: Raif, “compassionate,” and Re
ş
at, “who follows the path of righteousness.”

Azra was sitting next to Mehpare in one of the back rows of the classroom. They listened admiringly as
Ş
ahende Hanım wielded a long pointer to indicate on a map hanging from the blackboard the organizational structure of the Ottoman Red Crescent Association and described the various strategies for tending to the wounded and needy people of Anatolia. As the sons of the nation battled the enemy from the mountains and hilltops, their mothers, sisters and sweethearts must sustain and assist them. The women of this great land should lead the way, blazing the trail for their men. They should carry guns to the trenches, keep the cauldrons bubbling behind the front lines, assist in the dressing of wounds. Women’s organizations, led by the Red Crescent and The Defense of Women’s Rights, were organizing and opening branches in the countryside, where they would pass on their knowledge, skills and experience to their rural sisters.

At the conclusion of her lecture,
Ş
ahende Hanım asked her rapt audience if they were prepared to volunteer to go to Anatolia. There were thirty-three women in attendance. Among the seventeen who raised their hands were Azra and Mehpare.

“My honorable sisters, the bloodiest battles of all are currently taking place in our southern provinces. There is a dire need for nurses in the regions of Mara
ş
and Antep.”

“I’m prepared to go anywhere,” Azra declared as she raised her hand a second time.

“If any of you speak French, please raise your hands.” Azra’s hand shot into the air a third time.

“Azra Hanımefendi, as you speak French, I’m writing you down for Antep, along with Necmiye Hanım and Neyir Hanım.”

“What use will my French be there, efendim?”

“That entire region is under the control of France. Since all of the men who speak French are on the battlefield, there’s a shortage of translators in the city. Your language skills will serve you well. Shall I jot down the name of your friend?”

“No, don’t!” Mehpare cried. “My friend’s betrothed is being stationed on the Western Front. We would be grateful if you could arrange for Mehpare Hanım to be sent to
İ
zmir.”

“Ladies, we are at war. I beg you to rise above your eagerness to be reunited with your sweethearts and fiancés. Service must take priority over all else.”

Azra rose to her feet. “Efendim, Mehpare Hanım wishes to be with her sweetheart only to serve him and to tend to his needs, if necessary. You see, Kemal Bey was seriously wounded in the Battle of Sarıkamı
ş
. He requires medical attention, even now.”

Mehpare was deeply distressed as she braced herself for
Ş
ahende Hanım to ask what business a man in poor health had on the battlefield.

“All right then—I’m writing this young lady down for the Western Front,” was all
Ş
ahende Hanım said. “And now I’m turning the floor over to Nakiye Hanım. For those of you who don’t know her, Nakiye Hanım is the headmistress of the Fevziye Lycée. Please listen to her attentively, ladies.”

As Azra and Mehpare were leaving the classroom,
Ş
ahende Hanım came up to them. “Azra Hanım,” she said, “you will most likely be leaving quite soon. Before going off to Anatolia, where you’ll be stationed with the others, you’ll kindly agree to stay at a
tekke
on the Asian Shore. You’ll be in safe hands there.”

“Most certainly.”

“You might have to wait at the lodge for some time. Our convoys are able to take the road only under certain conditions. We’ll have to wait until a compliant sentry is on duty. You’ll be boarding a wagon conveying supplies to Anatolia. Naturally, you’ll be escorted by your husband.”

“But, Hanımefendi, it’s been many years since my husband passed . . .”

“A male escort will be acting as your husband. There are many men who are anxious to travel to Anatolia. They’d attract suspicion if they were to do so alone. You and the other women will all be traveling as a family. The
hodja
will provide you more particulars when you arrive at the lodge.”

“When will I leave?”

“You’ll be there by the weekend.”

“What about me?” Mehpare asked. “Add your name and address to the list. When the necessary preparations have been completed, I’ll send word. You’re a nurse, aren’t you?”

“I am, but there’s no work I won’t do. I also know how to read and write.”

“And you particularly want to go to
İ
zmir?”

“To the Western Front.”

“The Western Front is a wide one. First, I’ll need to find out how we can be of assistance there.”

“Shall I come back next week?”

“We’ll send you word.”

“You shouldn’t take so much trouble, efendim. I’ll come here and find out myself.”

“You aren’t intending to go off without your family’s permission, are you? It would be inappropriate for you to join us without their blessing. When you come to the Red Crescent meeting next week, do be certain to bring a letter of permission from your parent or guardian.”

Azra and Mehpare made their farewells and left. As they walked along Divanyolu towards Beyazit, they linked arms. They’d been fast friends ever since that day together, packing up Azra’s furnishings. Re
ş
at Bey had allowed Mehpare to enroll in the nursing classes Azra was attending. Twice a week they’d walk to class and back. Azra had been affected by Mehpare’s unclouded intelligence, naïveté and sincerity; and in return, even if she still suffered an occasional fit of jealousy, Mehpare worshiped Azra, whom she embraced as a role model and elder sister.

Mehpare was deep in thought as they walked together on that particular day. “I’ll ask Kemal Bey to write a letter for me,” she said. “
Ş
ahende Hanım thinks I’m running away from home.”

“Well aren’t you?”

“Yes, but with Kemal Bey. I mean, he’s running away as well, isn’t he?”

“No, Mehpare. He’s leaving home; you’re running away from home. I think you should convince Kemal that it’s best for you to leave together.”

“We’ve already spoken about that. I’m going first, so I can be of benefit to my country. He was so pleased to hear me say that.”

“Mehpare, you’re not doing all this just to please him, are you?”

“I’m doing it to be with him and to please him. But Azra Hanım, believe me when I say I’m happy to be of service to my country. It’s just that my love for Kemal outweighs anything else.”

“You should go to your death only for your ideals, Mehpare.”

“With Kemal gone, I’m as good as dead.”

“Mehpare,” Azra said, “I wish I could love a man the way you do.”

“Didn’t you love your husband?”

“I loved him a great deal, but not like that.”

“There’s still time for you.”

“I doubt it. I’m thirty-two.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Mehpare protested.

“How do you know?”

“I feel it.”

Azra silently wished to herself that Mehpare’s instincts were right. She was to remain at Re
ş
at Bey’s house for a few more days, then cross to the other shore. When they arrived at the top of the street leading to the house, Mehpare stopped walking.

“There’s something else I feel, Azra Hanım,” she said.

“What?”

“That you’re going to fall in love. Like me.”

“Really. When?”

“Soon.”

As Kemal made his way up the stairs to his room he was surprised to see his grandmother on the landing. She was dressed in a light blue nightdress and a long, white, lacy head covering normally reserved for prayer. By the light of a flickering candle her elongated shadow danced across the wall.

“And for what reason, my Sultan,” Kemal said, “have you honored this floor of the house with your presence? What brings you up here?”

“Into your room! We’ll talk there.”

“Okay, okay—I’m going. Why so rough, grandmother? What have I done?”

Kemal walked through the door and set his own candleholder on the desk. The electricity had been cut for some days and kerosene was in short supply. Candles were the only source of illumination, but even in the wan light cast by two small flames Kemal could read the anxiety on the elderly woman’s face. Saraylıhanım closed the door, sat down on Kemal’s bed and gestured to a place next to her: “Sit.”

Kemal sat down as instructed.

“Now listen, Kemal.”

“At your command, my Sultan.”

“Don’t interrupt. I’m in no condition for your jokes.” Kemal listened with increasing concern. “What have you done to that girl?”

“Which girl?”

“How many girls are there in this house?”

“A lot of them, actually. Leman and Suat, and Mehpare, and Katina comes and goes . . . Azra’s a frequent visitor . . .”

“Stop it. I want the whole truth and I want it now. What have you done to Mehpare?”

“I haven’t done a thing.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“Why would I lie?”

“Mehpare’s gone thick around the middle; her breasts have grown.”

“My, what sharp eyes you’ve got, grandmother. I’ve noticed no such thing.”

“Can you guess what’s happening to her, Kemal?”

“She’s getting fat.”

“No, she is not, my boy. She’s not getting any fatter at all.”

“Well in that case, I’d say you’re seeing things. You must be mistaken.”

“I’m not easily fooled, boy.”

“Then out with it, please.”

“Mehpare’s pregnant.”

Kemal sat up, in genuine astonishment. He blushed, and with a quavering voice said: “You’ve decided she’s pregnant just because she’s put on a little weight?”

“No, that’s not all. I’ve made some other observations.”

“What?”

“Mornings, she’s nauseated by the smell of cooking in the kitchen. And there are other signs, none of your business.”

Angry and amazed at himself for not having considered the implications of his relations with Mehpare, Kemal bowed his head.

“Now, let’s get to the crux of the matter. This girl grew up in our house under our supervision. If you are responsible for this, confess it immediately. It isn’t in Mehpare’s nature to enter into relations with someone she doesn’t know. Though it’s true she’s been trailing around after Azra, walking with her to and from the Red Crescent, it’s absolutely unthinkable that she would get up to any devilry outside the house. She wouldn’t dare. That leaves you.”

Kemal sat in silence, staring at the tips of his slippers. “Kemal, look me in the eye.” Kemal reluctantly raised his eyes and looked at his grandmother. “Are you willing to place your hand on the Koran and tell me you aren’t responsible for this?” Kemal didn’t answer. “I’m going to my room to get my Koran. You’ll swear. And then I’ll believe you. If I’m convinced that you bear no responsibility, I’ll do whatever it takes to make the girl talk. I’ll find out what I need to know. And when I do, both Mehpare and that defiler of women are going to rue the day!”

“Leave the girl alone, grandmother,” Kemal growled. “If she’s pregnant, it’s my doing. Don’t do anything to hurt her. She’s innocent. I coaxed her, coerced her . . . It’s my fault.”

“Aren’t you ashamed of yourself? We were trusted with that girl’s care.”

Kemal was dumbfounded: Saraylıhanım knew full well that he had barely glimpsed a woman for many years; he’d had precious little opportunity to conjure up the image of a woman, let alone gratify himself with one.

“I’m sorry, grandmother. It’s not what I wanted. I was overcome. It happened one night, while I was having a fit of nerves. I’m sorry.”

“I’ll speak to the girl tomorrow. If she’s pregnant . . .”

“Weren’t you absolutely certain of that just a moment ago?”

“I still am. But it’s best she confirms it herself. If she does, you’ll immediately inform your uncle that you want to marry her. And next week we’ll hold the nuptials here at home. Your uncle must never know that she was pregnant.”

“Why not?”

“You’ll have disgraced yourself in his eyes. He’ll never forgive you, or her.”

Kemal sprang to his feet and angrily paced the room. “What difference does it make? My political views have lowered me enough in his eyes,” he said.

“This isn’t a question of your views. It’s a question of purity, honor. If he finds out, you’ll never be able to exonerate yourself.”

“You’re right.”

“Pray that I’m mistaken. But if she’s not pregnant, I’m sending her straight back to her aunt’s. I’ll find an explanation for her.”

“But if she’s not pregnant, why send her away? “To put an end to your relations, of course. With the daughters of pashas available in droves, is Finance Minister Re
ş
at Bey’s nephew to be snapped up by a maid?”

“But isn’t Mehpare our relative? Are you telling me now that she’s not?”

“Of course she is; she’s my uncle’s granddaughter on my mother’s side.”

“And aren’t we direct descendants of the chieftains of Kamçeriko?”

“Naturally.”