Farewell: A Mansion in Occupied Istanbul (Turkish Literature) (7 page)

Kemal took the proffered bun from his grandmother’s hand and bit into it, happy that for a few days now his appetite seemed to have returned.

“The call to afternoon prayers has come and gone. What’s keeping them?” griped Saraylıhanım.

“They’ll be home soon,” Kemal reassured her.

“I’m going down to my room to perform my prayers,” said Saraylıhanım. “You’ll finish the po
ğ
aça, won’t you?”

“Yes. They’re wonderful—did Mehpare make them?”

“She’s much too busy waiting on to you to roll dough. Gülfidan baked them.” Saraylıhanım set the remaining po
ğ
aça on the writing desk, put the empty tea cup on the tray and left the room.

Alone, Kemal allowed the anxiety he’d hidden from his aunt to bubble over. Where can she be? She should have returned by now, he said to himself. Standing on tiptoe, he craned his neck for a glimpse of the street through the dormer window. The snow had begun drifting down again.

Until late that night—when, accompanied by Hüsnü Efendi, Mehpare finally came back to the house with a torn çar
ş
af and terrified eyes—Saraylıhanım sought to avoid the accusatory glances of Behice by keeping her own eyes firmly on her lace- work. With so many streets closed, the tramways delayed for hours, the avenue stretching from Be
ş
ikta
ş
to Tophane being watched by the municipal police, few residents of Istanbul made it home on time that day. And Re
ş
at Bey was not among their number. The members of his household hadn’t heard of the bombing in Akaretler, and thus had no plausible explanation for Mehpare’s delay. Perhaps her aunt was critically ill and she’d decided to spend the night? Or maybe the girl had finally grown sick of her duties and run home for good? But Hüsnü Efendi was missing as well. Had there been a tramway accident? Behice and Saraylıhanım spent long hours in worried speculation.

Eager to escape her rival, Saraylıhanım retired to her room early, and it was there that she interrogated Mehpare when the girl finally returned; it was there that, on the pretext of a headache, she climbed into bed without even going down to dinner.

Behice sat directly in front of the window, waiting, determined that her husband would hear her version of the dreadful events of that day before Saraylıhanım could speak to him; determined to kill two birds—both of them relatives—with a single stone. She would cite Saraylıhanım’s advanced age, her failing faculties—clearly to blame for the day’s disasters—and call for an end to her dominion over the household; and she would point to the terrible consequences of allowing Kemal to remain with them. Her husband may have been able to overlook the fatal disease his nephew was probably carrying, but Re
ş
at would never be able to forgive Kemal for using the young girl under his protection as a courier. Of that Behice was absolutely certain.

When Re
ş
at Bey arrived home that day at his usual late hour, he found his wife sitting in front of the window in the second-floor sitting room.

“Why aren’t you in bed,” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ve been waiting for you. We need to talk.”

“This late? It must be urgent.”

“Impossible to catch you in the morning. You leave so early. When else do I have the chance to see you?”

Ahmet Re
ş
at sat down on the divan next to his wife and stroked her hair. “I know I’ve been neglecting you, all of you. But if you knew what I’ve been doing, you’d pity me.” He fixed his wife’s eyes with his own. “I have something to say to you, as well . . .”

“Re
ş
at Bey, hear me out first, please. This is important.”

“I’m listening. Who misbehaved today, Leman or Suat?”

“For God’s sake, Re
ş
at. Would I have sat up until this hour to complain about that? Be serious. A letter supposedly arrived for Mehpare this morning, and she insisted on visiting her aunt. She asked Saraylıhanım for her consent, and received it . . .”

“So?”

“Naturally, I objected to letting the girl go off without consulting you. But, as expected, Saraylıhanım ruled the day. Anyway, off the girl went, with Hüsnü Efendi. Afternoon came and went and they hadn’t come back. Late afternoon prayers passed. It got dark, and we were worried sick. It turns out that Mehpare was passing through Akaretler when a building was bombed . . . I don’t know whether she was inside the building or not . . . She was able to get home only long after the evening call to prayers, and in a sorry state. I saw her whispering with Kemal. I suspect she was delivering information. She denies it, of course. I thought you might like to know what happens in this house when you’re not here.”

As her husband’s scowl deepened, Behice rose lightly to her feet, drew her shawl tight across her shoulders and, the skirts of her dressing grown trailing in her wake, stepped across to the door, confident that her work was done. She was just slipping into the hallway when Re
ş
at Bey broke the silence. “Send Kemal to me immediately. I’ll be waiting in the selamlık.”

Behice slowly ascended the stairs and tapped on the door opposite Kemal’s room.

“Mehpare, tell Kemal Bey that Re
ş
at Bey is waiting in the selamlık. He wants to talk to you, and then to Kemal Bey,” she said.

Mehpare sprang out of bed, got dressed and ran down to the selamlık, where she hastily lit a fire in the brazier while attempting to respond to the dozens of questions being hurled at her. Then she climbed back up to the attic. When she entered Kemal’s room she found him fully dressed in trousers and a sweater.

“I heard,” he said, “and I’m going straight down.”

“Wait here a moment longer, sir. It’s still chilly down there.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Mehpare rushed after Kemal carrying several blankets. Not a peep came from Saraylıhanım’s room. Other than the creaking patter of footsteps on wooden treads, the house had been plunged into a funereal silence.

Ahmet Re
ş
at sat bolt upright on one of the divans lining the walls of the selamlık; on the divan opposite sat Kemal. The brass brazier wasn’t up to the task of heating the room, for which reason Kemal had finally consented to Mehpare draping his shoulders and knees with blankets. Under the wan light cast by the ceiling fixture, Kemal’s face appeared even paler than usual.

“Mehpare has been with us for many years, and this was her first attempt to visit her old home. And, for the first time, her family has communicated information not to me, not to my aunt, not to your aunt, but to a girl who is still, in many ways, a child. Her aunt taken ill! Do you expect me to believe that?” thundered Re
ş
at Bey.

There was no response from Kemal.

“As if the harm you’ve done yourself wasn’t enough, now you’ve started endangering your family. How could you send Mehpare to a safe-house? How could you? Do you know what you’ve done? Speak up, man!”

“I have nothing to say in my defense, uncle. I know there’s no point.”

“So you acknowledge your guilt.”

“It’s not that uncle . . . please . . .”

“Shut up! How could you, Kemal? She could have been killed. Maimed. What’s happened to your conscience? She could have been arrested. Could have led the police right to you. That would have been the end of us all. What kind of a man are you, anyway? Just who do you take after?”

Ahmet Re
ş
at got up and began pacing, his entire body shaking with frustration and rage. He had no idea what to do. Sitting opposite was an invalid swathed in blankets, a pathetic figure with waxen skin, bloodshot eyes, trembling hands. An invalid who continuously threatened the safety of his family . . . a madman… a fool! Re
ş
at Bey tossed his burning cigarette onto the glowing embers of the brazier. Stopping directly in front of Kemal, he waved his index finger in front of his nephew’s nose.

“You’ve taken leave of your senses, Kemal. I understand now what I should have realized from the start. How can I be angry with you, when you’re clearly out of your mind? I intend to surrender you to the doctors. Psychiatrists. It isn’t your lungs, but your mind. The doctors will do whatever is necessary to prevent you from harming yourself, from harming us. I can’t protect you any longer.”

“Uncle . . . please . . . listen . . .”

“I’ve listened to you. Every time. And every time I forgave you.
He’s learned his lesson, he’ll mend his ways
, I told myself.”

“Uncle . . .”

“You sent an innocent to Karakol with absolutely no thought of the consequences. The girl is so intimidated, or so mesmerized, by your powers of persuasion that she is prepared to sacrifice everything for you. Just passing by! On her way to a tobacconist! Don’t you dare try to find consolation in the fact that Mehpare wasn’t injured, killed or arrested. You’ve made that innocent girl into a bald-faced liar.”

“Uncle, punish me. Throw me out of the house. It’s true, I’ve gotten involved in a dangerous business. Yes, I’m working with Karakol. Because I believe that we need to do more to defend the homeland. I won’t sit idly by and watch things fall apart. If you want to banish me, so be it. But for the love of God, don’t punish an innocent girl, a bystander, someone who happened to be passing in front of Karakol when a bomb went off. I’m begging you. Mehpare was looking for Kerem Efendi’s tobacco shop. I gave her the directions myself. That’s her only crime.”

“And what emboldened her to go out onto the streets alone?”

“She wasn’t alone. Hüsnü Efendi went with her.”

“When they got to her aunt’s house she released Hüsnü. She entered the street unaccompanied even by her aunt.”

“For God’s sake, uncle, what of it? Women have begun to take up employment in this city. An organization under the patronage of Naciye Sultan herself even encourages them to do so. That is to say, even your conservative friends at the Palace no longer advocate imprisoning women in their homes. The Municipality of Istanbul has begun employing the wives of men killed on the battlefield, letting them earn their own bread. Are we, members of a free-thinking family, educated for generations at palace schools, really at odds on this? Mehpare walked down the street alone. So what!”

A single look at his uncle’s face was enough to tell Kemal that his efforts to steer the discussion onto safer ground had been in vain. It was time for a direct appeal. Voice trembling with emotion, Kemal began: “I’m begging you uncle, don’t allow Mehpare to be sacrificed in the feud between grand-mother and my aunt. Believe me, she hasn’t done a thing. I’m expecting news within the week. I’ll leave the moment it arrives, and your troubles will be over.”

The door was still shaking on its hinges as Ahmet Re
ş
at stormed down the hallway. Kemal listened to the sound of his uncle’s footsteps pounding up the staircase. A few moments later he heard the door to the upstairs bedroom slamming shut. He stood up, switched off the light and staggered to the door, guilty and afraid, barely able to keep to his feet, let alone climb three flights of stairs.

But clutching the banister and pausing frequently to gather strength, he finally made it to his room. He was astonished to see a ghostlike presence illuminated by his bedside lamp rise from a chair and walk toward him. “Mehpare! What are you doing here? You still haven’t gone to bed?”

“Listen to me, please, I didn’t tell the master anything. I did just as you said, I told neither Mahir Bey nor your uncle that you sent me. I said I was passing by when the explosion happened. And that’s what I’ll continue to say, no matter what. I wanted you to know that. That’s why I’m here.”

“Mehpare.”

“If Mahir Bey presses you for the truth, say nothing. He suspects you sent me. I denied it. I said I was passing through.” She spoke quickly, in a choked voice, breathing hard. Kemal took her by the hands and led her to the edge of the bed. They sat down next to each other.

“Mehpare, don’t worry, I won’t say anything to anyone.”

“But Ahmet Re
ş
at Beyefendi thinks . . .”

“That’s all he can do, think. No one knows anything for certain. He can’t accuse you. Don’t worry, he won’t discharge you without being absolutely sure. I know him. He’s a just man.”

“It’s not myself I’m worried about, I’m afraid they’ll send you away.”

“Were you listening to us?” There was no response. “Don’t worry, Mehpare. Neither you nor I are going anywhere. This won’t be the first storm to blow over in this house.”

“If something should happen to you . . . because of me . . . I went there at the wrong time . . . I should have gone earlier instead of chatting with my aunt. Forgive me . . .”

“I’m the one who should ask for forgiveness. If you only knew how I frightened I was when you didn’t come back. I was in agony. Until you appeared at the top of the street with Hüsnü Efendi. I made a terrible mistake, Mehpare, I should never have sent you there. My uncle has every right to be furious with me.”

“What what was it, sir, what was that place?”

“A charitable organization.”

“Why would anyone bomb a charity?” Kemal didn’t answer. “You trusted me enough to send me there, but now you won’t tell me what kind of place it was.”

Kemal blushed. “Various political activities are conducted there.”

“So it wasn’t by chance . . . and the Karakol . . . I was petrified . . .” Kemal started at the word. “Karakol? What are you saying? What have you heard about Karakol?”

“When the bomb exploded, everyone ran outside, and there were military policemen everywhere. They were going to take Mahir Bey and me in, but he stopped them, let me slip away.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”

“I told you I’d seen Mahir Bey!”

“But you didn’t say anything about his being taken in to headquarters.”

“I didn’t want to infuriate Saraylıhanım any further, so I said nothing.”

“God, I’m such a fool!”

“How were you to know about the bomb?”

“I should have known. What if you’d been killed! Or hurt!”

“The bomb exploded on the floor above. We were hit by a little debris, that’s all.”