Farewell: A Mansion in Occupied Istanbul (Turkish Literature) (8 page)

“God was watching over you.”

“He must have been. Well, I’d best be leaving now, sir. Is there anything you’d like me to do? Shall I bring you a cup of linden tea before bed?”

Kemal rested both of his hands on the girl’s shoulders to prevent her from rising. “You’re an angel, Mehpare,” he said. “My angel. It was you who nursed me back to health. Without you, I’d have died.”

Kemal was silenced by the slender fingers placed on his lips. “Don’t talk about death.” Kemal kissed the fingers placed on his lips. Mehpare was too overcome to rise from the bed. Kemal pressed his lips first against her neck, then against her shoulder.

“Sir . . . Please . . . No,” the girl moaned. Kemal retreated immediately.

“You’re right, Mehpare. I shouldn’t have. I’m ill. I may even have consumption. I had no right to kiss you.”

“You don’t have consumption. You don’t. And even if you did,” Mehpare said, moving closer. Hair was beginning to spill from beneath her headscarf. Kemal pushed her back and looked into her face, the face that had been there to greet him whenever he opened his eyes—for so many months now his only glimpse of beauty. How many times had he confronted death, how many times had he rediscovered the will to live when morning came, looking into these eyes? Kemal breathed deeply. Was he happy? Was this happiness? How long had it been? She sat before him, long throat slightly twisted. The top few buttons of her blouse were open. Her hair had fallen loose.

When Ahmet Re
ş
at entered his bedroom, he found his wife undressed beneath the covers, her hair lit by moonlight streaming in from the tall windows. She appeared to be sound asleep. He closed the curtains, slowly undressed, and had barely crept into bed when Behice turned to face him:

“I drifted off,” she murmured sleepily.

“Don’t rouse yourself. I have something to tell you, but it can wait until morning.”

Behice rested her head on her elbow and looked at her husband. “There’s nothing wrong, is there, Re
ş
at? I hope you haven’t thrown Kemal out of the house. I wouldn’t wish it on a cat, not at this hour. At least wait until morning.”

Ahmet Re
ş
at interrupted his wife. “It isn’t Kemal I want to talk about.”

“What is it then? The ministry? You mentioned that salaries were going unpaid. Have they come to seize our property?”

“No, nothing bad has happened,” laughed Ahmet Re
ş
at, “but only time will tell us how auspicious my news is.”

“Well tell me, I’m bursting to know!”

“Behice Hanımefendi, you’re now the wife of a minister.” Behice screamed as she sat up. “They offered you the position! And you accepted?”

“Salih Pasha has been promoted to Grand Vizier and he formed a new cabinet today. He pointed out that I have been the acting minister of finance for some time now and suggested we make it official. I raised no objections.”

Behice threw her arms around her husband’s neck. “But why did you wait until now to give me the good news—why didn’t you tell me the moment you came in?”

“I’d intended to, but you were so preoccupied with your own affairs that I thought it prudent to resolve them first.”

“I remember now, you said you had something to tell me. But how could I know it would be so tremendous? You spoke so calmly. Is that any way to deliver this sort of news? Well all I can say is, may your new station bring joy and prosperity. To your country and your family. Does Saraylıhanım know?”

“How could she? I haven’t even seen her today. I’ll tell her tomorrow morning.”

“What about Kemal?”

“Kemal and I had less pleasant matters to discuss.”

“Am I the only one who knows?”

“In our family, yes.”

Behice inwardly rejoiced now over Saraylıhanım’s decision to allow Mehpare to leave the house today. If the old woman hadn’t taken to her bed early, she would surely have been the first to learn of the promotion. But this time it was Behice who had been told. And that was as it should be.

“We’ll tell everyone tomorrow morning,” she sang. “And Re
ş
at, shall we send a telegram to Beypazarı?” As she rested her head on her pillow Behice couldn’t help but marvel at her father’s foresight. Throngs of wealthy suitors had lined up to claim her hand, but her father had declared: My daughter has no need for goods and chattels. The marriage I arrange will secure her future. Sight unseen, he’d decided to give his daughter to a promising young civil servant, one related to their neighbors and the son of an Istanbul family. And how right he’d been! Thanks to her father, Behice would arise from bed the following morning as the wife of a minister. She was flushed with excitement, no longer the least bit sleepy. As she drew her body closer to her husband’s, she shyly sought his mouth and, for the first time in ages, felt his lips respond to hers. It was as though he were eager to shrug off all the unhappy developments of that eventful day. Re
ş
at pressed his lips against his wife’s and, when he lowered himself onto her warm body, he was astonished to find how very much he had missed her.

– 4 –
March 1920

The following morning, Re
ş
at Bey shared the news of his promotion with the other members of his household. Saraylıhanım received her nephew’s announcement with an air of indifference, as though she’d expected no less. “Re
ş
at, my boy, the position has been yours in all but name, it’s only natural that they give you the title you deserve,” she calmly pronounced. “God has willed that my family shall continue to be of service to the state. Come here, my dear, and let me kiss your forehead.”

As Re
ş
at Bey rose from his chair his daughters leapt up with cries of joy, kissing their father’s hand and embracing him. After permitting his aunt to kiss his forehead, he ceremoniously kissed her right hand and briefly drew it up to his brow.

“Don’t neglect your prayers, mother,” he said. “We’ll need them more than ever now.”

“Well, I rose early this morning to perform my ablutions and to read passages from the Koran for you,” Behice interjected resentfully.

“A mother’s blessings are superior to all others,” said Saraylıhanım, “for motherhood is itself blessed.”

“But I’m a mother, too,” Behice protested.

Saraylıhanım failed to hear her.

Upon hearing the news, Mehpare, Housekeeper Gülfidan, Hüsnü Efendi and the other servants lined up to express their congratulations. Having been shut up in his room all day, only Kemal remained ignorant of the promotion, until Mehpare told him.

As Ahmet Re
ş
at was leaving the room his aunt went up to him and asked: “Shall I tell Kemal? He’ll be so proud of you.”

“I doubt it,” responded Re
ş
at Bey.

“How can you say that! Kemal loves you like a father.”

“I need more than affection, aunt; what I want is obedience.”

“I’ll speak to him. I’ll explain that as the nephew of a minister he’ll have to be more prudent.” “Don’t waste your breath.”

“Please, Kemal isn’t a child. Don’t you think he knows that everyone will be watching us? May Allah protect my family from the evil eye. I’d best have some frankincense burned today.”

“You’re exaggerating, aunt. Nothing has changed. Today I’ll be charged with performing the same duties in the same office as before. The only thing that’s different is my title.”

“Godspeed and return in good health, my lion,” Saraylıhanım said, nudging Behice aside as she lightly patted her nephew on the back.

Stepping outside, Ahmet Re
ş
at turned up the collar of his coat. The sun had dispatched all of the snow, transforming the street into a sea of mud. Warmer weather was clearly on the way. With hansom cabs so difficult to find these days, he had no choice but to walk to work again this morning. Taking care not to spatter the cuffs of his trousers, he strode across the cobblestones.

Behice looked on, astonished, as Mehpare, clearing the breakfast dishes, tipped over a glass and spilled some tea. The girl was like a sleepwalker, her face chalk-white, eyes bloodshot. The poor thing must still be reeling at having been rebuked, Behice decided. Perhaps we were a bit harsh? She’d only been following orders. The poor thing was a slave to Saraylıhanım’s every whim. And it had been Kemal who sent her to the bombing, Saraylıhanım who had assented. What was the girl’s crime? She’d always been respectful. She’d lovingly cared for Leman and Suat all these years. She’d at stood at Kemal’s bedside, vigilant, uncomplaining. Suddenly, Behice deeply regretted having informed her husband of Mehpare’s transgression.

“Mehpare,” she softly said. There was no response. “Mehpare, are you deaf, my girl?”

“Ah . . .” The girl had been startled from her trance. “Yes, what is it, Behice Abla?”

“What is it, my lamb? What’s come over you?” Mehpare flushed scarlet, head bowed, eyes lowered. “Did Re
ş
at Bey treat you roughly last night?”

“I deserved it, efendim. I shouldn’t have gone without his knowledge.”

“What’s done is done. Next time, come and tell me of your troubles, not Saraylıhanım. She’s not as young as she was, and her misjudgments cause trouble for all of us.”

“As you wish, efendim.”

“Mehpare,” Behice continued, “Leman has some ironing, and as Zehra won’t be coming today I wondered if you wouldn’t . . .”

“Of course I will, Behice Abla. Kemal Bey doesn’t need me as much anymore. He can take care of himself now, thank God. And anyway, he doesn’t want to be waited on.”

“If he’s fully recovered, why are you giving him medicine? Does he still have a cough?”

“He’s coughing less, but there are the restorative syrups prescribed by the doctor. And, as you know, I’ve been told to administer drops to soothe his nerves and help him sleep . . .”

“You’d still better keep his cutlery and dishes separate,” Behice cut in. “Better safe than sorry.”

“All right,” Mehpare said, turning toward the kitchen with a large, round tray of empty tea glasses and dishes; and promptly collided with Saraylıhanım, who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. Mehpare stumbled and fell to her knees; the contents of the tray crashed to the floor. Suat had a fit of the giggles and clapped her hands.

“Shameful,” Behice scolded her youngest daughter. “Help her pick everything up.”

“No, stay back. You’ll cut your hand, there are splinters of glass everywhere,” Mehpare said.

“I can’t help her anyway,” Suat said, “I’m late for school as it is. You haven’t even braided my hair yet.”

“Very well, go to my room and get a comb,” Behice said.

“What’s wrong with you this morning?” Saraylıhanım demanded of Mehpare, who was down on all fours, plucking slivers of glass and shards of crockery from the carpet. “Earlier, you nearly fell down the stairs.”

Mehpare fled the room with her tray of fragments.

“She must have been shaken by yesterday’s disturbance,” Behice said.

“There’s no point in exaggerating all that,” Saraylıhanım said. “It was an unfortunate coincidence.”

“Re
ş
at Bey doesn’t think so.”

“Re
ş
at Bey is looking for any pretext to vent his anger,” Saraylıhanım said. “This endless winter has told on his nerves. And everyone else’s.”

“Re
ş
at Bey’s nerves are not contingent on the weather,” Behice retorted. “He’s been upset by the state of the country, and unpleasantness at home only exacerbates his state of mind. Never mind—we’ve all held up as best we could. And now we’re coming to the end.”

“The end of what?” Saraylıhanım asked. “The deterioration of the country or the unpleasantness at home?”

Behice had no idea what to say.

“We women can’t be expected to understand affairs of state. But if you’re referring to our domestic duties, we’ll be sending Kemal to Beypazarı soon. And then you’ll be able to breathe easy.”

“How can you say that, Saraylıhanım? How could Kemal’s absence possibly please me? He’s like a brother to me.”

“Brothers are treated with kindness and compassion when they fall ill.”

“Didn’t I tend him when he came back from Sarıkamı
ş
? I’d have expected a little more understanding from you. With two little girls in the house, an infectious disease . . .”

Saraylıhanım interrupted.

“Those two little girls of yours have long since become young women.”

“They’ll always be my little girls,” Behice sniffed, rushing from the room. It was just like Saraylıhanım, she fumed, denying her the opportunity to savor Re
ş
at’s news. But the odd thing was, she was no longer certain how pleased she was by his promotion. Yes, she felt extremely proud, but then why this strange sense of trepidation? She settled onto the divan in the sitting room and extracted a thin sheet of paper from a silver cigarette case, carefully placed a bit of tobacco onto it, wet the edges of the paper with the tip of her tongue, leaned over to light it on one of the coals still glowing in the brazier, and filled her lungs with aromatic smoke. She had just released a soothing stream of it when the agitated housekeeper burst into the room. Am I never to enjoy a little peace of mind, Behice thought to herself, and said, “What is it now?”

“Ziya Pasha’s wife, Münire Hanımefendi, has just sent word that they’ll be calling to extend their congratulations.”

“When?”

“Today, this afternoon.”

“Tell them they’re welcome,” said Behice, feeling both flattered and uneasy. The second puff of smoke gave her none of the pleasure of the first, because the moment the housekeeper quit the room Saraylıhanım suddenly materialized before her.

“These visits aren’t going to end with Ziya Pasha’s harem. There’ll be more, plenty of them. Soon enough the house will be overflowing with well-wishers. We’ve got to be prepared with trays of börek and jugs of sherbet. Don’t just sit there puffing on a cigarette; it’s not easy being the wife of a minister, and it’s time to get to work. I’ll send for Zehra. She’s to get started scrubbing the house from top to bottom.”

“And how are we supposed to prepare these refreshments? The pantry is bone-bare.”

“A woman of skill can work miracles with nothing. We’ll find a way.”

Not be outdone, Behice said, “Let me remind you not to ask after Ziya Pasha. He was badly shaken by all those years in exile. He’s never really recovered; in fact, they say his condition has deteriorated to the point where they thought it best to send him to relatives in Bursa. He’s being cared for there.” Behice extinguished her cigarette in the ashtray and slowly rose to her feet. As she swept past Saraylıhanım on her way to the door, she said, sidelong: “Since as you’ve taken such good care of the household affairs, I suppose there’s nothing left for me to do but deck myself out for company. And that’s precisely what I intend to do.”

Having carefully climbed the stairs to avoid spilling the foaming cup of coffee she was balancing on a tray, Mehpare tapped on Kemal’s door. At the words “come in” she slipped into the room and set the tray on the nightstand next to the bed. Flushing, she whispered, “I was making coffee for Saraylıhanım, and thought you might like one.”

“It’s not coffee I’d like,” said Kemal, pulling her down into the bed and across his chest. Arms locked around her waist, he silenced her protests with a long kiss. Mehpare finally broke free.

“Stop it, sir . . . what if someone comes in . . . I’ll be ruined . . . disgraced . . . Don’t . . . Please.”

As Kemal held her tight with his left hand he undid the buttons of her blouse with his right, and buried his face in her bosom.

“How do you manage to smell so wonderful, Mehpare?”

“Stop it, sir, I’m begging you.”

“If anyone comes we’ll hear their footsteps.”

“The girls don’t wear heels. We wouldn’t hear Leman or Suat.”

“They’re not allowed in my room.” Kemal pressed his lips to Mehpare’s chest. With a low moan, she pushed him away. He stood firm, running his tongue slowly from her breasts up to her chin and back. And then he kissed her again.

“Don’t you want me, Mehpare?” She didn’t reply. Kemal rephrased the question: “Don’t you love me?”

“I’ve loved you for years. Hopelessly. I love you more than my own life.”

“Then why do you push me away?” He undid another button, and began nuzzling the breast he’d liberated.”

“Have pity on me,” said Mehpare, who’d begun to tremble.

“I’ll release you only if you promise to spend the night with me again.”

Mehpare’s inner voice wished that Kemal would never leave her, that he would stay like this forever, her nipple in his mouth. Her body was overwhelmed by sensations she’d never known.

“All right . . . I promise.” I can’t sleep unless it’s here at your side—if I can’t see you, can’t touch you, I can’t live, she thought to herself. When Kemal loosened his grip, she reluctantly rose, smoothed her skirts, tucked her breasts into her camisole, re-but-toned her blouse and picked up her yemeni headscarf, which had fallen to the floor.

“Your coffee’s getting cold,” she said in a low voice.

“Well then, bring me a hot one.”

“Really?”

Kemal laughed. “I dare say you want to kiss and caress me as much as I do you.”

“Actually, sir, I came with important news.”

“And what news is that?”

“It would be more appropriate if Saraylıhanım told you. She might get angry if I do.”

“Tell me anyway, and I’ll pretend not to know.”

“Beyefendi has been appointed minister.”

“My uncle?”

“Yes.”

“Ahhh!” Kemal exclaimed.

“Aren’t you pleased?”

“I’m not, Mehpare. Minister of the Treasury?”

“Yes.”

“God help him,” Kemal said. Then he was lost in thought.

As Mehpare crept silently from the room she decided she was in love with a very peculiar man indeed.

Behice received Münire Hanımefendi and her daughter, Azra Hanım, in the rarely used salon overlooking the back garden. Even with the moss-green velvet curtains fully drawn and the slatted shutters flung wide, the room was poorly lit, thanks to its northern exposure and the garden’s numerous trees. The gloom, however, lent the room an air of respectable sobriety. In contrast to the selamlık and the bow-windowed sitting room facing the street, it was decorated not with divans and cushions but with gilded, crushed-velvet sofas and matching armchairs. The glass case sitting between the two windows exhibited fine Ottoman porcelain, Beykoz glassware and lead crystal dessert bowls. On the walls hung three antique china plates and two oils signed by the painter Civanyan. The room was decorated in the western style—more typical of a prosperous Christian or Jewish family. Behice was gratified to observe Azra Hanım glancing at one of the paintings. Nodding in the direction of the canvas, the young woman spoke in tones at once bold and gay: “I’m a devotee of Civanyan’s night-scapes, too. I see you have discerning tastes. Do you paint?”

Saraylıhanım had opposed the hanging of pictures, and Behice reminded herself to recount the visitor’s enthusiastic appraisal at the first opportunity. “Unfortunately no, but my eldest, Leman, is terribly fond of art. She paints and embroiders wonderfully.”

She silently thanked Re
ş
at Bey for having acquired the paintings some years earlier, and blushed at the memory of her words at the time: “For goodness sake, you could have bought a few carpets instead of paying so much for a pair of paintings!”