Farewell: A Mansion in Occupied Istanbul (Turkish Literature) (9 page)

Until Saraylıhanım entered the room to offer around a tray of refreshments, the women occupied themselves in discussion of the difficulties faced by the wives of men of high station. As the wife of a former minister herself, Münire Hanımefendi took it upon herself to warn Behice of the tribulations that awaited her in the days ahead, the long separations from her spouse, the burden of sole responsibility for the children’s wellbeing.

“I have been accustomed to nothing else for some time now,” Behice contented herself with saying. “I have followed my husband, children in tow, to Damascus, to Rhodes and to Thessalonica. At least we’re no longer in rented lodgings; we have our own house. We live near our friends and relatives. I have no right to complain.”

Once Saraylıhanım appeared, the conversation turned to other topics. The elderly woman said she’d learned from the neighbors that Muslim women frequently faced insulting behavior at the hands of the occupying forces, for which reason she’d taken to doing her shopping at the local greengrocer’s instead of at the marketplace, a sad turn of events which explained the substandard flavor not only of the meals prepared daily by the cook, but of the very börek she was offering her guests, with her deepest apologies for the lack of either spinach or cheese fillings.

“Hanımefendi,” Münire Hanım consoled her, “it’s no longer possible to find anything at the marketplaces either. Food shortages have broken out across the city. With the roads blockaded, deliveries of provisions from Anatolia have stopped almost completely.”

“I had good reason to urge my son Re
ş
at Bey to lay in provisions, but he paid me no heed,” sighed Saraylıhanım. “If those reports about the occupiers, their harassment, hadn’t reached my ears, I wouldn’t hesitate to go to the Spice Bazaar myself. It’s quite far, but I’m certain everything is still available there.”

Münire Hanım had just opened her mouth to inform Saraylıhanım that these days even the Spice Bazaar was short of supplies when her daughter leapt into the conversation. “They’re not foreigners at all! They’re Greeks and Armenians wearing the uniforms of the invaders—that’s why I’m out in the streets every chance I get. I dare them to harass me! They’d be made to answer for their insolence!”

“Young lady,” responded Saraylıhanım,” what could you possibly do? Surely you don’t expect to thrash them yourself?”

“I don’t, not on my own. But I would raise such a ruckus that the entire neighborhood would rush to beat the offenders black and blue.”

“My dear young lady, you shall do no such thing. You’d only be asking for trouble. You should simply avoid them.”

“I don’t agree at all,” said Münire Hanım. “Turning a blind eye and cowering has got us nowhere. This is our city, even if it is under occupation.”

“You’re really agreeing with the girl?” Saraylıhanım asked Münire Hanım, looking directly into her eyes.

“Azra belongs to a women’s organization dedicated to opposing the invasion. They hold conferences, make speeches, all to enlighten the Turkish woman.”

“What organization is this?” asked Behice.

“The Association for the Protection of Women’s Rights. Are you a member of any organizations, Behice Hanımefendi?”

Saraylıhanım stepped in before her daughter-in-law could answer. “She is not. Behice Hanım is rearing two daughters. She’s also responsible for running the house. She has no time for organizations.”

“Many of the women at our association are married with children. Domestic duties don’t preclude membership,” said Azra Hanım.

Behice shot an irritated glance at Saraylıhanım and turned to Azra Hanım: “My mother-in-law spoke the truth, but my children have grown up—they’re at school now. As far as running the house, my mother-in-law, God bless her, is far more adept at that than I am. She won’t so much as allow me to place my hands in cold water after hot. I would greatly appreciate it if you would permit me to accompany you to your association one day.”

“Behice Hanım! Without so much as asking the minister! I’d certainly like to know what he’d say!” objected Saraylıhanım.

“He’d be pleased, I’m sure. My husband approves of industrious women,” said Behice. “Hasn’t he demonstrated as much by hiring a private tutor for Leman and by sending Suat to school at such an early age? You know what they say about ‘keeping up with the times.’”

Mehpare was all ears as she served the tea. The visiting ladies continued to mind their manners, but they allowed their facial expressions to indicate, ever so subtly, that Saraylıhanım was not be taken seriously. But the Cunning Circassian was not going down without a fight: “Some of your organizations are also engaged in charitable activities. If Behice insists on becoming a member of a society, a charity would be more appropriate; like the Red Crescent, for example.”

“My dear,” smiled Münire Hanımefendi, “the contemporary female is nothing like us. She’s educated, she speaks foreign languages, reads literature from Europe.”

“We too received education and instruction,” snapped Saraylıhanım, drawing herself up in her chair.

“Of course we did,” agreed Münire Hanım. “We learned to pluck the lute. We committed the Koran to memory. But neither we nor our mothers were equipped for the demands of modern life. Until a short time ago, we spent our days shut up behind four walls. We’re only now—slowly—learning the ways of the world.”

“There’s also something called experience,” said Saraylıhanım,” and it’s every bit as precious as raw knowledge. And, unfortunately, it’s something youth does not possess. Mehpare, dear girl, pour our guests some more tea, would you? Can I offer you another slice of börek, my dear . . . do help yourself to shortcake.”

As Azra Hanım passed the platter back to her hostess, Mehpare carried off the empty tea glasses, her mind occupied by the discussion underway in the drawing room. When she returned, Azra and Behice were sitting side by side speaking in subdued tones. As she placed a glass of tea on the end table next to Azra Hanım, she overheard, “We’re fighting for more than our rights, now—we’re fighting for the homeland. Nesibe Hanım and Saime Hanım are going to speak on this next week. Would you like to come and listen?” Behice looked dumbstruck.

Having passed the guests sugar, Mehpare placed the bowl back on the table and stood with arms folded beside the door. She had barely retreated into thoughts of her beloved when the sound of his name shook her out of her reverie and made her prick up her ears.

“Kemal Bey, may God protect him, has penned some wonderful articles on this subject,” Azra Hanım was saying, “but unfortunately he now writes nothing at all.”

“My nephew suffered a long period of convalescence upon his return from Sarıkamı
ş
,” explained Behice.

“I do hope he’s fully recovered.”

“He’s not in Istanbul. He’s gone to his uncle’s, where he’s resting.” Azra turned an incredulous look on Behice, who flushed pink and bowed her head.

“If you’re corresponding with Kemal,” Azra said, “do write and tell him that we’re all eager for more of his work. And please convey our greetings and our best wishes for a full and speedy recovery.”

And who are you, anyway? Mehpare thought. What are you doing here? She was prepared to cope with consumption, with kidney pains and nightmares; she could handle bombs, police interrogations if need be; but she was utterly unequipped to deal with the young lady sitting over there, so full of herself, a lock of hair hanging over her high forehead. Mehpare unfolded her arms and silently left the room. She began climbing the stairs. If she dared to ask him, would Kemal Bey answer her questions? Would he tell her what his relationship was with the know-it-all down in the drawing room? Sophisticated, impeccably dressed, well-read, opinionated, the daughter of a former minister. Next to her, Mehpare was a nobody. She’d learned to read by sitting in on Leman’s lessons, but her handwriting was abominable, her knowledge of current affairs negligible. She was pathetic—what did she know of the world but this house and its immediate vicinity? How could she possibly interest Kemal? He’d appreciate her for as long as he was confined to his room. And then? After he’d grown strong, after he’d gone on his way, would he remember she’d even existed? The kisses, the lovemaking—she couldn’t allow them. Never again.

Just as Saraylıhanım had predicted, the well-wishers weren’t limited to Münire Hanım and her daughter: the house overflowed with callers. For ten long days, Mehpare and the others members of the household didn’t have a single free moment. Saraylıhanım was care ful to conceal from Re
ş
at Bey the sale of three braided gold bracelets that had once adorned her arm, the proceeds of which were devoured by particularly distinguished guests in the form of tartlets from the patisseries of Pera, box after box of chocolates and—again, unbeknownst to the master of the house—refreshments prepared with ingredients acquired on the black market. Neighbors, friends and relatives were served freshly-baked trays of börek and bite-sized fritters soaked in syrup. All available chairs were hauled in to the selamlık, the middle salon and the anteroom, which did service as a dining room.

Important guests and foreigners were received in the velvet drawing room, while male visitors congregated in the selamlık and close friends gathered in the front room with the bow window. Once the guests were gone, order was restored, dishes scrubbed and preparations made for the next day’s gatherings. Day blurred into night, and everyone was utterly exhausted. Even in the midst of such bustling activity, Behice found time to have Katina over to the house to fit and sew new dresses, skirts and blouses, the allowance urgently requested from her father defraying the cost. The left over fabric was used to make matching dresses, complete with piping and frilly collars, for Leman and Suat, and the girls were sent to the best photographer in Beyazit to pose with their father.

Naturally, ceremonial prayers were conducted as well.

Being the wife of a minister was tiring, expensive, but it had its enjoyable moments too. At Saraylıhanım’s insistence, Behice invited her father to visit. Saraylıhanım had calculated both that
İ
brahim Bey would arrive for an extended stay laden with provisions, and that when he returned home he would be more than happy to take Kemal with him to Beypazarı. However, her plans were spoiled when
İ
brahim Bey cited work and declined the invitation. Though filled with pride, he considered it opportunistic and in bad form to arrive on the doorstep so soon after his son-in-law had been appointed minister. Meanwhile, the onslaught of visitors had severely depleted their resources, and Saraylıhanım was growing increasingly distraught. If guests continued to pour in, how was she to protect the reputation of her household? With the sacks of flour and other staples nearly gone, what were they to serve? There may have been a war on, but the neighbors were not under any circumstances to know that within the minister’s family dined morning and night on nothing but soup—which often enough consisted of little more than dry bread and broth.

Ever since the confrontation with his uncle, Kemal had largely kept to his room. He had descended to the entry hall a few times hoping to extend his congratulations, but, having failed to encounter his busy uncle there, settled for sending a card, and was actually quite pleased to have avoided a guilt-stricken meeting. He spent his days at his writing desk, working at his translations and reading. Mehpare would bring up his meals, administer his medicines and enquire, several times a day, if master needed anything else.

Saraylıhanım worried that Mehpare was literally being run off her feet. The poor girl was growing paler by the day, and dark circles had formed under her eyes.

She was right: Mehpare was exhausted. Late at night, after she finished mopping and sweeping in preparation for another day of guests, she would climb up to her room on the top floor, more dead than alive, leaving the door ajar so that it wouldn’t squeak later. Finally, when everyone else in the house was sound asleep, she’d steal into Kemal’s room and slip into his arms. Kemal made love to her fiercely, as though determined to make up for the long years of military service, captivity and convalescence. He was insatiable. All through the night he nibbled her lips, breasts and shoulders, basking in her scent, allowing himself to run riot. And Mehpare, too, was ravenous—she submitted her body to his, fought back screams, clapped her hand over her mouth, sank her teeth into the pillow, writhed and flailed under his slender frame. Later, in the hushed hours just before dawn, she would float back to her bed, spent but sleepless, her soul still overflowing with vitality. As the sun came up, she would creep down to the hamam to perform her ablutions and return to her room for morning prayers. Then she would prepare breakfast and go again to Kemal, this time with a tray. He was usually sound asleep, and she’d kneel at his bedside, lightly stroking his cheek, running her fingers through his hair as she waited for him to wake. For the rest of the day, she would seize any excuse to visit him . . . I’ll bring sir his lunch . . . I’ll be right back after I take sir a cup of coffee . . . I think I heard him call for me, sir may want something . . . It’s time for sir to take his medicine . . .

“Dear girl, between Kemal and the guests you’ve been worn to the bone. Be sure to take care of yourself or you’ll get ill as well,” Saraylıhanım admonished, as Mehpare grew daily more hollow-eyed and wan.

– 5 –
Flight

One morning, Saraylıhanım and Behice were sitting opposite each other on the low backless couches lining the bow window. They’d risen early and dressed to receive, but were enjoying their cups of coffee and the sweet languor that came from knowing that few, if any, visitors were likely to call that day. Wailing sirens had made for another restless night, but neither of them knew, or cared to know, the exact target of the raids conducted by the occupying forces, who seemed to spend all their time and resources chasing after members of the resistance—“the rabble rousers,” as Saraylıhanım insisted on calling them. Both women had grown accustomed to the sound of distant gunshots, and were not at all rattled. Re
ş
at Bey had long since left for work. Leman was seated in front of the piano practicing for the lesson she was to receive later in the day. Suat sat near her mother’s skirts, scribbling on sheets of paper she’d spread across the floor, her morning classes having been cancelled due to a performance of some kind being put on by the senior girls.

“Don’t disturb your sister while she’s having her lessons today. I’ll inform your father if you do, and he’ll be very angry with you,” Behice said.

“I don’t bother her. I just watch.”

“She doesn’t want you to watch, so don’t.”

“She’s scared I’ll learn to play better than her.”

“But you didn’t want lessons.”

“I did so!”

“No, you didn’t! You preferred the violin. And it was a wise choice, too. You and your sister will be able to give your father a concert one day,” said Behice, “and, even better, you can take your violin anywhere you go. Your sister has no choice but to play at home.”

Behice was slightly ashamed of her words. The reason Suat had been denied piano lessons was that Leman wouldn’t let anyone else touch the instrument, becoming particularly enraged when the trespasser was her younger sister. The piano had been purchased when Leman turned ten. As they were in no position to afford a second piano, Suat had been encouraged to take up the violin. Even so, whenever her sister wasn’t at home Suat would rush over to the piano and do her best to replicate a melody she’d overheard.

“You’ll also learn to play the ud, of course,” said Saraylıhanım. “Every girl in the house should know how to play the ud. I taught Mehpare myself. She plays beautifully.”

“Teach me too, nana.”

“We’ll begin just as soon as school lets out for the summer, my dear. And you know what? Your grandfather says he might come in June. He loves listening to the ud.”

“I wish he was here with us now,” sighed Behice. “He hasn’t seen the girls for months. The last time he visited, Leman was a child; next time he’ll find a young lady. She’s grown so tall this winter.”

“Never mind, he’ll be visiting soon enough, once we’re out on the island.”

“I expected him to come the moment he learned of Re
ş
at’s appointment. We’d have been off to the island shortly afterwards, and we could all have gone . . .”

Behice stopped mid-sentence as the housekeeper rushed into the room looking unusually alarmed.

“What is it now?” Behice groaned.

Saraylıhanım immediately broke in with, “Mercy me, Gülfidan, don’t tell me visitors have arrived at this early hour.”

“Aret Efendi is here. He wants to speak to you, ma’am.”

“How strange! What’s he doing here today?” said Behice. “And so early in the morning? Tell him to wait. We’ll be down right after we finish our coffee.”

“Something terrible is happening in the city today, ma’am. He asked me to tell you immediately.”

Behice and Saraylıhanım simultaneously leapt for the door. Suat raced after them. Behice made way for Saraylıhanım to exit the room first, and, eager as she was to get to the ground floor, tried to be patient as her mother-in-law slowly took one step at a time. Suat did what her mother could not: wriggling past Saraylıhanım on the stairs, she was the first to reach the floor below, where Aret Efendi and Hüsnü Efendi waited in a state of high agitation.

“What’s going on Aret Efendi?” Saraylıhanım asked.

“Forgive me for the disturbance, ladies, but the streets are dangerous today. I thought you should know. You’d best stay indoors. I left home at six this morning, and I’ve only just made it here. The city’s crawling with military police and soldiers.”

“Why? What happened?” asked Behice.

“Have the streets been blockaded again?” asked Saraylıhanım. “I was just asking myself where Leman’s piano instructor could be.”

“Don’t expect him. No one’ll be able to go anywhere today.”

“Does that mean I can’t go to school?” whined Suat.

“I’m told they’ve begun detaining people,” Aret Efendi said.

“What about me? What about school?”

“Hush girl,” Behice scolded, “and we’ll find out what’s happened.”

“Are they rounding up CUP partisans again?” asked Saraylıhanım.

“I don’t know, efendim. But they were everywhere.”

“Who was everywhere?”

“Foreign soldiers. The English. They’ve cordoned off all the main roads. I made my way here through the back streets. The high street is closed.”

“I’ll go out there and have a look,” Hüsnü Efendi volunteered.

“Go, bring us news. You have us worried now,” said Saraylıhanım. As Hüsnü and Aret walked together to the door Behice gathered her skirts and began climbing the stairs. Suat managed to dart ahead again.

“Careful,” Behice said, “you’ll trip me up. You’re nothing like your elder sister. Since you insist on behaving like a boy, would that Allah had blessed me with a son instead.”

“I wish I’d been born a boy,” Suat agreed, “I wish I could go climb trees in the garden instead of embroidering.”

“As if that weren’t precisely what you do anyway!” Behice had no idea how to handle her younger daughter. While Leman was serious and serene, Suat was quite the opposite: as impish, fidgety and exuberant as a boy. The name Suat had been chosen when Behice thought she was expecting a boy, and she sometimes blamed herself, as did Saraylıhanım, for having insisted on giving that name to a girl. The pillow cases and tables embroidered by Leman when she was Suat’s age were so beautiful that Behice couldn’t bear to use them. Suat hadn’t yet mastered even basic backstitching, but she’d shone at school, where she effortlessly studied with girls two years older than herself. Her writing abilities nearly matched her sister’s.

So much intelligence, Behice thought. What a waste.

Behice and her daughter settled onto the couch in the bow window. Only fifteen days earlier she’d been able to scan the street from the left side of the window; the view was now completely obscured by the leaves of the almond tree. Saraylıhanım appeared in the doorway, looking worried.

“Go and join your sister, Suat. She’s doing embroidery in her room.”

“I want to stay her with you, nana.”

“Your mother and I have something to discuss. Come on, off you go.”

“Can’t I listen?”

“No, you can’t.” Saraylıhanım opened the door and called up the stairs: “Mehpare, come down and get Suat. Keep her entertained for a moment . . . Mehpare! Where are you?”

Hearing Mehpare’s tread on the stairs, Suat dashed out of the room unprompted.

Saraylıhanım made certain the door was fully closed and took a seat next to Behice.“Behice, hear me out. If what Aret says is true . . . if they’re rounding people up, they’ll come here.”

“But what for! There are no CUP people here. We’re all devoted servants of the Sultan.”

“That may be true, my dear, but, were we to take precautions nonetheless, what would be our best course of action?”

“What precautions could we possibly take, Saraylıhanım?”

“We could help Kemal over the garden wall and into the neighbor’s house.”

“You mean Ebe Hanım, the midwife?”

“Yes.”

“Would she agree?”

“Were we to request her help why shouldn’t she! After all, it was she who helped to bring our children into the world.”

“But Saraylıhanım, wouldn’t we be declaring to the neighbors that we’ve been harboring a criminal?”

“Then let’s consider the alternative. Is it better to surrender Kemal to the police or to endure a few wagging tongues?”

Behice was feeling sick at heart. They’d already been disgraced once in the neighbors’ eyes, when the police had arrived at the house after Kemal’s falling out with CUP. Would they never be rid of him? Had she no right to lead a peaceful life with her husband and daughters? Just as she’d begun rejoicing at her status as a minister’s wife, this had to happen.

“I couldn’t answer that. I suggest we ask Re
ş
at Bey.”

“We can ask him, yes, but where is Re
ş
at Bey right now? And, with the roads blocked, what time will he be coming home?”

“Late, as always,” was Behice’s reply.

“Your husband is not the corner grocer. Men of high rank come home when they can. You’ll have to accept that.”

“I wasn’t complaining,” said Behice, desperate to put an end to the conversation. The last thing she wanted was to receive a long-winded lecture on the virtues and attributes of her esteemed ancestors. Saraylıhanım stood up, hands on her hips.

“This is now the home of a minister,” she declared, “and nobody’s going to enter it unannounced and uninvited.”

“The occupiers and their municipal police force couldn’t care less whose house it is,” said Behice, who clearly hadn’t had time to appreciate the significance of her husband’s appointment. “Behice, dear girl, your husband isn’t just any Re
ş
at Efendi—he represents the Ottoman State. If the invaders dare to enter this house they will be made to answer for it.”

When the housekeeper announced that Hüsnü Efendi had returned they all went down to the ground floor.

“I hear they’ve forced their way into Parliament,” said Hüsnü Efendi, looking shattered. “They’re detaining anyone who’s associated with the resistance in any way, and conducting house to house searches.”

Behice blanched. Was her husband in danger? Re
ş
at Bey is a smart man, she told herself, and knows how to keep his head even in desperate times. But what about the fugitive in the attic? If they searched the house and stumbled upon Kemal, there was no telling what would happen to the rest of the family.

When Saraylıhanım began ascending the stairs Behice assumed she was going up to Kemal’s room, and followed her. The two women breathlessly entered the sickroom on the top floor only to find Mehpare stirring a cup of linden tea and Kemal busily writing at his desk.

“Son, the situation is dire. You must leave immediately,” said Saraylıhanım.

“But where will he go?” asked Mehpare. “He’ll catch his death out in the streets.”

“Mehpare, stay out of this,” Saraylıhanım snapped. Kemal rose from his desk and pulled out a footstool; perching on it, he peered out of the window. “Where am I supposed to go?”

“I thought it best for you to hide at the midwife’s house. No one would search the house of an old woman living with her daughters.”

“But would she agree to hide me? Why should she jeopardize herself?” asked Kemal.

“I just thought of something,” Behice said. “Azra Hanım lives nearby. You could get there through the back alley. She’s full of ideas, just like you, Kemal, and if we were able to let her know of our situation . . .”

“That sounds like a good plan,” said Kemal. “Azra’s a brave woman and accustomed to fighting back. She’s done so much for the Association for the Protection of Women’s Rights. She’d be happy to help me.”

“No! Stay here,” pleaded Mehpare, terrified. “We’ll hide you. You can hide in the pantry. They’ll never find you there.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mehpare,” Saraylıhanım said. “They’ll be searching every corner of this house. We’ve been blacklisted.”

“Won’t they search Azra Hanım’s house too? If she’s been poking her nose into those sorts of things, she’ll have been blacklisted as well, won’t she,” argued Mehpare.

“Mehpare, has anyone asked for your opinion? Know your place, girl. And what are you doing here anyway? Go down to the children,” Behice said. The girl was normally so reserved and respectful, but fear and excitement seemed to have got the better of her. Mehpare blushed and bowed her head, but refused to budge.

“There was a secret crawlspace in Azra’s garden,” Kemal said, “years ago, when we were children, we’d go through a doorway and all the way back to the house, without anyone hearing a thing. If the military police show up there, I’ll use it to come back here. It isn’t as though they’ll be able to raid every house simultaneously. They’ll be searching one by one.”

“How could you possibly remember all this about secret passageways?” asked Saraylıhanım.

“How could I not! Don’t you remember, Azra used to live right next door. We’d play together ever day, along with Ali Riza, may he rest in peace.”

“Well wherever you’re going, be sure to wear a çar
ş
af, sir,” Mehpare said.

“Great idea! All right then, quickly everyone,” Behice said.

“Mehpare, you’re the tallest. Run to your room and get your çar
ş
af.” Mehpare didn’t move. “I’m talking to you. What’s come over you today?”

“I’m going with Kemal Bey.”

“Oh? And why’s that?”

“We’ll be two women on their way to the marketplace, arm in arm. And if anyone questions us, I’ll do the talking. Kemal Bey won’t have to speak. ”

“Such a clever girl, didn’t I tell you?” said Saraylıhanım, voice full of pride. She’d resented the way Behice had rebuked the girl a moment earlier. “Circassians are like that, clever as can be! Well then, it’s settled. Now go and get a çar
ş
af. Hurry up, girl!”

Mehpare was off in a flash.

“And if you’ll kindly leave the room, I’ll get dressed as well,” Kemal said.

Saraylıhanım and Behice went down to the floor below and reassumed their places in the picture window. But this time, both women were trembling with anxiety. Behice badly needed a cigarette, but knew it was inappropriate to smoke in front of Saraylıhanım. A cheerless silence descended until Saraylıhanım spoke in her sweetest voice. “Roll us each a cigarette, Behice dear. On days like this, we can be forgiven for dispensing with propriety for a moment . . . Go on, don’t be shy. Time simply won’t pass otherwise.”