Istanbul Was a Fairy Tale (67 page)

pes and expectations. A country postulated to be indestructible would gradually gain a new meaning in this journey to those expectancies. On the other hand, no one who fed those hopes with delusions could foresee that this journey would insidiously prepare the ground for a collapse. From the deck of the ship weighing anchor for Marseille, Nesim had waved both his hands as though he wished to express that “that was the end of it all.” That was the end of it all! Had his sign been an indication of such a presupposition? If so, the end of what? What was that thing he presumed to have ended, or felt would eventually come to an end? Was Nesim, who was gesticulating on the deck of the vessel, intending to convey to his parents that he had left something on the quay of which he had a premonition? Had he described his destination already? Some desire to contribute to the life of certain people they feel affection for through a different meaning, by their own dreams and wild imagination. The sign may have been pointing to this suspicion. Monsieur Jacques had brought this suspicion to attention for the first time, as far as I can surmise. There was an interval of about twenty years. Monsieur Jacques would turn out to be a believer in fate and consequently in the correctness of this suspicion.

Bound for Marseille at a date when the new country was less than a year old, Nesim seemed to be dejected although full of expectations.

Carpet smuggling

Nesim and Rachael’s choice of France as their new home rather than Vienna must be considered natural. In order to be able to perceive the emotional dimensions of this choice, it would suffice to remember the fact that Vienna was, at the time, on the brink of another collapse. The boundary was not clearly perceptible or well-defined; one could not easily trade the time spent in the streets of one country for those of another; Vienna would certainly not undergo changes to the extent that she would allow other cities to replace her, even for a brief period of time. Nesim was adherent to his lies, not being truly conscious that they were actual lies. Despite his estrangement, he had felt affection for his deceits like all his fellow beings . . . Under the circumstances, France was a country yet untouched. Rachael spoke French; she would surely have felt herself half at home there. Paris, on the other hand, was the only city in Europe, other than Vienna, that would be disposed to offer business possibilities for the son of Avram. Considering all the different aspects and contingencies in life it appeared that all the roads ended up in that city, whose legends survived thanks to her language spoken in the other countries of the world. The few years that followed seemed to me to be pointing toward a gloomy era lost in the darkness of the past. All that I could learn through his father’s relations was that he had been engaged in the carpet trade, and that he lived in a suburban area with his wife and newborn daughter. At this juncture, we can dwell on certain points which may be fitted in their proper places sometime in the future. Just as in the case of his recounting certain reminiscences about his brother, Monsieur Jacques seemed prudent and wary not to leak anything susceptible to misinterpretation to a third person. What was the reason for this circumspection? Was it to jealously protect Nesim or his failure in having settled his long outstanding accounts with him? Something within me suggests that I will come round to this question and tackle it differently. I believe that certain incidents transmitted to me as ‘reported speech’ may serve to contribute to the clarification of certain points left in the dark. Nesim had been shuttling between Paris and London, dealing with the sales of certain antique carpets smuggled by his friends in Vienna during the war years from mosques and churches in Serbia, under the pretext of keeping them ‘in custody,’ thereby making considerable sums of money. Monsieur Jacques seemed to boast of his brother’s transactions not without some discomfort. The discomfort to remain unveiled forever was, to my mind, just the tip of the iceberg. Certain emotions remained latent in the dark unless they were touched. After recounting the incidents he had waved his hand and said: “Confound it! None of these rumors have any solid foundation!” On the other hand, the expression “His friends in Vienna” must not be overlooked in the context of the long path I had taken. Was it possible that these so-called friends had been the cause of Nesim’s unexpected departure from Vienna? Escape or complicity may well have been the cause. Why not look into the matter from a different angle? Either one of these alternatives might have been the answer, however we cannot go beyond speculations. Monsieur Jacques had not been very articulate in his speech; he had been skillful in erecting barriers before the paths that might lead up to forbidden zones. To be boastful and trigger people’s imagination were tactics often reverted to by such individuals.

You had transported the country you loved to that little city

Regardless of the solitude involved, taking refuge in another person’s last moment sometimes meant to cling like ivy to one’s own life. When I venture to look at the incidents of those days from this window of reality, I realize that I had shared with Nesim’s brother a common fate, despite our differences. When one deliberates upon the history of the gales smothered in a woman’s soul, one can see that they had played a great part in the life of those two brothers. A voice coming up from the depths into whose source I had been reluctant to delve may have led me to formulate this judgment. In other words, I cannot decide where I am supposed to be in this predicament to which I have been exposed all these years. Cowardice seems to oblige one to seek shelter in reticence. I think we all know by now, the price of reticence and the fact that it robs certain people of their potential. In addition to the inhibitions, restraints, emotions, and hopes generated through the silence shown by the women in the life of the two brothers, there were interior dialogues that seemed never to come to an end. Olga and Madame Roza had penned Monsieur Jacques within the walls of two interrelated and inseparable stories which were integral to each other. As far as I can deduce from what I have been imparted with, a like situation existed in the relationship of Rachael and Nesim. Rachael cut a figure of a woman in pursuit of inner peace and tranquility. This inner peace was concealed by her smiling countenance. Her smile connoted a certain view, a struggle for survival. She was a woman whose taciturnity had a special attraction. I had the aptitude to perceive her finesse. I might strive to listen to the voice of such a silence. I can understand the departure of Nesim, of an introverted person, during a night of loneliness, heading for a woman in whom he had absolute confidence. As far as I can judge, Rachael, who was a tenacious woman, had confidence in her future. Her attitude toward life reflected the inclinations of Madame Roza who had had to undergo severe tribulations; it was difficult to define or describe her frame of mind to others so that they might understand; its origins might be traced to her idea of fate, which extended far beyond land, climate, even time. For example, they could recognize Eve, whom they had never set eyes upon, and who lived in a completely different time bracket, should they ever run into her in any part of this story. This proximity was due to a voice that came from a far distance. This voice was the driving force that perpetuated life’s everlasting journeys. Rachael had known the multifarious facets of these journeys. They accounted for the unforgettable days of the past and triggered hopes for a different future. This reminded us of the fact that endurance was an integral part of womanhood. This I infer, out of necessity, from what I have learned to this day. Even during the days when Rachael courageously faced the challenge of a new conflict in Biarritz in the name of this ‘togetherness’ as she was seeing Nesim off to Vienna, she was firmly convinced that he would return one day, displaying this womanly virtue brilliantly. Subsequent to his dealings in the carpet trade, Nesim, who had figured out that he could no longer be firmly established in Paris, had settled in a small town on the Atlantic coast and continued his life, removed from the stir of society, with the woman who had been faithful to him. This was the farthest point to the West. This point must be given due attention as it marks an important characteristic in the man who was always on the go, a man of fugitive disposition. However, his relinquishing the carpet trade was as important as this characteristic because it connoted the estrangement of his relations with Istanbul. Nesim had actually stepped into a different land then for the first time. Nevertheless, at this juncture, certain details seem to have been lost forever. We run into darkness here, reminiscent of the years he had spent in Paris. I must not omit the letters kept in one of those rooms, letters that Nesim had written to his brother during the initial years of his new life. Monsieur Jacques had said that he had hidden those letters somewhere but could not remember exactly where he put them, and so were lost in the meantime. Where was that place? What sort of a place was it? What fears and solitudes had they carried over to Istanbul? For whom had they been considered as skeletons in the closet? All these questions might seem awkward to the eyewitnesses. One could explain this oblivion through deteriorated mental health over the course of many years, characterized by a marked decline from the individual’s former intellectual level and often by emotional apathy. We could wink at Monsieur Jacques’ usual remark “well kept, ill searched” and explain it away in relation to these letters. We could justify the lie or at least claim its indispensability. There were situations where lies hit the intended targeted and were transformed into palpable truths. Based on such an assumption, I assume that Monsieur Jacques might have reserved certain things for himself in the wake of his tragic death. To hide or to be hidden was another instance of the effort spent in preserving the days already lived, attributing new meaning to them . . . It followed that certain souvenirs should not be entrusted to the hands of strangers. Those snapshot years that froze at fixed points and at certain moments might not be suitable to be exposed to the eyes of outsiders. One cannot deny or ignore, of course, the meaning and the history of self-exposure. In similar situations, photographs may push us, as well as strangers, toward other episodes. What is of special importance is the illusory effect of those photographs, the dreams which we wish to continue. On the other hand, the snapshots, which we prefer to keep exclusively to ourselves, breed a latent resentment. You may think that you will not be able to express your feelings, your true feelings to another person despite all your goodwill. Reticence is an obligatory choice, a desire to be understood, therefore a kind of revolt. Reticence requires effort in order to appreciate others in a different light; it leads one to listen to oneself better and to open the way to a better self-understanding on the path one has taken. This reticence targets the protection of oneself, the defense of oneself. It was a choice in whose indispensability I wanted to believe. I think I appreciate better now, after so many years, through the phraseology of Monsieur Jacques, that angelic woman who had, throughout her life, resignedly put up a bold front against adversities without a complaint to anybody. It appears not to be so difficult now to find the light I need that would take me to the reality in question, a reality that would allow me to see the features of those years spent in Biarritz. In order to strike roots in that small town by the ocean, it appeared that a fierce battle had to be fought. I wonder if an escape was implied by this journey from Paris in search of a new life. The answer to this question is doomed to remain a mystery to me. It will remain as such during the entire length of my story, a question likely to suggest our occasional disconsolateness in the presence of other people. Results seem certain; one cannot possibly attain wherever he intends to go; speechlessness is another answer to this . . . Nevertheless, we cannot refrain from asking such questions when the right moment comes. The odyssey of our imperfections and of things we could not realize in life calls us back to ourselves. We set out to find that place that has made us ‘the other.’ I had tried, for instance, to detect a sense of escape in Nesim’s sally from Paris to that small town. The travelers of those days might not have experienced this. Nonetheless, I was after a poem, first to find the inspiration for it and then to put it on paper. It was a poem I wanted to see, hear, and live . . . A poem . . . about my imperfections, about the things I could not realize in life and about my regrets
. . . A poem . . . even though I know I will be deluding myself as I am looking for myself, as a person . . . Were I to acknowledge Monsieur Jacques’ accounts as the only source available, I must say that Nesim had gone to Biarritz, to that centre of tourism, after abandoning the carpet trade, having a new occupation in mind. It was the beginning of the thirties. Nesim tried opening a hosiery shop somewhere near the coastline entitled “Les bas Nisso.” Difficulties encountered in isolation must have engendered in him the sadness associated with a new start in life. Paulette was seven and Anette, born in Paris, was but two years old. Those were the days when Rachael acted as a jack-of-all-trades, trying to inspire hope in Nesim by her forbearance and smile, reminiscent of the days of expectation in Istanbul. In such days, just like in the case of people jointly taking up a challenge in the face of adversities, one of the couple ought to be more optimistic and more powerful. The gestures might take hold in the mind of the other individual. On the one hand, she had to shoulder the responsibility of two little girls, on the other, she had the burden of a husband who had gradually become introverted and retired to his solitude, absorbed for hours in papers that arrived from Germany. The children had to be mollycoddled, protected, and cared for with affection and kindness. To be the mother of a family . . . this was one of the periods when she reminded herself of the days in Istanbul, the time that she had spent in that house at Tepebaşı; she looked to turn her new house into a sanctuary, into a warm home for her loved ones. Life was trying once more. In the rounds she made calling at various cafés to pass out the publicity leaflets they had printed for the promotion of their newly opened shop, she had, at times, received interesting offers. These unforgettable moments, to which she was not accustomed, the offers she had received had left in her strange impressions which could be the subject matter of a long story of self-sacrifice. To devote her life entirely to her children in total disregard of all eventualities, to try and find her way in life following such a path was a necessary consequence of settling down in such a place. Nobody was obliged to inquire into the source of this feeling. What was important was to put up with the consequences of that responsibility. To abide there, to abide there forever came at a price. Nesim had payed this price before too many other people had experienced it. It gained meaning through deficiency, a little regret he had had to carry over by chance to his new life, to his new boundaries, enabling me to see him at a special and particular point in time. In the meantime, in addition to her understandable difficulties, Rachael had also suffered because of her insane brother Enrico whom she was obliged to leave in Istanbul, and whom she believed to have lost forever. Enrico had been attached to his elder sister, to the world he saw, with which he tried to familiarize himself. Apparently, after this inevitable separation, he withdrew into himself all the more; he hardly ever spoke, spending the greater part of his time in his own room, going out only to eat or at night when everybody had gone to sleep; he kept reciting the prayers his elder sister had taught him to which he added words of his own invention whose meaning escaped him or to which new meanings had been attributed; he was reluctant to see other people or to become close with them. Nevertheless, to know the real meaning of those prayers, of those supplications, dating from hundreds of years ago, meant almost nothing to Rachael. What was vital for her was the peace of mind her brother found through the words he added to them which associated valuable and singular connotations in him. This was a kind of language entirely severed from the world of reality. At such moments they used to join hands. Rachael had made her brother a gift of a breviary with a silver jacket to enable him to carry on this wonted practice. This gift was like a testament, a kiss of goodbye. Enrico was going to decipher Hebrew in an unconventional way. Could clinging to such an idea be interpreted as an escape? Escapes contained remarkable feats that individuals propagated. Thus, such escapes remained fixed on the reverse side of history in this sense. Nonetheless, this feat to which we frequently returned with a view to knowing ourselves better, would be gaining a special meaning in this tale over time.