Last Train to Istanbul (35 page)

“My God! Do you realize what you are doing?”

“Of course I do.”

“Listen to me, Selva. That woman could easily be a spy.”

“You must be joking. She’s Jewish, a Hungarian Jew.”

They heard the kitchen-door handle move. Margot was knocking on the door, and Tarık stopped talking. The door opened.

“Monsieur Tarık,” Margot said in a soft voice, “you’re very wrong about me. Admittedly I’m to blame because I misled you. I owe you an apology. I hope you understand that we all live in fear. How could I have told you that I am Jewish?”

“You should have told me outright, Margot. You know that we’re doing our best to be helpful.”

“I tried to wheedle it out of you. I tried every way I could to find out if you would give me a passport, but you slammed every door in my face. I ended up thinking that you must have realized I was Jewish and simply wanted to wash your hands of me.”

“You couldn’t have been more wrong.”

“But you never called me again.”

“I thought totally different things. I’ve only just found out that you are Jewish. Muhlis said nothing to me.”

“Muhlis doesn’t know. Nobody does. All of us are obliged to hide even our identity cards so we can keep our jobs.”

“How did you find this place?” Tarık asked.

“Monsieur Ferit brought me here.”

“Where did you meet him?”

“He’s a friend of my cousin’s.”

“Tarık, have you and Margot already met?” asked Selva.

“Yes, but I have to admit I was totally surprised to see her here,” Tarık replied, and then in Turkish he asked if the passports were ready.

“Yes, they’re ready.”

“I’ve brought you some christening certificates. I thought you might be able to put them to good use too.”

“Excuse me, I don’t quite understand,” said Selva.

“Monsignor Angelo Roncalli, who’s the Vatican representative in Istanbul, sent us some fake christening certificates. If you don’t have enough passports, maybe we can use these, especially for the children.”

“Where did they come from?”

“I just told you, from Istanbul.”

Margot and Selva looked baffled.

“You mean a man of the cloth is trying to help the Jews?” Margot asked.

“He’s a truly God-fearing man; why not? Aren’t we all God’s children?” Selva remarked.

“I’ll leave these with you,” said Tarık, handing over the certificates. “Let me have the passports that are ready.”

“But Ferit was supposed to collect them.”

“Selva, we need to stamp them anyway. Let me have them so I can get going. Apparently, Ferit can’t come until this evening,” said Tarık.

So, Selva thought, obviously Ferit’s endless talks with Tarık have come to fruition. Hasn’t Ferit said Tarık is the most kindhearted man in the world?

Margot put the passports in a cotton bag with a stale loaf of bread sticking out a bit.

When Tarık saw what she was doing, he said, “Don’t worry, I have diplomatic immunity.”

“Yes, of course. Don’t forget, I owe you a coffee,” said Margot. “You bought me a bottle of wonderful wine, Monsieur Tarık. The least I can do before leaving Paris is to offer you a cup of coffee.”

“We’ll do that, at the first opportunity,” said Tarık, feeling rather awkward. As he rushed down the stairs with the bag in his hand, a group of about eight or ten boys and girls were climbing up.

Later, Selva looked at the youngsters one by one. They were sitting on the beds, the chairs, and the floor. She had eventually gotten to know them rather well and started calling them by their new names. The students, who were of different ages, had learned their names by now. The girls had their initials stitched on the front
of their sweaters and the boys had done the same on their shirt pockets.

They had been coming to Ferit’s apartment in groups of fifteen, at fixed times. Selva had been able to teach them all the numbers up to a thousand, the days and months, and some basic conversation. In case background information should be needed, she had taken great pains to make up stories that would suit them. For instance, if any strangers sat with them in the same train compartment, some young ones would say they had been studying, others would say they’d been undergoing medical treatment, a few older people would say they had been visiting their children, and others would simply pretend not to understand. All of them, whether old, young, or middle-aged, were afraid.

On one occasion, Selva tried to reassure them. “Why are you so scared? The Germans don’t understand Turkish anyway; how would they be able to spot your mistakes? If necessary, just carry on making Turkish sounds and you’ll be OK.”

“But what if someone among them speaks Turkish?”

“Even if that happens, they won’t be able to speak as much as you. They might know just a few words. You’ll just have to do your best to learn as many sentences as you can.”

Selva knew that the countdown to the day of the train’s departure had started, even though Tarık hadn’t given precise details yet. He had just said, “The carriage is on its way.”

“Where’s it coming from?”

“From Ankara.”

“You mean the train.”

“No, the carriage. It is a big car that they’ve linked on to a train leaving for Europe…”

“When will it get here?”

“Is it possible to say during the war? With a bit of luck, and if there are no problems, it should be here within a fortnight.”

“In that case, we should tell everybody.”

“No, for God’s sake, no! We should only tell them the day before. If the information falls on the wrong ears, all our efforts could go down the drain,” Tarık warned.

“What? But how will they manage to get ready?”

“Come on, Selva, they’ve been ready for ages. All they’ll need to do when the carriage arrives is pick up their bags,” Rafael said.

Tarık had started coming to the apartment more often. Sometimes, after everyone squeezed in the apartment was fed, Ferit would go out with Selva or Rafael and meet up with Tarık at a nearby café. The Alfandaris took turns staying behind to babysit. One of the new residents, Constance, renamed Kezban by Selva, had said time and time again that she was willing to look after Fazıl so the couple could go out together. Selva had declined the offers. She wasn’t comfortable leaving Fazıl with someone she hardly knew. She felt Fazıl should always be with a person with whom he felt safe. But most of those coming and going to the apartment had become close friends by now, and they would soon be leaving Paris, so they decided to make the best of it. Even if they didn’t go to the cinema or theater, they would sit in a café people watching. With Tarık and Margot, they enjoyed looking at the elegant women in their colorful clothes and fur stoles, swaying their hips, arm in arm with high-ranking German officers, or the young middle-class girls cycling, their ankle socks and high-heeled shoes going round and round. They had fun trying to imagine which woman was a spy, or which man in a leather jacket was a member of the Organization. They enjoyed making up scripts to suit the characters they picked out. When Margot joined them, Tarık stopped being his usual serious self, shook off his dullness, and managed to have fun.

One evening it was Rafael’s turn to babysit, and Selva went out with Ferit and Tarık. While they were waiting for Margot to arrive
at the Café des Artistes, Ferit took the opportunity to thank Tarık for the passports.

“I’m sure God will reward you for all your efforts,” he said.

“Don’t give me all the credit,” Tarık replied. “I wouldn’t have been able to have the passports stamped without the approval of my superiors.”

“But I’m sure you’re the one who persuaded them to do it. My sister wrote me so much about you. She told me what an exceptional man you are,” Selva responded.

Tarık felt himself blushing. “I can assure you, Selva Hanım, that both our government and our foreign ministry are being extremely cooperative. I wouldn’t have been able to do anything on my own.”

Selva turned to Ferit. “As for you, Ferit, I must say no one can deny that what you’re doing is incredible too. Would you mind if I asked you something?”

“Of course not.”

“Why exactly
are
you doing all this? Especially when, as far as I know, your wife isn’t even Jewish.”

“What can I say, Selva? Perhaps I want to prove to myself that in the midst of all this horror, I’m still a human being.”

“By risking your life?”

“After all is said and done, what is life anyway? Aren’t we all going to die in the end? I believe life is only worth living if, while we are on this earth, we can do honorable things.”

“I take my hat off to you, Ferit,” Selva said with obvious admiration in her innocent wide eyes.

Margot was a little later than expected. Tarık took out his pocket watch to check the time. “Are you getting worried?” Selva asked mischievously.

“No…not really. I mean, yes, a bit. No one is completely safe these days.”

“Do you know that I am trying to persuade Margot to stay in Istanbul?”

“Why’s that?”

“Come on, Tarık, don’t pretend you don’t know why. I can see through you, I know what’s going on in your heart. I understand matters of the heart very well.”

“Maybe so, Selva, but you’re forgetting that I’m a member of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. I cannot marry a foreigner.”

“I can’t believe that. Why?”

“We’re simply forbidden to marry foreigners.”

“Even if that foreigner is prepared to adopt Turkish nationality?”

“Even then, unfortunately.”

Selva bit her lip. “I didn’t know that,” she said sadly. “I find this incredible; it seems our country is finding excuses for separating people. They are kept apart, not only because of their religion, but also because of their nationality.”

“Not only in our country, Selva,” Tarık responded. “Discrimination is rife throughout the world. Just look at what’s happening to Europe, despite her long history!”

Margot appeared from around the corner, walking hurriedly. She was wearing her red coat. Her blonde curls were bouncing from side to side. Selva bowed her head when she saw the spark light up in Tarık’s eyes; her heart went out to him.

At the end of the evening, Ferit and Selva got up to return to Ferit’s apartment. Tarık turned to Margot and said, “May I take you home?”

“Would you mind if we walked for a while? I’d like to get some fresh air.”

“Why not? Certainly.”

“And when we get home, you might like to come up for that cup of coffee you refused last time.”

“I feel awful about that, Margot. How can you ever forgive me? I’m so sorry, but you must admit you did ask a hell of a lot of questions. I wish you had been more straightforward.”

“That’s all water under the bridge now.”

“But we’ve wasted so much time,” said Tarık. “Especially since time is so precious for both of us.”

He squeezed Margot’s hand and she snuggled up to him, like a kitten. They walked hand in hand along the brightly lit street.

The following morning, Tarık got annoyed when he saw Muhlis staring at him.

“What’s up? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You were late last night.”

“True.”

“In fact, very late. You got back in the early hours of the morning.”

“So what?”

“Is there something you want to tell me?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, but there must be something.”

“All right then. I kissed her.”

“Anything else?”

“Enough, Muhlis, you’re going too far now. What’s more, I know you’ve got tickets for the theater this evening. If you don’t watch your step, you won’t be leaving the office before seven…and I mean it!”

Tarık rose and picked up his jacket and his shirt with the lipstick on the collar, which he had thrown hastily on the sofa when he got home, and took them into his own room.

COUNTDOWN

“We need to choose a route for this carriage. With such a group of people on board, it needs to be a route that won’t arouse any suspicions,” Ferit said.

“For instance, there are a lot of identity checks being carried out, particularly on those passing through Switzerland because of her neutrality.”

“In that case, the train should not go through Switzerland.”

“I wonder if it would be safer to have the train go all the way down to Lyon and through Italy.”

“Are you crazy? They’ll be sitting ducks in Fascist Italy. They’ll knock them off one by one. Mussolini’s men are worse than the Nazis.”

“Well, the train has to go through somewhere, doesn’t it? It has to go through Switzerland, Italy, or Germany. There’s no alternative!”

“Checks are being carried out everywhere, gentlemen. Some clerks arrived from Turkey only a week or so ago and they had to go through thorough checks at every border.”

“On the other hand, apparently when Galip went to Istanbul, nobody bothered him.”

“Which Galip? You mean our consul in Hamburg?”

“That’s right.”

“Yes, I hear there are no strict checks on trains within Germany, or even those leaving the country,” Tarık said.

“I hope that you’re not suggesting that we let those professors and scientists who are being particularly sought by the Germans take that route!”