Last Train to Istanbul (44 page)

“Apparently the train has to be in Berlin before midnight.”

“In that case, we might be able to make up some lost time,” said Constance.

“I was supposed to get more wine at Mannheim,” said David.

“You can get it in Berlin.”

“At this time of night?”

“I don’t know about wine, but I’m sure you can get beer, young man,” the old man said. “Beer runs out of the taps in this country.”

Realizing that there was no chance of stopping and getting off for fresh air, Rafo returned to his own compartment. Some of the others took out their books to read, or prepared to sleep.

The lights in the compartments had been turned off. Apart from Siegfried, who sat gazing at the dark window, everyone else was sleeping. Suddenly Fazıl started to scream and cry.

“My tummy…my tummy hurts.”

“Shush, Fazıl, please don’t cry; everyone’s asleep. Show me where it hurts,” Selva said.

The child pointed at his tummy with his tiny fingers. Selva removed his pants so they weren’t too tight around his waist. She cradled him on her lap, but the child wouldn’t stop crying. Everyone switched on their reading lights, one by one. Selva looked around desperately.

“Shall I call Rafo?” asked Margot.

“What can he do about a stomachache?”

“You remember he said there was a nurse on board.”

“Surely we can’t wake the woman up at this time of night.”

“If it’s an emergency, why not?”

“Wait, Margot,” she said. “Let me try some salty water first. If he throws up, he might feel better. If he doesn’t, then we can call this lady.”

Everyone started making suggestions at the same time, but no one could really help. While they prepared the salty water, the train came to an abrupt halt, just as it had done before. Selva, who was standing up, nearly fell down.

Margot looked outside.

“We seem to have stopped at a small station,” she said, “but I can’t see a sign. I wonder where we are.”

“I just hope to God that we don’t stop
here
for hours.”

As Selva gave Fazıl the water, she heard the crunch of soldiers’ boots outside. Every time she’d heard that sound over the past few
years, she got goose pimples. The others heard the familiar sound as well and they got up from their seats, jostling one another at the window. A squad of soldiers was outside. Agitated passengers could be heard in the corridor. Selva stood with the glass of salty water in her hand. Fazıl was frightened, and he stopped crying. Siegfried picked up his cap from his knees and put it on, pulling it well down to his nose. Rafo appeared at the door, looking very pale.

“I hear there’s going to be a search.”

“What kind of search?”

“I think it’s to do with a fugitive or something like that.”

The soldiers could be heard getting onto the train. They started from the first compartment, asking for identity cards. The faces of those in the compartment were ashen. Rafo stood upright by the door, not knowing exactly what he should do.

A soldier saluted and walked in. “Passports, please!”

Ferit came running with the passports.

“I’m responsible for this carriage. Here are all the passports.”

“Let everyone hold their own passports.”

Ferit handed them out.

“Kezban Mitel, Yakup Mitel, Peri Naim, Sami Naim, Monsieur Russo, Monsieur Kohen, Monsieur Asseo…”

While the passports were being distributed, Selva was trying to make Fazıl drink the salty water.

“Drink all of it, all of it…that’s my boy…what a good boy!”

The child struggled, but his mother managed to coax him into finishing the whole glass. The soldier started to scrutinize the passports. He looked carefully at the face first, and then checked the photograph in the passport. There wasn’t a sound from anyone. One of the old man’s eyes started twitching badly. While the soldier checked the passports of Siegfried and those sitting opposite Selva, she pushed her finger down Fazıl’s throat. The child dry heaved, then dry heaved again as if he were drowning. He was
sitting sideways on his mother’s lap, facing Siegfried. Suddenly he began to struggle, his eyes full of tears, and he retched and vomited all over the man. Apart from the smell of vomit, another disgusting smell spread throughout the compartment. Selva was agitated. She lifted Fazıl from her lap onto his feet, and tried to remove his badly soiled pants. Mother and son were struggling when he kicked his feet, and his pants flew off and landed on Siegfried’s lap. Siegfried didn’t utter a word. He just sat upright with his cap on, his lap covered in excrement and vomit and a tearful expression in his eyes.

“
Pardon
, Monsieur Kohen,
mille pardon
; you know the child was ill.”

David intervened, saying, “Give me your passport. I’ll give it to him.”

He took the soiled passport from Siegfried, who remained frozen to the spot and gave it to the soldier.

The smell was unbearable and Fazıl was screaming at the top of his lungs. He too was covered in excrement and vomit.

“Damned kids!” said the soldier. He looked at the passport David offered him from a distance, as if it were some disgusting insect, and beat a hasty retreat into the corridor. Before getting off the train, he shouted to a dumbstruck Rafo, “Quick, open the window in the corridor.”

Even after the soldier had gone, no one moved from their seat. Only Rafo moved, first to open the window in the corridor, then the compartment window. Then he rushed out, as he couldn’t stand the foul odor. Nobody uttered a word until the train moved again. The only sound was of Fazıl screaming at the top of his lungs.

As the train slowly picked up speed, Selva turned to Siegfried. “Please don’t move, Monsieur Kohen. I’ll clean up my son and then see to you.”

“Thank you, madame. I thank both you and your son.”

After Siegfried finished cleaning himself up, fresh air, smelling of rain, wafted through the window. After the air in the compartment had cleared, they closed the window. Fazıl had fallen into a deep sleep in his mother’s arms. Asseo stood up and reached for something on the rack, and when he couldn’t find it, he turned to David. “Can you help me, young man? There’s a box I can’t reach behind my suitcase.”

David pulled a violin case from the rack. The old man opened it, took the violin out, and turned to his fellow passengers, who all looked surprised.

“I’d like to play some music for all of you. I hope it will relax you. At the same time, I think we ought to celebrate young Alfandari’s magnificent recovery.” Asseo placed the violin under his chin and started to play with all the power left in his body.

The notes of the Paganini violin concerto flowed through the compartment like a stream rippling down snow-covered mountains. The music touched the souls and hearts of those in the compartment, carrying them far away. Siegfried found himself transported to the shade of the pine trees back home. Marcel and Constance were taken back to Lyon, where they had first met, fallen in love, and married. Margot, on the other hand, was reliving that last night before she boarded the train, the night she hadn’t wanted to end. The music was transporting them all far beyond the clouds hanging over them.

The adagio…It was as though the bow was playing the notes on their heartstrings, not the violin. As the bow wandered through the chords of the violin, it seemed to relate the sad stories of those on board. It was expressing their fear, degradation, exclusion, separation, longing, and pain.

Other people from the carriage started gathering around the compartment door. They crammed into the corridor and listened in awe, almost afraid to breathe in case they broke the magic spell of the music that seemed to describe their grief.

The
allegro spiritoso
…The old violinist turned into a young man, transporting the listeners through love and hope to bright sunny days in a different country. He was promising them peace of mind and a happy life ahead in a fruitful land. The exuberant music excited them, lifted them to heaven’s most beautiful corners. They seemed to be quickly climbing a ladder leading to hope. Life was beautiful. It was worth living, even in a cramped, narrow corridor. Just one note, a single note, was enough to symbolize the power of humanity.

It was about midnight when they arrived at the Berlin station. The engine screeched on the tracks as usual, waking some of those who were sleeping.

Evelyn, who had been sleeping uneasily, clutching her bag firmly on her lap, woke up. She relaxed a little when she saw that her bag was safe.

She wasn’t feeling secure in her compartment. She was sitting with people she didn’t know at all. Just as she would get used to passengers beside or opposite her, they would get off and new passengers would take their place. Her fellow passengers changed each time the train stopped. Ferit came to see her too at each stop. He had shopped for whatever she wanted at the stations, but she still couldn’t help being angry with him. There were some unanswered questions in her mind about her husband. Why had he almost forbidden her to come to Paris? Why had he suddenly decided to rent their apartment? Why did he insist that they meet at the station? Why had he emptied the cupboards and drawers of their apartment, and why had he packed her bag for her? Was there another woman? Could there be another woman?

Evelyn had been in love with her husband ever since they had met. She had found the young Turk handsome and intriguing. He was a mysterious man from another world, molded by a different culture. She had been a bit apprehensive at the beginning of their
relationship. She was worried that he might behave like a Turk—whatever that meant. There was a French saying, for instance, that was a little condescending and alarming: “
tête de Turc
.” Ferit, however, was the most civilized and courteous man she’d ever met, and that included her father. He was an excellent combination of Eastern and Western cultures: brave, trustworthy, affectionate, sensitive, and very knowledgeable. Surely a man with such qualities wouldn’t betray his wife when she was pregnant. He couldn’t have. And yet why did she feel this way? Every time she felt suspicious, she felt an ache in her heart.

The train had stopped. Evelyn looked out the window. They were some way outside the station. There were junctions outside most big stations where trains met and separated in all directions, and this was just such a place. Although it was very quiet, one could hear the noise of the station in the distance. She felt sure that Ferit would be along to see her, and she walked out into the corridor. There were some others there, either smoking cigarettes or just curious to know why they had stopped. She lowered the window in the corridor and breathed in the damp air. She could smell coal—coal yet again! She looked forward to the moment she would no longer smell it. She was looking forward to breathing the fresh air of a sunny day, filling her lungs with air from the sea and the meadows. Ferit had promised her this. He had assured her that the sun in his country was just as bright as in France, that the sea was deep blue, sometimes dark blue, and the air definitely cleaner. His relations in Istanbul would come to greet her fondly at the station. He claimed that the loneliness felt even among a crowd in Paris didn’t exist in Istanbul. Even in the most unlikely places, one could feel the warmth of the slightest contact. That was how Ferit had described it all to her.

Several workers in overalls were bustling to and fro over the maze of railway lines. A man from a neighboring compartment was
leaning out the window and calling to them. They spoke for some time. At one point she thought she heard Istanbul mentioned.

“Excuse me, do you speak French?” she asked.

“A little.”

“What did he just say? Did he mention how much longer we are supposed to wait here?”

“Apparently we’re leaving shortly.”

“Oh, good. I was wondering why we had stopped out here so far from the station.”

“It seems they’re switching the points.”

“Why?”

“It’s to do with the carriage at the end. It’s to be connected to another train that won’t be stopping in Berlin.”

“Why’s that?”

“I didn’t understand the details. It’s taking a different route to Istanbul or something.”

The train suddenly jolted as if moving away.

Evelyn was terrified. “What about us?” she asked.

“We’re pulling into the station now.”

Evelyn ran to the door and tried to open it but couldn’t manage it. She called out to the man, “Please help me, monsieur, I beg of you…”

The man ran toward Evelyn, whose pregnancy wasn’t very obvious.

“How can I help you? Is there something the matter?”

“Please help me open this door.”

“Why do you need to open it? We’ve started to move.”

“I beg you,” Evelyn said, struggling with the door.

“If it’s fresh air you want, the window is open.”

“I need to get off. I must get off.”

“Life is worth living, madame. Please don’t do that!”

Finally the door opened. Evelyn stepped down onto the running board. The train had gradually started moving forward. She
jumped in the opposite direction. Her bag went one way, and she the other. She stumbled a bit and then fell to her knees. Two of the workers who were changing the points ran to her aid. She couldn’t understand what they were saying, but she understood from the way they were moving their hands that they thought she was crazy.