Last Train to Istanbul (16 page)

What was it that Sabiha had said that day at the studio? Leman Hanım smiled as she remembered: “Mother, I’d like to sit down for the photograph. Selva can stand beside me.”

“That’s not possible, my darling. If you sit and she stands, we can’t get you both in the same frame,” said Enver, the owner of the studio, not knowing how much that upset Sabiha. “
She
should sit down, and you stand beside her.”

Sabiha immediately began to sulk. Where on earth had this complex about her height come from? It was ridiculous that a girl as beautiful as she was should worry so much about her height.

Leman Hanım continued to rummage through the photographs until she found what she was looking for: the last photo taken of Selva before she left. She was wearing a simple beige two-piece with her plaited hair up around her head as usual. Slender and elegant, Selva was sitting at the table in the registry office on her wedding day, signing the registry wearing her wedding ring. No other jewelry, no tiny diamond ring, no brooch on her lapel, no string of pearls around her neck, and she was supposed to be a bride! Leman Hanım felt tears running down her cheeks. Oh, my darling Selva, why, oh why did you do this? My stubborn little baby! What I would have given to see you in a long veil with strands of bridal silver, looking like a perfect bride! How I wish that I could have given you one of the family heirlooms to wear on your wedding day!

She kissed her daughter’s photograph with longing and pressed it to her heart. She was sure that there were three or four other photographs taken that day. She looked through the box and found them. In one that Macit must have taken, the two sisters were standing side by side with that disgusting Rafo behind them. One wouldn’t know that it was Rafo, because Leman Hanım had scratched his face off with a pin. In another—obviously taken by Rafo—Macit was standing between Selva and Sabiha. The last photograph of the wedding group must have been taken by someone at the registry office. How difficult it had been for Leman Hanım to hide these photographs from her husband. She had not put them in the family album, and took special care to hide them at the bottom of her box. As if Fazıl Reşat Paşa would bother to look for them! Anyway, she didn’t want to take the chance. He might tear them up; they were, after all, the last photographs she had of her darling daughter, her tall, slender daughter, in her beige two-piece suit. The photographs might have faded, but her beloved daughter was always so vividly in her mind and heart.

When she heard the door open, she quickly slipped the photographs under the pillow.

“You’re not looking at those photographs again, are you, Granny?” asked her granddaughter as she entered the room.

“Yes, I am, my darling. I am.”

“Don’t you get tired of looking at them over and over?”

“No, I don’t. They’re my whole life. They are my past…”

“You say that, Granny, but you don’t look at all of them. I know which ones you’re looking at.”

“Really, and which ones are they?”

“Photos of my aunt. Do you miss her a lot?”

“A lot, yes. I miss her a lot.”

“Why doesn’t she visit us in the summer? Even if she’s working, she could come for her summer holidays, couldn’t she? I’d love to see little Fazıl. If only she’d bring him to us.”

“There’s war all around, my little darling. There’s war where your auntie lives. They just can’t come now! I’m sure they will, though—
inşallah
, when the war is over.”

“Has Grandpa forgiven her then?”

“What sort of question is that?”

“Come on, Granny, I know. Apparently Grandpa was very angry because she married that man.”

“Who told you that? Your mother?”

“No, Hacer.”

Leman Hanım frowned. How tactless staff can be, she thought. Not only do they have an answer for everything, they also listen to
everything.
Those were the days when they were so devoted, when they were almost members of the family. Those were the days indeed!

“How inappropriate of her! There are things one doesn’t discuss with children.”

“Oh, don’t say that, Granny. I’m not a child. I’ll be nine next month.”

“Don’t exaggerate, child; you’ll be eight. You’re in such a hurry to get older, aren’t you? Wait until you do get older and then it will be the reverse,” Leman Hanım replied, handing the photographs to her grandchild. “Time just flies by,” she said with a sigh. “It’s almost five years since your auntie Selva left! Do you remember her, Hülya?”

“Yes, I do, Granny. She read fairy tales to me in the evenings and she often took me to Kızılay Park. I remember drinking mineral water out of huge glasses. Granny, could you show me the photograph of my auntie holding a bunch of daisies?”

Leman Hanım looked for the photograph of Selva wearing a white dress clinging to her figure, with layers and layers of petal-shaped chiffon hanging from the hips, the one in which she was holding a bunch of daisies. Daisies were Selva’s favorite flowers. They are just like Selva, Leman Hanım thought. Maybe a little wild, but certainly down-to-earth. She remembered how the pollen from the daisies had stained the gorgeous dress. She eventually found the photograph and looked at it, trying to hold back floods of tears. Selva looked rather sad in the photograph. There was a kind of melancholy in her eyes…Of course! Leman Hanım thought. The picture was taken at the American college on her graduation day. She must have been thinking that it wouldn’t be easy to continue seeing that wretched fellow Rafael!

“There you are, here it is. Isn’t your auntie beautiful?”

Hülya took the picture and looked at it for a while. She gazed at Selva’s sad face that looked as if it were carved out of marble. Then she looked at the other photos spread out on the bed and saw a picture of her mother as a teenager. Her oval face was framed by wavy hair as she pensively rested her chin on her hand.

“My mother is more beautiful, but you know, Granny, I wish I were my aunt’s daughter.”

“What do you mean? Why’s that?”

“I think my aunt loved me more than my mother.”

Leman Hanım froze on the spot. For a moment she was speechless.

“Really, Hülya! Where did that come from? Is it possible that your mother doesn’t love you? You’re her one and only daughter, for God’s sake.”

“Frankly, Granny, I think she’s bored with me. She never seems to want to spend any time with me.”

“Do you need to be entertained all the time? You know that because of your father’s job, she needs to accompany him here,
there, and everywhere. She has to go to dinners and cocktail parties whether she wants to or not, and she can’t neglect herself when she has to go to those dos. There’s the hairdresser, the seamstress…just you wait until you grow up…
inşallah
, if you should marry a diplomat like your father, you’ll understand what I mean.”

“I’ll never marry a diplomat, that’s for sure.”

“Why, my darling? Don’t tell me you’re not proud of your father.”

“I am, but…it’s just that…well, I’d rather marry someone who can spend time with me.”

Hülya’s reply caused Leman Hanım’s blood pressure to rise. Those words—those familiar words—that attitude. She prayed that destiny would not repeat itself.

“Sensible men have important jobs; they haven’t got a lot of spare time to spend with their wives. Only idle men have time to spend at home with their families.”

“But Grandpa always stays with us.”

“Your grandfather is retired. He certainly didn’t spend a lot of time with me when we were young. I hardly ever saw his face.”

“What’s retired, Grandma?”

“Old people retire when they get old. That’s to say they don’t work anymore. They stay at home, like Grandpa.”

“Will my father spend time with us when he re…re…whatever it’s called?”

“There’s a long time to go yet, darling, but of course he’ll always be at home then.”

“I think it’s better if he doesn’t. Whenever he’s at home there’s a quarrel.”

“I’ve never heard your parents quarrel,” Leman Hanım said in a severe tone.

“That’s true; they haven’t, since you’ve been here. Oh! Granny, why don’t you always stay with us? I wish you’d never leave. When
you’re not here, my mother is always ill. She keeps on sulking and crying.”

Really! Out of the mouths of babes, thought Leman Hanım. Hülya was giving her grandmother some facts she hadn’t known. She tried to elicit some more information without giving the impression that they were gossiping.

“Is Mummy ill often then?” she asked in a soft voice. “Sabiha suffers with bronchitis; it’s possible that it gets worse in the winter.”

“No, I don’t think so. She hardly ever coughs. She spends a lot of time in bed and never allows me into her bedroom. What’s more, she doesn’t go to the hairdresser or whatever that often either.”

“Well, I never! She hasn’t been ill at all since we’ve been here.”

“That’s what I’m telling you, Granny. Please don’t ever leave us. If you do, my mother will shut herself in her room and I’ll be alone again.”

Leman Hanım put the photographs back in the box, tied the silk ribbon, and pushed it to the back of the second chiffonier drawer, beneath her underwear. There were things going on that she obviously didn’t know about. One thing was certain: her daughter was unhappy. She might not even realize it herself. Could Macit be involved with another woman?

“Let’s go next door, my pet; let’s see what Mummy’s doing. Maybe if we ask her, she’ll play us a Chopin nocturne on the piano.”

Macit took the ciphered message from the administrative officer, put on his spectacles, and read it. It was a reply from the Vichy government in response to the Turkish government’s note. In the message the Vichy government insisted that, as far as they were concerned, Jews were Jews no matter what their nationality.

“Our Government is honored to inform the Turkish Embassy that the persons in question are guests in France and as such are indirectly subject to this country’s laws. Following this principle, the actions directed by us toward the Hebrew race include Jews of French and other nationalities.”

Damn them! thought Macit. Damned thugs! For years, we have considered them the apostles of civilization and independence. We have envied them and taken great pains to emulate them. Just imagine this is the brave French nation that produced the best art, the best poetry, the best wine in the world! Brave! What bravery? They weren’t able to last more than forty-six days under German pressure. They surrendered immediately! Now they expect others to die for them to save their skin. And if that weren’t enough, they look down on us. Their arrogance is unbelievable! My name isn’t Macit if we can’t rub their noses in the fact that we fought against all odds and won our war of independence with only a makeshift army. Damned collaborators!

Macit pushed his chair back noisily, got up from his desk, and took the ciphered message out of his room. Walking down the corridor to the secretary general, he kept turning over in his mind how they should respond to this message. He believed that they should protest against the Vichy government’s discrimination laws. Surely there was no other way for an honorable country to respond. Maybe, in order to be more effective protesting the sending of Jews to labor camps, they should form a consensus with other countries. How aggravating this was when he already had so much on his plate. The first thing was to prepare the response. He believed that Turkish Jews forced to go to labor camps should apply to the Turkish authorities for their papers and resist as long as possible.

“Macit! Macit!”

Macit turned around. Nihat was running down the corridor toward him. “Can I have a moment please, I need to tell—”

“Yes, yes, I already know. The Turkish-German negotiations are about to start. The minister has asked me to attend the preparatory meeting. I’ll be there, but I need to see the secretary general for about twenty minutes to discuss our reply to this message. I’ll be with you shortly.”

Macit kept walking down the corridor.

“Macit, please wait…just a moment…”

Macit reluctantly stopped and turned around.

“Macit, there was a call for you, sir. It seems that your father-in-law has had a heart attack.”