Last Train to Istanbul (2 page)

At home all the women, as if in a chorus, were complaining about the high price of everything. If civil servants and their families in Ankara were distressed, who knew how the poor people of
Anatolia felt? In an effort to protect civil servants, the state was selling state products—textiles, shoes, and sugar—at considerably reduced prices. Furthermore, to prevent the black market and hoarding, it applied a rationing system, which meant that everybody’s identity card was covered in stamps. Despite these precautions the black market thrived. Unscrupulous people looking for a big chance became wealthy selling goods off the back of a truck. Most people were angry but resigned; they couldn’t find or afford basic supplies, and had only bread and cereal to eat. The president thought his prime concern—a matter of life and death—was to prevent his country from going to war. Approaching him with the people’s complaints was pointless. For a man like him, who had already personally experienced the hell of war, anything besides this was of secondary importance.

Macit was exhausted. It was almost certain that Inönü would go to Yalova the following day, which meant that possibly, probably, there would be no late meetings next week. He might be able to go home earlier, and thus temporarily avoid Sabiha’s reproaches.

“One spade.”

“Two diamonds.”

“Pass.”

“Pass…Sorry, sorry. Four spades.”

The young women looked up from their cards across the table at Sabiha. She blushed, looking thin and delicate in her pale-mauve suit.

“You are very absentminded today,” said Hümeyra. “What’s wrong with you, dear?”

“Nothing. I couldn’t sleep last night. I can’t concentrate. Couldn’t Nesrin take my place?”

“Absolutely not! Let’s have some tea. That will sort you out.”

“Hümeyra, I have to leave before five today anyway.”

“Why?”

“I’ve got to pick Hülya up from Marga at her ballet class.”

“Doesn’t the nanny do that?”

“She has something else to do today.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, what else does a nanny have to do?”

“She wants to do some shopping before she goes back to England at the end of the month.”

“I didn’t know she was leaving, Sabiha! Why?”

“Well, Hülya has grown up; she is a big girl now. She no longer needs a nanny to fuss over her.”

“But I thought she was teaching Hülya English too.”

“She has learned enough. Her father wants her to be able to stand on her own two feet now and be more independent.”

The ladies all put down their cards and got up from the card table. Sabiha walked toward the room where tea was being served. She wanted neither tea nor any of the pastries on the table. She only wished she could go outside for a breath of fresh air, but she took a cup of tea and sipped it, hoping to avoid further questions. The other women followed Sabiha to the tea table, swaying rhythmically to the music on the radio. Suddenly the music stopped and an announcer’s urgent voice was heard.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we interrupt this program to bring you some important information regarding this morning’s state committee meeting with the prime minister.”

The ladies immediately changed direction, from the tea table to the radio.

“Shh! Shh! Listen!” said Belkıs.

Sabiha too walked toward the radio, her cup and saucer in her hand. Her hands shook as she listened to the grim news. The troops had retreated in Thrace behind the Çatalca line and were apparently
digging in. The government was ordering all civilians in Istanbul to build shelters in their basements. Furthermore, those who had homes in Anatolia were being offered free transport there, and could bring up to fifty kilos of luggage per family.

“My God, what somber news. For God’s sake, Hümeyra, turn that radio off,” said Nesrin.

“No, please don’t, there may be news about France,” Sabiha said. “I wonder what—”

Nesrin interrupted. “So what about France? Who cares?”

Sabiha looked at her in dismay, putting her cup and saucer on the table.

“You should have some fruitcake; you like that,” offered Hümeyra.

Sabiha declined her offer, saying, “I must have caught a chill at the races last weekend. I feel nauseous, darling. I have no appetite at all.”

“Did you hear that they are evacuating Edirne?” Belkıs continued. “In other words, war is on our doorstep!”

“My husband will be totally unbearable,” said Necla bluntly. “He barely answers yes or no these days as it is. Can you imagine what he’ll be like if we go to war?”

Sabiha felt completely suffocated by her friends’ conversation. While they were occupied with their tea and cake, she made her apologies to Hümeyra and quickly left the house.

The heady scent of lilac and wisteria filled the Ankara air. The beautiful wisteria tumbling over the garden walls, hanging like bunches of grapes, seemed almost to accentuate her gloomy mood. Her pale-mauve suit was the only thing that harmonized with the surroundings. A thousand and one things were going through her mind as she walked home to Kavaklıdere. She bumped into an old man, and as she was apologizing, she tripped on a stone and almost fell over. Sabiha was very unhappy. She was unable to devote any
attention to either her daughter or her husband, and everything was beginning to fall apart. She was gradually distancing herself from those around her. From the beginning, her daughter had been a disappointment, as she had expected a son; her husband was only interested in his work; her parents were perpetually ill; and she had begun to have less and less in common with her friends. It was almost as if she were breaking away from life itself.

Macit was so busy that it seemed—to her, at least—that he didn’t even notice the change in his wife. This made it easier for her to keep to herself. As for her friends, lately she had started making up excuses so as not to attend their various get-togethers. The nanny wasn’t doing any shopping today and she didn’t have to collect Hülya from Madame Marga’s Ballet School. What was true was that the nanny was indeed returning to England. Macit wanted it that way. He believed Hülya no longer needed a nanny now that she was going to school, and that Sabiha should devote more time to their daughter herself.

Sabiha was aware that she hadn’t been in control of her life for some time now. This damned war was running her life! What’s more, it wasn’t even in her own country. Nothing could be found in the shops, and no one could travel; war was the only topic of conversation. Macit was like a prisoner of war; it was as if he were a soldier himself! They had been such a happy couple, had had so much fun together once upon a time—before her sister went away, before the war. Sabiha missed those long-gone days. On the other hand, she couldn’t help thanking her lucky stars whenever she read the newspapers or listened to the radio. At least in Ankara their lives were secure. No policeman or soldier was knocking on their door at some ungodly hour. There weren’t people around wearing yellow badges on their chests like branded asses. Branded asses! Whose words were those? Necla was the only one who would make such crude remarks. Suddenly Sabiha remembered: two weeks ago
during a bridge party, Necla, in one of her callous moods, had said, “The poor Jews have been made to wear yellow badges on their clothes, just like branded asses!”

“What on earth are you saying?” Sabiha screamed. “How can you possibly compare people to asses? You call yourself a diplomat’s wife. I wonder if you can actually hear yourself!”

Necla, almost in tears, had asked her friends, “What’s got into her? Why is she screaming at me like that?”

“This war has got to all us girls,” their hostess had said, trying to defuse the situation. “These days the slightest spark causes an explosion. Come on, let’s get on with the game. Whose turn was it?”

Sabiha now felt embarrassed remembering her outburst. She certainly was in a terrible mood. It was the same thing every day when she read the news in the papers. The Nazis storming over Europe…The fleeing emigrants…France…Ooooh! Sabiha reached out to touch one of the wisteria blooms on a wall, but just as she was about to pick it, she withdrew her hand. She couldn’t bring herself to snap off the flower. Suddenly she felt a lump in her throat, and as she turned toward the street, tears streamed down her face. As night descended she gasped for breath. The sad day would turn into yet another sad night.

Macit was probably going to come home late. Hülya would have her endless whens, whys, and wheres throughout the meal. The nanny would sit across the table, undoubtedly talking about the war. Ankara, which was so full of happy memories, only represented sadness now. Not just sadness, but monotony, dreariness as well. Life was just gray!

Macit opened the front door as quietly as possible; he didn’t want to disturb his wife if she was sleeping. He tiptoed into the bedroom,
and could see by the pale, pink light of the bedside lamp that she was awake. She lay with her hair spread across the pillow, looking at her husband through puffy red eyes.

“What’s wrong? Why have you been crying?” asked Macit.

Sabiha sat bolt upright in bed. “I’m on edge. This letter arrived by the evening delivery; the postman left it on the doormat. I found it as I was taking out the garbage. Here, read it.”

“Who’s it from? Your mother? Is your father ill again?”

“It’s not from Istanbul, Macit. The letter is from Selva.”

“Really?”

“Macit, I am scared. We’ve got to do something. We
must
get her here. This cannot go on. Sooner or later, my mother will hear what’s happening in France, and I swear it will give her a heart attack.”

Macit took the letter and tried to read it by the dim light.

“Selva would never agree to come here, leaving Rafo behind,” he said. “Rafo wouldn’t agree to come back.”

“But this can’t go on. Selva has got to consider our mother. I have asked the telephone exchange to connect me to her. God knows how long it will take. Maybe by the morning or sometime tomorrow…”

“You’ve done what, Sabiha? How many times have I told you not to call Selva from the house?”

“Well, I certainly couldn’t go to someone else’s house at this hour of the night. I have to speak to my sister; I have to persuade her before it is too late.”

“I’m going to cancel the call,” said Macit, rushing to the telephone.

“How can you do that? She’s my sister. Don’t you understand?”

Macit returned to the room. “Sabiha, I am working for the foreign ministry, the Germans are at our borders, war is on our doorstep, and you are booking a call to a Jew in France. You’re asking for trouble!”

“I’m fed up with your foreign ministry. I’m really fed up. I’m always imagining that I am being followed by spies.”

“It’s almost the school holidays. Then you and Hülya can go to your parents in Istanbul. I just wonder if your father will be as understanding as I am on the subject of your sister.”

Sabiha heard her husband walk to the end of the hall, dial the operator, cancel the call, and then go to the living room. Sabiha started to cry again, very quietly.

Macit went out onto the balcony. He lit a cigarette and looked at the midnight-blue horizon far, far away. Macit was happy with the cool Ankara nights, but tonight, for the first time, he felt cold and uncomfortable. He tried to warm his arms by rubbing them with his hands. It wasn’t just the weather that made him feel cold. They were living through days that—for those who understood what was going on—were dangerous enough to make one’s hair stand on end. Neither the man in the street nor his capricious wife whimpering indoors was aware just how close they were to the brink. They simply switched on the radio, listened to the news, then complained about the black market and how expensive everything was before pulling up a blanket and drifting off to sleep. They weren’t aware of anything. No one knew the extent of the disaster Turkey would face if she was dragged into the war by either side. How could anyone know the knife edge that Inönü and his colleagues trod? The government was trying its best not to alarm the public or cause a panic. Macit wondered whether it was better to disclose the truth so everybody could face the facts, or take on the role of a protective father, shielding the children from bad news.