Last Train to Istanbul (25 page)

“Most of us have Turkish passports, but we are unable to make the Gestapo understand.”

Realizing there was no time to lose, Nazım Kender went directly to the main station building, followed closely by the kavass.

“I want to see your superior immediately!” he said to the officer at the door.

A German officer came and stood face-to-face with him. “Are you in a hurry?” he asked.

“Yes, very much so. I believe there’s been a mistake. It seems they have rounded up some Turks and loaded them in the wagon. The train is about to leave. You must get them off right away.”

“There’s been no mistake.”

“Look, I’ve got a list of my citizens’ names in this file. We can read through them one by one…”

“Don’t bother.”

“I promise you, transporting Turks on this train will cost you dearly.”

The German officer snatched the file from Nazım Kender’s hand and glanced at the list the consul had prepared.

“These are Turks? Alhadef, Jak: Alhadef, Izi; Alfandari, Rafael; Anato, Josef; Franco, Lili; Kalvo, Luna; Menaşe, İsak; Soriano, Moris…If these aren’t Jews, I don’t know who is.” He waved the file in the consul’s face. Nazım Kender snatched the file back.

“Yes, they’re Turkish. Most of them may be Jewish, but there must be Muslims and Christians among them. According to my country’s laws they’re Turkish, irrespective of their religion. They’re Turkish citizens.”

The uniformed officer was about to reply, but changed his mind when he heard the train’s shrill whistle. He shrugged his shoulders, turned his back, and walked inside. The train had started to inch forward.

Nazım Kender looked helplessly in the direction of the officer. For a moment he considered following him, but the train was moving faster. Nazım ran alongside the train, pushed the soldier who tried to stop him, and jumped into the wagon. Halim was running just behind him; he was almost out of breath when he grasped
the consul’s extended hand, stepped onto the running board, and hoisted himself up. For a split second, he almost fell, but those on board lifted him by the shoulders and helped him inside.

The soldier Nazım Kender pushed aside was running, waving his arms, and yelling, trying to attract the attention of the officer walking toward the main building. The officer stopped, turned around, and looked at the moving train, frustrated. There was nothing he could do. The train had picked up steam and was moving faster and faster, shaking the people cramped inside.

Nazım Kender and Halim Kavass looked at each other in disbelief. What had they gotten themselves into? What was going to happen?

There were no answers. Nazım Kender had jumped on board without thinking. Maybe his courage stemmed from a feeling of revolt and anger, from the impetuosity of his youth. As the train accelerated rapidly away from the Saint Charles Station, he began to realize the gravity of the situation and fear the repercussions. But there was only one option now: to finish what he had started. Like any honorable person, he would fight to the end. After all, wasn’t he the Marseilles consul for the great Turkish republic? These poor people on the train were expecting him to save them. He couldn’t possibly show his fear. There was no going back. He would stay with them until the end.

“Do you know where they’re taking us?” asked the kavass.

“For a while you’ve wanted to go to Paris, haven’t you? Well, here you are; that’s where we are going—and just think, you are going for free!”

Halim Kavass wanted to laugh but couldn’t. Traveling on a train meant for animals, squeezed between people falling over each other, was no laughing matter. The man next to him was
rather old, and had obviously wet himself in fear. The smell of urine spread throughout the wagon. Not a sound was heard from the people who had been screaming and yelling before the train pulled away. Apart from the jarring sound of the wheels running over the rails and the wind whistling through the gaps of the wagon, everything was quiet. It seemed everyone had swallowed their tongues.

This must be the sound of fear, thought the consul.

The strange silence was broken by the croaky voice of a woman who must have been a chain-smoker. Her bloodshot eyes exuded fear. “Where are they taking us?” she asked.

“I think they’re taking us to Paris, madame,” Nazım Kender replied as she struggled to extricate herself from her trapped position. Eventually she managed to stand up by grabbing the hand of a young man reaching out to help her.

“I’m the Turkish consul,” he said. “Will those of you who have Turkish nationality raise your hands, please?”

About fifty hands shot up.

“I’ll do my best to help the Turkish nationals, but I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do for the rest of you. I’m truly sorry.”

A girl let out a scream and fainted. Some sobbing sounds were heard again.

“
Monsieur le Consul
, please say we’re Turkish as well,” shouted a man. “We will take on Turkish nationality and be in your debt until the day we die.”

“There are no slaves in Turkey, monsieur, just citizens. You can certainly apply for citizenship when you are released, but I’m afraid I have no authority to declare you Turkish citizens right now.”

“Please don’t condemn us to death.”

“Save us too!”

“Look, let me be clear. I’m not saying I can save even the Turkish nationals. All I am saying is that I’ll do my best. That’s
why I’m here with you, in this wagon. How many of you have your papers with you?”

Halim Kavass counted the raised hands. Most didn’t have papers because they had been caught unexpectedly.

“It’s easier for those of you who have some form of identification, but as for the rest…”

Suddenly someone screamed from the back of the wagon, “He’s dying…My God, my husband’s dying!”

“Is there a doctor here? Please, is there a doctor?”

A young man tried to push his way over the seated people. An old man in his seventies was lying on the floor with his head against his wife’s bosom and his legs stretched across those nearby. His face was ashen, and he was sweating profusely.

“Please let me through…allow me to get through…”

“Are you a doctor?”

“I’m a chemist…let me…”

The young man loosened the old man’s collar and started to check his pulse.

“Give us some space. Would you mind moving back? He needs some air. Please, please, do try to give us a little space…”

“Why don’t we carry him to the edge of the wagon, where there’s more air?”

“No. No, don’t move him, he might be having a heart attack. Does anyone have any med—”

“Move back, move back!” someone shouted.

“How lucky! Isn’t he lucky to be dying here, rather than at the hands of the Germans?” said another.

“Move back just a little bit, that’s it.”

Those around the patient tried their best to move, but it didn’t make much difference. There were about eighty people, mostly men, crammed into a space meant for twenty cattle. Rafael Alfandari looked around helplessly. The only thing he could do was
try to calm the patient. He wiped the sweat from the man’s forehead and his upper lip with his handkerchief, and tried to think what his father would do in such circumstances. He remembered his father saying, “Morale! Boost the morale! That’s very important for a patient. A person should feel that his heart is able to fight death.”

“This is a panic attack, not a heart attack,” he said with conviction. “Please try to remain calm. Relax. Take deep breaths. Come on. You don’t have any chest pains, do you? I’m sure you’re feeling better already. I can see it from your color. Relax.”

A man managed to make his way through, jumping over those around him. There was a pill in his hand. “I always carry one of these because I have a heart condition…You can take it.”

“What if you need it yourself?”

“We’re going to die anyway,” replied the man. “I’m not a Turkish citizen. I’m French.”

As night descended, the wagon was plunged into darkness. The passengers had lost all notion of time; they had no idea how long they had been traveling. All that could be heard now were the sounds of prayer. The people continuously prayed, either aloud or to themselves, and an air of doom spread through the wagon. The consul and the kavass continually whispered to each other, trying to work out how and where their dark journey would end. Nazım Kender gave all the change in his pocket to the kavass.

“Here, take this, and if the train should stop at one of the stations, you’d better find a telephone and call our consulate in Paris while I’m arguing with the stationmaster. Explain our situation and ask him to follow it up urgently. They must contact Berlin and Vichy immediately.”

“What if we don’t stop, sir?”

“Then you will do the same in Paris.”

“But the consulate phones aren’t answered before nine in the morning.”

“Do you know Hikmet Özdoğan’s number?”

“I’m afraid I don’t. I know the consulate’s number, but as I said, they won’t be answering at this time of night.”

“I did know his number. What was it now…what was it? It might come to me. When I tell you, you must memorize that number, and then you should call him as soon as possible; I’m sure he should be able to do something. My argument with the stationmaster is bound to last for at least half an hour.”

“Don’t worry; I’ll call the consul—that is, of course, if you remember the number.”

“Does anyone in Marseilles know we’re on this train?”

“I don’t think so. Everyone at the consulate was gone.”

“I was having tea with the Italian attaché. He realized something awful had happened. Maybe he’ll make inquiries.”

“You know, sir, something tells me that Turkish lady—you know the one, she came to see you with her child once—that tall young lady, she was the first to come today. I’ll bet she’ll follow this up.”

“Were you the one who told her where I was?”

“Well, sir, I…”

Suddenly there was a terrific jolt. Those standing up fell down, and those on the floor tumbled over one another. The train screeched to a halt. Everyone tried to get near the wooden bars of the wagon to see what had happened.

“Stand back!” shouted an officer in French, but with a German accent.

He jumped inside and stood erect like a bronze statue among the fallen people. The consul too stood upright in front of him. He was a few inches taller than the German. It was rare for a Turk to
be so tall. The German officer looked him over from top to bottom. He had probably come to the platform expecting to meet a short, portly, middle-aged diplomat. They must have stopped in a station. There was enough light illuminating this wagon of fear for Nazım Kender to see the surprise in the officer’s eyes.

“Are you the Turkish consul?”

“Yes, I am.”

A few more German officers boarded the wagon, pushing and stepping over the people inside.

“
Monsieur le Consul
, it seems that the stationmaster in Marseilles made a serious mistake. Apparently the train was ordered to pull out of the station before you got off. I can assure you that those responsible will be severely punished. Please come with me, sir; there is a car waiting for you. You will be driven back to Marseilles.”

“Thank you for your concern, but you’re mistaken. The stationmaster at Marseilles deserves no punishment. I boarded this train of my own accord.”

“All the same, he shouldn’t have allowed the train to leave with you on board. Please, this way, sir,” said the German officer.

“I must point out that this wagon is full of Turkish citizens. I want to know where you are taking them. What’s more, you’ve loaded them onto a cattle wagon against their wishes. I demand an explanation.”

“They’re Jews and they’re on their way to Paris.”

“Even so, they are all Turkish citizens. They have perfectly valid papers.”

“I repeat, sir, will you please step down?”

“Step down from this cattle wagon? Please understand that I represent a country that doesn’t tolerate such abuse toward human beings because of their faith. I want to make it very clear, too, that my clerk and I are either getting off this train together with these people or we’ll continue our journey to Paris.”

“
Monsieur le Consul
, you’re making things very difficult. The wagon you’ve boarded is a freight wagon. The two of you must get off. Those with Turkish papers will be dealt with in Paris.”