Last Train to Istanbul (26 page)

“You leave me no alternative. It seems that we are destined to continue this journey to Paris all together.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I mean, I refuse to leave this cattle wagon without my citizens.”

“And I repeat, you should get off here and return to Marseilles in the car provided.”

“I’m afraid I must repeat too: either we all get off together or we all continue the journey.”

“In that case you have made your choice. You prefer to continue the journey with the Jews in these conditions.”

“They’re our citizens. Either we get off together or we continue together.”

The German officer tried to force Nazım Kender by grabbing his arms, but the consul put both his hands firmly against his chest.

“I wouldn’t recommend that at all, young man. Don’t make an irreparable mistake. I’m a diplomat representing a neutral country. Furthermore, I have diplomatic immunity. Rest assured, raising your hand might lead to a diplomatic scandal.”

“You’ve already caused a scandal,” said the German officer, his face flushed with anger.

“Preventing a scandal is in your hands,” replied Nazım Kender. “One of the passengers on this disgusting wagon is old. He has suffered a heart attack because he couldn’t cope with the stress. Are you prepared to suffer the consequences if he doesn’t make it to Paris?”

The German jumped off, muttering something in his own language. The other officers followed—it was obvious the officers didn’t know French and hadn’t understood a word of what was going on.

Not a peep was heard from anyone.

Finally a timid voice asked, “Where are we?”

“We may be somewhere near Nîmes,” replied Halim Kavass. No one had the courage to lean out of the wagon to look, but Nazım Kender leaned over and looked outside. Apart from the fifteen German officers lined up with their rifles, the platform seemed deserted. He couldn’t see where they were because the clock obscured the name of the station, but he tried to calculate where they might be by the time on the clock.

“Yes, we’re somewhere between Arles and Nîmes,” he said, looking at the kavass for confirmation.

The train was at a standstill. There was nobody coming or going, and everyone waited anxiously. Every minute seemed like an hour. All eyes were on the consul, standing erect and ready to argue their cases.

Suddenly the voice of a woman standing in one of the corners of the wagon could be heard. “Come on…Come on,” she kept on saying, encouraging the children to do something they were reluctant to do.

“
Monsieur le Consul
,” shouted the woman. “These children have something to tell you.”

“Yes,” said the consul, “what is it?”

“Me Turkish…Me wants water…tummy hungry…I fell cold…How you are?” The little girl, who was already trembling, burst into tears. It was obvious she had learned all the Turkish sentences by heart.

“Are you Turkish, young lady?” the consul asked in Turkish.

The girl nodded yes.

“What’s your name?”

“Pe…Peri.”

The consul turned to the boy. “And what’s yours?” he asked.

“My name Saami—sorry—Sammy.”

It came to him in a flash; he had already seen these two children in a photograph, standing together in a garden.

He called out to the kavass.

“Look who we’ve got here, Halim. Our Peri and Sami are here.”

The kavass looked confused. He was trying to understand what the consul meant when footsteps were heard on the platform. Then he stretched out to look through the gaps in the side of the wagon. The officer the consul had spoken to earlier was returning with the same soldiers. Nazım Kender waited with his hands on the children’s shoulders.

The German didn’t jump onto the train as quickly as before. This time he pulled himself up by holding on to the iron bolts of the wagon door.

“So, you’re saying you won’t get off this train. Is that it,
Monsieur le Consul
?”

“Absolutely right. I won’t.”

The German officer took a deep breath. After a short silence, he said, “Get down; come on then, step down.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“If you’re not getting out on your own, you’d better all get out.”

“Really?”

“Yes, that’s the order.”

“Let them off first. All of them.”

“Are all these Turks?”

“Some of them don’t have identification papers, but I’m sure that once we’re in Paris—”

“I said get out!” shouted the German. It was clear he was annoyed at having to carry out the order.

“My clerk and I will get out last,” said the consul, folding his arms across his chest. The kavass was next to him, standing to attention as if he was his aide-de-camp.

Those in the wagon started jumping out. They carefully lifted down the man who had suffered the heart attack. The two children stayed by the consul, not wanting to be separated from him. The
woman who’d urged the children forward seemed happy that they had been able to prove they were Turkish, but didn’t want to make eye contact with them for fear of what might happen next.

“Are these children yours, madame?” asked Nazım Kender.

“No, I’m their aunt. We were shopping in the market when they picked us up.”

“Come on then, Peri and Sami, it’s your turn now,” said the consul.

The kavass held the girl under her arms and lowered her to the platform. The boy jumped by himself. The consul was the last to leave, like a captain abandoning his ship. The kavass was beside him.

The German officer approached. “Your car is waiting outside the station,” he said.

“Thank you. I’d rather return by taxi. If you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it if the car took the old man who’s had a heart attack.”

A woman interjected before the German officer could speak. “No, no. Thank you very much. I’m sure we can manage on our own. Thank you all the same.”

The German officer gave her a look as if to say, “You’re mad,” then he saluted the consul, turned his back, and marched away, followed by the other soldiers.

When the Germans left, a buzz of excitement erupted. Every one of the eighty people surrounded Nazım Kender, wanting to kiss his hands or cheeks, trying to put their arms around him. Those who couldn’t get close stretched their arms just to touch him on the shoulders or back, as though he were some sacred object.

“For God’s sake, don’t lift me up on your shoulders,” the consul shouted. But there was no way he could control the waves of love flowing around him. There were no words to describe the gratitude these people felt.

“I suggest that those of you who don’t have Turkish nationality leave and find a safe place. Go back as soon as possible,” he said, and then as an afterthought, he said, “Where the hell are we, exactly?”

“In Arles,” said the kavass.

“I believe there should be a train to Marseilles in about an hour,” someone said, “if it hasn’t been canceled.”

The consul and the kavass walked out of the station together. The Mercedes-Benz allocated to the consul by the Nazis was parked right outside.

“I wonder if there’s a taxi around here—why don’t you find out, Halim?” asked Nazım Kender. He sat on a bench outside the station door as the kavass walked away.

In the deep recesses of his mind, he wondered if this experience had been a nightmare, or if it had really happened. A little while later, he was startled by Halim’s voice.

“Apparently, there is a wood-powered car, sir. Shall we hire it?”

“Yes, hire it immediately.”

Nazım Kender got up, walked slowly by the Mercedes-Benz, and crossed the road with dignity.

PARIS

Ferit watched as his wife crossed the street and walked into the distance. When Evelyn was out of sight, he drew the curtains, checked the lock on the street door, and went into the bedroom. He threw the cover, quilt, and pillows hastily on the floor, feeling the sides of the mattress until he found what he was looking for. It was a tear large enough for a hand to fit through. Ferit put his hand in the hole and extended his arm all the way inside. The communiqués were right there, somewhere in the middle. He grasped hold of them and pulled them out, then carefully remade the bed. He puffed up the pillows, put them in their place, then sat at the kitchen table and scribbled a note for his wife:

Darling, I’m going to see a friend from the university on the other side of the river. Don’t worry if I’m late.

He put the communiqués under his vest, left the apartment, and walked toward the Métro.

For some time now, Ferit had been a member of the Resistance, an underground organization whose operations had become more and more important due to the Vichy government’s
cooperation with Hitler. Ferit might not have been French, but he loved this country like a real Frenchman. What’s more, he hated Hitler.

Because he wasn’t French, his associates on the committee didn’t share sensitive plans relating to nationalist issues with him. They did, however, turn a blind eye to his work with cells that organized the smuggling of Jews and Communists out of France.

Ferit had never mentioned his connection with this organization to Evelyn. She thought that her husband had volunteered to become the assistant of his beloved professor from the lycée, the same professor who had helped him with his thesis. This was the way he could explain his disappearances some mornings, afternoons, and evenings, and very often during the night. The professor was also a member of the same organization, so it seemed there was no way Evelyn could find out.

Ferit had managed to be the go-between for his many Jewish friends and the Organization, issuing passports of neutral countries. Recently, the most sought-after passport was Turkish, because the Turks made a point of protecting their citizens from the Gestapo. Ferit had been able to contact the consulate through his old friend Muhlis. Shortly after, he had met Tarık and, discreetly testing the water, invited him for coffee and raised the subject. He asked whether the Turkish consulate could issue passports to non-Turks. The answer was very clear.

“I wish I had the authority to answer you differently, Ferit,” Tarık said. “Every single person we can save from sorrow and death is a source of satisfaction for us. But you know yourself the danger we face every time we visit one of those camps or police stations. After all’s said and done, we are an honorable and just nation and, as such, can’t get involved with anything illegal.”

“Should I give up hope completely?”

“Yes, my friend.”

Ferit inhaled deeply from his cigarette and blew smoke rings into the air.

“Fine. In that case, I won’t bother you about this again.”

“I promise I’ll do whatever I can to help you with anything else. I have to admit, I really respect what you are doing. Honestly, I would be on your side if I weren’t a government employee.”

“I understand.”

“I’d like to ask you a question, if you don’t mind. How did you get involved in this?”

“Everyone who has a heart is involved, Tarık. It’s true the French aren’t fighting in the field, but I can assure you, they have an excellent underground organization. As for me, I got involved through a close friend at the university. He used to take me to meetings, and eventually I joined the Resistance too.”

“Doesn’t it surprise you the French haven’t fought bravely?”

“Listen, Tarık, I’m sure you’ll agree that Paris is one of the most beautiful cities in the world. In my opinion they didn’t want to risk it getting bombed.”

“I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.”

They sipped their coffee for a while in silence. They were sitting in one of the student cafés in the Latin Quarter.

“Shall I tell you a secret, my friend?” Tarık said. “The British and the Americans can’t stand de Gaulle. They can’t stomach the man at all. Had there been someone else leading the national liberation, you might be able to get more support.”

“The British can’t stand anything that may damage their interests,” said Ferit. “De Gaulle isn’t the sort of person to take notice of their interests. He’s a stubborn, cantankerous man who regards every attack on himself as an attack on France.”

“Strictly between us, I believe that if you changed your man at the top, you’d probably get more support from the British, and even the Americans.”

“Another leader was sought, but unfortunately without success. All the Resistance activists are behind de Gaulle,” Ferit said. “Just you wait and see. I bet eventually those who don’t like de Gaulle will eat their words and support him.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Eventually the Allies will have to invade France to win this war. When that day comes, they will have to recognize both de Gaulle and the National Liberation Committee, because without their support, they’d be unable to carry out the invasion successfully.”

“The sooner that day comes the better,” Tarık said.

They asked for the bill.

“I hope neither Muhlis nor Evelyn will learn of our meeting today. I can count on you, can’t I?” Ferit asked.

“Of course you can…Ferit, I hope you don’t mind my saying this, but don’t you think it’s wrong to keep this from your wife?”

“I do, Tarık, but I don’t want to worry her. She’s pregnant, you see.”