Last Train to Istanbul (32 page)

Ferit’s guests were to arrive from all over occupied France. The Germans were rounding up the Jews and bringing them to Paris before shipping them off to labor camps in Germany. The Resistance was doing much the same thing, except they shipped them off from Paris to friendly neutral countries. Those desperate people who managed to get away from their homes or places of work were gathered in the French supporters’ homes or in hotels before going to the neutral countries.

No one knew yet that the German camps were death traps, that people there were being turned into soap or paper or used as guinea pigs.

Meanwhile, there were ninety-seven Turkish Jews waiting in Paris to board the train organized by the Turkish government in Ankara. They waited in fear in various homes and hotels, waiting to continue their journey. Some did not even have any ties with Turkey, which meant they had no Turkish passports or travel documents. All they had—crammed into the accommodations provided for them—was hope. Nevertheless, Ferit didn’t doubt that they’d all be saved. He believed he might eventually persuade either Muhlis or Tarık to give in—if only they saw these people’s faces, or the yellow badges these poor souls were forced to wear on their chests, symbols of their belief, as though they were the carriers of some dreadful disease; if only they could hear their stories of being separated from their families and children; if only…

When he heard the doorbell, Ferit ran to the window. He couldn’t see anyone outside. Maybe the front door had been left open and the person had just come in. He could hear footsteps and voices coming up the stairs. He hastily walked into the hall, opened the door, and was surprised to see Tarık.

“They’ve arrived sooner than I expected,” his friend said quietly. It was then that he saw the small group of people standing behind Tarık in the dark.

“No problem, please come in.”

“I’ll understand if you aren’t…”

“No problem, everything is ready.”

Tarık turned around to introduce the newcomers.

“This is Rafael Alfandari, his wife, Selva, little Fazıl…and these are Perla and Samuel.”

The tall young woman standing with the little boy in her arms corrected him. “Peri and Sami.”

“I thought you had only one son.”

“They are my little friends; they aren’t my children.”

“I didn’t know there were five of them either,” said Tarık, smiling with embarrassment.

“It doesn’t matter at all, please come in,” said Ferit.

They came in through the door one by one. Tarık was taken aback by the state of the sitting room.

“What’s all this? It looks like a makeshift hospital ward!”

“I’m expecting some other guests too.”

“Where are we staying, in this room?” asked Rafael.

“No, you’ve got a room to yourselves, but I didn’t know about your little friends,” said Ferit.

“I’m very sorry,” said Rafael. “I did try to explain to my wife that it might not be convenient with two extra people, but she wouldn’t listen. I can go find a suitable hotel immediately. In fact, I remember seeing a Hotel Bonaparte that might suit us. Do you have a telephone directory so I can find the number?”

“I won’t hear of it,” said Ferit. “Besides, it’s not prudent to be wandering the streets. Unless you need something luxurious, I’m sure that we can manage here.”

“The children can stay anywhere,” Selva said.

Samuel and Perla were standing by the door trying to understand the conversation, and when they recognized
çocuk
, the word for “child,” they looked at each other in fear.

“Do the children speak Turkish?” asked Ferit.

“They’re learning.”

“Selva’s teaching them,” Rafael interjected.

“That’s great!” said Ferit. “Right, let me show you your room so you can settle in. It’s at the end of the hallway and the toilet is immediately opposite.” Then, turning to the children, he spoke in French: “As for you two, I’m offering you the settee. I was going to sleep on it myself, but you’re welcome to it even though it means
sharing. I’ll sort something else out for myself. What were your names again?”

“Samu…Saami,” said the boy with the chestnut hair, “and she’s my sister, Perree.”

“Right, Sami and Peri, put your things in the chest of drawers. Leave your valuables and passports in the top drawer.”

“We have no valuables,” said Perla. She was hiding money given by her mother in a little sachet sewn into her pants and she had no intention of showing it to anyone.

“Ferit, who are these mattresses for?” asked Tarık.

“Those are people we’re hoping to bring here to Paris from all over France. I’m expecting three more, but you never know, they might not arrive.”

“Why not?”

“There is a possibility they may cross the mountains into Spain.”

“What does Evelyn have to say about all this?”

“She doesn’t know.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll explain later.”

Rafael had joined them while Selva organized things and looked after their son.

“We’re very indebted to you, Tarık,” he said. “I’m sure you must have had a hand in getting me released.”

Tarık was completely taken by Rafael’s perfect Turkish that had no trace of an accent.

“Please don’t mention it,” he said, “I did nothing more than contact our embassies and ask them to intervene.”

“You were also the one who told us about the train.”

“There will be others on the train in a similar situation to yours,” Ferit said. “In fact there are some who are in a worse situation than you. At least you are under the Turkish government’s protection. Just think of all those who are French, German, even Italian. Young
teenagers, men and women with children, the elderly…Hundreds and thousands of people who have never harmed anyone.”

Tarık bowed his head.

“Many poor souls are gathering in Paris with just a thread of hope, a very thin thread. Either someone will have to turn a blind eye to their getting on the train…”

There was complete silence.

“Or?” asked Rafael.

“Someone is bound to turn a blind eye. I’m certain,” said Ferit.

“I think so too,” said Rafael. “They didn’t deprive
them
of passports.” Rafael pointed to the two children sitting side by side on the settee. “I’m sure no one could make excuses about saving people in their situation.”

“Well, I’d better get back to my office,” Tarık said. “I’m behind in my work. Apparently the Russos’ son has been missing for days. We might have to check the labor camps until we find him. I won’t bother Selva Hanım; she’s busy now. Please say good-bye to her for me. I’ll come and see you later after work.”

Tarık walked out into the hall with Ferit, and Rafael heard them muttering to each other for quite some time.

“Ferit, I need to ask you for a favor,” Tarık said, looking somewhat embarrassed.

“By all means, what is it?”

“If those people you mentioned earlier on don’t arrive, would you mind if I sent you two people hoping to get on the train?”

“If you’re in a spot, of course. I can move to your place, put the children in the kitchen, and offer them the settee. Would your two people be prepared to share the settee?”

“Of course. They’re a young couple from Lyon. You might remember me telling you about a woman I saved from the Gestapo. They’re her daughter and son-in-law.”

“I think I do, but where are we going to put the woman herself?

“I understand she died,” Tarık replied.

Ferit returned to the sitting room, and Selva was there.

“Fazıl was very tired, so I put him to bed,” she said.

“Selva Hanım,” Ferit said, “there’s something I’d like to ask you. That’s if you don’t mind, of course. While you’re here, would you—?”

He couldn’t finish the question before Selva interrupted. “Yes, Ferit? You’ve been so kind to us, I’m more than happy to do anything in return. Do you want me to do the cleaning or the cooking, maybe?”

“No, no. As you can tell from the state of this place, I’m expecting more people to stay here.”

“Yes, I see. I presume they’re like us; they’ll be waiting for the train.”

“That’s right, but they aren’t Turkish. They don’t speak Turkish, either.”

“But I thought only those with Turkish passports could board the train.”

“We’ll be providing them with passports. But if something should happen en route, they’ll have to act as if they are Turkish. They should at least be able to say a few words. You teach Turkish. Would you…?”

“You want me to teach them Turkish, is that it?”

“Would you?”

“Happily. As a matter of fact, I’ve been doing it in Marseilles for some time. I can help them memorize a few sentences. But I need to ask you a question—what do you mean, ‘act as if they are Turkish’? I’m curious to know how one’s supposed to act Turkish.”

“Hmm…well, for instance, Turks drink a lot of tea and they don’t put milk in it. Then there are their special ablutions. Some carry worry beads. They eat cheese and olives for breakfast. We
might give some of them copies of the Koran to pretend they’re reading it.”

Selva laughed. “I could cook some köfte and dolmas, and they could take them on the train.”

“That’s great. If you cook Turkish dishes, why don’t you cook some for us to eat here one evening?”

“Actually, I learned to cook in Paris after Rafo and I were married,” said Selva. “I’m not good at it. My parents shouldn’t have bothered to make me take piano, violin, and language lessons. They wanted me to find a good husband, but husbands prefer wives who are good cooks. Isn’t that right, Rafo?”

“That’s not how I look at it. I wanted to find a soul mate.”

“And did you succeed?” asked Ferit.

“I was looking for a soul mate, but I ended up with a comrade in arms,” said Rafo. “Selva thinks she’s a soldier. She’s taken it upon herself to save the world single-handedly.”

“Let’s be partners, Selva,” said Ferit. “Why don’t we save those around us here in Paris first, then we can try to save the rest of the world?”

“That’s the best offer I’ve had in a long time,” said Selva. She wanted to say that it was the best offer she had had since Rafo proposed to her. Then she remembered that Rafo hadn’t proposed; it was she who had told him she’d decided to marry him. She turned around and looked at her husband, who was talking to the children. Rafo had lost a lot of weight since the time he was shoved into that cattle wagon. He couldn’t sleep at night and had frequent nightmares that caused him to wake up and jump out of his bed.

She wondered if Rafo really loved her, if he considered her a blessing or a pain in the neck. Had he any regrets about marrying her? Did he blame her for being cut off from his family and country? Could it be that he was angry deep inside?

Selva decided then and there that if they eventually got back to Istanbul, she would have a tête-à-tête with her mother-in-law and beg her to forgive her son. She was determined to restore his family to him—his mother, sister, and cousins.

Oh, my dear Rafo, she thought to herself. I wonder if you love me as much as I love you.

DARKNESS AT NOON

David Russo got out of bed feeling great. He stood in front of the window and stretched for a long time. The new year was approaching. Paris! Ah, Paris! This magnificent city of art, music, fun, and feast. What could be more exciting for a young man just turned twenty than to look forward to celebrating the New Year in this city! He had a natural sense of fun, having been born in Beyoğlu, the bustling, colorful quarter of Istanbul.

Young Russo had always considered himself very lucky. He was the son of a wealthy family, and had enjoyed a very privileged upbringing. Soon after he had finished the French Saint Benoit secondary school, he moved to Paris with his family. His father had purchased a beautiful luxury apartment in the Fourteenth
Arrondissement
, one of the most elegant districts of Paris, and David continued his education at the lycée. To tell the truth, it took him rather a long time to finish. As every young man brought up in such circumstances will tell you, there is a lot of fun to be had during one’s student years. The best way to avoid military service, or getting married, with the responsibilities that involves, is to prolong one’s education as long as possible.

David’s time at the lycée had lasted a long time, especially as he had transferred from Istanbul, but he never complained. From the lycée he went on to the Académie des Beaux-Arts. He was a tall, good-looking young man, which together with the melancholic look in his eyes enabled him to have all the fun that went with being an artist. But the war broke out. His dreams of beautiful models lining up to be painted naked would have to wait for a while. He didn’t care. His life continued to be full of fun. His father never deprived him of the money he needed, and he didn’t keep that from the chorus girls. He and his young friends went out on the town, turning Paris upside down every night. They carried on, visiting the cancan shows, drinking beer in bistros and wine in the street cafés. David made sure to avoid the “in” places frequented by the German officers. He felt safe having a Turkish passport, even if it did have
Juif
(“Jew”) stamped on the first page in red.