Last Train to Istanbul (38 page)

Macit left the room feeling a bit embarrassed. He walked into the sitting room where Fazıl Reşat Paşa was still looking out of the window, waiting for his wife.

“You look a bit tired, Macit,” he said, looking over his glasses.

“Yes, it’s been a tiring day,” Macit replied. “We’ve had some upsetting developments.”

“I’m sorry to hear it. What happened?”

“Our prime minister asked for the foreign minister’s resignation.”

“Really! Why’s that?”

“Numan was never in favor of siding with the Germans. On the contrary, he always believed, if we eventually had to take sides, it should be with the Allies. But apparently he’s done exactly the opposite.”

“What’s that?”

“He’s apparently come down on the side of the Germans.”

“You mean he changed sides?”

“Frankly, I don’t believe Numan would do that. But you see, when the German army pressed against the Bulgarian border, we signed an agreement with them not to intervene. Furthermore, as you know, there’s also the question of our chrome…”

“What about it? Weren’t we supposed to be selling it to the Allies?”

“The agreement we signed with the Allies has expired. Not only have the Germans asked to buy it, but they’ve also agreed to sign a contract committing themselves to continue buying it until the end of the war. We desperately needed such a contract. Numan was against the Germans, but he wasn’t against an agreement that would be to our advantage. He believes that nations have no friends or foes; they only have their interests.”

“So what happened?”

“Apparently, low-tonnage German ships are being allowed to pass through the Bosphorus without being searched. The Montreux Agreement forbids the searching of commercials vessels. Despite that agreement, the British sent us notes urging us to stop their passage. But Numan was against the decision.”

“When did all this happen?”

“Today. Apparently the British sent another note threatening that they wouldn’t sign our economic agreement unless we stopped and searched the ships. Our foreign minister pointed out that his hands were tied by the Montreux Agreement; however, the prime minister disagreed and forced him to call the German ambassador, informing him that, from now on, all German ships passing through would be searched. Afterward, he delivered a very harsh speech at the Ministers’ Assembly. The ministers were completely taken aback, and when he’d finished his speech, he called for Numan’s resignation, which Numan offered there and then.”

“Strange, I’ve been listening to the radio all day and I’ve heard nothing of this.”

“I suppose it will all come out this evening. Our foreign minister was strict about sticking to international rules and regulations, and there’s also the other side of the coin—our economic interests, money…especially these days, when our country is in such dire straits. Anyway, I’m still very sorry about Numan. I’ve gained most of my experience under his wing and I’ll always be grateful to him.”

“These economic agreements are two-edged swords,” Fazıl Reşat Paşa said. “Nations like ours accept loans like life support, forgetting that when they have to be repaid it can bring a country to its knees. Wasn’t that just what happened to the mighty Ottoman? That aside, who’s taking over the foreign ministry?”

“Nobody has been named as a successor. The prime minister will be running the foreign ministry himself for a while.”

“I hope it will be someone you approve of,” said the paşa.

“No one cares what I think. I’ll simply have to carry on with my duties, serving whoever steps in.”

The old man got up, switched on the radio, and went back to the window.

Sabiha appeared at the end of the hallway carrying the white carnations. She walked into the dining room and picked up a crystal
vase from the sideboard. She looked flushed and rather sheepishly avoided looking at her father, saying only, “Look, Father, Macit bought us some flowers.” She walked to the kitchen to fill the vase with water. Fazıl Reşat Paşa didn’t even hear his daughter; he was concentrating on the road outside, waiting for his wife.

“Where the hell is that woman? It’s getting dark already,” he grumbled.

“Mother’s gone to her dressmaker Fazıla Hanım,” Sabiha shouted from the kitchen. “I don’t think she’ll finish early. I bet she’s going through every fashion magazine there.”

“Why does it have to take so long? It’s so dark outside.”

“Don’t worry, Father, Hacer is with her,” Sabiha said, walking back into the sitting room with the flowers. Suddenly the telephone rang and she rushed into the hall with the vase in her hand. Macit tried to eavesdrop when he heard her gasping, but he couldn’t hear what she was saying because of the radio.

A while later, Sabiha appeared at the sitting room door. Her cheeks, previously flushed, were as white as the flowers in the vase. She could hardly speak.

“Macit, Tarık’s on the phone. Tarık Arıca. He’d like to speak to you. Apparently the Gestapo took Rafo from the pharmacy and put him on a train with some others. They let him go later, as far as I can understand. My poor darling sister, what she must have gone through.”

“What’s that? What happened?” Fazıl Reşat Paşa asked as Macit jumped forward to catch the vase about to slip from Sabiha’s hands.

Husband and wife looked at each other but didn’t answer.

“What are you hiding from me?” asked the old man. “Don’t tell me something’s happened to Selva.” This was the first time he had mentioned his daughter’s name in years.

“Don’t you worry about Selva; she knows how to take care of herself,” Macit replied.

“Tarık wants to speak to you,” said Sabiha. Macit ran to the phone.

“Who’s that, Sabiha? Who’s on the phone?”

“It’s a friend of ours from Paris, Father. He’s the consul there, he’s got some news.”

“What news?”

“I don’t know exactly. I’m sure Macit will give us the details…”

“What happened to Selva, then?”

“As Macit said, she knows how to take care of herself. She’ll be all right; don’t worry. It seems the Germans got hold of Rafo, but then set him free.”

“What about the child?”

“You mean Fazıl?”

The old man didn’t reply.

“Fazıl’s all right. Everyone’s all right. Father! Your hands are shaking, please calm down. Mother should be back shortly; don’t let her see you this way. Please relax—do it for me, please.”

When Macit returned, he found Sabiha on her knees next to her father.

“Tarık says that the Alfandaris will probably be returning home soon.”

“The Alfandaris? You mean Selva?”

“All three of them.”

“Who persuaded them to do that?”

“I imagine this latest episode was the last straw.”

“When are they coming?”

“That’s not certain yet. Tarık said probably within a month.”

“We’ve got to find them somewhere to live, haven’t we?” said Sabiha.

“For whom?” asked Fazıl Reşat Paşa.

“For Selva, Father. It seems they are coming back.”

There was complete silence. Fazıl Reşat Paşa turned away to hide the tears in his eyes. He looked outside into the darkness.

ON THE TRAIN

The Gare de l’Est was chaotic. People rushed every which way, changing platforms. There were women dragging children, men trying to catch their trains, porters carrying baggage, confused foreigners—obviously tourists—and, most of all, soldiers. Young, innocent-faced men with squeaky boots moved in groups. They were all over the station, going to kill or be killed. People called to each other, some reunited, screaming with joy, others being separated and screaming with anguish. There were the sounds of bells ringing, whistles blowing, train wheels screeching on the rails, and soldiers marching monotonously. And different smells: that distinct, smoky smell of wet steam that fills one’s nostrils; the whiff of perfume from women passing by; the stench of sweat and garlic permeating the coarse clothes of peasants; and the acrid smell oozing from the bodies of the young soldiers. Hope and grief coexisted in this station.

Ferit was running toward the fifth carriage of a very long train, holding his wife’s hand tightly with one hand and carrying a rather large suitcase in the other. Two bags hung over his shoulders.

“Monsieur, please. Monsieur, have a look at this ticket.”

The conductor, whose cap came down to his eyebrows, looked at the ticket and grumbled, “What are you doing here, monsieur? Your platform is on the other side. Go down those stairs and across.”

Ferit turned around, dragging his wife by the hand.

“Wait, Ferit. Let go of my hand; you’ll make me fall,” complained Evelyn.

“I can’t do that, darling; can’t you see how crowded this place is? If I let go of your hand and lose you, I’ll never be able to find you again. Please try to keep up.”

They ran down the stairs hand in hand, across and up the next flight of stairs, and along the platform of another long train with steam coming out of the engine. Ferit noticed someone tall in the crowd who he thought looked like Rafael. He heaved a sigh of relief and slowed down. Ferit showed his ticket to another official standing by the door of a carriage.

“That one, farther along,” he said, pointing. They carried on walking. The difficult moment was approaching. It was Ferit’s duty to sort out the seating arrangements for the passengers, and he needed to get to the carriage quickly.

Ferit had been at the station overnight and met up with Evelyn early in the morning. Hikmet Özdoğan and Tarık had come to the station to take over the carriage and deal with the necessary formalities. The carriage had been connected to the very end of a train leaving for Berlin at nine o’clock in the morning. After completing the formalities, Hikmet Özdoğan left to go home. Ferit and Tarık decided to go into one of the all-night cafés and order coffee and cognac. Tarık was deep in thought.

“Don’t forget, Ferit,” he had said, “it’s very important that the garrison at the Turkish border is notified of your arrival in advance. Our officials in Bulgaria are supposed to let them know that you are on your way. I just hope that nothing goes wrong.”

“Everything will be fine, my friend. Don’t worry. I don’t see your problem.”

“The timing is very important. While you’re crossing the border, the garrison there will be having a soccer match with a neighboring garrison.”

“Oh my goodness!”

“Exactly. Such are the sensitive intricacies of diplomacy. It’s absolutely vital that the soldiers at the border have no knowledge of your crossing. God forbid, someone could spot something wrong with those passports, but if they are busy playing soccer, no one will notice anything.”

“Whew. Why all these precautions?”

“The Germans, of course; do you think it’s easy to flirt with the British and protect the Jews while making sure the Germans don’t turn against us?”

“Of course not. I do understand, my friend. May Allah be with you,” Ferit said. “Is there anything I can do to alert our garrison at the border?”

“I don’t think so. Your calling our embassy might be risky. We’ll try and sort it out with our colleagues in Bulgaria.”

They sat side by side drinking coffee and cognac, one after another, without talking much. Their friendship was relatively new, but they felt comfortable with each other, sharing their anxiety about the adventure ahead. Eventually, Tarık left Ferit alone with his thoughts. He saw his colorful and exciting early life flash before his eyes like the cascades of a waterfall.

Ferit had earned the nickname Smartass while studying at the Galatasaray lycée in Istanbul. Memories flashing through his mind revealed why he had earned the name. His life was full of successes and obsessions. He could turn his mind to anything—theater, music, law, mathematics. As well as academic success, he had turned
his attention to fighting for causes that he believed in. All this came to his mind now in this dirty café in Paris. He’d been studying in Paris in 1940 when Hitler invaded France and the Turkish government ordered all Turks to return. Because the war was waged by this lunatic, he had joined the secret Resistance organization to fight for humanity. No one knew how much longer all this would go on. The only sure thing was that he would be on the train bound for Berlin tomorrow. He had reached the point of no return, and everything crowded in on him at once.

As if this wasn’t enough, he stood waiting at the station for Evelyn to arrive, worrying how he was going to explain to her that they would be traveling in separate carriages.