Last Train to Istanbul (6 page)

Sabiha was asked to come from Ankara at once to try to help calm her father down and to persuade Selva to give up her obsession. Both she and Leman Hanım spent days on end trying to bring Selva to her senses.

Leman Hanım was beside herself. She couldn’t sleep at night and spent hours walking from room to room tearing at her hair.
How on earth did we come to this? Why the hell did I allow that snake to slither into my house? Why didn’t I see this coming?

Seeing her mother’s despair made Sabiha feel very guilty, but she didn’t have the strength to tell her mother the truth. If she had only been able to say, “It’s not your fault, Mother, it was me, I used Rafo to get Selva out of my way.” Just these few words would clear her conscience a little. She had even wished that she were a Catholic. If she were, it would simply be a matter of confession, accepting whatever penance was meted out by the priest. At least she would have been able to rid herself of this burden. Realizing that Selva was a lost cause, Sabiha turned her attention to her father. He felt that Sabiha had made a good choice and found an ideal husband, but she couldn’t even rejoice in that, knowing how she had gone about it.

Fazıl Reşat Paşa felt completely betrayed. He had brought up his daughters to be part of the modern world—exactly the same as if they’d been sons—as was expected by the new republic. They had had good educations, spoke several languages, and were fit to play active roles in society. But he was beginning to have second thoughts now. What exactly had he achieved, having such great ambitions for them? Hadn’t his eldest daughter married before she was nineteen, just like in the old days? As for the younger one—that wise, clever, quiet girl with personality to spare—hadn’t she betrayed him in the
cruelest way? This all seemed to be a terrible nightmare. What made it even worse was that Selva had used all the advice he had ever given her against him.

Fazıl Reşat Paşa realized he had been wrong; the only honorable thing an officer and gentleman could do was to pay with his own life. He felt sure that if Selva saw him dead she would realize how foolish she had been. Maybe she would change her mind if she saw that his only peace lay in his grave.

Selva wrote a note to her father saying that, as the family didn’t approve, she would not marry Rafo, but that she would not give him up. Fazıl Reşat Paşa went ahead with his suicide attempt, but it was foiled by Kalfa, who wrestled the gun from him, causing him to shoot himself in the shoulder.

This emotional blackmail annoyed Selva more than it frightened her. “It has become impossible to live in this city,” she told her sister. “We are going to live in France. His family is against our marriage too. We have no alternative under these circumstances.”

Leman Hanım swallowed her pride and sent word to Rafo, asking him to reconsider this move. The only real problem was his religion. Maybe he could convert to Islam. If he were to do that, then maybe they could persuade Fazıl Reşat Paşa to accept him into the family.

Selva didn’t give Rafo a chance to respond to this preposterous suggestion, telling her sister, “I’d rather give him up than ask him to change his religion for me. What sort of people are you? Can you imagine if the boot were on the other foot? How would you all feel if he asked me to change my religion to please his family?”

Macit was then asked to try to intervene. Maybe the young rebel would listen to her brother-in-law, because she loved him very much.

“Macit, I am sure you know about the Jewish way of life. They believe that the children should follow the mother’s religion.
Can you imagine what it would mean to them to have a daughter-in-law of a different religion? Oh, Macit, why is there all this fuss? Something that should bring joy has turned our lives into a nightmare.”

“Listen, Selva, we can talk about religion till the cows come home, but let’s first of all try to solve this problem. To begin with, why are you being so stubborn about asking Rafo to convert to Islam?”

“It’s a matter of principle, Macit; we fell in love knowing exactly where we came from. Everyone has the right to their own beliefs. Had he asked me to convert, I would have been hurt and angry myself. No! Rafo will never change his religion! Please give my apologies to my father.”

“You should apologize yourself. Give it another try. Speak to him.”

“He refuses to see me.”

In despair, Leman Hanım, caught between a stubborn husband and an equally stubborn daughter, broke down and sobbed. “Let her marry the Jew! God forbid we should have to bear the shame of our daughter living as someone’s mistress.”

Selva and Rafo were married that September at the Beyoğlu registry office in Istanbul, in the presence of two witnesses and a handful of friends. After the ceremony the small group dined at the Pera Palace Hotel, where the young couple spent the night before leaving for Paris by train the next morning. None of Rafo’s family was at the station, but Leman Hanım and Sabiha were there on the platform to say good-bye. Leman Hanım chose to ignore Rafo but waved to Selva as the train pulled away. Selva returned their waves. Her outward calm covered her inner turmoil. The three women continued waving to each other until the train was out of sight.

On the way home, Sabiha felt a sudden sharp pain, as if she were being stabbed by a knife. The sister she had been jealous of
for all those years had disappeared in the black smoke of the train. No more rivalry, no more sharing their parents’ affections, no more sharing her husband’s admiration. They were all hers, now that Selva would be hundreds of miles away. Strangely, instead of feeling relieved, Sabiha felt inconsolably sad.

About a month later, Sabiha was again called back to Istanbul. Leman Hanım had had an acute attack of asthma as well as uncontrollably high blood pressure. Both parents had been continuously ill—one after the other—since Selva’s departure. They seemed to be falling apart at the seams. If it wasn’t blood pressure, it was chest pains; if it wasn’t chest pains, it was rheumatism; one thing after another. Each time there was a problem, Sabiha came from Ankara on the night train and remained until her parents had recovered.

When she returned to Ankara, Sabiha took off her nurse’s hat and put on that of a diplomat’s wife, carrying out her duties. The cocktail parties, dinners, and receptions she once enjoyed dressing up for now became a chore. She continued to attend them, but she no longer enjoyed being part of the crowd. She was permanently miserable, guilty at having been the culprit; yes, she was the devil that had imposed all the pain and turmoil on her family for her own ends. Time and again, she tried to discuss the matter with Macit, but he would only say that she wasn’t to blame; her bullheaded sister would never change her mind, whatever they said. It was obvious that he was bored of the subject. What had happened had happened. What was the use of opening up old wounds?

ANKARA

Sabiha had made a few friends in Ankara, especially among the mothers at her daughter’s school. There were also the wives of her husband’s colleagues, most of whom had been raised in Istanbul too. These ladies would often get together to play bezique or bridge. In fact, Sabiha had her own bridge group. But since Selva had married and left for Paris, more often than not she preferred to stay at home and read a book or play the piano. She was almost scared that if she went along, the inevitable gossip session would turn to Selva, and she didn’t want to face their questions.

Leman Hanım, despite her various ailments, was better at dealing with the gossipmongers. Whenever the subject was raised in her presence, she would simply say, “Our daughter went ahead with her own life, although we obviously didn’t approve. We may be apart but we certainly include her in our prayers. There is nothing more to say on the subject.”

Sabiha would react to this by thinking, That’s OK for you, Mother. You have no reason to have a guilty conscience.

Sabiha’s best and most trusted friend in Ankara was one of Macit’s young clerks, Tarık Arıca.

Tarık was born in Malatya in eastern Anatolia; he went to primary school there, then secondary school and then the lycée in Sivas, all of which gave him a good grounding for the Istanbul School of Political Sciences, where his excellent results enabled him to join the ministry. He was very bright, eager to learn, and gained rapid promotions. The only problem was his lack of languages, but he was determined to put this right. He took weekend classes in French and studied very hard. Having heard from Macit that Sabiha spoke very good French, he asked if she could help him and she gladly agreed. If he hadn’t any commitments in the evening, he would visit the house and sit and talk to Sabiha in French until dinnertime. Selva would send French magazines to her sister and she in turn would pass them on to Tarık and help him solve the French crosswords. Sabiha grew to love this bright, calm, honest young man; he hadn’t an ounce of prejudice or malice in him. In a way Sabiha felt that Tarık and Selva were very similar in character. One day she plucked up enough courage to tell Tarık about Selva’s scandal. What a relief to be able to tell someone; what a weight off her mind. Maybe her depression was caused from trying to hide the truth. If only Macit wouldn’t stop her talking about it. Macit had behaved this way in order to stop his wife from getting upset. What he hadn’t realized was that she needed to open the floodgates; she needed to cry, stamp, and kick to release all her pent-up tension. Now that she had such a good, trusted listener as Tarık, she was relieved. He had read between the lines and he understood the problem entirely. He hadn’t asked painful questions; he had just listened. Tarık never spoke to Macit on this subject. This was between Sabiha and Tarık alone.

AN OVERSEAS POSTING

Macit entered the ground-floor meeting room at the foreign ministry to find his colleagues chatting around the table. The foreign minister soon joined them and the meeting began officially.

For some time now, Britain had been urging Turkey to declare war on Italy and form a front line with Yugoslavia and Greece. President Inönü had continually dragged his feet to avoid getting involved in this conflict. Now Britain had sent another communiqué. The British requested that Turkey declare publicly that, if the Germans invaded Bulgaria, Turkey would consider that as an attack on herself. Furthermore, Britain asked Turkey to send troops to some of the Greek islands in order to stop the Germans from attacking them.

After reading the note, those around the table began offering their opinions.

“Our president doesn’t agree with any of it,” said the foreign minister, “and I totally agree with him. Taking such actions—albeit with good intentions—may be interpreted wrongly.”

“But sir, we wouldn’t be sending our troops to invade the islands, we’d be providing protection from the Germans,” one of the delegates said.

“I know the president doesn’t want to have the slightest confrontation with the Greeks,” interrupted the minister. “We may have the best of intentions, but the Greeks may misunderstand this. We shouldn’t risk any possibility of conflict with our neighbors in these heated times. When Hitler attacked the Balkans, Turkey and Greece began the most amicable relationship in their history. This relationship shouldn’t be jeopardized under any circumstances.”

“There is another thing we should consider,” said Macit. “If we send troops to Greece, Hitler will attack us immediately. How are we to defend ourselves then? The Allies haven’t even provided us with the arms they promised.”

“And I have doubts they ever will,” said the foreign minister.

Britain had signed an agreement with Greece pledging to defend her if she was attacked, but when the Italians did attack, all the British did was send two aircraft squadrons.

“We signed an agreement with them in Paris, but, as Macit has just pointed out, so far nothing has come of it,” said the prime minister. “They haven’t been able to deliver any of the promised arms.”

“That, despite the fact that you pointed out the importance of having a well-equipped army in Turkey to dissuade attacks on the Balkans, sir,” said Macit, turning to the foreign minister.

“They didn’t keep to the agreement—not because they didn’t want to, but because they couldn’t,” the foreign minister said. “Maybe this is a blessing in disguise. Since they haven’t delivered the goods, we don’t have to abide by our side of the agreement either.”