“Fyodor Dostoyevsky says that one can only reach maturity through suffering. In this sense Istanbul is very important to me; it was here that I reached maturity.”
Then he went on to talk about the state of the world today, and the idea being put forth by many about a clash of civilizations between East and West, or more specifically between the Islamic world and the Christian world. He talked about the tensions from which civilization had emerged, the tensions between the need for cohesion and the need for exchange. From the beginning, man as a social animal has had a need for identity as a member of a group, and a principal means for group identity is exclusion of others. We compete with other groups for resources, and we strengthen our identity by dehumanizing our competitors. Yet at the same time, all civilization and progress grows from the exchange of ideas and goods. He continued with a list of historical examples, reaching the conclusion that the idea of a clash of civilizations was based on the false view that there were or had ever been different civilizations. There were different cultures, but in fact only one civilization, and that the greatest threat to civilization was cultural prejudice and hatred. The irony of our time was that the more knowledge we gained and the more our technology advanced, the greater the scale of our barbarity toward one another became.
My summary doesn’t do the professor’s talk justice. He spoke with great eloquence, passion, and clarity. Indeed, I felt a sense of pride that this man, my guest, for whom I had somehow developed a sense of ownership (though I hardly knew him, I’d only met him yesterday, and couldn’t presume to call him a friend), was making such an impression. I glanced around to see how people were responding to him, and got a sudden shock. The three men I’d seen in the white Renault were at the back of the hall, and the man who’d been behind the wheel was taking notes.
I’d wondered several times who these men might be. The fact that they took no pains to conceal that they were following Wagner had led me to think that they might be some sort of security detail, though I couldn’t imagine why Wagner might need protection, unless an extremist group of some kind had made a threat against him for something he’d said or written. Yet from the first time I’d noticed them, my sense was that they weren’t there to protect but rather to intimidate. Now, their presence in the lecture hall, and the fact that one of them was taking notes, left me in no doubt that they were secret police of some kind.
As we drove back to the hotel in silence, I found myself wondering who Professor Wagner was, and why the government might see him as a threat. Why would they be worried about someone who hadn’t been here for almost sixty years? Meanwhile, Wagner himself had closed his eyes and seemed exhausted.
When we left him at the hotel, I said, “You seem tired, professor, you should get some rest.”
He nodded in agreement. “Yes, but there’s something I’d like to ask of you.”
“Yes, what can I do?”
“I won’t be offended if you refuse, but…Would you have dinner with me this evening, Maya?”
I was surprised, both by the invitation and because he’d addressed me by name for the first time.
“I don’t know…My son’s at home…”
“Don’t worry about it. And thank you very much for everything.”
After doffing his hat with a slight bow, he turned and started walking toward the hotel. Just as he was going through the door, I called out, “Professor!”
“Yes?” he answered softly.
“What time shall we eat?”
He thought for a moment and asked, “Is eight all right?”
“Fine. Would you like to eat at the hotel or somewhere else?”
“If you don’t mind, let’s eat here.”
As I got into the Mercedes I glanced around instinctively for the Renault, but it wasn’t there. As we moved off, I suddenly felt very tired. But my day wasn’t close to being over yet. I still had a lot of work to get done, and then there was the hellish commute home. Then on top of that, I had to come back to the hotel. As I was thinking these things and feeling sorry for myself, I looked up and happened to see Süleyman’s face in the mirror. For the first time, I thought about how difficult his life must be. Spending his life in traffic, dealing with privileged, entitled people. He made even less money than I did, he lived in worse conditions, and he had a young child to support.
“I’ve been thinking,” I said, “I’ve had some dealings with the head of maintenance, I could go talk to him and see if there’s anywhere he could place your cousin. You have a good record, and if you’re willing to vouch for him…”
He looked at me in the mirror. It took a moment for it to sink in, and then he smiled broadly.
“Bless you, ma’am. He has three children and he’s been out of work for a while. And I can certainly vouch for him. I know he’ll work hard.”
“OK, I’ll have a word with him as soon as I get a chance.”
Then, as we turned onto Tarlabaşı Boulevard, I said, “Listen, Süleyman, I have to do some work with the professor this evening, I’d appreciate it if you could drive me home.”
“No problem, ma’am,” he said happily. “It would be my pleasure.”
I got out at the corner, went to the kebab shop, and ordered a large portion of Kerem’s favorite kebab. Then I went to the grocery store and bought some fruit and some chocolate ice cream. Just having this little bit of extra time for myself was such a joy, I felt like a child skipping school.
When I got home I was surprised to find that Kerem was asleep. All those sleepless nights must have caught up to him. I stood for a while and watched him sleep, and felt a strong wave of tenderness. Then I reached out and stroked his head. This was something he would never allow me to do when he was awake. What was happening to him was breaking my heart, but there was nothing I could do. I’d taken him to three different doctors, but to no avail. He just kept drifting farther and farther away from me.
I put away the food and took a shower, and then, wrapped in my bathrobe, went back to Kerem’s room. I noticed a light blinking on his computer and, assuming he’d left it on, went to turn it off. I touched a key and the screen lit up, and what I saw took the heart right out of me. There on the screen, in block capitals, the same phrase was written over and over again.
I DON’T WANT TO LIVE ANYMORE
I DON’T WANT TO LIVE ANYMORE
I DON’T WANT TO LIVE ANYMORE
I DON’T WANT TO LIVE ANYMORE
I DON’T WANT TO LIVE ANYMORE
I DON’T WANT TO LIVE ANYMORE
“Are you messing around with my computer?”
I was too startled by his voice to respond right away, and I guiltily moved my hand away from the computer.
“No,” I said, “you left it on and I was just going to turn it off.”
Kerem reached for the mouse. “I’ll turn it off,” he murmured.
With quick, practiced movements, he clicked a few times. He also clicked “no” on the box asking whether he wanted the document saved or not. I couldn’t keep myself from putting my arms around him. He tried to push me away, but I wouldn’t let him
“You know that I love you, don’t you? That I love you with all my heart.”
He didn’t answer.
“I’d do anything in the world to make you happy.”
“Leave me alone.”
“I’m not going to leave you alone. I need you.”
What did I mean when I said I needed him? What was I saying to the boy?
Words I hadn’t even formed in my mind began to tumble out of my mouth.
“I’m in trouble. I need you.”
He stopped pushing me and asked quietly, “What’s happened?”
“They’re following me.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know who they are. Three men in a white Renault!”
“Why?”
>
“I don’t know that either. There’s this American professor, I think it has to do him. I’m scared.”
I saw that even though I hadn’t intended to, I’d aroused his interest.
“I have to meet this American professor for dinner this evening. Make sure the door is locked and don’t open it for anyone. Take a look out the window every once in a while and check if there’s a white Renault outside.”
Kerem nodded and sat up.
“They might try to get into the house when I’m gone, but I have every confidence that you’ll be able to scare them off.”
He took something from the drawer of his bedside table.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Brass knuckles.”
When he realized I didn’t understand, he explained: “If you hit someone with this, it’ll break their chin. Their chin will shatter!”
I felt alarmed. What was this thing doing in my son’s drawer?
“Why did you buy this?”
“To deal with the bullies at school.”
He spoke so earnestly that I felt a pang in my heart. The make-believe about the dangerous men in the white Renault had engaged him and brought him out of his depression, but the brass knuckles were a reality. He was being bullied and felt powerless and frustrated. No wonder he wanted to live in a fantasy world.
“I’ve just thought of something else!”
I went to my bedroom, took out the can of mace I kept in my bag, and brought it to him.
“If they do come, spray this in their eyes!”
This cheered him up even more. “Can I keep this?”
I knew he wanted to take it to school.
“You know it’s not allowed, don’t you?”
“What isn’t?”
“You’re not allowed to take this to school.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t show it to anyone.”
“All right.”
I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, and this time he didn’t push me away. Then I went and heated his kebab in the microwave and set the table. When the smell of the kebab began to fill the kitchen I felt a sense of joy. Something so normal, so ordinary, as putting hot food on the table for my son almost brought tears to my eyes. When it was ready I only had to call him once and he came to the kitchen right away.
“You have to finish it all,” I said. “We’re getting ready for war, and you have to keep up your strength.”
While he was eating I went to my bedroom and got out my black dress. It was a bit low-cut, but if I wore my necklace…
The necklace? Yes, but I hadn’t worn it for years…
It was in the safe in the closet. Why had I thought of the necklace now? It didn’t matter, I just felt like wearing it. I opened the safe and slowly took the necklace out of the maroon velvet pouch. The diamonds and rubies seemed to glow, and when I put the necklace on and looked in the mirror, I felt alive. Then I put on my makeup and stepped back and looked at myself again.
* * *
—
I need to get up and walk around a little. You’re supposed to do this on long flights to avoid deep vein thrombosis. And I don’t want to fall asleep either. I have to keep writing until we land in Boston.
CHAPTER 3
The grand Louis XVI dining room was almost empty, and the professor and I sat at a small table near the back. He was very polite and correct and a bit distant, and pretended not to notice how dressed-up I was, which made me feel a little embarrassed. After we’d taken our seats there was an awkward silence, and I struggled to find something to talk about.
“You mentioned that you used to meet your friends at the bar here.”
“Yes, mostly Germans like myself.”
“Was there a German community here then?”
“Well, you could say that there were two German communities. One was made up of Jewish and anti-Nazi refugees, and the other of Germans who supported or actively worked for the Nazis. I preferred to associate with the anti-Nazi group who gathered here. The others used to meet at the Teutonia Club just below Tünel Square. Goebbels himself visited the Teutonia once, and they made a big fuss over him.”
“I imagine there was considerable tension between the two groups.”
“That would be an understatement. It was a very tense time here. The world was at war, and even though Turkey was neutral, the war was being played out here too. Almost every community was split. The pro-Nazi Germans were much more powerful and influential than we were, and we always felt under pressure from them. For instance we used to meet at the Tokatlıyan Hotel as well, but we stopped going there when the Austrian manager began flying the Nazi flag outside the front entrance.”
“It’s hard for me to imagine a Nazi flag flying on Istıklal Avenue.”
“That wasn’t the only place. You could see quite a few Nazi flags in Istanbul then. The Nazis had some influential Turkish supporters as well.”
“What kind of pressure did they put on you?”
“Well, for one, there were quite a few Gestapo agents operating fairly openly. They knew who was actively anti-fascist, and they watched them and did what they could to intimidate them. We heard that once they even threatened a Turkish cinema owner who was showing anti-fascist films.”
“But how could they get away with that?”
The professor shrugged and threw up his hands.
“As I said, they had a lot of influence. The Turkish government was terrified the German army might invade. But they were also terrified that the Russians might invade, and they wanted to have German support in case they did.”
“We learned a little about that time in school, but not much. It sounds like the Nazis were practically running Istanbul.”
“Well, hardly. The British, Americans, and Russians had agents here, too, and they were doing everything they could to influence the Turkish government and people. I knew that a number of my German friends were communists, and I was almost certain that a few of them were working for the Russians. I didn’t know any of the British or American agents, but we all knew that they were here and what they were up to.”
“What were they up to?”
“Well, to tell the truth I don’t know all of it, probably not even half of it. But everyone knew that they were giving logistical support to the partisans in Greece. Then there was the chromium. Turkey was exporting chromium to Germany. They did their best to find out which trains were carrying chromium so the partisans could blow them up when they passed through Greece. I only found out later about what was happening in Ankara. The famous Cicero affair and all that.”
“The Cicero affair?”
“You don’t know about the Cicero affair? They made a movie about it, with James Mason. I think it was called Five Fingers.”
“James Mason?”
“Sorry. When you get old, time just slips away. I still think of it as a recent movie, but I realize it must have come out long before you were born. It must have been the early fifties.”
“So what was the Cicero affair?”
“Cicero was the code name for Elyesa Bazna, an Albanian from Kosovo who worked as a valet for the British ambassador Sir Hughe Knatchbull-Hugessen in Ankara. The ambassador was in the habit of bringing secret documents home, and Cicero managed to break into the safe and begin photographing them. Some sources claim that he was working with someone else who helped him locate and photograph the documents, but if this is true, this person was never identified. Anyway, Bazna approached an attaché at the German embassy, a man named Ludwig Moyzisch, and in 1943 he became a paid German agent code named Cicero.
“It’s believed that the initial information he gave the Germans concerned plans for air raids on the Romanian oil fields, in which case he was responsible for the deaths of hundreds of British Royal Air Force crews. The RAF went to great lengths to keep the G
ermans from even guessing when and where air raids in the Balkans would take place, but on several occasions the Germans seemed to know exactly when and where they would strike, and they lost a lot of planes.
“There’s been some suggestion, though, that Cicero was actually a double agent. That is, he was working for the British from the beginning, and they passed accurate information through him to increase his credibility with the Germans. Or else the British found out about what he was doing and either turned him or fed him false information without his knowledge. If they did find out what Cicero was up to, it was probably through their own spy in the German embassy, a clerk, and also the daughter of the German consul, named Nele Kapp, who was a secret anti-Nazi. Anyway, if Cicero was a double agent he was very likely used in Operation Double Cross, which was a very elaborate trick to get the Germans to believe the Allied invasion would be through the Balkans rather than Normandy.”
“What happened to Cicero in the end?”
“Well, the Germans gave him £300,000, but when he tried to use the money to start a business after the war it turned out to be counterfeit. He was so indignant about this that he actually tried to sue the West German government, but of course he didn’t get anywhere. He spent the rest of his life here in Istanbul, giving singing lessons and selling secondhand books. In fact he had his book stall very near here, in the courtyard of the Narmanlı Han on Istıklal Avenue, near Tünel Square.”
“Oh yes, I know the building. That’s quite a story.”
“As I said, I didn’t know any of this at the time. But it does illustrate what the atmosphere was like here. Everyone was suspicious of everyone, you never knew when to believe whether people were actually who and what they said they were. The person you were having a drink with could be a spy, or a double or even a triple agent.”
Serenade for Nadia Page 4
