by Suat Dervis
As he approached their building, he glanced anxiously up at their windows. The ones in the front were all dark. Walking inside, he told himself she must have retired to one of the back rooms.
He leaned on the doorbell. The moment the door opened, he asked if his wife had returned. Sullen with annoyance at having been summoned so rudely, the janitor told him she had not.
At this news, Ahmet’s heart seized up. It did not occur to him to apologize to the janitor. He assumed that the man was looking grim because he shared Ahmet’s concern.
“It’s almost ten,” he said. “My wife still hasn’t come home. I’m mad with worry. I’ve just been to the police station, to find out if there have been any accidents. They checked, and there haven’t been. God forbid anything has happened to her. But I just can’t imagine what’s kept her.”
The janitor frowned.
“Don’t worry. She’ll be back soon, sir, I’m sure!” With that he went downstairs and back to bed, much faster than he’d come up.
“She’ll be back. Yes, she will. She’ll come soon. But where is she now?”
Suddenly it occurred to him that Celile might have gone to her uncle’s.
Only yesterday, she’d been talking about a phone call from her cousin Şükran.
“Has my wife come back?” he asked the maid.
Did he really expect her to say yes?
“She hasn’t come back, sir,” the maid replied. “In the whole time I’ve worked here, she’s never come back later than half past eight.
“That’s when she always comes home,” she continued. “At half past eight.”
How strange! Why would she come back at the same time every evening? As if she had a job…
He didn’t have time for the maid’s nonsense. He made for the sitting room, closing the door behind him.
“Every evening, at half past eight.” So Celile had friends who kept her out every evening until half past eight. Though he’d never known her to be sociable.
Had he been wrong about this? Whoever it was she spent her time with—they must have convinced her to stay with them a little longer.
He was always coming home late himself, wasn’t he?
She wasn’t a big talker.
But perhaps she’d grown tired of spending so many evenings alone.
Maybe she’d stayed out late tonight on purpose, to show him how it felt to have to sit at home waiting.
Where could she have been all this time? At her uncle’s? Yes, perhaps.
He rushed over to the phone. One of Celile’s cousins answered.
“Hello? Hello? Am I speaking to Şükran? What’s happened? Tell me my dear girl. Is Celile with you? What? No, she left the house at half past four, and she’s still not back. Yes, you’re right. It’s very late, and she’s still not back, and I’m beside myself with worry.”
“…”
“No, dear girl. She didn’t say where she was going.”
“…”
“Yes, I thought that, too. And I made enquiries…There haven’t been any accidents today. But still, I can’t stop worrying.”
“…”
“Of course, of course. She’s never stayed away before. Not even for one night.”
“…”
“Dear God! Heaven forbid!”
“…”
“No. No! Are you crazy? We’ve never had a single argument! Not one! Not that, either. Unless she’s complained to you? No, please, tell me straight. Has she been complaining about me? If she has, I’d be shocked.”
“…”
“Of course she hasn’t. I know that. Are you saying you weren’t speaking? Not that this could ever happen between us…”
“…”
“Every couple. What do you mean, every couple? Dear God, Şükran, do you think we are just any couple?”
“…”
“…What did you say? I don’t understand. Yes…”
“…”
“My mother?…No, I haven’t asked them. Let me ask now. But they don’t have a phone.”
“…”
“Yes, that’s a good idea. Let me call the police. Actually, let me get the Beyoğlu Police Station to call them and send someone out. That’s an excellent idea. Thank you. She must have gone to see my mother. And then missed the last ferry back. But if that was what happened, why didn’t she call me?
“Let’s hope so. Let’s hope. I’ll let you know as soon as I have news.
“No…No…I won’t forget. Whatever time it is, I’ll let you know.”
This was the answer relayed to Ahmet from Erenköy Police Station: “The lady is not at the house in question.”
This was getting worse and worse. How could Celile stay away, and on such a night, for no reason?
What now? Desperate for a friendly voice, he again dialed Celile’s uncle’s number.
“Hello. Hello. Şükran, is it you?”
“What’s happened, Ahmet? Any news?”
“Dear girl. She’s not at my mother’s either.”
“Oh no. Now I’m as worried as you are. It’s driving me mad! What shall we do?”
“I don’t know.”
At a quarter past twelve, the Beyoğlu Police Station called.
“Could you come in as soon as possible?”
“Is it an accident?”
“An incident. Please come in. No, it cannot be discussed on the phone. You must come right in.”
At the station, the superintendent filled him in.
Just beyond the liqueur factory at Mecidiyeköy, they’d found an overturned car, and inside had been a woman who’d been shot in the head. They now wanted him to accompany them to the site of the incident.
Ahmet’s head was ready to explode.
Could this be Celile?
Seeing that he looked like he was about to faint, they tried to comfort him.
“The poor woman hasn’t yet been identified. We just thought you should take a look. But—God forbid. We just need to make sure it’s not your wife.”
She definitely wasn’t Celile. But how terrifying it was to set eyes on her after that long, cold journey through the night. It was clear from her clothes that she was a loose woman. She was lying on the ground, stone dead, with her dress hitched up and an arm thrown out, and her eyes blank.
It was the first time he’d ever seen a dead body. It was a shock, but this was the only horror the night brought him, and it would only unsettle him for a few days.
From the moment they’d set eyes on this heavily made-up woman with her rumpled dress, stretched out on the road as if relaxing for the first time in her life, the police had been in no doubt that this was not the wife of Ahmet the industrialist.
Ahmet could not bear to look.
If Celile had been in an accident, she could be lying on some other road, just like this.
“I have no idea where my wife could be,” he murmured.
“God forbid anything should have happened to her.”
Back at home, the maids were waiting for him. They’d heard the phone call. While they waited to hear about the dead woman on the Mecidiyeköy Road, they’d been trying to guess how and why this murder had been committed.
When the janitor let Ahmet inside, he was full of concern, having forgotten his earlier annoyance: “What’s happened, sir? Has the lady been found?”
When they heard the doorbell ring, the maids burst into tears. They were probably expecting him to walk in with a corpse.
“Oh, sir!” they cried. “What’s happened to our poor lady?”
“What?” he said. “Are you crazy? Nothing’s happened to her! She’s probably stayed over with a friend. What’s wrong with you? Stop crying!”
“The woman they found in Mecidiyeköy…”
“A prostitute. A
stranger. God forbid. The lady probably went to visit a friend. And then missed the last ferry. And stayed over. She’ll be back in the morning.” As he headed for the sitting room, he cried, “Get me a cognac!”
He couldn’t sit. He paced back and forth while he drank one cognac after another. His knees were still shaking. The trip to Mecidiyeköy had left him feeling chilled. Chilled to the bone by the sight of that woman’s corpse.
He couldn’t rid himself of the image of Celile lying dead like that, on some other road.
But where?
He wanted to scream.
He couldn’t bear this any longer. He wanted to tear his hair out.
“Where could she have gone? What has happened to her?”
At two in the morning the phone rang again. Şükran.
“Uncle, you never called. We can’t sleep either. What’s the news?”
“No news.”
He told her about his trip to Mecidiyeköy.
“It was terrifying,” he said. “I was scared out of my wits.”
Out of my wits.
“Try not to worry, Uncle. She probably went somewhere. Somewhere without a phone. There could be so many reasons. She’ll probably be back in the morning. Don’t worry. But the moment you hear anything, don’t forget to call.”
“I’ll call you the moment I hear something.”
He must have smoked a hundred cigarettes that night.
His eyes were burning.
At three in the morning, he made another call to the police. The officer on duty was losing his patience.
“Rest assured, sir. The moment we hear anything, we’ll call you. Don’t worry.”
After putting down the phone, Ahmet sat still in his chair for a time. His mind blank.
Nothing mattered anymore.
His work. His precious silos. His profits. His partners, and his schemes for future profits raised by them. None of it mattered.
If something had happened to Celile…
If he lost her…But why would he lose her?
“No! No! Nothing could happen to Celile. Death could never claim her…”
Death…
He jumped to his feet. Began again to pace the room. Rang the bell. Asked the maid for a coffee.
Yes, he was on the verge of madness now. Thinking about that corpse, and Celile.
Death and Celile! Impossible to hold those two words together.
A great weight pressing down on the world.
A mercy just to draw a breath.
When the girl came in with his coffee, he asked, “Were there nights when I was away when the lady didn’t come home?”
“No, sir. She came home every night at half past eight.”
“So tell me, my girl. Where could she have gone today? Where was she going every day?”
“I don’t know, sir. The lady never told us where she was going.”
Suddenly he had a new idea. She was very fond of the old family servants. She was always going out to the Bosphorus to see them.
The sky was beginning to brighten. He went to the window to look down at the street.
A single night of worry had ripped him to shreds.
His fat face had grown pale, and much uglier.
He just stood there, biting his pale lips. He might have been praying. But he was only talking to himself.
He was watching the city through sad and anxious eyes. This city that had swallowed up his wife.
Then the phone rang, and he almost jumped out of his skin.
His heart almost stopped beating.
They were probably calling him from the station again. This time they would have something to tell him.
They’d found another woman in some unknown place, lying on the road with her dress hitched up, and her arms outstretched, and her face disfigured by shame and fear. And this time that woman would be Celile.
He picked up the phone…And soon his expression had changed. He couldn’t believe his ears.
It wasn’t the police. It was Muhsin, and he was talking about Celile.
In a daze, he put down the phone. Celile wasn’t dead!
The nightmare was over. Celile was still alive.
What a relief to know that she was safe! She just didn’t want to come home.
That made no sense, though.
Celile didn’t want to come home, and it was Muhsin who had called to tell him. What could this mean?
His head throbbed.
His mind refused to put these two facts together.
He needed to speak to Muhsin face-to-face. At once.
THIRTEEN
The office had only just opened. The bellboy had yet to arrive, and the elevator was still shut.
The man in the little room next to the front door was busy lighting his stove.
When Ahmet asked him if Muhsin Beyefendi had arrived yet, he said, “Yes, he’s waiting for you in his office.”
Ahmet raced up the stairs.
Reaching Muhsin’s offices on the second floor, he found the door open. He knew where to find Muhsin, so he went straight in. He rapped a nervous fist against the double doors.
“Come in!”
It was a large room, well lit and decorated in a contemporary style.
Large armchairs around a large coffee table. A smaller cigarette table.
Muhsin was not at his desk. He was standing in front of the window, looking out. His face had a chalky pallor. It was clear that he was in a heightened state, but struggling to hide it.
In a harsh, dry voice, he said: “Welcome.”
Ahmet blanched. “Celile,” he moaned. “Muhsin Bey, just tell me, please. Where is Celile? What’s happened to her? I just don’t understand!”
“Please be calm, Ahmet Bey,” said Muhsin. “We have matters to discuss, but first you need to be calm.”
He gestured towards a chair. “Why don’t you sit down?”
“How can I be calm,” Ahmet asked, “until I’ve heard the whole story?” He collapsed into the chair.
Muhsin sat down across from him.
He knew what he had to do, but it wasn’t going to be easy.
But he was certain that this was the most appropriate way to handle the situation.
Even if the man took it the wrong way, Muhsin would still have the chance to nip any chance of scandal in the bud.
Had he put it into a letter, or whatever, he would have run a greater risk of Ahmet overreacting.
This way was bolder, and also more difficult. But it was also more honest and direct.
But from the moment of setting eyes on Ahmet, whose face was green and who seemed to have aged twenty years overnight, he could feel his courage and his calm seeping away.
For a moment, he felt something akin to compassion towards the man. This he could not afford.
“May I offer you a cigarette?”
“Thank you…But…”
He couldn’t finish the sentence. Mechanically, he reached out and took a cigarette from the offered case.
Muhsin took out a cigarette for himself. Then he lit them both.
He did so to gain a bit of time.
For his mind had gone blank.
He’d prepared his speech on the way over. But now he couldn’t remember a word of it.
As he looked into the pleading, doglike eyes of this fatso sitting across from him, he suddenly felt out of his depth.
Until this moment, he’d looked down on Ahmet. He’d not given him the slightest importance.
A man like that—a man who dangled his wife as bait for his get-rich-quick schemes—it was best to be blunt.
This was what he had planned to do.
But now, seeing what a wreck Ahmet was after just one night without the woman who was now his, Muhsin could see that it w
as not going to be as easy as he thought, and he felt some shame.
The fact remained that he’d called this man in. It was too late to change his mind now!
So he took a deep breath and then launched into his speech.
“You are right, Ahmet Bey. It is a very grave matter you and I must discuss, so let me get straight to the point.”
“What are you going to tell me?”
Ahmet knew now what he was about to hear. But he didn’t want to hear it. He wanted to jump up and run away, as fast as his feet could take him.
But Muhsin had now composed himself. “Celile and I,” he said. “We love each other.”
“What?”
Blood came rushing to Ahmet’s pale face. Who did this man think he was? Did he have no morals? No honor? What sort of man stole another man’s wife? And then had the nerve to say it to his face?
“What exactly are you trying to tell me? Huh?”
Muhsin had turned scarlet. He swallowed hard.
“Who do you think I am?” Ahmet bellowed. “How dare you spout nonsense like this to my face? To me, Celile’s husband? What gives you the right?”
Muhsin struggled to stay calm.
“Ahmet Bey,” he replied. “I have dared to speak to you openly because I do not like lying. We are all civilized people. It wouldn’t have been honest to do this any other way.”
Punching the armchair, Ahmet jumped to his feet.
“Do you have any idea what I could do to you?”
Suddenly dizzy, he fell back into his chair.
He put his hands over his eyes.
Muhsin had stood up at the same time, uncertain what Ahmet intended in playing the jealous husband.
No, it was the right thing to speak openly to this man. A moment of weakness, but now it had passed. Time to move on.
“Ahmet Bey. When Celile and I fell in love, our first concern was to ensure there be no injury to our dignity. Celile does not wish to return home, but to preserve your good name, I can promise to keep her in a separate apartment until your divorce is final. I think you will agree that this is the proper thing to do. We both have our reputations to think about. Let’s not open up our private lives for all to see. By arranging matters among the three of us, we can avoid scandal. That is why I thought it would be better to speak to you directly than to convey the news by other means, or put it in a letter. The decision has been made, Ahmet Bey. From here on in, Celile wishes to live with me, not you. You are a realist. You must accept that this is how things are. Yes, you must agree. This is the most reasonable course of action. Anything else would bring all three of us a great deal of unwelcome attention. You now need to ask your lawyer to speak to Celile’s lawyer. They can agree how best to expedite the divorce.”
