In the Shadow of the Yali

by Suat Dervis

  From time to time, and like all women in love, Celile still believed that Muhsin loved her, and loved her with all his heart.

  But more often it seemed to her that he was drifting away.

  This, she thought, was why he did not speak about marriage.

  It filled her with dread to think that his love might be waning.

  There were times—times when she was nestling against his chest—when she could still feel the full force of his passion. But even more, she could feel the force of habit.

  And she wasn’t wrong.

  That was because Muhsin felt his love taking root.

  He didn’t just love Celile now.

  He didn’t just feel passion. He had also grown accustomed to her.

  So much so that he had no eyes for any other woman.

  Her scent. Her clothes. The color of her lipstick. The waves in her hair and the heat coming off her skin. The way she wrapped her fingers around the handle when she was passing him a cup of coffee. He could look at them forever.

  She had become a presence. And so she would remain.

  He still loved Celile, very dearly.

  He wanted to be with her, and only her, forever.

  If he was to live or work, he would need Celile at his side.

  But there was something else he was just as sure about. He would never find the strength to present her to the world as his wife.

  After the year Ahmet had spent dragging their names in the dirt, it would be too shaming.

  Muhsin wanted everyone to forget that he and Ahmet had ever shared a woman.

  As much as Muhsin loved Celile, he could not bring himself to marry Ahmet’s discard.

  But deep down inside him, there was also something else.

  Muhsin had never trusted this woman. And he never would. There were, to be sure, times when his doubts were numbed, but those moments quickly passed. His suspicions never left him.

  True—she had left her husband and entrusted herself to him. But what if she had been led by more than just her heart? What if she was still after his money?

  She might be like a child, but she was not so much of a child as to have failed to notice the difference between an arriviste like Ahmet and a man like Muhsin Demirtaş.

  Would Celile have left her husband so easily had she not foreseen the life of luxury she would have with Muhsin?

  She was a thirty-five-year-old woman, after all.

  Having reached that age without once deceiving her husband, she might be a plaything in the hands of the first great love of her life. She might have been guided by her heart. Even so, she should certainly have shown more hesitation before deceiving her husband. And even more, before leaving him.

  Whatever her reason for coming to live with him—be it love or money—she was still not the sort of woman Muhsin could trust.

  This was what Muhsin thought about Celile. And this was one thing he never doubted.

  Who could say how long she would love him? He could not say. And neither, he thought, could Celile.

  Who could truly know how long they would love each other?

  Every love carried that danger, after all. Love may run its course faster in some people than it did in others.

  But to love Celile knowing that her love might die first—now that was a terrifying prospect.

  Because Muhsin could already see very clearly that this woman, whom he now loved with such passion, would become cruelly indifferent. Hadn’t she left her husband without showing the slightest compassion or consideration?

  To be in love with Celile was to dread being left by her.

  This he knew. But to become her second husband, only to be deceived and abandoned—that was one risk Muhsin could not afford to take.

  He could love her with all his heart. But he could not take her into the world as his wife, calmly accepting that she might or might not betray him one day.

  And anyway. She didn’t seem to give marriage much importance.

  She had nothing in common with the other married woman of his acquaintance. If she had valued the institution of marriage, would she have abandoned it just to be with her lover? Would she have destroyed her marriage of ten years at the drop of a hat and gone to live with her lover without seeking some sort of guarantee?

  So now here they were, many months after the divorce. Celile had not once mentioned marriage. She had not suggested or even implied that she wished to marry.

  Muhsin kept Celile in great luxury.

  Carpets from Keşan and Isfahan. An apartment overlooking a lovely garden.

  He had her clothes made by the finest seamstresses. Provided her with the finest perfumes.

  Ahmet could never have afforded such luxuries. At least, he could never have taken such pleasure in adorning her so lavishly.

  The jewels he gave her—the richest women in the land knew no better.

  If Celile did genuinely wish to marry, it would be because she wished to be sure of her future comfort and security.

  And have a share in his fortune, in due course.

  But as far as he could see, she had no interest in sacred vows or in marriage for its own sake.

  As time wore on, Celile’s fears grew steadily.

  Instead of just worrying about Muhsin drifting away from her, she began to nurture fearful thoughts about his outside life.

  She would let her imagination run wild, and descend into jealous fantasies.

  In the early days, she had understood why they could not be seen together, and so it had not bothered her that she was not part of his life.

  But now it was clear that he had no wish to be seen with her. She could only assume that he wanted to be free to do as he wished.

  From the moment she had come to live with Muhsin, she had severed all her links to the past. She’d thrown herself into her new life. While Muhsin had held himself back.

  It was true that he spent most of his free time with her. But his real life took precedence. The banquets. The suppers. The consular receptions. The business trips to Ankara. The bridge parties and garden parties—Muhsin attended them alone.

  The circles in which he traveled would have known that he was still involved with Celile. Why, then, did he treat it as a secret?

  She could not understand it, but neither could she ask.

  For she was the granddaughter of a Circassian slave who had never uttered a word of complaint in all her life. Deep inside her heart, Çeşmiahu Hanım lived on. Warning against any display of emotion. Reminding her granddaughter how ill-mannered it was to speak of distress.

  Keeping her sorrows to herself, Celile waited for Muhsin to speak.

  EIGHTEEN

  Muhsin could see that Celile was not as happy as before. But she had yet to admit it to herself.

  Before the divorce, there had been nights when Muhsin had not been able to visit her. Various social engagements kept him away. He’d tried, nevertheless, to never leave her alone for more than two or three days at a time.

  But even if he’d been kept away for longer, Celile would act as if she’d barely noticed. She’d greet Muhsin with the same smile.

  But now…no matter how hard he tried not to notice, he could tell that she was hurt every time he did something without her.

  No matter how hard Celile tried to hide her feelings, her smile took on the cast of a mask.

  After spending a year with her, how could he not know when her smile was not sincere?

  Of course he did notice. And it upset him.

  Though Celile had never intended this. She had no interest in playing the wronged woman. She was doing everything in her power to keep Muhsin from knowing how upset she was.

  Even so, Muhsin could tell that she had been expecting something more from him, and was now feeling very disappointed.

  He felt indebted to
her.

  And—egotist that he was—he sometimes felt angry at Celile for having left her husband and forced him into this obligation, instead of feeling angry at himself.

  Without him wanting it, without him so much as asking, Celile had sacrificed her normal life to be with him.

  Now she could no longer consort with respectable married women. Instead she was sitting in an apartment in Nişantaşı, far from her old friends, and alone.

  She lived for Muhsin and no one else. She devoted her entire life to him.

  She had left everything behind, just to be at his side.

  For him, she had withdrawn from society and locked herself up in an apartment.

  She had done so for Muhsin.

  But Muhsin did not wish to be beholden to her.

  He did not know what to do. In spite of all the expensive gifts he had lavished on her, he still felt unequal to the debt he owed her, and this made him feel uncomfortable.

  He was uncertain how he should treat her.

  And that uncertainty threatened to unman him…It made him feel as if he was not good enough for her.

  Even though he was unwilling to marry her because he did not consider her good enough for him.

  With every day, Celile was losing confidence. The less secure she felt, the more downhearted. Muhsin would walk in to find her stretched out on the chaise longue like a sick cat.

  There were shadows under her eyes. Her lips were dry and cracked. Her gaze was dull.

  She’d lost her old calm. The world now weighed heavy on her. Was she really so miserable? So miserable she might take to her bed?

  She hardly smiled these days.

  If ever she did, the smile on her pale lips looked forced.

  Sensing a silent rebellion, Muhsin was tempted to ask her what was wrong. Fearing that this might prompt a quarrel in which they’d have to explain each other, he held his tongue.

  He wanted to ease the tension, but he also feared making it worse. Seeing as she had made no complaints, it was better, he thought, not to know what was upsetting her.

  In the meantime, he could carry on as before, looking after his own interests.

  But one day, he surprised himself by saying: “Celile, you seem sadder and more listless every day. This must be because you spend so much time alone. You must be getting bored!”

  “No, Muhsin. I’m not at all bored.”

  “How can that be true? I can see it in your eyes. It’s been months since you’ve seen anyone but me. You look so depressed. So disappointed. As if I had failed you. As if I were pushing you away.”

  “That’s mad!”

  “Don’t deny it,” Muhsin said. “I can see it with my own eyes. We have to do something to cheer you up.

  “And I’ve already thought of an idea,” he added. “We should start inviting people over. Give me a day or two, and I can pull a group together.”

  “There’s no need for anything like that. Aren’t we most relaxed when it’s just the two of us together?”

  “Too relaxed, perhaps. I think it’s tiring you out, being alone so much. Why don’t I invite Necmettin the engineer and Dr. Raif?…You know Dr. Raif already, of course. He came to see you last winter, when you had that sore throat. He and Necmettin are both friends from my lycée days. I love them both like my brothers. They can both bring their partners. Necmettin’s partner is a Polish artist. But don’t get any ideas. I say she’s an artist, but she’s also a very good girl. As for Raif’s partner—he and Melek have been living together for ten years now.”

  Celile felt all the blood in her body rush to her head. She could feel herself blushing right up to her hairline.

  She turned abruptly, so that he could not see. And then, in a dry, metallic, level voice, she said, “I don’t want any guests. I’m unwell.”

  Her heart was racing. Her head spinning. There was a lump in her throat. Had Muhsin gone mad?

  What was she saying?

  Muhsin could read her voice.

  And suddenly he understood how badly he had hurt her.

  It was the first time in all these months that she had talked back to him.

  The first time she had not gone along with his idea.

  How bad he felt, to have hurt her so badly that she’d been unable to hide her feelings.

  So to repair the damage, he said: “These are not bad women, Celile. I didn’t suggest this to hurt you or humiliate you. You’re bored.”

  Impervious to his words, Celile left the room.

  Once outside, she felt her knees giving way. She leaned against the door to stop from falling. And then, fearful that Muhsin might be following her, she felt her way down the corridor.

  Her legs could barely hold her. Her whole body was shaking.

  Her heart was pounding. She went into the bathroom to splash water over her face. But it did no good.

  Head still spinning, she fell into bed.

  She didn’t dare look at the ceiling. She knew it would be spinning. She knew she was falling down a bottomless pit.

  She felt so tired she could die.

  Yes, she could die.

  Hadn’t her mother died just like this?

  Hadn’t she died, to give life to an unknown child?

  She shuddered.

  No, there was no longer any doubt.

  For months now, she’d wondered. But now she knew.

  Celile was with child.

  She was going to be a mother.

  For the first time she felt the presence of the child growing inside her.

  She was to be the mother of Muhsin’s child.

  And what had Muhsin just said to her?

  To think that this man had just scorned the woman who was to become the mother of his child.

  Why had he done this?

  There was no reason for him to propose that she socialize with other women living outside wedlock. He had said this only to hurt her.

  Was Muhsin now so tired of her that he was prepared to pick a fight just to hurt her?

  Yes, she felt so tired she could die. Her head was still spinning.

  Her mother had died giving birth. That was why Celile had always feared motherhood. But now nature had overlooked those fears to make her a mother, and in spite of all her fears, she saw it as a noble undertaking for which she was prepared to risk death. At last she had a purpose. She was bringing a new life into being.

  But beneath the surface, the dread remained.

  Celile well understood the sacrifices that lay ahead.

  Already, the child was robbing her of her strength.

  She was so tired she could die.

  Already, she was angry at this unknown creature inside her. Angry at herself and Muhsin, too.

  But not enough to overpower the tenderness and compassion that she had felt for the child from the very first moment.

  The poor little thing! She could feel it moving inside her. And this little creature. It was Muhsin.

  Another Muhsin!

  Their love…

  No! This kicking was a warning. A deadly warning.

  Celile wanted to be free of this child. She did not wish to become a mother.

  But just as much, she felt happy.

  Celile didn’t understand herself. She’d said as much to Muhsin!

  She had no idea how to break the news to him.

  That was why she’d kept putting it off.

  A strange shame had overtaken her. This was women’s business, after all. She’d been brought up never to mention such things to a man.

  Women of her class were taught how to conceal pregnancies for as long as possible. Nothing more.

  Had Celile not fallen into bed in a faint that day, prompting Muhsin to call in the doctor, he might not have known the truth until much later.

&
nbsp; But the doctor said: “There’s nothing to fear, sir. In fact, there is cause for celebration. Your lady is three months pregnant. Expecting mothers need looking after, so I would recommend that you take her in to be examined as soon as possible. She’s come to herself now. But I would recommend her staying in bed. Go in and see her. She’s overjoyed at the news I just gave her.”

  Muhsin turned around as if hit in the head.

  “What? You’re telling me she’s pregnant?”

  Three months pregnant, no less. For three months she’d been hiding this from him?

  Why?

  Why hadn’t she told him right off?

  How could a woman of her maturity not know what to do?

  Even the most inexperienced teenager knew what to do under such circumstances.

  So finally Celile had found a way of telling him what she expected.

  All his old suspicions came flying back.

  From the very beginning this had been Celile’s plan.

  Seeing him fall so madly in love with her, she had plotted to take full advantage of his foolishness. Bind him to her physically as well as spiritually.

  Knowing how much better off she’d be, married to Muhsin rather than the arriviste Ahmet, especially when she was carrying a child who would inherit Muhsin’s fortune.

  Did Celile think he was stupid?

  He felt as if she was mocking him. Slapping him in the face.

  If she could do this, she could not love him.

  He felt as wounded as if she had been unfaithful. The doctor had left the house, but Muhsin still not gone in to see her. She’d been planning this all along—first by helping Ahmet get ahead by making herself available. That bank guarantee. For that coarse fool! That brute! How could she have guessed that he would fall so madly in love?

  After he had helped her husband along with that little favor—after she had seen the extent of Muhsin’s infatuation—she had seen that she had a great deal more to gain by marrying Muhsin than by remaining with Ahmet.

  She’d already had this in mind that night she left her husband to stay at his side. But with no proposal of marriage forthcoming, she’d hatched this other plan to force the issue.