Without a Country

by Kulin, Ayse

  Gerhard disembarked and went to introduce himself.

  “Welcome, Herr Schliemann. Did you have a pleasant journey?” asked Malche.

  “It was wonderful. And I had a most productive meeting with a group of professors in Istanbul yesterday. I am so pleased to have been briefed before today’s meeting.”

  “We’ll be assembling at the ministry of education at two this afternoon. First, we’ll have lunch at Karpiç, a fine restaurant run by an ethnic Georgian who fled to Turkey with the White Russians some fifteen years ago. He serves the best food in Ankara. While we’re eating, we can prepare for the meeting.”

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to stop by the hotel first and drop off my suitcase. Perhaps you could give me the address of the restaurant so I can get out and see some of the city, then meet you later?”

  “I’ll pick you up at the hotel at noon. This city is nothing like Istanbul. There’s not much to see beyond that boulevard over there. It runs from the train station all the way to the presidential mansion in Çankaya. This is a new city—it’s still being built.”

  “I gathered as much from the train window. I didn’t have the opportunity to do any sightseeing in Istanbul, but I’ll never forget that sunset on the Bosphorus.”

  “Herr Schliemann, a renowned Turkish poet was once asked what he most enjoyed about Ankara. ‘Returning to Istanbul,’ he replied!”

  Despite Malche’s remarks, Gerhard was determined to stroll through the streets of the new capital city. From the second he set foot in the hotel, everyone he met, from the receptionist to the bellboy, asked him in broken German, French, or English how he found their city. It was still under construction, but its inhabitants were already proud, and eager to have its praises sung by visitors. Truth be told, this settlement rising from the dusty steppe didn’t even deserve to be called a city, not yet. But that didn’t stop Gerhard from walking the length of a wide boulevard lined on both sides and down the middle with rows of saplings. One day, it would be a stately, green boulevard. Many of the buildings he saw in various stages of completion were in the modernist neoclassical style popular in Italy and Germany. Gerhard wondered if the architects were among the many students who’d trained abroad. He didn’t yet know that some of his own countrymen, led by the urban planner and architect Hermann Jansen, were working on the master plan for Ankara. After walking for no more than fifteen minutes, he stepped into what appeared to be an Anatolian town of ramshackle shops and rough dwellings. Were those sun-dried bricks made from dung and straw? His eyes were drawn to a ruined castle perched high on a hill, but he sighed and turned around. Malche would be expecting him at twelve sharp.

  As he made his way back to the hotel, he felt as though he was walking out of the Middle Ages and into a promise of modernity. Gardeners in waistcoats and flat caps hard at work with their shovels and pickaxes; sunburnt masons raising the walls of monumental structures; a few more rows of mud-brick hovels all huddled together for support; townswomen with gray-and-black checked shawls draped from the crowns of their heads to below their waists; gentlemen sauntering along in fedoras and sharp suits; beautifully coifed ladies in high heels and calf-length sundresses; a Ford automobile honking at a donkey-drawn cart—the juxtaposition of it all was mind-boggling.

  Gerhard was in for another surprise when he accompanied Malche to lunch. Housed on the ground floor of a former Ottoman inn was what Malche described as the first modern restaurant in Ankara. The starched tablecloths and fashionable crowd made Gerhard feel as though he were back in Zurich. And not only was the chicken Kiev the best he’d ever had, it was also brought to the table by the proprietor himself, a bald man in a spotless white coat known to all as Papa Karpiç.

  “Did you rest?” Malche asked.

  “I opted for a stroll. This place is like a giant construction site. Everywhere I went, half-finished buildings and streets—”

  “There’s a popular Turkish song that goes ‘Ankara, Ankara, beautiful Ankara. First city created out of nothing.’” He added, “The Turks really are creating a city from the ground up. And they couldn’t be prouder.”

  “I can tell. But why build a new capital when you already have a city like Istanbul?”

  “Istanbul is beautiful, but it isn’t laid out well. When Ankara is complete, it will be both beautiful and organized. That is, as long as the master plan is properly executed. From what I’ve heard, there have been disputes between the landowners and the chief planner. I fear that greed may win the day.”

  “By taking a position in this unfinished provincial city, you’ve certainly demonstrated that you’re a man of resolve and courage,” Gerhard said. “You have my admiration and respect, Professor.”

  “I’m inspired by this nation’s single-minded will to modernize, Herr Schliemann. The recent events in Germany had left me dispirited, both generally and professionally. But here, in a country whose founder is so passionate about science, I am delighted to be of service. I have been working night and day for the past year, with an enthusiasm I hadn’t mustered in years.”

  “How did it begin? Did you approach them, or did they approach you?”

  “One of my best students at Geneva Medical College was a Turk. Years later, he showed up at my door. He had not only gone on to become a respected physician, but was also held in such high regard that he’d been named a presidential advisor. I was as proud as any teacher could be. This young man, whose fluency in French has always astounded me and whose name I have never been able to pronounce well—Akil Muhtar—had personally recommended me to the founder of the Republic of Turkey, Gazi Mustafa Kemal.”

  “You must be a wonderful teacher to inspire such loyalty.”

  “I’d like to believe so. Anyway, just as I was preparing to settle into a forced retirement, Akil showed up with a letter of invitation from the Turkish ministry of education. Life is certainly full of surprises.”

  “That it is,” Gerhard said. “Your friendship with my father-in-law has been another happy coincidence, both for us and for the Turks.”

  “Herr Schliemann, a progressive, modern society is arising, here, in the heart of Anatolia, through the efforts of a small band of true believers. With hope, with zeal, for the people, with the people, and—when necessary—despite the people, they’re trying to transform this place through mass education. Who wouldn’t wish to serve such a noble cause?”

  Tears welled up in the elderly professor’s eyes, and Gerhard didn’t dare interrupt.

  “Akil told me that although their resources are limited, their determination to succeed knows no bounds. I warned him that without discipline, a proper education is impossible to achieve. ‘Professor,’ he said, ‘we Muslims are instilled with a culture of obedience.’ But I objected immediately. ‘Herr Akil,’ I said, ‘obedience and discipline are not the same. Obedience is unquestioning submission to authority; discipline requires adherence to certain essential rules and duties, yes, but one is permitted—nay, encouraged—to question those very rules and duties.’ Akil then told me that I would be acting as an advisor to a man who had spent most of his life in the military. ‘Don’t worry,’ he assured me, ‘the Gazi will understand you. He is an idealist determined to elevate our country by training our people in the sciences.’ Herr Schliemann, I was so moved. I asked Akil if he would be willing to translate my report himself, but there was no need. The Gazi is proficient in French and able to both write and read in the Latin script.”

  Professor Malche fell silent, remembering all that had followed.

  Just two weeks after receiving that letter, he had arrived in Ankara, where he met with officials from the ministry of education and a group of academics. Filled with fervor for the new republic, he returned to Istanbul, rolled up his sleeves, and set to work. Over the next five months, he solicited the views of politicians, professors, state administrators, students, and even clerks. He inspected Darülfünun’s lecture halls, laboratories, and libraries. He monitored lessons and exams. He conducted
exhaustive written surveys to assess the abilities of the faculty members.

  “Can I get you anything else, sir?”

  The elderly professor was jolted from his thoughts by the waiter. “No,” he said brusquely, and turned his attention back to Gerhard.

  Gerhard, who had long since cleaned his plate, smiled gamely to hide his flagging interest.

  “It took me six months to complete my report. I held nothing back, Herr Schliemann. There was very little coordination among departments. The libraries were a disgrace. The students lacked sufficient skills in foreign languages. The courses were overly burdensome and yet oddly unfocused. The same lesson plans had been in use for fifty years. No serious research of any kind was being conducted. Even worse, the relationships among faculty members were actively antagonistic. I reported it all. After all, I had nothing to lose.”

  “And you submitted this report to the Gazi?”

  “Yes. I recommended extensive reform measures. I did not expect them to be warmly received. But I was wrong.”

  “How remarkable.”

  “The Gazi studied my report for days, adding his own notes in the margins. The conclusion he reached was this: The future leaders of this republic must be educated in accordance with the latest scientific and pedagogical methods, regardless of gender. This will create a generation that is intellectually disciplined, capable of critical thinking, and skilled in problem solving.”

  “Amazing. I would never have expected it from a soldier.”

  “Yes. The Gazi had observed firsthand that poorly educated military leaders led to bureaucratic inefficiency and defeats on the battlefield, and he will not allow that to happen to his republic. The Gazi has entrusted me with this massive enlightenment project, and he insists that I spare no expense in bringing leading professors from Europe and America to Ankara.”

  Malche had finally finished his lunch. He motioned for the waiter to bring coffee and, too tired to refuse, Gerhard drank the potent sludge without complaint. Malche insisted on picking up the check.

  On the way to the ministry, they passed a group of primary school students, the boys and girls alike dressed in peculiar black smocks with drooping white collars. Leading the way was their teacher, a young lady in a matching gray jacket and skirt. The children skipped along, some of them holding hands. Gerhard felt a rush of tenderness for these innocent citizens of tomorrow and silently wished them and their brave new country the best of luck.

  Miracle at the Ministry

  Along both sides of a long table sat the reform commission members, department representatives, and stenographers. At the head was Minister of Education Reşit Galip, flanked by Malche to his left and Gerhard to his right. The meeting opened with a question posed to Gerhard in French: “Is there a professor of applied economics you could recommend?”

  Gerhard immediately named three candidates and read their résumés from the dossier lying in front of him. He then added his personal assessment of each candidate and recommended that a final choice from among the three be made at a later time.

  Variations of that first question were repeated, one after another, for positions in Istanbul.

  “Could you recommend a microbiology specialist?”

  “Got any qualified chemistry professors?”

  Gerhard was ready each time. He consulted the index cards prepared by his father-in-law and replied to each query with the names and qualifications of several candidates. The minister and the officials were clearly impressed. Malche, too, nodded his approval and settled back in his chair, content to let Gerhard handle the proceedings. The hours passed as the Turks continued to ask questions and take notes.

  A recess was called at last, allowing Gerhard to stretch his cramped legs and relieve his bladder. On the way back to the conference room, he glanced out the tall windows at this city in the making, this rising capital of an ambitious young country untainted by Western hubris and unshackled from its own imperial past. How wonderful to have come to this land of promise!

  Twenty minutes later, at eight o’clock in the evening, the meeting was reconvened. After the minutes were read aloud and approved by those present, the minister rose to his feet and made a heartfelt speech.

  “Gentlemen,” he said, “when the Turks conquered Istanbul some five hundred years ago, they were powerless to prevent the exodus of Byzantine scientists to Italy, where the Renaissance then took root and flowered. But this time, due to the efforts of the men gathered in this room, some of the most brilliant minds in the world will be migrating from west to east, from Germany to Istanbul, where they will contribute to the advancement of our nation. May these men and women of science convey their knowledge and their methods to our youth, and may we shine among the nations of the modern world.”

  The minister received a standing ovation. It was now time for the signing ceremony. The first signature affixed to the official report was the education minister’s; the second was Gerhard’s. The minister told Gerhard that he expected the recruited professors to report for duty at once—even those under internment. He would contact the German authorities and insist that they be given special permission to travel to Turkey, where they would be taken under the protection of their adopted state.

  Gerhard promised to compile the candidates’ responses and send acceptances within three weeks at the latest.

  The meeting was over.

  “Herr Schliemann, are you leaving Ankara tomorrow?” the minister asked.

  “Yes. I’m in a hurry to get back to Zurich and contact our professors with the good news.”

  “The minister of health wishes to meet with you,” Reşit Galip said. “Preparations are under way to open a medical school in Ankara. The building is nearly complete. And we also need professors for the new hygiene institute. Would you object to being of assistance to them as well?”

  Gerhard couldn’t believe his luck. At this rate, positions would be found for nearly all the doctors on his list.

  “I would be delighted.”

  “In that case, I’ll schedule an appointment bright and early. Rest assured, you’ll still make your train. Please wait here for a moment.” The minister strode off. He was back in a few minutes with the news.

  “Minister of Health Refik Saydam is expecting you for breakfast in his office at a quarter to seven tomorrow.”

  Malche and Gerhard left the ministry building together. As they walked to their hotel, Malche turned and said, “Even in my wildest dreams, I could never have imagined that so many professors would be offered positions. I’m thunderstruck. It was a miracle that the Turks won their war of independence against the West. The reform of their educational system, if all goes to plan, will be a second miracle. Gerhard Schliemann, history will remember your contribution!”

  After the meeting the following morning, Gerhard stopped by the post office near the train station. He walked up to the telegraph window, handed the clerk the slip of paper containing his message, and smiled as he imagined his father-in-law’s reaction. Written in bold capital letters in German was a single sentence:

  POSITIONS AGREED FOR THIRTY NOT THREE STOP

  Fifteen Million Strong in Fifteen Years

  On the evening of October 29, 1933, Professor Ernst Hirsch and Gerhard Schliemann ran into one another at the main gate to Dolmabahçe Palace, former home of sultans. Having exchanged greetings, they proceeded together through the flower-filled grounds. Gerhard, who had visited Hirsch in person with an offer to teach commercial law at Istanbul University, wondered how the professor was finding his new life.

  “Are you happy living on the Asian shore?” he asked. “Isn’t commuting by ferry every day a bit of a pain?”

  “It’s a real nuisance on foggy days or when a southwester is blowing, but the views make it all worthwhile,” Hirsch replied. “Why, as I was crossing over just now I saw the most amazing pyrotechnics. Thousands of rockets bursting above the Bosphorus and the Golden Horn, the patterns of color showering down on the city. The s
hips’ whistles tooting, the drumbeats rising from both shores, the military fleet saluting from the harbor with volleys of cannon fire. The bridge, minarets, and squares festooned with strings of colored bulbs. What a sight it was!”

  The trees and gardens of the palace, too, were adorned with colored lights, and the waterfront had been specially illuminated for Republic Day.

  “Have you settled in yet?” Hirsh asked. “Are you content in Pera?”

  “I’ve landed on my feet, friend. A wonderful apartment, fully furnished, in a nice building in Grenadier Street just down from the main boulevard. I’ve already gone out and found blankets, sheets, cutlery, dishes, pots, and pans. Everything’s ready for when my wife and children arrive this weekend. The only thing left for Elsa to do is pick out curtains.”

  “I wish you many happy days in your new home,” Hirsch said. “What about school for your children?”

  “My girl’s too young for school. As for Peter, we considered leaving him in Zurich with his grandparents so he could get a proper education, but then we found out there was a German school here in Istanbul. We’re so relieved not to split up the family.”

  “You would have regretted it. I have a little girl, too. She stayed in Germany with her mother. I miss her terribly.”

  Somehow, Gerhard hadn’t pegged Hirsch for a father. Assuming the marriage had ended in divorce, he didn’t ask any more questions as the two friends joined the men in dinner jackets and the women in evening gowns streaming up the palace staircase. They both gazed for a moment at the dozens of marble columns, at the gilded ceilings, at the massive chandelier with 750 lamps hanging from the central dome, at the opulence amassed by the mighty empire that had ruled from this city for some five hundred years. Then they plunged inside.

  Hirsch paused in front of one of the tall windows and gazed at the illuminated waterfront. The fireworks were still under way.