by Ahmet Altan
A communique that İsmet Bey, who’d come to Istanbul with the Movement Army, wrote personally after convincing Mahmut Şevket Pasha stated that the military should no longer engage in politics, but Enver Bey’s supporters didn’t heed this demand.
The subject came up whenever two officers met.
Ragıp Bey and his brother Cevat Bey also discussed this matter frequently. At Ragıp Bey’s insistence, Cevat Bey moved into the mansion in Göztepe at the beginning of summer; consequently Ragıp Bey felt more at ease when he spent the night at Dilara Hanım’s mansion and was freed of his worries about his mother and his wife; as for their mother, she was happy to have both of her sons with her. The most surprising thing of all was that Hatice Hanım, who was completely puritanical, and Cevat Bey, who viewed religion with doubt, got along well with each other and managed to establish a close, friendly brother-sister relationship. Hatice Hanım, who never failed to see shortcomings and sin in religious people, never put Cevat Bey in the same category as other sinners; perhaps the way he brought his political beliefs to the level of religion, defended them puritanically, and lived like a hermit, avoiding women, adultery, alcohol, and entertainment, led her to love him; perhaps in the sisterly love she felt for an officer who was so different from his brother there was a reflection of the love for Ragıp Bey that her anger at his sins did not allow to emerge in any event; no one knew the reason for this love; what was even stranger was that Ragıp Bey’s little son smiled at his uncle more often than he did at his father.
On the nights Ragıp Bey stayed at the mansion, the table was set under the large horse chestnut tree in the garden and the women decked the table with food the men liked in peaceful happiness. On such evenings there was a sense that even the hatred Hatice Hanım felt for her husband was lightened and diminished.
After dinner the women went inside and as the two men watched the fireflies that flew like sparks from a secret fire, the still water in the small pond that shone dully as if it had been polished with silver, and the dark green shade of the trees, they returned, to the accompaniment of the chirping of cicadas, the constant croaking of the frogs, and the smells of earth, flowers, and fruit, to the subject that preoccupied them most.
The statement that Mahmut Şevket Pasha had made at the beginning of summer to the effect that the military should not engage in politics had further inflamed the discussion between the two brothers.
As they were drinking their coffee, Cevat Bey turned to his brother.
“Have you read the pasha’s statement?”
“Yes.”
“In fact all of this is being done to sideline Enver Pasha, I don’t understand how the great Pasha has allowed himself to be pushed into a corner like this, that is, if you keep the military out of politics, who’s going to stop the religious fanatics, the reactionaries, and the enemies of civilization? We’ve only just put down an uprising, what would have happened here if the army hadn’t intervened, think, Ragıp. Isn’t it politics to say the military should stay out of politics, especially if the person who’s saying this is a soldier?”
“Brother, to tell the truth, I don’t approve of the military engaging in politics, as I’ve told you before, the Balkans are in ferment, even a child on the street can see that a war in the Balkans is now inevitable, you’re not very aware of what things are like in the barracks, if we go to war in the condition we’re in it will be one of the greatest disasters in history, the Ottoman forces would be crushed in that war.”
Cevat Bey made a face.
“Ragıp, let’s get ready for a war in the Balkans, fine, we’re surrounded by enemies, I agree, but what about our internal enemies, the former Sultan’s men are ready and waiting, if it wasn’t for us they would already have risen up again and unfurled their green flags, really, don’t you see this, you can catch the scent of our enemies in the Balkans but you can’t see the enemy under your nose, I don’t understand, how could you be so blind?”
“I passed on to you what Sheikh Efendi said to me, the ulema didn’t support the uprising, in any event they didn’t take part in the uprising, we can’t be involved in politics forever just because of a few fanatics, if the army is so involved in politics, who’s going to be involved in soldiering? The men are in a miserable state, their morale is low, they’re tired, their weapons are old, there’s no serious preparation because the pashas are all obsessed with politics.”
“Ragıp, you keep going on about Sheikh Efendi this and Sheikh Efendi that . . . Don’t put too much faith in these mullahs, it always ends in disaster, all they want is to sideline the military and seize the reins of power again . . . They bleed the people dry, where does the money for the tekkes come from, it comes from Muslims’ pockets.”
Ragıp Bey stirred restlessly in his seat.
“Sheikh Efendi was of great help to us, so many of our friends owe their lives to him, so many of the wounded were treated at his tekke. How can you be so harsh?”
“Fine, he helped us, but we can’t change our political position just because a sheikh helped us. This nation is ignorant, Ragıp. You know that as well as I do, as soon as someone says that religion is under threat, they pour out into the streets.”
“The people didn’t take part in the mutiny, brother. If they had, we wouldn’t have been able to put it down. On top of that, is it smart to be obsessed by a few mullahs among us when the Balkan nations have all of Europe’s support and are preparing to move against us? Things aren’t going well, brother, soldiers have forgotten that they’re soldiers. Let the politicians engage in politics, let’s do our own job . . . ”
Cevat Bey stood, his shadow grew like a great tree trunk in the slippery light of the oil lamps.
“Our job is to protect the motherland against enemies, be they external or internal. Who else but the military can protect this country, you mention politicians, they would sell their own mothers for power if they could. If they came to power hand in hand with the reactionaries, do you think we’d be able to win wars, it would be worse. In history, have you ever seen a nation that’s rotting internally win a war, believe me, we’re in the age when the fate of the Ottoman Empire is going to be decided, if the army removes itself from politics the motherland will fall into the hands of the reactionaries.”
“Brother, I’m a soldier, I entered my profession gladly and I perform my duties gladly, what I’m saying is, just let me do my job, but this isn’t possible, in military circles no one talks about anything except politics, everyone is thinking about politics . . . The army is collapsing while you’re talking about saving the motherland, why can’t you see this? You say that politicians are prepared to do bad things to gain power, fine, then what’s the difference between them and an army that’s engaged in politics, don’t you think about this at all? Look at Mahmut Şevket Pasha, he was a good commander, now he’s a kind of sultan, Enver Bey was a brave officer, now he’s more of a politician than the politicians.”
“If it wasn’t for Enver Bey, this army would never have acted so decisively, Ragıp. The young officers worship him, he earned this adoration rightfully. If you try to remove him from his position the army will rise up. As for Mahmut Şevket Pasha, you’re right about him, I don’t know what we’re going to do about that pasha either, we brought him to where he is and now he’s trying to sideline us. What are we going to do about the Pasha, I think about this too.”
That summer night, the two brothers didn’t know as they argued under the large chestnut tree that this subject would be discussed for a hundred years, and that within a few years the Ottoman Empire would suffer one of its gravest defeats in history in the Balkan Wars; even though they argued with all sincerity and conviction, they didn’t quite grasp the full importance and weight of what they were discussing. Years later Ragıp Bey told Osman, “In fact Mustafa Kemal Bey and İsmet Bey were right, either because they were jealous of Enver Bey or they grasped it before anyone else,
they talked about this a great deal, but strangely, when they came to power, they didn’t keep the military out of politics. Even Mustafa Kemal’s most ardent supporters chose to forget the opinion he once had on this matter.”
When Cevat Bey said, “What are we going to do about the Pasha, I think about this too,” he was laying the first paving stones for Mahmut Şevket Pasha’s bloody end; later other Committee members would repeat these words frequently, each time these words were uttered, the wall between the Pasha and death grew thinner, each time this sentence was repeated, his future grew a little darker. Just like everyone who rises to the top, the Pasha never considered that little people and brief sentences could affect his destiny, but his destiny too was determined by those brief sentences uttered in gardens, coffeehouses, military circles, by people he didn’t know or care about at all; the people he thought supported him were drawn away by these brief sentences, they left him unprotected to face the bullets alone.
That troublesome and quiet summer was a season in which many people determined someone else’s life and destiny, many lives from different places mingled together, there were joys, disappointments, delights, weddings, and painful disappearances. As Reşit Pasha told Osman with the shy smile that suited him so well, “Everyone was someone else’s destiny.” After saying this, he added, “All of us have more influence on someone else’s destiny than we do on our own, sometimes I think that if we could live a life and have a destiny others couldn’t interfere with, we would all probably have much different lives, but unfortunately this isn’t possible, it is as if the Creator connected us all to each other; when one of us moves, we all move.”
As the two brothers discussed the future of the nation in Göztepe, Mehpare Hanım was in the garden of her mansion in Şişli, sitting in the gazebo to get a breath of air in this oppressive heat. Beams of moonlight filtered like fairies through the vines that covered the gazebo, and Mehpare Hanım felt like a little girl in an enchanted forest. Since she was a child she’d always liked disappearing, hiding in a secret place that belonged only to her, to dream in corners she shared with no one, but all of this was more appealing to her at times when there were people around who loved her, pampered her, admired her. And that night she was deeply distressed; because the city had retreated, the mansion parties, entertainments, and excursions had stopped because everyone preferred to hide than to be seen in public, Mehpare Hanım had been all alone in her mansion since she arrived.
This boredom spread like a feverish infection, sometimes it died down, sometimes it turned into a maddening crisis; at those times she missed Constantine, she ate her heart out, rushed from one dream to another, some mornings she woke feeling very certain that she smelled his smell, the smell touched her face and neck like a warm animal, she could swear that this smell was real. She remembered his wiles in bed, which she hadn’t encountered in any other man, the piercing, crazy look in his eyes when he became savage, the way he kissed her body at length after they made love, the way he whispered her name in his Greek accent, his jokes, she set out on jarring journeys during which she swung like a pendulum between regret and dreams.
She realized that she’d become tense, irritable, and worn out by loneliness; but this led her to believe that all her feelings were the result of a nervous illness, which led her to doubt her longing for Constantine and all the pain she was suffering, led her to think that these things weren’t real. The thought that they were the result of a nervous disorder didn’t ease her longing, pain, distress, on the contrary, because she didn’t believe in the reality of her longing and her pain, it shook the ground of her dreams and her hopes that new encounters would turn all of this into happiness in the future, when they lost the ground on which they existed, they receded behind a foggy curtain.
Then, without the consolation of dreams of the future, her pain and longing grew stronger. Being lost in uncertainty, to suffer desire and pain without even being sure about her desires and feelings poisoned almost every aspect of her life, it undermined the feeling she needed most in these times, her self-confidence.
The direct and natural Sula, who’d become her only friend and to whom she was connected by a bond of true love, was saddened to watch her suffer and asked her once why she’d left Constantine. Mehpare Hanım answered this question without pause, as if she’d been thinking about it for a long time.
“We were so much alike that I was frightened of him. I think I mistook this fear for boredom.”
Once, Sula said to her in her motherly manner:
“Write to him, invite him to come here, believe me, he’ll come running.”
Mehpare Hanım gave her a pensive glance.
“Perhaps he’d come . . . But if what I feel for him isn’t real . . . I can’t stand that, Sula . . . If it was another time, I might, but not now, no, not now.”
Then she made one of her strange requests.
“Dance the sirtaki for me.”
Sula danced with an elegance not to be expected from such a large body, as Mehpare Hanım watched her dance, a number of memories and dreams floated through her mind, she did something that perhaps she’d never done, or at least that Sula had never seen, she started to weep.
Sula stopped dancing, sat next to her like a mother, stroked her hair, lovingly embraced this strange woman whose desires no one including herself believed were real.
“This is no way to live, Sula,” said Mehpare Hanım. “This isn’t a life. What is this? What am I living? I want a life the way everyone else does; I want to love and be loved. I want to trust. I want to be trusted . . . ” Then she wiped the tears from her eyes and smiled. “I don’t even trust myself, why should anyone else . . . ”
She paused and took a deep breath.
“Still, I’d like someone to trust me completely. Who knows, maybe then I’d trust my own feelings. Everything would be so different.”
These were sincere wishes, but just like so many other people, she wanted what she didn’t have, she wanted to be in a mood other than the one she was in, even though she pursued her desires more recklessly than others did, her desires changed as soon as she had what she wanted.
She experienced brief periods of time during which what she possessed was also in harmony with what she wanted, during these brief periods she formed an idea about what happiness was like, but her restless soul couldn’t live within the tranquility of happiness, satisfaction, and contentment, if an emotion became stable, even if this emotion was happiness, her soul began to stir in order to get moving again, to search, to seek new desires, to find new forms of happiness.
Now she had reached what could be considered the most dangerous point for a woman like her, and she knew herself. Now she didn’t trust any of her wishes, she could not easily abandon herself to any of her longings, she doubted every feeling with an almost hostile anger. Like a runner who runs not to get somewhere but because he likes running, who, when he stops and asks himself where he’s running realizes he no longer enjoys it, she too, when she was in pursuit of some nebulous wish, asked herself what wish she was pursuing, which wish was real, and stopped, wishing had also lost its charm.
When she realized that in fact there was no place she wanted to reach, the wind that her unsatisfied desires had created stopped, the dizziness of that wind ended, the sail of her life went slack without wind and hung there in a frightening motionlessness. When the thirst of wanting ended as well, what was left behind was a painful stirring up of multiple feelings whose reality was doubtful and which couldn’t even dream of arriving somewhere.
Her pain and longing were real and true at the moments she experienced them, but to feel there was no longer any aim with which to satisfy these feelings, to know that her desires didn’t have real aims, to realize that there was no destination at which to arrive in order to be satisfied, created an emptiness in her life, a sense that something was missing; these feelings, which didn’t touch or make
contact with anyone else, died in this void as well, they faded, and, strangely, became more bitter. Mehpare Hanım realized that for a wish to be real, it had to continue to exist once it had reached its aim.
That night in the gazebo, which in the moonlight seemed to be made of emeralds, she was confused, she was accustomed to being admired, it was like an opium addiction, and without this she was left alone with herself, she was left in the middle of a feminine reckoning that she was not accustomed to; she was even more saddened and surprised to hear rumors that Hikmet Bey had fallen in love with a young girl and wanted to marry her, to hear that someone whose admiration and passion for her she’d thought would last forever had freed himself from her enchantment.
Her wishes changed places so quickly that she was having trouble catching them, putting them in order, and separating the real from the counterfeit. She was on the verge of accepting defeat and loneliness, indeed she had already accepted them; now she was thinking about living a calm and quiet life in her mansion, closing the doors, spending time with her children, shedding her never-ending wishes, her burning, wounding lust; she would change the lifestyle that had given her so much pleasure but that had left an emptiness deep within her, though she didn’t know what it was that was missing. She felt lonely and old; she would grow accustomed to not being admired, for Hikmet Bey to have moved on to someone else ended her pathetic struggle in complete defeat.
She leaned back in her wooden armchair with a strange inner peace and looked pensively at the bright moonbeams that played like silver birds at her feet. Her feelings changed so rapidly that when decisions she made in the flow of one of her feelings took form in her mind, her feelings changed as well: her thoughts were never able to catch up to her feelings, the moment she believed she’d accepted the mood of defeat and dejection, she suddenly clapped her hands, called a servant, and asked for a pen and paper.
