by Ahmet Altan
Despite Rukiye’s impatience, Tevfik Bey was very cautious; he always kept the topic of conversation away from them, he didn’t have Rukiye’s boldness and recklessness. Rukiye slowly came to the conclusion that this relationship could go on this way forever, that Tevfik Bey would never have the courage to open up to her about his feelings, and that she had to take the reins. She knew now that soon she would talk to Tevfik Bey very openly, but there was no way she could know that a murder would bring the subject up, a murder would bring the man she loved into her life, but unfortunately another murder would take him away forever.
When Rukiye came back into the living room, Hikmet Bey immediately brought up the subject he wanted to talk about.
“I saw your mother today,” he said.
Mihrişah Sultan looked at him in the mocking manner that always hurt him and carped:
“Now it’s clear what happened to you.”
Hikmet Bey acted as if he hadn’t heard her.
“You mother wants you and Nizam to live with her.”
Rukiye shook her head angrily.
“I want to stay with her ladyship.”
Then she turned to Mihrişah Sultan.
“If you have no objection . . . ”
“Of course I have no objection, on the contrary, I’d be pleased.”
Hikmet Bey interrupted.
“But your mother has been very lonely, Rukiye, she wants to have her children with her.”
Rukiye had never forgiven her mother’s betrayal of her step-father, she was determined not to forgive her, but Nizam had long since forgiven what had been done to his natural father.
“Nizam can live with her, I’m fine here.”
Hikmet Bey realized that insisting wouldn’t help.
“As you wish, Rukiye, but at least go visit your mother and tell her yourself. She is your mother, and nothing can change that fact.”
“I’ll write her a letter tomorrow.”
“Please don’t upset her.”
Rukiye gave Hikmet Bey a scornful look for showing this tenderness to Mehpare Hanım after all that had happened.
“Don’t talk as if you don’t know my mother, nothing can upset her.”
“Aren’t you being a bit harsh?”
“Why is it harsh to tell the truth, but if you don’t want to see the truth, then that’s something else.”
Hikmet Bey turned to his mother.
“With your permission, I’d like to stay the night here.”
It was only then that Mihrişah Sultan noticed that Hikmet Bey was truly shaken, that meeting the former wife for whom he’d tried to kill himself had affected him.
“Of course, stay, it’s very beautiful here in the morning, I really miss talking to you. You said you weren’t hungry, but today they made some of the dishes you like, let me tell them to bring you some. Maybe you’ll eat.”
Hikmet Bey hungrily ate the food they brought and drank a bottle of French wine as well; as he ate, color returned to his face, his smile became vivacious, despite her hurtful manner, his mother’s presence and her beauty, which made even Mehpare Hanım angry, reinforced the self-confidence that had been established again with that afternoon’s lovemaking. As he said to Osman, “I don’t know how she does it, but my mother gives everyone around her the feeling that they are the most important thing in her life, all of your problems seemed insignificant when you were with her.”
After dinner he gave a long speech about the complexity and incomprehensibility of the soul, teased the ladies in waiting, as the women watched in surprise, he seemed to shift shape and become another person.
Mihrişah Sultan was irritated because she thought he was happy because of his reconciliation with Mehpare Hanım.
“I think you’re drunk.”
Hikmet Bey behaved like a pampered child.
“Oh, mother, you think that men are only cheerful when they’re drunk, all of your friends must be depressed.”
“Does it seem strange to you that I think people need a reason to be cheerful, as far as I know, only madmen and drunks are cheerful for no reason.”
“I have reason to be cheerful.”
Mihrişah Sultan became even more angry.
“Is that so? It must be something only you know about, I don’t see anyone else being cheerful.”
“You’re here, Rukiye is here, these beautiful ladies are here, do I need any more reason?”
“We’ve always been here, but we weren’t reason enough for you to be cheerful then.”
“Mother, does it make you angry that I’m cheerful?”
“No, shame on you.”
Before she’d finished her sentence, Mihrişah Sultan realized that her son was right, that his cheer did make her angry, but she preferred to ignore it.
“I just find it a bit meaningless.”
As Hikmet Bey fluttered around himself like a snowflake caught in an air current, changing his expression and manner of speaking as he encountered a variety feelings and facets, he suddenly changed again, becoming the conceited Pasha’s son in the salons of Paris.
“You think being cheerful is meaningless, I think, madame, that it’s been a long time since you’ve read Rabelais, oh, madame, what a sin . . . ”
Then he became a melancholy Istanbul gentleman.
“We have been unable to find anything but sorrow in meaning. Be lighthearted even if it is meaningless, don’t think that being cheerful is too much for this poor slave.”
That evening he parried his mother’s innuendos, taunts, jibes, sharp witticisms, and mocking scorn and responded in kind; throughout their conversation he felt that this was what he really wanted, that motherly tenderness would have suffocated and killed him. Deliberately or not, Mihrişah Sultan gave her son what he needed most, to spar with an intelligent woman who was magically beautiful, just like a lioness teaching her cubs to hunt through games, she taught him again how to handle women, reminding him again how to make moves against beautiful women, succeeded in erasing Mehpare Hanım’s extraordinary beauty and terrifying image with her presence, and showed him that this was possible.
After a deep and peaceful sleep, he woke the next morning to a lavish breakfast served by the sea and a tender mother. As much as he’d enjoyed sparring the previous evening, he would have found witty repartee tedious in the morning, but Mihrişah Sultan acted as if she sensed all of her son’s wishes. As for Rukiye, she came over to him and kissed him on the cheek, as if to apologize for her rudeness the previous evening. They had their breakfast without much conversation, but with the complete warmth and love of a family.
Hikmet Bey kissed his mother’s hand before boarding the launch that was waiting for him.
“Oh, mother, it’s as if you give birth to me anew each time.”
Mihrişah Sultan slapped his cheek softly and said, “Don’t be silly.”
But after watching Hikmet Bey waving from the back of the launch as it moved away from the dock, she eventually murmured to herself:
“Hikmet has suffered so much, I hope there isn’t more suffering in store for him.”
Rukiye waved without saying anything, but she made the same wish inwardly.
When Hikmet Bey arrived at his mansion in Nişantaşı, he found Dilevser browsing in the library.
“Bonjour, Dilevser, how are you?”
They met and spoke in the library almost every morning; it was as if the smell of old books showed them how meaningless time was and decreased the age difference between them, sharing the same taste, liking the same writers, being able to talk about the same characters established a solid bridge between them on which they could move safely. Over time they were able to speak more comfortably and freely; this was partly because Dilevser felt stronger among the books, in a world that belonged to her. When they talked about books, Dilevser abandoned the mod
esty behind which she concealed herself, she offered bold criticism and used sharp language to express what she admired. They grew accustomed to each other; they knew each other’s taste in books and authors, they could now guess what books the other would like.
Whether it was because Hikmet Bey had said “bonjour” rather than “good morning” as he usually did, or because of the tone of his voice, or for some other reason, Dilevser sensed that there was something different about him that morning, that something about Hikmet Bey had changed.
And what she sensed was very true. That morning Hikmet Bey was very different from the man she’d seen the previous day, he was self-confident, he was aware that he had recovered from his wounds, he knew that he was strong enough to deal with women, he believed once again that he was attractive and he had made love to Mehpare Hanım; just like any man who had managed to emerge from a beautiful woman’s bed without being wounded, he looked down on other women, how should this be put, he was somewhat arrogant and patronizing.
“Good morning, Hikmet Bey, perhaps I came a little too early this morning . . . ”
She stopped and added softly:
“You weren’t here.”
Hikmet Bey understood that the phrase, “You weren’t here,” contained many questions, that the young girl was asking, “Where have you been, where were you, who were you with?” The previous morning he would have answered these questions at once, he would have told her where he’d been, but he didn’t do so that morning.
“It looks as if it’s going to be quite hot today, let me open these windows.”
He went and opened the windows one by one. Dilevser watched him in silence, and it was clear she was still waiting for an answer to her question. And Hikmet Bey was deliberately slow, he took revenge for all the days he’d spent struggling to win her admiration by trying to make the young girl feel her jealousy more deeply. Even though he was ashamed of what he was doing, he couldn’t hold himself back; a secret voice from his experience was also telling him that jealousy would help Dilevser grow up and become more of a woman.
When he turned back to Dilevser he acted as if he he’d just grasped what the young girl had said.
“Oh, yes, I wasn’t home last night, I stayed with my mother.”
When he saw a faint flash of joy pass across Dilevser’s slightly faded face, he knew that her interest had come to life. Later he complained to Osman, “I don’t know why we treat some women badly, but why are some women more interested when we treat them badly, I don’t understand that either.”
He sat in an armchair and crossed his legs, and looked at the young girl arrogantly, almost scornfully, he was having trouble believing that this thin, pale, fragile creature was the woman who had caused him to spend weeks living in a misty, melancholy world that resembled a late afternoon in winter. The realization that he had freed himself from the poisonous effects of Mehpare Hanım’s fateful enchantment was like an amulet that protected him from any woman’s enchantment, power, and attraction and made him untouchable, unreachable, and invulnerable; he looked at those under whose influence he’d fallen, who’d wounded and saddened him, as if he was looking through the wrong end of a telescope, he found them small, distant, even meaningless. What he felt now toward almost all women was not anger or rage, but rather distance and scorn. That morning, the things he’d seen as beautiful in Dilevser he now saw as flaws; her faded face, the childishness of her innocent fingers, the thin, bony body in which there appeared no inklings of lust, the distant bashfulness in her eyes; someone had changed the angle of the light shining on her, the same person looked as if she was someone else, the shadows on her face suddenly moved from one place to another. Seeing her flaws gave him a strange, almost wicked pleasure.
Dilevser deliberately looked at the books with deep attention, taking out one after another, reading the back covers, leafing through them carefully as if she didn’t want to see Hikmet Bey’s arrogant and discomforting mood, the inner waves of which were reflected on his face; Hikmet Bey absentmindedly watched the way her head bowed and her back hunched slightly as she took another book from the bookcase. This girl too had made him suffer, though not nearly as much as Mehpare Hanım had, she’d made him pursue her, she’d kept her shields of modesty raised against him in a way that had rattled his self-confidence; despite the closeness that had recently been established between them, Hikmet Bey always felt the taste of the embarrassing sediment left by the efforts he’d made to win the heart of a young girl who was the same age as his son.
He’d forgotten what a consolation her innocence and distance from the world had been for him just a few days ago, how comforting it had been for him to dream about her thin-fingered hands caressing the wounds Mehpare Hanım had inflicted.
When Dilevser tired of looking at the books so intently and turned toward Hikmet Bey with a book in her hand, for a moment she felt a real disquiet and avoided looking at the man sitting in the armchair.
“Why are you looking at me that way?”
“How am I looking at you?” asked Hikmet Bey in a condescending manner.
“As if you’ve caught me doing something wrong. Have I done anything to anger you?”
Then she put the book back into the bookshelf where she’d found it and walked toward the door.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have intruded on you at such an early hour, I was being thoughtless.”
Hikmet Bey realized at that moment that she would never return. He jumped up, more in fear of being rude to a woman than of losing Dilevser.
“I beg your pardon, Dilevser, there’s no intrusion, in this house your presence is never seen as an intrusion, if you say you don’t know this then you can also say that I’m a bad host.”
“No, of course not, I couldn’t say that, the thought never even occurred to me. It was only today that I had the feeling I was intruding.”
Hikmet Bey touched the girl’s arm lightly.
“Please, sit down, let’s have a morning coffee.”
Then he couldn’t resist and added with a mocking smile:
“You mother won’t be angry if you drink coffee, will she?”
Dilevser answered in such a tranquil tone that Hikmet Bey couldn’t be certain whether she was making fun of him or if she was serious.
“I didn’t realize that you see me as a child.”
“I beg your pardon, Dilevser, have you decided to shame me for everything I say and do, my dear?”
“I don’t think you’ve done anything to be shamed for.”
“Please, come. You haven’t picked out a book today.”
They went back into the living room together and sat down.
“I don’t know, I couldn’t find anything this morning. I think I’m a bit absentminded, I couldn’t focus on books.”
“Why are you absentminded, is there anything bothering you?”
The girl looked at Hikmet Bey with her large, clear eyes.
“No.”
She uttered only this one word, but she continued looking at Hikmet Bey’s face, it was more as if she was trying to understand something than as if there was something she wanted to say.
They sat in silence until their coffee was served, the girl’s serenity, the clarity of her eyes, her straight, open expression embarrassed Hikmet Bey a bit, caused a slight regret to move within him. He realized that Dilevser was hurt, even if she didn’t say so.
Perhaps because he was ashamed of his ill-intentioned rudeness that morning, perhaps because he wanted to see himself as a man who was powerful enough to make the women around him suffer, he thought he saw a pain in the girl’s eyes that was familiar to him, that was almost like a reflection of the state he’d recently been in; amid the fog and the inebriating cloudiness left behind after the experience of strong emotions, he thought he was seeing his own expressions, the unbearable pain he used to have, on the young girl’s
face.
His concern that he may have caused her to suffer made him blush.
“I haven’t done anything to hurt you, have I?” Then he repeated the same question as if he was drunk.
“I haven’t done anything to hurt you, have I?”
There was an almost pleading tone in his voice. Without changing her blank expression, she gave the same short answer again.
“No.”
Hikmet Bey was surprised by her calm voice, the expression that despite its clarity revealed nothing of her, a singleword answer instead of a long explanation; he was unable to grasp what she was feeling and this disquieted him deeply. This disquiet once again shook the self-confidence that Hikmet Bey was quite sure existed, and the interest that he’d thought had ended was once again focused on her.
They drank their coffee without speaking. Hikmet Bey wanted to say something, to open a conversational door, to understand the girl’s emotions, but somehow he wasn’t able to speak, and Dilevser just remained silent.
When the young girl left, saying nothing more than goodbye and without borrowing a new book, she left behind her a chaos of emotions composed of curiosity, anxiety, the desire to love, and the disquiet of not understanding, showing Hikmet Bey that it was not easy to reach a new and tranquil mood after a great emotional upheaval and that these tides would continue for some time.
Hikmet Bey leaned back wearily, thinking about how he was always the one who was tired and defeated, and he saw a letter on the coffee table next to his armchair.
Reşit Pasha had written to his son to inform him that he’d settled into a mansion in Salonika, he’d sent the address and asked that money be sent to him.
Just as he did every time he felt defeated and alone, he rushed out of the library, said, “Come,” to Hediye, who was leaning against the wall waiting, and as he climbed the stairs he thought, “My father is safe”; he had no idea what he was safe from or what he had made safe, but he believed that his pain had been eased and that leaving Istanbul had saved him.
