Istanbul Passage

by Joseph Kanon

  “So. What’s so important you risk typhus?” Mihai said.

  “They look all right,” Leon said, nodding to the passengers.

  “You should see down below. We send them up in shifts, so everyone gets some air. Down there it’s—so never mind. What do you want?”

  “Is there somewhere we can go?”

  “What, here?” Mihai said, looking at the deck. “For a kaffeeklatsch? Find a square inch.” He checked his watch. “They go back down in fifteen minutes. Just try moving them early.”

  “I’m serious. Off the ship, then.”

  “All right, come on,” Mihai said, leading him toward the bridge. “What’s the occasion? What happened at the consulate? You didn’t shoot him, I hope.” Airy, but looking at Leon from the side.

  “You heard?”

  “Everybody’s heard. It’s Istanbul. Anything to do with your Romanian friend?”

  “In a way.”

  “What way?”

  “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you later. I see the quarantine signs are still up.”

  “Bastards. A few more days we really will have typhus. Living like this—” He peered at him. “I thought you were making a trip. A little drive to the country.”

  “I changed my mind.”

  “Just like that?”

  “I’ll tell you that later too.”

  “Everything later. And the boat in Antalya?”

  “Who is he?” one of the passengers asked Mihai in Romanian. “A British? He wants to stop us here?”

  “American. A friend.”

  The man snorted. “Whose? Ours? So when do we leave?”

  “Soon.”

  The man waved his hand down in disgust.

  “They’re all afraid of being sent back,” Mihai said as they walked away. “We should have been there by now.”

  Leon looked again across the Horn, the pincushion of minarets. “What do they think it’s going to be like? Like Poland?”

  “That one lost his whole family. The pogrom in Jassy. Big open grave. He thinks it’s going to be better than that, that’s all.”

  In the bridge cabin, a man was leaning over a chart spread across the table, the Sea of Marmara, the thin bottleneck of the Dardanelles, then the open water, filled here with numbers and channel markers, the orange trees somewhere in the imaginary distance.

  “Ah,” he said, looking up, “the new rations. Finally. Did you have any trouble with the harbor police? Unloading? We had to pay extra for the water.”

  “No,” Mihai said, shaking his head, “not the rations yet. A friend. David, our captain.”

  “Oh,” David said, ignoring Leon, disappointed. “When? Mihai—”

  “I know. The truck will be here. Aciman promised.” He nodded to Leon. “A social visit. We can have a few minutes?”

  David hesitated, then realized he was being asked to leave, and nodded awkwardly. He moved away from the map. “You heard there was more trouble with Pilcer, the rabbi? The one suitcase allowance. He wants an exception, for the synagogue. How can he leave the menorah? You know. Like before.”

  “Tell him to throw his clothes over then. One suitcase. The extra fits another child. He can get new once we get there.”

  “He says it’s special to them.”

  “One suitcase.”

  The captain shrugged, leaving. “He says that’s what the Nazis said, for the train.”

  “And he’s the one who survives. Tell him he calls me a Nazi again, I’ll personally throw him over. And the menorah.” He flicked his hand, a gesture of contempt. “The Orthodox.” He turned to Leon as the captain left. “Just what Palestine needs. More Torah scrolls. Haganah asks for young people and who do they send? Make a soldier out of that. They want to bring Europe with them. What Europe? The ovens? A bullet in the head? My father was the same. And my uncle. Every day, in shul, hours, and outside you could see what was happening. Come with me, I said, get out now. No. We’re too old to make a new life.” He paused. “So they lost the old one. My sister at least listened. Now, Haifa. She helps meet the boats. Pull people out of the water before the patrols get them. And he wants to bring menorahs.” He looked up, aware that he had been rambling. “So what’s so important? What do you want?”

  “To help get you out of here.”

  “Oh, Moses. You want to part Galata Bridge?”

  “No,” Leon said, opening the briefcase. “Go out when they raise it this morning. Now that everyone’s feeling better.” He handed over two stacks. “Ten thousand dollars. That’s what you said, wasn’t it?”

  Mihai lifted the money, as if he were weighing it, then looked at Leon. “Where did you get it?”

  “Who’s going to ask? The harbormaster? The health officials? You can go tonight.”

  “I’m asking.”

  “Don’t.”

  “Another long story?”

  “It was money to help Jews. Now it will.”

  “But not the same ones.”

  “Use it,” Leon said, looking directly at him. “No one knows. Leave tonight. Before they ask for more.”

  “An overnight recovery. From typhus.”

  “Insist. You can’t stay here much longer. How long would it take? To pay them off.”

  “Not long.”

  “When do they raise the bridge?”

  “Three thirty, something like that.”

  “Not sooner?” Leon said, thinking.

  Mihai peered at him. “What do you want?”

  “Nothing,” Leon said.

  “Ten thousand dollars for nothing.”

  “They were going to buy Jews out with it,” Leon said. “So buy them out now. No strings.” He reached for another stack.

  “And that?”

  “Two places. On the boat. Five thousand dollars. However you want to use it.”

  “There are no places on the boat.”

  “Standing room.”

  “So,” Mihai said. “Money to help the Jews.” He lifted a stack. “And money to help a killer of Jews?” Raising his eyebrow toward the other stack. “That’s who it is? Two places? Who’s the other one?”

  “Me.”

  “You,” Mihai said slowly. “You want to take the butcher to Palestine. On this boat.”

  “Just hitch a ride. For part of the way.”

  “And you think I would do this?” He held out the money. “There are no places.”

  Leon shook his head. “The money’s yours. It’s not a condition.”

  “No, an obligation. What made you think I would take this?”

  “I thought you’d want to get them out of here.”

  “Not for this price.”

  “Hear me out. One minute. You leave tonight. There might be an inspection, so we won’t leave with you. He’s traveling as a Turk. All the boats come out of the Horn at once, it’s busy. When you’re out of the city, past the Princes’ Islands, you pick us up. I have a boat arranged. The other passengers don’t have to know who. Two more. We’ll stand if we have to. Near Cyprus, the boat from Antalya picks us up. We’re gone. As far as you’re concerned we were never here.” He stopped. “It’s the last place they would ever look.”

  “For him? Yes,” Mihai said. “And you were never here. Is that how you arrange things for your conscience these days? Pretend they never happen?” He put the money on the table, then looked up at Leon. “Why are you doing this?” he said, his voice softer. “Do you know anymore? For your country? The one you don’t live in?”

  “Why do you?” Leon said, nodding to the boat.

  “A house is burning, someone jumps out. What do you do? Keep walking? Not try to help?”

  “Then help them.”

  Mihai looked down at the money. “The devil bargains this way.”

  “The devil.”

  “You don’t see yourself. Come to this side of the table.”

  “I have to get him out.”

  “And that makes it all right.”

  “He’ll die.”
/>   “Well, people do,” Mihai said, his voice hard. He went over to the window. “Millions. No deals.” He looked down at the deck. “These people,” he said, waving his hand, brooding. “Who knows what they did to survive? Sonderkommandos maybe, some of them. You don’t ask. If you weren’t there, you have no right. The Romanian you met? On the deck? He told me what they did at Jassy. People like your friend. They tortured families together, to find the others. They didn’t beat you, they beat your wife. Made you watch. If you’d like us to stop—like that. They raped a girl, in front of her father. A mistake. He never told them anything—he went mad. So a waste. Except for whatever pleasure they took.” He looked away, toward the deck. “They all have stories like this. So who knows what bargains they made? And all you want me to do is take some money. I keep my soul. But I help the butcher. That’s your idea?”

  “Jianu doesn’t matter anymore. They do.”

  “And what happens after you get him out? He tells your people things about the Russians. Maybe even true. So they know something for a while. So the Russians change them. And the game goes on. But he’s out of it. He goes free. And you want me to help. That’s the business you’re in now? And what do I get? A boat so old maybe it sinks. But maybe it gets them there.” He stopped, looking down on the deck, the flapping laundry, quiet for a few minutes. “So I answer myself. To get these people to Palestine—what would I do? Is it even my choice?” He picked up the money, absentmindedly flipping the corners, then looked up at Leon. “But I don’t forget you did this. Arranged such a bargain for me. The debt’s canceled. We’re quits.”

  “What debt?”

  “Whatever debt there was between us. It’s paid.” He put the money in his pocket and reached over for the other stack. “How far past the Princes’ Islands?”

  Leon didn’t say anything for a second, dismissed. Mihai waited, the silence a kind of prodding.

  “Off Büyükada. We’ll signal. The other ships will be heading for the main channel. Harbor police too. Just have the captain go slow.”

  “Don’t worry, that’s the only speed he can go. If you’re not there, we won’t wait, understood? Your friend’s a Turk now?”

  “A Turkish Jew.”

  Mihai looked up. “You think of everything. I’m assuming the deal is we get him there alive. That’s why you’re going? The bodyguard?”

  “No, I have to leave too. The police are looking for me.”

  Mihai went still. “Why?”

  “They think I shot Frank.”

  “Why would they think that?” Mihai said quietly.

  “And Tommy,” Leon said, looking at him. “The boat at Bebek? The fisherman turned up. They saw him. He can identify me, put me there that night. So they add two and two and get five.”

  “He can identify everyone there that night.”

  “But there wasn’t anyone else,” Leon said, meeting his stare. “Just me.” He took one more stack out of his briefcase.

  “What’s that?”

  “I can explain what happened to Washington. I’m bringing them a witness they’ll believe. My house present. I’m not so sure about the Turkish police. Once they have an idea, they don’t like to be wrong. Especially when our people say they are. So I may not be able to come back. If not, this is for Anna. I’ll make arrangements to move her, but you’ll need this—to handle things.”

  Mihai said nothing for a minute. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?” he said finally. “That it was for you?”

  “It’s for both. I need him.”

  “You have another witness.”

  “No. There was no one else there. I’ll swear to it.”

  Another second, not talking.

  “It’s interesting how you do this,” Mihai said, looking away. “Draw these lines. This is acceptable, not that. Do you argue with yourself? You should study Talmud. You’d be good at it. You can find anything there. Though maybe not why you should save the butcher.”

  “No one else. Or you’d never work here again.”

  Mihai looked back, then nodded, accepting this. “And your fisherman? Will he swear too?”

  “If it comes to it. He likes the work. It’s easy money. He’d want to do what we say.”

  “And when his job’s over?”

  “There’s another one. He’s bringing me tonight. Make yourself scarce, so he doesn’t spot you. Trigger any memories.”

  “You hired him?”

  “This way I know where he is. If he’s with me, he’s not with the police. And if he is someday, the job puts him in a spot. He’s accusing me, but helping me to escape? For pay? How do you build a case around that? And then there’s all the other work, things he’d rather not talk about.”

  “In Turkey they don’t need to build a case.”

  Leon nodded. “Then let’s not get caught.” He handed over the stack for Anna. “You may not need this. The ambassador makes the right calls, I could be back in no time. In good standing. But just in case. You’ll take care of her?”

  Mihai pocketed the money, an answer. He looked at the briefcase. “Is that it or does the money keep coming? Like a magic hat.”

  “Just a little pocket change. Traveling expenses.” He touched Mihai’s upper arm. “Thank you.”

  “Listen to me,” Mihai said, gruff, but not removing the hand. “Any police, David puts you off. Orders. It’s understood? It’s not for you, this ship. It’s for them.”

  “There won’t be any trouble. It’s the last place they’d look.”

  “Yes.” Mihai shook his head and turned away. “The last place. Who else has to do such things, just to live? Survive the ovens and—then help the killers. And maybe it’s not even the worst before we’re finished with this.” His mouth turned up slightly, a wry tic.

  “What?” Leon said, catching his expression.

  “Rabbi Pilcer. If he knew. What I’m taking instead of his menorah.”

  He told the cab to take him back to the Pera but then, a hunch, asked to pull up instead to a pay phone near the Koç shipyards.

  “Thank God you called,” Kay said.

  “The police are there?”

  “No. I mean, they may be, I don’t know, but Gülün called, asking for you.”

  “And?”

  “I told him you made sure I was okay and then went back to the consulate.”

  “He buy it?”

  “I don’t know. He wants you to call him. He has a few questions. Polite. Well, for him.”

  “I can’t come back, then. He must have men there.” And probably at the consulate, the Reynolds office, Cihangir, the door really closing now.

  “Where are you? I’ll meet you.”

  He looked through the glass at the taxi waiting by the curb, the stretch of empty road by the docks, some cranes moving silently in the distance. Out in the open.

  “Kay—”

  “You can’t just go. Not like this. Just go. I have to see you. Do you know what it’s like, sitting here? Like a wake. Like his casket’s in the room.”

  “Kay. They’ll put a tail on you. I won’t be gone long.”

  “Come up the back then. Like before. Don’t just go.”

  “I can’t go to the Pera.”

  “Somewhere else then. Please. Just tell me.” Her voice catching, some nerve finally snapping.

  He glanced again at the taxi. Not Laleli. Georg’s in Nişantaşi? A story for the neighbors, a photograph Georg wanted him to have, and how was the dog? Assuming they had a key. Wondering who the lady was. The whole maze of Istanbul and nowhere to hide.

  “Leon—”

  “I’m thinking.” A movie, anonymity in the dark. But not where a new widow would go. Somewhere in plain sight. That would make sense to them. Outside, the cabbie flicked away the end of a cigarette. Leon followed its arc, a few sparks, to the gutter. “Okay,” he said quickly. “Go to the concierge.” Methodical now, as if he were laying down cards. “Ask him to recommend a good shop in the Bazaar. For copper, silver work. He�
��ll know one, they all do. Then take a taxi to the Beyazit Gate. There’ll be a lot of gold shops just inside. Keep going straight. I’ll find you.”

  She was quiet for a second. “I’m going shopping? Leon—”

  “For an urn. For Frank’s ashes. Be sure to tell the concierge that. They’ll ask him what you wanted.”

  “My god,” she said, her voice squeamish.

  “I know. But it’s something you’ll have to do, sooner or later. They might even give you a little room, out of respect. I doubt it, but they’ll still want to keep their distance. And it’s something you wouldn’t be doing with me.”

  “No.”

  “So they won’t be looking for that. Give me fifteen minutes, then go downstairs.”

  “Why the Bazaar? Why not somewhere over here?”

  “Because it’s easy to get lost in the Bazaar. Everybody does. So they won’t be surprised when they lose you.”

  Leon waited in a stall a few doors down from the entrance, back half turned, fingering necklaces, while the salesman scurried around the shop, bringing out more trays. Every inch of wall space seemed to be covered in gold, dangling and shiny. Who bought it all? The line of stores stretched for at least a mile, all crammed with jewelry, shimmering with reflected light. In a few hours the market would be locked, only night guards in the empty shuttered streets, but now it hummed, the noise of a thousand voices rising up to the domed ceiling.

  When Kay came through the gate she stopped for a minute, dazzled, trying to get her bearings. A winter coat and hat, the western clothes like a magnet to the shopkeepers, inviting her in as she walked down the passage. Leon waited a few more minutes, watching the people. The salesman brought out another tray. And then Leon spotted him, a man in a suit who could have passed for a relative of Gülün, maybe actually was. Stubbly cheeks, eyes fixed ahead, keeping Kay in sight. Two more minutes. No one else. Not a team. Leon left the shop and began to follow, tracking Kay’s hat in the stream of bobbing heads. She passed Feraceciler Sok, the first big cross street, and then began to loiter, gazing into shop windows, waiting for Leon to appear. The policeman stopped too, turning away slightly.