The Star of Istanbul
Page 36
Lucine came forward to me.
She stood very close, though we did not touch. She smelled of forest and of newly mown hay, of musk and of lavender. This was my first smell of her, from the Lusitania, the smell of her when we first lay down naked together. She’d put this on to kill Enver Pasha. And I knew what was coming. I figured this was the last time she would ever smell like this.
She said, “I can’t go, my darling Kit. He might be right. I might simply be swept along and the world will have its way with all of us. But I can make no other choice. We’ll stay and do what we can.”
I took her into my arms. And I kissed her long enough and deep enough so she could know that I understood, and that I was riven with regret.
The kiss ended. We held each other a moment, our faces too dark to read.
“I’ll write the news of what I’ve seen,” I said.
As deep as the darkness was upon that quay in Istanbul, the stars let me see the tears that came now to her eyes.
And I let go of her and she turned and she walked past Arshak who had drawn near.
He nodded. I nodded. He did not offer his hand. Give the old ham this: he was content tonight to play a minor part; he knew that the final touch should be hers.
He turned and followed his daughter.
And I followed the flashlight onto the launch and the engine started up and I moved to the stern as we churned away from shore, Lucine and Arshak vanishing into the dark and the voices of the muezzins dying away.
Cable was wrong about the currents carrying us away. For all our insignificance and helplessness, we were actually like the passengers of the Lusitania going down. We couldn’t save the ship. We couldn’t prevent the consequences in the world. We couldn’t save a thousand lives. But at least we could grab on to a deck chair and try to save the next life who floated past.