Just then Zehra came into the room, holding that day’s paper. She threw her arms around me.
“Oh, Daddy!” she cried. “I always knew you were a man like this! But you kept it all a secret from us. Could there be any other explanation? God bless Mother.”
Halit Ayarcı smiled and looked intently at my daughter.
“I’m of the very same opinion,” he said. “Your mother’s a wonderful woman! I haven’t read anything quite so wonderful in a very long time!”
I was losing my mind.
By the late-afternoon prayers I’d come face-to-face with the first clear reverberation of this wonderful interview. Dr. Ramiz, Lazybones Asaf Bey, Halit Ayarcı, and I were all chatting in Halit Bey’s office. Or rather Halit Ayarcı was chipping away at my various points of resistance. Dr. Ramiz had been led out onto the open road by Halit Bey’s enthusiasm and was driving his horses into a full gallop. It was no longer just as matter of Ahmet the Timely. Now my reaction to my wife’s interview in the paper was a crime in itself.
According to Dr. Ramiz, I was a man in denial of his full powers, stubbornly closing his eyes to the movements of the age, and because I had limited my worldview, I had created a whole range of needless shortcomings, so as to inflict my responsibilities on those around me.
“Others can see you for who you truly are, but you somehow cannot! You’ve imprisoned yourself in a web of baseless fears and paranoia. How can you tolerate it?”
To him, my continuing doubts about the existence of Ahmet the Timely and my rejection of my wife’s picture of me as a banjo-playing equestrian were all symptoms of the same malady.
“Your wife has presented you as the ideal modern man and still you doubt and deny it all!”
“My wife is insane. Since we’ve been married, she’s gone to bed every night assuming that I am the lead man in the film she saw the evening before, and in the morning she jumps up out of bed in a frantic search for the pearl-studded slippers she wore in The Thief of Baghdad.”
I saw Dr. Ramiz’s jaw drop, but Halit Ayarcı went on unruffled:
“Of course his wife’s crazy, and I’m a liar and a snake charmer . . . Well then, what’s your daughter, Zehra Hanım?”
“Zehra has been swept away by the whole thing. Just the other night she said, ‘I’m so pleased with my life. It feels like I’m in an operetta or a vaudeville play. At last I’m getting a taste of life!’”
Dr. Ramiz replied:
“But can’t you see? This only means that she too accepts your artist’s soul. She even said as much this morning. ‘Daddy,’ she said, “I always knew you were a man like this!’”
By now Halit Ayarcı was quite cross with me; addressing the doctor, he said:
“Give up the ghost, good man. Leave him to wallow in his stubbornness and skepticism. Life marches forward. One day, when the caravan leaves him behind, then he’ll understand. Today we live in what is called the modern world! And look at the state of those who deny it! We can’t change them by force. May they be blessed with common sense. We, however, are in pursuit of real life!”
Dr. Ramiz suddenly softened:
“I only pity him because I know his strength. This is why I am speaking in such a way, applying pressure . . . Why else would I bother?”
“I don’t pity him at all! I only have time for the institute.”
Roused from his nap, Lazybones Asaf stuck his open hand out into the air as if trying to capture a fly.
“And I was also just thinking,” he said. “We’ll have to buy a refrigerator for the summer, don’t you think? And a fan . . .”
Halit Ayarcı pursed his lips to keep from laughing out loud.
“The most difficult thing is to work with a man who doesn’t believe.”
By now I was truly dispirited.
“I do everything you tell me to do. Isn’t that enough? Why must I believe?”
“Don’t do, just believe—that’s all we ask of you.”
Now it was Halit Ayarcı’s turn to be indignant.
“Because what I need above all,” he railed, “is belief—a true belief in the importance of our work here. You people are the run-down, threadbare spirits of another age. It’s quite impossible to work with people who have no faith in life. You don’t even believe in Ahmet the Timely!”
“Well, that’s because there’s no such man. He’s simply not there. There’s not a trace of such a man in all history! Show me one single document, just a mention of the name—that’s enough.”
Dr. Ramiz interjected:
“That way of thinking is antiquated. History is at the disposal of the present. I can show you hundreds of papers on hundreds of topics, and they are all lies, so what’s the difference? If he hadn’t existed, you couldn’t have known the name, you never could have spoken of him. It all boils down to this: you see yourself above and beyond your own age. This is intellectually arrogant. In effect you are trying to say, ‘I am in command of all truths!’ No, my dear saint, such power is beyond our ken. No man can be omniscient, it’s simply not possible.”
A sudden scuffle outside the door kept me from answering. First I heard Dervis Efendi. The poor man was frantic:
“Impossible, madam, impossible without asking first! They’re in the middle of an official meeting!”
A sharp voice responded in a barbed retort:
“I know all about their meetings—out of my way!”
Apparently Dervis Aga was imploring her.
“I said out of my way, you brute!”
Now there was no doubt left in my mind: It was my aunt. It’d been twenty-four years, but I still recognized her voice. I was pinned to my chair. There was no way out.
The door flung open and my aunt stormed into the room, clutching a pile of papers and a great suitcase of a purse under her arm, furiously brandishing her umbrella above her gray head, itself embellished with such extravagant black plumes that it was more ostentatious than an eagle. She seemed more awesome and otherworldly than when she returned from the cemetery in Merkezefendi. Her heavily powdered face was contorted by rage, and her kohl-lined eyes flashed like lightning. Jewelry dangled from her wrists, her fingers, her neck, her ears. Her beige raincoat—an Ottoman cloak by another name—billowed as she entered, as if she were flying. If not for the circumstances, I would have burst out laughing. We all rose to our feet—that is, all but Halit Ayarcı, who remained calm and still in his chair, blinking at her as if to say, “Well, what have we here?”
“A meeting, now, is it? A meeting about what, then?”
Then she saw me.
“You miserable good-for-nothing! You slovenly bag of bones! As if what you’d done before was not enough, you let them claim in the papers that I am a relative of yours? Hah!”
I dodged the first blow of her umbrella, which crashed down instead on Lazybones Asaf’s shoulder. The second smashed the enormous crystal top of Halit Ayarcı’s desk, breaking the umbrella, too.
“You shameless, impertinent trickster! So your strumpet of a wife says she forgives me, eh?”
“Please, Auntie . . .” And before I could say “for the love of God,” the lower end of the umbrella landed directly on my nose.
I felt warm liquid run down over my upper lip. Inspecting it with my fingers, I saw it was blood.
“Serves him right! Oh, just you wait and see. Oh, that’s nothing . . .”
And just as she was about to descend upon me, she stopped—shaken, perhaps, by the sight of blood, or maybe because she had used up all her strength. She was trembling and seemed on the verge of collapse.
Halit Ayarcı slowly rose to his feet. Quietly he stepped around the table, as if receiving a newly arrived guest, and, placing his hand on my aunt’s shoulder, he gestured for her to sit down in the seat next to his. He placed her purse and papers on the table whose glass top had been shattered in
to a million pieces.
“May I assume I at last have the honor of meeting Zarife Hanım?”
My aunt was deathly pale. But her anger had not yet abated. With spittle spraying from her lips, she barked, “That’s right. Zarife Hanım, aunt to this good-for-nothing!”
Maintaining his cool and genial air, Halit Ayarcı said, “And I am Halit Ayarcı! The director of this institute.”
This was enough to send my aunt back into a rage.
“Aha! So all these tricksters have a ringleader, eh? And tell me, then, what exactly does this institute do?”
And looking me straight in the eye she added, “Not that it surprises me to see a slovenly creature like my nephew involved in such nonsense!”
Halit Ayarcı turned to me, and my aunt continued:
“Like father like son. The man did nothing but scrounge after this and that. But what more could you expect from a man addicted to gambling? And now he rides horses and plays tennis! Oh please, he can’t even tell a horse from a donkey! And then you go and allow them to print my name in the papers! Since when has this oh-so-forgiving man been married?”
She turned to Halit Ayarcı.
“But you, sir, you seem like a decent human being. How did you get mixed up with a lowlife like him?”
Still exuding graciousness, Halit Ayarcı replied: “You are speaking out against an official organization! What a shame! We are working to the best of our abilities to provide a public service.”
“Service? And just what kind of service is that? You’re going to regulate clocks, now, are you? You think I’ll believe that? I am Zarife the Veil Shredder, not one to be so easily deceived by such words!”
Suddenly she stopped to look about the room.
“Why should I care about your work anyway? There was a time when I too busied myself with such projects. But I’ve put all that behind me. I came to see the man whose wife says she’s forgiven me. Look at the wretch—he doesn’t even wipe the blood off his nose! And then all these high-and-mighty words . . .”
I slowly pulled out my handkerchief and wiped the blood off my face. Had she not blocked my exit, I’d have exited the room at once.
Halit Ayarcı rang the bell. Dervis Efendi looked entirely changed when he stepped into the room. His forehead was swollen and his collar was torn. He made an extra-long loop around the room, staying as far away from my aunt as possible.
“What will you be drinking, then, madam? Coffee, tea?”
“Coffee,” she ejaculated. “I’m a connoisseur, so make it good. Doctors have been telling me to stop drinking it for the last twenty years, but I don’t listen. But if this dolt is making it then forget it!”
“Dervis Efendi makes wonderful coffee. I’m sure you’ll be pleased! We’ll have coffee too, Dervis Efendi.”
But before Dervis Efendi left the room, he added:
“But first someone bring me a bucket or something of the sort so I can clean up all this glass! What a shame if someone were to come in now.”
And he kicked a piece of broken umbrella under his desk.
“After all, this is an official establishment, madam!”
My aunt seemed rather put out.
“I wouldn’t have come, but I couldn’t find him at home! It seems they’ve moved and nobody could give me the new address. So I had no choice but to come here.”
Flashing his sweetest smile, Halit Bey comforted her:
“No harm done, madam, not at all . . . Such things happen in families. In fact we would have come to you if you hadn’t come here yourself!”
“To me? But whatever for?”
“Well, of course!” he answered. “We were just talking about it now. Here, allow me to explain: we need to establish a group that can support the efforts of the Time Regulation Institute, so as to acquaint the public with its ideas, a group that can in fact oversee the publication of our material. And this is why we decided some time ago that we should establish the Clock Lover’s Society. Today we were discussing its founding delegation. This is why we were having a meeting. My friends and I feel that there must be more female members than men. And, in particular, its president must be a woman, an esteemed individual . . . We’ve been thinking this over since morning, and we just couldn’t come up with an individual worthy of the post. And then finally Hayri Bey says to us, ‘I’ve got it! My aunt would be the ideal person for the job. Above all, she is respectability incarnate. The woman could lead an entire army. She is experienced, and she is well loved by all who know her. What a shame that she’s so cross with me. I couldn’t offer such a post to her. She’d drive me away if I even tried speaking to her!’ Upon hearing about you, we’d unanimously decided to offer you the post. And at just that moment, you honored us with your presence! Please take my seat if you would accept the presidency!”
For a moment my aunt stared at Halit Ayarcı, then at the empty chair beside her. She looked both perplexed but tempted, like a young girl who’d been asked to dance for the first time.
“I just don’t know if I could I do such a thing. And at this age . . .”
Halit Ayarcı smiled.
“How could you not? We’ve already seen you in action!”
Eyeing me sternly, my aunt said, “Oh that was nothing. Wait till I get my hands on your wife!”
Halit Ayarcı let out an easy laugh. “Oh no, Pakize Hanım isn’t to blame here. Of that I’m quite sure. You’ll love her the moment you see her. She’s not that kind of woman. Those details were the embellishments of the journalist. Apparently there were a few misunderstandings. Surely you noticed that most of the photographs were not even of Hayri Bey!”
Indeed most of the photographs in the paper were not of me. The one of me riding a horse had clearly been taken somewhere in the English countryside. Never in my life had I seen the place that was meant to be my library. And my collection of watches and clocks exceeded my wildest dreams.
There was a moment of silence. Then Halit Ayarcı rose to his feet and said to my aunt, “If you would accept our offer, please take your seat and we’ll start the proceedings!”
Without a word, my aunt stood up and strode to the head of the table. Halit Bey sat down in the chair beside her.
“If you would be so kind, Dr. Ramiz, to take minutes for the meeting.”
Dr. Ramiz sat down at the table and flipped open a legal pad. Ever the woman, my aunt launched into her complaints:
“It always happens like this, the real work always falls to me. This will be the fourth time I’ve headed a society. It’s been like this ever since the days of the Committee of Union and Progress.”
But Halit Ayarcı lost no time; he asked my aunt her opinion on the first order of business: identifying members for the board.
“There will be myself, Hayri Bey, and the doctor, but the remaining members must be women.”
My aunt wasn’t pleased. Perhaps it was only appropriate for us to have a place in the Clock Lover’s Society, but there had to be a few young and sympathetic souls under the president’s charge. Halit Bey suggested the poet Ekrem Bey. Then we began to think about possible female members. My aunt put forward a few names. Halit Bey proposed Sabriye Hanım and Nevzat Hanım. Zarife accepted the former but not the latter.
“Sabriye is such a nice girl,” she said. “She remembers everything she hears and expresses herself well, but what can I do with the other one? She’s a dreadful whiner.”
Then my aunt recommended Selma Hanım. And so, after jotting down a dozen names, the meeting was adjourned, with the next meeting to be held in a week’s time, at my aunt’s home. As she was leaving, Zehra stepped into the room, whereupon Halit Bey turned to my aunt:
“Do you know this young lady? She’s your nephew’s daughter!”
After casting a malicious glance in my direction, she uttered a few kind words about Zehra. Judging by the look on he
r face, she didn’t seem at all pleased to meet yet another relation. But when Zehra left the room, my aunt followed her with her eyes and, after a moment of reflection, she turned to me:
“That one must be from the other wife, the one that never understood you. I see no resemblance to the current strumpet.”
At our next meeting, we drew up the statutes of the Clock Lover’s Society. Within two weeks, we’d gotten through the official red tape and everything was in place. One day Halit Bey gave me the news:
“We’ve reached an agreement with your aunt. She has donated her plot of land on Freedom Hill to the institute. That’s where we will erect our new building!”
A few days later, I learned that my aunt had donated yet another even larger plot of land, beyond Suadiye, to the Time Regulation Institute—providing that its value would be returned in installments. Halit Bey was in quite a jolly mood on the day he gave me the news.
“Don’t you see? How could you ever be angry with your wife again? A woman as intelligent as Pakize Hanım! I saw her at your aunt’s place just the other day. You wouldn’t believe how well the two are getting on. ‘If this woman isn’t elected member of the society’s management board, I’m packing my bags,’ were your aunt’s very words.”
Pakize had already told me all about it. As for Zehra, she hardly ever left my aunt’s house.
“Great,” I said. “That’s wonderful—all very good. So then I’m the only one who’s out of step! And it seems I always will be.”
“No,” he said. “You don’t understand, and you’re not trying to do so. But that’s not important! Just finish your book.”
V
Halit Ayarcı’s banjo still hangs on the wall in my study; one of his servants brought it to my house the evening of that fateful day when my aunt swept into our office in such a fury. It is, if ever it catches my eye, a painful reminder of how naive I’ve been at certain points in my life. Perhaps it was wrong to have caused my dear benefactor so much grief? Some are born with the light of truth inside them. For me, it was quite the opposite. Even my aunt was nothing like me. Despite her age and abundant life experience, she accepted Halit Ayarci’s invitation before my very eyes, and after just two hours of discussion and debate. And no sooner had she agreed to become the president of a society about which she knew nothing, than she invited everyone to her home for the following meeting. But I was forever arguing with Halit Bey, never fearing that I might be offending this man from whom I expected so much.
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