“You still haven’t answered my question.”
“I learnt to read our language in a medresseh, but I learnt to read French from my grandfather and to speak it from a French diplomat whose hair I cut regularly and who shares my admiration for the work of Monsieur Balzac.”
“My favourite is Lost Illusions.”
He began to recover his clothes and dressed quickly.
“Sometimes French novels can become a terrible distraction. I would recommend the work of a philosopher. Auguste Comte. He has much to offer this country. He could stop our future from becoming a bottomless pit.” Selim slipped out of the door without the sentimentality of a last embrace.
I covered myself and rushed to the window. The very faint first light of dawn had begun to change the colour of the sky. Selim was walking across the garden. He must have felt my gaze because he suddenly turned around and looked up in my direction. I blew him a kiss. He smiled and walked away.
I had always thought Selim’s emotions might get out of control, that he might start to sing underneath my window, deliberately embarrassing me in front of the family. His serenity surprised me. I realised I was the one in an agitated state. An image of his naked body flashed through my mind and I began to feel weak with pleasure.
TEN
A Greek tragedy in Konya; Emineh arrives at the house; Nilofer is enchanted by Iskander Pasha
I AWAKENED TO THE noise of wailing women. At first I had thought it was part of my dream, but the sound became louder and louder and my dream had been free of any disaster. What catastrophe had occurred? Had someone died? I jumped out of bed, slipping yesterday’s discarded clothes over my half-asleep body. My first thought was that something terrible had happened to Iskander Pasha.
I rushed down the stairs and into the vast, virtually unfurnished and rarely used reception room to find it filled with sad faces. My mother was weeping as she hugged Emineh and Orhan. Something had happened to Dmitri.
Emineh ran towards me. I lifted her off the ground. She did not say a word, just put her arms round my neck and sobbed. I walked towards Orhan. His face, too, was wet with tears, but he stepped back when I tried to include him in my embrace. He gave me an angry look.
“Perhaps,” he said in a broken voice, “if we had stayed in Konya, they would not have dared to kill my father.”
“What happened?” I asked nobody in particular as the tears began to flood my face. My mother placed a finger on her lips. This was not the time.
Emineh clung to me even tighter. I took her upstairs to my room. She had been travelling all night and was exhausted. I stroked and kissed her cheeks and I laid her on the bed.
“Would you like some water?”
She nodded, but in the short time it had taken me to lift the jug, pour out the water, fill a glass and return to the bed, she was already fast asleep. Gently, I took off her dusty shoes and removed the socks from her feet. I covered her with a light quilt and sat down beside her to feast my eyes. I had not seen her for a whole month. Her face grew calm, and I was about to go downstairs when my mother appeared in the doorway. Seeing Emineh asleep she signalled I should join her.
We went into the adjoining room, which had not been dusted for at least a hundred years, and sat on the bed, after we had removed the covers.
“Where is Orhan?”
“Your friend Selim has taken him for a walk by the sea. The boy likes him. I suppose that is a good thing.”
“Mother!” I almost shouted at her. “This is not the moment. What happened? Will someone please tell me what happened to poor Dmitri?”
It was a sad story. There had been trouble in Konya. Its purpose was to drive the remaining Greeks out of the city. The instigators had been under the influence of the Young Turks, who saw all Greeks as the agents of Britain, Russia and France. These were the people who wanted to recreate a pure and modern empire. There had been few enough Greeks in Konya in the first place, if one compared the town to Smyrna and Istanbul, but the supporters of the Young Turks wanted to create an impression. Messengers were despatched to each Greek household warning them that if they did not take their belongings and leave town, their houses would be taken over and the rest of their property confiscated. Everyone had left, except Dmitri. He refused to part with his books.
The messenger arrived with my letter the very next day. He read it carefully and then took Emineh to the house of a Turkish neighbour. He embraced her and kissed her eyes and then her forehead. Then he sat down and wrote a reply. He handed it to the messenger, but told him that he should wait till the next morning and return with Emineh. The neighbours pleaded with him to take the child and bring her to me, but he refused.
That night they came into the house silently and slit his throat. His books were untouched. Dmitri was the only casualty. My mother handed me his letter. I wept again as I broke the seal. It was difficult to imagine that he had gone for ever. My love for him, if it had ever existed, had not been very deep, but he was a decent man and, as I never tired of telling my family, he had been a loving father. The thought of my children made me cry out aloud. My mother clasped me to her chest and stroked my head till I had recovered. After drinking some water I read the letter from Konya.
My dear wife,
I have reached the end of the road. The future threatens and the past has already condemned me. The rogues of the town, who now dress themselves in the garb of Young Turks, claim to be supporters of reform and modern ideas. In reality they are nothing more than criminals who wish to occupy our houses and increase their own status in society. As you know this is a modest house, but my family has lived here for over a hundred years. I feel a strong sense of attachment to this town and this locality. I refuse to be swept out of here like a piece of filthy rubbish. If they actually attempt to carry out their threats, I will look the assassin straight in the eye, so that he can remember the face of at least one of his victims. I fear for the future, Nilofer. The omens are not good. They who are driving us out will destroy much that has been good in the Empire.
I do not wish you to regard yourself as responsible for my decision in any way. I realised a long time ago that we were not well suited to each other. I was the frog who remained a frog and you were always a princess. I always felt that if you had not been of such a proud disposition, you would have returned home long before Orhan was born. I think you realised at a very early stage that our marriage was a mistake but could not admit this to your parents. Your pride condemned you to a life with me, which must have been unbearable. I always felt this to be the case, but could never bring myself to say it to your face. It hurt too much.
I know that, like me, you are proud of the children we produced. I’m very sad that I will not be able to follow the story of their lives as they grow older or one day hold their children in my arms, but I know they will be safe with you. If it is not too much to ask, speak to them sometimes about their father. When they are old enough to understand, please explain to them that their father died with his dignity intact. He refused to live in the shadow of fear.
I once began to tell Orhan the story of Galileo, but stopped because he was too young to appreciate the dilemma. Galileo held the truths he had discovered to be of very great significance, but as soon as they endangered his life he recanted with the greatest ease. He felt that whether the earth or the sun revolved around each other was not worth his life. He may also have felt that it was more important for him to live and work so that his students could spread the truth. He was probably right to make that choice. I am but a humble school teacher. My refusal to submit is a political act. Tell Orhan and Emineh that I’m sorry, but there was truly no other way for me.