Free Baksheesh by Esmahan Aykol

number too?”
    I said I thought it was.
    â€œAh yes. I’ve found it. Have you got a pen?”

    An automatic voice slowly dictated the number.
    I called it immediately.
    If only someone would pick up…
    But no one did. Typical! I’d had more than my share of disappointments over the last few days, don’t you think?
    I went back to directory enquiries. This time, I asked a different switchboard operator if there was an Istanbul number registered in Habibe’s name.
    There was. It was on the other side. You don’t really need to know this, but the city of Istanbul is split into two parts, on the Asian and European sides of the Bosphorus. I’m a European and live on the European side, which is why I refer to the Asian side as the “other side”.
    I called the new number straight away. I would have been amazed if anyone had answered.
    Never mind, life isn’t always amazing.
    Â 
    There are few times when you can wear jeans and still present the image of a woman who follows fashion. Well, that year they were definitely in. I tied back my hair, which had begun to spiral out of control through neglect, put on a pair of jeans with a denim jacket, and went out. I hesitated for a moment, twiddling my keys in front of the car, wondering whether I should drive. I was so much on edge that I was afraid I might actually run over any pedestrians who annoyed me. Yet if I took a taxi, there was a very good chance of ending up at the police station with the driver. People who take taxis in Istanbul have to be prepared to brave that risk. However, in my current situation, I thought that might be a risk too far.
    I was no longer free to roam the city at will! I seriously considered walking to Beşiktaş and taking a motorboat from there to the other side. I suppose it wasn’t impossible, walking through all those exhaust fumes to Beşiktaş.

    Then I stopped messing around and jumped in the car. After all, I was a civilized individual, wasn’t I? Yes?
    And how civilized. I went down Akyol slope, through Fındık to Beşiktaş, and onto the bridge that took me to the Asian side where I turned off towards Üsküdar. All this without a single wrangle with anyone. I parked the car in front of Lale’s place in Kuzguncuk, again without a harsh word to anyone. My self-confidence was back. Thank goodness for friends! Without them, I would never set foot outside Cihangir and mingle with normal people.
    Lale was all dressed up, waiting for me.
    I think we must have been missing each other. We hugged tightly.
    â€œI’ve made a reservation. They promised me a table by the water. But families come out in force on Fridays, so we mustn’t be late.”
    â€œFine, then let’s go. But just a moment, I need to make a phone call. I tried before I left home and no one answered. She may be back by now. It’s that singer whose name I got from your friend Erdinç.”
    I dialled the Istanbul number of Habibe Büyüktuna. Someone picked up as soon as it started to ring.
    â€œGood evening. May I speak to Habibe Büyüktuna, please?”
    â€œWho is calling?”
    â€œMy name is Kati Hirschel. She wouldn’t know me, but…” I stopped, not knowing what to say.
    â€œWhy are you calling Habibe Büyüktuna?”
    â€œI’d prefer to explain that to her myself,” I said, thinking I might increase my chances of speaking to her if I made myself sound a bit mysterious.
    â€œThis is Habibe,” said the woman.
    â€œGood evening, Miss Büyüktuna,” I said, as if I was just starting our conversation. “My name is Kati. I have a bookshop in
Kuledibi. I met an old acquaintance of yours the other day – Osman Bey.”
    The woman let out a wail on hearing Osman’s name. If not a wail, a very strange sound.
    â€œMy Osman’s dead,” she said.
    I was astonished. Bad news certainly travels