Free Farewell: A Mansion in Occupied Istanbul (Turkish Literature) by Ayse Kulin Page A

the divan next to his wife and stroked her hair. “I know I’ve been neglecting you, all of you. But if you knew what I’ve been doing, you’d pity me.” He fixed his wife’s eyes with his own. “I have something to say to you, as well . . .”
    “Re ş at Bey, hear me out first, please. This is important.”
    “I’m listening. Who misbehaved today, Leman or Suat?”
    “For God’s sake, Re ş at. Would I have sat up until this hour to complain about that? Be serious. A letter supposedly arrived for Mehpare this morning, and she insisted on visiting her aunt. She asked Saraylıhanım for her consent, and received it . . .”
    “So?”
    “Naturally, I objected to letting the girl go off without consulting you. But, as expected, Saraylıhanım ruled the day. Anyway, off the girl went, with Hüsnü Efendi. Afternoon came and went and they hadn’t come back. Late afternoon prayers passed. It got dark, and we were worried sick. It turns out that Mehpare was passing through Akaretler when a building was bombed . . . I don’t know whether she was inside the building or not . . . She was able to get home only long after the evening call to prayers, and in a sorry state. I saw her whispering with Kemal. I suspect she was delivering information. She denies it, of course. I thought you might like to know what happens in this house when you’re not here.”
    As her husband’s scowl deepened, Behice rose lightly to her feet, drew her shawl tight across her shoulders and, the skirts of her dressing grown trailing in her wake, stepped across to the door, confident that her work was done. She was just slipping into the hallway when Re ş at Bey broke the silence. “Send Kemal to me immediately. I’ll be waiting in the selamlık.”
    Behice slowly ascended the stairs and tapped on the door opposite Kemal’s room.
    “Mehpare, tell Kemal Bey that Re ş at Bey is waiting in the selamlık. He wants to talk to you, and then to Kemal Bey,” she said.
    Mehpare sprang out of bed, got dressed and ran down to the selamlık, where she hastily lit a fire in the brazier while attempting to respond to the dozens of questions being hurled at her. Then she climbed back up to the attic. When she entered Kemal’s room she found him fully dressed in trousers and a sweater.
    “I heard,” he said, “and I’m going straight down.”
    “Wait here a moment longer, sir. It’s still chilly down there.”
    “It doesn’t matter.” Mehpare rushed after Kemal carrying several blankets. Not a peep came from Saraylıhanım’s room. Other than the creaking patter of footsteps on wooden treads, the house had been plunged into a funereal silence.
    Ahmet Re ş at sat bolt upright on one of the divans lining the walls of the selamlık; on the divan opposite sat Kemal. The brass brazier wasn’t up to the task of heating the room, for which reason Kemal had finally consented to Mehpare draping his shoulders and knees with blankets. Under the wan light cast by the ceiling fixture, Kemal’s face appeared even paler than usual.
    “Mehpare has been with us for many years, and this was her first attempt to visit her old home. And, for the first time, her family has communicated information not to me, not to my aunt, not to your aunt, but to a girl who is still, in many ways, a child. Her aunt taken ill! Do you expect me to believe that?” thundered Re ş at Bey.
    There was no response from Kemal.
    “As if the harm you’ve done yourself wasn’t enough, now you’ve started endangering your family. How could you send Mehpare to a safe-house? How could you? Do you know what you’ve done? Speak up, man!”
    “I have nothing to say in my defense, uncle. I know there’s no point.”
    “So you acknowledge your guilt.”
    “It’s not that uncle . . . please . . .”
    “Shut up! How could you, Kemal? She could have been killed. Maimed. What’s happened to your conscience? She could have been arrested. Could have led the police right to you. That