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

see!”
    “That’s right, I was on my way to the kitchen to get a glass of water . . .”
    “Why didn’t you send Mehpare? Why go all the way down to the kitchen?”
    “I was tired of sitting in my room. I thought moving my legs a little would do me good.”
    “So you’re telling me the letter is authentic?”
    “I saw her myself. She removed a letter and tore up the envelope. After she read it, she began crying.”
    “You didn’t ask her why she cried?”
    “No, I didn’t. She was in the garden. I saw her through the kitchen window. Just let the girl go to her aunt.”
    “Not on her own. Hüsnü will go with her.”
    “While they’re in Be ş ikta ş , they can pick up some tobacco for me.”
    “Hasn’t the doctor forbidden you tobacco?”
    “Not completely. I’m allowed it in moderation. If I’m denied my tobacco as well as everything else, I’m well and truly finished.”
    “Ah, my boy. You finished yourself off with your own hands. If we fuss after you now, it’s only to restore your health. I’ll arrange your tobacco if you promise not to drink after meals.”
    “I promise,” said Kemal through gritted teeth. “Oh, and could you tell Mehpare to stop by my room before she goes? I want to give her the address of my tobacconist.”
    Letter in hand, Saraylıhanım flounced out of the room and promptly ran across Behice on the second floor.
    “Is there anything you’d like from the shops, my girl?” Saraylıhanım asked. “I’m sending Mehpare to Be ş ikta ş . . . You mentioned yesterday that you’d run out of white silk thread . . . Shall I order you some more?”
    “Why’s she going all the way to Be ş ikta ş ? Aren’t there plenty of shops here in Beyazit?”
    “Her aunt has taken to her bed,” said Saraylıhanım, nodding significantly at the sheet of paper in her hand.
    “Let me have a look at that . . .”
    “What for! I’ve seen it. I had Kemal read it to me, since my eyes can’t take the strain. I’m sending the girl. She’ll return soon enough. Give her a shopping list and she’ll pick it up for you.”
    “Does Re ş at Bey know about this? Better not make him mad.”
    “Re ş at Bey has more important things to do than concern himself with the servants.”
    That little minx turns up under every stone, the elderly woman muttered to herself. She’s taken on airs just because her father sends supplies every month. Well, we’ll see whose word is law in this house.
    Determined to see her orders carried out before Behice could intervene, Saraylıhanım descended to the kitchen on the floor below, where she found Mehpare absentmindedly attending to a bubbling pot.
    “Hurry up, girl. If you’re going, better get an early start. Tell Hüsnü Efendi to get ready. Get into your çar ş af and onto the streets. I expect you back home before mid-afternoon prayers. No dawdling. Ask after your aunt’s health, find out what she needs and come straight home. Oh, and pick up some tobacco for Kemal. Don’t forget.”
    Mehpare didn’t have to be told twice. Flinging a ladle onto the countertop, she raced to her room to get dressed.
    Hüsnü Efendi and Mehpare were able to reach Be ş ikta ş only after changing trams three times. The streets were full of soldiers wearing the uniforms of various nations. While the dejection of the Muslim Ottomans could be read on their faces, the Greeks and Armenians were all smiles. There were few women, Christian or Muslim. Among the scenes streaming past the window of the tram, the ones that most frequently caught Mehpare’s eye were a few turbaned hodjas , street porters bent double under their towering loads, beggars sitting cross-legged on the sidewalk, carriage drivers whipping bony horses, Gypsy women with babies slung onto their backs. But it was the swarms of migrants that cut her to the heart: dirty-faced, bawling babies pressed to their mothers’ breasts, women dressed head to toe in black, white-bearded men with creased faces