Farewell: A Mansion in Occupied Istanbul by Ayse Kulin

Author:Ayse Kulin [Kulin, Ayse]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: General Fiction, (¯`'•.¸//(*_*)\\¸.•'´¯)
ISBN: 9781564787583
Publisher: Dalkey Archive Press
Published: 2012-08-01T00:00:00+00:00

Mehpare’s back was cramped with constant bending and her fingertips had gone numb wrapping parcels. The contents of the salon, the office, and every bedroom in the enormous mansion had been tied into bundles. While she admired the many precious objects, Mehpare was thankful that her own house was less ostentatious. The foreigners had passed over the less grand mansions, with smaller gardens, that lined the street. Otherwise, finance minister or not, Ahmet Reşat and his family might have found themselves out on the pavement one winter’s day. The English had seized the Taksim house of a family friend, Şakir Pasha. They’d been forced to move to their summer house on Büyükada Island, in the Sea of Marmara, in the dead of winter. Were the same thing to happen to Ahmet Reşat, they’d have no choice but to move to the island as well . . . And freeze to death. It had been difficult enough to heat the city mansion, and the cold northern winds sweeping across the pine-topped hills of the island would have killed Kemal, while causing Saraylıhanım and the girls to come down with pneumonia at best. Mehpare silently mouthed a prayer of thanksgiving she’d learned from Saraylıhanım; then she touched wood and tugged her right earlobe for good measure.

“We’re both exhausted. Let’s stop for some tea,” Azra said as she struggled to secure the ends of a bed sheet she’d wrapped around a large Acem carpet.

“Let me help you,” Mehpare offered, disposing of the task in a trice. Then they settled themselves side by a side on a sofa swathed in calico. “Could you bring each of us a tea, Housekeeper Nazik? The alcohol stove and teapot should still be in their old places,” Azra said.

With the housekeeper out of the room, Azra and Mehpare were alone for the first time. Mehpare seized the opportunity to speak.

“Azra Hanım,” she began, looking directly into the young woman’s blue eyes, “I wonder if I could speak frankly with you for a moment.”

“What about, Mehpare?”

“I have something to say about Kemal Bey.”

“Please,” Azra nodded, prepared to retort sharply when Mehpare asked about her relationship with Kemal.

“You may have guessed, Azra Hanım, what I want to ask of you.”

“What?”

“You may not appreciate the extent of Kemal’s illness, both physical and . . .”

“I’m well aware, Mehpare.”

“You’re not aware of everything, efendim. He was bedridden for two years. His lungs are weak. As are his kidneys.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because if he falls ill again he won’t recover. He’ll die. Doctor Mahir has told me as much. Other doctors have said the same.”

“Then continue to tend him well. I’ve noticed how attentive you are.”

“Azra Hanım, I’m begging you, don’t drag him into this dangerous business.”

“What are you saying? What dangerous business?”

“You know what I mean. You’re a clever woman. I know you’re working for the good of the country. I commend you for it. But if Kemal Bey were to leave our house, catch cold, wear himself out . .

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