Last Letter From Istanbul by Foley Lucy

Author:Foley, Lucy [Foley, Lucy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical, Romance, Mystery, Adult
ISBN: 9780008169077
Amazon: 0008169071
Goodreads: 36962255
Publisher: Harper Collins
Published: 2018-03-30T07:00:00+00:00

The Prisoner

In the dark apartment he turns onto his side and coughs like an old man, spits bile onto the floorboards.

His sister is changed beyond all recognition too. A widow now. No, but that is not the most significant difference. She is altered in almost every respect. All her old softness is gone. In the absence of the men, she has taken all responsibility upon herself. Even now, upon his return, she does not seem ready to yield it up to him. She goes out into the streets with her face uncovered, she teaches at his school.

He feels betrayed when he thinks of her there. He suspects that if he were his former self, perhaps, he would thank her for it – for continuing his work after he was thought gone. But he cannot do it, cannot feel it. All he can do is resent her her vocation, her busy, exhausting life.

He catches himself. He: a schoolteacher, now? The thought is absurd.

He has tried to find employment. But has no one told him about the influx of Russians with their impeccable manners, their attractive air of tragedy? Or the Turkish refugees ousted from lands that are now being called Greek? The restauranteur, the coffee shop owner – even the oil-smeared chief stevedore on the quays – look upon his wasted form, and pallor warily, as though it might be something catching. Little do they know that before them stands a war hero: a man with ten times the strength of will they possess, who has seen and done things they cannot imagine. He is filled with an urge to scream it at them, these small men who pity him. His hatred for them almost surpasses his hatred of the enemy. To these people he is part of the past; as much of an embarrassment as the eunuchs who walk the city’s streets. Once these figures had held the invisible reins of power in the sultan’s court – they had been purveyors of messages and gossip, the grand masters of intrigue. Now they are viewed as part of the old Empire: outmoded, vaguely shameful, a reminder of archaic ideals. And just as they are immediately recognised in the street by their soft bulk, their hairlessness, his wasted form marks him out as one of those few who returned from hell. It is more convenient to forget men like him ever existed.

For all his deprivations in the prison camp he had something there that he seems to lack now. Purpose. There, with the officer’s help, he had been able to see it all so clearly. Now the old doubts are returning, beginning to plague him. At night he tries to stave off sleep, because when he does faces visit him: terrible images that he had thought he had managed to escape. Sometimes, when he does sleep, he finds himself waking drenched in sweat; sometimes he wakes crying out. On the first night this happened, Nur came to him, and asked him what she could do for him.

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