Portrait of a Turkish Family (26 page)

On that proud morning I was handed a smart new uniform, a clanking sword and white gloves and my shoes shone like mirrors. I tilted my cap to an angle and thought there was nobody like me in all the world.

After a ceremony at Taksim Square we went back to Harbiye and were handed our diplomas, the Commanding Officer wishing us the customary good luck and telling us we were on leave until our postings came through.

The rest of that day seemed to be filled with the dashing sight of the new officers strutting a trifle self-consciously through the corridors and out in the wide gardens of the college. We were all awaiting the arrival of our families to take us home, for as usual, we none of us had any money. Taxis constantly arrived to depart again with a very important-looking new lieutenant seated in the centre of his admiring family like a precious jewel in a casket. As the afternoon wore on I became anxious that nobody would come for me. Awful visions of sudden deaths or taxi crashes began to obsess me.

I remember that I felt the one
kuruş
that lay in my pocket and started to laugh at myself, for here I was, a new young officer, with but one
kuruş
in my pocket.

I drew it out and looked at it then I placed it in my sword, where it still rests to this day – a souvenir of that time.

Up and down I walked impatiently and sometimes no doubt I stared at myself in the mirrors and thought what a very fine fellow I was, to be sure. I thrust out my chest and squared my shoulders under their new khaki jacket, then slowly, pompously, I strolled out to the garden, my head in the clouds, already a general, but my sword clanked rudely against the stone steps and I heard the one
kuruş
rattling and I came out of my daydream.

At last a taxi arrived for me with a giggling, excited Muazzez within and we set off for home with a great fanfare from the klaxon.

At home I was rushed into excitement and congratulations and half the street had crowded into the little rooms. Old friends had arrived and strange old women kept kissing me and senile men I had never seen in my life before kept crying over me, telling me they had known my father. Drinks were circulated and through all the merriment I noticed my mother’s proud, cold face keeping its secrets, but I who knew her, knew that she was happy for a red rose was tucked into her hair and her eyes smiled each time she looked at me.

Pretty Muazzez was there in a brief blue dress, seeming to eternally hand bon-bons on a silver dish. My grandmother wore black, her diamonds flashing scintillatingly, brought from their resting-place for this occasion. Her high old voice talked arrogantly, praising, always praising … I saw the widow, fatter now than the day I had first seen her as a child, and I caught her worn hand and held it tightly for she was shy of approaching me in all my splendour. My head grew giddy and light as air with all the liqueurs I had consumed so that I laughed without reason and flirted with all the pretty girls.

Mehmet arrived from Kuleli, with the news that he had passed the examinations into Harbiye, and the laughter and the excitement grew more intense, the kissing more indiscriminate, and all the time the tray of liqueurs circulated non-stop. My head grew dizzy but what of that? Float, stupid wooden head, and care nothing for tomorrow. It is not often an officer comes out of famous Harbiye.

Woozier and woozier grew my stupid head and I loosened my jacket and sought fresh air, turning my back on the chattering, merry crowd. I looked out to the stars in the sky and I remembered that Kuleli was lying under these stars and I heard the faint sigh of the Bosphor as it lapped the shores where none walked by night. But they broke into my dreaming and called me back to the merry throng, for the neighbours were departing and they wanted to wish me once more good luck.

‘Long life to you, my friends,’ I said and tossed off yet another fiery, sickly liqueur.

In December 1931 I transferred from an infantry regiment to the Air Force as volunteers had been asked for. And I left İstanbul on January 20th, 1932, for two years of training at the Eskişehir Air College. We left Haydarpaşa Station on a cold, frosty evening, and when we arrived in Eskişehir in the early hours of the following day thick blankets of snow lay everywhere beneath a heavy, white sky. The cold was so intense that our breath froze on the air.

We newcomers had the customary three days freedom from lessons and after luncheon on the first day were given a bus to visit the city. For the first time in our lives we were being driven somewhere, not forced to march as always before. Air Force life, we told ourselves joyously, seemed to promise better things than an infantry regiment.

The road from the aerodrome was very bad, rutted and uneven beneath the deceptive snow, and now and then our heads hit the roof of the bus with frightful cracks, oddly reminiscent of the journey we had once made to Tokat. We came to the outskirts of the city, the old Eskişehir of 1932 which has long since disappeared in the onslaught of progress.

Little mud houses marked the beginning, so small that one wondered how anyone ever lived there at all. Narrow side roads gave us glimpses of more of these primitive houses and here, where the snow had melted into slush, would presently be great rivers of uncrossable mud. There were no pavements and now and then a stone would fly from beneath our wheels, hitting one of the mud houses with a sound like a rifle-shot and
passers-by
would press back to avoid the snow we flung up from our wheels. These queer little houses belonged to the Tartar families and sheltered innumerable members of the one family.

We arrived at the centre of the city and hitched up our trousers before descending from the bus, leaping ungracefully into a spot that looked reasonably dry. Large stones formed the main street, treacherous stones that gave beneath the feet and deposited the unwary up to the ankle in muddy slush. We strolled on, passing more and more of the Tartar houses, beginning to be depressed by this flat, dreary city with its unendurably drab brown houses. We crossed the River Porsuk by a bridge and on one bank stood the Porsuk Palas Hotel, a big hotel with an open-air café fronting the river.

Farther on we came to small, poor shops and houses and a mosque where the geysers had been trapped in iron pipes and the boiling water gushed forth steamingly on the raw air. We were unimpressed by our sight of the city and decided to explore the station road to see what mysteries it might conceal. But the station road was new like ourselves and boasted cement-and-red-brick, flat-topped houses with bare gardens wrested from the reluctant earth. A few cinemas rose garishly under the leaden winter sky and they bored us with their resemblance to a new, bleak city struggling in the throes of growing up.

We retraced our steps to the Porsuk Palas Hotel and went into its plush interior, where hot coffee warmed us. We asked for a
tric-trac
set and played all the afternoon for there was nothing else to do. 

I decided to bring my family to Eskişehir. The little, improvised Officers’ Club on the banks of the river had begun to pall and was, anyway, too expensive for the junior officers to patronise.

My mother replied to my letter suggesting the move with such alacrity that I more than suspected she was worrying as to what I was up to all alone in Eskişehir.

My batman was sent to look for a house and after over a week of searching he told me he had discovered an empty house on the newly built station road. He said it was a ‘good’ house and by that he meant ‘new’, for to him the two things were synonymous.

‘Is there water in the house?’ I demanded and he replied enthusiastically that indeed there was water, lovely boiling water that spouted from a natural geyser in the back garden.

‘And what about cold water, drinking water?’ I wanted to know.

He looked shocked that I did not know there was no drinking-water in Eskişehir and said pointedly that we should have to do the same as everyone else – that is, fill vessels with the boiling water and leave it to grow cold. I was very dubious as to my mother’s reactions to such an arrangement, but since there was no alternative, I accordingly went with my batman to view this remarkable house which could not provide cold water but gave us as much hot water as we required. It turned out to be a newish villa, looking extremely small in the very large garden surrounding it. When we rang the doorbell a thin wispy little woman opened the door, wiping her hands hurriedly on her apron when she saw the magnificent sight of an Air Force uniform confronting her.

She looked at me with an air of surprise.

I explained that I understood that the house was to be let and she said that this was so, offering to show me over it. I was quite incapable of knowing what things my mother and grandmother would look for in a house, but manfully plunged through the small rooms, already foreseeing storms over the fitting of our cumbersome furniture. There seemed to be a great deal of unnecessary cupboards but, knowing the contrary ways of family, I could not be sure that even this would please my womenfolk. There was no bathroom at all: the woman looked surprised that I should want such a thing, and the toilet was so small that the customary fittings together with the bidet left barely room to close the door behind one.

In the garden spouted the famous geyser and I was just on the point of asking what happened in the sudden event of one requiring cold water, when my eye lit on what looked undoubtedly like a pump. I turned accusingly to my batman and he grinned sheepishly, saying he had not noticed this on his first visit. The wispy little woman explained proudly that from this pump came ice-cold water the year round, but it was not for drinking purposes and at this my batman’s face lit up triumphantly, with a ‘I-told-you-so’ expression. But it fell again several centimetres when she continued that a man called once in a week with fresh water for drinking. This she said could be stored in an earthenware
küp
, a sort of barrel with a covered top and a tap.

I was delighted to hear that civilisation had not entirely by-passed this city and afterwards told my batman that he was a blockhead. I arranged to rent the house, and my batman was set to find people to redecorate it for me and a few days later I discovered him lording it over two bearded, very wild-looking painters who splashed the paint on with a reckless disregard for where it might eventually land. My batman was directing them and instructing them in a very knowing way, lounging grandly beside them, but when he saw me he deflated like a pricked balloon. From then onwards I took care to keep out of his way, leaving the workmen entirely in his hands. Heaven knew, he had little enough chance in his military life to feel important.

The day came for the great move-in. The furniture had already arrived from İstanbul and a lorry from the aerodrome deposited it at the house.

Next arrived my mother, my grandmother and Muazzez carrying many hampers and parcels and already looking overdressed for their new place of residence. My batman and I proudly showed them the house. Their faces remained unitedly detached as though they had already planned to make all the difficulties they could. In an effort to arouse their enthusiasm I eagerly pointed out the obvious advantages of our unique hot and
cold-water
system. It failed to impress them. Then when they saw the way we had haphazardly arranged their precious furniture they ran clucking around, like three distraught hens, examining everywhere for scratches or other damage.

When they had finished their perorations they firmly declared their intention of returning by the next train to İstanbul.

‘But you can’t!’ I appealed frantically, darting the most furious glances at my open-mouthed, gaping batman, who had never bargained for three obstinate women with whom to deal.

Do something, you great dolt! I implored him silently and he correctly interpreted my distress signals and put himself forward to quieten the three disillusioned ladies. He told my grandmother he would arrange all her furniture wherever she wished, guessing that this would be the best line of approach with her. To my mother he explained that the house was beautifully clean, that he himself had seen to this.

He was completely carried away by the signs of mollification in the faces before him and recklessly promised to do everything they wished.

I could see he was fast getting my mother on his side – which in the circumstances was just as well, since he would be more often under her orders than he would under mine.

My grandmother planted herself firmly on a packing-case and remarked that she had never expected to one day find herself living in a hen-coop. This inspired my batman to say that we could keep hens in the back garden and he quite dazzled my town-bred mother with the number of eggs we should be able to produce. Enthusiastically he said he would build a chicken-run for her – not even looking in my direction for permission. It was painfully obvious that already he knew which was the safest side to be on. He then told my grandmother he would find her the best washerwoman in all Eskişehir and that he himself would guard her like a child.

My grandmother cheered up somewhat at this, her face implying that she and the batman would get on very well together after all. I left them to it and hurried back to the Air College, breathing with relief that it looked as if they might after all settle down.

Life was far pleasanter with my family in Eskişehir. My time became regularised and sometimes I would invite friends to dine with me or to play poker. And always on these occasions the women would vacate the salon, leaving it for us, for my grandmother still felt it was not seemly for the ladies of the house to remain in the same room as the gentlemen. This was especially the case where Muazzez was concerned and my
grandmother
would whip her off swiftly, for fear the eyes of the men should alight on her. Poor Muazzez never dared to protest but years later she told me that had it been left to us to acquire a husband for her she would have remained single all her days – since we all seemed to combine to shut her off from masculine company.

During the same year though she acquired a beau.

There was a young officer who lived practically next door to us, and he had an elder brother who was in the Foreign Office in Ankara. This brother was what is known as a smart young man about town, invariably to be seen in striped trousers and impeccable morning coat. He took to visiting his brother in Eskişehir with great regularity so that even the
not-always
-observant I became suspiciously aware of his pompous figure walking the streets frequently. The mother of this elegant young man developed a rapid friendship with my mother and the result was that the gentleman from Ankara proposed marriage to my gratified sister. He professed, so I gathered, undying love for her and waived all notion of a large dowry. In fact he went further. He declared with great passion and feeling that he required no dowry at all, that my sister was sufficient dowry in herself. This attitude delighted me but my mother was shocked by such callowness on my part and said that her daughter could not be allowed to go penniless to such a proper, such an upright young man. She was quite firm on this point and I gloomily had to prepare myself to spend much money. I had no great affection for the prospective
bridegroom
, but Muazzez and my mother insisted that he was very good looking and a model of propriety. My sister was determined to marry him and flooded the house with tears if one so much as criticised him.

A trousseau was bought and we clad her in bridal white with trailing flowers and my grandmother parted with her long-treasured jewels and my sister was married with great ceremony to the dapper young intruder from Ankara.

Muazzez shone brightly that day and a big reception was given, for which I was expected to pay, and the thought of this did nothing to improve my general gloominess for the alliance. The loving looks frequently exchanged between the newly wed pair began to fill me with boredom; playful, frolicsome ladies coyly suggested that it would be my turn next and I fled from them. I was able to return to normal however after the party was over and the bridal pair had departed for Ankara, where they still live to this day in great state and elegance as befits their nobility. And either the years have mellowed me or Ali has lost some of his unreal suavity, for nowadays, on the rare occasions when we meet, we find much in common. Muazzez has retained her wearable beauty, but her figure has prodigiously thickened and sophistication has overlaid the earlier charm of her girlhood years.

With the excitement of the wedding over, the house seemed strangely quiet and after a time my mother started to complain that she disliked the house and its prominent position on the station road.

I found another house on the south side of the city, on the crest of a hill, and I transferred my family there. For a long time my mother had been uneasy in the other house, for the funerals of the crashed Air Force victims wound their way past – sometimes as many as two in a week – and always she had lived with the fear that one day I also would be carried past her windows.

And in summer the dust was choking. Even with the windows tightly sealed, the dust would seep in, getting into food, between the sheets on the beds and leaving its fine white mark everywhere. But up on the hill there was no dust and no sound of the Funeral March and I hoped that in time my mother would lose this morbid dread she had of my crashing.

On the hill too, it was cooler and in the evenings one could sit on the old wooden, vine-clad balcony and look down to Eskişehir lying below, still hazy with the dust clouds, the heat and the flies.