Farewell: A Mansion in Occupied Istanbul (Turkish Literature) Read Online Free PDF Page B

with the Nationalists, that he’s been trying to make their case at the Palace. Is it true?”
    “How do you hear these things in this garret of yours? Or have you been sneaking outside?”
    “My visitor told me.”
    “His account was less than accurate. Adventurers like you and İ smail Hakkı will be the end of us. The streets have filled with Greeks and Armenians in British uniforms gathering information for the English. They have eyes everywhere. All this nonsense about French sympathies and Nationalists assembling in Anatolia is just that: nonsense. It’s over, Kemal. We’re finished. Parts of Anatolia, too, are under occupation. We’ll be lucky to save Istanbul and the Caliphate. The Sultan has consented to British administration, but only temporarily. It’s better than being dismembered and destroyed. And that’s why we’re simply going to have to get along with the English.”
    “Can’t the Sultan remain on friendly terms with the English even as he supports the resistance in Anatolia? Don’t underestimate that movement, Uncle. They say that some have already left Istanbul to join them.”
    “What difference would it make if all Istanbul were to decamp to Anatolia? We have no boots for our feet, no control over our own armories.”
    “Our hopes rest with God.”
    “Exactly. The treasuries are absolutely bare, our civil servants unpaid. We were able to pay the wages of the clerks and cleaners this month, but only after ransacking our own buildings, selling off bags of sand, axes, shovels, leather, scrap-iron, anything else we could get our hands on.”
    Kemal’s head fell back onto the pillow.
    “You need rest. It’s early, and I’ve worn you out,” Re ş at said. “I’ll have a quick bite and get back to work. If you’re still not feeling well, send word and I’ll have Doctor Mahir stop by in the evening.”
    Kemal didn’t respond. The cries of the street hawkers and milk-men had begun to penetrate the room. Istanbul was stirring; her populace waking to yet another day of occupation, shame, dejection. The carpet grew brighter and brighter under the bands of light seeping through the shutters.
    Re ş at Bey stood up and crept out of the room, careful not to disturb his nephew, who, no longer eager for conversation, was feigning sleep. As he descended to his room on the floor below he braced himself for the complaints of his wife. He was painfully aware that he’d been arriving home at dawn for nearly a month, no explanations offered; that Behice was wondering what could possibly keep a treasury official busy at all hours of the night.
    But Ahmet Re ş at was in no position to enlighten his wife on his clandestine activities. Moreover, his own feelings concerning his work were ambiguous. Mahir was the only person to know that the Grand Vizier had entrusted him with a special task; and only because the doctor himself had been charged with similar secret duties. A number of prominent bureaucrats, all of whom spoke excellent French, had been encouraged to cultivate friendships with high-ranking French officials. To that end, they were expected to attend dinners and to engage their new friends in games of bridge and chess. Ahmet Re ş at had tried, and failed, to reassure himself that his duties were not, in fact, those of a spy. And it wasn’t as if he was expected to rummage through safes and chests of drawers for secret documents and the keys to the Allied Forces’ ciphers. It had merely been observed that relations between the British and French had grown increasingly strained, and there was curiosity as to the cause. When Re ş at Bey had been informed by the first aide-de-camp that his presence was requested by Grand Vizier Ali Rıza Pasha, he’d armed himself with a stack of documents and arrived at the appointed hour prepared to discuss the empire’s finances. But the Pasha made no mention of receipts and expenditures. The exchange of pleasantries over coffee completed, the Pasha came