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

He came down with fever . . . He’s quite ill.”
    “I wish him a speedy recovery. I’ll prepare the envelope and bring it to you. Wait here, please.”
    “Will it take long?”
    “I’m enclosing some periodicals . . . I’ll only be a moment.” The young man went upstairs. Mehpare waited patiently.
    When he returned with a large manila envelope, he pointed his chin at her shopping bag and asked, “Will it fit?”
    “If I take these out . . .” replied Mehpare. “Yes.” She looked around helplessly for a place to put down the rolls. “Would you mind taking these? Otherwise there won’t be enough room for the envelope.”
    Cemil gestured in the direction of the waste paper basket. “But wouldn’t it be sinful, especially in these hard times?” Mehpare asked.
    Cemil smiled. “Give the rolls to me,” he said. “I’ll share them with my colleagues over tea.” Mehpare handed him the rolls. “Tell Kemal Bey that we haven’t visited only because we don’t wish to disturb him. God willing, we’ll come to see him when he’s well.”
    “And when the weather improves,” added Mehpare. They held each other’s eyes for a moment without speaking. “I’ll be going now . . .”
    “Give him our greetings . . . My friends upstairs also send their best wishes.”
    Cemil accompanied Mehpare to the door. Hands full of rolls, he was struggling to turn the knob when an explosion hurled them both backwards into the hall and stones, earth and dust showered down onto them from the ceiling—from outside, screams, barking dogs, automobile horns, wailing sirens, growing louder and louder. Mehpare tried to stand up but was pinned beneath Cemil’s body. Her right shoulder ached, and her eyes and ears were filled with dust. Through the thick smoke she was dimly aware of people rushing about and shouting. What had happened? An earthquake? Doomsday? She fought to remain conscious and managed to disentangle herself from Cemil. She tried, once again, to climb to her feet. A roaring in her ears, as though thousands of people were speaking at once. Sheets of paper drifted down from above, along with stones and dust. She gathered up her çar ş af, which was tangled around her feet, and tried to cover her bare head. At last, she was able to stand. She felt dizzy. Her shopping bag had disappeared. Cemil was curled up near the wall, moaning.
    Mehpare knelt down next to him. “Are you alright? Is it your head?”
    “I think my nose is broken,” he groaned from behind his hands, which were clasped to his face.
    Mehpare tucked her arm under Cemil’s back and tried to help him get to his feet. He clung to her with one hand, to the wall with the other, and slowly stood up. His nose was bleeding. The hall, which had been deserted only moments earlier, had filled with dozens of people, all of them pushing their way down the building’s staircases, fighting to reach the street door. An acrid stench hung in the air.
    “There must be a fire upstairs,” said Cemil. “We’ve got to get out. Can you walk?”
    “I’m fine.”
    “Go outside, get away as fast as you can,” Cemil said. There was a second explosion, less intense this time. Mehpare raised her eyes and saw flames on the second floor. Her nostrils burned. Mehpare had just begun looking around for her shopping bag when she was gripped by the wrist. She wheeled round, terrified:
    “What on earth are you doing here?”
    She strained her eyes to recognize the face of a man whose lashes and hair were white with dust. But the voice was familiar: “Mahir Bey!” she cried.
    “Come with me, to the door, quickly . . . Is anything broken?”
    “No.”
    “Cover your mouth and nose . . . We’ll go through that door over there . . . Then you can explain what you’re doing here.”
    They joined the throngs jostling for the door. Mehpare nearly lost her balance as she was shoved and elbowed. After what seemed an eternity, they at last inched ahead several meters, reaching the door,