Robert Butler - The Star of Istanbul

I figured how it maybe was a sign that a man and a woman were actually becoming something together when you could be comfortable in long silences.

So I said “You’re welcome.” and she kept her head on my shoulder and we fell silent again. As silent as her motion pictures. One of her good ones. No title cards necessary.

And then we were parked at the foot of Tophane Iskelesi Caddesi.

Lucine and I let go of our hands and we got out of the Unic into the moist dark and a muezzin’s voice began its call to prayer somewhere to the north of us and we started down the cobbled quay toward the water and another cry began to the south. These songs came from the strongest voices of the most intensely faithful, but they were still very distant. They were small cries against a very large darkness. And the stars that were lighting our path away from this city, this country, were barely enough for us to see.

But soon I could make out the launch moored at the quay and a figure was coming out of the dark. And another behind it. Lucine and Arshak and I stopped.

A bright light bloomed in the middle of the nearest figure. A flashlight, which flared blindingly into my face and then scanned down my chest.

I was a German officer.

“Steve,” the voice of the near figure said.

The rear shadow came forward, rattling a rifle.

“Ralph sent me,” I said.

“Hold on,” the first voice said to Steve. And then to me: “You are?”

“Christopher Cobb,” I said. “I needed the disguise.”

The man with the flashlight drew near, shining it now on Arshak and on Lucine.

“I told Hansen there might be one or two others who had to go with me.”

“Just follow my light,” the man said and the beam fell to the cobbles and he began to move away.

I turned to Lucine. Arshak had backed off a couple of paces.

Lucine came forward to me.

She stood very close, though we did not touch. She smelled of forest and of newly mown hay, of musk and of lavender. This was my first smell of her, from the Lusitania, the smell of her when we first lay down naked together. She’d put this on to kill Enver Pasha. And I knew what was coming. I figured this was the last time she would ever smell like this.

She said, “I can’t go, my darling Kit. He might be right. I might simply be swept along and the world will have its way with all of us. But I can make no other choice. We’ll stay and do what we can.”

I took her into my arms. And I kissed her long enough and deep enough so she could know that I understood, and that I was riven with regret.

The kiss ended. We held each other a moment, our faces too dark to read.

“I’ll write the news of what I’ve seen,” I said.

As deep as the darkness was upon that quay in Istanbul, the stars let me see the tears that came now to her eyes.

And I let go of her and she turned and she walked past Arshak who had drawn near.

He nodded. I nodded. He did not offer his hand. Give the old ham this: he was content tonight to play a minor part; he knew that the final touch should be hers.

He turned and followed his daughter.

And I followed the flashlight onto the launch and the engine started up and I moved to the stern as we churned away from shore, Lucine and Arshak vanishing into the dark and the voices of the muezzins dying away.

Cable was wrong about the currents carrying us away. For all our insignificance and helplessness, we were actually like the passengers of the Lusitania going down. We couldn’t save the ship. We couldn’t prevent the consequences in the world. We couldn’t save a thousand lives. But at least we could grab on to a deck chair and try to save the next life who floated past.