Ahmet Tanpinar - A Mind at Peace

“Have them bring some water.” Then he turned to Sabih. “Incredible boost, my friend,” he said. “Vitamins. Since I’ve started taking them I feel much better, more robust.”

Sabih missed the glint of ridicule and contempt in Adile’s eyes.

As if previously arranged, they met at the ferry landing on the following night. Sabih and Adile were nowhere to be seen and Nuran had left Fatma with her aunt. The redolence of spring wafted over the landing. Almost every passenger carried a large blossoming twig. A few held fresh bouquets of roses. Seemingly, the entire crowd was returning from a great plunder of flowers.

When Nuran saw him in the distance she made a vague gesture with her hand. Mümtaz ambled toward her, pleased by this encounter, about which he had absolutely no foreknowledge, and by her interest in him, which seemed even more improbable.

“I didn’t think you’d be returning to the city this soon.”

“I didn’t either, but here I am. How did you spend your time?”

Apparently she was asking for an account of his day. Looking behind her at all the splendor of the Anatolian coast and its pastel colors that appeared to have been smudged with blotting paper, Mümtaz answered, “We conversed

… It’s what is most readily done in this country of ours, conversing.” Then, to avoid being unfair to his friends, he added, “But we talked of good things. İhsan was there as well. We solved nearly half the world’s problems… Later in the evening we listened to a spectacular ney -flute performance!”

“By whom?”

“Artist Cemil, Emin Dede’s student! He played the melodies of an array of saz -lute instrumentals and old Mevlevî dervish ceremonials.”

Both of them glanced about furtively, hoping an acquaintance wouldn’t appear and disturb them. Finally, the boarding gate at the dock slid open, they stepped onto the ferry as if they were long-lost friends, and again sat in the lower deck.

Mümtaz: “What’d you do with the young lady? Wasn’t she upset when you left her? She seemed rather attached.”

“No, I mean, she knew that it was necessary. We’re worried about the whooping cough that’s spreading through our neighborhood. She spent the entire winter sick besides. She listens to reason when it comes to matters of illness and health.”

“Four years ago I’d have already known about it, but now in İclâl’s absence…” Four years ago he saw İclâl everyday, learning of news having to do with Nuran.

Nuran didn’t hear this remark; she chased her own thoughts.

“Fatma’s a queer child,” she said. “She seems to live through the interest shown to her by others. If not for the threat of getting sick, she would have raised all hell.”

“I’d have thought you’d prefer to stay with her, too.”

A rascal of light falling from one side clung to her hair, slid slowly toward her neck, and like a small creature accustomed to human warmth, tussled playfully on her pale, moonlight-hued skin.

“That was my intention, but then I had an unfortunate encounter.”

Only then did Mümtaz realize that Nuran was not as carefree as she’d been yesterday — she was distracted, downcast even.

The distress that had seized Mümtaz when he saw Nuran and her ex-husband at the ferry landing overcame him again. He fell silent for a time, then, ever so thoughtfully, said, “I happened to witness that exchange yesterday. I’d been looking for my friends.” He blushed, unable to lie. “I saw your confrontation with Fâhir.” Nuran stared at him silently. Beneath her gaze, he was uncomfortable having observed an intimate moment in her life: Had I not made the decision to confess everything to you, of course I wouldn’t have mentioned it! Then he threw all caution to the wind: “The worst part of all is that as you left the landing you wore such a pleasant expression…”

Nuran smiled gloomily: “Why don’t you just fess up that you’d waited for me to come out… I saw you. Don’t blush. Such behavior is typical of you menfolk. But, you weren’t able to see the worst part of it! Worst of all was that you didn’t come to my aid and take the poor girl from me. The two of us were on the verge of collapse.” Mümtaz’s face was a swirl of confusion, but Nuran paid no heed. “And equally bad, Fatma was a nervous wreck. Her father had begun to recede in her memory. The girl has an odd sense of propriety. Now she’s jealous of his affections. She cried and moaned till morning, ‘I don’t care if my father doesn’t love me! I love him.’” Next Nuran completely changed the subject as if to dispense with the matter then and there: “Is İhsan the İhsan we all know?”

“I’m not sure. Which İhsan is that?”

“During the armistice and Allied occupations after the Great War, while my uncle was working for the Defense of Rights resistance, he said that he helped a certain İhsan. Apparently, he was Nadir Pasha’s aide. They tried to frame him with Pasha’s death. Even though İhsan could have fled, he’s alleged to have said, ‘With this shadow of incrimination over me, I won’t go anywhere.’ My uncle was of some help in saving him from the gallows.”

“Thanks to a letter that Nadir Pasha had written him. Yes, that’s the same İhsan. But why hadn’t İclâl ever mentioned this fact? I’ve seen your uncle a number of times!”

“İclâl is rather like a writer of realist novels. She doesn’t make mention of anything but everyday events.”

Mümtaz was dumbfounded.

“That means Tevfik is your uncle… and Talât is your great-grandfather?”

“Yes, Talât is my mother’s grandfather.”

“I’ve even listened to Tevfik perform once. He recited the ‘Song in Mahur’ to us. Do you like the piece?”

“Quite… very much, in fact. But, you know, it’s believed to bring bad luck in our family.”

Mümtaz stared at her solemnly: “Do you believe in such things?”

“No, I mean, I never gave it much thought. As with everyone, in many respects I feel an unspecified dread lurking inside me. The effect of the ‘Song in Mahur’ on me was quite extraordinary. The error of my great-grandmother’s ways scared me. Many members of our family have — out of sheer ambition and desire — made those closest to them suffer. Since I was a little girl I’ve been told that I resemble her, and as a result I’ve thought about her frequently. Maybe for this very reason I’ve tried to live rationally rather than through my emotions. But what’s the use when fate dictates otherwise… My daughter’s unhappy anyway.”

“And you’re related to Behçet?”

“No, only by marriage… He was miserable too. I have a photograph of his poor wife, Atiye! It’s so bizarre. But let’s not talk about such things.”

“İhsan loves the ‘Song in Mahur.’ He practiced it with Tevfik. You realize your great-grandfather’s composition is something of a masterpiece.”

“He’d intended to write a Mevlevî ceremonial piece, but this composition emerged instead.” She closed her eyes. Mümtaz gazed at the ashen sea from the window and watched the sky where tullelike clouds of similar hue loomed large. Then he likened Nuran to the delicate rose saplings in his garden that tended to tremble out of their own frailty in such weather. Light emanated toward them from this tulle-shrouded mass like the portent of pleasures foreign to both. The luminance caressed Nuran’s face and hands in an effective state of delight.

“It seems like you didn’t sleep at all last night.”

“I didn’t. Fatma complained throughout the night.”

“How did you leave her behind like that?”

“My aunt insisted. She told me Fatma would change once I left. So, I agreed. When I’m with her she acts quite spoiled.”