Ahmet Tanpinar - A Mind at Peace

İhsan responded in place of Suad. “We were just now discussing it,” he said. “Suad was unimpressed.”

Suad raised his head, “It’s not that I didn’t like it, but I just couldn’t find what I was looking for. .”

İhsan: “You want music to seize Allah, bind Him hand and arm and surrender Him to you. This is an impossibility! You only find what you yourself bring! Allah is neither in Dede Efendi’s back pocket nor anyone else’s for that matter.”

“Perhaps” he snipped. “But I have no complaint to make about that. What bothers me is that incessant gyre, circling around nothingness. . that flailing in the form of an idée fixe. That is what annoys me.”

He raised the glass before him. “ Haydi! Here we go!” he cried out to the crowd. “Maybe there’s some consolation in this drink. At the very least the consolation of forgetting!”

İhsan slowly whispered into his ear, “You’ve come primed for something specific, haven’t you?” Then he passed to the other side of the table, joining the company of his wife.

Suad: “To the health and prosperity of our hosts,” and finished his drink in one gulp.

“What’s the urgency, Suad?” Macide said.

Ruminating, and with a hint of derision directed at no one in particular, Suad answered, “Excuse me, Macide. . I’m forced to hurry.” Then he repeated again, “To hurry!” adding, “Those who don’t have time hurry… Everybody’s born with a sense of one’s allotted time. My concern demands urgency.”

İhsan, half joking, half serious, protested. “You certainly are speaking in riddles, Suad! You’re like the Sphinx.”

Suad shrugged. His eyes alighted on the bottle in Mümtaz’s hands, and he laughed at the young gentleman, smiling like a boy expecting indulgences: “Please, another glass. . The train will embark shortly. Would you like to know the worst of it? Not knowing the precise time of departure. To always be thinking it’s today, no, it’s tomorrow. And thereby frittering away this freely allotted time in the most absurd ways.” He stopped, taking backto-back swallows; he deposited his half-filled glass on the table. Mümtaz, pricking up his ears, continued to listen: “Macide pities me and worries. In a little while she, and perhaps all of you, will attempt to give me wise words of wisdom. I’ve listened to such advice all my life. But no one considers that I’m a man who’s come to the station early and that, naturally, my life will pass at the kiosk counter. . What else d’you suppose I could do? Like the rest of you, I’m not at home enmeshed in my everyday affairs. .”

Nuran gazed at Mümtaz; bottle in hand, he filled the glasses including his own but refrained from drinking. What a perplexing, mutual tie we have, don’t we? My former friend and my beloved, his relative… but the quantities he consumes. . Then she recalled the comparison often made about Suad, back in their college days: Most horses don’t drink this much. . Maybe they never drink. Raising an eyebrow, she rifled through her mind: No, it’s not that they never drink. . I read in the paper somewhere that certain racehorses drink beer or wine. But of course they don’t drink this much. In trepidation she looked at Suad’s glass, which he’d again emptied. When she used to conjure the bit about Suad’s resemblance to a horse, she’d laugh. But not this time; so, it’s an awkward situation. And because Mümtaz also sensed it, he refrained from drinking. In that case, she wouldn’t drink either. . But I so need to drink. . this music has kneaded me for hours. At times I felt like I’d taken on the form of divine clay… She wanted the alchemy of alcohol. But she would not drink.

Next, it was Selim’s turn. He’d fled the Caucasus as a boy in the wake of the Mondros Armistice: “Before the Great War, in Russia, students would drink at the kiosks of large train stations. My father used to tell us the story. A chosen leader, bell in hand, would take up the train schedule, reading it at the top of his voice. For instance, he’d announce, ‘We’ve arrived at so-and-so station, our train will remain here for twenty minutes, allowing us three glasses of Bordeaux or one bottle of vodka.’ In such a manner, they’d order their rounds. At each station, the alcohol they drank, along with appetizing local delicacies, made for a touristic excursion of sorts. Those who drank themselves under the table before the bell rang again had in effect ‘disembarked’ at that particular station and the train continued on its route. .”

He glanced about; nobody was listening. He shrugged his shoulders. As a rule, no one listened to the stories Selim learned from his father. On account of these Russian recollections, his friends had dubbed him “Papa’s nostalgia.” Yet Selim was a fellow who recognized his shortcomings. He took no offense. He sidled up to İhsan. Orhan, seeing Selim in their midst, put an arm around his shoulders with sincere affection. Another of Selim’s fates was to serve as something of a leaning post for Orhan, who was twice his size. For some time now, to avoid this embrace, he’d attempted to keep his distance, but under the dismay of his disregarded story, he’d surrendered himself to this clutch of his own volition. Destiny , he repeated a number of times internally, and slouching under the weight bearing down upon him, laughing at his own foolishness, he listened to İhsan:

“I’m not sure if it’s worth crying over the absence of what amounts to a fiction. If you ask me, our lack of a notion of original sin in Islam, our lack of attention to this matter of the fall from paradise, as in Christianity, affects every field of knowledge from theology to aesthetics. We’ve given short shrift to spiritual conservation. We should interpret our context intrinsically, as it is.” He’d lost track of how he’d begun. He spoke hastily to avoid giving Suad an opening. “There isn’t even a foundation for dialogue and debate between these two worldviews. Religion and social constitution diverge. Note that in Western civilization everything is predicated on notions of salvation and liberation. Mankind is delivered in the first instance through Jesus’s descent to earth, his crucifixion, and the acceptance of his sacrifice. Later, sociologically, through class struggles, first city dwellers and then peasants find salvation. In contrast, from the beginning we’re already considered free by Muslim tradition.”

Suad, having finished his third glass, glared at İhsan. “Or forsaken. .”

“No, first of all free. Free despite even the presence of slaves in the social body. Fıkh , Islamic jurisprudence, insists upon human liberty.”

Suad persisted: “The East has never been free. It’s always been mired in anarchic individualism restricted by despotic groups. We’re predisposed to forgo freedom as quickly as possible. . and by all means.”

“I’m essentially speaking of foundations. In the East, particularly in the Muslim East, society is predicated on notions of liberty.”

“What difference does that make once it’s dismissed out of hand?”

“That’s another matter. That’s the result of an etiquette of altruism and self-sacrifice. The Muslim East has been in a defensive posture for centuries. Take Turkey. For a period of close to two hundred years, we’ve been living through phases of vital self-defense and security. In such a society, a fortress mentality naturally arises. If today we’ve lost the concept of freedom, the reason is that we’re living in a state of siege.”

Suad extended his glass to Mümtaz: “Mümtaz, please do me the favor of letting me exercise my free will.” His voice was as timid as a child’s. Or was it hissing? “The very liberty granted to me by Almighty Allah after He’s so effectively bound me hand and arm. .” He took up the glass and stared within. As if he’d seen an ominous portent there, he reared his head and as if to dispel the vision he’d seen once and for all, he clouded the rakı with water: “There you have it, the extent of my liberty. . but not as foolishly exercised as you might suppose. Don’t mock it!” Suddenly angry with himself, he set the glass back down. “But why did I acknowledge your censure by saying that? Don’t you all do the same?”