Ahmet Tanpinar - The Time Regulation Institute

So I avoided these functions as best I could, and if I attended, I never invited extra guests. But over the last three years, we had made a tradition of celebrating my youngest daughter Halide’s birthday with a party. And Pakize was not about to give up on this tradition, just because we had moved into a new home.

Here I should add that, in sharp contrast to myself, Pakize was a regular at our neighborhood functions. She paid no heed whatsoever to the hostile ring around her: in fact she even took it head on. What woman cannot help but retaliate with a giggle and a wan smile? I really don’t understand it, but women are stronger and more courageous than men in this regard. We had purchased a new set of china, and Pakize had a new evening gown to display, and so canceling the soiree was out of the question. Those people who had criticized us for days on end — she would crush them with her beauty, youth, and affluence.

But Pakize had failed to consider how much the mood had soured since the dissolution of the institute. She was expecting nothing more than the odd innuendo slipped into an otherwise pleasant conversation. That was not how it happened. When the guests arrived, they were already in a rage. One look at their faces told me exactly the direction the evening would take. And indeed it did not take long for matters to come to a head. The strange thing was that we were not the sole targets of all their all-too-human ire. They targeted everyone else too. Husbands and wives and betrothed all seemed equally angry at one another. No flaw or imperfection was immune. And everyone knew the score. We were all to blame for the institute’s liquidation. We were all guilty of a crime. But as Halit Bey and I bore the most responsibility, we were naturally the chief culprits. The more people drank, the more things got out of hand. These people who had been plucked out of nowhere by Halit Ayarcı—they joined forces to ask us to account for ourselves, and they were openly berating us.

Pakize was the first to be attacked. Oblivious to her new gown, they dropped all pretense of common courtesy. Even our younger employees, who knew it was only proper to pay her a compliment, went out of their way to avoid her. The wives of our closest friends discussed her age as they stood right beside her, and then they asked her what kind of hair dye she used.

It wasn’t long before they were discussing the size of our home and our tasteless furniture and the money we had squandered for it. When approaching one group, I realized, when I heard the word “weasel,” that these three people were talking about me.

Yet — as I’ve mentioned — this anger was not leveled against us alone. With the liquidation of the institute, the need for pretense had also disappeared, and without pretense, friendships foundered. So then everyone was in the same cold, sour, hostile mood.

By ten I had given up all hope of stemming the arguments, though I’d been waiting in front of the dining room, whose doors had been flung open for half an hour. Pakize, who just a little earlier had been challenging the crowd around her, had now taken refuge between her sisters. Only my aunt was holding her own, countering all attacks with apoplectic tirades.

And it was just then that Halit Ayarcı appeared, holding his valise, with his hat still on his head. Without paying anyone else any notice, he marched directly over to me. A growl rose from the crowd, which in the space of a moment flared up like a furnace that had just been fed new fuel. But Halit Ayarcı paid no heed. Shaking my hand, he apologized:

“Please forgive me. I could only make it back just now. I have had the decision amended. That’s to say, the decision to abrogate had been suspended, but in order for the institute to remain in a permanent state of liquidation we need to form a committee for continuous liquidation. All our friends will have positions in this new entity.”

After he uttered these words, my wife took his hand and kissed it. He strode into the dining room.

The crowd heaved around us. And suddenly everyone was just as they had been before; in fact they were even friendlier. A couple who had been on the brink of a divorce just two days before, and had been mingling about separately for the last two hours, made peace and kissed each other right in front of me. A couple whose engagement had turned sour suddenly sprang back to life right then and there. The groups of three reformed. No, these men were now as open and pure in their newfound joy as they had been hostile and embittered just a moment earlier.

At the dinner table, I asked Halit Ayarcı, “What about the others? The little people?”

Suddenly his face flushed.

“Well, that’s why I’ve done what I’ve done,” he said. “But as for those working at the regulation stations, there’s nothing we can do. You will have to work with them.”

“But you, why don’t you work with them?” I asked.

He looked at me, astonished.

“I… I can see now how I was deceived.”

And with that, he began devouring his food.

Later that evening, after the crowd had broken up, we met again in my office. But there was a strange tension between us. In fact he seemed even more remote than that first time I met him in the coffeehouse in Sehzadebası. We played a round of backgammon. And when the game finished, we parted with a “good-bye and Godspeed.” The next time I saw Halit Ayarcı, he was laid out on his bed at home, following his terrible car accident.

A GUIDE TO TURKISH PRONUNCIATION

a as in “father”

e as in “pet”

o as in “oh”

u like the oo in “boot”

ı like the u in “but”

ü like the u in “mute”

ö as in German: schön

c like the j in “jam”

ç sounds like ch

g is almost silent, lengthening the preceding vowel

j as in French: jamais

BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF TURKISH NAMES AND HONORIFICS

Ottoman Turks did not generally have surnames. But they had a great wealth of first names, most of which carried lyrical, even ethereal, meanings. The surnames that Atatürk obliged all Turks to adopt almost overnight in 1934 also carried clear meanings. By and large, they reflected the new range of secular virtues and attitudes. Tanpınar has great fun with this cultural disconnect, and never more so than with Halit Ayarcı: translated literally, he becomes the “Timeless Regulator.” He and his sidekick, the “Blessed” Hayri, are similarly playful in their use of honorifics. This, too, is a time-honored tradition, and yet another double game: even as they and their associates defer to social hierarchies, they can savor the irony, and even the veiled insult, in the use of an overly elevated term.

It would be misleading to suggest that all Tanpınar’s characters carry hidden jokes in their names. But it would be shame to lose them all in translation. Below we translate a few of the most significant names, along with a list of honorifics.

Names

Abdüsselam:the pacifist, a servant of God; also mandrake.

Aristidi:the best (interesting considering his struggles with Lutfullah).

Asaf:vizier, one of great insight.

Aselban:caretaker of one of the four waters in heaven.

Ayarcı:the regulator.

Cemal:one with the beautiful countenance (deliberately ironic: Hayri rearranges his face).