Ahmet Tanpinar - The Time Regulation Institute

“But, then, how could he keep taking out new loans?”

“By pawning odds and ends. And I’m sure he contracted other debts too.”

I offered one explanation after another, still hoping I could convince him. He nodded as I spoke but always returned to the same question:

“Yes, but why would they keep giving the man more if they knew he was already in debt? What I mean is, just how did he deceive them?”

By then my patience had run out:

“How should I know? Perhaps he had a method of some kind… a system…”

Sabri Bey’s ear pricked up at the idea. Clearly he was after such a system for himself, because the moment the magic word fell from my lips he called out for the second bottle of rakı:

“My dear friend, there’s nothing strange in all this. There was hardly anyone Abdüsselam Bey didn’t know. Perhaps he was relying on an inheritance of his own… or there was land somewhere, in Tunisia, Algeria…”

“No, no, too far away. There must have been something else.”

“Then perhaps there was something he could never sell, something everyone knew about, at least all the creditors. Something extremely valuable… A diamond, for example…”

His curiosity had unlocked my imagination. A vision of Seyit Lutfullah flashed before my eyes. Once while speaking of the treasure of the emperor Andronikos, he had told me its many jewels would include the rare and priceless Serbetçibası, or Head Sherbet Maker’s, Diamond.

Could I not enjoy a little joke on this fool who had dragged me into this tavern out of errant pity and was now trying to uncover some new way to deceive people?

“Imagine if he had the Serbetçibası. Then surely he could’ve said to his creditors something to the effect of, ‘I’ll never sell it. It’s an heirloom. But it will repay all my debts when my children eventually do sell it!’”

“That’s right!” Sabri Bey cried. “That’s exactly what must have happened.”

And he called for a third bottle. He leaned over the table, his face dripping with sweat from the summer heat, and asked, “The Serbetçibası…” His eyes flashed with curiosity. “Have you ever seen it?”

“My good fellow, I just made the thing up. Didn’t we just do so together? I mean, weren’t we just speculating?”

“But you know the name!”

“Think about it: I may have heard of such a jewel in a fairy tale from my childhood. Or perhaps someone mentioned something like it to me once. It could’ve just popped into my mind when you mentioned diamonds. Whereas in reality…”

“But that’s simply not possible. No doubt it’s something like the Kasıkçı, the Spoon Maker’s, Diamond. The same size and value… Don’t you think?”

He filled up our glasses again, and we drank.

“Naturally he showed it to you?”

“What?”

“The Serbetçibası.”

Suddenly it dawned on me what sort of trouble I had brought upon myself with this practical joke. I called the waiter and handed him the last twenty-five lira note I had in my pocket. Sabri Bey watched me in silence. His eyes narrowed. Clearly there was more he wanted to know, but I flew out the door without so much as a good-bye.

A terrible pain swept through me, as if I’d accidentally cut off my own arm or leg, as if I had committed a grave error that would cause me or, even worse, my children, immense suffering — it was one of those wild fears that turn your life upside down.

“Why in the world did you ever agree to drink rakı with that fool?” Emine scolded me, before adding in consolation, “But there’s really nothing to worry about. Just forget it. What could come of such a thing anyway? Can’t a person joke now and again? A man might say anything when he’s drunk.”

The next day was a holiday. I spent all day at home, tinkering with the old watches that Abdüsselam Bey’s children had given us as compensation for our share of the inheritance. I hadn’t touched a watch or clock since returning from the war.

By evening I felt a little more at peace. I had convinced myself that Sabri Bey must have forgotten about the whole thing.

But the next day he jumped up from his seat the moment I stepped foot in the office, scurrying over to me to hiss these ominous words into my ear:

“The diamond.”

There was that same flickering light in his squinting eyes. Who knows what he was trying to tell me.

The next evening the boss called me into his office. He wanted to hear the story of the Serbetçibası Diamond from the source. I told him what had happened. He seemed somewhat convinced. But soon the story spread, and eventually everyone I knew had heard it. Everyone I bumped into would latch onto me and say:

“Good man, you never told me about this diamond of yours! You can’t just keep such an enticing story all to yourself…”

It got to the point where I couldn’t even pass by the neighborhood coffeehouses because all sorts of people would leap up with backgammon pieces, dice, cards, dominoes still in their hands to stop me in the middle of the street, and say, “Wouldn’t you like a tea?” before pulling me inside. They wanted to hear about the Serbetçibası. Some admired my honor and humility in denying the diamond’s existence, but others found me wanting in resolve and would carp behind my back the moment I left the room.

Before long they were all claiming to have heard the diamond’s story; drawing upon every scrap of ancient lore they could summon, they proceeded to solder together the legend behind a diamond that had never existed. My wife I and were distraught.

It was around this time that a number of creditors holding bonds for various items pawned by Abdüsselam Bey began legal proceedings against the heirs. Almost all of them had heard the story of the diamond. And most wanted compensation from this undeclared inheritance. I had no choice but to become embroiled in their lawsuits.

IV

First I was presented to the court as just another witness whose personal opinion might help to clarify matters. Then suddenly I was the centerpiece of the entire case. Because we had lived with the old man until his death, it was assumed we’d had perfect knowledge of all his possessions and so must know where the diamond was hidden. At this stage they were only a few steps away from concluding that the Serbetçibası Diamond was indeed in our possession. Just a few more statements about probabilities and likely consequences and the gap would close. As indeed it did. Several hearings later the court was unanimous in believing we had the diamond. To make matters worse, Abdüsselam Bey had used rather vague and suggestive language in his will: “the remainder of my fortune following the completion of my debts,” or “what remains of my estate.” Similar wording appeared in the letters he wrote to his creditors. And of course I myself had openly alluded to the diamond (if only in jest).

Sabri Bey became the hero of the proceedings, just as he had been in the investigations about me prior to the trial. His statements stuck like olive oil stains and did not cease. At almost every hearing he came up with another detail I was meant to have divulged to him that night. Despite his cordiality throughout the trial, he pursued his version of the truth with extraordinary vigor. After extended interrogations running over several hearings, we all (myself included) came to learn that the wily princess Saliha Sultan had finagled the Serbetçibası away from the Head Sherbet Maker himself, that after her death it had been housed in the imperial treasury, and that later still Abdülhamid I had offered it to one of his most prized courtesans.

But of course no one had the slightest interest in the relationship between the Serbetçibası and Saliha Sultan. All they cared to know was that the diamond, after centuries of being lost and rediscovered, had at last come into the possession of Abdüsselam’s family. When asked to confirm this story, I said: