Ahmet Tanpinar - The Time Regulation Institute

Dr. Ramiz returned a little later, his face lit with joy.

“It’s done. At first there were difficulties, but I explained that you were a patient with problems that pertain to my field in particular, and they finally agreed.”

“But, Doctor, I’m not ill. Good God! I’ve told you everything.”

Again he fixed his eyes on mine and stopped me, his voice full of resolve.

“You are ill. It is the fate we all share since the birth of psychoanalysis.”

“Well, then what difference is there between me and the people who are free?”

“That’s another matter. I shall be looking after you from now on.”

“Well, then what’s going to happen?”

“We’ll treat you. Besides, yours is not a very difficult case. In such cases the diagnosis is almost tantamount to treatment. Which is to say that if we follow a tight schedule we should be able to finish in a few years.”

I was beside myself.

“A few years? I need your report, Doctor. My wife is ill. You can see clearly by just looking at her face that she’s ill. You must get me out of here as soon as possible.”

“That’s another matter, which we’ve already covered.”

Then he changed direction.

“You’ll spend the evenings here, where you’ll be comfortable. Don’t wander about the building. Try not to think too much. And no cigarettes — they’re forbidden. I promised the director there would be no smoking in the evenings.”

Not long after Dr. Ramiz had left, one of my neighbors arrived with my bedroll and some food. Emine had not been able to come herself, but she hadn’t forgotten a thing.

From the following day on, Dr. Ramiz occupied himself exclusively with my case. Now he was interested in my dreams. Who knows, perhaps it was just my nature not to have many dreams? But like anyone else, I did occasionally have strange dreams that you might call nightmares. I described everything and anything I could remember.

On the fourth day Dr. Ramiz changed his method of treatment. The curtains were drawn, and I was asked to lie down on a sofa facing the wall. He no longer asked me questions but rather invited me to say anything and everything that came to mind. And so I kept speaking. I kept speaking under the impression that in so doing I was deceiving him. But the hold he had on me slowly began to tighten. It was as if my thoughts had been drawn into a dark cellar, a cellar from which it was impossible to escape. Then suddenly a word, a memory, would light up like a window thrown open in the darkness. I was walking directly toward it. When he pulled back the curtains I’d be utterly exhausted. And we continued like this, day in and day out, until the end.

My despair and frustration were driving me mad, but Emine never forgot me; she would either come to see me herself or find someone to come in her place. All in all, I became quite comfortable. I found a way to fill those previously vacant hours: I began repairing watches for the institute’s staff, starting with the director’s. And so the man gradually took a liking to me. From time to time, he’d call me to his office, and we would sit and chat. He was particularly interested in the story of the Serbetçibası Diamond.

“You know, if something like that were in my hands… I mean, if the name’s anything to go by, the thing must be the size of a walnut. And why not, Hayri Bey…? Just hold on for a few more days until Ramiz Bey finishes his report.”

Just as I was stepping out the door, he called me back and fished a watch out from one of his vest pockets. Handing it to me, he said, “I almost forgot. This is my wife’s. It hasn’t been working properly for some time. If you could just have a look at it…”

The following day the warden brought me a “friend’s watch.” Some of these I repaired, but on many occasions I could only diagnose the problem and prescribe a fix, as I didn’t have adequate equipment at hand. In the meantime, my psychoanalytic treatment continued unabated.

I was suspicious of the light that flashed in the director’s eyes whenever Dr. Ramiz’s name came up in our conversations, but I never could muster the courage to ask about my situation. How could I possibly risk saying anything that might compromise a man so good-hearted? But the clock was ticking, and I truly began to despair. Emine became weaker and more desperate every day. Since my detainment, she had been bearing our terrible burden alone. I had to stop work when the trial began, and we were now on the verge of utter poverty. Ten days after I was committed for treatment, Dr. Ramiz cut me off abruptly during one of our discussions.

“So we have finished with stage one,” he announced.

He paced about the room a few times, then stopped in front of me and placed his hand on my shoulder.

“Yes. I have determined your illness. What you have is a typical case of a father complex. Apparently you never liked the man. But this isn’t too grave. This may in fact provide the quickest path to maturity. But you have succeeded in something far more fascinating.”

I was wringing my hands, and my temples were covered in sweat.

“Doctor, please!”

“Now, there’s no need for that. Your condition has been diagnosed. I had in fact already stumbled upon the possibility of such an illness while listening to your life story. It became more evident to me in your dreams. And today I saw it all with great clarity. It is impossible that I have erred in my diagnosis.”

My very soul was atremble as I listened.

“Then what do I have, Doctor?”

“A grave illness…, which could have been worse. And there’s certainly no need for you to be alarmed, for this is something we can address easily. A typical case, but harmless…”

He stepped away from me and pulled out a chair from the other end of the room as if he might crouch down behind it. Leaning against the back of it, he continued:

“As I said, your father, you don’t like the man, apparently you never did.”

“For goodness sake, Doctor!”

“Listen to me. Please try to listen. You never liked your father, and instead of eventually taking his place, you have never stopped looking for new father figures. In other words, you never fully matured. You’re simply still a child! Wouldn’t you agree?”

I leapt out of my chair. This was surely going too far. It was clearly slanderous, perfidious, not to mention cruel; in one fell swoop he had rendered me an outcast from society.

“Such a thought would never cross my mind. And never did. That’s ridiculous, sheer nonsense! Why would I look for another father? I’m the man’s son whether I like it or not. How could I deny my own father?”

“Sadly, this is just the case. It’s been like this all your life. This is the source of the continuing confusion in your life, at work, and in your sense of self.”

I looked around the room in utter bewilderment. No one was there to rescue me from this terrible situation. If I was going to get out of it, I’d have to do it myself. So I rallied all my strength.

“Look, Doctor,” I began, “there’s nothing wrong with me. I just have bad luck. I always end up embroiled in the most unseemly scenarios. And I don’t know where this bad luck will take me next. Now I find myself stuck in this absurd situation. And why? I spoke out when there was no need. One little word dropped from my mouth, and around it they concocted an entire fairy tale. And they went as far as to make it my ruination. Sadly, I’m the victim of a lie that I myself devised. How could I have done such a thing? Why did I do such a thing? I really don’t know. But that’s just how it happened. I just rambled on and on… Nothing more than that. Perhaps I’m no different from all the rest of humankind combined. We are enslaved by our own stories. But mine was on a different scale — for I ended up paying dearly for it, and my children and my wife are paying for it too. Try to understand me. These people simply thrust it all upon me. There’s really nothing else to it…”