Ahmet Tanpinar - The Time Regulation Institute

“Thank you,” I said.

And in the most serious voice I could muster.

“But I believe the most important matter is the success of our institute.”

We stared at each other for a moment.

“Yes,” he said. “That’s most important.”

Two years later I stopped in at one of the time regulation stations whose fundamental principles I had discussed with Halit Ayarcı. A young girl dressed like an airline stewardess flashed me a syrupy smile and, like a spider, spun a web all around me. She adjusted my wristwatch before I could even take it off. Of course, the adjustment was incorrect, as she set it according to her own. And all the while she droned on about timepieces and their role in society, saying things a hundred times more idiotic than I had ever heard, always with the same saccharine smile plastered on her face; she even answered my questions and went on about the regulation of cosmic time, making a point of never allowing the conversation to move toward any topic that didn’t have to do with watches or time. As I left she stuffed into my hand a pile of prospectuses about the institute that I had written myself. And she suggested that I go visit the institute’s new building on Freedom Hill as soon as possible. And as if all this wasn’t enough, she sold me a one-year regulation plan and three editions of the calendar published by the institute.

On my way out I paused in front of my photograph, one of many decorating the walls. It was my best photograph, taken as I made my selection from the fashions that Selma Hanım had brought in for my approval. Smiling at the young girl, I asked her if she recognized me. First she told me that my question was very personal, adding that there was no article in the regulation station manuals requiring her to supply me with an answer. But I insisted and she said:

“Of course I recognized you — I just didn’t want to disregard Sabriye Hanım’s instructions. We must always smile, but never look a customer in the eye for too long. We must be personal so as not to be too impersonal, and talk continuously about watches, as if we know it all by heart, thus providing essential information about the institute in the clearest way possible.”

So I hadn’t been wrong in selecting Sabriye Hanım for the job.

“All right, then, so you know me! Now, what do you think we should do?”

She glanced at the clock on the wall:

“I’m off at seven,” she said. “Then I’ll be able to listen to you.”

Zehra didn’t stay very long at the institute itself. She preferred working at the regulation stations, where she met her future husband. Naturally, just after the wedding we made her husband a specialist and manager in chief of the Minute Hand Department. I couldn’t just leave my son-in-law out in the cold. My younger sister-in-law was appointed to the position left open by Zehra. Then there was a young man who came to us seeking employment but without any references; realizing there was but one way to join our set, he promptly proposed to my sister-in-law. This gave me the idea of establishing a separate management department for conjugal affairs operating within the institute. But Halit Ayarcı rejected this perfectly sensible proposal, fearing that such a department would detract from the seriousness of our mission.

Two days after my discussions with Halit Bey, I went to visit Sabriye Hanım in her home. She was simply thrilled to see me. She spoke of the past with such tenderness and melancholy, showing me she truly had a heart. When I brought up the job proposal, she was thrilled with the idea of a mutual collaboration. And she was pleased that I now had a job with real responsibility, and was wearing proper clothes.

“The Spiritualist Society has disbanded,” she said. “I’ve been terribly bored. You know I was looking for just this sort of job. I am at your disposal.”

I told her that we still hadn’t organized our official personnel list, and were still awaiting official approval, but were hopeful it would come through soon.

“Give it some thought. You would be charged with forming groups of five to ten young girls, whom you would train to carry out what might seem to be a somewhat meaningless task. The entire success of the venture rests on the demeanor of these girls. They alone could be the very reason why the institute takes off. Why are we doing this? I can’t really say. But it must work. First and foremost they should be as pleasing and unobtrusive as possible — by no means should they make people feel uncomfortable. I suppose we’ll add additional duties to these stations later on. But for now the job is to train these girls.”

Sabriye Hanım pursed her lips and listened to me intently.

“If you hadn’t told me you were working with Halit Ayarcı, I would have guessed as much. This is just the sort of thing he’d dream up. He never was one for the ordinary. For him, work must first be an adventure. An expedition to the North Pole, smuggling contraband — anything’s possible. But he won’t settle for just any old thing. To be worthy of his interest, an undertaking must be bizarre and perhaps impossible. It should be startling, even frightening! But then there should be actual work. This is why he never could stay very long in the civil service. He’s friendly with all the powerful people. And there was a time when he was one of them. But he just never warmed to the work — it was never enough of an adventure for him. Even so, there has to be some part of a project in which he truly believes. I imagine you don’t take all this too seriously, but I’m quite sure that Halit Ayarcı starts his projects with firm conviction. And I’m quite sure this goes for the Time Regulation Institute. Once again he’s thought up something wonderful for society, but he’s dreaming an impossible dream. Being useful isn’t enough to make it great. Like I said, he always needs to surprise everyone or rile them up or just make a lot of noise. As a matter of fact, I could tell right away that you were using his own words to explain the institute’s objectives to me. So in a word, comrade, I’m in. You’ll see just how much fun it’ll be!”

I knew I wouldn’t even have to ask Sabriye Hanım a question to get her talking.

“How could I ever turn down such an opportunity?” she said.

As I sat in Sabriye Hanım’s living room, drinking tea, I couldn’t help but think about how much my life had changed. Five years earlier I’d come over to visit her quite often, and I’d sit opposite her, just like this. But though she was kind to me back then, it came in the form of coddling, a righteous and smug caressing of my heart. Later on I was in such a state that I wouldn’t even dare ring her doorbell. So something had changed since then. How was I to cope with this change, to make the best of it? How in the world was I going to keep it all going? It was more than just a new job. It was something else altogether. As if reading my mind, Sabriye Hanım abruptly changed the subject.

“You know, Hayri Bey, you’ve really changed.”

“God forbid. Is that so?” I said.

“Why yes, and very much so! Don’t take this the wrong way. I’m not saying this to offend you or belittle you in any way. You seem more at peace with yourself and your life. Yes, that’s it. You’ve made peace with your life. You know this is Halit Bey’s influence. Halit Bey is comfortable in his own skin.’”

So that was it. Halit Bey was comfortable in his own skin. It wasn’t a question of money. It wasn’t just a surge of self-confidence, which under normal circumstances would occur naturally. This was something else. He played with life as if he were playing with a toy he’d picked up somewhere. And once again I realized that since I’d met the man I had, without realizing, entered his frame of mind. I had even begun to imitate him. Nothing Sabriye Hanım told me about Halit Ayarcı’s secondary characteristics could pale the light of this fundamental truth.