Ahmet Tanpinar - The Time Regulation Institute

“It always happens like this, the real work always falls to me. This will be the fourth time I’ve headed a society. It’s been like this ever since the days of the Committee of Union and Progress.”

But Halit Ayarcı lost no time; he asked my aunt her opinion on the first order of business: identifying members for the board.

“There will be myself, Hayri Bey, and the doctor, but the remaining members must be women.”

My aunt wasn’t pleased. Perhaps it was only appropriate for us to have a place in the Clock Lover’s Society, but there had to be a few young and sympathetic souls under the president’s charge. Halit Bey suggested the poet Ekrem Bey. Then we began to think about possible female members. My aunt put forward a few names. Halit Bey proposed Sabriye Hanım and Nevzat Hanım. Zarife accepted the former but not the latter.

“Sabriye is such a nice girl,” she said. “She remembers everything she hears and expresses herself well, but what can I do with the other one? She’s a dreadful whiner.”

Then my aunt recommended Selma Hanım. And so, after jotting down a dozen names, the meeting was adjourned, with the next meeting to be held in a week’s time, at my aunt’s home. As she was leaving, Zehra stepped into the room, whereupon Halit Bey turned to my aunt:

“Do you know this young lady? She’s your nephew’s daughter!”

After casting a malicious glance in my direction, she uttered a few kind words about Zehra. Judging by the look on her face, she didn’t seem at all pleased to meet yet another relation. But when Zehra left the room, my aunt followed her with her eyes and, after a moment of reflection, she turned to me:

“That one must be from the other wife, the one that never understood you. I see no resemblance to the current strumpet.”

At our next meeting, we drew up the statutes of the Clock Lover’s Society. Within two weeks, we’d gotten through the official red tape and everything was in place. One day Halit Bey gave me the news:

“We’ve reached an agreement with your aunt. She has donated her plot of land on Freedom Hill to the institute. That’s where we will erect our new building!”

A few days later, I learned that my aunt had donated yet another even larger plot of land, beyond Suadiye, to the Time Regulation Institute — providing that its value would be returned in installments. Halit Bey was in quite a jolly mood on the day he gave me the news.

“Don’t you see? How could you ever be angry with your wife again? A woman as intelligent as Pakize Hanım! I saw her at your aunt’s place just the other day. You wouldn’t believe how well the two are getting on. ‘If this woman isn’t elected member of the society’s management board, I’m packing my bags,’ were your aunt’s very words.”

Pakize had already told me all about it. As for Zehra, she hardly ever left my aunt’s house.

“Great,” I said. “That’s wonderful — all very good. So then I’m the only one who’s out of step! And it seems I always will be.”

“No,” he said. “You don’t understand, and you’re not trying to do so. But that’s not important! Just finish your book.”

V

Halit Ayarcı’s banjo still hangs on the wall in my study; one of his servants brought it to my house the evening of that fateful day when my aunt swept into our office in such a fury. It is, if ever it catches my eye, a painful reminder of how naive I’ve been at certain points in my life. Perhaps it was wrong to have caused my dear benefactor so much grief? Some are born with the light of truth inside them. For me, it was quite the opposite. Even my aunt was nothing like me. Despite her age and abundant life experience, she accepted Halit Ayarci’s invitation before my very eyes, and after just two hours of discussion and debate. And no sooner had she agreed to become the president of a society about which she knew nothing, than she invited everyone to her home for the following meeting. But I was forever arguing with Halit Bey, never fearing that I might be offending this man from whom I expected so much.

When I saw Halit Bey’s servant at the front door, holding the bizarre instrument, I very nearly flew into a rage. Instead I put it down on the sofa, as Pakize and Zehra jumped up and down with excitement. “Come on now,” squealed my wife, “let’s hear you play!” That was very nearly the last straw. I still hadn’t spoken to Pakize about her interview; I hadn’t yet asked her what had possessed her to humiliate me in that way. I was wary of where such a conversation might lead, while my wife went out of her way to avoid it. Meanwhile she preened like a cat who has mothered seven kittens in one fell swoop. Her lack of sensibility tested my patience even more. But a minor intervention on Zehra’s part put an end to my rage:

“Dad,” she said. “Do you know who I saw today? Ismail the Lame. Right outside the office. Oh, he was so very surprised to see me! His face went white as ash. Then he let out a long whistle and hobbled off. But how ugly he was! I can’t believe I was on the verge of marrying that man. God forbid! Whatever would I have done with such a miserable creature?”

My anger suddenly subsided. Just then Pakize cried:

“Hayri, you still haven’t thanked me. Halit Bey told me I would never be able to understand my husband! ‘Do you think you could you ever really understand the importance of such a man?’ he said to me. In fact we even bet on it. But oh! I won — didn’t I ever! If only you could have heard how he thanked me on the phone this morning!”

So that was how it had happened. Halit Ayarcı had thought it all through in advance, encouraging Pakize to lampoon me for the pleasure of my friends and enemies alike. I thanked my wife:

“That’s just wonderful,” I said. “But how in the world did you come up with the story about me sleeping naked on the floor? Couldn’t you have come up with something else? You know very well that I never go to bed without my nightcap and sweater!”

Taken aback, she cried:

“I couldn’t remember the word for hammock! Halit Bey told me that throughout your entire childhood you slept in a hammock. But I just couldn’t remember the word.”

Having dealt with these trivial irritations, she handed me my benefactor’s gift.

“Come on, play for us, just a little, please.”

I took the instrument in my hand and tapped on it here and there, my point being to prove to them that I had no idea how to play. But I was dumbfounded by the transformation on Pakize’s face. She was transported. Tears welled up in her eyes. But Zehra had vanished. And Ahmet wasn’t there either; apparently he was busy working in his room. There was no mention of my performance over supper.

I saw Zehra before I went to bed.

“How was it? Do you like my banjo?”

Zehra fixed her saucer eyes on mine and asked, “Do we have any other choice, Dad? It’s just that I’m really so worried about Ahmet.”

But I had more urgent concerns.

“Did you really see Ismail the Lame?”

“No, but you seemed so angry and frustrated that I had to say something to stop you. And he came to mind.”

Toying with a button on my jacket, she looked me straight in the eye:

“Was that such a bad thing?” she asked. “You were going to have an argument over nothing at all. I’m fed up with all the fighting. My whole life I’ve had to listen to you two squabbling. You have no idea how much I’ve suffered. The shouting terrifies me so much! And the way your faces are transformed by anger, becoming so very different, it’s so hard to bear that. There’s nothing worse in the whole world, nothing more horrid.”

“But you get angry sometimes too,” I said.

“Not any more! I’m more relaxed now. If I can’t love the people in my life, I don’t feel comfortable. It’s like everything’s turned upside down.”