Ahmet Tanpinar - The Time Regulation Institute

The champagne refreshed me. I looked about the room, wondering what had become of Selma. I thought how wonderful it would be if she had come too. But there was no sign of her. My beloved had been in ill health since Cemal Bey’s death. Then I noticed Ekrem. His gaze was fixed on something across the room, his entire body in rapt attention. Then I realized he was staring at the sofa directly underneath the photograph of Nasit Bey: it was here where — just a month and a half ago — he had sat with Nevzat Hanım. It was all so ridiculous, so absurd. This too soured my mood.

Returning to the hall, I stepped into the late Nasit Bey’s office, which was just to the right. It was the first time I’d been in the office of this man I never could find it in my heart to love. But once, while my aunt was showing me around the house, she’d told me there was an especially comfortable sofa in this office. I closed the door behind me. The room had been elegantly furbished. The walls were covered with pictures, but the focal point was just opposite the armchair: an elaborate panel of weaponry, boasting an array of hunting knives and rifles that gave one to believe that Nasit Bey had actually hunted deer and even larger and more dangerous game. And square in the middle of the panel there was an eagle that reminded me of the one that had perched in Aristidi Efendi’s pharmacy window, hovering over the two embryos with drooping eyelids, who were locked in a philosophical discussion in their jar of greenish liquid, and despite its faded feathers poised for flight. “What innocent lies we told each other back then,” I mumbled to myself as I drifted off to sleep.

When I woke up, it was nearing sunrise but the party was still in full swing. Opening my eyes, I saw Halit Ayarcı standing above me.

“So what do you think?” he said. “Extraordinary, isn’t it? I’ve been looking all over for you. How can you leave a night this wonderful in midswing?”

His relaxed and soothing voice rendered me speechless.

“Your aunt was magnificent. Well, isn’t she always… And you didn’t behave too badly yourself! So get up, then, and come meet a friend who has traveled all the way here to meet you. Van Humbert, a first-rate intellectual!”

As I stretched in the chair, I asked, “Isn’t the party over, Halit Bey? They’re still going? Won’t it ever end?”

“No, my dear friend, we’ve only just begun. We are as newborn babes.”

“That’s fine, but exactly where is this game going to lead us? Just tell me that… Everything was going along according to plan. Do we really need all this nonsense?”

Halit Bey sat down at Nasit Bey’s desk.

“Everything’s working just right. But we’re alone. We’re all alone in this world, and there is nothing I loathe more than loneliness. Do you understand me? Such a magnificent and invaluable institute should have counterparts all the world over. That’s what I want. And I am sure you want it too.”

X1

Our conversation continued no further, for Dr. Ramiz had burst into the room. My dear friend was in fine form: his hair was in a state, his shirt collar was hanging to one side, and his necktie was flung back over his shoulder. With both hands, he pushed aside the enormous woman who had nearly crushed him at the aforementioned Bektasi ceremony around the old-style stove. It was truly surprising to see what a close resemblance this poor woman bore to the doctor’s late wife, who had given her fortune to further his scientific career — and all the wonders of her 130-kilo body for his private enjoyment. Though she left the former to the doctor, she had taken the latter with her to the other side, to find refuge in that better world untainted by the strains of married life and where lovemaking was never subjected to psychoanalysis. Seeing us, the doctor threw his arm around his new lover’s midsection, as dashing as a film star of the first order, and, wresting his chin from its resting place on his right shoulder, he made as if to speak. But Halit Bey brought his finger to his lips and signaled for quiet, gesturing toward the woman who had passed out on the sofa:

“Do come in, Doctor, but please try to keep quiet,” he said. “This dear child’s feeling somewhat unwell.”

Then he pointed to the armchair I’d just been sleeping in.

“It’s quite a comfortable chair, and we’re just leaving, so make yourself at home!”

I was captivated as ever by his cynical smile. A man who achieves a cynicism of such perfection can accept the world as it is until the end of time, for to be this cynical is to deny all humanity. There is nothing a man with perfect cynicism cannot do, providing he hasn’t been poisoned by loneliness that just might settle inside him.

Taking me by the arm, he pulled me out of the room.

“See how the doctor manages to enjoy himself?” he said. “He’s not like you! You’ve no sooner arrived than you’ve started hunting for something to disapprove of, something that might cause you pain or suffering — and then you wander about the room as if someone were holding a bunch of nettles under your nose and you’re trying to get rid of them.”

Hoping to change the subject, I interrupted him:

“Judging by your appearance, it seems you haven’t had too much to drink!”

“I had just a few,” he said. “I wanted to have my wits about me this evening. But now I’ll drink. That is to say, I shall allow myself to drink. There’s still more champagne! Your aunt is the perfect hostess. Her generosity knows no bounds. I know this may not please you, but now that you are no longer a man in need, I don’t mind telling you. She has clearly no intention of leaving this world behind until she has spent every penny of her fortune!”

People were still dancing feverishly in both the main living room and the entrance hall. The air had turned into a thick paste of powder, essence of lavender, perspiration, bare shoulders, sweaty armpits, lipstick. At one point my younger sister-in-law caught sight of me and tried to wend her way toward me; thank God her young chaperone, built like a racehorse, didn’t give her the chance.

The Blessed One’s room was somewhat calmer. But it was now home to the champagne table. And the crowd swarming around it called to mind an anthill. Halit Ayarcı took me by the hand and led me to Van Humbert, who was conversing with my aunt and my wife. The amiable scholar was drinking a fruit juice spritzer, while my wife and aunt had made the more humane choice: they both were sipping champagne. When I saw my aunt, I could not help but think, “Will her fortune last till the end of her days?” I shrugged my shoulders. “No need to worry, we have money now,” I thought. “In fact, her former maid has stopped working altogether. And why shouldn’t my aunt just do the same. It would be a little hard but we would manage. With an aunt like her, you can tolerate anything.” Indeed it was hard not to love her. She exuded life as abundantly as a field of grain.

Van Humbert seemed a robust man of around sixty-five years; he was of medium height, composed, with the body of a young man and the face of a child. Indeed he had such a young air about him that his bushy beard looked like a disguise. Before Halit Bey had finished introducing me, he asked:

“How was it, then? Were you pleased with the conference? I so wish I’d been here to see it. But the lady and her gentleman friend here refused to let me in.”

Before I had time to express my confusion, my wife leaped into the conversation to sing our guest’s praises.

“What beautiful Turkish he speaks, don’t you think?”

Brushing aside Van Humbert’s polite estagfurullah , my aunt explained:

“Yes, the evening wasn’t without a few minor problems, and I’m truly saddened you were unable to attend. Yet what else were we to do? My nephew had already promised to speak at this family gathering.”