Without a Country Read online

  Next, they took a cab to the Atatürk Forest Farm, where they had lunch and wandered through the arboretum. Along with the tens of thousands of trees from around the world, Atatürk had imported seeds to test farming techniques in the barren lands of central Anatolia, where onions and potatoes had been the only crops grown.

  The children quickly grew tired of urban agriculture, so after a while, Gerhard took his family to Karpiç for an early dinner before their train. The restaurant had relocated to the main boulevard, but Gerhard was relieved to find that the menu was unchanged. He ordered the chicken Kiev in memory of that long-ago lunch with Malche. Elsa wanted to try the borsch, whose fame had spread as far as Istanbul. Susy stuck with the familiar Turkish meatballs, and Peter, after some debate, was permitted the schnitzel. The boy couldn’t be expected to go hungry, whatever the doctor might say. At his wife’s mention of the doctor, Gerhard asked if the children wanted to hear a funny story about Eckstein.

  “Tell us, Daddy,” Susy begged.

  “When Dr. Eckstein came to Turkey, he brought a top-notch camera with him, and he’s been taking photographs of all the places he visits. He even put on an exhibit of his best work from the Anatolian countryside. One of those pictures showed a village girl among bunches of grapes. It was so good that the treasury asked Eckstein if they could use the image on a new banknote. Eckstein agreed, of course, but nobody thought to ask the girl or her family for permission. One day, the girl’s older brother arrived out of nowhere and accused the doctor of disgracing his sister.”

  “They should have paid the family.”

  “Elsa, the issue was the family’s honor. The brother couldn’t bear the thought of millions of men handling money with his sister’s picture on it. But it was too late. The bills were already in circulation. If Turkish bureaucrats hadn’t intervened, Eckstein’s innocent hobby could have resulted in a bloody nose or worse. The very concept of a hobby was so foreign—”

  “It still is,” Elsa said.

  “Well, one day, the Turks will have hobbies, too,” Gerhard said. “Right now, the only thing they have time for is work. You saw what was written on that memorial: ‘Work hard!’ Work hard and catch up with the times!”

  Back in Istanbul the following morning, the family took the ferry from Haydarpaşa station, on the Asian shore, to Karaköy, just down the hill from their apartment. Having helped his wife and children into a cab, Gerhard got on the tram that would take him to the university.

  Madame intercepted Elsa and the children in the stairwell. She asked after Peter’s health, then said that a Mrs. von Hippel had called. Elsa was taken aback. She was sure she hadn’t given Madame’s number to Dagmar. It must be important. Before even going upstairs, she went into Madame’s apartment and dialed the number Dagmar had left.

  She answered on the first ring.

  “Dagmar? It’s Elsa. Is everything all right?”

  “Not really. Arthur’s in trouble. He needs to talk to Gerhard. Would you be able to come by this evening?”

  “Well, we only just arrived from Ankara. I’d have to find a babysitter for the children. I’ll tell you what—why don’t you and Arthur come here this evening? I’ll rustle up something for dinner.”

  “Don’t go to any trouble, Elsa. We need your friendship right now, not a fancy meal.”

  When Gerhard stepped through the front door that evening, the dining room table was laid for guests, and an appetizing smell was coming from the kitchen. Elsa called to him and told him that the von Hippels were coming over for dinner. His first thought was: I’ll never understand my wife. He was finally home after a long day at work and a night on the train, and Elsa had suddenly decided to invite company over. Not to mention that it was Fatma’s day off.

  He went into the kitchen and looked at the dried tomato and yoghurt soup bubbling next to a pot of potatoes. Sausages were roasting in the oven.

  “Elsa, I wish you’d picked a different evening. We could have left the children with Fatma and treated the von Hippels to Russian food at Rejans.”

  “Dagmar said that Arthur needed to talk to you at once. Something’s happened.”

  “What is it?”

  “She didn’t tell me. Can you get Susy ready for bed?”

  When the von Hippels arrived a short time later, Gerhard steered his colleague to the study and shut the door behind them.

  “What’s happened, Arthur?” he asked.

  “I’ve already told you about my assistant, the one who resents me? That it should come to this . . .”

  “Start at the beginning.”

  “I was giving a lecture on electrical applications. There were about twenty students. I was explaining, in French, how large power generators work. The interpreter was an economist, not an engineer. For that reason, I was avoiding complicated terminology and keeping it very simple. My assistant, the rich one, raised his hand and asked why Turkey didn’t produce these advanced generators. Without thinking, I said that there was no need, that Turkey could always import a couple of generators. The lecture ended and I went home. Well, the next day, I was greeted by a protest, a near riot in the lecture hall. They were demanding a boycott of my classes! The chancellor was furious with me. None of it made any sense. Then I found out that the newspapers were all accusing me of ‘insulting Turkishness.’ I’d supposedly told my students that Turks were incapable of producing advanced machinery. Can you imagine, Gerhard? My Turkish wasn’t good enough for me to defend myself. I called you, but they said you were in Ankara.”

  Gerhard felt physically ill.

  “I don’t understand. Arthur, I’m so sorry.”

  “From what I learned later, it was the interpreter’s fault. He’d twisted my words. A deliberate act of malice. He told the class that I said they were too stupid to understand terminology, that it was enough for them to know Turkey could sell oranges and potatoes to Europe and get generators in return. Now everyone’s saying that I’ve trampled on the dignity of the Turkish nation. I know who’s behind this, but there’s nothing I can do. I’m afraid it’s too late.”

  “I thought this kind of thing only happened at the medical school,” Gerhard said. “Listen, Arthur. I’ll speak to the chancellor tomorrow. We can’t allow this. The chancellor would never throw you to the wolves on the word of a few hotheaded students.”

  “It’s the assistant who has been riling up the other students. I didn’t trust him, but I never imagined he’d stoop this low. Be careful, Gerhard. I wouldn’t want you to draw fire to yourself.”

  “I was the one who recruited you. And I won’t rest until I’ve done everything I can to make things right.”

  While Arthur was talking with Gerhard in the study, Dagmar was keeping Elsa company in the kitchen. Having told Dagmar all about Peter’s illness and the sights of Ankara, Elsa had moved on to the difficulties of not having any friends living nearby. It was so nice to spend time with a friend in her own kitchen and to speak German.

  “But didn’t you tell me that Hanna lives in Beyoğlu?” Dagmar said.

  “Hanna didn’t leave us on good terms. I’d offered to write and ask for her aunt’s blessing for the wedding, but she walked out on us. I’ve run into her twice. The first time, I crossed the street to avoid her. The second time, she did. Then, by chance, Frau Liepmann stepped into the husband’s shop in search of a button. Hanna, who was working there, apparently regrets her behavior. She said she plans to visit us one day soon to apologize.”

  “Would you forgive her?”

  “I wouldn’t slam the door in her face. And I’ll admit that it was nice having Hanna to babysit Susy. Fatma’s husband insists she get home in time to make his dinner, and I’d rather not impose on Madame all the time.”

  “That foolish girl,” Dagmar said. “She lost the only friends she has.”

  “She’s young and still has a lot to learn. I hope she’s not unhappy.”

  “Elsa, it just occurred to me. The Belgian family in our building is leaving Turkey at
the beginning of the summer. Would you and Gerhard consider taking over their apartment? I know you like Peter’s school, but you could enroll him at Robert College, the American boarding school. I think we’d all enjoy each other’s company.”

  In her excitement, Elsa nearly cut her finger with the knife she was using to slice potatoes.

  “I’ll ask Gerhard tonight.”

  With Peter and Susy in bed, the grown-ups sat down to dinner. It was a joyless meal, with the men glumly sipping their soup. After a brief and forced conversation about the trip to Ankara, the von Hippels thanked their hosts and rose from the table.

  Once the guests were gone, Gerhard summarized for Elsa what had happened at the university. He was too heartsick to talk it over at length. Elsa, for her part, sensed that it wasn’t a good time to introduce the idea of moving to Bebek. That night, as Gerhard lay next to his sleeping wife, alone in the dark with his conscience, he wondered if he’d made a terrible mistake. Not only had he moved his own family to Turkey, but he had helped arrange for dozens of other families to do the same. The anguish on Arthur’s face haunted him.

  The following morning, Gerhard went to the chancellor’s office and made the first available appointment.

  At three o’clock, he returned, and ten minutes later, the chancellor called him in. Gerhard began by talking about how much Arthur von Hippel admired Turkey, the Turkish people, and Atatürk. It was inconceivable that he would insult Turkishness. Furthermore, von Hippel was a man who had arranged, at his own expense, for eighteen crates of laboratory equipment to be shipped from Germany and for the Turkish youth to use.

  Gerhard talked until his mouth was dry, then fell silent.

  The chancellor heard Gerhard out without interruption and without the slightest twitch or change of expression. When he spoke, it was in a monotone.

  “Professor Schliemann, I understand. I do not believe that von Hippel insulted Turks. However, the arrow has left the bow. The press has reported otherwise. Nationalist sentiments have been inflamed. If I don’t terminate von Hippel’s contract, there will be a revolt in his department. Some have been lying in wait for an opportunity like this. Please try to understand.”

  “Are you telling me that you are prepared to sacrifice an esteemed professor over a disgruntled student?”

  “No. However, I have no choice but to sacrifice a professor for the good of the university.”

  Gerhard shook his head and stared in disbelief.

  “This couldn’t have happened at a worse time,” the chancellor said. “You’ve heard about Dersim, haven’t you? Nationalist fervor is at boiling point. My hands are tied. Please try to understand.”

  “Dersim? What is Dersim?”

  The chancellor looked as though he wanted to bite his tongue. The stone face had cracked.

  “There’s been an uprising in an eastern province, Dersim. For the public good, press and radio reports have been banned. It’s a tribal rebellion, soon to be quashed.”

  “Are you telling me that von Hippel is being let go because of a Kurdish uprising way out east?”

  “Herr Schliemann, the situation is grave. The Kurds overran a military barracks and slaughtered every soldier. They’ve set government buildings on fire. They’ve cut all the telephone wires. This has been going on for months. Nationalists are capitalizing on the many rumors—”

  “But why? How did it start?”

  “The Ottomans were never able to completely stamp out Kurdish rebellions, so they eventually allowed them a certain degree of autonomy. Now, some of the Kurds are demanding complete independence from the Republic of Turkey. They’re burning down schools and torching road-building equipment. A modern state cannot tolerate this, can it?”

  Gerhard shook his head, thought of his homeland, and held his tongue. Now he understood. A victim would be sacrificed to the gods to satisfy the wrath of the masses. And the victim would be the honest and honorable man who happened to be his close friend. There was nothing he could do. The meeting was over. He felt so weak in the knees that he waited for a moment before rising. He’d seen this before. It was why he’d left Germany. Nationalism, propaganda, rumormongering, bans on freedom of expression—was that where this county was headed, too?

  “Professor Schliemann, are you all right?”

  “Thank you for your time,” Gerhard said faintly as he stood up and walked out.

  The chancellor was still saying something. “I wish there was something I could do. I don’t know who fed those lies to the press, but . . .”

  Gerhard stumbled down the hallway, dreading his next meeting with Arthur. What would he say? What could he say? Thank goodness, he thought, I’ve never met that lying bastard of an assistant. If I knew where he was right now, I’d go punch him in the face.

  Gerhard opened the door to the physics laboratory. Alone inside, busy at work, was von Hippel.

  “Arthur, will you have a late lunch with me today?” Gerhard asked.

  “Come in. I have something to say.”

  Arthur knew. Gerhard could tell from the look on his face.

  “I received a letter this morning. My five-year contract has been reduced to one year. I’ll start applying to other universities at once. Forgive me, but I think I’ll skip lunch?”

  Gerhard went up to him. “I’ll do everything I can to ensure you get a good letter of recommendation,” Gerhard said, overcome with shame.

  Arthur von Hippel’s departure would be a loss for everyone, even the assistant who had sabotaged him. He and Elsa would lose friends, as would their children. Istanbul University would lose one of its finest minds.

  A refrain was running through Gerhard’s mind, and he sincerely hoped this would be both the first and the last time: Those stupid Turks! Those stupid Turks!

  When he got home that evening and told his wife, she was as upset as he was.

  “What are they going to do now?” she asked.

  “They’ll apply to universities all over the world. I’m sure Arthur will find something.”

  Elsa left Gerhard with the children and went running downstairs to consult Madame. She came back about twenty minutes later, smiling.

  “Why did you suddenly need to visit Madame?”

  “I wanted a cup of her Turkish coffee. Don’t worry, dear. Something tells me that Arthur and Dagmar will be fine.”

  Farewell to the Father

  Elsa had learned it was easier to walk down Grenadier Street to Tophane and catch the tram to Bebek than to take the bus. She sat up front with Susy on her knee, eager to see her friends and for Susy to get to speak German with kids her age.

  Susy’s Turkish had gotten far more fluent than her German. She spoke Turkish in the street, in the park, at her ballet lessons, with Fatma, and now with Peter. Even when asked a question in German by her parents, she had begun answering in Turkish.

  The ground floor apartment that was once home to the von Hippels was now being jointly rented by the five German professors and their families who lived on the other floors of that same building. One of the three bedrooms was left vacant for visiting friends and relatives, and the other two were used by the building’s domestic help. The large sitting room had been converted to a playroom for the children who were still too young to go to school.

  Elsa had decided to take Susy there at least once a week for language practice. Now, as she sat on the tram and looked out at the Bosphorus, she prayed silently that Susy would get along with this new group of children.

  The tram screeched to a halt in front of Dolmabahçe Palace, even though there wasn’t a stop there. Elsa craned her neck and watched as the ticket collector jumped down and ran into the sentry hut in front of the palace. A short time later, he climbed back onto the tram and made an announcement.

  “Our Atatürk’s fever has broken, and his blood pressure is normal. But he is still unconscious.”

  The passengers held their breath as he spoke and exchanged worried glances and whispers as the tram started moving ag
ain.

  “What on earth is going on?” Elsa murmured.

  “Mutti, Atatürk is sick,” Susy said.

  “How do you know?”

  “Everybody knows. He’s our father, and he’s very sick.”

  “He’s the father of Turks. You’re German.”

  “I’m a Turk, Mutti.”

  Elsa was reluctant to discuss this with her daughter in public, even in German. She would have to sit her daughter down and have a talk that night.

  “And I do my prayers, too. Fatma taught me how.”

  Elsa sighed. That talk was long overdue. She pictured her little girl kneeling on a prayer rug, facing Mecca. Perhaps they should let Fatma go?

  At least the visit with the German children went well. Susy played all morning with two boys and three girls, and didn’t even get upset when Elsa went upstairs to visit the other mothers. When she came back to collect Susy, secretly hoping her daughter would insist on staying longer, the child obediently trotted up and took her mother’s hand. It would be much easier to persuade Gerhard to move to Bebek if Susy grew attached to the other children. Like many fathers, Gerhard couldn’t say no to his little girl.

  “Did you have a good time today?” Elsa asked on the way home.

  “Yes, but those kids speak bad Turkish. I helped them. Then they got mad at me.”

  “They’re German. They don’t need to speak such good Turkish. And neither do you!”

  “That’s not true! I’m a Turk.”

  “Living in Istanbul doesn’t make you Turkish, Susy.”