The Binoculars of General von Kress

The Reluctant Warrior

By Kemal Tahir

Translated by Elif Mat Erkmen

 THE BINOCULARS OF GENERAL VON KRESS

Chapter 1

The Artillery Captain Jamil who was nicknamed ‘Jehennem’ by his Officer friends in the Palestine Front, laughed while still peering through his binoculars. His cousin Neriman took her eyes away from her knitting and looked out of the window as well.

 “What are you laughing at?”

 “It is nothing.”

“Come on darling, tell me. Why did you laugh?”

“Would you get scared if I yelled all of a sudden, ‘Charge’?”

“I would get very scared.”

“I was just reminiscing”, he explained as he put his binoculars down, “I thought our boys were on the offensive towards the hills and I was supposed to give the order ‘defensive fire’ to protect them.”

“What is defensive fire?”

“It is bombarding of the enemy trenches with gunfire so that they duck and can’t find an opportunity to fire.”

Neriman remembered the March 31^st incident. “You positioned your guns over those hills on March 31^st. Do you remember?”

She quickly glanced at the portrait of a young officer on the wall and said, “I asked Nazmi if they fired, would the bullets pass over our heads”.

“They would,” Jamil responded. He started to fumble for his cigarettes in his pockets while trying to avoid looking at the portrait. “Nazmi’s cannons were to the left and mine were to the right. Poor Nazmi was worrying about the enemy. He was saying, ‘What if Abdulhamid’s soldiers won’t fight back?’”

“Did he want them to fight back?” Neriman asked.

“Of course he wanted them to fight back so that he could fire at the palace and Abdulhamid would watch his palace be demolished around him.”

“Could he have destroyed the palace?”

“I don’t think so. We became artillery men without even firing one shot. We didn’t participate in any maneuvers before being sent to the war. A novice artilleryman likes to brag, even if he doesn’t have any real experience, he just bullshits.” he explained as he took a long drag from his cigarette. “It has been 10 years since March 31^st when Nazmi was 22 and I was 23.”

“How old was I?”

“How old were you?” He put his binoculars down and put his hand under her chin as he gently tilted her face towards him.

“Let’s see! You were just turning sixteen and beautiful as always,” he pulled her face closer to his.

“Don’t do that.” Neriman protested at first, but then she eventually gave in and let him kiss her. As the kiss progressed, Neriman held her breath and stepped back. “Have you lost your mind, Cousin Jamil? Let me go.”

“Don’t call me cousin!”

“What if someone comes into the room? My mother is getting suspicious. She already asked why I am taking showers so often, in this cold weather.”

“You should have said, ‘Cleanliness is next to Godliness,’ or you could have announced that we were getting married!”

“Let go of me.” she poked him with her knitting needle gently. “My mother was talking to Sarayli Hanim yesterday. The veterinarian Salih’s son-in-law finally came back; he was a prisoner of war. There was a lot of excitement in their home. His son was still a baby when he left and now the boy is turning five. He didn’t recognize his dad and he was saying ‘I don’t want this man in my house; I want him to go away.’ My mom took the opportunity to warn me by saying, ‘it is hard for the boy, they should have given him some time to adjust and they should have prepared him.’ Did you know what Enver said? He said, ‘Why doesn’t my mom cover her hair in the presence of Jamil? Is it appropriate?’”

“What a boy!”

“He is used to sleeping in my room. He is afraid you will be sleeping in my room instead of him.”

“He is a smart kid and already understands how marriage works. I think he is just joking around.”  His hands were caressing Neriman’s face, then down to her chest and from there down to her legs. “I am thinking about something else.”

“What is that?”

“I am thinking about my friend who will come today. He will be staying for a couple of nights.”

“Will he be staying here?”

“Yes, what should we do for sleeping arrangements?”

“Let go of me.” Neriman was closing her legs reluctantly while saying, “Take your hands off me. Never mind your friend; you should be worrying about us.”

“What is there to worry about?”

“I’m worried that I’ll get pregnant, Jamil.  I can hardly sleep at night worrying about.”

“I would like that because if it happens we will get married right away. You should tell your mom. Tell her we need to get married soon. If she asks why then tell her, it is God’s will.”

“Don’t joke about it. You should be thinking about me.”

“Why don’t you do the thinking? “Jamil teased her.

“Me?  You are the man! You are the strong one.  You are the one who is supposed to think of our future!” she paused for a moment and then said, “Let go. I want to ask you something. Is your friend an officer as well?”

“No, he isn’t.”

“So, why is he not here yet? You said, he would come around nine o’clock. It is nine-thirty already. I will be upset if he doesn’t show up. I worked so hard, preparing food. Please don’t drink when he comes, it is only lunchtime.”

Hearing the door closing downstairs, Jamil took his hands off her. Neriman took the binoculars. “You think he will come? Are you sure? “She looked out of the window. “I like binoculars. When you are not here, I sit here and look outside. I imagine I am seeing the places that I haven’t seen before. I can see the faces of people from far away. Are all binoculars as powerful as these?”

“Some, not all of them.”

“Did you get them just before the war?”

“No, they were a gift from General von Kress.”

“Who is he?”

“Von Kress? He is a German General. He was our commander in Gunnery School. We went to the Suez Canal together.”

“Why did he give them to you?”

“Because our Battalion burned a ship on the Canal.”

“That’s cheap. For a big job like that he should have given you something better. Is your friend coming from those hills?”

“I don’t know.”

“What kind of a man is he?”

Jamil was almost going to answer this question by saying ‘I don’t know’ as well. Chewing his mustache he tried to hide his smile because he had never seen this ‘friend’ before. The person who was coming was a big shot Unionist, former Diyarbakir Governor, Rashid. He was of Circassian origin. Rashid was a major war criminal, responsible for the Armenian deaths. For this reason, he was put in Bekiraga Prison. Twelve days ago he escaped.

“Oh! Look outside Jamil! They are after someone; the policeman pulled his gun out.”

“Let me see!”  Jamil took the binoculars; “Where are they? Does he have a gun? Something is shining in his hand.”

“Yes, I am sure that he has a gun. I saw it. Is he a thief? If he runs away, will they shoot him?”

The person, whom they were after, had a black coat on. Jamil was trying to see his face. He was wearing glasses. He leaned on a tree for a minute then started to race down the slippery hill.

The policeman was no longer able to see him and he signaled the others to circle the Bulgarian Cheesery. Then he crouched down and came to the bottom of the hill. When he realized that the man in the black coat was determined to escape, he aimed his gun, braced his legs, supporting his right wrist with his left hand he fired. “Oh Jamil, he is shooting at him. He is going to kill him in front of our eyes. Oh, my God, he shot him!”

After the gunshot was heard, the man lost his balance, he spread his arms out to steady himself, and then he stumbled. “Is he shot? Is he dead? Poor man!”

Jamil used the same steady deep voice that he used when he was talking to the nervous recruits who were coming to the war zone for the first time: “Quiet. Don’t panic, nothing happened.”

The man skidded down from the hill. There was a lot of snow on the ground and he was negotiating his way carefully. The police appeared behind the Bulgarian Cheesery and opened fire. The man reached for his gun.

“Did he get shot, Jamil? I think he got shot in the stomach”.

“I don’t think so” Jamil was about to say, ‘he is grabbing his gun’ but he changed his mind. He said, ‘he hasn't been shot’ instead.

The man stood up and aimed his gun towards the police officers. He was not nervous at all; he was calm as if he was at the firing range, practicing. He fired two shots. He retreated to a tree in the middle of the field and scrambled to shelter himself behind some old fences.

“Jamil, look at him! He is wearing glasses, he is not some thug.”

Over the hill, uniformed policemen were running. They heard women and children screaming around the neighborhood. Jamil threw the binoculars away and said, “Quick Neriman to the door.”

“Why to the door?”

“We have to open the door for him. Quick! Open it. Wait!  Don’t open the door all the way, just leave it ajar.” He ran to the storage room. “Neriman, be careful! If Aunt Salime hears this she will be scared.” He sprang to his feet and opened the storage room’s door to get his Mauser Rifle. He took it out from its case and asked, “Can we access the neighbor’s yard from the back of the house?” But he didn’t wait for the answer and ran to the door. He was just about to step outside when Neriman took hold of his arm. She said, “No Jamil, no. Don’t go.”

“Are you crazy? Let me go. Let go of my arm.” He was trying to get away from Neriman but she was holding on to his arm. He realized that she wouldn’t let go unless he pushed her away. Her grip was so tight; he stopped because he didn’t want to hurt her. Then he said again; “Let go of my arm.”

They heard Salime’s voice from downstairs. “What is going on? Did you want something, Neriman?”

“Mom, please close the door and lock it! No! This is not possible...”

“This is ridiculous. Let go. ”Upon hearing some more gunshots, Jamil instinctively raised his gun as if he was going to hit Neriman. He did this without even realizing he was doing it. Then he told her again to let go of him.

Neriman didn’t understand what was going on and why he raised the gun, but she was terrified of Jamil’s expression. She said, “Wait Jamil, the gun is not loaded.”

“Damn it!”

Jamil checked the gun. He remembered that he locked the cartridge away when he came home so Neriman’s son Enver couldn’t play with it. When he realized that the gun was not loaded, he tossed it on the bed and ran to the cupboard.

 Salime was climbing the stairs and complaining, “It is not safe to live here anymore.” She looked through the window and said;” They are opening fire in broad daylight. Who are these people fighting?” Jamil took the cartridge from his suitcase and just as he was standing up, he heard the veterinarian Salih’s indifferent voice, “He shot himself.”

Jamil loaded the gun and went to the window. The man in the black coat was lying face down. Salih began explaining to the women as they looked out the window, “After firing three shots the man stood up and put his hands in the air. I thought he was going to surrender. Then he put the gun in his mouth and fired.”

“Who was he? Why were they after him?”

“Oh my dear Salime, these are dangerous times”.

“Salih, why don’t you go and help him? He might still be alive.” Salime suggested.

The policemen were approaching him, fingers ready on their triggers. One of them nudged him hard with his foot. Salime startled. “He is kicking the dead person, there is no respect for the dead. He deserves a slap in the face!”

It was a sunny February day, but dark clouds started to gather with a faint wind. It was as if the clouds were covering the body that was lying in the middle of the field.

Neriman let out a whimper. Jamil looked at her in surprise, then he realized that he was holding her arm too tight. He let go of his grip sat on the day bed and smiled weakly at Neriman as if to apologize. He unloaded the gun and stared at it as if seeing it for the first time. He was nervous and suddenly became chilled. His old wound from the shrapnel embedded in his left shoulder began to ache. He lit a cigarette from the fire on the heater. He inhaled deeply.

“Jamil, who could that man be?”

“I don’t know”

“Shall I go out to investigate?”

 Neriman went outside without even waiting for his answer. Jamil rubbed his face. Then he looked outside. They had covered the body with some matting, however, the wind was blowing it away and the snow was drifting on top of him. Because of that, the large mound with a pile of snow on it started to look like a grave from far away. Jamil thought, “This is crazy. Why did they let him go out of his safe house in the daytime? Does the Unionist think they are still in power? This can’t be Dr. Rashid. Omer the Patriot should know better than that.”

He forgot his cigarette on his lips while he was mindlessly taking the cartridge in and out of his gun. He was lost in thought.

Neriman’s son Enver entered the room. He was breathless.

“Uncle Jamil, that guy is dead. He shot himself. Did you see what happened?”

“No, I didn’t see.”

“I saw him. His lips were blue from the cold. His black eyes were bright. They told me that he was a Unionist!

Jamil didn’t pay attention at first then he was surprised by Enver talking about Unionists. He asked, “What do you know about the Unionists?”

“I don’t know. They say because of Unionists we lost the war, they are Traitors...Infidels...”

“Who says Unionists are Infidels? Where did you hear that from?”

“The Grocer Haji was talking about it.”

That Grocer once worked in the palace as Abdulhamid’s cook. He had his white turban on and took an active part in the demonstrations against Unionists on March 31^st. Even though he was one of the reactionaries he was able to hide his identity. After March 31st, he went into hiding and waited for the clashes to end between the supporters of the Unionists and reactionaries. Then when everything returned to normal he moved to this neighborhood, pretending he had nothing to do with the unrest and opened up a shop here. He said that he was returning from Mecca, from his pilgrimage and he was not living in Istanbul during the unrest. He had connections in the Food Rationing Department and he knew some rich Greek wholesalers. That’s how he got rich during war years.

“Was Haji pleased that the man shot himself?”

“He was very pleased. He said that it was only just. Committing suicide is a sin; he would die as an infidel. Is that true Uncle Jamil? Will he go straight to hell?”

Then the child saw the gun and asked: “What is that? Can I play with it? Please let me have a look!”

“No, it is not a toy”

“I know what those are. They are bullets.  Bullets for a pistol. Did you use those during the wartime Uncle Jamil? Did you kill any infidels?  Did you ever kill any Unionists?

“Go to your mom son, your socks are wet you will catch a cold. Go change”

Enver left the room unwillingly. Jamil stared at the picture on the wall.

 Jamil became a member of the Committee of Union and Progress when Patriot urged him. It was 1906. They were in Monastir Macedonia, and they were walking towards their destination on a rainy night. When they reached the corner; Omer the Patriot apologized and said he needed to blindfold him. Holding his arm he guided Jamil through the muddy streets. Upon arriving at their destination; he rang the doorbell three times. Someone on the other side of the door said first, “Muin” than “Hilal” three times each. Patriot answered, by saying ‘Hilal’ three times “Muin” only once. Then he removed Jamil’s blindfold and Jamil saw three people in red gowns and black masks. There was a table and on it, there was a book and a pistol. He heard a voice that he recognized. It was Eyoub Sabri’s voice saying, “Have you decided to join the Committee? Have you given this a lot of thought? Are you sure?”

Jamil said, “Yes”.

“Do you understand that if you do not follow the rules you will be executed?”

“Yes Sir, I understand the rules.”

He had to take an oath to be a member of the committee for life, thus making him member number: 9-2

If things turned out for the worse, he could have ended up in exile somewhere like Fezzan, Taif or Yemen for life. At the time anyone who would take this road would forget about getting married to Royal Princesses, being military envoy to important Capitals, or getting promoted to higher ranks. You would have to give up a bright future. But if they were successful; it would mean Freedom for the country. So what would this Freedom look like?  He imagined it as being able to do anything he wanted. But how would this be compatible with the current strict military rules?

Jamil reminded himself that they didn’t have to debate such details, because within just two years, by sending a couple of telegrams they achieved their goal. They brought Freedom to the country.

Jamil was still gazing at the picture on the wall. Nazmi died defending Edirne which was under siege. He didn’t have time to learn that their party was ruling the country now. They were controlling the vast Empire from the Danube to Basra; from Sinop to Libya. Nazmi died when he was twenty-six. He died hungry, sick and desperate.

In the picture, Nazmi was also smiling sadly as if he heard his son calling him “Unionist Infidel.”

Neriman came upstairs looking very pale. “He was a doctor. His name was Rashid… A governor. He escaped from jail recently.”  She approached Jamil and whispered. “Was he the friend you were expecting?”

“No, he wasn’t.”

“Did you know Governor Rashid personally?

“No, I didn’t know him”

“Then why did you ask me to open the door for him? You asked about whether it was possible to enter the neighbor’s yard”. She was obviously shaken; the fear rising up from her throat to her lips. Her lips started to pucker. The stern look in her eyes was turning into fear. “If he entered our house and was seen by the police, they would have raided the house. What would you have done? Would you have fought with them?”

Jamil leaned forward to look directly in her eyes; Neriman knelt down on the floor in desperation, with her hand on her mouth. “You were ready to fight Jamil; you were going to die as well.”

“What are you talking about?” Jamil smiled weakly. “That’s all nonsense. Nothing like that was going to happen.” He reached out to touch her shoulder and then stopped. He said, “Why are you crying? Why are you getting worked up?”

“Jamil, I am not a child.” She raised her head, “I can understand. They said they had been after Dr.  Rashid for a couple of days now. They were determined to find him dead or alive. Had they not found him, they were going to arrest the officers who were suspected to have helped him and hung them instead.”  There were tears in her eyes. “Why don’t you think about us? We have waited for you to return for so many years.”

“You have waited and I have come.” He touched her cheek, “Please, don’t cry over nothing. It is nothing to worry about. Hush now.”

“You came back, but you aren’t really here. You are always anxious. Always distracted by sounds. Always on the alert. If someone called you from the street in the middle of the night; you would go in a second, grabbing your gun on the way out.”

“Would I?” Jamil was asking the question to himself. He was thinking. “You are wrong. I am so tired I don’t feel like moving; even the German cranes can’t lift me now from my spot.”

“Well, I know exactly what is going on, I understood very well indeed. Don’t do that. It is enough already. Enough fighting. You don’t need your salary. Thank God, we have enough income.” She was brushing her cheek against his hand and begging him to stop. “Think about us.” She paused for a while. “The Military Officer who came yesterday…Did he ask you to hide that man? Did you accept it? You did. I know you did.”

“Come on, Neriman, of course not. Please believe me, and don’t think like that.”

“You were waiting for him.” She was looking at the gun. “You were going to fight. Your face changed suddenly. You are so used to war. Can’t you just stop? How long will it last? The other day I was thinking, seventeen years ago you were sent to jail. Then you went to Macedonia, then Libya, and then the Balkan wars started. Then four years in the Great War. In those four years did you even think about us for a minute?”

“Please you are being unfair. Look at me.” He held her face in both hands and leaned over to kiss her. “I don’t have anyone else in this life, only you. I told you so many times. I was thinking of you always...even during the hardest times. When I was thinking of you I was scared of dying.  You don’t know how I missed you.”

“You missed me but you didn’t come back to me when the war ended. Why didn’t you come right away? So many months have passed since the war ended.”

“I have already explained that to you.”

“It wasn’t your responsibility to transport the guns to a hidden location.”

“It was on my way. Before coming home I thought I could move the guns.”

Neriman didn’t want him to kiss her so she pretended to have heard something and turned towards the door. “I need to go to the kitchen and check the oven.”

“Stay a little longer. I think there is some brandy in the cupboard, will you give me some?”

Neriman stopped at the door, “I’ve asked you not to drink this early in the day.” She looked wistfully at him. Then her expression turned to forgiveness and she smiled. Her smile was like those of young mothers who are looking at their naughty children. She was shaking her head as she was going to the cupboard to get the brandy. She had a tight dress on and Jamil was admiring her narrow waist and curvy hips.

“Where have you put the bottle? I can’t see it.” Neriman’s voice was flirtatious. She was trying to seduce him.

Jamil wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, approached her gently from behind and grab her large breasts with both hands.

 “Let me go. What are you thinking? It’s the middle of the day.” Neriman quickly straightened up and she turned away trying to get herself free. Jamil leaned into her red lips which were half-open; he inhaled her perfume. “Let me go... Please...”

“I will tell you something, don’t go just yet” He was slowly pushing her towards the bed, trying not to alarm her. “Come, don’t worry.”

“No, I don’t want this.” When the back of her knee hit the bed, Neriman fell backward on the bed. There was horror in her eyes. For a moment she really resisted. “No, please not in this room.”

 In this room, Nazmi’s picture was on the wall. They always made love here when it was dark. They were always shy, ashamed and embarrassed as if it was a great sin. They didn’t want Salime and Enver to hear anything.  This whole shyness was hurting Jamil’s pride as a man, sneaking around like a thief. But now, he was pulling her clothes off her and he was rough; he had run out of patience. In his haste, he didn’t even realize that Neriman was ready to make love as well, like him, without the shame. She was willing as much as he was. Jamil was thinking that Neriman was refusing him. What should have been a gentle lovemaking, he was turning into a fight.

Neriman put her arms over her face. Jamil wanted to see everything but he closed his eyes when he saw Neriman’s beautiful naked body. The whole time they didn’t say anything to each other. Both were feeling guilty. When it was over with her gaze downcast, Neriman quickly left the room.

Jamil didn’t know what to do. He stood stoically in the middle of the room, listening to her footsteps going downstairs. He didn’t feel like drinking anymore but still, he went to the cupboard to find the bottle. Purposely ignoring the picture on the wall, he walked over to the window.

Dr. Rashid, the powerful Governor of the Unionist Regime, was still lying under those mats, like a child playing hide and seek. As if he could feel the February cold outside, Jamil shuddered for him. Just before his death Rashid understood what it is like to be followed, what it is like to be cornered like an animal. Once others feared for their lives because of him; now he tasted the same fear before his death.

Once again, Jamil was thinking about the great power of a little bullet while he was pulling out the cork of the bottle with his teeth. All of lives labors, hopes, despairs, trust, insecurities, pride, shame, everything; all of this comes to an end by a single tiny bullet.

Still looking at the body lying in the middle of the field he raised the bottle. He was almost going to say “For your Honour” as they used to do when the war ended. They would stand in attendance and raise their first glass in honor of their fallen comrades.

He didn’t even know the man; he thought it was stupid to honor the Bashi-bozouk. Instead, he went to sit down on the sofa. He started to drink out of the bottle until he felt numb.

The wind picked up. The view from the window was obscured by the snow flying everywhere.

His stomach was feeling the warmth and the relaxing effects of alcohol. It was spreading through his bloodstream and finally reaching his heart.

He started to look for his cigarettes; he had that bitter aftertaste of the brandy in his mouth. Later he went downstairs to the living room.

“What is the tune that you are whistling?” Salime asked.

“It is a Bedouin tune.”

“Is it all the same tune throughout the whole song or have you just learned one part of it?”

“My dear aunt, for you it is all the same, but for the Bedouin, it is different.”

“Arab’s yalelli, it is unending and monotonous.”

“Yes, a woman named Hadiye used to sing that song. We were listening to her in Damascus.” He started to listen outside. There was a noise; “It was just the wind. You know when listening to this, Arabs would roar, they were ecstatic, peeling their clothes off, ripping their own skin with their fingernails. Some guy hit the piano…”

Salime wasn’t impressed, “Maybe the lyrics were good.”

“I don’t think so. The guy likens his lover to a female camel that hasn’t given birth yet. It is not any camel, a special white camel. Her eyes are beautiful like she has eyeliner on, tiny ankles, little firm round stomach...”

“Enough, I get it!”

“Well, you asked me but you don’t want to hear the description.”

As Aunt Salime tried to read her newspaper, Jamil broke in with a question just to annoy her. “Is there anything important?”

“No, same old. Fire, looting, counterfeit money. They arrested some crooks while printing fake money. A woman named Nuriye got arrested for wearing immodest clothing in Shehzadebasi. Another woman wearing a military uniform went to the movie theatre with her lover. When the public noticed, the lovers were almost beaten up. God save us from the worst. So many wars, so many casualties. Why doesn’t God have mercy on us? We have so many problems. At the Kadikoy ferryboat, some foreign soldiers were talking to the Turkish women inappropriately. On the other hand, we are killing each other every day. Look what happened in our own neighborhood. On top of that many Unionists are court-martialed. They are going to get the death penalty.” As if Jamil was one of the wanted, Salime lowered her voice, “Are you going out today?”

“No, I will not!”

“Good, nobody should go out in this weather. It is nice and warm in the house. Rest, while you can, you deserve it.”

Salime inspected Jamil over her glasses, and then she lit a cigarette. She had white hair and rosy cheeks. A little chubby. She had rheumatism which gets worse in winter so she doesn’t leave the house in cold weather and usually spends her days in the living room on the main floor. She listened to the wind which was getting violent. Jamil thought she would say a prayer for all those who were at sea, as she always does in this kind of weather.

 “Did you know the man that they killed?”

“No, I don’t know him. He escaped from prison. The Bekiraga Division.”

“He didn’t flee by himself. They helped him. There was an officer with him. The plan was to kill prison guards before they escaped. Unionists didn’t want to leave any clues behind. But he refused, he didn’t allow it. When he was shooting at the Police today, he didn’t want to kill them.”

“Who said all this?”

“The policeman said it. I’m surprised. Is he compassionate? Why would he be so compassionate when they killed Armenians during the deportation? So many people died, even the children. ...”

 “Maybe he was innocent.”

“Why was he scared of being on trial if he didn’t order those deaths? Why did he commit suicide? Neriman was really upset about this event today. We didn’t tell you but she cried for a long time. She said if he hadn’t left his hiding place he would have lived. He would still be alive.” Salime stopped talking and she started to listen to the wind again. “She went outside to look for Enver. I don’t want her to cry again. I wish she would come back to this room and make some coffee for us.”

“Should I go call her?”

“No, let her do her thing. She is crying frequently these days. I worry about her. I am going to talk to her, but how can you not cry at a time like this? In broad daylight, people are being killed, as if it’s no big deal. These are the worst days. Poor guy had a chance to run away, he was running for his life. The Government knows what to do. They could have found him anyway. That lowlife didn’t let him flee.”

“Who are you talking about? The police?” Jamil asked.

“No, I am not talking about the police. Someone tipped them off. It was none of their business. Poor guy was a Doctor. Saraylı Hanım asked the officers if the informant would get a reward for helping them to locate the accused. Whether he would get any medals or money, something like that. The Officers answered “Do you think there is such a thing as medals these days? He is lucky if he gets ten Lira for a bottle of raki.”

“Do you think they would execute him if he was caught alive?”

“I don’t think so. He was a Governor he had to follow the orders. They should hang the Cabinet Members for such a crime.”

“All this talk about hanging people these days. When our family friend Imam Yahya heard the news, he sent two guys to investigate, and then put on his coat and quickly came here in person. He talked to me and said that he was worried about you. He wondered whether you are going to continue in military service or if you'd rather go into business. He also said you should talk to him first before deciding on your future. He also mentioned something else....”

“What might that be? I think I know?”

“Why are you smiling? This is serious.  You have to think about your future. You have been in all the wars in this world; and to what?  In the end, you were defeated by the English. The enemy occupied the country. So many people died in Gallipoli. You didn’t let the enemy fleet pass the Dardanelle. Now they are resting in front of Besiktas. Think about that. What do they say? ‘A rolling stone gathers no moss’. Aren’t you thirty-three years old? After the Balkan wars if you had listened to me and got married you would have a son as tall as yourself by now.”

“Don’t start with the subject of marriage again, please. How many times I have told you, we are Janissaries! We don’t grow beards and we don’t get married until retirement.”

“Don’t tease me! Youth doesn’t last forever. One day you will realize that, but it will be too late. Let’s change the subject: What should I say to Hodja Yahya?”

“Tell him what I have told you; that I am a Janissary.”

“Enough teasing!”

“I am not teasing; I was wondering why you brought up the subject. Do you have something on your mind?”

Salime Hanim looked suspicious; “What if I have something on my mind?”

“Well, if a pretty girl will have me I would be happy to get married.”

“I will mention this to Yahya. Don’t change your mind though. What about your future in the military?”

“I haven’t given much thought to that yet. Right now we are getting only half the salary that we are entitled to. It can’t go on like that. I am hoping things will get better. Let me tell you what to say to Yahya; tell him that I am touched by his concern and I am grateful.”

“Saraylı Hanım wanted me to tell you something.”

“I am listening, does she need something?

“She is worried about you. She said; “Times are bad; all the nations of the world are in conflict. Every day the newspapers report stories about uniformed Officers being assaulted by the foreign soldiers.”

“So?”

“She is asking you not to wear your uniform and not to take your gun when you leave the house.”

“I understand but…” he smiled at Neriman who entered the room, “please don’t worry about these things, I won’t get in trouble. No one will bother me.”

Neriman looked puzzled. “What was that, mom? What is Jamil talking about?”

“He was wondering about where you were. He was waiting for his coffee.”

Neriman started making coffee over the stove. Salime began questioning her about Enver. “He didn’t want to come home. I am afraid this whole thing will affect him. All he thinks about is the dead man. He went to the spot and saw blood. I don’t think he really saw him committing suicide but he is telling it as if he witnessed the whole thing. And do you know what he asked? He asked, if Uncle Jamil killed a lot of enemies in the war? Really, did you ever fire at somebody from a range close enough to see their faces?”

“No, Artillery Division is different; they don’t kill people from close range.”

Neriman thought he was teasing her and shot him a look of anger. “That means they are much more cold-hearted. If you see a person up close, you can’t kill him! When you see his eyes you can’t fire. You are laughing at me but I am saddened by all this. I keep thinking about that man. How could they be so cruel? In broad daylight, they followed him. He looked everywhere for a place to run. He wanted to sprint to the other hill to safety. Is it like that at the front? Do people think about other places, imagining going somewhere away from the war?”

“I don’t know. It is hard to remember. The first day of the war, for sure people get shaken by all of that. Young men think that all the bullets will find them. I don’t know maybe not exactly like that but something similar”

Neriman was looking cross as she was clearing up the cups. Jamil said artillerymen were not cruel at all and attempted a few jokes but couldn’t get the women to laugh.

When Neriman went into the kitchen and Salime started to read her paper, Jamil went upstairs.

He stretched his body, his bones cracked. Since being back in Istanbul he was always so tired. No matter how many days he spent resting, his fatigue was not going away. On the contrary, it was increasing.

He sat down by the window and began staring at the tree that Dr. Rashid had tried to hide behind.

The sky was dark, the snow was falling heavily and the wind was cold. The whole world, including this neighborhood where he was born suddenly felt foreign to him. In fact, he had been feeling like he didn’t belong since the day that he became a prisoner in Taskishla Barracks at the age of seventeen. The feeling had never left him. He was a student at the military school. The prison cell in the basement of the building didn’t have any windows. He was alone. The air of the cell was disgusting. There were human feces on the ground. There were rats as big as cats walking calmly on the wooden bed where he slept. They gave him a light two weeks later. Five weeks later he was allowed to go to one of the upstairs rooms. When it was understood that he had nothing to do with the Young Turks that had been arrested earlier, they let him go. He arrived home only to find his mother in bed. When the police came to search their house, she feared that they would hang Jamil, and she had a stroke. She could no longer use her right side and she couldn’t talk. She looked at Jamil without recognizing him and the grief was frozen in her chest forever. She was never able to recognize Jamil again and she soon died.

After he was released, Jamil tried to shake that uneasy feeling and tried to go back to his normal life but he just couldn’t. Even with his girlfriend things were not the same. When they were questioning him he didn’t reveal that he had spent the night with her. He was not able to enjoy himself like he used to when he went out with his friends to drink.  Although he wasn’t interested before, he became curious about the Young Turk movement. He started to read their newspapers. He became a member of the secret organization at the Suleiman Pasha Division. He would go to Yenicami to find the Arab umbrella seller, to Eminonu to Barber Haji Hashim, or to Dmitri, the tavern owner, to collect Revolutionist’s forbidden papers and take them to his friends at Harbiye Military Academy. After he graduated from the military school as an Officer he went to the Balkan Provinces to take part in the gang wars. If he heard a gunshot in the middle of the night, he could determine the make of gun; whether Mauser, Gira, Manlier or Keller and whether someone was hit. He learned all the jargon of the action. He wasn’t after fame but he didn’t want to fall behind anybody, whether friend or foe. That’s why he searched Socialist Sandansky and Paniche in the Rodopi Mountains, and Nationalist Sarafof, and Garvanof in Lubnica. He took part in various raids and bombings. He destroyed the Johannes gang’s hiding place at Vardar Lake. He won prizes like the famous Karadag guns with silver embossed designs and antique Venetian shotguns at the shooting contests. Macedonia at the time was a warzone, not a formal front but a place where nations not only killed each other but killed their own as well. If you were not watching for a second you could easily get killed. Every corner, every house, every tree, every mosque, every church, even lover's beds were dangerous. Theft, murder, and arson were everywhere. Businesses stopped functioning; no more commerce; no more farming and even the schools closed. It was as if there was a huge flood and everything was being carried away by the water. In the middle of this chaos, the Ottoman army was in terrible shape, the Uniforms of the soldiers were like rags, thinning and torn. There was no choice but to embrace the change or go down in despair.

Jamil took a sip from his brandy and continued to reminisce.

One hot July night Atif blurted out that he was ordered to shoot Field Marshall Shemsi Pasha. Shemsi was the last strong man of Abdulhamid that could be depended on. Atif was talking about this order as if it was a joke. They noticed a shooting star in the dark blue night. Omer, Nazmi and Jamil looked up in awe; they were lying down on the mats on the floor.

Omer the Patriot had a Bulgarian girlfriend; Nina. She was singing a bitter gypsy song in the house next door. Atif was lying down with his arms spread on both sides as if he wanted to embrace the world and life. He was enjoying the song. While looking at the stars he spoke openly. In case he died in action, he wanted them to know he gave his sister permission to get married to the Corvette Captain Ismail Hakki. When his head touched the pillow Atif dozed off immediately. The other three continued smoking. In the morning they were awakened by Atif’s whistle. He was choosing a revolver. He looked like a young officer who was going to meet his first date. He was so handsome and dressed very neatly. Atif went out and shot Shemsi while he was leaving Monastir Post Office. He was very calm as always. The other three, fired randomly from the window of one of the houses overlooking the town square, as a distraction to give Atif time to run away without being followed.

Three days later on a Thursday morning, Monastir Military School’s Principal Major Wehip who was from Janna climbed on the cannon to make a speech. This initial Freedom speech ended with the words; “Long Live Monastir Heroes, Long Live Ohri Protectors...Long Live Izmir Division...Long Live our Country...Our Nation...Committee...Army....either we will have a constitution or we will die...”

What happened next? Revolts in Yemen, Harran, and Albania. The Libya defeat. The Balkan disaster. Then the Sarikamish Tragedy. The Suez Canal; Gallipoli; Galicia; Iraqi and Palestinian Fronts and then defeat. Defeat is an understatement, it was total destruction.

 Jamil rubbed at his face again as if to erase the bad memories; then looked for the brandy. This fatigue never ends. This feeling of tiredness. The more I rest the more I feel this way. I am thirty-three but feeling like a hundred-year-old man. I am so tired and I have lost interest in living. Tired of life. I am not even longing for a woman’s love the way I should.

Neriman was calling him. “Jamil.....Jamil...”
“What is it? Is it the door? Is it the Police?”

“Hush, be quiet.” Neriman was whispering. “No, it is not the Police. It is the Lieutenant who came yesterday. He asked for you. I said I didn’t know whether you were home. Should I tell him that you are not here?”

“No, tell him to come in.” He stood up with difficulty and propped the bottle on the pillows of the sofa. “Let’s warm the room up, bring some more wood.” He put his arm around her waist and said, “You are afraid of everything.” Then he kissed her neck.  “It is nothing. Don’t be afraid. Bring some coffee right away so he won’t stay long.”

Neriman left the room, Jamil opened the door. “Oh, is that you Lieutenant? Welcome! What brings you here?”

“I am sorry to disturb you, Captain.” Lieutenant Farouk stood at attention saluting him. “Captain Maksood sent me to talk to you. He wishes....”

“Come on in.” Jamil closed the front door and offered him some slippers. “I would rather not come in; I am in a hurry.” Farouk looked so exhausted that one would wonder how it was possible for him to even stand.

“Take off your coat.”

“Captain Maksood sends his regards. He asks that you please come to the Police Station today. In fact, he insists. He advised that you wear plain clothes.” He looked at the door and said quietly, “Bring your gun.”

“Why? Did something happen to Patriot?”

“Omer the Patriot? No, not at all.”

“Good. Come in anyway, have some coffee. It is cold out.”

Lieutenant Farouk took his coat off. He was slim, with a small chest, pointy shoulders wrists and knees. He was wearing a worn uniform of the defeated Ottoman Army, exposing a neck so thin he looked gaunt. He looked like the cold would go right through him. Jamil felt sorry for him.

Jamil let him sit on the sofa and pushed the heater towards his side. “Did you hear about what happened to Dr. Rashid?”

“Yes, sir. The Police phoned Military Court Marshall today and told them the good news!” Farouk looked out the window. “Did he commit suicide? The kids were talking about that.”

“Yes…Under that tree...”

“Captain Maksood is saddened by the news. He is also concerned about you. You could have been in trouble had the Police found about Dr. Rashid’s plans to stay in your house. Maksood was sorry about involving you in this matter.”

“Is that right?”

“Omer couldn’t believe that in Istanbul there was nowhere to hide this man.” He said, ‘listen Lieutenant, go and get Rashid right now and take him to the address that I am going to tell you. Don’t worry about anything. Now memorize the address.’  We were to bring the poor man here without even asking you. May he rest in peace.”

Jamil thought about this. “That’s right. That was the only way. You should have listened to Patriot. You could have brought him here without asking me. I wouldn’t refuse to hide him. That way he would still have been alive today. I am not blaming you. Maksood does not usually worry about details like that. Just remember for the next time, when you are in a dangerous situation like this listen to the old school Committee members.  Too bad. They should have followed Patriot’s orders.”

“Can you believe we even thought about taking him to the house where Omer was hiding?”

“That’s insane. Rashid was one of the leaders of the Unionists. Where are all the others? They still have the power in the Government Offices. What happened to all their bodyguards? Maksood should have thought about that. You can’t change location in daylight. Instead of focusing on getting my consent he should have considered that!”

Farouk’s face looked like an unfinished oil painting; he looked so pale against his blue eyes. Jamil was thinking as Farouk was trying to warm his hands. Right now, instead of Lieutenant Farouk, there would be Dr. Rashid sitting in this room; had he not been caught. One of his friends tipped off the police.

Fate is a funny thing. Had one of them stopped to gaze in the shop windows, had some kid asked one of them the time; had they run into someone; had they stop for a minute to plan something; to go back to get a handkerchief or a piece of paper that had been forgotten. Those little moments can make a huge difference in one’s fate. He was preoccupied with this thought. Apologetically he smiled and offered the Lieutenant some brandy. “Would you like some?”

“Thank you, Captain, I would love some. Everyone who was involved in this, except Omer, was arrested. We feared that they would disclose the location of Dr. Rashid under torture.”

As he was drinking, there was an unexpected knock on the door, startling him. Jamil went to the door and took the coffee tray from Neriman. “The brandy was quite enough, Captain! I wouldn’t want to trouble you anymore.”

Jamil offered him a cigarette. He was thinking about the trouble he could have found himself in. Had the Police stormed the house; he would have been dead as well. His body would be lying in the morgue next to Rashid’s. He would be lying on the marble tables of the morgue completely naked. “After surviving from all these wars how ironic to come back to my own town, to my own neighborhood only to die by police bullets! Your own police. The worst part of all this is that we are already defeated, we have already turned over our arms and surrendered!”

 He looked at Nazmi’s picture, he too didn’t think about death. Even, when he was shot. This must be the Law of Life you don’t think about death even when you are in the middle of the most dangerous war, similarly while living a normal life at the most ordinary moment, death can come and find you. That must be the Law of Death.

“Captain is that your picture?”

“No that’s Nazmi. My cousin Neriman’s husband....”

“War changed us a lot. I thought it was you in the picture. Where is he now?”

“We lost him during the Balkan Wars at Edirne. Lieutenant Nazmi joined the opposition and fought gangs in the mountains with Captain Niyazi.” He stopped telling his story and realized that Nazmi indeed looked like him. Maybe just a little. He never thought about that before! He wondered if Neriman had noticed the similarity. He felt his chest tightening.

“He has a son, seven years old. Do you know what he told me? ‘That man who had committed suicide was a Unionist, an Infidel!’  Poor Nazmi went to fight against the Bulgarians when other young men were enjoying walks around Fenerbahce and other nice neighborhoods of Istanbul, courting beautiful girls. He wanted freedom for his country. He got killed when he was only twenty-six. He was shot through his forehead. His pregnant wife was only eighteen years old. Imagine, now his son calls them Unionist Infidels!

“It is difficult Captain. From now on it is going to be only trouble for us.”

“That’s right. It is going to be difficult.” The shrapnel wound he had on his shoulder started to ache, and it was worrying Jamil; “I am tired, Lieutenant.” He said this without even thinking. “I don’t feel rested. Even though, I have been lying on my back ever since my return. Did we get old without realizing it? What do you think?”

“It has nothing to do with age, Captain. I am twenty-two yet I am like a rug on the floor. I can’t shake it either. Our fatigue is not body fatigue, it is our soul. This feeling of tiredness doesn’t go away no matter what I do. I can’t stay focused to read two lines. I used to read a lot when I was in college. I would read anything. Even light stuff. Different subjects! I thought I would die of boredom if I didn’t read.  I was even reading on the front line in the first months.  To be without light and to be without books was terrible. It was worse than the cold worse than the hunger and the head lice. I wanted it all to end. I was looking forward to going to the Academy. I was looking forward to reading day and night. Now I have plenty of time to read, nothing to do day and night. I have lots of books. I don’t want to touch any of them. Even if I pick up a book, I can’t open the book. Even if I open it, I can’t read. And if I begin reading, I get bored after reading half a page. I start listening outside, daydreaming. I don’t like the silence, it makes me uneasy. All of a sudden I get startled for no reason; I get panicky and claustrophobic.  Did you ever notice how people are looking at us, in the streets, in the coffee houses or on the tramways? We don’t carry our epaulets on our shoulders anymore, we carry our shame. We are guilty of defeat. In effect, we are guilty of still being alive. We had that feeling on the front lines when a beloved comrade had fallen.” He was lost in thought for a while then added; “How can I not be tired? All those degrading looks, all those humiliating words have taken our strength away. When we look at them we want them just to understand us. We think if we are understood, then we can shake this fatigue and feel confident again. All we want is a friendly smile, even a sympathetic one will do. Their numbers are much larger than the men in uniform. Sometimes they don’t even see us. It is worse than being stared at. They prefer not to look, not to notice. It is as if we don’t exist, as if we are not breathing and moving among the others. We have returned home to be welcomed by them. Even the ticket masters and the waiters are looking down on us. We are staring back at them confused. Guilty, quiet, biting his lip and thinking… We can overcome all this. All we need is a little light at the end of the tunnel. We are tired of feeling helpless, and not knowing how long it will last. The army is dismantled. It can’t be reformed on short notice. When we don’t have an army we will always feel worthless. How can we rest?” He looked for a cigarette and lit it.

“Did you study at Military Junior High School?”

“Yes.”

“Then you too wore a uniform at the age of eleven, just like me. When you enter the military profession at that age; you are set aside from all the other people. Yes, we are tired because of the fact that the army has been disbanded. We don’t belong. That we can’t bear! All this change is impossible. After being in service for so many years, what else are we are going to do?  Start a business, open a grocery store?”

Jamil put his hand up. He looked at his hand and tried to smile. “As I was listening to you I realized. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before!”

“What is it?”

“My dad was also a Gunnery Officer. I told you that last night, didn’t I?  Enver Pasha didn’t like opposing views so my father had to retire early. I didn’t care about his being retired. I think I thought him to be old. I thought he deserved a rest. In fact I was cross with him over something. He liked Abdulhamid. When I got arrested he said, ‘these are not the kind of things for you’. When he was retired he came home and said with a smile, ‘our turn is over’. When you were talking earlier I remembered his expression. He really didn’t smile; he just forced his muscles to appear that way, bitterly. Maybe we will never thoroughly understand each other, father and son.” Jamil was lost in thought. “Yes probably, he was struggling too hard; he must have felt like a fish out of water. He was trying not to let us know. He got old in a couple of months.  Everything about him changed. His laugh, his cough even, the way he put his hand in his pocket, his way of greeting people, saying ‘hello’, his walk, his speech. He was embarrassed around people as if he had done something wrong. I am sure he was withdrawn while buying yogurt or even giving alms to the beggars. He thought he was a burden, he wanted to hide this, and he was always apologetic. This continued until the day he died. One afternoon they called me urgently. He had a heart attack and collapsed on the street. As I entered the room and greeted him he said, ‘don’t worry, it is not serious, I was lightheaded and I told them not to call you.’ He wanted me to sit by his side. He had pain. Now they advise the patients in his condition not to talk. Nobody knew that then. For the first time in years, he asked; ‘How is your training going?’ He always wanted me to be a Gunnery Officer. I exaggerated a bit, told him it was very demanding physically. He was trying to smile as he was listening, and biting his lip to forget his pain. I finished talking. He held my hand and said; ‘It is a difficult profession. It is hard during the war, as well as during peace times. Artillery is the honor of the army. If you are going to be a soldier you have to join a gunnery division and die while still in the service. I never thought of being retired, until I actually retired. Can you believe that?’ He was stroking my hand. He said he lived as a soldier and hoped to die in uniform. It didn’t happen that way. ‘It was not my fault! Don’t ever forget that. I wanted you to be an Artilleryman so that you could be a soldier until you die. Infantrymen can get a shotgun and become a hunter when they leave the army. Cavalrymen get a ranch and some horses. But if you are in the Artillery there is nothing else you can do. Cannons are only found in the barracks.  Ahmed Mukhtar Pasha and I transported the cannons from Kars to Erzurum, pulling them like mules in the war against the Russians (1877-78). We were defeated but didn’t leave our guns to the enemy. No honorable army would do that. The doctor doesn’t know why I have chest pain. I know why. I can’t live long without my cannons. It is hard not to go to the barracks. They wouldn’t refuse me if I went for a visit. They would let me in. But I wouldn’t want to go after being forced to retire. Had I been close to my guns I would not collapse like that, wouldn’t have this pain in my chest. My uniform would have protected me like armor. Be a good artilleryman. Try to be the best. Napoleon used his artillery like handguns. You do the same. The best cannon man was Sultan Mahmud’s ‘Jehennem’. He was famous in the army. You are the next generations ‘Jehennem’. These were the words that my dad uttered that day. At the time it sounded like nonsense. But while I was listening to you earlier; I realized how he had suffered.” Jamil closed his eyes. “It is good that he died and didn’t have to see the current situation. Imagine his happiness just knowing that his beloved guns were in his son’s hands. But now it is my turn to ask, where are my cannons?”

Farouk tried not to look at Jamil and asked permission to leave.

“Don’t go just yet. Have supper with us.”

“No, thank you, I am already late; I have to go to Kasimpasha.”

“You are welcome to stay; the meal is already made.”

“I have to go, Sir. Please, remember to wear plain clothes and bring your gun.”

“Alright.”

Farouk stayed for a minute as they looked out the window together. There was a snowstorm, and it was snowing heavily. It was lunchtime but looked like evening. The sky was hanging low and dark.

When Farouk left, Jamil went upstairs to put on his shirt and suit. He had bought these from Damascus; he used to wear these clothes while frequenting night clubs. His friends insisted that he should wear street clothes while going to those kinds of places. Everybody was paranoid about doing something wrong and causing Jamal Pasha’s anger in those days.

 Neriman had never seen him in a suit before, he wanted to surprise her. He was being careful not to make any noise. He put his shirt on and wondered how he remembered to tie his tie properly.

As he slid his gun on his belt, he heard the door opening downstairs. He put his jacket on quickly because he didn’t want Neriman to see that he had his gun. He smiled and thought to himself that Neriman would never be a woman who is comfortable with seeing guns. He remembered a German nurse at the Hospital in Damascus. Martha used to ride like a cavalryman and was able to shoot an egg a hundred feet away. Like all the Officers he admired her at the time. However, he thought that if a girl could ride a horse like a man and shoot like a man she couldn’t be that feminine in bed. She couldn’t lose herself while making love. He could make the comparison because he had made love to Martha and he was comparing her to Neriman.

He went to the dresser to get his cigarette holder, some loose change, his papers, nail clipper, and handkerchief.

He put his Fez on and went to the other room. When he saw himself in the mirror he was surprised. He never cared about clothes much but he was never sloppy. He looked handsome and respectable in the uniform no doubt. But what did he look like now? In a navy suit and fez that wasn’t pressed properly. He thought, he looked like a shop keeper going to a wedding or an ordinary guy in his Sunday best or even better, like a teacher. Teachers usually carry a newspaper around. If the weather was nice I would go get a paper. He looked outside. It was still snowing. He felt the cold already. Why did the Arab want plainclothes on a day like this?

He was trying on his Fez, tilted on the right side, then to the left side and a little crooked then pushed a little to the back. No matter what he did he didn’t like the way it looked. He also didn’t like the way he looked. My face has changed! I really look like hell. Damn it Maksood the Arab! He stroked his mustache and his eyebrows.

His neck looked thick when he put the tie on. After he put his jacket on his shoulders looked narrow. When he stretched his arms his jacket felt too tight. He had been putting on weight lately. He was afraid that the stitches would give way. A uniform erased one's personality but at the same time, it gave confidence to those who wear it because they belonged to the Armed Forces. That’s why everyone has faith in soldiers. They would say; a soldier doesn’t feel the cold or hunger and he won’t get tired.

“Oh! Why are you all dressed up?”

Neriman was climbing the stairs.

“Don’t you like the outfit young lady?”

Neriman looked him over, “I like it. I like it very much. You look handsome in this. I will send your Fez to press when the weather gets better.”

“I am going out today so I will stop by the fez shop.”

“Are you going out in this weather? Where? Why?”

Jamil was trying to think of a reason.

“You don’t have a coat. You can’t go without a coat.”

“I will wear my military coat.”

“A military coat over civilian clothes?”

“We only need to change the buttons. The Defence Ministry allows that.”

“How do you know?”

“Lieutenant Farouk told me that.”

“We can’t find suitable buttons today. Why don’t you go tomorrow?

“I have to go today.”

“Why?”

“I will go get my paycheque, they say today is payday. They will only pay a little part of what they owe us.”

“And they won’t pay if you aren’t wearing a suit?

“They will pay me secretly, do you understand?”

“No, you are lying.”

“Don’t be rude. Don’t you have any manners?”

“Turn around, let me see the back. You are going to the Ministry of Defense to receive your salary. Why do you have your gun with you? No, you are not telling the truth; Lieutenant Farouk brought some other news to you, something dangerous.”

“No, you are mistaken, there is nothing dangerous going on. I don’t want them to think that l was a bashi-bozouk, that’s why I chose regular clothes.”

“You don’t go to pick up your salary with a gun in your belt. Leave it! I swear it is visible. It makes a bump in your back, you can’t hide it. The British soldiers will arrest you if you look suspicious. There is a heavy penalty for carrying guns. If there is a conflict with them my mom would be very upset. We will worry about you until you return”.

“Hush...Quiet, girl. Don’t raise your voice like that. You say your mom will be worried and but you are talking so loud. That penalty is for the irregulars, not for the officers. The English already knows that we won’t leave the house without our guns. Don’t think about that. Look, is my tie done properly?

“Where are you going? Just tell me. You are not going to get your salary. I saw you blink your eye and the way you talk is giving you away. I know you are lying.”

“Absolutely not! I never lie! Now listen to me. Tell Aunt Salime that I went to buy a new coat. Tell her that I won’t be long. Tell her that I listened to her advice and from now on I won’t wear my uniform. That would be the best thing to tell her. I will go to see Yahya.”

“You will freeze walking to his shop. I don’t want you to catch a cold.”

“Don’t worry; it is not too far away. I will also have my Fez pressed. If I jog I will keep warm.”

“Wait! I will find a scarf for you.”

“It is OK! I don’t need it!”

“Just wait or I will tell mother. I will tell her that you are doing something dangerous.  She won’t let you go.” She ran to her room to grab a red scarf.

“Take this. Wrap it around your neck. Which color coat are you going to buy?”

“Since I have a navy colored suit, I think I will get a coat in the same color.”

“It won’t look good.”

“What color should I get, then?”

“Grey or brown would be nice. Don’t catch a cold. Please leave the gun.”

“You are obsessing too much about my gun today. Sweetheart, a man like me can’t go out without his gun, I would feel naked as if I went out without my trousers. Now you see, I put the scarf on, as ordered.”

He checked his cartridge belt, by habit, and laughed. “Not bad. The ladies will have difficulty keeping their eyes off me!”

“All you do is tease.” While she was wrapping his scarf she was pressing her breast to his arm. “Do you have some money with you?”

“You are right; I need money for the coat. Bring me the ‘treasure chest’ ”

The ‘treasure chest’ was in Neriman’s closet. She took the leather bag and brought it to him. Jamil weighed it in his palm. Three hundred gold coins were heavy indeed. When he got into a fight with a German Captain, Jamal Pasha gave him two hundred as a secret reward. He shouldn’t have fought with the Germans and for that reason, his promotion to Major was delayed. Jamal Pasha gave him the money without the knowledge of General Falkenhayn. The other hundred gold coins were simply the ones that he had saved because there was no place to spend money in the middle of the desert.

One gold coin is worth six hundred qurushs. He didn’t know how much a coat would cost, so he put twenty gold coins in his pocket.

Neriman carried the bag downstairs. At the door she squished his arm and whispered, “You need a thick coat, get a good one; don’t catch cold and please don’t be late.”

It was really cold outside, the wind was blowing fiercely, and the snow felt like sharp pieces of glass. He put his hands in his pockets and smiled; “Good thing Neriman gave me the scarf!” Hodja Yahya was the owner of the local Hamam. Jamil would look for him first in his workplace and if he is not there he will go to Yahya’s house in Muradiye. They met at the entrance of the building. Jamil greeted him but Yahya didn’t recognize him at first. “Good Day. Who are you, son?” He looked puzzled then he said, “Jamil, is that you?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“With that outfit, I didn’t recognize you! Come on in! Good thing I asked about you the other day, or else you wouldn’t think of visiting me. I am glad to see you.”

“I apologize that I didn’t come earlier. I had a lot of things that I had to do, you know, some unfinished business.”

“Would you like to stay here or to go for  coffee?”

“Whatever you like. Did I come at a bad time?”

“No, not at all. Come in! We need to talk. He offered a seat to Jamil and ordered tea. He spoke with sadness, his eyes downcast. “Now as customary, I will ask, ‘How are you?’ and you will answer; ‘Fine’ but the times are bad. We had a short visit last time. Let me have a good look!  You look strong, like a lion.” Yahya had pink cheeks and he was stroking his beard. “You have been in too many battles. You must be exhausted. We are living in a time without mercy. There is no end to our troubles. I was worried when I heard that you were wounded. Luckily then we heard that it was not serious, we were relieved. You know in this war the women suffered more than the men who were in the line of fire. Without a man in the house, it was hard for them to take care of everything. Salime and Neriman were all alone. Two women and a little child. Thank God, Salime had enough income, they didn’t have to worry about money, but still, it was not easy.”

The young boy served the tea. “We were talking about you the other day. What are your future plans?  Many Officers left the army after the war. If I remember correctly; you have inherited some land and two shops from your mother. So have you decided to do something with them?”

“I don’t know yet, Sir. I haven’t decided anything.”

“You have to decide soon, though. Things are not getting any better. Think about something to do. You have to start somewhere.”

“But I am not a high ranking Officer; it is not up to me to decide when to leave. Even if I leave the service what kind of a business should I do? Cannons are all I know.” He laughed. “You can be sure, I am good at that. But, I don’t have any business experience.”

“I understand. You are not going to leave the army! Now, to the other topic, the ladies have been thinking, my wife and Salime. Nowadays, young men decide on these matters, without asking their elders opinion; but the ladies thought you might need some help.”

“They are kind, so what is the subject?”

“What I am trying to say is…you know Neriman didn’t get married after she was widowed. So many years have passed since she lost Nazmi. There were a lot of suitors but she didn’t want any of them. Now thank God you have returned home safely and you know each other well.”

Yahya was stirring his tea and pausing for a moment to give Jamil time to think. Jamil smiled.

“You and Neriman are compatible. Marriage is not easy. I am talking like a father to you. Don’t answer right away, think about this. We think you would make a good couple.”

“Thank you very much. Tell Hayriye Hanim, I am very touched. I don’t have to think about it. I’d be happy but, I don’t know what Neriman would say?”

“If you agree, then it is easy to find out what Neriman thinks. I don’t need to tell you how nice a girl she is. I will tell Hayriye to talk to Salime today. Then they will start the preparations.”

“We have to think about Enver. How will he feel about this?”

“It depends on you. You are not a stranger to him. He will get used to the idea. He is only seven.”

After they finished talking about marriage, Jamil mentioned that he wanted to buy a new coat. Yahya sent his helper to a merchant he knew. His helper also took Jamil’s Fez to be pressed.