Military Museum

Military Museum

From the book The Tired Warrior
by Kemal Tahir
translated by Elif Mat Erkmen

“Captain, don’t worry about Izmir right now. Karim was here earlier. Karim Konya. I told him that you were here. He wanted to see you. He asked for your address. I think they are looking for you. I got suspicious. Then he told me that you are wanted for wounding a Police Officer.”

“It is not important. He wasn’t in his uniform. He was disrespectful. I beat him up a little.”

“He told me that the English wanted you because you helped Patriot escape from somewhere. I told you Karim was a member of the Guardian Officers Association Nigehban. That’s why I got suspicious of him. I told him that you were not here anymore. You just came in to say ‘Hi’ and left. But I don’t think he believed me. Get dressed quickly. He might investigate and question the soldiers and the sergeant. I don’t trust Abdi; he might say something to him.”

“Don’t worry; I will leave right away.”

“I will help you. I am afraid if you get arrested there will be too much sorrow for you. I will go see Maksood; you go to the Military Museum. They won’t look for you there. Get dressed and go to the back streets, enter the Palace grounds, get yourself a ticket for the museum for five Liras. I will talk to Maksood.  If they are really after you, then you can’t go back home!”

“It is a good idea.”

“Don’t go anywhere until I come back. You know they insult Turkish Officers when they capture them. Be careful!”

Jamil got dressed quickly and went to the Palace grounds from the back street. He purchased a ticket and entered the Military Museum. He hadn’t been there before. The military museum is located in the Hagias Irene Church. The ancient building was cool and not lit very well. There were all kinds of old guns on display. At first he didn’t really pay attention to them. He saw chain mail armor, shields, helmets, old fashion shotguns that fired in half an hour intervals. They were no good in comparison with the modern cannons and Mitrailleuse heavy machine guns. He was looking at the maces, pikes, lances and war axes. At the same time he was wondering how he would get out of this situation.

He came to the Selim’s painting at Chaldiran War. He felt suspicious, nervous and angry all at once. Sultan Selim was riding his horse. He looked like he was almost alone at the battlefield. He had his sword raised and he crouched. Jamil wondered if the Sultan’s separated from the special guards in the battlefield and attacked the enemy alone in the most heated moment of the war. When Jamil entered the museum he was depressed. Now he was feeling much better. He was surprised at how he was feeling better at this moment. At first he wasn’t interested in that ancient warfare. They didn’t mean anything to him but now they seemed valuable. He was watching the swords, the shotguns, and the silver embroidery on the guns with interest. Who did they belong to? He tried to imagine how the first owners were happy when they first had them in their hands.  How long did they use those guns? How many people did they kill? Did they fall while using them? Who did this curved sword, with an inscription of a Quran verse on its steel belong to? Did it belong to a gentleman from a city or a real warrior? If he was a real warrior, did he know how to push his sword through the small indents of the armors of the knights?

He was almost going to laugh when he saw the early fire arms, pistols, matchlocks and muskets. Their first owners must have valued those guns a lot. They were growing on him.  He started to like them. Upon seeing those Koroglu said, ‘When the firearm was invented all bravery ceased.’ He saw all those firearms lying side by side and he thought the shotgun didn’t change much.

In the beginning, The Janicheri corps used firearms as well as the swords, but the Ottomans couldn’t keep up with the newer models and Janicheris were disheartened later on.

The Ottomans must have been thinking of comfort. All the items here, like the saddles, helmets, and stirrups looked like they were designed with comfort in mind. Since he started the military school, he found the Janicheri war uniforms odd. Those mighty warriors that the world had feared for centuries were wearing long tunics like women. He realized now that they liked to be comfortable and they had to sleep in their uniforms. No wonder when modern western uniforms were first introduced the Janissaries didn’t like them.

The men from the eastern provinces like Malatya, Urfa, Mardin, Marash and Aintab were used to wearing baggy pants. When they first joined the army the soldiers in his Batallion had difficulty getting used to modern uniforms. All changes are difficult, especially if the change comes from a foreign culture.

He was surprised to see that the museum had a movie theatre. It was a small room and its curtain was about half the size of a regular theatre curtain. There was a small piano in the room as well. They advertised that a Charlie Chaplin movie, ‘Shoulder Arms’ was on at two o’clock.

Charlie Chaplin looked even more miserable in his uniform. His shotgun with bayonet was almost taller than him. He had large shoes.  In his belt, he had a bagman large kettle, grater, some cutlery, an out rope and a whistle tucked in. His uniform was far too big for him. He had a metal helmet on. He looked tired, sad, and suspicious.

Jamil wondered why Americans let him make fun of the Army, which had won one of the greatest victories. He didn’t get that.

He was preoccupied but he wasn’t necessarily worried. While he was examining all the displays of the swords, the draggers, the pistols, and the shotguns, he was thinking of Neriman, Enver, Husniye, Tayyar and Patriot, who was arrested. He wondered what they were doing at that moment. When he came across the door opening into a dark place like a cave, he realizedthat he was passing through that place for the second time. The museum guard told him that it was a secret passage leading to Hagias Sophia, but it was not safe anymore, so it wasn’t used.

He checked around and saw the stairs ahead of him in the distance. He raised his head. There was a balcony surrounding the Dome. He continued strolling. Rajab was late, Jamil got bored.

When he went upstairs he saw the mannequins dressed as Ottoman civil servants, army members and the intellectuals. All the mannequins looked like each other. All the Ottomans including the Janissary soldier, who was making pop corn, and the executioner, had a large build like a wrestler, had big moustaches and had pink cheeks.

The clothes were plain coloured. Jamil didn’t like the mannequins. They were not made by an artist. They looked ordinary. Whoever made those mannequins was either scared of the Ottomans or disgusted by them. The eyes of the mannequins were wide open. They wanted to make the mannequins look intimidating by giving them extra thick moustaches, but they looked ridiculous.

Jamil had felt better when he was examining the weapons but here he was feeling down. He checked the time. It was ten past twelve. He was hungry. He wondered where Rajab was, he looked down from the Balcony. The downstairs looked like a war map. He wanted to smoke for the fourth time since he entered the building. But it was not allowed in the museum. He got mad at all the rules that forbid people from doing something. He got mad at Rajab, who was late, at whoever commissioned those ugly mannequins, and whoever made them, and finally, at himself for walking among them aimlessly.

He walked fast and went out of the building. The yard looked naked. It was more noticeable in the May sun. He approached the old Maple trees. Their branches were supported by some concrete supports. The trees were almost dead inside. They only had the outer bark. The only reason they valued this tree was that they used to hang people from its branches. Jamil didn’t understand why they were protecting that bloody tree and treating it like an antique that had to be preserved. He felt tired. It was the kind of fatigue that people feel after they visit museums. He sat under that tree. His cigarette didn’t taste good. The palace yard looked empty; neither the sun nor the spring made him happy....

From the book The Reluctant Warrior
by Kemal Tahir

translated by Elif Mat