Without a Country Page 15

  The following year, Suzi graduated from the American College for Girls. The whole Pera Gang and their families were invited to a tea party in the garden behind the Schliemanns’ building. There were rows of tables and balloons tied to branches.

  After the celebration, Suzi stretched out on her bed and stared at the ceiling, the picture of misery. Everyone who loved her had been there—everyone except Peter and Demir. The first was still in California, while the other was a visiting student in France.

  She told herself to be honest, to admit what was really bothering her: there was no future with Demir. She’d assumed that, if she was in love with him, it only followed that he was in love with her. What a fool. What Demir had loved was the attention, the ego boost, the little blond German girl trailing him like a shadow. That’s what she’d been doing all her life: chasing after him like a pet poodle. And now—no, not now. Way back then. It should have been obvious to her then, on that day. There was nothing she could do now but stare at the ceiling and feel sorry for herself.

  If only there were some way she could change that day, wipe it away. All she wanted was to forget.

  It was summer, one year ago. Hot and sunny. Demir had just learned that he’d been accepted by the Grenoble Alps University for a two-year exchange program. The whole Pera Gang was sitting on the top floor of the patisserie in Bebek. They’d pushed two tables together. Peter was home for the summer and, for some reason, he’d deigned to hang out with the younger kids. They were talking about school, graduations, plans . . . The Schliemanns could afford to send only one child abroad to study, and their son, the future engineer, had beat Suzi to it. She would have to attend Istanbul University, and today she was having trouble being happy about it. It wasn’t that she envied her brother. It was Demir. He was leaving. And she was staying in Istanbul. Then, for some inexplicable reason, she had turned to Demir, and those stupid words had come out of her mouth.

  “So, Demir, I suppose you’ll be coming back in a couple of years with a pretty mademoiselle, right?”

  Demir stared at her. “Is that what you want?” he asked.

  “Sure, why not?” Suzi said, tossing her head. “You’re clever and good-looking. The French girls will be falling all over you.”

  “Fine, then! I will. I’d never let you down, Suzi.”

  It wasn’t what she’d hoped to hear. She raised her tea and said, “Vive la France!”

  Her friends raised their bottles of soda and glasses of tea. One said, “Let’s meet again in three years, right here, and see who’s married, who’s engaged, and who’s going steady.”

  “I won’t be married,” Suzi said.

  “Why not?”

  “My mom says nobody would propose to me. I don’t know why.”

  “I’d marry you,” Simon said.

  Suzi glanced at Demir out of the corner of her eye, but he was staring out at the Bosphorus.

  “That’s very kind of you, Simon. But friends don’t usually marry each other.”

  Demir was still looking at the view. She wasn’t even sure he’d heard her.

  “Whatever. I only said that because I don’t want you to end up an old maid.”

  “Simon, I’ll treasure your kind proposal forever, especially when I’m an old maid.”

  Everyone laughed and the conversation turned to other topics. But Suzi knew her laughter sounded fake.

  As she and Peter were walking home together, he said, “Why did you say that to Demir? Why tell the guy you love to go find a girlfriend in France?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean, ‘the guy you love’?”

  “Oh, come on. You’ve been in love with him since you were a kid.”

  “That’s not true! We’re just friends. And he’s always taken care of me like a brother. Not that you’d understand what that means.”

  “Yeah, right. Keep telling yourself that.”

  “Say whatever you want. I don’t care. You’re just trying to make trouble.”

  “Suit yourself, then. I was only trying to help. We both saw that Demir couldn’t care less about you. And you’re graduating from high school next year. Hurry up and find a husband, or it’ll be too late.”

  “You should take your own advice. You’re not getting any younger, either, you know.”

  Miserable as she felt, Suzi couldn’t help smiling at the memory of two kids their age accusing each other of getting old. The smile faded. Peter’s words had echoed in her heart every day since: Demir couldn’t care less about you.

  She turned her face toward the wall. Maybe no one ever would.

  When Suzi became a literature major at Istanbul University, she started attracting plenty of attention.

  Mistaking the blonde for a foreigner, young men would circle, move in, find out that she was a Turkish girl, and respectfully retreat. But they’d be back. Unfortunately for her admirers, she also had a knack for repelling unwanted advances.

  By the end of her freshman year, she was the only girl in her circle of friends who didn’t have a boyfriend. One day, Selin said, “I think your brother was right. You’re secretly in love with Demir.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “You’re not interested in anyone else.”

  Suzi finally decided to let a classmate and fellow bookworm named Hakan hold her hand at the movies. When the lights came up for intermission, he retracted his hand. Suzi wiped hers on her skirt.

  “Did your hand get sweaty?” Hakan asked.

  “Well—no. I mean, a little bit, yes.”

  He laughed. “So did mine.”

  “Did your heart start racing because you were holding my hand?” she asked with a smile.

  “I’m not sure. I don’t think so.”

  “My heart didn’t race either. We don’t have to hold hands during the second half.”

  “Okay. But I want you to know that I do like you,” he said. “You’re clever and fun.”

  “And you’re straightforward and funny.”

  They sat for a moment without speaking.

  “I have an idea, Hakan. Let’s act like we’re dating so everyone leaves us alone.”

  “All right.”

  They’d bought tickets at the last minute and been unable to sit with their group. As Pelin and Tahir passed by on the way to the concession stand, they motioned for Suzi and Hakan to join them.

  “We’re fine on our own,” Suzi said with a coy smile.

  The news of Suzi’s flirtation with Hakan quickly spread all the way to France. That summer, Demir came home with a French girlfriend. The Atalay family couldn’t permit an unwed girl to spend the night in their home, so Marie found herself on a cot in Madame’s spare room.

  Madame and Selin kept telling Suzi that Marie was spending far more time with Simon than with Demir, but she refused to listen. Neither Demir nor Suzi discussed Marie during the French girl’s two-week visit. Suzi joined in the sightseeing trips organized for Marie by the Pera Gang and was always courteous to their foreign guest.

  Hakan was spending his summer in İzmir, where his family lived. He and Demir never met.

  The same week that Marie went back to France, the Schliemanns traveled to Germany. Peter was coming all the way from America to join the rest of the family in Frankfurt.

  Nearly a decade had passed since Hitler put a bullet in his head in a Berlin bunker, yet it was only now that Gerhard felt confident his family would be safe. It gave him great pleasure to show his children the countryside of his youth, but he decided against taking them to see Berlin, his favorite city before the war. He’d learned from friends that much of it was either unrecognizable or off limits. Partitioned into four zones by the victorious Allies, Berlin had lost its status as the German capital, and half was now behind the Soviet Iron Curtain.

  Even after the devastating war, Germany impressed Suzi with its cleanliness and modernity. Not once, though, did she consider living there. And after his years in America, Peter didn’t think highly of anyplace else. But it
was no secret that Elsa was pining for her homeland.

  The Schliemanns were having dinner together on their last night in Germany, conscious that they might never all live in the same country again.

  “Peter,” Gerhard said, “if you’re able to find work in America and love it as much as you say you do, you could start a life there. Suzi, I know you want to stay in the country where you grew up. You’ll get married and settle down there one day. Your mother and I will wait until then. After that, we’re going to find a way to spend our winters in Frankfurt and our summers in Istanbul.”

  “But, Dad, we’re a family! We can’t split up,” Suzi said.

  “You’ll have a family of your own soon,” Elsa replied. “After I married your father, I moved to Frankfurt with him, far from my parents. Life can scatter even the closest family. What’s important is that we each find a place where we can be happy.”

  After Suzi got home from Germany, she avoided Demir and her old friends from Grenadier Street. Invitations came, but she always found an excuse. Demir neither insisted she come nor questioned her reasons for staying away. By the time the universities opened that autumn, their relations were the chilliest ever, and the former best friends rarely met, even though they were now attending the same university. And as for Hakan, he dropped out after his first year, and Suzi never saw him again.

  Suzi knew she had no choice but to chart a future that didn’t include Demir. Peter had always claimed that Demir was the real reason she’d chosen Turkish citizenship, but she showed how Turkish she had become when she started living by the local proverb “Good things can’t be forced.”

  September Storm

  In those days, Suzi wasn’t the only person trying to chart a new course.

  The people of Turkey were losing faith in the Democrat Party. The widespread exuberance that had greeted the new government was slowly giving way to unease and frustration. That process was accelerated when, in July of 1954, the government passed a law permitting the summary dismissal and forced early retirement of civil servants. The electorate had voted for democracy, not one-party rule and cronyism.

  On September 6, 1955, uncontrolled rioting would leave an indelible stain on both Turkey and its government. And, in a quirk of fate, the terrible events of that day would steer Suzi toward the life she had yearned for.

  On that sunny September day, Suzi had been out in the garden hanging up a hammock when she heard the phone ringing through an open window. She ignored it. But a minute later, it rang again. Suzi entered the building through the back door and started climbing the stairs. By the time she stepped into the apartment, the phone had gone silent. She was going back down the stairs when it started up again. This time, she answered on the third ring, a little out of breath.

  “Hello? Hello?”

  “Why didn’t you answer the phone?” Demir sounded cross.

  “I was in the garden. What’s wrong?”

  “We took Madame to the hospital. I thought you should know.”

  “Wait. Don’t hang up, Demir. What happened? Is she okay?”

  “She fell and hurt herself. They’re going to operate. The doctor said—there’s no guarantee of success. You should come. She asked for you.”

  “Which hospital?”

  “Balıklı.”

  “Is that the one in Taksim?”

  “No, Yedikule.”

  “I’m leaving right now. Where are you?”

  “Let’s meet in Taksim.”

  “Okay. Wait for me by the monument.”

  Suzi changed out of her shorts and into a skirt. After grabbing a knapsack, she was out the door in no time. She ran to the spot reserved for shared taxis and jumped into the last available seat, realizing only then that she was still wearing garden clogs. Whatever, she thought. All that mattered was getting to the hospital as fast as possible. She regretted having neglected Madame for the past few months. The smell of vanilla and cinnamon buns, the dark church, the endless gifts and comforting hugs . . . Madame was her childhood, her home away from home, her refuge.

  Tears rolled down her cheeks as she sat in the backseat of the taxi. She’d been so happy back then. None of the other riders asked why she was crying. Or if they did, she didn’t hear them. Suzi had closed her eyes and retreated into her memories. Her lips were moving as she prayed to get to the hospital in time. She became aware of heat, a terrible stuffiness. Why didn’t someone open a window?

  She realized she didn’t even know Madame’s first name. Was it Takuhi? Why had they always called her Madame, as though she didn’t have a name of her own?

  “Don’t be scared,” a voice said. “The doors are locked. And for goodness’ sake, stop crying!”

  Suzi opened her eyes and looked out the window. Oh my God! What was that crowd doing? There were angry men holding sticks and shouting. The elderly woman sitting in front rolled down the window a crack. “Allahuekber! Allahuekber!” came the roar.

  “What’s going on?” Suzi asked.

  “Is it a riot?” asked the man in the gray suit who was squeezed between the driver and the elderly woman.

  “I heard rumors of an attack on Atatürk’s birthplace in Thessaloniki,” the driver said. “That’s probably what provoked this.”

  “What kind of attack?”

  “A bomb?” the driver ventured.

  “Then why are they angry at us? I don’t understand,” Suzi said.

  “They’re mad at the Turkish Greeks, not us.”

  “How could Greeks in Istanbul have bombed a house in Greece?” Suzi asked. “They’re not responsible.”

  “You’re right,” said the man sitting next to her.

  “Do you know any prayers?” the elderly woman in front asked Suzi as the mob surrounded the taxi. “Open the window a crack and shout out every prayer you know!”

  Suzi yelled “Allahuekber!” a few times before switching to “Rabbi yessir velâ tuassir Rabbi temmim bi’l-hayr,” the lines of the prayer Fatma had taught her all those years ago.

  The man next to her leaned closer and whispered, “You’d better not say any more Arabic prayers. But if they ask, tell them you’re Turkish. They might believe you—you don’t even have an accent.”

  “That’s because I am Turkish!”

  The man wasn’t listening.

  The driver rolled down his window, recited a few prayers, and shouted, “Everyone in this vehicle is a Turk. Everyone!”

  The men picked up the taxi, got it a few inches off the road, and let it fall. The jolted passengers started panicking. Suzi felt a slight vertigo and closed her eyes. The men found another target, and the taxi started moving again.

  “Allah, reunite me with my family. Amen,” the elderly woman prayed.

  In Beşiktaş, the crowds were even worse. Some of them streamed up past the row houses on Akaretler; others marched toward Taksim. Many of them carried sticks and stones. When the driver turned at the stadium, it became obvious that they would be unable to reach Taksim Square. A mob had filled the streets, the park, the sidewalks. The passengers had no choice but to get out and walk the rest of the way.

  Suzi was jostled and elbowed as she fought her way toward the Republic Monument, where Demir was supposed to be waiting. But the crowd was surging down fashionable İstiklal Avenue, and it swept her along, too. Her left clog fell off, and she tried to turn back and get it. Giving up, she pulled off the other one and threw it in her knapsack. Somewhere near Ağa Mosque, a hand roughly grabbed her arm. She turned, and there he was. Demir!

  Without thinking, she threw her arms around him. He took her hand, and together they were propelled along the avenue. Along with prayers in Arabic, the swelling throng was chanting, “Cyprus is Turkish; Turkish it shall stay!” A rock smashed a shop window. Then, more and more shattered glass rained onto the street. They were breaking all the windows on both sides of the avenue, all the way from Taksim to Galatasaray. Suzi cried out. She’d stepped on a piece of glass.

  “You’re barefoot!”
Demir said. “Where are your shoes?”

  A few shopkeepers were trying to roll down their shutters. Sticks and crowbars clanked against metal as looting broke out.

  “Hey! What are you doing?” Suzi shouted at a man scooping up jewelry from a window display.

  A stick was raised high above her head. Demir snatched her from behind, by the waist, pulling her away.

  “Let me go!” she screamed.

  She was half dragged, half carried up some steps and into a dark place, where she was dumped on a stone floor. She sat up in a daze and started rubbing her bruised hip. Demir was trying to bolt an iron door. She limped over to him.

  “Were you trying to get yourself killed?” he said. “This is no time for heroics.”

  Someone started pounding on the door, but Demir had secured the lock. Whoever was out there gave up and left.

  As her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she saw that they were in the entry hall of an old commercial building. She closed her eyes and rested her back against the wall, but her legs were giving way. Demir held her up.

  “Don’t you dare faint on me, Suzi,” he said. “Stay strong. We might be here for a while.”

  His arms encircled her. She opened her eyes and saw, as though through a magnifying glass, his eyes, intense and dark. Demir’s eyes. She could see his lips. She could smell him. Then Demir’s lips touched hers. She could feel his heart beating against hers. His hands running through her hair. His body pressing close. She forgot all about her aches and pains. All she wanted was to spend the rest of her life in this dark, damp hall, loving Demir and having him love her back.

  There was a pounding on the door again. A shouted curse. Silence.

  They sat down on the floor, with Suzi’s foot in Demir’s lap. There wasn’t much light, and his fingers were too clumsy to extract the last slivers of glass. Suzi slid over so she was right next to him, their shoulders touching, their backs resting against the wall.

  “Why did you do that?” she said.

  “Do what?”

  “Why did you kiss me?”

  “Because I love you.”

  “Did you bring that French girl to Istanbul because you love me?”