Dying is Easier than Loving, page 12
They immediately got off their horses and ran.
There was nothing they could do, it wasn’t even possible to approach the burning, glowing heaps of metal, an oily smell of iron spread from the burning trains.
Ragıp Bey squatted in the mud and held his head between his hands.
“Where are the commanders?” he asked as if he was complaining, “If we could find them . . .”
“Everyone’s gone, commander, the army has dispersed, if God helps them the men might gather together near Babaeski.”
People who’d come from nearby were trying to help the wounded. They lined up burned bodies in the mud, they were blackened, their eyes had popped from the heat, bones had melted, they’d lost their form, when they touched the mud, smoke and the smell of flesh rose into the air.
They got underway again, keeping an eye on their surroundings as they went, constantly scanning the darkness for anyone who might shoot them for their horses. The shadows were still running, in the rain the plain smelled of dirty people and cloth.
They reached Babaeski towards morning.
Some of the soldiers had come here, some hadn’t stopped here but had continued to flee further to the rear.
Ragıp Bey asked about Muhtar Pasha and received the answer that, “They say the pasha has gone to Lüleburgaz.” They continued on towards Lüleburgaz.
When the Bulgarian army entered Kirkkilise at dawn from four directions, they were met by empty trenches, abandoned headquarters, forsaken cannons that had been placed in position and piles of shells next to the cannons.
Ninety thousand men had fled without firing a single shot at the enemy.
They considered pursuing the Ottoman army but they couldn’t catch up to them, the events were described as follows in the historical records, “The Ottoman infantry fled faster than the Bulgarian cavalry could advance.”
In the Third Corps headquarters, all of the documents and plans remained as they had been.
The only thing missing was the tea set the aide had carried away.
9
Nizam rang Madame Cheriz’s doorbell at exactly eight o’clock, he saw that the woman had been waiting by the door and that she was ready to go out. Even though he’d arrived on time, he sensed that Madame Cheriz was tense and irritable, as if he was late.
“Come on, let’s go,” said the woman, “if you’re hungry there’ll be food there.”
The woman’s rudeness surprised Nizam, he’d been raised in an environment in which certain rules of politeness were always observed no matter what the conditions, and he’d been surrounded by people who always observed these rules. He came from a circle that believed no matter what the degree of your wishes, wants, anger, or fear, it must be expressed without breaking these rules of civility, even though he didn’t care about any rule, he complied with etiquette, this was like a part of him, this had been well established in his soul and in his mind since childhood. In his world there were even rules about how to be rude, this was perhaps the first time he was encountering such naked rudeness.
In the carriage they sat with quite a distance between them, the woman didn’t speak at all, her face was a bit tense, it was very clear that her mind was preoccupied. Nizam was accustomed to experiencing a certain male-female vibration, no matter who the woman was, when he was with a woman he always created a secret space that belonged to them alone, he always felt the sensation of being drawn like iron filings to a magnet, this feeling of being drawn did not have to achieve any result or have any aim and did not need to be accompanied by any emotion, it had to do with them feeling that they were a man and a woman. Nizam did not create this feeling voluntarily or with any particular goal, he’d been born with this strange talent, when women were around him he could feel their bodies, he emitted a current that constantly reminded them of their bodies. He was very expert in recognizing the response that came from women, when he received a powerful response he would pursue that woman no matter what the conditions were, there was no need to give this response in words or with a look, a smile, or a stance, Nizam would sense it.
There was no space like this between him and Madame Cheriz, the woman didn’t pay any attention to him, he wondered why she had invited him, for a moment a suspicion passed through his mind, but when he remembered that this was someone who had been introduced to him by Monsieur Lausanne the suspicion faded.
He retreated into his corner, asked “May I?” lit a cigarette and cracked the window. A wet cold filled the carriage, they heard the sticky sound of the horses moving quickly through the mud, the faint light from the lamps hung from poles that were placed at long intervals only illuminated the bottoms of the poles, the darkness around them was deepening.
Remembering Paris, Nizam said,
“What a gloomy city, how dark it is.”
After raising her head and glancing out the window as if she wasn’t even aware what city they were in, Madame Cheriz said, “Yes,” then drifted off in her thoughts again.
After they’d left the outskirts of the city behind they entered a pitch dark forest, from the speed at which the carriage driver was going it was clear that he knew the road well, as they approached, a growing light became apparent in the darkness, then they reached a pebble road lined on both sides with giant torches, in the light of these torches the trees had changed color, they’d taken on a reddish bronze color.
Nizam remembered a mansion he’d been to in the Bois de Boulogne, but that wasn’t a gambling den, it was a completely different kind of place, he turned to the woman and asked, “Is this a gambling den?” the woman said “Yes” in a cold tone and then asked, “Why do you ask?” “It reminds me of a place I saw in Paris but that wasn’t a gambling den.” As he said this he looked at the woman’s face, he would know from her reaction to what he’d said whether or not she knew the place, there was no change of expression on the woman’s face.
Nizam smiled at what he was remembering, after passing between the torches with the friend who’d brought him they entered the mansion, they’d seen very elegant couples sitting in a large hall, there was a fire burning in the large fireplace, at first Nizam hadn’t realized that everyone was wearing masks.
After taking the drinks the waiter brought, his friend had said, “Take a look upstairs if you want, it’s very nice up there too.”
A footman standing at the bottom of the stairs handed him a mask.
Nizam climbed the stairs somewhat anxiously and went into a large room through a heavy velvet curtain. It was quite dark inside and at first all he could see was shadows, it was only after he heard the moans and screams that he realized that everyone was completely naked in that darkness.
As he thought of this strange and exciting memory, the carriage had pulled up in front of the mansion illuminated by torches. Broad marble stairs led up to the wide door, on either side of the door stood men of African descent wearing frock coats and purple fezzes.
They went in quickly, across from them was a double staircase, wide rooms could be seen on either side of the large foyer, the doors to the rooms were open.
Madame Cheris led the way and entered the room on the right, there were large leather armchairs, a fireplace with logs crackling in it, a long table, a large tiled stove, and a grand piano in the corner. A wide variety of food was arranged on the table, and a woman in a bitter green gown that left her shoulders bare and whose hair was tied up in a bun was sitting at the piano and playing, Nizam’s sensitive ears immediately noticed a delicate mastery he hadn’t expected to hear there, the woman was playing a piece by Liszt without adding any emotion but with a very bright spirit and with a technique that was sparkling enough to attract attention. Nizam noticed that no one was paying attention to the piano, they were talking among themselves, some of them seemed tired and others seemed tense and irritable. Later on he would realize that the tired-looking people were the ones who were taking a break from the game and the tense-looking people hadn’t started playing yet.
Madame Cheriz knew everyone there, she greeted everyone and asked questions about the game upstairs, she got some information then said “Come” to Nizam.
As Nizam followed Madame Cheriz he kept thinking about the woman who was playing the piano, he was very surprised to encounter someone who played the piano like that at a gambling den, it had aroused his curiosity.
“Who’s the woman playing the piano?” he asked.
“I think she’s Russian,” said Madame Cheriz.
“She plays very well.”
Madame Cheriz said, “Is that so? I never paid any attention.”
They climbed stairs that had been covered by thick carpets, the upper floor was quiet, the doors between the rooms were open, you could pass from one room to the other, it smelled of cigarette smoke and perfume, there were large chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, hundreds of candles had been lit, green baize tables had been placed side by side, the men and women sitting at the tables were elegantly dressed, they held their cards and didn’t look at anyone except the other players, all that could be heard were the players’ brief statements, “Pass, two cards, ten more gold coins” and the soft clicking of the chips.
After looking the room over very carefully, Madame Cheriz decided on a table, “I’m going to sit there,” she said, “find a table for yourself, I’ll see you later.”
Nizam started wandering around the rooms, in one room a woman with white hair at a table with two other people asked him, “Monsieur, are you going to play? We’re short one player.”
“Sure,” said Nizam.
He sat at the table. They started playing.
A while later a heavy numbness started to spread through his mind, his bonds to the world were breaking, all the lights of his attention were going out one by one like shops in a bazaar that was closing, all of his thoughts were collapsing into a darkness and only one place remained illuminated, all he saw was the table and the cards.
This was the state he liked the most, when he only saw, heard and thought about what he was doing at that moment. It was as if he carried on his life only to experience moments like that, and he could only reach this state when he was with a woman or when he was gambling.
He’d tried smoking opium in Paris, but opium hadn’t produced the effect he wanted, he didn’t want to lose control, to intoxicate himself, or weaken his capacity to think in any manner; he only derived pleasure from being busy with one thing, without thinking about or taking interest in anything else, experiencing the trance of having the brightness of his mind focused on a single point.
His true desire was to experience those sparkling moments when he cut his relationship to the people with whom he had not formed a bond and whom he regarded as strangers no matter how close he pretended to be, and when he forgot the life he didn’t enjoy very much. He was in pursuit of that magnificent stretch of time when his attention was concentrated on a single target without any distraction, when every particle of his being vibrated with a strong excitement.
Now he was looking at the cards he was holding, trying to guess what cards the other players had, reaching conclusions from their body language and their voices, lying as he wished and bluffing, keeping back a sound card until the last minute by playing a hesitant game and then confusing his opponent with a large raise.
He didn’t know how long he played, he saw that he’d won twenty gold coins and then, as always, he got bored.
If he could, he would have liked to spend the rest of his life at a gambling table or making love in bed, but there always came a point when he suddenly became fed up and bored. He hadn’t been able to find a solution for this.
He excused himself and stood up, he put the coins in his pocket, but the sound they made and their weight made him uncomfortable, he put his hand in his pocket and held the coins tightly as he wandered around the rooms, at one point he saw Madame Cheriz from a distance, her face was tense, her eyes had become smaller and her lips had become thinner.
As he wandered from room to room he came out by the stairs, a young man in an elegant frock coat was talking to a middle aged man with long sideburns and a moustache who was clearly a manager there; the young man had a pleading manner, but the manager seemed to be taking a rude and condescending attitude. Nizam suddenly became irritated, as if someone had been rude to him, he got caught up in a feeling that was difficult to understand, as if some man had been disrespectful to him, and he got angry.
He went over to them.
“Excuse me,” he said, “May I ask what the problem is?”
As the manager tried to get rid of Nizam by saying “It’s nothing important, sir,” the young man said with a very innocent sincerity, “My money is finished, but they won’t extend me any credit, even though I’ve been coming here for years.”
“Ha,” said Nizam, then he took the twenty gold coins he’d won out of his pocket. “If you allow me, I can give you a loan,” he said and handed them to the young man, the manager, with the arrogant complicity that those in a good situation have when faced with someone in a bad situation, was trying to signal to Nizam not to do this.
The young man took the money without any embarrassment or haste, “What’s your name?” he asked, “How will I pay you back?”
“I’m going to have a drink and listen to the piano downstairs,” said Nizam, “I think the lady I came with is going to continue playing for some time, if you win while I’m here you can pay me, if you lose we’ll accept our common misfortune and forget it.”
The young man smiled, there was no gratitude in his manner, it was clear that Nizam’s gesture had amused him.
“Here goes,” he said, “let’s see what effect generosity has on destiny.”
As he walked towards the room he turned around and said, “Don’t you dare leave without learning the outcome, we’re going to put destiny to the test, it would be a shame if you left without seeing the outcome of this momentous matter.”
Nizam went downstairs, there were only a few people in the room on the lower floor, everyone else had gone upstairs and got caught up in the game, the woman at the piano was playing a Chopin nocturne with the same unemotional interpretation and bright spirit, Nizam sensed that someone who could play like this could if she wanted give the piece the emotion it deserved, he thought that she was secretly insulting everyone there and life itself, that she had an angry contempt. He knew this kind of elegant insult well and always felt an admiration for it.
He got himself a glass of wine.
He walked slowly over to the piano and leaned on it, then looked at the woman’s face. The woman didn’t raise her head from the keys, she just glanced briefly at the man who was leaning on the piano then looked back at the keys.
There was almost no makeup on her face, her thick eyebrows grew thinner towards the ends, her cheekbones protruded slightly, she had a large, hooked nose and thin lips, and one could see a strange, disturbing expression in her eyes that Nizam couldn’t put a name to right away, later he said to Osman, “she looked at people as if she was looking at a dead body, her first glance was unsettling.”
“To play this piece with so little feeling amounts to an insult to the listeners,” he said to the woman.
Again the woman looked up without saying anything, then looked down again. It was impossible to say what she was thinking or what she was feeling, “She was like a green box whose contents you couldn’t see” Nizam said to Osman later.
When the woman didn’t respond, Nizam decided it would be rude to press her, so he walked away from the piano, sat in a leather armchair nearby, and began drinking his wine.
He wasn’t in the habit of remaining curious about anything for long, he would become interested in a person or event that caught his attention, he would remain interested only as long as there were developments that nourished his attention. The woman’s lack of response had dispelled his interest, he was just sitting there, drinking his drink and not thinking about anything, there were times when his mind emptied out like this, he’d become cut off from events and from people, including himself, he allowed himself to sink into a void with a sense of lightness.
He had closed his eyes and was on the point of falling asleep.
Suddenly the sound of the piano stopped.
For a moment he couldn’t decide whether to open his eyes or to fall asleep, he could have done either with the same ease. Like the route of a gigantic ship being determined by a rudder much too small for it, there are in a person’s fate, in the direction he will take and the adventures he will experience, little incidents that at first glance seem unimportant, these little incidents can alter the course of a life’s fate like the turning of a rudder; a waiter dropped a crystal glass on the floor, half of the glass hit the stone and half hit the carpet, it didn’t make much sound but that sound caused Nizam to open his eyes.
The pianist was standing by herself smoking a cigarette at one of the windows that reflected a red darkness. It was as if she wasn’t looking at anything, and there was no expression on her face. Her face was like a void that pulled one in, it wasn’t her expression but her expressionlessness that attracted Nizam.
He got up slowly and went over to the woman with that childish self-indulgence that made him believe he could do anything.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
Without realizing it, he was speaking French. And the woman replied in flawless French, she had a very faint, almost unnoticeable Russian accent, this accent added a tart flavor to her voice, like the plum jam Nizam used to spread on his croissants when he was a child.
“Why do you ask?”
“I was curious.”
“Why are you curious?”
