Last Train to Istanbul by Ayse Kulin

signed an agreement with them in Paris, but, as Macit has just pointed out, so far nothing has come of it,” said the prime minister. “They haven’t been able to deliver any of the promised arms.”
    “That, despite the fact that you pointed out the importance of having a well-equipped army in Turkey to dissuade attacks on the Balkans, sir,” said Macit, turning to the foreign minister.
    “They didn’t keep to the agreement—not because they didn’t want to, but because they couldn’t,” the foreign minister said. “Maybe this is a blessing in disguise. Since they haven’t delivered the goods, we don’t have to abide by our side of the agreement either.”
    Macit didn’t find it necessary to hide his joy at this; neither, it appeared, did the rest of the gathered assembly. “What is it that they say? Every cloud has a silver lining.”
    Inönü now had the perfect excuse for not joining the war. It was as though luck were on his side. If the Italians invaded Greece, then they would be on Turkey’s doorstep. Since Turkey didn’t havethe arms to defend herself, what would be the good of siding with Britain?
    After hours of discussion, the minister was able to draft a response to the British. Macit took the draft. He opened the door for the minister to leave.
    “I will bring it to you as soon as it is ready,” he said respectfully.
    “I’ll be in my office,” the minister said to the general secretary. “We must remember that there are other important matters to deal with too, including the posting to Paris. You know they are desperate for more staff there. We mustn’t let them down.”
    Macit got home in the early hours of the morning. He undressed in the sitting room and lay down on the sofa, so as not to disturb Sabiha. He was absolutely exhausted and fell into a deep sleep, not even missing his bed. He was dead tired, but nightmares kept invading his mind. It was as though those long meetings were coming back to haunt him. He dreamed that the Germans had attacked Ankara and were dragging his wife and child toward a train bound for a labor camp. He ran desperately to the train, trying to get on it himself to be with them.

    The next morning at the office, Macit saw Tarık. They were both still really tired. “Have you got any plans for the weekend?” Macit asked.
    “I have my French lesson between nine and twelve on Sunday, as you know, but nothing else after that.”
    “Don’t make any plans. I’ll ask Halit to join us if he is free and we can all have lunch together at Çiftlik open-air restaurant if the weather is fine. Then we can play bridge at home. How does that sound?”
    “Sounds good to me,” said Tarık. “How is Sabiha Hanım?”
    “Fine, fine. Well, neither good nor bad, really. I’ve never been able to understand what makes women tick…Well, enough of that,” he said. “Don’t forget Sunday. I am sure Sabiha will be thrilled if you join us.”
    Macit was on his way to another of his long meetings. He collected the files from his office, tucked them under his arm, and rushed out. The telephone rang, and Tarık picked it up. “Hello…yes, sir…yes…yes…of course I can…I’ll be there right away, sir.” Buttoning his jacket, Tarık told the secretary that the secretary general wanted to see him, adding, “If anybody rings, tell them—hell, never mind, I’ll be back shortly.”
    “I hope it’s nothing serious,” she said as Tarık left the room. Why would the chief want to see Tarık and not Macit? she wondered.
    Tarık returned to his office half an hour later with the same look of surprise he’d had when he left. When Macit returned about an hour later, he found Tarık emptying his desk, piling everything on top.
    “When you have finished tidying up, maybe we can grab some lunch,” Macit said. “There are some interesting developments we need to discuss.”
    Tarık hurriedly replaced the files in the drawer. “I’ve got things to tell you too,” he