Then he leapt up suddenly:
“Come, Afif; we must see and act. Be it demon or magic, we will fight this evil and not lose hope.”
He took his bag; we went into Sadan’s room. When Doctor Resuhî saw her, he said, “Just as I thought… she is unconscious again!” He locked the door from the inside and began removing his instruments from the bag. There would be a third blood transfusion.
This time we transferred some of my generous and brave tutor’s blood into Sadan’s veins. The poor girl began to breathe normally again. Her white lips and cheeks grew redder and she fell into a healthy sleep. Before leaving her to rest, Resuhî Bey saw Sadan’s mother and warned her sternly not to touch anything in the patient’s room.
I consider myself a good doctor, but I do not understand any of this. Is it because all the worry, fear, and distress is making me dimwitted?
From Sadan’s Diary.
17 September.—I have had peace for four days and four nights. I am recovering very quickly, as though I have been spared from a long and dark nightmare. Now I barely remember the hours of waiting and dreading. My God, what was it? I was falling into an oblivion of darkness and amnesia at night, and opening my eyes tired and nearly dead in my bed. After the dear Doctor Resuhî Bey’s mental treatments, I am free of all of my troubles. I no longer hear the flapping wings of a big, dark bird at night. I no longer hear distant, strange, and harsh orders telling me to do things against my will. Now I can fall asleep without being afraid. I have grown accustomed to the smell of garlic flowers; Doctor Resuhî Bey brings baskets of them every day. I decorate my room with the flowers and close up everything. I awoke twice last night. Resuhî Bey was asleep on the sofa; and even though I heard the angry sound of wings flapping, I easily fell asleep
again.
17 September, night.—I write these lines to leave an exact record of what has happened. Let it be clear that if I die, no one is responsible. Yes… I feel that I am about to die soon of exhaustion. However, I will keep writing with all of my remaining strength. I will even die with the pen in my hand.
After seeing that the flowers had been placed as Doctor Resuhî Bey directed, I went to sleep in peace. I awoke suddenly in the middle of the night. Outside the window I heard the sound of flapping wings that had begun the night my dear friend Güzin found me by the seaside in Bakirköy. I did not have the same fear and strange feeling of helplessness, but I would have liked Resuhî Bey to be here in the next room. I tried to sleep, but it was impossible. Presently the old fear of sleep returned, and I determined to keep awake. As if in spite, drowsiness began to come over me. I got out of bed and looked against my will toward the window. A large bat was visible in the darkness, buffeting its wings against the glass from time to time. I decided to go back to bed, although not to sleep, but just at that moment my mother came into the room and sat on the bed beside me. She kissed my cheeks and said, “I was worried about you, my girl!” I was afraid that she might be cold because of her thin nightdress. So I convinced her to sleep next to me. As we lay there, the flapping of wings came to the window again. My mother was startled a little and asked, “What is that?” I tried to pacify her but I could almost hear the heavy beating of her heart.
A minute later the flapping sound grew louder. With one last blow, the window shattered into the room and a strong wind blew the curtains toward us. My mother pointed at the window and screamed. For there, a red-eyed, gaunt old wolf—yes, a real wolf—was staring at us with bared teeth. My mother uttered a silent groan following her scream and afterward fell still; but at that moment she clutched the wreath of flowers around my neck and broke it apart. I could not think clearly about anything; my eyes were fixed on the broken window. The wolf drew his head back, and the wind filled the room with thousands of glittering specks and spots of dust. These shiny things scattered, swirled, and formed strange shapes. I wanted to move but I was anchored in place as if by some invisible force. The cold body of my mother, who had died because her heart could not withstand the terror, lay on my chest. After this I blacked out completely for some time.
When I opened my eyes, my whole body was shaking and I lay with my mother’s dead body. I was barely able to write these lines in the diary beneath my head. There, those bright spots, those tiny specks are beginning to float again… My God, my God, protect me. My brave lover Turan, where are you? Farewell Turan, my eyes are closing, I am getting worse. I do not think I can write any more… my God…
From Doctor Afif’s Diary.
18 September.—When I approached the door of Sadan’s house this morning, I saw Resuhî Bey stepping out of an automobile. There was a great commotion in the house, and even crying. My old tutor’s face was completely white.
We went straight to Sadan’s door without a word to anyone. Oh God, how can I describe the scene we saw there!
Two women lay on the bed: Sadan and her mother. The old woman was surely dead. With her deathly pale face, Sadan looked no different. Her throat was bare; those two eerie wounds were visible on her neck, but this time the area around them was badly mangled. Resuhî Bey began carefully listening to her chest. Then he stepped back suddenly and cried out:
“We still have a chance. Quick, quick! Bring me that bottle!”
I leapt up and brought the medicine bottle from the bag left near the door; the doctor moistened Sadan’s lips, gums, wrists, and forehead. As we worked, one of the servants entered the room slowly and informed us that a man sent by Turan Bey was waiting. I said simply, “Take him upstairs!” and returned to what I was doing. I have never seen Resuhî Bey work so earnestly. He massaged Sadan very gently, as though he were afraid to break her. At that moment, he turned to me and said these incomprehensible words:
“If it would only end in death, by God’s will, I would leave this poor girl to the angel of death. But what might come next is horrible, very horrible.”
After continuing his work with great care and vigor he said: “We are winning, we have won the first round; her body temperature is normalizing. But there is a problem: Sadan needs another blood transfusion, and very quickly. If not, the poor girl shall not live an hour. However, we have taken your blood, and I am useless after giving blood the last time. Now, where will we find the brave man who will open his veins and spill his blood for Sadan one more time?”
At that very moment, we heard a powerful voice from the doorway. The words, spoken with an Aydin accent, filled my heart with joy:
“Very well, what’s wrong with me?”
We both turned; there, with his tall frame, sunburn, shining black eyes, and handsome face, was my friend from Germany and the War of Independence, Özdemir Bey.
My old tutor started when he heard this loud voice, but when I said, “Ah, Özdemir, is it you?” and reached out to him, Resuhî Bey’s frown disappeared. Özdemir Bey took a long, sorrowful look at the bed; his face turned pale, but he held himself with his usual superhuman steadfastness:
“Turan sent me. He said that he has not heard from you for three days; he is worried sick about Sadan Hanim. However, his father is very ill; the old man does not let his son out of his sight for a moment. That is why he had to send me instead.”
Doctor Resuhî Bey suddenly strode forward, grasped Özdemir’s powerful hands, and looked him straight in the eyes:
“Özdemir Bey, when a woman is in trouble, the most effective medicine is a man’s blood! I see you are one of the bravest and most honest men in these Turkish lands. No matter how much the devil fights us, God always sends us men when we want them.”
I will not go into detail; we performed the blood transfusion once again. However, this time Sadan had been too depleted; even though Özdemir’s veins were pumping out more blood than any of ours had done, the action of her heart and lungs was barely detectable. I took the exhausted Özdemir to another room and set him on the bed to rest, after first giving him something to drink. When I returned to Sadan’s room, Doctor Resuhî Bey was holding a little notebook; he had evidently read it for he was deep in thought. He looked up for a moment; he had the harsh, bitter countenance of someone who has just assumed the burden of some cryptic thing. He passed the notebook to me, saying only:
“I found this on Sadan’s bed!”
Upon reading the notebook, I turned to him and asked, “For the love of God, tell me, what does all of this mean? Is Sadan mad? What kind of ominous and terrible danger is this?” Resuhî Bey took the diary from me.