“But why do it at all? The girl is dead and gone. Why would you mutilate a poor woman’s body in such a horrible way? If it will do no good to her or to science, it is monstrous.”
The professor interrupted me quickly:
“My friend Afif, I pity your heart, wounded by sorrow and love. I respect your feelings. However, there are so many things that you do not know. You shall learn about them when the time comes, and although they are unpleasant, you will thank me. Afif, my son, you have worked and lived with me for many years, and yet did you ever see me do anything foolish, against conscience or law? Let me remind you of a small incident: when I prevented Turan from kissing Sadan as she was about to die, you were angry with me. But did you not see how Sadan thanked me for it with her beautiful eyes and her weak voice once she regained consciousness? Did she not kiss my hand and commit Turan to my protection? You have believed in me for many years, trusted me throughout this strange and horrible incident. Now, my child, I want you to continue to trust me for a week or two more!”
He stopped for a minute. Then he continued solemnly:
“My son Afif, there are strange and terrible days before us. Let us not be two, but one, so that we may work toward a good end. Will you not have faith in me?”
I took the hands of my dear tutor, whose good intentions I did not doubt. I kissed his hands and, withstanding intense emotions, promised that I would listen to him and trust him.
The next day Turan called before noon. The grief over his father and lover had had a noticeable effect on this young man, who was as strong as a rock! A few moments later, Resuhî Bey also joined us and we dined at my home. The old doctor had the compassion almost of a father for Turan. After a short time, the bond between them had grown even stronger. At dinner the doctor said to Turan:
“I know you were very angry at me for preventing you from kissing Sadan; however, both you and I were correct. You could not have trusted me and I could not have acted any other way. But one day I shall ask for your absolute and total trust. Prepare yourself for that moment. Later you shall thank me, both for your own sake and for the sake of your loved one. Remember that Sadan has entrusted you to my protection. In these times the gates of the truth are opened to those who are soon to meet with death.
“From now on, you are a son to me like Afif. We all knew the Major Turan Bey who rose to fame in the epic victories of our national struggle in Anatolia; but now I ask for the right to call you simply ‘Turan,’ as though you were my son.”
Turan sprung from his chair and respectfully bowed over the still-strong hands of the professor. Resuhî Bey continued in a manner that I did not understand:
“Turan, I was just telling Afif that we have gone through a great deal. Especially you; you are in a more agonizing position than either of us. However, there are more evil and painful days—and more heartbreaking episodes—ahead of us. But if we walk together to the end, we will see the light at the end of the tunnel.”
I almost forgot to write here: Doctor Resuhî Bey told me privately that the surgical knives would not be necessary for the present.
From Güzin Hanim’s Diary.
20 September.—How short the time has been since the first entry in my journal. Much has happened, good and bad, between these dates. When I wrote those first lines, Azmi was on his accursed trip to Transylvania and I was dealing with the sorrow of not hearing from him. Now Azmi has returned, I have become his wife, and dear Rifat Bey has passed away and been buried. Azmi has taken over as the owner and manager of the business. However, he has still not fully recovered. One particular incident occurred a day ago that put him in bed again. Now I record it in my journal, which has been my confidant in sad and lonely times.
Two days ago, near evening, I forced Azmi to get up from his desk, as the weather was warm and very pleasant, and I took him to Sarayburnu Park, very close to our home in Cagaloglu, to get some air. I love the high eastern side overlooking the Straits, the Sea of Marmara, Çamlica, and the Prince Islands, and the beautiful blue currents of the Bosphorus that have flowed for centuries. Sitting there in silence for half an hour refreshes and strengthens the soul considerably. So I took Azmi’s hand and brought him there. The garden was quiet. As I gazed at the Marmara currents, Azmi suddenly clutched my arm and muttered, “Oh my God!” I turned my head instantly. His face had turned pale. His eyes were like those of a child who has seen something terrifying. And those hard eyes were fixed on a tall, slim, hawk-nosed man with a black mustache and pointed beard. This man in black was staring intently at a beautiful young girl. He was so focused on the girl that he did not notice us looking at him. Therefore I had the chance to observe him for some time. His face was hard, cruel, and—how should I put this?—almost lustful. His excessively red lips made his teeth appear even whiter, and they were pointed like an animal’s. Azmi stared at him blankly in terror and amazement; I was afraid the man might notice and said:
“Azmi, do you feel ill?”
Azmi evidently thought that I knew this man as well as he did because he replied:
“Do you see who it is?”
“I don’t know him; who is it?”
His answer sent a cold shiver through my body, for it was said as if he did not know that it was me, his wife Güzin, to whom he was speaking:
“It is the man himself!”
Poor Azmi was evidently terrified and excited. For if I had not been supporting him with all of my strength, he would have collapsed. At that mom
ent, the young woman or girl saw some other people and walked to them; and the man followed behind. My husband’s look of fear lingered until the man disappeared. Then he whispered to himself:
“That man is the Count. Count Dracula! But he is younger… Oh my God, if what I saw is true… If this is true! Ah, if only I knew… if I knew…”
My husband was in such a sad state of distress and excitement that I was terribly frightened. We returned home quickly, and I sat him down on a sofa and put his head on my shoulder. A minute later he fell asleep, breathing calmly. When he woke, it was as though he did not remember the incident; he smiled at me with loving eyes and said, “I fell asleep, Güzin; how long I must have kept you waiting.” It makes me so sad that Azmi has these episodes of fear and forgetfulness. This may eventually lead to some disaster. I have made a resolution; when I found him in the hospital in Edirne, he gave me his journal and made me promise not to read it unless he permitted it or it was deemed necessary for our happiness. And I have kept it. I have not read it, even though Azmi insisted on saying nothing about his strange journey. Have I the right to read it?
The same evening.—My God, what a terrible tragedy! I just received the news of the death of both Sadan and her mother; I am bursting into tears. I do not have the strength to write any more…
From Doctor Afif’s Diary.
22 September.—Silence and loneliness… Poor Turan, he has gone with Özdemir Bey to his mansion in Göztepe. This Özdemir is such a brave and noble fellow! I have no doubt that he is as upset about the terrible death of Sadan as Turan and I are; however, he can hide his feelings very well. It’s as though he wears a steel mask. Who need fear for the future of the Turkish nation and Turkish lands when the mountains and highlands of Anatolia continue to raise such lionhearted, pure, and sensitive children? Doctor Resuhî Bey is sleeping in the other room; tonight he will go to Yakacik, stay there one night, and return. He said there are some preparations that only he can make.
Clipping From the “Zaman” Newspaper Published in Istanbul, 25 September.
A VERY MYSTERIOUS EVENT