“Doctor, what are you trying to say?”
I tried to make light of it, but the professor’s attitude sobered me. I had not seen the professor so stern and melancholy even during the worst of Sadan’s illness.
“Afif, tell me truthfully. Have you never had suspicions about the cause of Sadan’s death? Even after all that has happened, and after observing my behavior?”
“Sadan died from massive blood loss!”
“Very well, then how was the blood lost? Where did it go?” Seeing my difficulty in answering, he continued: “Afif, my boy, you are a clever child. You are equipped with all of the weapons of science, but you are narrow-minded! Like many people, you do not let your eyes see nor your ears hear. It is not you alone; most people, even many scientists, would not be able to comprehend what you cannot. However, can you not confirm the existence of physical, material things? Even though I have many different opinions and ideas due to my personal beliefs, I still say that the biggest fault of today’s physics and sciences is that they try to explain everything, and quickly reject what they cannot immediately explain. For example, do you believe in souls entering other bodies, the ability to read thoughts, and such things? No? Nor in hypnotism, spiritualism…”
“I believe in hypnotism; Doctor Charcot has explained that pretty well.”
Doctor Resuhî laughed at my reply:
“And that is sufficient, yes? The explanation, the explanation; you poor people! You accept hypnotism, but reject thought reading; we see such great achievements today that if people were to have accomplished them a couple of hundred years ago, the Christians would have burned them at the stake and called them sorcerers, while we Muslims would have crowned them and called them prophets or saints. There have always been undiscovered secrets in life and there always will be. Can you claim to know all the secrets of life and death?”
“My dear tutor, tell me more clearly; do you believe that the little wounds on Sadan’s throat were made by the same hand or tool or some such thing that punctured the throats of these children? I am of the same opinion.”
The Professor raised his head. “No, you are wrong! If only that were so. Unfortunately, no! It is worse, much worse than that.”
I stood and cried out:
“In God’s name, sir, what do you mean?”
The doctor collapsed, exhausted, into a chair, crossed his hands, and answered:
“The wounds on the children’s throats were made by Sadan herself!”
CHAPTER X
FROM DOCTOR AFIF BEY’S DIARY—continued.
For a moment a deep wave of anger shook my body. Forgetting all of my respect
and trust in the old professor, I smote the table and said:
“Resuhî Bey, are you mad?”
The professor raised his head and looked at me. The softness and sadness in his voice brought me back to my senses. He said, hoarsely:
“I wish that I was. Compared to the horrible and painful truth, madness would be the lesser of two evils. Ah, my friend; have I not tried up till now to prepare your mind for the truth? You saved my life; why would I trouble you with baseless conjecture of which I was not certain?”
I was embarrassed by my behavior. I took his hands and said:
“Forgive me, master!” He continued:
“You loved poor Sadan; that is why you are prepared to make every sacrifice for her. However, I knew that this concrete truth would be very hard for you to accept. So tonight I will prove it; do you have the courage to come with me?”
The fact that things were taking such a real and frightening shape had frozen me in place. I could not think. My God, what was going on; what was happening?
The doctor continued:
“Now, I will tell you what we are going to do: the two children that were recently found unconscious in Eyüp cemetery are at Etfal Hospital. The head doctor is my friend Hasan Kami Bey, whom you also know. We will visit the hospital and see the children’s wounds. Do you know what we shall do if we turn out to be correct? We shall spend the night in Eyüp Sultan, near the family cemetery where Sadan and her mother are buried; I have already acquired the keys to this spacious and protected area.”
At that moment I was thinking about the coincidence of Sadan’s family cemetery and the children’s location both being in the Eyüp Sultan area. I went to Etfal Hospital with the doctor; I examined the children’s throat wounds closely. Both were weak from blood loss; their wounds were exactly the same as those upon Sadan. But it was obvious that the teeth or tools that created these wounds were smaller and sharper than those used upon Sadan. I cannot describe the tumult that was swirling in my mind at that moment. I can only say that I felt like a man who had been brought to the edge of a cliff, who was in constant fear of falling. Speaking little to each other, Doctor Resuhî Bey and I left the hospital. I followed him as though hypnotized. After walking a little further through the streets, we took an automobile to the pier. We crossed the Bosphorus to Eyüp Sultan. The dark of night fell over the waters of the “Golden Horn” and the hills of Okmeydani. Rough, brown, earth-smelling darkness was creeping in from the deep corners of the Bosphorus, Kagithane, and Silahtaraga valleys, and it filled my heart with an unknown, unexplainable dread. My God; have I been living inside the ring of some horrible truth? Or have I been dreaming? Was there anything in common between the fearful things that I was thinking and what I had been taught as truth and reality?
It was even darker when we arrived in Eyüp Sultan. I walked with the professor in the same silence. Eventually we encountered the wall of one of the Eyüp cemeteries. The old professor climbed over this obstacle with surprising agility. I followed. Resuhî Bey walked with confidence through this deep and creeping darkness. Finally we stopped in front of an enclosed grave resembling a mausoleum. It was well-known that it had belonged to Sadan’s family for years. With the key in his hand, Resuhî Bey, who must have had nerves of steel, opened the old, cracked, unpainted door. We both entered; however, the doctor did not forget to draw the door to. Then he took a box of matches from his bag and lit the candle he had brought with him. It was not at all a pleasant scene. Before us were hundred-year-old graves, sarcophagi, and stones of different types and shapes such as flowers and turbans.
The old doctor stood in front of a very thick marble coffin?—a woman’s. This belonged to one of Sadan’s great-grandmothers. In this family cemetery there were no separate graves for Sadan and her mother; the coffins were placed in one of the sarcophagi as had been the old tradition. We were standing in front of the sarcophagus containing Sadan’s coffin. Presently Doctor Resuhî Bey went over to a dark corner of the room; he bent down and picked up an iron bar which I understood he had hidden there earlier. Then he set a three-or-four-spans-wide piece of thick oak wood, which was also left amidst the sarcophagi, against the edge of the sarcophagus to serve as a slider. I was staring at him, confused. But it finally dawned upon me. I asked, trembling: