Hotel Bosphorus (17 page)

“My dear friend Kati” – he said in English. These Turks and Kurds, that is all those who lived in Turkey, moved very quickly to calling people “my dear” – “would like to ask you a few questions about films.” He stood up as he said this, slid his hand down my back then disappeared with his four faithful henchmen.

Yusuf and I sat for a while eyeing each other at the table that was still covered with breakfast remains and half-empty plates.

“So, you're German, yes? There are loads of Germans living in Turkey. Like the pensioners in Alanya and so on… There's over fifty thousand of us. Not as many as in Mallorca, but still a lot.” He popped a piece of white cheese into his mouth.

“Why are you interested in our film?” he asked, still chewing the cheese. Don't people learn as children not
to speak with their mouths full, for God's sake? It wasn't a pretty sight.

“Not the film, I'm interested in the murder,” I said.

“In that case, why are you interested in the murder? I presume you don't mind my asking.”

Everyone I met asked me this question and I had still not found a satisfactory answer. I gave him the same sort of fatuous reply that I'd given before.

“My friend Petra Vogel was somehow involved in the murder. At least, she wasn't exactly involved, but she has been affected by it. We all want to find the murderer as soon as possible of course.”

“Yes, of course. See what's happened to my brother-in-law here, and for no good reason at all. All because of me.” Somehow I think this man had other problems apart from not being able to learn Turkish.

“Why did you go into the film business?”

“I liked the idea, that's why. Anyway, I had to do something eventually. I'm a bit young to retire.”

“That isn't what I asked. Anyway, why this film in particular?”

“Our German partners, Phoenix Film Productions, bought the film rights to Donetti's book shortly after it was published. The production company was doing well at that time. By the time I was put in touch with them by a friend, the company's finances were not too good. For them, this was a recovery project, while for us it was our first real step into the market. We had enough money to make this film and they had the experience to put together a good production. Not a bad combination, don't you think?”

“Right from the start, I've been bothered as to why you had such high hopes… And since it was a debut for
you, and a lifeline for your partner… Why a man like Kurt Müller?”

“Kurt Müller's name wasn't mentioned at first. As I said, we had the book, scriptwriter and screenplay. Our partner Mr Franz insisted on Miss Vogel taking the leading role. I could have thought of someone more suitable, but…” He didn't complete his sentence.

“Who? Türkân Şoray for example?” I said teasingly.

“Why not? You've read the book haven't you?” He raised his hand and waved it. The blond henchman who had previously attached himself to me suddenly reappeared.

“Coffee,” said Yusuf, and the blond henchman disappeared. I was feeling acutely uncomfortable.

“I haven't read the book, but I know what it's about. It's the story of a female slave who is brought from Venice and who rises to the position of sultana at the Ottoman court… The book deals with the period when the woman was middle-aged, if I'm not mistaken,” I said.

“You aren't mistaken. And when you thought of a middle-aged sultana, you thought of Türkân Şoray.”

“Actually, Türkân Şoray would have made an overripe sultana rather than a middle-aged one,” I said. I had no objection at all to the dewy-eyed, quivering-lipped stars of Turkish cinema who are nicknamed “sultana” but, painful as it might be, one of my duties as a German was to speak the truth.

“Or, if not Türkân Şoray, then perhaps Gülşen Bubikoğlu.”

He pronounced the poor woman's name very badly but it seemed he knew something about female Turkish film stars.

“But Petra Vogel and the role of sultana…” He screwed up his face and continued. “If you haven't read the book, you won't know. The person in question is Sultana Handan, favourite concubine of Mehmed III and mother of Ahmed I. Sultana Handan is unknown by many historians, but Donetti claims she was Venetian, like Mehmed III's mother, Sultana Safiye. Much of the work deals with the quarrels between Handan and Safiye and court intrigues. When Handan's son is crowned Sultan Ahmed I at the age of fourteen, control of the palace falls into her hands and she wastes no time in sending Sultana Safiye to the Old Palace, along with most of her harem entourage. However, Handan is unable to enjoy her new role for long because her son dies two years after ascending to the throne. Handan's life is a tragedy, because when Safiye's son is crowned Mehmed III at the age of nineteen, he proves to be a cold-hearted murderer, despite being one of the best-educated sultans who ever lived. Handan finds herself embroiled in a struggle with both Sultana Safiye and Sultan Mehmed III. And just when the spectator thinks she has succeeded, she dies.” The word “spectator” irritated me. Yusuf had really got caught up in this film business. And he knew his subject. He continued the story with enthusiasm.

“Yes, Sultana Handan wasn't an eastern woman, but she knew all about court intrigues… You've heard of the term ‘Byzantine intrigue'. Historians believe the Ottoman court adopted those very same Byzantine intrigues. They behaved in exactly the same way as the Byzantines, or whatever you want to call them – Byzantines, Romans, Mediterraneans, choose what you will. But Handan was obviously not German, and it's not
a world that a German can bring to life or get inside.” Then, as if that was the culmination of what he had to say, he stated, “I was therefore never in favour of Miss Vogel for this part. It was Franz who insisted.”

“Just a minute, who's Franz?” I asked.

“Our partner. He's the boss of Phoenix Film Productions.”

“Pardon? So many names get bandied around that I have difficulty remembering them all.”

“An oriental female actor, that is a Turk… Although if you ask me, Turks are more Mediterranean than eastern… Anyway, a Turk in this role would be too oriental. Our Sultana Handan was originally Venetian, so she shouldn't behave like a real oriental. Do you understand what I'm saying?”

“There could be some logic in that,” I said. “If the woman in the film was not supposed to behave as if she was in her own natural environment… I haven't read the book, but I accept what you say.” Still, imagining Petra as a sultana was even more difficult than imagining that the wrinkles round my eyes would disappear by the time I woke up in the morning.

A young uniformed maid came in with two cups of Turkish coffee and a glass of water for each of us. As she placed the coffees on the table, I remarked, “You didn't ask how I take my coffee.” What a disgrace!

“They told me you wanted it medium sweet, ma'am. I can make you another one straight away.”

“Yes, do that. I drink it without sugar, none at all,” I said, like a sultana in an oriental environment. The maid hurried away with the coffee.

“How many years have you been in Turkey?” asked Yusuf.

“Quite a while. About thirteen years.”

“You seem to have resolved the problem of Turkish.”

“One learns over time,” I said, as if it was of no importance to me. His jealous look suggested that he was just as sensitive as I was over the matter of speaking Turkish. He resumed what he had been saying.

“Mr Franz insisted on Petra Vogel, saying she was the only person who could take on this role. I didn't argue. I had no professional experience – this was to be my first film.” He leaned his chin on his clenched fist.

“The first, but not the last,” I said. “I'm sure you'll find a director and continue filming. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say you'll start filming.” I was starting to feel more pity for the poor man than when I heard he'd been circumcised as a grown man in order to become a Muslim.

“We've already spent much more money than we intended. The permits arrived late; we need special permits to film in Topkapı Palace and the harem quarters. It's all taken much longer than we expected… The sets and costumes… They all cost an awful lot. The hotel expenses alone have been a big item. Many of the people working on the film have been brought from Germany; not even the lighting man is local. And then, we were going to participate in international competitions, but because of this murder it won't be ready in time…” He uttered this last sentence as if the problem was a pimple on the nose of the leading lady.

I had enough problems of my own, so I interrupted him impatiently.

“Can we get back to my question? OK, so Mr Franz insisted on Petra taking the leading role, but what did Kurt Müller have to do with all this?”

This time, my coffee was brought to me by the Bulgarian maid who had learned Diyarbakir Turkish by ear. I smiled and thanked her.

“According to what Franz told me, it was Miss Vogel who suggested Müller. She'd said they'd work well together. There may have been a bit of negotiating. Franz didn't object to Müller because his assistant director Miss Bauer was a young but very competent person. As far as I'm concerned, she should have been the director but, as I said, she's young and lacks experience. It was thought that a production of this scale couldn't be entrusted to her.” Clearly Yusuf was the one who waved the money about, but it was Franz who called the tune.

“What kind of films had Müller done previously?”

“Oh, just run-of-the-mill stuff. Fantasy films, love films, et cetera. He's not bad, but he hasn't any films of note to his name. I have a list of the films he's made, and the tapes. I'll give them to you. He didn't ask for much money, which was a point in his favour. Instead of having a first-class, costly, well-known director, we selected first-class people for everything else. We put a very good team together. For instance, Professor Serdar Parlar is advising us. He's an Ottoman historian at Boğaziçi University. And Miss Bauer is a brilliant director… It never really occurred to us that Müller might not be a success.”

“Have I got it wrong? Because I thought a film is usually remembered for its director?”

“Well yes, and indeed this was a lifetime opportunity for Müller. But as I said, there wasn't much for the director to do. We had a scenario and we had a team. If we'd brought in Eisenstein, it would have made no difference. Müller was experienced enough to put on
the finishing touches. He wasn't that bad… I mean… No, not that bad.”

“So, as I understand it then, it was because of Petra that Müller was about to embark on the biggest project of his life.”

“Yes.”

“Shouldn't it be the other way round? Doesn't the director normally choose which star he's going to work with? For example, Fassbinder always used Hanna Schygulla in his films.”

“If she's famous enough, the star can choose her director. There's no rule about who chooses whom. Mr Franz assumed that Miss Vogel didn't want to be overshadowed by the director. In the film business, relationships and people get very mixed up. It's difficult to understand who owes what to whom.”

“Why did you go into this business?”

“I told you that. I needed something to do and I thought film production would be right for me. The family were going to give me some start-up capital whatever I did.” He frowned and looked at me. “Why? Do you think being a producer is an odd thing to do?”

“No, no, that's not what I meant. But why this film? You could have started with another film.”

“From a business perspective, it was a sensible project. And it still is.”

His tone of voice suggested that he had not lost all hope as he continued, “Firstly, box-office revenues in Turkey are likely to be very high because, as you know, these days there's a lot of interest in sultanas and so on. Historical novels are always on the best-seller list, and Donetti's book has been on best-seller lists all over the world. I thought his readers would go to the film to see
how it compared. Also, Istanbul is in fashion. Do you think it's mere coincidence that famous artists keep escaping to Istanbul?”

“I think you have a talent for business!”

“I was a financial adviser in Germany. I can't do that here, but I have a feel for finance and projects with a potential for profit. I can smell out money.” Given that financial advice was considered a respectable profession in Germany, being reduced to acting as a gangsters' stooge in a questionable film-production business was truly tragic for Yusuf. However, I had no intention of spending my whole day listening to his tear-jerking stories.

“Excuse me, I need to find the toilet,” I said. It was no longer any surprise that the moment I rose, the blond henchman appeared.

“You need something, ma'am?” he asked. It seemed that either I was beginning to command more respect, or he had been scolded by the maid for failing to ask how I wanted my coffee. I think it was probably the latter.

“Toilet,” I said. Short and to the point.

The henchman leaned forwards, indicating straight ahead with his right arm.

“This way, ma'am.” In this household, everybody seemed to use identical words and gestures.

He took me as far as the bathroom door. When I came out, he was polishing one of the mirrors in the entrance hall with his jacket sleeve as he waited for me.

Yusuf was biting his nails and gazing at the Bosphorus when the henchman and I returned.

“This is all really bad,” he said, as if talking to himself. “We'll have to start all over again and meanwhile a lot of the money's gone. I haven't worked out our losses
yet but… The money's just gone up in smoke. And it's going to continue like that.”