The Time Regulation Institute (45 page)

Suddenly she stopped to look about the room.

“Why should I care about your work anyway? There was a time when I too busied myself with such projects. But I've put
all that behind me. I came to see the man whose wife says she's forgiven me. Look at the wretch—he doesn't even wipe the blood off his nose! And then all these high-and-mighty words . . .”

I slowly pulled out my handkerchief and wiped the blood off my face. Had she not blocked my exit, I'd have exited the room at once.

Halit Ayarcı rang the bell. Dervis Efendi looked entirely changed when he stepped into the room. His forehead was swollen and his collar was torn. He made an extra-long loop around the room, staying as far away from my aunt as possible.

“What will you be drinking, then, madam? Coffee, tea?”

“Coffee,” she ejaculated. “I'm a connoisseur, so make it good. Doctors have been telling me to stop drinking it for the last twenty years, but I don't listen. But if this dolt is making it then forget it!”

“Dervis Efendi makes wonderful coffee. I'm sure you'll be pleased! We'll have coffee too, Dervis Efendi.”

But before Dervis Efendi left the room, he added:

“But first someone bring me a bucket or something of the sort so I can clean up all this glass! What a shame if someone were to come in now.”

And he kicked a piece of broken umbrella under his desk.

“After all, this is an official establishment, madam!”

My aunt seemed rather put out.

“I wouldn't have come, but I couldn't find him at home! It seems they've moved and nobody could give me the new address. So I had no choice but to come here.”

Flashing his sweetest smile, Halit Bey comforted her:

“No harm done, madam, not at all . . . Such things happen in families. In fact we would have come to you if you hadn't come here yourself!”

“To me? But whatever for?”

“Well, of course!” he answered. “We were just talking about it now. Here, allow me to explain: we need to establish a group that can support the efforts of the Time Regulation Institute, so as to acquaint the public with its ideas, a group that can in fact oversee the publication of our material. And this is why
we decided some time ago that we should establish the Clock Lover's Society. Today we were discussing its founding delegation. This is why we were having a meeting. My friends and I feel that there must be more female members than men. And, in particular, its president must be a woman, an esteemed individual . . . We've been thinking this over since morning, and we just couldn't come up with an individual worthy of the post. And then finally Hayri Bey says to us, ‘I've got it! My aunt would be the ideal person for the job. Above all, she is respectability incarnate. The woman could lead an entire army. She is experienced, and she is well loved by all who know her. What a shame that she's so cross with me. I couldn't offer such a post to her. She'd drive me away if I even tried speaking to her!' Upon hearing about you, we'd unanimously decided to offer you the post. And at just that moment, you honored us with your presence! Please take my seat if you would accept the presidency!”

For a moment my aunt stared at Halit Ayarcı, then at the empty chair beside her. She looked both perplexed but tempted, like a young girl who'd been asked to dance for the first time.

“I just don't know if I could I do such a thing. And at this age . . .”

Halit Ayarcı smiled.

“How could you not? We've already seen you in action!”

Eyeing me sternly, my aunt said, “Oh that was nothing. Wait till I get my hands on your wife!”

Halit Ayarcı let out an easy laugh. “Oh no, Pakize Hanım isn't to blame here. Of that I'm quite sure. You'll love her the moment you see her. She's not that kind of woman. Those details were the embellishments of the journalist. Apparently there were a few misunderstandings. Surely you noticed that most of the photographs were not even of Hayri Bey!”

Indeed most of the photographs in the paper were not of me. The one of me riding a horse had clearly been taken somewhere in the English countryside. Never in my life had I seen the place that was meant to be my library. And my collection of watches and clocks exceeded my wildest dreams.

There was a moment of silence. Then Halit Ayarcı rose to his feet and said to my aunt, “If you would accept our offer, please take your seat and we'll start the proceedings!”

Without a word, my aunt stood up and strode to the head of the table. Halit Bey sat down in the chair beside her.

“If you would be so kind, Dr. Ramiz, to take minutes for the meeting.”

Dr. Ramiz sat down at the table and flipped open a legal pad. Ever the woman, my aunt launched into her complaints:

“It always happens like this, the real work always falls to me. This will be the fourth time I've headed a society. It's been like this ever since the days of the
Committee of Union and Progress.”

But Halit Ayarcı lost no time; he asked my aunt her opinion on the first order of business: identifying members for the board.

“There will be myself, Hayri Bey, and the doctor, but the remaining members must be women.”

My aunt wasn't pleased. Perhaps it was only appropriate for us to have a place in the Clock Lover's Society, but there had to be a few young and sympathetic souls under the president's charge. Halit Bey suggested the poet Ekrem Bey. Then we began to think about possible female members. My aunt put forward a few names. Halit Bey proposed Sabriye Hanım and Nevzat Hanım. Zarife accepted the former but not the latter.

“Sabriye is such a nice girl,” she said. “She remembers everything she hears and expresses herself well, but what can I do with the other one? She's a dreadful whiner.”

Then my aunt recommended Selma Hanım. And so, after jotting down a dozen names, the meeting was adjourned, with the next meeting to be held in a week's time, at my aunt's home. As she was leaving, Zehra stepped into the room, whereupon Halit Bey turned to my aunt:

“Do you know this young lady? She's your nephew's daughter!”

After casting a malicious glance in my direction, she uttered a few kind words about Zehra. Judging by the look on her face, she didn't seem at all pleased to meet yet another relation. But when Zehra left the room, my aunt followed her with her eyes and, after a moment of reflection, she turned to me:

“That one must be from the other wife, the one that never understood you. I see no resemblance to the current strumpet.”

At our next meeting, we drew up the statutes of the Clock Lover's Society. Within two weeks, we'd gotten through the official red tape and everything was in place. One day Halit Bey gave me the news:

“We've reached an agreement with your aunt. She has donated her plot of land on Freedom Hill to the institute. That's where we will erect our new building!”

A few days later, I learned that my aunt had donated yet another even larger plot of land, beyond Suadiye, to the Time Regulation Institute—providing that its value would be returned in installments. Halit Bey was in quite a jolly mood on the day he gave me the news.

“Don't you see? How could you ever be angry with your wife again? A woman as intelligent as Pakize Hanım! I saw her at your aunt's place just the other day. You wouldn't believe how well the two are getting on. ‘If this woman isn't elected member of the society's management board, I'm packing my bags,' were your aunt's very words.”

Pakize had already told me all about it. As for Zehra, she hardly ever left my aunt's house.

“Great,” I said. “That's wonderful—all very good. So then I'm the only one who's out of step! And it seems I always will be.”

“No,” he said. “You don't understand, and you're not trying to do so. But that's not important! Just finish your book.”

V

Halit Ayarcı's banjo still hangs on the wall in my study; one of his servants brought it to my house the evening of that fateful day when my aunt swept into our office in such a fury. It is, if ever it catches my eye, a painful reminder of how naive I've been at certain points in my life. Perhaps it was wrong to have caused my dear benefactor so much grief? Some are born
with the light of truth inside them. For me, it was quite the opposite. Even my aunt was nothing like me. Despite her age and abundant life experience, she accepted Halit Ayarci's invitation before my very eyes, and after just two hours of discussion and debate. And no sooner had she agreed to become the president of a society about which she knew nothing, than she invited everyone to her home for the following meeting. But I was forever arguing with Halit Bey, never fearing that I might be offending this man from whom I expected so much.

When I saw Halit Bey's servant at the front door, holding the bizarre instrument, I very nearly flew into a rage. Instead I put it down on the sofa, as Pakize and Zehra jumped up and down with excitement. “Come on now,” squealed my wife, “let's hear you play!” That was very nearly the last straw. I still hadn't spoken to Pakize about her interview; I hadn't yet asked her what had possessed her to humiliate me in that way. I was wary of where such a conversation might lead, while my wife went out of her way to avoid it. Meanwhile she preened like a cat who has mothered seven kittens in one fell swoop. Her lack of sensibility tested my patience even more. But a minor intervention on Zehra's part put an end to my rage:

“Dad,” she said. “Do you know who I saw today? Ismail the Lame. Right outside the office. Oh, he was so very surprised to see me! His face went white as ash. Then he let out a long whistle and hobbled off. But how ugly he was! I can't believe I was on the verge of marrying that man. God forbid! Whatever would I have done with such a miserable creature?”

My anger suddenly subsided. Just then Pakize cried:

“Hayri, you still haven't thanked me. Halit Bey told me I would never be able to understand my husband! ‘Do you think you could you ever really understand the importance of such a man?' he said to me. In fact we even bet on it. But oh! I won—didn't I ever! If only you could have heard how he thanked me on the phone this morning!”

So that was how it had happened. Halit Ayarcı had thought
it all through in advance, encouraging Pakize to lampoon me for the pleasure of my friends and enemies alike. I thanked my wife:

“That's just wonderful,” I said. “But how in the world did you come up with the story about me sleeping naked on the floor? Couldn't you have come up with something else? You know very well that I never go to bed without my nightcap and sweater!”

Taken aback, she cried:

“I couldn't remember the word for hammock! Halit Bey told me that throughout your entire childhood you slept in a hammock. But I just couldn't remember the word.”

Having dealt with these trivial irritations, she handed me my benefactor's gift.

“Come on, play for us, just a little, please.”

I took the instrument in my hand and tapped on it here and there, my point being to prove to them that I had no idea how to play. But I was dumbfounded by the transformation on Pakize's face. She was transported. Tears welled up in her eyes. But Zehra had vanished. And Ahmet wasn't there either; apparently he was busy working in his room. There was no mention of my performance over supper.

I saw Zehra before I went to bed.

“How was it? Do you like my banjo?”

Zehra fixed her saucer eyes on mine and asked, “Do we have any other choice, Dad? It's just that I'm really so worried about Ahmet.”

But I had more urgent concerns.

“Did you really see Ismail the Lame?”

“No, but you seemed so angry and frustrated that I had to say something to stop you. And he came to mind.”

Toying with a button on my jacket, she looked me straight in the eye:

“Was that such a bad thing?” she asked. “You were going to have an argument over nothing at all. I'm fed up with all the fighting. My whole life I've had to listen to you two squabbling. You have no idea how much I've suffered. The shouting terrifies me so much! And the way your faces are transformed by anger,
becoming so very different, it's so hard to bear that. There's nothing worse in the whole world, nothing more horrid.”

“But you get angry sometimes too,” I said.

“Not any more! I'm more relaxed now. If I can't love the people in my life, I don't feel comfortable. It's like everything's turned upside down.”

Zehra was in a talkative mood. Just like any other young girl, she wanted to talk about herself. And I had no idea how much truth there was in any of it. But I was pleased that she was opening her heart to me.

“Besides, we can't even really argue,” she said. “You're like me. How can a man really argue if he thinks that everyone else is right?”

“Whatever do you mean, my girl?”

“Isn't that how it is?” she said. “Isn't that the way you are? Even if I haven't done anything wrong, I still can't forgive myself for meddling in other people's lives!”

“Well, are you at least happy now?” I asked.

Her face suddenly lit up.

“Of course I am,” she said. “We're no longer living on top of one another. Everyone has their own life. But, then again, the work we're doing—it seems so strange. I keep thinking to myself, where's it all going? And another thing, everyone's changed so much that . . .”

She was right. Everyone had changed.

“Only Ahmet's the same. He's still closed off to everyone, always so serious. We did something without telling you. Ahmet sat for the state exams and passed.”

So that was it. That was reason for the secretive air at home over the past month.

“Why didn't you tell me? There's nothing wrong with that.”

“He didn't want to tell you till after it was all done. He wasn't going to tell you if he didn't pass.”