Alice leaned over to Daldry and whispered in his ear. “You’re not being very pleasant.”
“You’ve just noticed too? You think he’s being pleasant to me? I’m hungry. I’d like to remind you that I fasted out of solidarity last night, but if you’re going to take sides with our guide you can kiss that solidarity goodbye.”
Alice gave Daldry a disapproving frown and returned to Can.
They picked their way down the steep and narrow streets to the lower part of Cihangir. Daldry hailed a taxi and asked Alice and Can if they were coming with him. He sat in the back seat and left Can no choice but to sit in front next to the driver.
Can gave the driver directions in Turkish and kept his back to them for the duration of the ride.
A flock of seagulls sat motionless on the railings along the waterfront.
“We’re going over there,” said Can, gesturing to a wooden shack at the end of a wharf.
“I don’t see any restaurants,” said Daldry, preparing to protest.
“Because you don’t know how to look,” said Can, as politely as he could. “It’s not a place for tourists. The room is not resplendent with luxuries, but you will have an excellent meal.”
“You wouldn’t happen to know of a place as promising as that greasy spoon, but with a little more charm? Maybe something over there?” Daldry pointed to the yalis, the grand homes that lined the waters of the Bosporus.
One of them caught Alice’s eye. Painted entirely white, it stood out from the others.
“Something wrong?” said Daldry, teasing her. “You should see the look on your face.”
“I lied,” stammered Alice. “The other night I had a nightmare that felt more real than any of the others, and in that nightmare I saw a house like that one.”
Can didn’t understand what had come over Alice.
“Those are yalis,” he said with the even voice of a tour guide. “Summer homes that are remains of the Ottoman Empire. They were very popular in the nineteenth century. Now they are less lucky. Their owners are mispossessed, and they are too expensive to heat in the winter. They need to be renovating.”
Daldry took Alice by the shoulders and forced her to look away.
“I can only think of two possibilities. Perhaps your parents really did travel farther than the French Riviera and you were too young to remember them telling you about it. Or perhaps they had a picture book about Istanbul that you’ve forgotten about. One doesn’t preclude the other.”
Alice had no memory of her mother or father ever talking about Istanbul, and she could still remember every room in her childhood home . . . Her parents’ room with its big bed covered in a gray bedspread . . . her father’s bedside table, where he kept his reading glasses in a leather case and a small alarm clock . . . her mother’s bedside table, with a picture of Alice at the age of five . . . the trunk at the foot of the bed and the red-and-brown-striped rug. There was the dining room, with its mahogany table and six mismatched chairs. The china cabinet, where the best porcelain was kept for special occasions, but which they never remembered to use. In the living room there was the chesterfield, where they sat as a family to listen to the evening radio dramas, and the little bookcase with the books that her mother read. None of it had anything to do with Istanbul.
“If your parents came to Turkey,” said Can, “maybe traces of their passage remain in the authorities’ archives. Tomorrow the British Consulate is organizing a ceremonious evening. The British Ambassador is coming especially from Ankara to welcome a long military delegation and many officers from my government.” He seemed proud of this.
“And how do you know all that?” asked Daldry.
“Because I am the best guide in Istanbul. And, all right, because I read about it in the morning newspaper. As I’m also the best translator in Istanbul, I was inquisitioned to work at the ceremony.”
“Are you trying to tell us that you won’t be able to work for us tomorrow evening?” asked Daldry.
“I was going to invite you to come to this party.”
“Don’t show off. The consul surely won’t be inviting all of the English people who happen to be staying in Istanbul.”
“I am not showing anything off. The secretary who makes the invitation list would be very happy to do me a service and add your names. She never refuses Can. I will bring the invitations to your hotel.”
“You’re something else,” said Daldry, almost in admiration. “Maybe you’d be interested in going, Alice? I suppose we could get introduced to the ambassador and ask him to enlist the consular services on our behalf . . . After all, what good is all that bureaucracy if we can’t rope them into doing us a favor now and then?”
“I want to understand,” said Alice. “I want to know why my nightmares seem so real.”
“I promise we will do everything we can to get to the heart of this mystery. But first, I have to eat something and have a drink or I’ll pass out.”
Can pointed to the fisherman’s restaurant at the end of the pier before going to sit on a piling.
“Bon appétit,” he said, crossing his arms and gazing across the water.
Alice glared at Daldry to invite Can along with them.
“What are you doing? You can’t sit by yourself out here in the cold,” he said.
“I don’t want to disconvenience,” said Can. “I know I can be a bother. Go feeding yourselves. I am used to winter in Istanbul. And rain.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. If it’s a local restaurant, I’ll never be able to communicate if you don’t come along. How do you expect me to survive without the best translator in town?”
Can lit up in response to the compliment and immediately accepted Daldry’s invitation.
The generous welcome and the meal that followed surpassed Daldry’s expectations. When they came to the coffee, he was suddenly overcome by a wave of sentimental melancholy that took Alice and Can by surprise. Aided by the alcohol, he finally admitted the guilt he felt at having so harshly judged the restaurant from a distance. Simple and excellent food could be served in even the most modest of establishments. He heaved a heavy sigh and finished his fourth glass of raki.
“I’m just getting emotional,” he said. “When I think of the sauce that came with the fish and the delicacy of the dessert—do you think I could order a second?—it’s just overwhelming. Please, Can, present my compliments to the owner, and promise me you’ll take us to more places like this. Beginning this evening.” He raised his glass as the waiter passed, asking for a refill.
“I think you’ve had enough to drink,” said Alice, forcing him to lower his glass.
“I admit that the raki has gone to my head. But I came here on an empty stomach, and I was terribly thirsty when we arrived.”
“You really ought to learn to quench your thirst with water,” said Alice.
“Are you crazy? Do you want me to rust?”
Alice made a sign to Can, and they both stood and flanked Daldry, helping him to the door. Can paid and thanked the owner, who was amused by the scene.
The cool air made Daldry’s head spin. He sat on a piling while Can tried to hail a taxi. Alice stood over him to make sure he didn’t fall into the water.
“I think a little nap would do me some good,” he slurred, gazing across the water.
“And all this time I thought you were going to be chaperoning me.”
“I’m dreadfully sorry. I promise you I won’t drink a drop tomorrow.”
“You had best keep that promise.”
Can managed to stop a dolmu. He came back to help Alice prop up Daldry in the back before taking a seat next to the driver.
“We’ll take your friend to the doorway of the hotel and then I will go to the consulate to procure your invitations. I will present them, enveloped, to the concierge,” he said as they drove.
“In an envelope,” whispered Alice discreetly.