Istanbul Was a Fairy Tale (19 page)

er married, or were engaged to be married or had gone abroad, leaving him to live the life of a hermit. Madame Victoria had not received a proper education, but she was a clever and intelligent woman. She was honest and courageous enough to face the hard facts. Life had hardened her . . . A natural consequence of the plight of a person faced with difficulties, difficulties she had to cope with all alone, in deprivation . . . However, the fact that she was a mother was of towering importance. She could not naturally remain idle and watch her son build a wall around himself. That was why she had encouraged him to take part in the conferences and shows taking place in the
Casa d’Italia
and
Union Française
. Those were the days when he performed the said activities, especially on weekends when he dressed in the expectation of finding a girlfriend. Yet, his behavior was eccentric and ridiculous. Well, he couldn’t help it, could he? The only difference was that his circle was a community formed by individuals who were less cruel but more hypocritical. Was he conscious of having been a laughing stock? I really don’t know. Those were the times when Berti and I had recently been introduced to each other. While speaking of his friends, he had also mentioned Mimico with some reservations. I’d understood. He had a secret love and reserved a special place for him. This might have been the dynamism generated by remorse. Not long after, we met at
Union Française
just before the start of a lecture. Strange! I had the impression of
déjà-vu
. It was as though I had known him for eternity. He was like a friend whom I had not seen for a very long time, or a person I had created in my imagination. I had felt nothing odd as I shook his hand. The compliments he paid to me that evening I had received from no one up until then. He was stammering. Later, much later, I learned that this was a habit of his that occurred whenever he felt emotional. I know that this may astound you, but I’ve got to tell it all the same. This defective utterance made him all the more attractive. This had been my impression anyhow. You may go on and predicate that I was affectionate just because I’d been exalted at the least expected moment, or that I was struggling for supremacy by attributing positive qualities to someone who had experienced shortcomings in his life, which in turn enabled me to endure my own shortcomings. I cannot deny this. Nevertheless, I had more than one reason to love Mimico as Mimico; for reasons even Berti was unaware of, reasons relating to long forgotten memories of childhood. Man learns to acknowledge certain shortcomings, to understand them, to put up with them, to feel them as part of one’s being. To have to go through those experiences, both with those one loves and with those one considers alien to them, this happens to be shattering sometimes . . . Anyway . . . As the years went by, Mimico was to get rid of this shortcoming, without even being aware of it; otherwise he would have been deprived of his emotivity. Everybody had his own way of coping with problems. There were things that had to be experienced in those days. He, like everybody else, was going to experience a relationship he would never forget. Among all our relationships, a particular one is always the mark by which we determine and compare all others. Such was this relationship. His loss of emotive power came later, long after that evening . . . as a matter of fact, years later . . . when the day came and he became mute. Alas for Mimico . . . ” she said. That was an apposite interjection! Now that I am able to view the whole thing cooly, in the reflection of those words and exchanges, looking from a different perspective, I believe I can better understand what Juliet had been trying to communicate to me. She had missed Mimico, she must have been concealing him in her hidden depths, very far from other people; somewhere well protected, so much so that even Mimico might have difficulty in guessing that she had. “He had praised Berti, to the point of confusing him by saying: ‘She is a faithful and reliable friend and I should be extremely happy to be able to marry her and share my life with her,’” she added. A wry smile appeared on her face. There seemed to be things in her memory that she hadn’t disclosed; things whose origin were in a different dimension; things that returned to her from her past, and no sooner had they been touched upon, before they were dislodged, fully revealing themselves; things that one could not define exactly. The real meaning lay concealed in those indefinable things, those hidden places, who can tell . . . “It would take some time before I could understand his intention as I got to know him better; actually he wreaked vengeance on Berti for his betrayal and abandonment; stealthily he confused and humiliated him in front of someone he cherished. It was as though he knew beforehand that this would destroy Berti. The concealment of this fact must have served him well. He had expressed his admiration in a subdued tone. With a subtlety that those who had accused him of retardation would hardly understand. This was one of his artful treacheries that might be noticed only by those who knew him well. Everybody has the right to defend himself. Under the circumstances, I dare say that he was justified in his actions. I’m sure you’d be of the same opinion,” she said afterward as though waiting for my reaction. For some reason or other I had preferred not to give any answer. I don’t know why but her argument of self-defense had perturbed me. There are certain moments when you hesitated to let certain people into the restricted areas you are particularly sensitive about. When one takes steps toward certain individuals, one should earn the right to do so. This might have been the reason why I opted for silence and acted as if I had had reservations about what I had been told. With reference to whether she had or tried to have frequent contact with him afterward, I did not inquire, merely for the sake of covering up this uneasiness and to avoid creating a new tension through this restlessness. “We saw him one day at Şişli with a woman on his arm,” she said. It was not for nothing that certain allusions had been made and clues were given
en passant
. I had before me now a story that would likely lead me to brand new problems and create in me brand new visions. “He had married. He introduced us to his wife. She was heavily made up. We were both confused and felt out of sorts. He appeared to be happy as a lark. He made jokes. He said he was proud of his wife, of having married her and tried to prove that he was an ordinary person. They invited us to their house. We accepted the invitation and had dinner together after a few days. Mimico was in seventh heaven. The very fact of our acceptance of the invitation seemed to suggest to him that we approved of him in his new identity as a married man. He was resolute in acting as the perfect host. Lena wore a sleeveless, low-cut dress, a long emerald one. She used a cigarette-holder and interspersed her conversation with French expressions like
chez nous la vie commence après minuit
. Let me add the following remark which you may be curious about. She let Mimico light her cigarette without a second thought; she had a mink shawl around her shoulders which she took off later on. She had a beautiful body which she had wanted to exhibit. He was trying to give weight to what his wife was saying, without giving it a seal of approval, although somewhat covertly with a trembling voice. Mimico was all smiles. Lena and I had gone to the kitchen when he confessed to Berti in a subdued voice that he was ‘apprehensive, very apprehensive.’ The room had at that moment appeared too large for Berti; Mimico thought that even in a very small world, getting lost in the balance of probabilities was not contrary to reasonable expectation. He wanted to embrace his friend, but couldn’t. The time that passed between them prevented him crossing that line, despite the fact that they had never been closer to each other. What the years had failed to achieve, was realized through a few words, though without success. Lena had approached me in the kitchen, and touching, first my waist and then my hips with both hands, had said that I had a beautiful shape but should try to dress more elegantly, like a woman. I had felt a strange sensation that I’d never experienced before; I felt hot on my breasts first and then on my face. I remember having touched my forehead with my hand. That was strange. I had felt like a small, inexperienced girl. For a very brief moment, a quite different feature of mine had been titillated. I had perceived that the woman standing facing me was a terrible woman, that wherever she touched became hot. I told Berti about my impression that very night, without making clear the reason for it. I tried to avoid going to Lena’s house. Within me a different woman had been lingering, I was aware of that. A woman I’d never seen or known before, a woman for whom I’d had no inclination. Myself and Berti had been married three or four years. Why should I not experience a pleasure I had not tasted till then, just a brief encounter? I was conscious of course that this might be an invitation to an impending catastrophe. That is why I did not, could not risk it. Berti has not had an inkling of this, nor shall he ever. What was going on in that other room was more important than my experience. Just a few words, ‘I’m apprehensive, very apprehensive’ . . . Was this a call for help? Possibly. However, according to Berti, no matter where one happened to be in this relationship, there was no doubt that everybody was at a difficult pass. I think he felt too weak to challenge Lena. Were he to do so, he thought, Mimico’s suffering would likely increase. It might well be the case that his friend whom he loved and highly valued but had failed to endear himself to had made a wrong choice. A very wrong choice at that. Nevertheless, despite all the dissatisfaction that the said choice caused, he was now with a woman, with a true woman, and according to some people with an original woman. It may be that this woman aroused apprehensions in him and made him pay dearly for the privilege; she also contributed to the realization of a dream. This woman, with all her warmth, was alive in him, in his life, in his flesh and bone. Was this not far better than loneliness, than reverting, after such a relationship, back to the old days? Under the circumstances, everything should be left to run its natural course. Sometimes I think if this attitude of Berti’s, which, at first sight, appeared reasonable, might not be an attempt at disguising the fact that he wasn’t in a position to help his friend. Had he once again eluded his friend and left him in the lurch? We’ll never know. I think we’ll never have the heart to take no for an answer. Berti, had, apparently asked Mimico; ‘Is there anything that we can do for you?’ Mimico having replied: ‘Don’t bother!’ This was an important point, of course. Could it be that what he had meant by this remark was that there was no hope of return for him anymore, had he just wanted to tell me the tribulations he had undergone; and that I had better forget what he had told me? I can’t tell. All I know is that this question is to remain without an answer. All that I can recollect about that night was the look in Mimico’s eyes, the expression of apprehension in a boy who had lost his way, along with Lena’s looks, which were inviting. In the course of time everything found its rightful place; just like in every relationship . . . Then . . . then we came together at that aforementioned dinner. Almost a year had passed. I perceived in Lena’s glances at me remoteness and indifference. Could it be that she had forgotten what had happened, or wanted to insinuate that I’d lost my chance? Or was it that I had attached greater importance to certain probabilities than was necessary? I didn’t dwell on it, I thought that harping on about it would be of no use; particularly at that stage . . . Mimico seemed resigned, even jovial. He had either thrown in the towel or developed his theatrical manner. Lena had been, as usual, particular about her make-up and appeared classy. She held a cigarette-holder between her lips, as was her habit, and did not fail to intersperse her conversation with French idioms and expressions. She was displaying herself once more as an attractive woman with full lips, meaningful glances, and breasts still pointed. She was warm and did not spare the guests her cheerful and radiant smile. She must’ve preferred to add charm to her attraction that night and introduced a new trait to her display. She may have insinuated that I had committed a grave error for having refrained from the risk of paying her that visit. Nevertheless, whatever may have been expressed or desired to be disguised, everything was in keeping with the party: everybody had come duly prepared and spruced up. Jenny was partial to Mimico. Although she was younger than him, she behaved toward him as an elder sister, even though they weren’t in frequent contact. Did I tell you that they were cousins? Leaving aside this fact, they were good friends. I had that impression whenever I saw them together. Jenny was indeed a sympathetic elder sister. He had invited her to his engagement party for this reason, I think. They spoke less frequently because of Lena. I believe he tried to alleviate the qualms that lay deep within him. Everybody tried to give Mimico something sooner or later; they felt obliged to do so. Everybody was conscious of the mistake they had committed toward each other. The jokes cracked that evening were meaningful. They spoke of the good old days and glasses were raised in response to toasts proposed for the future. Everybody was hopeful that night; everybody had something to expect from life. But Lena—it must be said under the effect of the alcohol she had consumed—tried to remove herself from her surroundings, despite her endeavor to show in vain she was still present. She had drunk a lot and was still continuing to drink. However, although the effect of alcohol was apparent in her gestures, she didn’t talk gibberish. Yet, there was something the matter with her. That was plain to see. You know, under such circumstances it is often difficult to take the necessary steps. You grow apprehensive. To begin with, you cannot trust your own self; you are apprehensive about the steps to take and the consequences of those steps; you are perplexed and undecided about what to say and what not to say; you feel out of sorts because you cannot communicate to your addressee what you intend to give him. Years will go by and you will realize that this was pure egoism, a kind of self-protection, which boils down to the same thing. You will again realize that there is no other way but to try to go on living with your regrets . . .