//Ed. note: Ebüzziya's interrogation about his papers
continues at the Minister's residence in the Kumkapı
neighborhood of Istanbul.//
1934 map of Kumkapı. Istanbul University-Beyazit is the
open white area at the top of the map. Sirkeci train station
and the Central Prison are to the east, off this map.
Having said this, the head policeman
explained that it was he who
ordered these papers to be brought here: “This mistake is my fault. I
told my fellows to go back to your house
this morning to get the papers
we didn’t have time to look at last night. They must have thought I
meant these
papers. In any event, we can enjoy
looking at these
beautiful pictures to give ourselves a break from the
others.” I could
have counterattacked
but to do so would be to give my collocutor more
importance than he
deserved.
Certainly, he had ordered my arrest and
the search of my documents for
some reason he considered important, evidently
to uncover political
secrets.
Fortunately, though, at this juncture a messenger came to
whisper
something in the Minister’s ear. The
Minister then told me that
my son Ziya had arrived and he ordered a break in
the examination so
we could chat, adding that “he ((Ziya)) would be distressed
to come
into this room and see all the documents scattered about. Don’t say
anything to him that would upset
him!”
As we left the room my first intention was
to introduce Ziya to the
Minister.
Rather than as the Minister of Public Security, Nazım Paşa
greeted my
son warmly with the charm and grace that came naturally
to him, saying: “Your
father is like a big brother to me. So
don’t
worry at all about him being a guest here right now.” In response,
Ziya said: “Thank you for your
kind words. But my father ought to
be
with his family and we don’t see any difference between him
being the state’s
guest and a prisoner in jail. When
someone is
deprived of his freedom, a palace and a dungeon are the same to
him.”
I observed my son’s face as he said these
words to the Minister and I
could tell his emotions were running high, as I
sensed his rage and
hatred concerning my situation, which could only be
expected. Yet,
I was pleased to see that
he remained composed and did not expose
his indignation.
In any case, the Minister excused himself
so we could converse,
although the rest of the group made sure to inch closer
to us, hoping
to overhear some secrets.
But we had nothing to hide so we spoke
openly:
Ziya
– how was your night?
Me – I spent it at war with the fleas and
rats of the Central Prison.
And there
were also the anguished cries of a insane person for part
of the time.
Ziya – Wow! You were in jail overnight?
Me – Why are you so surprised? Wasn’t it
you who just told the
Minister that my being a guest and a prisoner were the
same thing?
Ziya – No, that’s not why I’m surprised. I’m amazed that the Minister
would treat me
like a child with this guest fairy tale, after having you
sleep in the
prison. I know you better than
that. After all, I spent
nights with you
in the dungeon when I was three-years-old.
Me – The Minister wasn’t referring to last
night but rather to my current
situation.
He couldn’t bring himself to say that I’d spent last night in jail.
Anyway, have the women of the family heard
about this?
Ziya – Of course! In the morning, five or six
policemen came to search
the house in Makriköy ((Bakırköy)).
Me – perhaps they wanted to do even more
damage to the house than
the earthquake did.
I wish you’d had them remove some of the
earthquake debris from the upper
floor while they were there so they
wouldn’t have wasted the visit. What were they looking for there?
Ziya – The same things they were looking
for at Aya Stefanos.
Me – Did they find what they were looking
for?
Ziya -
Let me tell you a funny story. I
got the key to your clothes
closet from my mother and took it to them at Aya
Stefanos. We opened
the closet and there
were Kemal Bey’s letters that you had wrapped in a
white cloth and put in the
closet after we moved them from the other
house because of the earthquake
damage. A Jewish policeman (1)
who was
looking through your clothes was overjoyed to find these
letters, thinking that
they must be quite important and filled with
mischief to have been tucked away
in the closet like this.
( (1) How
strange is it that wherever I am a Jew appears!
Me – As far as I’m concerned, those
letters will disappoint them because
Kemal’s letters were examined 14 years ago
and returned to me then. In
fact, the
Minister who is now charged with my arrest and interrogation
was questioned
about them at that time. (1)
As we were engaged in this conversation, a
waiter brought a tray of tea
and the Minister returned to the room. There was still no mention of the
reason for
my arrest and, in fact, they cautioned Ziya not to bring it up.
Ziya, however, found this recommendation
quite strange and said to the
Minister:
If you want to keep my father’s arrest a
secret I suggest that you chastise
your officials in this regard. Because since they conducted themselves
with
such pomp and circumstance, there was no one in Aya Stefanos this
morning who
hadn’t heard about it. In fact, on the
train coming here
today Mr. Marnich, the interpreter at the English embassy,
the lawyer
Mr. Pederelli and maritime official Mr. Dupaliyari asked me about my
father being taken aboard the freight train last night, together with sacks
of
documents. They even knew that my father
had a chair brought from
the station coffeehouse for himself to sit on on the
freight train.
related to our correspondence until his ((probably Namık Kemal, who
died in 1888)) death. In any event, Minister of Public Security
Nazım Paşa
deemed them irrelevant to my situation and had them sent to the
Ministry.
After that, though, they
disappeared, to the dismay of everyone including
Nazım Paşa.
at those charged with arresting me. They,
however, countered that they
were performing their duty carefully and that they
would be sure to avoid
having the matter become gossip among the populace. At that moment, I
interjected that “for five
or six policemen to come to the small hamlet of
Aya Stefanos on the evening’s
last train, together with a resident of the
hamlet, and then even cautioning
his son not to walk ahead, before
searching the man’s home for four or five
hours and having the man’s
servant carry two sacks of documents back to the
train station is the
opposite of a cautious approach to the matter. And then, to essentially
commandeer a freight
train by showing their police passes is not the way
to prevent gossip from
spreading.”
“This is the part I find most odd: if it
is necessary to keep this matter
concerning me close to the vest, that means
that you agree that my
arrest has been executed outside of judicial and legal
treatments and
that you are more concerned with avoiding publicity than the
actual
matter. But the matter has indeed
be exposed and since I am not an
enemy of the state and have been treated
unfairly I’m am not dismayed
by this, but, rather, quite proud. This praiseworthy affair ought to be
broadcast rather than hidden. Yet, you
want my son to answer
questions about where his father is and why he was
arrested by saying
‘he’s gone on holiday for a few days.’”
The head policeman took offense at my
words and, consequently,
spoke harshly toward me in accusatory tones,
prolonging the
discussion and seemingly wanting to “take it outside” because he
was
so worked up. But the level-headed
Minister took the opportunity to
change the subject. In any event, since evening was approaching
Ziya
began to get ready to leave. Not
knowing how long I would have to
stay, I wanted to give Ziya some money for the
family at home and the
workers at the print shop. So I put my hand into my pocket for my
checkbook but it wasn’t there – yesterday on the train I had turned it
over to
the head policemen. I then asked the
Minister to give me my
checkbook but he was taken aback and quickly said he did
not have it.
Meanwhile, the head policeman remained
silent. So I said to him “last
evening you took my checkbook from me in order
to give it to the
Minister. Didn’t you
give it to him?” Flustered, the head
policeman
claimed to have forgotten and took my checkbook out of his
pocket.
Being a stickler for police
protocol, the head policeman offered the
checkbook to the Minister, but Nazım
Paşa was incensed by this
development and angrily ordered the head policeman to
give the
checkbook to me. I then wrote
two checks for Ziya to take with
him as he departed.
//END of PART TWO, section seven//
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