Last Train to Istanbul Read Online Free

there was a lull in the conversation. It was only then that Macit noticed the dark circles under Selva’s eyes. In the evening sun, he realized how pale and haggard she looked. She was still wearing the green raincoat that Macit knew so well—which indicated that she couldn’t afford a new one here in Paris. This was Fazıl Reşat Paşa’s daughter, who had been born with a silver spoon in her mouth! The things one does for love! Macit couldn’t help wonder if Sabiha would have had the courage to act the same way if her parents hadn’t approved of him. Macit wasn’t sure that he wanted to know the answer. Sabiha might not have chosen to endure hardship for the sake of love. Would she have married him had he been of another religion, been Armenian, for instance? No! Not in a million years. No doubt his coming from an old respected Istanbul family, well educated and with a good career, contributed considerably to her choice. But why should he feel disappointed? Hadn’t he made similar choices? Wasn’t Sabiha a beautiful, intelligent, educated girl, well brought up in a respected family, and well adjusted to boot? He remembered the sensible advice Sabiha had given to her sister in those days when Selva was head over heels in love. It had not had much effect, but that was beside the point.
    “Love is like a flame; it burns itself out eventually,” Sabiha had told Selva. “What will you do then? When you finally come to your senses, if you repent and wish to divorce Rafo, it won’t be the same as divorcing someone else. No one will want to marry you after that. I swear you’ll end up an old maid.”
    “Because I’ll be considered the leftover of a Jewish husband—is that it? Don’t you worry, dear sister, I am sure that if the flame burns out, as you say, our friendship will survive. We will be lovers and best friends.”
    “What if, God forbid, something should happen to Rafo? Will you come home as the Jewish Madame Alfandari?”
    “I certainly won’t do that. I won’t return to the house of our father, who has rejected me, simply because I have fallen in love with a man who is not a Muslim. Who knows, by then anyway I may have children of my own, or even grandchildren.”
    When Sabiha realized she was getting nowhere with Selva, she tried talking to their father.
    “Times have changed, Father. These sorts of differences don’t matter anymore. Please don’t do anything you’ll regret later. I beg of you, Father, please be sensible. Look at Sami Paşa’s daughter-in-law—she’s Greek, isn’t she? Then there is Vecdi’s wife, who is German. What about them? Plus, you were educated in Europe. You’re supposed to be more open-minded.”
    “If she marries that man, she will no longer be a daughter of mine. She’ll have to forget she was ever my daughter.”
    “But, Father, how can she possibly forget she is your daughter!”
    Fazıl Paşa looked far away, out the window.
    “You mean ‘was.’ ”
    This dreadful situation had turned the family upside down and lasted not just a few days, weeks, or months, but years. Fazıl Paşa’s unsuccessful attempt at shooting himself hadn’t stopped Selva; she simply waited until he was well again and then went to her lover. Then it was their mother’s turn to cause havoc. She took to her bed, seriously ill, and needed constant care and attention. Fazıl Paşa refused to leave the house. The family was so ashamed; they couldn’t look any of their friends directly in the eye. The incident hadn’t done the family any good, but at least now they knew who their real friends were. Now, even friends they had considered close were gossiping behind their backs, blaming Paşa because he had educated his daughters in Christian schools, as indeed many of them had.
    Sabiha and Selva, like most of their friends’ children, were sent to the American school in Gedik Paşa for their primary education, then to the French school for their secondary education, and finally