“I don’t accept this!” The sultan stood suddenly. “I don’t accept this, I can’t be blamed for these things. History will show this.”

  “Don’t get excited,” said the doctor. “It’s not good for your blood pressure.”

  “How can I not get excited?” asked the sultan. “What could be more provocative than calling a compassionate man a monster. The Armenians…Not ordinary Armenian citizens, of course, but don’t you know that Armenian terrorists tried to assassinate me?”

  The doctor nodded. The sultan, still on his feet, continued.

  “Three years ago they tried to blow me up with a bomb. As I was returning from Friday prayers, they blew up a carriage full of explosives, twenty-six innocent people were blown to pieces. I survived because I took a moment to speak to the shaykh al-Islam and I was late. Otherwise I would have been blown to pieces. The perpetrators were caught, their leader was a Belgian named Joris. You know about all this, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now tell me what monarch wouldn’t have these monsters executed? Think of all civilized nations. In which of them would this crime go unpunished? None of them, of course. They would have tortured those assassins to death, but what did I do, doctor, what did I do? I let them all go, I sent them abroad. I even gave them money.”

  The sultan offered the doctor another cigarette, but he didn’t take it. Then he lit his own cigarette, inhaled deeply twice, blew the smoke out of his famous nose and said, “When Armenian terrorists armed with guns and bombs took over the Ottoman Bank, killing innocent people and threatening to blow up the bank and start a revolution, what did I do? Do you remember, doctor, did you read about it in the newspapers? I allowed these violent terrorists to calmly board a yacht and leave the country. Look it up, it happened exactly as I said it did. Does all this forgiveness make me a murderer and a monster, or a compassionate ruler?”

  The doctor began to feel overwhelmed by what the man was saying. He realized he could not argue with a man who had spent his life debating politics with the entire world; he was almost at the point that he had to admit the sultan was right because these were historical facts that could not be refuted. Indeed this sultan was compassionate in comparison to his ancestors, one of whom had nineteen of his brothers strangled when he came to power, and it was true that he had pardoned the terrorists. Indeed sometimes he paid salaries to the intellectuals he had exiled.

  The doctor left the mansion in a state of confusion. This was the man’s greatest skill as an emperor; he confused people. This man, who was known to the world and to the opposition in the empire as a butcher of Armenians and was depicted in foreign newspapers as a symbol of death, had turned everything around by saying he had spared even those who had attempted to take his life. The best way for the doctor to alleviate his confusion would be to discuss all of this with his friends in the evening. Perhaps they could help him make sense of it. In any event, they were waiting excitedly to hear everything he had to tell them. It wasn’t just them, all of Thessaloniki was bursting with curiosity. He thought about Melahat the whole way home. She must have heard that the tyrant had been overthrown, there must have been as much joy and surprise at this development in Cyprus as there was in Thessaloniki. Not just in Cyprus but all of the Turks, Greeks, Jews, Armenians, Kurds, Serbs, Montenegrins, Bulgarians, Roma, Arabs, Georgians, Crimeans, Wallachians, Pomaks, Albanians, Bosnians, and Levantines of the empire were experiencing the same thing. Yet it was going to take time to get used to a world without Abdülhamid. Most people couldn’t remember a time when they didn’t feel his cruel breath on the backs of their necks, even though they never saw him and he kept himself hidden behind the high walls of his palace. They were going to continue whispering for some time. Because, after all, what if the man was able to seize power again? This wasn’t a possibility to be discounted. What the doctor wondered about most was whether the new government would pardon those whom Abdülhamid had exiled. Presumably they would, in fact they surely would. This meant that Melahat, for whom the doctor pined day and night, would return to Istanbul soon. The doctor had been madly in love since the first time he saw her on that evening that smelled of lilac and the sea. When he learned that Melahat, who lived in the same neighborhood, was not indifferent to him he began walking on air. Unfortunately her father, Saadettin Bey, who was a high official in the police department, ran afoul of the palace and was abruptly sent to Cyprus, where Namık Kemal Bey was already living in exile. If only the great poet Namık Kemal, whose beautiful nationalist poems challenged the despot and introduced the word “freedom” to the youth of the nation, had lived to see this day. For years, Namık Kemal’s poems of freedom had represented resistance in the hearts of the youth, and in the end it was the poet and not the cruel sultan who had emerged victorious. Indeed it was said that a certain courageous officer had taken the surname Kemal out of admiration for the poet.

  The doctor laughed happily and lit a cigarette, then remembered that Namık Kemal and Abdülhamid had once been friends. In the beginning, at least, they’d spoken well of each other. The sultan had invited the poet to join the committee that drafted the first constitution, and had also assigned him to a number of other duties. It was interesting that while reformist poets like Namık Kemal and Tevfik Fikret initially supported the sultan, he was at first severely criticized by the conservative poet Mehmet Akif, who called him the Crimson Unbeliever.

  The doctor drew deeply from his cigarette and thought, We’re all full of contradictions. Myself included. But the strangest was the old man he’d just met.

  Curious young officers—What kind of man is the Crimson Unbeliever—Armenians circumcised after death

  THAT EVENING AS THE officers sipped their drinks and ate fresh, crispy red mullet at the Olympos, which seemed brighter and more attractive than usual, the doctor tried to answer his friends’ many questions. How did you go there, what did you say, what did he say, did you examine him, how did he greet you, is he miserable or is he still proud, did you touch him? The questions came at him so fast and steadily that he had to speak quickly in order to tell them everything.

  “A weary, miserable old man in an old sweater came into the hall. Anyone who had seen him on the throne during one of the celebrations at the palace, where hundreds of government officials didn’t dare to approach or speak to him, or indeed even look directly at him, and where the highest-ranking viziers would bow down to kiss a cord that extended from the throne and then back away slowly, wouldn’t believe it was the same man. A man of medium height, hunchbacked, as you know, and that famous face we’ve all seen in our nightmares…But somehow his nose didn’t seem as big as I’d thought it would be. Yes, bigger than an ordinary nose, but…maybe because it’s so exaggerated in the European caricatures it didn’t seem that big to me.

  “He greeted me politely, shook my hand, and sat me across from him. He immediately took out his cigarette case and offered me a cigarette, but I didn’t take one. Then I told him who I was, and that I had been assigned as his doctor. I told him I’d received an order from the Ministry of War. ‘If you have no objection, might I see the order,’ he asked timidly. I showed it to him and then said, ‘I have to examine you, where’s your room?’ He brought me to an empty room in the empty mansion. It looked like a room in a boardinghouse; there was a simple bed, and the old sheets and quilts gave it a shabby air. I asked him about his medical complaints.

  “He told me about his indigestion, bronchitis, frequent colds, throat inflammations, constipation, and various joint and muscle pains. There was a cloth wrapped around his neck. When I asked him what it was for, he smiled and said, ‘Doctor Marko Pasha and Doctor Mavroyani Pasha were the doctors who served me longest, but, begging your pardon, I don’t trust doctors much. I’ve seen how many mistakes they make. That’s why I prefer, if possible, to treat myself. When I have throat inflammations I put red-hot metal to my neck.’ Then he took off the cloth and showed me the red burn marks.

  “I asked him to disrobe, he took off his sweater and his underwear and sat on the bed. I listened to his lungs, they were quite congested, and when I touched his cold, clammy skin I had to remind myself that this man had been sultan and caliph. Because I still didn’t believe it. When I told him to cough he coughed, when I told him to take a deep breath he did so, I told him to hold his breath and he did, when I told him to stand up he stood. When I asked about his bowel movements and frequency of urination, he told me…I almost got the giggles, it was unbelievable, was I really touching the caliph? I would never have believed that one day I would have this experience.

  “There were black-and-blue burn marks all over his torso, and when I asked about them he said they were from the hot iron. I thought this was a crazy thing to do but I didn’t say anything. I took his blood pressure, which was a bit high. I asked what medications he took, and he said he seldom took any. He occasionally took sulfates and used spirit or cupping, and of course there was the cauterization. Nothing more. I told him I would bring some medications the following day. I told him I was also responsible for his family and entourage. He told me he had five wives, three daughters, and two sons as well as the servants. I was surprised because I hadn’t heard even the faintest sound. I told him I would have to examine them all. He thanked me, and said he would inform me if he had any medical complaints. Then he got dressed and invited me to join him in the hall.

  “He said that if we’d been in the palace he would have offered me some very good coffee, and apologized for not being able to offer me any. Once again I didn’t take the cigarette he offered me. He seemed to be trying to ingratiate himself. He began telling me how well he’d administered the empire and about how compassionate he was. Can you imagine? The Red Sultan compassionate…It’s laughable. He claimed not to have massacred Armenians. He told me about how he’d pardoned the people who’d tried to assassinate him. I got a bit confused at this point. I couldn’t say he was lying, because I knew it was true.”

  Major Saffet, who was somewhat older than him, said, “Yes, you remember correctly, but these are the man’s tactics. Nothing but intrigue. He does things and acts as if he didn’t. How many thousands of Armenians were slaughtered in Istanbul after that assassination attempt? He pardoned the would-be assassins because he was pressured to do so by the embassies of the great powers, then he secretly provoked, or even secretly ordered, elements of the civilian population to attack the Armenians.”

  The poor waiter hovered around them, trying to listen to what they were saying so he could tell his boss, but he wasn’t the only one. Everyone in the restaurant was looking at them and trying to hear what the doctor was saying. Thessaloniki was a small city, the news had spread quickly, and no one was talking about anything else.

  Major Saffet said, “What happened in the east was even worse.”

  Captain Nihat said, “Yes, major, but didn’t the Armenian terrorists, the Dashnak, stage an armed rebellion and commit massacres?”

  “Yes,” said the major. “There were armed uprisings in Istanbul, they took over the city of Van; there were massacres in Sason, Zeytun, Bayburt, and Erzurum. Thousands of innocent Muslims were killed but the sultan didn’t punish the terrorists who did this, he punished the civilian population.”

  Nihat objected again. “It was the Kurds and not the Turks who put down those rebellions.”

  “Yes,” said the major, “you’re right, but who organized the Kurds, who recruited and armed thousands of Kurds to form the Hamidiye Regiments, who promoted Kurdish feudal lords to the rank of pasha? This is what I want to explain to you. The tactics of a devious man, he sets everyone against each other, then sits back and watches it all with an innocent expression. The Bulgarian church, the Greek church, and the Serbian church have been in conflict for years. Why? Because if they were united they would constitute a threat to the empire. My friends, you’re up against the craftiest man in the world. Don’t believe a word he says.”

  The doctor said, “Don’t you realize that what you’re saying is in favor of the sultan? He set people against each other to put down rebellions and save the empire…”

  A thin young man with wire-frame glasses and a thin mustache approached the table.

  “Excuse me, commanders,” he said. “I was sitting right behind you and I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation. Forgive me.”

  “Fine,” grumbled Saffet.

  “I’m an Armenian from Van,” said the man. “My name is Agop Demircian. With your permission, there’s something I’d like to say.”

  The officers nodded.

  “They circumcised my father!”

  “How could that be?” said Captain Nihat. “Why would they circumcise a Christian citizen? Everyone is free to practice their own religion. I’ve never heard of anything like that.”

  The nationalist officers thought that this was Armenian propaganda and adopted a distant attitude, but Agop said, “Listen to me for a moment commanders, I implore you, not only did they circumcise my father, they did so after he was dead.”

  The officers looked at one another as if they were trying to understand what the man had said.

  “As you were just saying, there have been some major clashes between Armenians and Muslims, thousands of people have lost their lives. My father was among those who were killed in Sason. My mother found him among hundreds of bodies in the square. His pants had been pulled down and my mother could see that he’d been circumcised. She shouted out, ‘This is my husband, Kirkor. Last night he was a Christian but today he’s become a Muslim!’ ”

  The officers must have been interested by what the man had said, because they invited him to sit at the fourth, empty seat at the table. “Tell us more, Agop Efendi,” they said.

  Agop whispered, “It’s all because of the individual you were talking about earlier.” He glanced around in fear as he said this.

  “The sultan? How so, what does this have to do with him?”

  Still whispering, Agop said, “The great powers of Europe sent observers to report on the conflict. They looked at whether or not the victims were circumcised to determine whether they were Muslim or Christian. The number of Armenian victims was always higher than the number of Muslim victims, but the government forces circumcised most of them so they would be recorded as Muslim. After the clashes in Sason, they called in a man named Ilyas who circumcised five hundred Armenian bodies. My poor father, Kirkor Demircian, went to the next world circumcised.”

  Even the officers were surprised by this level of intrigue; they didn’t believe what they’d heard. This sultan was a diabolical politician, indeed he could outwit the devil himself. Somehow the doctor couldn’t see the miserable man he’d examined that day, and who’d offered him a cigarette, in this light, but he’d been in the presence of an emperor who had the whole world wrapped around his finger. He was a monster, a clever, devious, calculating monster.

  “That’s too much,” said Major Saffet. “It’s difficult to believe.”

  Captain Nihat, who’d been having difficulty containing himself, turned angrily to Agop and said, “Look? Are you a terrorist? Dashnak, Hinchak…Do you have anything to do with these organizations?”

  “No, sir,” replied Agop in surprise.

  “Where do you live? Thessaloniki?”

  “No sir,” said Agop in a trembling voice. “My family is in Istanbul. I come to Thessaloniki to buy tobacco, then I sell it in Istanbul. I’m an independent merchant.”

  For a time Nihat continued to stare sternly at Agop, and the atmosphere at the table became tense. Then he said, “Look! Did you take part in the raid on the Ottoman Bank?”

  “Wha—No, commander.”

  “Tell the truth!”

  “I am telling the truth, commander.”

  “Okay, did you take part in the Armenian raid on the Sublime Porte?”

  “Perish the thought. Of course I didn’t, commander. I don’t have anything to do with those organizations.”

  “So you weren’t involved in any of those incidents.”

  “No, commander. I’m an independent merchant who works to feed his family.”

  “But your father took part in the uprising,” said the captain.

  Somewhat taken aback, Agop stuttered, “Y…yes. But I haven’t been back to my native lands in years.”

  Nihat suddenly leaned across the table and seized Agop by the collar. “You’re lying,” he said. “You’re an Armenian terrorist. Everything you said is a lie, it’s slander! So they circumcised them, and five hundred people at that, so what about the blood, how are they going to conceal the blood?”

  His voice was so loud that everyone in the restaurant was looking at them in deep silence; the waiters were frozen in place, there were no sounds of knives and forks and clinking glasses.

  The doctor noticed that Nihat was trembling in rage and that his hand was moving toward his pistol; he stood and removed Nihat’s hand from Agop’s collar. He apologized politely to the young man, who didn’t quite understand what was going on, and invited him to leave the restaurant. Agop was quick to comply with this request, and disappeared as fast as he could.

  When the doctor sat down, Nihat lit a cigarette and smoked in an irritated manner. Major Saffet tried to calm him. Nihat turned to the doctor and asked, “Why did you defend him? It’s clear that he’s lying, that he’s defaming our state and our people.”

  “How do you know?” asked the doctor. “Haven’t terrible things been going on for several years, haven’t thousands of people been killed on both sides? It’s a mess, everyone is at each other’s throats.”