Music by My Bedside. Kürsat Basar

      Thankfully, he kept talking and no one expected me to say anything. Otherwise, I would have surely talked nonsense. Just like everyone else around me, my eyes were fixed on him.

      His hair had begun receding on the sides of his head and had turned slightly grayer since I had last seen him. He seemed older than he was in his black swallow-tailed coat and white shirt.

      Turgut had watched everything from a distance before joining us and facing a bombardment of questions

      “It seems our young diplomat has won the heart of our little one. How do you like being here after living in the States? What are you going to do? Where are you going to live? Maide, we’ll meet them often from now on, won’t we? We’re expecting you for dinner next week. No excuses!”

      Surprised at Fuat’s informal friendliness, Turgut tried his best to answer every question, but no one seemed to pay attention to him.

      When Fuat spoke with endless ardor and enthusiasm, no one usually knew what to say or do.

      He talked with such ease that even I would have thought he knew me intimately since my childhood, and that he was a close family friend.

      All I wanted was to leave that room as soon as possible, go away and cherish the secret moment I had experienced a few minutes ago before it was spoiled.

      I wish it were possible!

      Fortunately, a few minutes later the Prime Minister, surrounded by a group of people, entered the ballroom, and the whole crowd stirred to make room for him, giving him all their attention. Our small group scattered when Fuat asked permission to go in that direction.

      Later, he told me, “I came back and looked for you to introduce you to the Prime Minister but you had disappeared.”

      “What could I have done,” I replied, “My carriage turned into a pumpkin.”

      Yes, that was him. The man whom all the women loved!

      He had danced madly with me. I had let myself go in his arms, and as I whirled around the room with him—or when my world had whirled around—I had forgotten everything: who I was, where I was, and what was going on.

      Years after our first encounter, when I entered that ballroom with the vague feeling that I would meet someone I hadn’t known before, someone had touched my shoulder, and the world had begun to spin in a totally different way.

      That was how it all began.

      Who could have imagined that an innocent childhood dream would take me to the present day?

      To the present day, I said. To the present day, but after going through so much . . .

      Our days in the capital began like this.

      Like a dream.

      Of course, not much time was required for me to get used to our new life.

      In the beginning, we couldn’t decide what to do. Finding a house we liked didn’t look easy. After searching around for a couple of days, we decided the best thing to do was to settle in a hotel first.

      Looking for a house in the dead of winter and lodging at my mother’s or my mother-in-law’s home didn’t suit me.

      Turgut thought that we would not be staying in Ankara for long. He said I would spend most of my time with my mother anyway and that it was not reasonable to establish a home now that we would leave again soon.

      In fact, he preferred to be away. He was not happy that we had returned. Yet, on the other hand, this was the right place to be closer to the ones “at the top” and to build up strong connections with influential people.

      We stayed at the most famous hotel in Ankara. State officials met there to talk about important matters. In truth, the future of the country was taking shape at this hotel. It was also where I attended the balls that made me feel like a princess.

      At lunchtime, the men came to the hotel, and we all ate together at a big table, drank our coffee, and chatted for an hour or two.

      Fuat liked those crowded tables. He enjoyed seeing everyone at the same time, teasing the younger people, paying compliments to the ladies, and asking the waiters about the special dishes prepared for him every day.

      I was his latest favorite.

      He used to turn to me unexpectedly and say, “Tell me young lady, did you read all the newspapers from top to bottom today?”

      When a new book or film was mentioned, he was always interested in my opinion.

      I was fortunate that everyone still regarded me as a child. I said exactly what I thought. I criticized the government, and found fault in many things but it was always met with a smile and passed over easily, just as the opinions of small children are accepted in a somewhat mocking manner.

      The men were formal with each other, but the wives were able to voice their thoughts more easily.

      Who knows, maybe this “tactlessness” of mine, as Turgut defined it, was seen as spoiled behavior because of having lived in America.

      Only Fuat used to kid me about what I said, insisted on asking questions, and led passionate discussions to refute my arguments.

      I felt that he wasn’t happy about all that was going on in the country and about being in the center of it. Sometimes when he opposed my opinions and almost got cross with me, he would suddenly gaze into the distance, and I would think that he really didn’t believe what he claimed.

      Frankly, I did not want to discuss political matters with him in depth.

      How boring were the luncheons he didn’t attend because of more important matters.

      Every morning when I woke up, I sat in front of the mirror and tried to decide what to wear that day.

      Toward midday, an inexplicable excitement would begin to swell inside me. Sometimes I would take off what I had been wearing and look for something else to put on.

      I didn’t have anything else to do. In the morning I had breakfast downstairs and then visited my mother or met with Ayla. Then I returned to the hotel and read the newspapers and the magazines in the tea room. After that, I went to my room to get dressed for lunch.

      At exactly quarter past twelve Turgut arrived. We went down together for lunch. Every day, as we descended the stairs covered with a red carpet, I would play a game I had made up. At each step, I would tell myself, “He’s going to come” or “He’s not going to come.” As I put my foot on the last step, I would rejoice if it turned out to be a “He’s going to come” step.

      When we entered the dining hall, I would check whether my little game had predicted the truth or not.

      It was actually Fuat who had started the luncheon tradition. In this way, all his colleagues and team members could be together at lunchtime.

      Sometimes when someone complained jokingly, he used to say, “It’s so hard to curry favor with you people. I’m having you eat the best dishes in Ankara and you still complain.”

      He always came alone, although the wives of the others joined us now and then.

      The invitation he had extended to us that night at the ball—when his eyes were fixed on his wife—never took place. It wasn’t even mentioned again. We did not visit them at their home, and his wife Maide never joined us at the hotel. I only came across her occasionally at receptions.

      Maide was a tall woman with long chestnut-colored hair and slightly slanted eyes. Everyone praised her elegance, her beautiful pronunciation, the way she spoke Turkish softly without the slightest mistake, her stylish outfits, and how graceful she was.

      However, she was distant to everyone, even her husband. No matter how close you get to some people, you still cannot ask them a question out of the blue or tell them an ordinary joke. You don’t even