future. Years later, when Leon and Anna got there, he was still working on the book and by then had become an institution in the foreign community, the man who knew where to get residence permits, secondhand appliances, Turkish lessons. He and Anna shared a passion for the city, out-of-the-way fish restaurants, the best carpet seller in the Bazaar, and he became an ersatz father to her, as cranky as her own, full of convictions that everyone else had abandoned.
When the house in Fener was seized for the wealth tax-the owner, a Greek, sent to a work camp-he was rescued by a former student, a rich Turk who set him up in a building he owned in Nisantasi. “The only Marxist in the neighborhood,” Georg claimed. But the move suited him. He could now shock the bourgeoisie just by being among them, something he couldn’t afford before, and Yildiz Park was nearby for his dog.
“You don’t mind we take a walk? She’s been in all day.”
“I thought you wanted to play chess.”
Georg waved his hand. “With you? No surprises. Move the knights out first. Keep the pawns back.” He was snapping on the leash, locking the door. “Are you all right? You don’t look-”
“Just tired.”
“At your age. Wait till you see how it feels later.” He sighed, the air seeming to wheeze out of his plump cheeks.
“How’s the book?”
“Mendel wants to use the new chapter on
Georg shrugged. “The last years. At Wolfenbuttel. Not so happy for him, but very productive. Several chapters at least. A pauper’s grave, you know, in the end. Me too, by the time I’m finished. What about your friend?” he said, tacking. “Where are they going to bury him?”
“Who? Tommy? You heard about that?”
“Everybody’s heard about it. Like a Western. Karl May. Shoot-outs in Istanbul,” he said, shaking his head.
“I don’t know. That’s up to his wife. I knew him, I wouldn’t say he was a friend.”
“No? Just drinks at the Park.” He caught Leon’s reaction. “You hear things.”
Leon looked at him, waiting, but Georg moved away from it. “You’ve seen Anna?”
“Yes, the same.”
They were passing through the gates into the park, the wooded hills dotted with pavilions, the sultan’s old compound.
“I wonder what she sees.” Georg gestured to the trees. “A shame to miss these. But of course the mind-Abdul Hamid thought people listened in the trees. Everywhere. So it was very quiet here. Whispers. And that made him worse. Why are they whispering? The mind. You know he thought every week he would be killed. Every Friday, in the great
“How did you hear about the drink at the Park?”
“Someone mentioned it. I don’t even remember who. It’s a great place for rumors here.”
“A farewell drink,” Leon said, answering what hadn’t been asked. “He was going back to the States. They say it was a robbery.”
“And no money taken. So now everyone has an idea.”
“Like what?”
“You know, maybe a coincidence, but there’s a man missing. So one theory, he was meeting your friend Tommy but shot him instead and ran away.”
“Why?”
Georg shrugged. “A hundred reasons, who knows? An unreliable type, apparently.”
“Unreliable,” Leon said, marking time. “Who’s missing him?”
“Russian friends,” Georg said, looking at him. “He took something valuable, so they want to find him.” He paused. “It would be worth a lot to them.”
“Money, you mean?”
“Money, yes, certainly. Favors. Whatever is required.”
“How much?” Leon said, going along.
“That would depend. A tip, some information, they would be grateful. But if someone knew where he was, could find him, that would be worth-I don’t know a price. A good sum. And of course it would mean finding the man who shot your friend. So it’s good that way too.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“So suspicious you are. Not just you. They want people to know how valuable this help would be.”
“Like a reward. More Karl May. Why don’t they just put up posters?”
“A joke. You don’t think it’s serious.”
“I don’t know, is it? They’re your friends.” He paused. “I didn’t know you were still in touch with the comrades. Anna said you’d left the Party.”
“Old ties, only. It’s a serious matter. They have to use every channel.”
“And not the police.”
Georg looked away, watching the dog.
“What, Georg?” Leon said, then pointed to the trees. “Nobody’s listening. Or is that why we came here? So we could talk. They asked you to approach me? Why?”
“You were a-business associate.”
“Of Tommy’s? We weren’t in business together.”
“An acquaintance then. Maybe you have an idea why he was shot. Maybe he told you something. A man who’s drinking with him the night before. You understand, they have to ask.”
“And get you to do it. Sorry. He never said a thing. Why do the comrades think he was shot?”
“That’s something they’d like to ask their friend.”
“And they’re willing to cough up a reward to do it? Maybe they should just write him off.”
“That’s not possible.”
“What did he take? Stalin’s phone number?” He moved his head toward the main pavilion. “Another one. Like old Abdul. Assassins everywhere. So get rid of them. How many now? Millions? That’s who you want to do business with?”
“It’s a world of excesses.”
“Isn’t it just.”
“He killed your friend. He’s of no use to you. What do you care what happens to him? It’s an old quarrel between them. Not with you.”
“So why not make a little money while they work it out. Georg.” He turned to go. “What makes them think he shot Tommy anyway?”
“We know they were meeting. One’s dead. Now the other one is gone. Why would he be unless-”
“How do you know they were meeting? Another rumor?”
“He’s capable of this,” Georg said, not answering. “A violent man. Unreliable.”
“I’m surprised they want him back.”
“They don’t want him for long.”
Leon looked at him, but Georg simply stared back.
“I’ll keep my ears open,” Leon said, about to leave. “As a favor to you.” He stopped. “I didn’t realize. All these years. Still with the comrades.”
“A messenger only.”
Leon nodded. “Delivered.” He started to go, then turned to face Georg again. “Do you really think I would do this? If I did know? Shop a man?”
“This man? It would be the right thing to do.”
