Istanbul Passage

him a glass with a straw. “Here. You’re supposed to keep drinking.”

He took some water, then watched her as she circled the bed. “You’re all dressed.” A suit with an open-neck blouse, a silver pin on the lapel. Lipstick.

“A seat opened up today. I wasn’t going to take it if you were still-”

“Today?” He tried to prop himself up against the pillow.

She adjusted it for him. “I wouldn’t go without saying good-bye,” she said, then stopped fluffing the pillow and sat next to him, running her hand across his forehead. “Oh god, how do I do this?”

“Don’t. Don’t go.”

“No, stay. There’s still so much to see,” she said, using a guide’s vioice, then stopped. “Except I don’t want to see it anymore. I don’t want to worry about drinking the water. And wonder what people are saying. All that screeching over the loudspeakers. How many times a day do people have to pray anyway?”

“Five,” he said quietly.

“Okay,” she said, nodding. “It’s not any of that. It’s-I woke up. On the bridge. Do you know what that was like for me? Watching you die?”

“Why were you there? What did Melnikov tell you?” Still wanting to know.

“That you asked for me. That you-” She waved her hand. “Oh, what does it matter? He got me there so you’d go through with it, I guess. I didn’t really ask him.” She looked down. “I should have known. You wouldn’t do that-ask for me.” She lifted her head. “And then everything started. The guns. People killed.” She looked at him. “They said none of that was supposed to happen, the guns. It was just a trade. Until you-” She hesitated. “Why did you?”

“It wasn’t a trade,” he said, throat still dry.

“But they said-”

“We knew what they were going to do to him. After they were finished with him.” He stopped, the words still far back, pulling them. “That’s not even-standing outside. Inside. Putting them on hooks.”

“Inside?” she said, trying to follow.

He closed his eyes, too weak to unravel any more. “He trusted me,” he said.

She looked at him, a minute’s delay, as if she were translating. “So you helped him. And they shot you too,” she said finally. “I thought you were dead. Everything just-stopped. Stopped. But you were still breathing. Eyes open. And you said something. I thought, maybe it’s the last time. Do you remember? What you said?”

He shook his head, waiting.

“You said her name. You called her. You were looking right at me, eyes open, and you were calling her.”

“Kay.”

“No, it’s all right. It’s just-when I heard it, I knew. Like somebody shaking me awake. She was the love of your life. Is.” She stopped. “Is. I was-something else.” She bit her lip. “I went to see her. Down the hall. I wanted to see what she looked like.” She nodded, answering an unspoken question. “If she was prettier than me. And then I didn’t go in. Get close enough to tell. I didn’t want to know. What if she isn’t? It’s better if I think she is.”

“Don’t.”

She reached over, stroking his forehead again. “I know. It’s just the way it is. It’s not something you can-” She stopped, moving her hand away. “It’s just, I’d like that too. To have that. So maybe I’ll find him back home. Not so exciting,” she said, twisting her mouth, spreading her hand to take in the city outside. “Maybe somebody who plays golf and takes the train. But still-the love of my life. Like her.”

She leaned over and kissed his forehead. “Anyway, I have to think there is one.” She looked into his eyes, her face soft. “I hope it wasn’t you. That would be so unfair, wouldn’t it? Only a few days. While you were asleep I was thinking about that, how many there were, and then I thought, don’t count. What if it’s two, three, just a few, and it seems like-” She stopped. “So better not.”

He reached up, putting his hand against her cheek, the IV line dangling, as if it were part of a string he was trying to hold.

“And, you know, maybe it’s enough like this. To have a taste. Stop before-” She looked away. “You don’t see it at the beginning. I don’t know why not. How else would it end? What did I think this was. What did you think it was.”

She moved his hand back to the bed and stood up.

“So. Before that. While we still feel-” She moved to the chair, picking up a hat and purse. “You know at least it makes it easier. You like this.” She nodded to the hospital bed. “With all those things in your arm. So you have to stay there. Otherwise. You know what it would be like. You’d get up and hold me and then how could I go?” Her eyes filling now. “Because I’d think it was you. The one.”

She came back to the bed and leaned down, kissing him on the forehead, a good-bye kiss, then his arms went up around her, pulling her closer, and the kiss became something else, a secret, until he felt moisture in the cracks of his lips, smeared with her.

“Listen to me,” she said. “Later, you’ll think different things about me.” She put her fingers to his mouth before he could say anything. “You will. I just want you to remember. This part was true. Will you remember that?”

He said nothing, afraid she would remove the fingers, actually go.

“Your car’s here.” Obstbaum in the doorway, Kay’s head jerking back.

“Coming,” she said, barely getting it out.

Obstbaum lingered at the door so she just squeezed Leon’s hand, a different good-bye. Still caring about how it must look to him. She cocked her head toward the hall, the quiet room at the end. “I hope she comes back. Think how she’d feel. Knowing you waited for her.”

She turned to go, Leon’s hand resting on the bed but in his mind’s eye stretching out and then, seeing Obstbaum, dropping back. By the time she reached the door, Obstbaum had disappeared, but it was too late to reach her now, and his body was sinking into the sheets, the way it had felt on the bridge, when he thought he was dying.

“But would you do something for me?” Kay said, turning, eyes brimming.

He looked up, not having to nod, knowing she could sense it.

“Don’t tell her. About us.”

He waited.

“She wouldn’t like it. But that’s not it. It’s something for me. I want to be the one you can’t talk about. I want that much.”

They took the catheter out that afternoon and gave him broth, his first food. It was important to move, not lie in bed, so he was walked around the room, baby steps, wheeling the IV rack with him, a nurse at his side. Not too much at once, to the door, then back, a rest in the chair. By the end of the day, he could go to the bathroom by himself. Altan came just as it was getting dark.

“Out of bed already? That’s a good sign,” he said, flipping on the overhead light.

Leon looked up from the visitor’s chair, where he’d been staring at the floor.

“A little gloomy, sitting like this in the dark.” Altan pulled up another chair, a bustling motion, settling a briefcase by his side. “And you so lucky. The last man standing-that’s the expression, yes?”

“What are you going to say happened?”

“Say? What did happen.”

“No you won’t. It was a mess. And Jianu’s dead. Nobody got him. So what are you going to say?” His voice still weak, a slight croaking.

“Well, as to that.” Altan crossed his leg and sat back, so that his face went partly in shadow, the phantom moustache flickering back and forth on his lip. “Everybody’s dead. Except you. So it’s your story.” He looked at Leon. “How they killed each other.”

“And Gulun finally gets his medal.”

“No, that wouldn’t be convenient,” he said, drawing out a cigarette and lighting it. “A Turkish officer shooting a Russian? People would be upset. Oh,” he said, noticing Leon’s face, “it’s not allowed?” He looked at the cigarette. “Maybe this once. Something between us.”

“So who shot him?”

“Jianu. They shot each other. Unfortunately, some innocents got in the way.” He nodded at Leon. “Fortunately, they recovered.”