Chapter 40: The Road Beyond 1908

Chapter 40: Chapter 40: The Road Beyond 1908

I

Constantinople, Bab-? ?li — 17 October 1910

The sealed tenders for the provincial school supply were opened on a Monday morning, in the long room, before a table of officials and a gallery of anxious merchants.

There were nine regional lots, and forty-one offers, and a clerk with a clear voice who read each figure aloud as Re?id Bey wrote it upon the board.

Ayaan stood at the back of the room with Elias, and he did not pretend to be calm.

"Lot one, the vilayet of Ayd?n," read the clerk. "The lowest offer is that of the stationer Panayot of ?zmir, at five kuru? and nine paras."

A murmur went through the gallery. Ayaan’s own offer for the lot had been six kuru? and a quarter.

"He has beaten us by a half kuru?," whispered Elias.

"He has beaten us fairly." Ayaan watched the figure being chalked upon the board. "His paper comes from the mill at ?zmit by sea, and he pays less for carriage than we could."

Hac? Arif Efendi told me that I should win fewer than I expected. He did not say that it would be so instructive.

The clerk read on.

The House won the second lot, and the third, and lost the fourth to a pair of Sirkeci stationers who had pooled their capital. It won the seventh by a margin of two paras and lost the eighth by one.

When the ninth figure had been chalked, Re?id Bey laid down the chalk and turned to the room.

"The House of Hassan has secured four lots, the Sirkeci partnership three, the stationer Panayot one, and the Beirut firm of Haddad one," he said. "The mean price of the nine lots is six kuru? and four paras, against nine kuru? under the former contract."

Someone in the gallery sighed aloud. Someone else laughed.

"The saving to the Treasury upon the year’s order is a little above eleven hundred liras," said Re?id Bey. "The Minister will be informed this afternoon."

Server Bey, seated at the end of the table, rose with his ringed hand upon his folder.

"I should like it recorded, Efendi, that the carriage has been priced by weight, as the commission directed, and that the saving upon carriage is two hundred liras more than was expected." He said it without relish. "I mention it because the figure is the stationer’s, and I have verified it."

The room was very quiet.

Ayaan inclined his head, and Server Bey sat down, and neither man said anything further.

Afterward, in the corridor, Elias drew a long breath.

"Efendi, he praised you."

"He verified a figure." Ayaan walked toward the stair. "From such a man it will do us more good than praise."

"And we lost five lots."

"We lost five lots to men who offered better prices, and the schools will have better registers for it." He smiled. "It is the only kind of defeat that makes me glad."

Hac? Arif Efendi was waiting at the foot of the stair, with his hat in his hands and an expression of deep satisfaction.

"I told you that you would win fewer than you expected," he said.

"You did, Efendi, and you were right."

"I am generally right, and it is rarely welcome." The old guildsman looked past him toward the long room. "Two of my own Sirkeci men have won lots, and they will say tonight in the coffee-house that it was their own cleverness."

"It was."

"It was partly yours, since you showed them the price that was possible." Hac? Arif put on his hat. "They will not say so, and in ten years they will remember it with gratitude."

Sadullah Bey came heavily down the stair behind them, his gold chain glinting upon his waistcoat, and stopped when he saw Ayaan.

"The printed forms were not tendered," he said, "since they are mine by the memorandum, but I have heard the figures. You were beaten in five lots, Efendi."

"I was."

"And you do not seem troubled by it." The big man shook his head slowly. "I confess that I do not understand you, and I have decided that it does not matter."

II

Constantinople, Emin?nü — 3 November 1910

The school of the House opened in a single room above the warehouse, with eleven pupils, three benches, and a blackboard that ?smail Usta had cast in iron and painted himself.

It was not a grand opening. Halil R?fat stood at the front in his work coat with a roll of drawings under his arm, and the boys sat before him with their hands upon their knees.

Yakup was the eldest, a lean boy of fifteen who had once ruled registers by hand, and the youngest was a child of eleven named Selim, whose father had died upon the quay.

"I shall tell you first what this room is not," said Halil. "It is not a place where you will be paid to sit, and it is not a place where you will be struck for a mistake."

The boys looked at one another.

"It is a place where you will learn to read a drawing, to measure to the hundredth part of a finger, and to say why a machine fails before it fails." He unrolled the first sheet. "A man who can do these things will never lack for work, in the House or out of it."

"Even out of it?" asked Yakup.

"Even out of it. I do not ask that you remain, only that you learn." The engineer’s gruff voice did not change.

Ayaan stood at the back of the room with Zeynep, who had come down from the upper room with Mehmed asleep upon her shoulder.

She watched the boys bend over the drawing, and she did not speak until the first hour was done.

"It was your correction that placed it before the foundry," said Ayaan quietly. "I should not have thought of it."

"You would have, in a year or two." She shifted the child. "I only said it sooner."

When the lesson ended, the boys filed out. Selim paused in the doorway and looked back at the iron blackboard with undisguised wonder, and then he was gone down the stair.

"Do you know what the fund has paid for?" said Zeynep.

"The benches, and the slates, and a month’s food for the boy Selim’s mother." Ayaan had read the account that morning. "Elias will report on it each quarter to the trustees, who are not of my family."

"Baba Mustafa is one."

"He is the chairman, and I have asked him to be severe with me."

"He will not need to be asked." She laid her cheek lightly against the child’s head. "I think that it is the first thing that we have built that will not depend upon us."

III

Constantinople, Emin?nü — 14 November 1910

In the second week of November, five letters came to the House within six days, and Zeynep laid them in a row upon the back table on the Monday evening.

She had opened each one herself, and she had read each twice. Now she stood with her arms folded and studied them with a frown.

"Five doors," she said. "None of them was open in July."

Ayaan sat down and drew the first letter toward him.

"The Ottoman Bank," he read. "The director of the Constantinople branch begs to inquire whether Hassan Efendi would care to discuss an account of a size that the House has not previously required."

"They have heard of the Ministry’s contract," said Zeynep. "They have heard of the savings. A bank is always attracted to a debtor who has just succeeded."

"I should not have put it so."

"I should, and I have." She tapped the second letter. "A Berlin firm of precision machine-makers. It wishes to inquire about the licence of the ruling machine."

"The German agent who came to Kas?mpa?a in the spring."

"The same, under a more respectable name." She lifted the third. "A professor of physics at the Darülfünun asks whether the foundry could cast and finish a set of instruments for the University’s laboratory. He offers an honorarium, and he says that he has been told that ?smail Usta is the best brass-finisher in the city."

"That one," said Ayaan, "I should answer tonight."

"Why?"

"Because it asks us to make something good, and asks nothing more." He took up the fourth. "And this?"

"A deputy of the Chamber, from Ayd?n, who writes that he admires your work upon the school supply. He requests an interview upon the subject of an association of Ottoman manufacturers." Zeynep’s voice cooled. "I believe that he wishes you to be seen at a particular table."

"I do not wish to be seen at any table."

"Then you will have to say so politely." She laid down the last letter with a slight pause. "This is the one that I do not understand."

It was a short note, written upon a heavy cream paper with a small gold border. The Second Secretary of the Chief Secretariat of the Palace presented his compliments to Hassan Efendi and requested that he call upon the Secretariat at his convenience, upon a matter of paper.

"Paper," said Ayaan.

"The Palace uses a great deal of it." Zeynep’s voice was careful. "I think that they wish to buy it from you."

"Or they wish to see me."

"Both, I should think."

He sat for some time with the five letters before him, and he saw that they were not five separate things.

Industry, finance, science, politics, and the Court have each put out a hand.

Each wishes to learn whether the House can be used.

"We shall answer them by the principles," he said at last. "The first is that people are the capital."

"Then the physics professor first."

"The second is that every institution shall be built to outlive its builder."

"Then the bank, but upon our terms, and with Agop Kalfayan at the table." Zeynep wrote it. "I shall ask him tomorrow whether he will sit beside us, and whether the Bank’s director is a man who can be trusted with a figure."

"He will say that no bank director can be trusted with a figure, only with a pen."

"Then I shall ask him which pen." She smiled, and then went on. "And the Berlin firm?"

"The Berlin firm we shall not answer until I have learned who is behind it."

"And the deputy?"

"The fifth principle. We serve the state by being competent, and not by being near." He pushed the letter toward her. "Write him a courteous refusal, and say that I shall be glad to offer advice upon the quality of paper at any time that he requires, and nothing more."

"And the Palace?"

Ayaan looked at the small gold border for a long moment.

"The Palace I shall go to," he said, "and I shall go carefully, and I shall bring the schedule of prices in my hand."

IV

Constantinople, üsküdar — 22 November 1910

Cevdet received him in the library at dusk, and he did not rise from behind the long desk.

"You have received five letters," he said. "You have decided upon four of the answers, and you have not decided what to do with the fifth."

"Efendi, I did not mention the letters to anyone."

"You did not need to. I have read them." The scarred man’s tone was dry. "I told you in September that if any person approached the House with a design that I considered dangerous, I should tell you. I did not say that I should always use gentle language."

"Which letter is it?"

"The second." Cevdet laid a thin file upon the desk. "The Berlin firm of precision machine-makers has a partner in the shipping house of a certain Herr Brandt, who is a friend of the military attaché of the German embassy."

Ayaan did not move.

"They do not want your licence," said Cevdet. "They want to know what you are building in the foundry at Kas?mpa?a, and for whom, and whether it may be bought."

"The foundry makes presses, and ruling machines, and the printing apparatus of the Ministry."

"I know what it makes. It is the capacity of the foundry that interests them." Cevdet tapped the file. "A foundry that can turn out precision work of that quality can turn out other things in time of need."

The war. They are already counting the foundries.

"What would you advise?"

"That you answer, and that you answer politely, and that you say nothing." Cevdet leaned back. "A refusal draws attention, and a courteous correspondence draws none."

"And the Palace?"

"The Second Secretary is Rag?p Bey, who is an honest man with a dishonest superior." The scarred man smiled thinly. "You will go to him, because it is the right thing to do. You will bring the schedule of prices, and you will not bring a gift."

"I had not intended to."

"I know, but others have, and a man in the Secretariat is permitted to compare." Cevdet drew a sheet toward him. "I shall give you three names in that building. Two are to be trusted, and one is not."

He wrote them slowly, with a steady hand, and passed the paper across.

Ayaan read it, and committed it to memory, and returned it. The scarred man held the sheet over the lamp until it caught, and then dropped the ashes into the tray.

"Efendi, I have not asked you before," said Ayaan. "Why do you do this?"

Cevdet was silent for some time.

"I told you in September that I have met perhaps three men in my life who asked for power for the sake of something else," he said at last. "I find that I wish to see what the third will do with it."

"I have no power."

"You have a seat upon a commission, a House that the Ministry trusts, and a Palace secretary who writes to you upon cream paper." The scarred man’s gaze held steady. "It is a good deal more than you had in April."

"It is a very small thing, Efendi."

"It is how all great things begin." Cevdet rose, and for the second time in their acquaintance he held out his hand. "Go carefully, Hassan Efendi. And may Allah keep your son."

V

Constantinople, Bab-? ?li — 10 December 1910

The commission presented its report to the Minister on the second Saturday of December, in a bound folder of sixty pages, with the schedule of prices printed in an appendix.

Fahri Pa?a read it standing, at the window of his large room, with his spectacles pushed up onto his white hair.

Re?id Bey, Server Bey, and Ayaan waited in silence.

"The recommendations are four," said the Minister at last. "That tenders be held annually, by region. That prices be published in the gazette of the Ministry. That the carriage of school supplies be priced by weight. That an inspector be appointed for each vilayet, to examine the registers on delivery."

"Yes, Pa?a."

"The second recommendation will annoy a great many people."

"It will, Pa?a, and it will annoy the wrong ones first." Re?id Bey’s voice was level. "A price that is public cannot be raised in a corridor."

"And the fourth will cost money."

"Eleven hundred liras in the first year, against a saving of fourteen hundred in the second." This was Server Bey, and he said it without looking at Ayaan. "I have verified the figures myself."

Fahri Pa?a turned from the window and regarded them one by one, and Ayaan saw that the old man was moved, though he showed it by a gruffness of tone.

"I have been Minister for ten months," he said. "I have been told in that time that the schools of the Empire are a bottomless pit into which money is poured and from which nothing returns. I find that I was told it by men who profited by the pit."

"Pa?a—"

"Do not interrupt me, Re?id Bey, I am about to be generous." The Minister took off his spectacles. "I shall present this report to the Council of Ministers, and I shall say that it was prepared by a commission of five honest men."

"There were four honest men and a merchant, Pa?a," said Server Bey drily.

It was the first thing that Ayaan had ever heard him say in jest, and for a moment nobody in the room spoke.

Then the Minister laughed, and Re?id Bey smiled openly, and Ayaan found that he was smiling also.

"Hassan Efendi," said Fahri Pa?a, "I understand that you have been summoned to the Chief Secretariat."

"Upon a matter of paper, Pa?a."

"Paper." The old man repeated the word, and shook his head. "I shall tell you a thing for nothing. When a Palace asks a stationer to call upon it, the paper is rarely the matter."

"I had thought so, Pa?a."

"Then go with your eyes open, and take no one’s gift." Fahri Pa?a put on his spectacles again. "I shall wish to hear from you what is said."

VI

Constantinople, Y?ld?z Palace, the Chief Secretariat — 20 December 1910

The Chief Secretariat occupied a long, low building within the outer wall of the Palace grounds, and the clerks who passed Ayaan in the corridor did not look at him.

He had been searched at the gate, and led through two courts by a silent guard, and Rag?p Bey received him at once.

He was a thin man of about forty, with ink upon his cuff and a tired, intelligent face, and he rose from a table piled with papers as Ayaan entered.

"Hassan Efendi, I thank you for coming so quickly." He indicated a chair. "I am told that you are a man who prefers figures to compliments, and I shall try to oblige you."

"You are very good, Efendi."

"The Chief Secretariat uses about twelve thousand reams of fine paper in a year." Rag?p Bey opened a ledger. "It has been supplied for a long time by a merchant of Pera, at a price that I have lately begun to doubt."

"May I see the invoices?"

"You may see the totals. The rest I cannot show." The secretary slid the ledger across. "Tell me whether they are reasonable."

Ayaan read the figures slowly, and he saw at once that they were not.

"The price is nearly twice what the Ministry of Public Instruction pays for paper of the same quality, Efendi." He kept his voice even. "I do not say that it is dishonest. I say that it has not been compared."

Rag?p Bey closed his eyes for a moment.

"I thought so," he said. "I have thought so for three years, and I had no one to ask."

"I have brought the schedule of the Ministry’s prices, which is public." Ayaan laid the folder upon the table. "If it assists you to compare, I shall be glad. I do not ask that you buy from me."

The secretary opened the folder, and he read in silence.

The door opened without a knock, and a heavy man in a fine frock coat came in, and stopped.

"Rag?p Bey, I did not know that you had a visitor."

"Tahsin Bey, this is Hassan Efendi, the stationer." Rag?p Bey did not rise. "He has been good enough to examine our paper account."

The heavy man looked at Ayaan with an expression that was not unfriendly, and was not at all innocent.

"I trust that the Efendi understands the customs of the Palace," he said smoothly. "Those who are honoured by its custom are accustomed to show their gratitude."

The third name. Cevdet said that one was not to be trusted.

"I understand that the Palace is honoured by those who serve it faithfully, Efendi," said Ayaan quietly. "I shall serve it with paper of good quality and a fair price, and I should be ashamed to offer anything more."

The silence in the room was very short.

Tahsin Bey smiled, and bowed slightly, and went out.

"That was well said," said Rag?p Bey softly, when the door had closed. "It will cost you something, and I think that you know it."

"I know it, Efendi."

"I shall prepare a trial order of two thousand reams at the price in your schedule." The secretary rose. "I shall write it with my own hand, and I shall keep a copy."

"I am obliged."

"There is something else." Rag?p Bey lowered his voice. "A person above this room has asked, more than once, who the stationer is who is known to the Minister of Public Instruction. I do not know why, and I did not like to ask."

Ayaan was silent.

"I mention it only that you may be careful," said the secretary. "Allah keep you, Hassan Efendi."

"And you, Efendi."

He walked out through the two courts, and past the silent guard, and through the gate into the cold afternoon.

Someone has begun to read my name, and I do not know their hand.

VII

Constantinople, Emin?nü — 31 December 1910

On the last evening of the year, the House closed its ledgers at six, and the lamps were lit in the upper room, and Mehmed was put to sleep in the cradle that his grandfather had made.

Zeynep sat at the table with the cedar box open before her, and Ayaan sat across from her with the notebook.

Neither of them had spoken for some time.

"Read it to me," she said. "The beginning."

He took out the first sheet, and he read it aloud.

The House is not a shop, but a foundation for the persons who work in it, and for their children, and for the state that protects them.

"It is a good beginning," said Zeynep, "and we have kept it for four months."

"Four months, and a year of work before that." He laid the sheet down. "I find that I should like to say what has happened since we began, so that I shall not forget it."

"Say it."

He drew a slow breath.

"In April, the House was a shop with a machine, a foundry partnership, and a clerk who refused a bribe. In December, it is a House with a school, a fund, a commission seat, a supply contract in four regions, and five letters from five great doors."

"That is a great deal."

"It is a great deal for a year. It is very little for a decade." He looked at her. "I wish to remember that it is a beginning, and that the beginning may be mistaken for the whole."

"I do not think that you will forget it."

"No, but I may be tempted." He smiled faintly. "A man who has won a few small battles will begin to believe in the large war."

"I have a wife who reads the foot of the page." He reached across the table and took her hand. "I have a son, a father, a father-in-law, and a foundry master who would die before he cast a gun for a foreign firm."

"And a scarred man who burns paper over a lamp."

"I did not tell you that."

"You did not need to." She turned her hand in his. "You came home on the twenty-second with the smell of smoke on your coat."

He laughed, and then he was silent, and then he said what he had been holding for weeks.

"Zeynep, I am afraid."

"Of what?"

"Of the road." He looked at the cedar box. "I do not mean that I am afraid of the work. I am afraid that it will go faster than we can follow, and that we shall be asked to bear more than we are able."

She did not answer at once.

"Then we shall go slowly where we can," she said, "and quickly where we must, and we shall read every page before we turn it."

"That is the rule that we wrote."

"It is the best rule that I have ever heard." She rose and went to the cradle, and looked down at her son. "Allah has given us a good year, Ayaan. It is not for us to ask whether He will give another, only to be worthy of this one."

"Amin," said Ayaan quietly.

Outside, the bells of Galata rang the hour, and the sound travelled thinly over the water and the roofs of the sleeping quarter.

He took up the pen, and he turned to a clean page in the notebook, and he wrote at the top the date of the new year.

1 January 1911.

Beneath it, after a moment, he wrote a single line.

The next phase begins.