FROM DOCTOR AFIF BEY’S DIARY
When Doctor Resuhî Bey came from Yakacik to see me, his first words were, “Have you notified Sadan’s fiancé Turan Bey about her condition?”
“No!” I said. The Doctor seemed pleased. “That is very good. Very good indeed! Better not to know anything for now. I hope to God that he will never have to know. However, if he must, he will learn everything. Now Afif, let me tell you something: the two of us, and only us, will know the things that we shall learn while working together. I have some thoughts and plans. You will understand them when the time comes, but until that time hold your tongue and open your eyes. Notify me of every significant change.”
When I described Sadan’s recent symptoms, his old solemnity grew even greater, but he did not say one word. When we saw Sadan, I became even more concerned than I had been before. The poor child was as white as a corpse, chalkily pale. The redness had gone from her lips and even her gums. The bones of her face were prominent. Her faint breathing would have been painful for anyone to see. My old tutor was as still as a statue, his bushy eyebrows almost converging above his nose. Sadan lay on her bed and looked as though she could not find the strength to say a word. A deep and heavy silence hung over us. Presently my tutor gave me a meaningful glance. I understood, and we both left the room. He took me into the opposite room, looked around, closed the door, and said:
“Oh my God! This is terrible, very terrible! We do not have a moment to lose. Little Sadan will die for sheer want of enough blood for her heart. We must give her a transfusion immediately. According to an earlier blood test of Sadan Hanim, we all have the same blood type. Now tell me, will it be yours or mine?”
“Sir, I am both younger and stronger than you. It is unquestionably my responsibility.”
“Then get ready; I will bring my medical bag from downstairs.”
I went downstairs with Resuhî Bey when, just at that moment, Turan burst in the room. When he saw me, he grasped my hand.
“Your letter had me worried; my father is doing better now, so I took the chance,” he said. Then Turan noticed the professor and greeted him in a sincere but military fashion.
“Doctor Resuhî Bey, I believe. Sir, I have no words to tell you how grateful I am.”
When Resuhî Bey saw Sadan’s fiancé enter at such an inconvenient time, his eyes flashed suddenly with anger. But Turan Bey’s heroic appearance, his handsome face full of life, and his eyes shining with the light of innocence and bravery quickly made this anger disappear
and transformed it into a gleam of happiness.
Without ceremony he held out his hand and said:
“You came just in time, Turan Bey. You are the fiancé of Sadan Hanim. She is very, very sick… Nay, my child, do not be so pessimistic! You shall help her now. Be brave!”
Turan, whose face had turned pale at the doctor’s first words, asked:
“Tell me, what can I do? My body and blood belong to Sadan. I would give the last drop of blood in my body for her.”
The old doctor could be humorous in even the gravest situations;
“No, no… I don’t ask so much of your blood as that.” He put his hand on Turan’s shoulder. “You are stronger than Doctor Afif here and myself. My child, let me tell you this, because Sadan is like my daughter! She is very weak. I spoke with Afif before you arrived. We had decided to give her blood to save her from death. From the test we performed we know that both of our blood types are a match for Sadan Hanim, but since Afif is younger and stronger than I am, he was to be the one to give it.” At that moment Turan grasped my hand and shook it firmly. “However, there is no need if you are here. Your blood is stronger than Afif’s. Come! First we must know your blood type.” The old professor quickly tested Turan’s blood. By a great coincidence, the blood types of Turan and Sadan were also the same.
Turan stood outside the door. Resuhî Bey and I went into Sadan’s room; she turned her head slowly to look at us. But that was all. She looked too weak to say a word. Resuhî Bey gave her a narcotic. The poor child swallowed the drug without resistance, but with great difficulty. Presently she was deeply asleep. The doctor called Turan into the room and asked him to take off his jacket. Then, in a gentle and courteous tone he said:
“You may now take one kiss from your fiancée.” And he turned to me quickly and said, walking to the far end of the room:
“Come here Afif, help me get these tools!”
I understood that these last words from the doctor were so that Turan could take a kiss from this sleeping angel.
Doctor Resuhî Bey performed the blood transfusion quickly and skillfully. As the young, strong blood began to course through her veins, Sadan’s face began to change color and appear almost rosy. On the other hand, my brave friend Turan, who had not blanched even as he marched toward enemy lines, was turning pale as his blood continued to be withdrawn; yet his eyes shone with joy and pride. Although I felt angry as I saw what the loss of blood had turned this young man into, I could not understand how this young woman had lost so much blood in so short a time. Meanwhile the professor had his watch in his hand. When the blood transfusion was completed, Resuhî Bey gently adjusted the girl’s pillow. That caused the locket on her neck to move and expose a small wound. Turan did not notice it, as he was tired, but I heard Doctor Resuhî Bey sigh heavily as he does when he is very troubled. My old tutor said nothing about this, but turned to me and said:
“Now give our hero Turan Bey some champagne, and after he rests here for a while, send him home to have a hearty meal, get a good night’s sleep, and warn him not walk around too much. Turan Bey, my friend, we do not need you here any longer. Now you need to rest. When Sadan Hanim wakes up, I shall tell her all about your sacrifice.”
Turan Bey could not argue with these authoritative words, so he shook the doctor’s hands and went out. After seeing Turan off, I returned to the patient’s room. The old doctor was watching her intently, oblivious to his surroundings. The high collar of Sadan’s velvet dress again covered her red wound. Suddenly Resuhî Bey turned to me and asked very softly:
“What do you make of this wound on Sadan’s neck?”
“I have not seen it very well,” I said, and lifted her collar gently to examine it. There were two small punctures just over the vein on her neck. The surrounding area was white and looked as if it had been touched and bruised. At first I thought to myself, Did this girl lose all her blood from these small wounds? But that was not possible.
Resuhî Bey locked his eyes on mine and asked:
“Well?”
“To be honest, I can make nothing of it.”