At this, he immediately rose and said: “I must go to Yakacik tonight! There are books and other things which I need; you will stay here and keep your eyes on Sadan!”
“Shall I call a nurse?”
“Are there any better nurses than us? You will keep watch all night; see that she is well fed and that nothing disturbs her. As I have said, you must not sleep at all tonight. Later we will have our time to sleep. I shall be back as soon as possible.”
After saying this he left the room, but came back again a moment later, raised his finger and said:
“Remember, I am leaving Sadan in your charge. If something happens to her, you shall suffer until you die.”
Doctor Afif Bey’s Diary—continued.
8 September.—I sat up all night with Sadan. The opiate she was given lost its effect around evening. She woke up naturally; she had changed almost completely. She was cheerful and energetic. When I told her mother that Resuhî Bey had tasked me with sitting by her daughter’s side all night, the poor woman practically made fun of me, repeating how strong and happy she was. Naturally I avoided telling this sick woman what had occurred earlier. Sadan ate her supper, and I sat in my chair near the bedside. She did not speak, but when my eyes met hers I could sense a deep feeling of gratitude. Some time later she seemed to be sinking off to sleep, but she visibly attempted to resist. This was repeated several times. It was clear that Sadan did not wish to sleep. When I noticed this, I asked:
“You do not want to sleep?”
“No, I am afraid.”
“Afraid to go to sleep? I don’t understand.”
“If you were in my situation, you would have the same fear. Sleep is presage of horror to me!”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, I don’t know, I don’t know! That is what frightens me, not knowing… This weakness always comes to me when I sleep.”
“But Sadan Hanim, I am here tonight; rest assured that nothing will happen to you. Sleep well!”
This poor girl: “I believe you, I do,” she said. Then she took a deep breath and fell asleep. The night passed very calmly. In the morning I left the house and notified both Turan Bey and Doctor Resuhî Bey by telegram, telling them of the excellent result of the blood transfusion and the night’s rest.
9 September.—After work I returned to Sadan Hanim’s house. I was very tired, for I had not had any sleep for two nights and two days. Sadan appeared to me cheerful and rested. We ate a family meal heartily. When I took Sadan to her room, she looked at me and said:
“You have changed so much… Tonight, no sitting up with me. I am very well and if you do not sleep, I shall not sleep either. Look, there is a room next to you; you can sleep on this sofa. The door between our rooms can stay open and if I feel worse, I can ring this bell. That way it will be as if we are in the same room.”
I could not but acquiesce. I was dead tired and without sleep. I could not have sat up if I had tried. After making Sadan promise that she would wake me up for even the smallest of things, I lay down on the sofa and fell asleep immediately.
I started as a hand touched my head. In the national struggle, those bloody and terrible guerilla days, and later in the regular army, it was a habit for us to bolt from sleep while remaining completely calm and lucid. How many times did I have to take up arms with Turan and Özdemir immediately upon waking. However, this time I was not rising in the Usak mountains, the Polatli hills, or the Aydin fog. The strong hands of my dear tutor, Doctor Resuhî Bey, were rousing me in Sadan’s house.
The first words from the professor were:
“How is the patient?”
“Well,” I said.
“Let us go and see.”
We both went into Sadan’s room; the curtains were closed and I opened them slowly. As he looked toward the bed, Doctor Resuhî Bey sighed sharply; I knew very well what this mea
nt. I froze with fear. As I attempted to make out the situation, he moved back with cries of “Oh God!” Every muscle of his face expressed great fear and agony. He raised his hands and pointed to the bed. I could feel my knees trembling.
There on the bed lay poor Sadan, unconscious and even more anemic than the other day!
Even her lips were chalky white; her gums seemed to have receded.
The old professor raised his left foot to stamp the ground in anger, but quickly regained control and opened his bag. He moistened Sadan’s lips with a medicine and rubbed her wrists and forehead. After listening to her heart with great care and anxiety he said:
“It is not too late. She has a pulse, though it is very weak. All my work is undone. We must start again. Today her fiancé Turan Bey is not here; so Afif, my friend, it is up to you!”
As he spoke, Resuhî produced the necessary equipment from the large bag which had everything he needed. Though I felt my face blush, I took off my jacket without a word. The blood transfusion began; time felt as though it were passing more slowly, for two reasons. On one hand, giving blood was making me drowsy; on the other hand, I was worried that Sadan was showing no improvement. Finally, with a joy and relief I cannot describe, I saw her pale skin become rosier. No man can know until he experiences it what it is to feel his own life-blood running through the veins of the woman he loves!