We have the pleasure of meeting Kurt, a character from Kurt Seyt & Shura.
We'll get a chance to talk to the author, Nermin Bezmen, in a bit, but now we have on the stage...Kurt!
Interview
Marie Lavender: Hello, Kurt. Please have a seat.
Character Kurt Seyit Memedovich Eminof: Hello, Marie.
Marie: Great to have you here! We're going to start out with some simple questions, okay?
Kurt: All right.
Marie: So, what is your occupation? Are you any good at it? Do you like it?
Kurt: My
occupation? … this is not an easy question to answer… My occupation kept
changing with the winds of fate just like my life has… Well, I should not blame
fate for all of it though. I think my stubborn character which leads me to
challenge fate and encourages me to make hasty decisions when I am disappointed
or heartbroken with the outcome of my dreams, also have an impact on the
different acts of my life.
I
started my career as a first lieutenant of the Czar Nicholas the 2nd Private Hussars. I believe I was very good at what I was doing. They told me so
and honored me with merits, medals and private gifts from the Czar. I was
raised to be good at it. Not only the years I had in the Military Academy of
St. Petersburg, but also my father’s disciplined before-school teachings had
provided me with the best knowledge and motivation that I could have to become
good not only in the military but in the struggle of any kind of niche of
life. I loved my job. I loved the idea that I was following the footsteps of my
father and grandfather, who were once in the same regiment being 'Guvardias' to
the Czars without losing their ties with their past and being proud of their
Crimean Tatar origins. Being in the elite hussars and representing the best of
my Crimean Tatar genes made me so proud too.
This
time I had a different kind of war I had to deal with in Turkey’s İstanbul, a foreign
country, under the siege of English, with its already accumulated problems,
dire straits and chaos. Now, I had to defend, save and struggle for my own
life, and my beloved darling Shura’s. We are not just lovers any more; we are
also each other’s only escapade from our harsh reality. We are, for each other, our homeland,
families, loved ones that we will never see again. We find solace and peace at
each other’s being for we are one another’s past in this foreign land of foreign
people.
Now,
I found a job in Pera in a laundry-mat as a delivery guy. I also arranged a job
for my Shura as an ironing lady. These were not our dream jobs, as you may
guess, and it feels so strange for both of us. But this was the best I could
find under the circumstances. Do I like this job? No! But this is our life now.
This is the best we can have. It is an honest job. We are together. Shura does
not have to stand on the streets of Pera to sell flowers or clean toilets in restaurants
like many other immigrant White Russian girls who are more to arrive every day.
My
heart goes out for Shura when I watch her at the ironing board as her iron
dances over the enormous brodaire anglais tablecloths, napkins, pillow cases… I
am so sure that memory after memory flashes passes her eyes, each scene framed
by the steam on the white cloth.
As
for myself, I know how strange I may look to those European and Levantine
customers when I deliver packages in my Crimean Tatar kalpak, three-piece suit,
starched shirt and impeccably shiny shoes, speaking either French, German,
Russian and Turkish. I do not mind the delivery job that much, but I cannot
stomach receiving tips. Tips were something only I gave and in bundles. But the
ironic part is that we need every penny… still I cannot accept any money from
anybody like this. My looks, outfit and manners save me from this torture most
of the time for the customers have a hesitation to give any tip at all after
one look at me. It saves me from an embarrassment but does not help our dire
budget at all. I have to think something about it. I have to make our lives
better and I will.
Well,
for the moment, I consider it a new war zone; a new life, new adventure. It may
be very hard, very tough, very disappointing. But so be it. It is my life now.
It is our life. I have to make the best out of it. We have to make the best out of it. We still
have each other, still have our memories and we still have dreams. This is a
whole new voyage. The more I go on, the more we go on, I will keep telling you
about my new occupations, likes and dislikes…. I am so sure that this is not my
final destiny yet…
Marie: Wow! So much happened to you.
Tell us...what is your family like?
Kurt:
I can explain my family with one word...great! Everybody was very loving, caring, warm, very close, connected,
affectionate. Even telling you about them brings warmth to my aching heart
and also tears to my eyes. They seem so close and also so far away, almost like
a hazy dream now. I miss them terribly…
My paternal side comes from the
ruling class of a Crimean Tatar clan with vast lands that provide the best
grapes for the wine making. So, my father being the Mirza of his kin had
responsibilities not only towards his family but to so many others. He was well
educated, well learned, righteous, fair, very loving man with great discipline
and morals; loved and respected very much. He was my first and great teacher,
role model and the man I looked up to. He was open to ideas and challenges but
was very stubborn when it came to a matter where he drew the line. Well, now I
feel like talking about myself too…It must have been the genes…
During
my childhood my father was away most of the time moving alone with the Czar’s
Hussars and my mom during his absence was his advocate besides being our
loving, compassionate, sweet mom. I had an older sister and three younger
siblings, one of them being my baby sister whom I simply adored. We
could hardly wait the day my father would come back from his long military
duties. Each time was a feast for all of us.
My
mom and dad were in love. They have been since the first day they had seen each
other. My mom rode horses alongside my father, played the piano, managed the
whole household with great efficiency and it did not matter how busy or worried
she was, she was always very serene, peaceful. She looked like an angel gliding
on her tiptoes, her long skirt flowing after her.
So,
we were one of the happiest families on earth living in our beautiful home on the
hills of Alushta, surrounded by trees hundreds of years old, evergreens,
flowers overlooking the Black Sea over vineyards… not knowing what tragedies
fate would bring us in the very near future…
Marie: I see. Let's try something else.
What did your
childhood home look like?
Kurt: My main family home was a large, two story stone
house with many rooms, guest quarters, a den with a great library, stables, on
a hilltop of Alushta, at the end of Sadovi Ulitsa (Sadovi Street). There was a
huge garden behind the iron gate. After a tree-lined path you would end up in a
wide clearing; rose bushes flowered in the center of the pebble paving. Pink
aloe vera blossoms flourished
in carved marble planters flanking the broad marble staircase. Ivy and
honeysuckle rose to the upper stories. A tall wooden front door was decorated
with stained crystal panes in geometric shapes. In the gloaming of the spring
day, the house and garden offered a calm respite. In the heat of summer, it was
like an oasis under the shades of trees and winter and autumn provided other
kinds of serenity. But whatever the season was, there was always a warm welcome
in the air. At the rear of the house you could see the trees much higher that
signaled the start of the forest.
I
never forgot that lovely smell of my Alushta; a sedative mixture of the salty
water scent from the Black Sea and the fragrance that the soft wind carries
from the vineyards… nothing like it… it smelled like home… and I found it nowhere
else in my whole life…
And
then there were other houses; the farm house in the vineyard, the one in
Tsarskoye Selo, my father took me for the first time when I was about to enter
the Military Academy, another one I rented in St. Petersburg when I grew up.
They were all beautiful, lovely but none was like the one in Alushta.
Marie: It sounds like a dream!
Do you have any
hobbies, Kurt? What do you enjoy doing?
Kurt: I
love horseback riding, fencing, swimming, dancing, gardening, music; both classic
and folkloric, reading, cooking.
Marie: Nice! I have to agree with most of those. Horses are beautiful creatures. And it's certainly refreshing to come across a man who can cook. ;)
Now, what is your greatest dream, Kurt?
Kurt: My dreams varied all my life. But nothing matters now… I learned at a very early age that just dreaming does not take you anywhere. You have to work hard for it. You have to struggle and be persuasive. But sometimes that is not enough either. There are so many other aspects to achieve your goal besides your wish, desire, strength and determination. Sometimes your fate is simply connected to someone you love, or you made a promise and this can create a great chaos on the path to your dreams. It may mean letting the loved one go free or forgetting about your dream completely.
Marie: (Nods.) I can see where you're coming from.
Let's try a different question.
What kind of person do you wish you could be? What is stopping you?
Kurt: I am the person I want to be, no
matter what the circumstances are. My choices, decisions may sound and look
stubborn, hasty, unreasonable, out of logic to some, but on the contrary I am a
very self-disciplined, self-respecting person who is sure of himself and his
choices.
I am always loyal to my means, to my
stubborn but my very own choices. I like challenging the fates. If life is about
to bring me some sour or bitter time and I feel and sense it, I take action
before it does and cut to the chase with my own intention and judgement. The
result may be tough, heartbreaking. It may take me down, clip my wings but
does not matter. It can’t capture me, it can’t cage me. I do not complain about
the consequences for they are the fruits of my own choices. So, you see,
nothing stops me… even death itself… you will see…
Marie: Well, I am impressed! ;)
So...if it's not too painful or personal, can you tell us one thing? Who was your first love?
Kurt: My first real love was Alexandra Julianovna Verjenskaya; my Shurochka. That is why my darling granddaughter Nermin and through Nermin you all know her now.Marie: (Sighs.) I love a good love story!
What's the most terrible thing that ever happened to you, Kurt?
Kurt: I
won’t even count now. So much terrible happened to me and to my loved ones… I
do not want to grade them. It would be an insult to the rest of the terrible
things.
Marie: All right. I respect that. I'm so sorry for your losses, though. :(
(Pauses.)
Let's try another question, shall we?
(Nods.)
What was your dream growing up? Did you achieve that dream? If so, in what ways was it not what you expected? If you never achieved that dream, why not?
Kurt: My dreams of childhood and adolescent years were
all interrupted like so many millions due to the war and the revolution. When
you go through such chaotic times with turmoil, bloodshed like war, revolution,
escape, immigration, struggling to make a life from the zero in foreign lands,
trying to resume your identity, keep changing places leaving your loved ones
behind constantly, and meantime trying to keep attached to your past because
there is so much you loved there, the idea of “having a dream” changes. Knowing that all dreams you have been
chasing actually became “dreams” and “nightmares”, you don’t dream much for
the future anymore. Daily struggle keeps you busy and instead of dreaming for the
future, whenever you have a moment, you relive the past, relocating the memories of the times, of places, of the people you terribly yearn for.
And
you concentrate on doing the best to achieve whatever you are doing at the
moment to help you to integrate with your new life. Nevertheless, I still have dreams but I never let my heart and soul become slaves of
them. After taking refuge in İstanbul, for years I did not want to be
connected to any piece of land, any house or any other real estate. Because
I’ve had them all and so many of them and they are all gone. It is a very
superficial indulgence; the material is…
After
traumatic times like these a honorable man is left only with one main
expectation from himself and that is to keep his honor and dignity no matter
what. And I will do exactly that. If one day I may have a chance to immigrate
again, this time to America, I think, I will have with me only what I can take
away with me; my honor and dignity.
Marie: I see.
Well, I want to ask you something else...
Who is your role model, Kurt?
Kurt: My father;
Mirza Mehmet Eminof. He was my mentor and role model. I also resemble him in so
many ways. If it was not the case, maybe one of us would stop being stubborn
and so damn proud and not let our great relation take the tragic shape the way
it did. Who knows? It is too late to talk about it now. But one thing is for sure,
that unfortunate and irreversible incident stamped our lives with great
resentment till the day we died; missing and yearning for each other…
Marie: So, is there someone you pretend to like but really dislike?
Kurt: It becomes very obvious if I like a person or not. There is no hiding on my side.
Marie: (Smiles.) Well, I appreciate your candor.
What is your deepest desire?
Kurt: By
the time it was obvious that there was no going back to my Crimea, Russia, to
reunite with my motherland, with my family was my desire. Now, it is not even a
dream anymore. It is just a very hurting, tormenting past tense.
Marie: Let's try another question.
What is your greatest fear, Kurt?
Kurt: I
do not fear anything but one: not being able to support and safeguard the
ones that I love and those who depend on me.
Marie: I can certainly understand where you're coming from. I think we all worry about those we love, and protecting them is foremost in our minds, though we can't affect everything.
Well, it looks like we're running out of time, Kurt. Thank you for visiting us today.
Kurt:
I thank you, for giving me the chance to come back from my time. I would never
think of making such a voyage. This does not happen very often. You know? It is
ironic but all the sad and tragic times that I talked about…they do not hurt
as much as they did before. Maybe because I am able to share them…as they
say, “Sharing makes happiness be more and grief be less.” Thank you again.
My pleasure! It
was so interesting getting to know you. (Waves at her guest as he heads
off the stage.) Now, let's shift over and get the author's perspective.
We have Nermin Bezmen on the stage today!
Hi, Nermin!
Author Nermin Bezmen: Hello! Glad to be here!
Marie: (Smiles.)
Welcome back to Writing in the Modern Age!
So,
we just got to talk to a male character from your story...Kurt. Quite
an interesting character. Can you tell us a little about him?
Nermin:
Kurt
Seyt Eminof is the first son of a wealthy Crimean nobleman, a dashing first
lieutenant in the Imperial Life Guard of the last Russian Czar Nicholas II.
Injured on the Carpathian front and later sought by the Bolsheviks, he makes a
daring escape across the Black Sea. Too proud to accept payment for the boatful
of arms he hands over to the Nationalists, he faces years of struggle to make a
new life in the Turkish Republic rising from the embers of the dying Ottoman
Empire. All he has is his dignity and love.
Shura
(Alexandra Julianovna Verjenskaya) is an innocent sixteen-year old beauty,
enchanted by Tchaikovsky’s music and Moscow’s glittering lights, who falls in love
with Seyt. A potential victim of the Bolsheviks due to her family’s wealth and
social standing, she is determined to follow her heart and accompanies Seyt on
his perilious flight over the Black Sea.
Their
love is the only solace to their crushing homesickness for a land and family
they will never see again, two lovers among hundreds of thousands of White
Russian émigrés trying to eke out a living in occupied İstanbul.
Marie: Hmm...that's unfortunate situation. :(
What
are your character's greatest strengths?
Nermin: Before revolution: Seyit’s
strength besides his brave character comes from his family, his title, wealth,
education, and his military position. Shura, on the other hand, is protected by
her wealthy, aristocrat family, being pampered as the youngest of her five
siblings.
After revolution they both lose all the physical and emotional touch they had with their families, motherland, wealth, titles and what strength remains is only their love and the desire to survive in a foreign country.
Marie: Survival is definitely a test of character!
So, what are his greatest weaknesses?
Nermin: His pride… Her naiveté.
Marie: I see...
Nermin: Karski, kievski, caviar, çibörek.
Marie: (Chuckles.) I'm not sure what three of those are, but they must be good!
What's a positive quality that your character is unaware he or she has?
Nermin: Both Kurt
Seyit and Shura went through so much tragedy and had to endure so many hard
times that there was not a quality left hidden in them. They had to bring out
and use them all to survive.
Marie: I understand.
So, will readers like or dislike this character, and why?
Nermin: It depends on how deeply they will read the psychology behind every action, every decision. While we are sitting in our cozy, warm rooms, cuddled up on a soft sofa it is very easy to judge the characters in the book. One should just dive into the pages and start following the characters on their pathways and feel not only love but also pain, heartache, bloodshed, atrocity, yearning, struggling that they went through and had to endure.
Marie: Okay.
Well, now that we have a real taste of Kurt, we have a few questions
for you as well as the author.
What first gave you the idea for Kurt Seyt & Shura?
Nermin: Kurt Seyit is no stranger to me. He is my grandfather. I grew up listening to his adventures and for me he was Prince Charming and nobody wrote his story. My grandma kept telling me about him and his life each year with more details while I was growing up. And Shura was the most important character of that narration.
Years later, when I decided to write
about my grandpa and grandma, starting with the second chapter, Shura was in my
life and then I grew such a great admiration and love for this special woman that
I decided this first novel would be of Kurt Seyt and Shura and then the
second one of Kurt Seyt and Murka (my grandmother). I believed these two very
different but great women each deserved a book with their own name on it.
Marie: Awesome! Isn't it interesting how our books evolve? ;)
So, what is your writing style like, Nermin? Are you a pantster or plotter?
Nermin: I don’t draw lines for my writing. If I am writing a true story, a true character, it has its own demands and if I am writing a fiction novel, then it’s different.
I generally start writing in my mind
with a feeling of “love at first sight” for either a character, or a place, or
even a dream. I immediately have the name and the first sentence of the novel
that very moment. If it is going to be based on a true story, then comes the
deep research which is very challenging not just because you keep deciphering a
great puzzle but you also have to know when to stop the research and start
writing. A thorough research can lead the writer to other stories, too.
Marie: I know what you mean...
Well, I'm throwing this one in for our aspiring writers.
Did
you come across any specific challenges in writing Kurt Seyt & Shura, or
getting it published? What would you do differently next time?
Nermin: It was twenty-five years ago that Kurt Seyt & Shura was published in my motherland, Turkey. After taking the book to many publishers and being put in line to be reviewed for a year if not rejected, I was so frustrated. I had already spent four years on very painstaking research, and one more to write it. It was not only years that I put into this novel, it was my heart, soul and many tears. Seeing my disappointment, my dear late husband decided to self-publish it. And on the first week in the book stores it was a best-seller. After that, the rest of the Kurt Seyit saga followed and many more, which made it to the top of the charts.
Now, after twenty-five years, here
we are. This time in the United States, and again meeting with our readers with
a self-published Kurt Seyt & Shura. Funny? Yes, now it sounds funny, but
again I had such heartbreaking times. Kurt Seyt & Shura, having been
translated to eleven other languages and adapted into a T.V. series, and touching
the hearts of millions all over the world, still got rejection from literary
agents. And you know, in America you cannot reach a publisher if you do not
have an agent. So, I decided to go ahead with self-publishing. But my wish
would not have come true in such a short time with this accuracy if my darling
daughter Pamira did not take the burden of preparing, coordinating, launching the
book. She has done wonders and I can’t thank her enough for what she has
achieved. She practically left her own business that is photography, aside and
has been dealing with publishing matters for me. And my darling son Pamir
Cazım, who has done the cover designs for most of my novels with great perfectionism,
now contributed his masterful skill again. Cover has to give the feeling of the
interior. He made it happen so beautifully. Dear Feyza Howell’s translation was
another exciting process. She is a great translator working on every detail as
if she is going to write the book herself.
Create Space editors also did a great
job. They worked very meticulously. Since this was the first self-publishing
for us here in the United States, we learned a lot during the process. I am
sure next time it will be much easier.
I hope that I will be able to touch
the hearts of the American readers with Kurt Seyt & Shura like I have done
in so many other countries.
Marie: I'm sure you will!
It
was such a pleasure having you on Writing in the Modern Age, Nermin. We
hope you can come back sometime soon!
Nermin: Thank you for giving me a chance to meet literature lovers on your page.
Marie:
Of course! :)
Readers,
here is the blurb for Kurt Seyt & Shura.
An instant bestseller since its début in 1992, Nermin Bezmen’s Kurt Seyt & Shura is a classic of contemporary Turkish literature, a sweeping romantic drama set as the splendour of imperial Russia is obliterated in the wake of the Great War.
Bezmen tells the story of two star-crossed lovers fleeing the wave of devastation wreaked by the Bolshevik Revolution, and does so with great sensitivity: one half of this couple who sought refuge in the capital of the dying Ottoman Empire was her grandfather.
An instant bestseller since its début in 1992, Nermin Bezmen’s Kurt Seyt & Shura is a classic of contemporary Turkish literature, a sweeping romantic drama set as the splendour of imperial Russia is obliterated in the wake of the Great War.
Bezmen tells the story of two star-crossed lovers fleeing the wave of devastation wreaked by the Bolshevik Revolution, and does so with great sensitivity: one half of this couple who sought refuge in the capital of the dying Ottoman Empire was her grandfather.
Translated into twelve languages, Bezmen’s Kurt Seyt & Shura inspired a sumptuous TV series that continues to enchant millions of viewers across the world. With the publication of this novel in English, fans can finally read the true story of this great love affair that triumphed over so much adversity, yet failed to overcome human fallibility.
In 2012, the prestigious Turkish production company Ay Yapim offered to turn the novel into a television series. The producers pulled together an A Team of cast, crew, and director, who in turn created the acclaimed TV series “Kurt Seyit ve Sura”, with Nermin Bezmen’s guidance as a consultant and Ece Yorenc as script writer. The leading roles were played by the talented (and ahem, may we add also gorgeous) duo Kivanc Tatlitug and Farah Zeynep Abdullah. After its initial viewing in Turkey, the series was distributed in many countries, including the United States, where it is currently shown on Netflix. The production reached millions of viewers across the world and stole the hearts of many, creating new excitement and awe around the life story of the two lovers, about 100 years after their first kiss.
The books in the saga include:
- Kurt Seyt & Shura
- Kurt Seyt & Murka
- Mengene Gocmenleri
- Shura Paris Years 1924-1927
Kurt Seyt:
The son of a wealthy Crimean nobleman is a dashing First Lieutenant in the Imperial Life Guard. Injured on the Carpathian Front and later sought by the Bolsheviks, he makes a daring escape across the Black Sea.
Too proud to accept payment for the boatful of arms he hands over to the Nationalists, he faces years of struggle to make a new life in the Turkish Republic rising from the embers of the dying Ottoman Empire. All he has is his dignity and love.
Shura:
The innocent beauty enchanted by Tchaikovsky’s music and Moscow’s glittering lights falls in love with Seyit at the age of sixteen. A potential victim in the sights of the Bolsheviks due to her family’s wealth and social standing, and determined to follow her heart, she accompanies her Seyt on the perilous flight over the Black Sea.
Their love is the only solace to the crushing homesickness for a land and family they will never see again, two lovers amongst hundreds of thousands of White Russian émigrés trying to eke out a living in occupied Istanbul.
Here is an excerpt from the book.
A Night in Petrograd, 1916
Snow fell in fat, lazy flakes, an immaculate white blanket settling over the sleeping city. The carriage turning left at Alexander Nevsky Square laboriously carved a wide arc through the snow that had piled up all night, rounded a corner, and drew up to the pavement outside a three-story house.
A few snowflakes fluttered at the windowsills, stuck to the panes and frozen solid. The coachman gazed upward as instructed; a net curtain parted, and a shaft of light beamed out. A male figure wiped the glass, waved, and withdrew.
* * *
The young man consulted the pocket watch he’d left by the lamp on the
bedside table: it was coming up to four; he still had plenty of time.
Carefully, so as to avoid rousing the sleeping woman, he lifted the duvet and
got back into bed. He reclined against the pillow, still holding his watch.
Then, a little more determined, he flung aside the covers and got up. He drew
the curtain back a little more and looked out. The moon illuminated the
whiteness starting directly outside the windowpanes, sweeping unbroken over the
garden, the railing, and the broad expanse of road. A world in white.
Everything sparkled when the moon shone between the scudding clouds, and the
world looked more splendid under this white coat.Heavy curtains kept the world outside the windows, where it belonged. In the semidarkness, the room spoke in scents: perfume revealed a woman’s presence, and vodka testified to earlier indulgences, both mingling with the lavender emanating from the bed linens.
He turned toward the bed for a look. Amplified by the snow, the moonlight cast a bright-white light on the sleeping woman’s bare back. He recalled what the darkness sought to conceal: the deep auburn of her hair, now cascading over the pillow in waves; the groove of her spine dipping delightfully from the nape all the way to her waist and vanishing under the covers; and the right shoulder glowing in the playful light, a flawless expanse of alabaster.
Seemingly oblivious to the cold, he leaned his bare back against the window; then, grinning at the memory, he moved to the round table by the fireplace. The fruit platter, carafe, and glasses still stood where they had been left: half eaten and half drunk from. She was an impatient one, that Katya. Or was it Lydia? Whatever. The auburn beauty had excelled at entertaining him that night.
He picked up one of the half-full crystal glasses, downed it in one go, and shook his head as the alcohol stung his throat. He lit the pink opaline lamp in front of the mirror, and the soft light of gas spread into the room. Digging into the jumble of garments on the sofa, he gathered his own clothing and collected his underwear. He was moving toward the bathroom when the woman spoke sleepily.
“Why so early, darling?”
He strode toward her, still carrying his clothes. She stirred, rounded shoulders and full breasts braving the cold, her face now more distinct. Sweeping her hair up with one arm, she reached out with the other. He stared with barely disguised lust; the charming armpit thus exposed looked as arousing as the ample breasts bathed in the pink light. The sleepy gaze was not necessarily reserved for this time of night: she had proven her expertise in seduction with those large dark eyes framed by long eyelashes, eyes that spoke of the bedroom, of the pleasures of the flesh. Full lips pouting in anticipation, she waited, eyes shut, arm still outstretched. Smiling at her unrestrained behavior and ravenous appetite, he sat down on the edge of the bed. Her provocative scent mingled with the bedclothes, fragrant from passionate hours.
He yielded to the invitation of the arms wrapped around his neck. Languid eyes smoldered into his as she tugged away the bedclothes separating them to free her warm, buxom figure and snuggle up to him. She stroked his back and the muscles in his arms, pressed his head against her breasts, and presented her nipples to his lips. Effectively captured by her skillful limbs—surprising on such a petite woman—he enjoyed a lingering kiss before drawing back.
“It’s time I got ready. You might like to get up too; I’ll have you dropped off.”
She pouted with a half shrug. “Couldn’t we stay just a little longer?”
“I need to set off.”
“Where to?”
“Moscow.”
“When will you be back? Will you call upon me again?” She stirred as if to get up during this barrage, hoping to tempt him to change his mind.
All she got in response, however, was a jaunty smile and a pinch on the cheek before he walked toward the bathroom. He mused as he washed; he couldn’t remember her name—just another one-night stand. Someone he had met at a wild party where the drink had flowed like water…and they had left together. She was no petty commoner, if the splendor of her dress and jewelry was anything to go by. In all likelihood, she’d arrived on someone else’s arm—probably the man who’d paid for that splendor.
As he shaved, his thoughts strayed to the journey ahead. Best to get a move on, given he had arranged to meet the others at the station in an hour.
By the time he’d returned to the bedroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, she was already dressed. He patted his cheeks and neck with lotion from a bottle on the console. “Wouldn’t you like to take a bath?”
“I never take a bath on my own,” came the flirtatious reply.
An irrepressible grin lit up his face as he combed his hair, thinking, Her husband—or lover, whoever it was—certainly has his work cut out. He dressed, ignoring his audience, who sat on the edge of the bed to admire the view.
Muscular and fit, the young man in his early twenties carried himself with an aristocratic posture and demeanor. His moustache and floppy fringe were chestnut. A cleft chin seemed to complete his striking looks: flashing dark-blue eyes, a straight nose, and a perpetually sardonic mouth.
The redhead patted her curls back into place and sighed. Her questions were destined to remain unasked as the young man, now in full uniform and boots, strode between wardrobe and dresser, clearly lost in his own thoughts. He picked up several items from drawers, and some books went into a suitcase. She watched, astonished that he appeared to have forgotten the many wonderful hours they had shared in bed. Her wiles had failed to hook him. She leaned back with another sigh.
Taking a ring from a box by the mirror, he placed it on his finger and then put a watch in his pocket. She remembered openly admiring them last night—she adored jewelry after all, and he’d said the sapphire-and-diamond ring was a family heirloom. The enameled gold watch adorned with rubies was a gift from Tsar Nicholas II, he’d told her.
Soon they were ready to leave. A muffled clatter rose from the street. The second carriage had arrived. He picked up his coat and hat. “All right, let’s go,” he said. “I’ll have you taken home.”
He extinguished the lamp and walked to the door. She followed, surprised and not a little disconcerted at the absence of one last kiss or a plea for another meeting, as if there had been nothing between them.
The coachmen leaped down and ran over the snow. The young man turned to his guest, took her hand, and said, “Aktem will drop you off. Fare thee well, my lovely.” Her name wasn’t even on the tip of his tongue.
“Will we meet again?” she tried one last time.
“Why not?”
Happier now, she presented her cheek for a kiss, unbothered by the coachmen’s presence. Finally, gathering her courage, and with a bashful smile, she asked the one question that had plagued her all this time. “Tell me your name again?”
His merry laughter rang in the snowy street’s early morning silence. So the night had not been that memorable for either of them! Except for the ending, that is. He bowed, as if they had just met, and enunciated deliberately: “First Lieutenant Seyit Memedovich Eminof.”
* * *
As the two carriages drove away in opposite directions, the auburn
beauty who had sweetened his night was already slipping from his mind.Purchase Links:
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What People Are Saying About Kurt Seyt & Shura:
"This is a
wonderful book about love, tragedy, war, and how lives unfold in a real
setting. Historically the story brings out facts about the Russian
revolution that are not taught in history books. You get a view of how
it was for people suffering through exile. As a love story, the wonders
and tragedies are amazing in how you really feel the emotions and see how
lives are changed, but love is not.
After finding out this is a true
story and the amazing way in which it was complied, my vote would be
more than 5 stars. Read this Book!"
-
This books sounds intriguing! Readers, don't forget to pick up a copy of Nermin Bezmen's historical romance, Kurt Seyt & Shura! :)
About Nermin Bezmen:
Nermin Bezmen is an accomplished artist, art teacher, yoga instructor and
broadcaster whose meticulous research into family history led to the
publication of Kurt Seyt & Shura in 1992.
This fictionalized account of her grandfather’s life became an instant
bestseller, and is now considered to be a masterpiece of contemporary Turkish
literature to the extent that it has reached textbook status in several
secondary schools and universities.
Exquisite detail distinguishes her writing as she proves that truth is
indeed stranger than fiction, and that our ancestors call out to us all from
the pages of history.
Her powerful character analysis and storytelling skills invite the readers
to explore their own dreams, sorrows, anxieties and even fleeting fancies.
Bezmen has to date published fifteen novels, two of which are biographical,
and one is a fantasy; a children’s novel, a collection of forty short stories
and a book of poems. She has two children and three grandchildren and lives
with her husband, actor Tolga Savacı in New Jersey and Istanbul.
Author Links:
Website: http://www.kurtseytandshura.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/KurtSeytandShuraEnglish/Website: http://www.kurtseytandshura.com
Twitter: https://twitter.com/nbezmen1
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