The bridges of the Bosphorus hung above us in the dark and the boat slowed down then halted. The rise and fall of the swell became nauseating as the boat bobbed at the mercy of the wakes of passing boats and we waited.
This was a hired excursion boat from Istanbul and we were out partying to celebrate the end of a conference. I had little time to have a drink or to speak to anyone. But several conversations ended by asking if I had met Esmanur and when I said ‘no’ I was told ‘don’t worry, she’ll be here soon’. I could not fathom what they meant, who she was or why it mattered. But now we had stopped.
A launch approached us in the dark, mainly visible by its fluorescent wake. The music continued, but everyone fell silent and watched the approaching vessel. ‘Here she is’ I heard. I guessed that this must be Esmanur.
Soon the launch was at our side where a ladder extended to the sea. Looking over the side with the others I could see a figure in a gown taking hold of the rungs, her feet being guided to the steps by a boatman, and then climbing to the deck. The boat disappeared in the darkness and a tall, slim woman of extraordinary beauty stepped on board. Clearly Turkish, she had the unique combination of a sallow European complexion, dark eyes, the aquiline nose of her Arabic ancestors and large dark, shining, eyes. Her head was framed by a mane of luxuriant black hair.
Everyone wanted to speak to her, brush cheeks in the customary manner and to invite her to sit with them. She declined, ignored and whispered to a young lady close to her. The lady pointed to me and Esmanur looked over. I was clearly being summoned; I obeyed and went to greet to her. Immediately the crowd parted and some people sitting nearby stood up and ushered us to their vacated table. We sat down.
‘Hello’ I said, ‘that was quite an entrance - were you late?’ She completely ignored my question and asked how I liked Istanbul. ‘Fine’ I said, ‘first time here’.
‘I have lived here all my life’ she replied, ‘what is it you do?’
I handed her my business card and she studied it intensely. ‘You could be helpful to me’ she said, and I agreed that I would be delighted, despite having no idea what she would want of me.
Looking at her closely I could see that, despite the extreme confidence, the expensive attire and the noticeable entrance, she was quite young. Only early twenties, I reckoned. ‘Are you part of the group that is here’ I asked, sweeping a finger round the others on the boat. ‘Yes’ she replied, ‘but not for long’. She had recently worked with them and had the experience she wanted. But now she was ready to move on. Our conversation faltered thereafter as a stream of people came up to greet her, and from their expressions, I gathered they hoped she would stay with them. I made to leave several times – mainly to find a drink – but each time I moved she reached over and tugged my sleeve, indicating that I should sit down and stay with her. ‘You are our guest, you should not have to fetch your own drinks.’ To whoever she was talking at the time, she whispered, glanced at me and within a few minutes I had a cold beer in my hand.
The night progressed, and I remained at her table, largely ignored but not allowed to leave. Bored, I tried to strike up a conversation with others around us but each time I was summoned back to speak to her. For a few minutes she would show an intense interest in what I was saying, then resume conversation with someone else in the queue of people who were vying for her attention.
Fervent Turkish dancing had been underway since the start of the evening. At first a few women, then the men they persuaded to join them. The music got louder and the pressure on those seated to join became intense. Several times I was grabbed by the arms by a few women. But a glance from Esmanur, and they let me sit down again. I was grateful but remained unengaged in the conversation at the table. The only relief from the boredom was the occasional beer brought to me at Esmanur’s command.
I wanted to study her intensely, to see what hold she had over those around her. But my attempts to stare were noticed, if not be her, by one of those deep in conversation with her and I felt embarrassed. She was always animated, her hands waving and pointing. People were summoned to join her for a time, then they left – but always with a nod of assent from Esmanur. It seemed that no one could simply stand up and leave of their own volition; I certainly knew that; and felt trapped.
I was surveying the Martyr’s Bridge, beautifully light up, and wondering when we would turn and head back into Istanbul when I glanced over to look at Esmanur. She was gone and all the faces at the table were looking over my shoulder. Esmanur was dancing, taking in the last few orgasmic rounds of the dancing which was clearly coming to an end. The women were dancing trance-like, hands raised, and eyes shut with Esmanur dancing in the middle of them. Her hands were raised, breasts bobbing in time to the music and shards of hair plastered to her perspiring forehead. She stared at me intensely. Never taking her eyes off me, she made it clear that this performance was for me. I smiled, but she just kept staring and I was mesmerised.
She returned to the table and, separating me from the person to whom I was talking, sat next to me. Very close. I could feel the heat from her body, a sweet smell of perfume wafted from her and she leaned over, her hair touching my face and said: ‘I hope you enjoyed that’. Then she turned to continue conversations with the others at the table and I was ignored again.
I assumed that the point of my proximity to her would become apparent. But it never did. Another hour passed and at last, the boat bobbed back into the harbour in the shadow of Istanbul station and the party atmosphere on the boat subsided. The music stopped and the shutters on the bar clattered down as the boat glided to a halt at the jetty, the reversed propellers stirring up that unique faecal smell of Istanbul harbour.
The guests began to leave but, clearly, people wanted to make sure Esmanur disembarked safely so everyone offered her to go before them. She declined a few offers and then eventually stood to leave. I planned a few words of farewell and the hope I could be of help. Without looking at me she began to walk to the gangway. Before she reached it, she dug into her handbag for something and tossed it on the last table. She never looked back…and I never saw her again.
I waited for a few minutes until I saw some familiar faces from the conference and stood up to leave the boat with them. As I stepped on the gangway, the last thing I saw was my business card on the table.
