Good Night, Ester (Night, Day 1)

I say good night, but who knows when these letters will reach you and at which hour on which day you'll be able to read them… It doesn't really matter, so long as you read them. That would be more than enough for me. But I would still like you to know the state of mind I have been in whilst writing to you. This evening I was going to write about the assassination of Şemso and how the incident changed my life but I had to leave the room before I could finish because there was a knock on the door. It was the porter, bringing a message from Reşit, the hotel manager, reminding me of our dinner appointment this evening in the hotel restaurant. He wants me to open up to him and share my woes and, gentleman that he is, thinks that by spending some time with him I may feel something akin to relief. But if I were to really spill the beans to him and let him know of my worries, he would be at great risk and I cannot allow this to happen out of the respect I have for his dear departed father Yusuf Bey and out of the gratitude I have for the kindness and care Reşit himself has shown me.

The worst thing about all this is being unable to explain my seeming evasiveness. Perhaps he would not be so curious – and would be less concerned – were I to provide some kind of explanation regarding my circumstances but I cannot. And it was the same this evening during our meal when he peppered me with questions, although he never veered into any discourtesy or vulgar nosiness at any time. As for me, I dutifully and respectfully answered his questions with a verbal dexterity that would make the most seasoned diplomat beam with pride.