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waiter offered him. He lifted it towards Kerim and tasted it. It was identical
with ouzo. He drank it down. At once the waiter refilled his glass.
`And now to order your lunch. They eat nothing but offal cooked in rancid
olive oil in Turkey. At least the offal at the Misir Carsarsi is the best.'
The grinning waiter made suggestions.
`He says the Doner Kebab is very good today. I don't believe him, but it can
be. It is very young lamb broiled over charcoal with savoury rice. Lots of
onions in it. Or is there anything you prefer? A pilaff or some of those
damned stuffed peppers they eat here? All right then. And you must start with
a few sardines grilled en papillotte. They are just edible.' Kerim harangued
the waiter. He sat back, smiling at
Bond. `That is the only way to treat these damned people. They love to be
cursed and kicked. It is all they understand. It is in the blood. All this
pretence of democracy is killing them. They want some sultans and wars and
rape and fun. Poor brutes, in their striped suits and bowler hats. They are
miserable.
You've only got to look at them. However, to hell with them all. Any news?'
Bond shook his head. He told Kerim about the change of room and the untouched
suitcase.
Kerim downed a glass of raki and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. He
echoed the thought
Bond had had. `Well, the game must begin sometime. I have made certain small
moves. Now we can only wait and see. We will make a little foray into enemy
territory after lunch. I think it will interest you.
Oh, we shan't be seen. We shall move in the shadows, underground.' Kerim
laughed delightedly at his cleverness. `And now let us talk about other
things. How do you like Turkey? No, I don't want to know.
What else?'
They were interrupted by the arrival of their first course. Bond's sardines en
papillotte tasted like any other fried sardines. Kerim set about a large plate
of what appeared to be strips of raw fish. He saw
Bond's look of interest. `Raw fish,' he said. `After this I shall have raw
meat and lettuce and then I shall have a bowl of yoghourt. I am not a faddist,
but I once trained to be a professional strong man. It is a good profession in
Turkey. The public loves them. And my trainer insisted that I should eat only
raw food. I got the habit. It is good for me, but,' he waved his fork, `I do
not pretend it is good for everyone.
I don't care the hell what other people eat so long as they enjoy it. I can't
stand sad eaters and sad drinkers.'
`Why did you decide not to be a strong man? How did you get into this racket?'
Kerim forked up a strip of fish and tore at it with his teeth. He drank down
half a tumbler of raki. He lit a cigarette and sat back in his chair. `Well,'
he said with a sour grin, `we might as well talk about me as about anything
else. And you must be wondering ``How did this big crazy man get into the
Service?'' I
will tell you, but briefly, because it is a long story. You will stop me if
you get bored. All right?'
Page 73
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`Fine.' Bond lita Diplomate. He leant forward on his elbows.
`I come from Trebizond.' Kerim watched his cigarette smoke curl upwards. `We
were a huge family with many mothers. My father was the sort of man women
can't resist. All women want to be swept off their feet. In their dreams they
long to be slung over a man's shoulder and taken into a cave and raped.
That was his way with them. My father was a great fisherman and his fame was
spread all over the Black
Sea. He went after the sword-fish. They are difficult to catch and hard to
fight and he would always outdo all others after these fish. Women like their
men to be heroes. He was a kind of hero in a corner of
Turkey where it is a tradition for the men to be tough. He was a big, romantic
sort of fellow. So he could have any woman he wanted. He wanted them all and
sometimes killed other men to get them. Naturally he had many children. We all
lived on top of each other in a great rambling old ruin of a house that our
``aunts'' made habitable. The aunts really amounted to a harem. One of them
was an English governess from Istanbul my father had seen watching a circus.
He took a fancy to her and she to him and that evening he put her on board his
fishing boat and sailed up the Bosphorus and back to Trebizond. I don't think
she ever regretted it. I think she forgot all the world except him. She died
just after the war. She
was sixty. The child before me had been by an Italian girl and the girl had
called him Bianco. He was fair.
I was dark. I got to be called Darko. There were fifteen of us children and we
had a wonderful childhood. Our aunts fought often and so did we. It was like a
gipsy encampment. It was held together by my father who thrashed us, women or
children, when we were a nuisance. But he was good to us when we were peaceful
and obedient. You cannot understand such a family?'
`The way you describe it I can.'
`Anyway so it was. I grew up to be nearly as big a man as my father, but
better educated. My mother saw to that. My father only taught us to be clean
and to go to the lavatory once a day and never to feel shame about anything in
the world. My mother also taught me a regard for England, but that is by the
way. By the time I was twenty, I had a boat of my own and I was making money.
But I was wild. I left the big house and went to live in two small rooms on
the waterfront. I wanted to have my women where my mother would not know.
There was a stroke of bad luck. I had a little Bessarabian hell-cat. I had won
her in a fight with some gipsies, here in the hills behind Istanbul. They came
after me, but I got her on board the boat. I had to knock her unconscious
first. She was still trying to kill me when we got back to
Trebizond, so I got her to my place and took away all her clothes and kept her
chained naked under the table. When I ate, I used to throw scraps to her under
the table, like a dog. She had to learn who was master. Before that could
happen, my mother did an unheard of thing. She visited my place without
warning. She came to tell me that my father wanted to see me immediately. She
found the girl. My mother was really angry with me for the first time in my
life. Angry? She was beside herself. I was a cruel ne'er-do-well and she was
ashamed to call me son. The girl must immediately be taken back to her people.
My mother brought her some of her own clothes from the house. The girl put
them on, but when the time came, she refused to leave me.' Darko Kerim laughed
hugely. `An interesting lesson in female psychology my dear friend. However,
the problem of the girl is another story. While my mother was fussing over her
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