“Turgut was not to be distracted, however. ‘Madam, you are Romanian?’ She was silent. ‘If this is true, you must be careful here.’ He lowered his voice a little. ‘The police might be rather interested in you. Our country is not on friendly terms with Romania.’
“‘I know,’ she said coldly.
“‘But how did the Gypsy woman know this?’ Turgut frowned. ‘You did not speak to her.’
“‘I do not know.’ Helen gave a helpless shrug.
“Turgut shook his head. ‘Some people say the Gypsies have the talent of special vision. I have never believed this, but -’ He broke off and patted his mustache with his napkin. ‘How strange that she talked of vampires.’
“‘Is it?’ Helen countered. ‘She must have been a crazy woman. Gypsies are all mad.’
“‘Perhaps, perhaps.’ Turgut was silent. ‘However, it is very strange to me, the way she spoke, because that is my other speciality.’
“‘Gypsies?’ I asked.
“‘No, good sir-vampires.’ Helen and I stared at him, carefully not meeting each other’s eyes. ‘Shakespeare is my life’s work, but the legend of the vampire is my hobby. We have an ancient tradition here of vampires.’
“‘Is that-ah-a Turkish tradition?’ I asked in astonishment.
“‘Oh, the legend goes back at least to Egypt, dear colleagues. But here in Istanbul – to begin with, there is a story that the most bloodthirsty of the emperors of Byzantium were vampires, that some of them understood the Christian communion as an invitation to quaff the blood of mortals. But I do not believe this. I believe it appeared later.’
“‘Well -’ I didn’t want to reveal too keen an interest, more for fear that Helen would jab my foot under the table again than from any conviction that Turgut was aligned with the powers of darkness. But she was staring at him, too. ‘What about the legend of Dracula? Have you heard of that?’
“‘Heard of that?’ snorted Turgut. His dark eyes shone, and he twisted his napkin into a knot. ‘You know that Dracula was a real person, a figure of history? A countryman of yours, actually, madam -’ He bowed to Helen. ‘He was a lord, avoivoda, in the western Carpathians in the fifteenth century. Not an admirable person, you know.’
“Helen and I were nodding-we couldn’t help it. I couldn’t, at least, and she seemed too intent now on Turgut’s words to stop herself. She had leaned forward a little, listening, and her eyes shone with the same rich darkness as his. Color had blossomed under her usual pallor. It was one of those many moments, I observed, even in the midst of my excitement, when beauty suddenly filled her rather harsh countenance, lighting it from within.
“‘Well -’ Turgut seemed to be warming to his subject. ‘I do not mean to bore you, but I have a theory that Dracula is a very important figure in the history of Istanbul. It is known that when he was a boy, he was held captive by Sultan Mehmed II in Gallipoli and then farther east in Anatolia -his own father gave him to the father of Mehmed, Sultan Murad II, as ransom for a treaty, from 1442 to 1448, six long years. Dracula’s father was not a gentleman, either.’ Turgut chuckled. ‘The soldiers who guarded the boy Dracula were masters in the art of torture, and he must have learned too much when he watched them. But, my good sirs’-he seemed to have forgotten Helen’s gender for the moment, in his collegial fervor-‘I have my own theory that he left his mark on them, too.’
“‘What on earth do you mean?’ My breath was coming short.
“‘From about that time, there is a record of vampirism in Istanbul. It is my notion-and it is still unpublished, alack, and I cannot prove it-that his first victims were among the Ottomans, maybe the guards who became his friends. He left behind him contamination in our empire, I propose, and then it must have been carried into Constantinople with the Conqueror.’
“We stared at him, speechless. It occurred to me that, according to legend, only the dead became vampires. Did this mean that Vlad Dracula had actually been killed in Asia Minor and become undead then, as a very young man, or that he’d simply had a taste for unholy libations very early in his life and had inspired it in others? I filed this away to ask Turgut in case I ever knew him well enough. ‘Oh, this is my eccentric hobby, you know.’ Turgut lapsed into a genial smile again. ‘Well, excuse me for climbing up onto my soap dish. My wife says I am intolerable.’ He toasted us with a subtle, courtly gesture before sipping from his little vase again. ‘But, by heaven, I have proof of one thing! I have proof that the sultans feared him as a vampire!’ He gestured toward the ceiling.
“‘Proof?’ I echoed.
“‘Yes! I discovered it some few years ago. The sultan was so much interested in Vlad Dracula that he collected some of his documents and possessions here after Dracula died in Wallachia. Dracula killed many Turkish soldiers in his own country, and our sultan hated him for this, but that was not why he founded this archive. No! The sultan even wrote a letter to the pasha of Wallachia in 1478 asking him for any writings he knew of about Vlad Dracula. Why? Because-he said-he was creating a library that would fight the evil that Dracula had spread in his city after his death. You see-why would the sultan still fear Dracula when Dracula was dead, if he did not believe Dracula could return? I have found a copy of the letter the pasha wrote to him in response.’ He thumped a fist on the table and smiled at us. ‘I have even found the library he created to fight evil.’
“Helen and I sat motionless. The coincidence was almost unbearably strange. Finally I ventured a question. ‘Professor, was this collection by any chance created by Sultan Mehmed II?’
“This time he stared at us. ‘By my boots, you are a fine historian indeed. You are interested in this period in our history?’
“‘Ah-very much so,’ I said. ‘And we would be-I’d be very much interested in seeing this archive you found.’
“‘Of course,’ he said. ‘With great pleasure. I will show you. My wife will be astounded that anyone wants to see.’ He chuckled. ‘But, alack, the beautiful building in which it was once housed has been torn down to make way for an office of the Ministry of Roads-oh, eight years ago. It was a lovely little building near the Blue Mosque. Such a shame.’
“I felt the blood draining from my face. So that was why we had had such difficulty locating Rossi’s archive. ‘But the documents -?’
“‘Do not worry, kind sir. I myself ensured them to become part of the National Library. Even if no one else adores them as I do, they must be preserved.’ Something dark crossed his face for the first time since he had scolded the Gypsy woman. ‘There is still evil to fight in our city, as there is everywhere.’ He looked from one of us to the other. ‘If you like old curiosities, I will most joyfully take you there tomorrow. It is closed this evening, of course. I know well the librarian who can allow you to peruse the collection.’
“‘Thank you very much.’ I didn’t dare look at Helen. ‘And how-how did you come to be interested in this unusual topic?’
“‘Oh, it is a long story,’ Turgut countered seriously. ‘I cannot be allowed to bore you so much.’
“‘We’re not bored at all,’ I insisted.
“‘You are very kind.’ He sat silent for some minutes, polishing his fork between thumb and forefinger. Outside our brick alcove, honking cars dodged bicycles in the crowded streets and pedestrians came and went like characters across a stage-women in flowing patterned skirts, scarves, and dangling gold earrings, or black dresses and reddish hair, men in Western suits and ties and white shirts. The breath of a mild, salty air reached us there at our table, and I imagined ships from all over Eurasia bringing their bounty to the heart of an empire-first Christian, then Muslim-and docking at a city whose walls stretched down into the very sea. Vlad Dracula’s forested stronghold, with its barbaric rituals of violence, seemed far indeed from this ancient, cosmopolitan world. No wonder he had hated the Turks, and they him, I thought. And yet the Turks of Istanbul, with their crafts of gold and brass and silk, their bazaars and bookshops and myriad houses of worship, must have had much more in common with the Christian Byzantines they had conquered here than did Vlad, defying them from his frontier. Viewed from this center of culture, he looked like a backwoods thug, a provincial ogre, a medieval redneck. I remembered the picture I’d seen of him in an encyclopedia at home-that woodcut of an elegant, mustached face framed by courtly dress. It was a paradox.