In the spring of that year I was called up for regular military service. Three other Jews from our town were conscripted with me. An officer who was among my friends had charge of our case. He summoned me and said that he did not want us marched away like criminals under military-police escort, as was customary. He trusted me but did not know my companions, so he made me responsible for the journey and for ensuring that all four of us reported in Siirt.
On the day of our departure we hired horses. Many government officials, officers, and members of the Jewish community accompanied us to the edge of town, where they embraced us one by one. Nuri Bey was among them. Wherever I was posted, he told me, I was to write down the name, rank, and place of origin of the officer over me. “Even if I do not know him,” he said, “I shall find someone who can reach him and ask him to look after you.”
After about eight hours in the saddle on the first day, we reached Shoshnemirk and stayed the night. The next morning a woman entered and introduced herself as the village headman’s wife. I knew the headman, but had never met her. “Which of you is Sinyor?” she asked. She came to me, embraced me, and wept.
I asked whether she might have mistaken me for someone else. “No,” she said. “We have never met, but I have heard much about you. Your three companions are used to hardship, so military service will come easily to them. You have lived another kind of life, and people say you will suffer now. I do not believe it. Gold does not lose its value when it falls into mud. You will make people love you there too. Do not worry about your household—your wife, your brother, and your nephew will be well. Take care of yourself, and may God protect you.” We exchanged a few more words and parted.
That night the uncertainty ahead weighed heavily on us. In the morning we continued to Van and stayed with relatives. In the bitter cold we found no cart to hire, until we met a lorry driver bound for Diyarbakır. We agreed on a fare to Garzan and climbed into the open back. A haji travelling to Mecca and a young, beardless man rode with us. We bought cloth to close the back against the wind, along with a brazier, charcoal, and a bottle of arak that we drank when the haji was away. Mechanical breakdowns stretched the journey to three days.
At Garzan we looked for a hotel, but one of our party, Jacob, objected.1 He had no money and insisted that, as soldiers on the way to our posting, the military station had to house us and even arrange our onward journey. We could not persuade him otherwise, and my offer to pay for his room made no difference. Since our papers could not be separated, we all had to accompany him to the station.
I explained our situation politely to the guards. One told us that if we had come this far on our own, we could manage in a hotel and continue in the morning; only if that proved impossible should we return. Jacob cut him short. “We are soldiers. You must give us somewhere to sleep.” The guard considered him for a moment, nodded, and said, “Yes, I must. Come with me.” He opened a door and pushed all four of us into an inner room.
Only then did we see where we had been put. The room was so packed with prisoners that there was scarcely room to stand. My three companions squeezed into a corner and managed to crouch; angry with Jacob for bringing us there, I remained on my feet. A young prisoner from Siirt, seated on a narrow bed, noticed me and offered me its edge. He gave me two blankets, one to lie on and one for cover. I called my companions over to share the space.
The man asked what crime we had committed. I said that we were soldiers and that one of us had “spoken foolishly,” which was why we had been put inside.2 He advised us to look around and take comfort: some men there still had twenty years to serve; he had already spent twelve years inside and had six left. When one of us asked for water, he explained how difficult it was to obtain. Earthenware vessels were sold outside, while a small water jar cost five lira. It took us two hours to find and buy one.
We passed the night amid crowding, mould, and damp. In the morning they brought us into the station yard. When I saw the sunlight, I felt as though I had been born again. We drank tea at the nearby café and prepared to leave. Seventy-five kilometres still lay ahead, but I was ready for any effort so long as I did not spend another night in that room. We reached Siirt that evening.