Chapter 23 Chapter XXII An Interlude in Anatolia

Mrs Upjohn sat by the roadside overlooking the ravine.She was gesticulating in French with a large Turkish woman.Despite the difficulty of talking, the Turkish woman talked about her latest miscarriage in as much detail as possible. She explained that she had nine children, eight of them boys, and had five miscarriages.She seemed equally happy about the miscarriage and delivery. "What about you?" She touched Mrs. Upjohn's ribs in a friendly way. "How many boys? How many girls? (Original here in French)" She held up her hand to count on her fingers. "A girl. (Original here in French)" said Mrs Upjohn.

"And what about the boys? (Original here in French)" Mrs. Upjohn, seeing her declining reputation in the eyes of the Turkish woman, was overcome by a sense of nationalism, and was compelled to tell a lie.She holds up five fingers of her right hand. "Five. (Original here in French)" she said. "Five boys? Great! (Original here in French)" The Turkish woman nodded with satisfaction and respect.She also said that if her niece, who speaks fluent French, were here, they would surely get to know each other better.She then went on to tell the story of her latest miscarriage.

The other travelers sat idly about them, eating strange foods from the baskets they carried with them.The bus looked a little run down and was parked near a rock outcropping.The driver and another person were busy inside the hood.Mrs Upjohn had no idea how much time had passed.Floodwaters blocked two roads and had to take detours, and at one point they were held up for seven hours until the river they were crossing had receded.Ankara was just around the corner, that was all she knew.As she listened to her friend's eager, incoherent conversation, trying to figure out when to nod admiringly and when to shake her head sympathetically, her train of thought was interrupted by a voice completely out of tune with her present surroundings.

"This is Mrs Upjohn, I think," said the voice. Mrs. Upjohn looked up. A car had just been mined not far away.The person standing across from her undoubtedly got out of this car.His face was clearly an English face, and his voice an English voice.He was dressed impeccably in a gray flannel suit. "Dear me," said Mrs. Upjohn, "Dr. Livingstone?" "It seems somewhat similar," said the stranger cheerfully. "My name is Atkinson. I am from the consulate in Ankara. We have been trying to get in touch with you for two or three days, but the road has been interrupted."

"You want to contact me? Why?" Mrs. Upjohn stood up suddenly. The whole image of a merry traveler was gone.Her whole body revealed the characteristics of motherhood. "Julie Kie?" she said sharply. "What happened to Julie Kie?" "No, no," Atkinson reassured her, "Julia is all right. It's none of her business. There's trouble at Yerba Meadows and we're going to get you back there as quickly as possible. I'll drive You go back to Ankara and within an hour you can be on the plane." Mrs Upjohn opened her mouth, then closed it again.Then she stood up and said, "You have to get my bag off the roof of the bus. The dark blue bag." She turned, shook hands with her Turkish companion, and said, "It's a pity I have to Going home." She waved to the carload of companions in a very friendly manner, shouted a Turkish farewell, which was part of her small Turkish vocabulary, and she was going to follow Mr. Atkinson at once, No more questions.He found Mrs Upjohn as reasonable a woman as anyone else.