Bliss: A Novel Page 7

  Back at the outpost that evening, Cemal again heard Memo conversing with his comrades on the wireless. As usual he cursed the Turkish army, then said, “Ez dicim Nuh Nebi” (“I’m going up to Noah”).

  Cemal understood from this Kurdish sentence that Memo was going toward Mount Ararat, where the remains of Noah’s ark supposedly lay. Memo had once related to him how he wished to climb the mountain one day and discover the ancient ship.

  Cemal at once suspected that the guerrillas, having seen the flames, were withdrawing from the peaks where they had spent days sniping at them and retreating toward Mount Ararat, a mountain where the soldiers knew the trails well. After they had eaten, he turned to the captain saying, “I have something important to tell you, sir,” his face flushed hot with excitement.

  WHY DON’T THE COCKS CROW?

  Meryem had prayed to god and the virgin Mary for a miracle, and when, instead of Döne, she saw Gülizar, the village midwife, enter the barn, a wave of gratitude swept over her as she felt her wish had been granted. Joyfully, Meryem noted the old woman’s white muslin scarf, her invariable headcovering, her tender eyes, and gentle hands. Through the open door, the sun streamed in and lightened up the darkness of the barn.

  Gülizar had been a midwife for so long that she had been at the birth of everyone in the village under a certain age. It was as if they were all her children.

  She had played a very special role in Meryem’s life. The tiny girl, weighing just one and a half kilos, had emerged into the world unable to breathe, strangled by the umbilical cord around her throat. It was Gülizar’s deft hands that had unwrapped the cord from her neck, and it was Gülizar who then breathed into her lungs, enabling the blue baby to start breathing on her own. Although she could not bring the mother back to life, she had succeeded with the child.

  Whenever she thought about death, Meryem remembered this incident and would say to herself, “I’ve already died once.” Others in the house would add, “Meryem was born dead. She can’t die again!”

  After so many frightening days of solitary misery, Meryem flung herself into Gülizar’s arms. The scent of her headscarf was fresh and sweet, and Meryem began to weep.

  “They’ve done awful things to me, Bibi!” she cried, using the childish name for the midwife. “They want me to kill myself.”

  “I know,” replied Gülizar. “Make sure you don’t.”

  Then she explained to her what a cruel fate it is to be born a woman and the difficult path each woman has to tread. She emphasized the fact that women are born accursed. “God rot womanhood,” she cried. “You know, even the blessed Mother Mary had her troubles to bear.”

  When Meryem asked her what she meant, she exclaimed, “They killed her son. Didn’t you know?”

  “Oh, I know that!” Meryem replied. “They also killed our Mother Fatima’s children—the grandchildren of our blessed prophet.”

  “Yes, at Karbala …

  “Look here, my dear. I’ve been through a great deal of trouble to get here. They don’t want anyone to see you. I’ve had to plead with them for days before they would consent. Your father seemed about to relent, but your uncle refused to hear of it. Listen to me … this may be your last chance; I may not be able to come again. Everyone in the village has been feeling bad about you ever since the day you were found by the graveyard, flapping around like a wounded bird.”

  Her face scratched with thorns and with blood running down her legs, Meryem had been a pitiful sight when she was found lying in the road near the cemetery, uttering terrible cries, scratching the dust and jerking her arms and legs in the air, her headscarf in the dirt beside her. The young men who discovered her thought she had been bewitched, but when they saw who it was they took her by the arm to take her home. She did not go quietly but kicked and struggled, at times conscious, at others falling in a faint to the ground. They had to drag her like this through the square and marketplace, where all the villagers came out to watch.

  Meryem lay in bed at home for two days, fever-stricken and moaning as she drifted in and out of consciousness. Called to examine her, Gülizar quickly realized she had been mercilessly raped. The old woman used all her skills to heal her, placing pieces of cloth moistened in vinegar on her forehead, swabbing iodine in a crisscross pattern across her chest, and forcing her to sniff hydrochloric acid to bring her out of her delirium. As soon as she seemed to be herself, Meryem was condemned by the family council to be thrown into the barn.

  “Many respected people in the town have spoken up on your behalf and talked with your uncle,” Gülizar continued. “They’ve tried to convince him you’re not to blame, and old traditions shouldn’t be followed. Everyone wants to rescue you.”

  “Don’t they want me to hang myself?” asked Meryem.

  Gülizar was silent for a moment. “Some might, but others want you to live.”

  “They could send me to Istanbul, like other girls in the past.”

  “Child.” Gülizar sighed, caressing Meryem’s hair. “My poor child. Istanbul’s no solution. It’s best that we persuade your father and uncle to let you out. You must help me by telling me everything that happened … everything! Who was the monster who hurt you?”

  Meryem said nothing. Her eyes clouded and her head drooped. “Tell me his name,” said Gülizar gently. “You must tell me who the wretch was, or who they were,” Gülizar said, “to save yourself. Don’t worry. He’ll be punished. The gendarmes will break his bones and lock him up. Or your family can take care of it.”

  Meryem remained silent without opening her mouth, as if afraid to draw breath. She began to rock back and forth as if in a trance.

  In spite of all Gülizar could do, Meryem still refused to say a word, and after trying for a long while to reason with her, Gülizar gave up, convinced the girl could not identify her attackers. Perhaps they covered her head with a sack, or she had lost her memory from shock.

  Even if she did remember, it would have been of little use. Gülizar had suggested to Meryem’s uncle that the best solution would be to find the rapist and force him to marry Meryem. But he had snapped back, “Whether a bastard or a rapist, it’s all the same. Neither of them is entering my family!”

  Realizing Meryem would not give her any information, Gülizar changed the subject.

  “My child, if you’ve become pregnant on account of this happening, so much the worse. If they realize you’re carrying a bastard in your belly, God forgive us; if that’s true, and I think it may be, we must try to get rid of it.”

  Meryem continued to rock silently, as if she heard nothing and knew nothing of what had happened to her. Her eyes were fixed on the stream of light coming in though the open door, and she seemed lost in her thoughts.

  Suddenly, Gülizar began to spit out all the curses she had ever heard in her life as she bewailed the fate of this unfortunate child. Arms outstretched, as if in supplication, she railed, “God, strike down those who violated my innocent girl, let them be dragged on their backsides till they die!”

  After this outburst, she looked at the girl and saw that she had returned to normal and was back in the real world again.

  Staring at her with her green eyes, Meryem asked softly, “Bibi, do you think they’d let me get washed? My hair’s greasy, and I stink. All I want is a bucket of water.”

  Meryem, however unwillingly, had to eat something, even if only a few spoonfuls of what the women put on the tray for her. Afterward, it was unbearable to have to go out into the garden, take down her panties and squat in the snow under Döne’s disdainful gaze.

  Gülizar must have understood her feelings, because she rose and left the room. Since it was daytime and the men were out, she settled the matter with Meryem’s aunt, returning half an hour later with a small plastic tub, a metal bowl, and a bucket of hot water.

  Meryem heaved a contented sigh. At least her aunt had given permission for her to wash.

  “Bibi,” she said, “Auntie never came to see me.”

&
nbsp; “That’s no surprise,” Gülizar muttered.

  They both knew that her aunt blamed Meryem for her much-loved sister’s death. If her sister had not told her the dream about Mother Mary, she would have tried to feel that, like other women, her sister was simply a victim of circumstances. The ill-omened dream, however, was proof of the girl’s guilt.

  As a child, Meryem could not comprehend her aunt’s behavior. Later, when she understood the reason, she did her best to win her approval, hoping that one day her aunt would forget her grudge and give up her taunts. But Meryem was never forgiven, and, because of the way her aunt treated her, gained a reputation for being ill-starred.

  Gülizar gently undressed Meryem and started to wash her in the plastic tub as though she were a little child. A long-forgotten feeling of warmth enveloped the girl as the steaming water poured over her head, and the old woman tenderly washed her hair.

  Gülizar wrapped Meryem tightly to protect her from the cold in a towel she fetched from outside. One hand massaged her gently as she rubbed her dry with the other.

  “Now, dearest, do what I tell you and we’ll get rid of that thing in your belly. I know it’s there, I can see it in your eyes.”

  Meryem said nothing. Obediently, she let Gülizar rub her with poisonous hemlock balm and drank without protest the foul-smelling liquid she gave her.

  Gülizar was more cautious than other midwives. She never used dangerous methods to induce a miscarriage, such as thrusting a chicken quill or dried eggplant stalk inside the woman’s body.

  When she had finished, Gülizar laid Meryem’s head in her lap and softly stroked her hair.

  “Bibi,” Meryem moaned, “my tummy hurts!”

  “Don’t worry, love. It will soon pass.”

  Meryem felt herself falling asleep under Gülizar’s soothing caresses. Just before she dropped off, she murmured, “Why don’t the cocks crow anymore, Bibi?”

  “The cocks always crow, sweetheart—some can hear them, some can’t.”

  “I don’t hear them.”

  “Because you don’t want the morning to come.”

  AT NIGHT DON QUIXOTE, SANCHO PANZA IN THE MORNING

  İrfan had not closed his eyes all night. Without feeling the need for sleeping pills, he had stayed awake till morning, pacing through the house, tidying up the papers in his study, and sitting by the covered pool in his rattan chair, watching the refracted movements of light as they shifted here and there. Oddly enough, for the first time in years the terror chilling his heart had evaporated. Sitting by the pool, he planned the coming day—a day of emancipation from a life ruled by fear and the restrictions imposed by others. Like a man drowning, his feet caught in weeds, İrfan wanted to kick the bottom, rise to the surface, breathe the fresh air, and see the light again. Purified of fears and weaknesses, he would feel the indescribable joy of changing his life and creating a new sense of well-being.

  He had not said anything to Aysel yet. She was sleeping peacefully upstairs, quite unaware that her life, too, was about to change.

  When he got to the university that morning, the first thing İrfan would do would be to visit the department chair and instead of greeting him formally as he had done for years, he would punch the man right in the middle of his disgusting face. İrfan was younger and stronger, and nothing could prevent him from hitting the man, who had secretly accused him of being shallow and commonplace and ruined his reputation, that miserable old man whose face it would be a delight to batter.

  What relief he would feel. Like Gulliver, İrfan had to rip off the invisible ties of Lilliput around him. He would make sure the door was open so the secretary could see the fellow’s ugly mouth lose a few rotten teeth. No doubt, the scandalmonger would be stunned. A few minutes later, once İrfan had left, the man would come to his senses, shout, and threaten to make İrfan pay for what he had done. Struggling to save his ego, he would order his secretary to call the rector, a lawyer, and, of course, the police. He would wipe the blood from his mouth, trying to console himself by imagining how İrfan, landed in jail, would be finished and done with once and for all.

  News of the incident would spread quickly through the university. Hundreds of telephones would ring at exactly the same minute, and the press would soon be hot on the story. Like hungry wolves following the smell of blood, İrfan’s friends would erupt into the corridors to follow the trail of fresh gossip.

  After paying his respects to the department head, İrfan would drop by the office of that abominable woman, ermin. After finishing his business with the old dinosaur, he would visit her next. He wondered how best to display his feelings for her. Peeing on her desk as she gazed at him with astonished eyes might be appropriate. It would probably cause her to have a heart attack. All he would have to do would be to walk into ermin’s office and open his zipper. She was certain to lose her presence of mind and scream hysterically. The secretary would make one frantic call after the other, and soon the department head with his bloody mouth would arrive on the scene to find out what was going on and to join in the outcry. İrfan would have already made a hasty exit.

  As might be assumed, not only did İrfan not carry out his plan but, in fact, he acted even more foolishly than usual. With the light of day, the fantasies of the night vanished, and the sun appeared like a messenger to bring him back to reality. His plans, so feasible in the darkness of the night, seemed nothing more than delusions in the cold light of day. Like many people, İrfan was Don Quixote at night and Sancho Panza in the morning. It was for this reason that he felt constrained to go to the university, if only to prove to himself that his plans for revenge, which he had dreamed of so happily by the pool, were just not practical.

  He knew this even before leaving the house but when, upon entering the building, he immediately came face-to-face with his department head, this unexpected encounter merely made it clearer. The door was only wide enough for one person so İrfan stepped aside, murmuring his usual halfhearted greeting as he let the man whom he had dreamed of beating up go first. The man whose face he had smashed like a melon in his dreams the night before was now treated with great courtesy. This really was proof of how little character he had. Instead of insulting the man or making him look small, he had almost licked his boots.

  Needless to say, he did not even think of visiting ermin.

  When İrfan entered his office, he was so full of self-doubt that he felt an overwhelming need to compensate. He sat down to write an e-mail to his wife, feeling as if he had to burn all bridges and cross the point of no return. He typed Aysel’s address, but then sat staring at the empty screen.

  Feeling uneasy that he might never realize his dream, İrfan wrote “My Love” at the top of the screen but then paused. That was not honest. A farewell note should not start that way; but how else could he address a wife of twelve years standing, “My dear wife,” “Dear Aysel,” “Aysel,” or just “Hi.”

  He decided to keep the two words that were the most meaningful for him. Aysel had to understand that his departure had nothing to do with her.

  My Love,

  You know the legal term “self-defense,” or what we call “legitimate defense,” meaning defense of the self. I can no longer hide the fact that for months I’ve been imprisoned by fear. It has nothing to do with you, or the love I feel for you. I love you more than ever, but I have to leave.

  Please try to understand.

  This is not the consequence of free will; it is legitimate defense. If I don’t go, I cannot survive another day. I must either leave or commit suicide. Of these two options, I can only choose to live.

  My foundation is shaken, and in order to breathe at all I must find another place to live where I can be on my own. I hope that you will understand that I must do this.

  Don’t try to find me. Pretend I’m away on a long trip. If I get over this terrible fear of mine, I’ll call you.

  Good-bye, my love.

  İrfan

  İrfan stared at the screen and imagin
ed the impact of the message, picturing all the possible consequences. After questioning the household, the chauffeur, the secretary, relatives, and friends, Aysel would feel utterly abandoned. Realizing that his resolve was weakening, İrfan quickly clicked SEND. The message disappeared from the screen. He had crossed the point of no return.

  One more thing, İrfan thought, and went to the locked closet, where he kept his research notes related to the book he had been planning to write for some time. He took out all of his notebooks, a couple of loose pages, and picked up a book about the Bogomils. After cramming them into his briefcase, he left his office. He took a taxi to the bank, leaving his car in the university parking lot. He had already given instructions for a withdrawal from his savings account. His financial adviser, Nilgün, had warned him that the interest was due the following week and he would lose a large sum on the $72,000 in his account. “Never mind,” he replied. “Just have the money ready. I’ll pick it up before noon.”

  He would lose much more if he waited for the interest to come to term.

  AMBUSH AND LAUGHTER

  Crouching behind the rocks, the soldiers silently cursed the change in the weather, which had turned the snow to rain. They would be out all night, and no matter how many layers of plastic they wrapped themselves in, the rain always seeped through, like a snake slipping into their clothes and slithering over their skin. The icy water seeped into their boots, soaking their socks and numbing their feet. The only advantage of this weather was that their enemies were suffering, too.

  Under his blanket, Selahattin was smoking a cigarette. Despite the precaution, he was putting the whole company at risk. Any light, no matter how faint, could draw the sniper’s attention and, once before, the very same action had resulted in the smoking soldier’s death. If they allowed the enemy to suspect an ambush, they could all be killed, without inflicting any casualties of their own. Cemal reached over, pulled the cigarette from Selahattin’s lips, and extinguished it. He looked so serious that Selahattin raised no objection.