“Well done!” he said to me.
“What have I done well?”
“You’ve fulfilled your duty.”
“Which is?”
“You’ve laid the professor to rest. You’ve buried him beside Nadia.”
“How do you know all this?”
“Actually I know much more than that, but I don’t know how much of the truth you can handle.”
“Who are you?” I asked.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“No, you won’t believe me.”
“Why?”
“Because your heart isn’t ready for it yet.”
“I will believe you, I promise I’ll believe you. Tell me, who are you?”
He thought for a while, hesitated and then he asked, “But you won’t laugh will you?”
“Promise,” I said. “I won’t laugh, I won’t not believe you. Tell me, who are you?”
He looked around and then he leaned toward my ear.
“I’m Azrael, the Angel of Death,” he whispered.
I felt like laughing.
“Look, didn’t I tell you!” exclaimed the boy.
“What’s the matter?”
“You laughed.”
“I didn’t.”
“But you felt like laughing.”
“How could you know that?”
“I told you, didn’t I, I’m Azrael. I know everything, but I can give my secret only to those whose hearts are ready. I can see that your heart isn’t. Otherwise I was going to tell you some more interesting things.”
He turned and began walking toward the Black Sea Motel. I followed him. I was walking faster than he was, in fact I was running, but somehow I couldn’t keep up with him. The distance between us was increasing.
Finally I gave up and dropped to my knees on the sand.
He stopped and came back to me.
“Do you know, you’re a very odd woman,” he said. “In fact you’re the oddest woman in the world.”
“Why?”
“Because no one asks Azrael not to go away.’ ”
“But you didn’t come for me.”
“You’re right, I didn’t, and your time isn’t up yet. Why did you call me? What do you want?”
“Please, please tell me,” I said. “Please tell me everything.”
“Your heart isn’t ready yet.”
“It’s ready now, tell me, and please tell me.” I began to cry.
“You see, those tears of yours are more convincing than your words. Everyone feigns reluctance at first but believes in the end. Do they, in fact, have any other choice?”
“Tell me!”
“Very well. Max was supposed to die on February 24. He was supposed to die at the Black Sea Motel. That’s why I was there.”
I didn’t know what to say. He looked deep into my eyes and the continued.
“You know Nadia also died 24 February. Max could no longer bear the loneliness of living without his wife. My job would have been very easy.”
“Well then?”
“But you upset my plans. You brought him back to life. Just as he was about to die, his body remembered love and he didn’t want to go.”
“Are you telling me the story about the vizier who died in Samarkand? The one who had an appointment with Azrael?”
“No, I don’t tell stories, the stories are all in your mind.”
“Wait a minute. You’re part of the story. That means you’re in my mind too.”
“Now you understand. Now your heart is ready to tell the story.”
He laughed aloud as he walked away.
The digital recorder on the sand beside me began to play the Serenade from the beginning again.
I woke up in terror, got up, brushed the sand off me, and picked up the recorder.
I hoped the driver was still waiting for me, and that I wouldn’t have to go to the Black Sea Motel and ask Azrael to call me a taxi.
I looked for the urn, but it must already have been carried out to sea.
“Farewell Max, farewell Nadia,” I said.
That was when I decided to tell their story. Only those whose stories are told can exist.
ZÜLFÜ LIVANELI is Turkey’s bestselling author, a celebrated composer and film director, and a political activist. Widely considered one of the most important Turkish cultural figures of our time, he is known for his novels that interweave diverse social and historical backgrounds, figures, and incidents, including the critically acclaimed Bliss (winner of the Barnes & Noble Discover Great New Writers Award), Leyla’s House, My Brother’s Story, and The Eunuch of Constantinople, which have been translated into thirty-seven languages, won numerous international literary prizes, and been turned into movies, stage plays, and operas.
BRENDAN FREELY was born in Princeton in 1959 and studied psychology at Yale University. His translations include Two Girls by Perihan Mağden, The Gaze by Elif Shafak, and Like a Sword Wound by Ahmet Altan.
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