“No, because you’re not making any sense!”
Derin glared at me, her eyes flashing fire. “We’re not going just because we’re bored and want to kill some time.”
“If we hadn’t joined that Facebook group, would we know anything about any of this?”
Derin was getting more and more annoyed. “But we did join it and now we know. End of story, dot.com. Why can’t you see us as being part of their struggle? Can’t we be an exception?”
“You’re asking me?”
“No, I’m asking your mom! Weren’t you saying that this is their Gezi?”
“Yeah.”
“Well then, what’s your problem?!”
“Did you forget that we had other plans? Then this came along.”
“Now the problem is becoming clearer.”
Is it, Houston? Is the problem clear now? What they were calling a “problem” was the fact that we’d made plans to go on vacation together. Yes, go on vacation. As simple as that. I was going on vacation for the first time in my life. After nearly drowning in a hotel pool when I was three years old and taking one middle-school summer trip, I was going to have a real vacation, and I’d been ecstatic about it. If that trip to the eastern part of the country had been scheduled for any other time, I would’ve been more than happy to go, but now it was taking the place of our holiday, for which we’d been prepared. Passports, check. Visas, check. Our plan was to go to Greece. First by a bus bound for Thessaloniki, and we would get off along the way. Chalcidice, here we come! A group of people we’d met at Gezi had made such a trip, and we planned on following the same route. We were going to be real tourists with our backpacks and tent. I’d been blown away by the pics they’d posted on Insta. They were what had given me the idea of taking such a holiday. It was as if we were going to be journeying to a piece of heaven. Deep-blue sea, umbrellas opened to the glass-like sky, worldly worries sunk beneath the waters, all kinds of people having a good time. Even though there was a note attached that read “No filter, no Photoshop!” the pics were like paintings. But in the end, that dream of a vacation had been wrenched from my grasp. In its place there was a new plan of going to a desert. I was afraid I’d be found out for thinking that way, as I really wasn’t a cold or uncaring person. It was just that the clash of dates had dashed my hopes. Instead of getting on a bus bound for the most desolate place in the country, I wanted to go to heaven. I’d say to myself, “We can go another time and take those toys to the kids there ourselves. Wouldn’t that work?”
“Stop being ridiculous!”
When Derin snapped at me like that, I flew into a rage. Well, that may not be entirely true. I’d already wilted under her smoldering gaze, but all the same, I was giving it my all to express myself in the clearest terms.
We arrived at her place. There was an old-fashioned tapestry hanging on the living room wall, but as I mentioned before, the place was literally spotless. In that home, not a speck of dust drifted through the air, and if such a speck dared to commit such an abuse, a broad array of precautions had been put into place to lock onto it with a radar of cleanliness and zap it into nonexistence. I resigned myself to saying, “If that’s how you feel, you guys can go ahead without me.” I felt like an undesired speck of dust as I spoke those words.
But after that day, everything clicked into place. No, that wasn’t yet another reference to a university exam question about idioms. I wasn’t going with them, and that was that.
28
UNDO
Do you also get the impression that the day I sent off my friends in Kadıköy was filled with confusion? Indeed it was, because such a day had never occurred before. At least, not in my life. On that day at that hour, Derin and Pembe with their highlights in their hair got on the bus and left. I could just say we weren’t on good terms at the time, but in fact we parted in anger. Perhaps I’d sensed deep down that something was amiss. In one of my dreams about my grandma, she offered such an explanation. I hadn’t been able to bring myself to tell my friends about the feeling of unease that had been haunting me. That feeling that had been eating me up inside eventually morphed into regret. Why hadn’t I tried harder to dissuade them from going? I became so obsessed with that idea that I even considered ratting out my friends to the police department, which has a web page for such things.
After the incident, my aunt opened two bottles of beer, one for me and one for her. I suppose she was thinking that I needed to open up and talk about my feelings. Or that I needed to let myself fall apart. I confessed to her that I felt guilty about not trying to convince Pembe and Derin not to go.
She got angry with me.
Ranting, I said, “But I didn’t do it. I couldn’t. I didn’t tip them off. I didn’t write anything on the police department’s Facebook page.” But it was too late.
My aunt chided me for even considering such a thing, and her rebuke weighed on me as heavily as the crime itself. Perhaps that itself was the crime. That’s how it should have been in this country of ours, for thought is a crime. People can be hauled in by the police for believing in certain ideas. But, as with my situation, that changes according to your thoughts on certain matters.
“Even thinking about tipping off the police is as bad as doing it.”
“I know, but I didn’t do it!”
That’s when my aunt said something that was like a slap across the face: “Since when did you become so morally corrupt?”
If my grandma had been there, she would’ve said, “She’s not corrupt. You whore, stop trying to take out the anger you feel for other people on the poor girl!” But I didn’t say anything. I bit my tongue. Falling from grace in my aunt’s eyes in such an unfair way was like having a cluster bomb dropped on me. I’m ashamed to make such a comparison here, but that’s how it was. I died at that moment.
I wish that I’d been with Pembe and Derin so that I could’ve died with them. In all honesty, I wasn’t the one who identified their bodies by the highlights in their hair. But the ferry incident was real, and I really did get into an argument with that guy. We didn’t scuffle or end up at the police station—I made those parts up—but we would have if that crew member hadn’t pulled us apart. Everything else that followed is true.
When a heart opens up before you like a book, bursting into leaf as if it were a tree, you can stumble upon all humanity’s emotions there, in its every nook and cranny. All those emotions that have been hidden away. It is human nature to try to hide our shame from others. Even from ourselves, for that matter. For people like me who openly air their grievances and confess to their wrongdoings, it’s the same as saying, “Dig my grave very deep.” That and nothing more.
29
SELECT A PHOTOGRAPH
There are so many things to which I should dedicate my life. All the same, for mysterious reasons, I’m ill and filled with sadness. I mean, that’s how I was in the past. Now, I’m breathless. Because I’ve been making my way around the park branch by branch, because I’ve been coming to terms with my shame and the troubles I’ve gotten into as a result of my outspokenness, click click click. Don’t be surprised that clicking has taken the place of complaining. Why? Because when you slide your finger across your timeline, it goes “click click click.” It’s quite natural that clicking should usurp complaining.
So, let’s continue, shall we?
I may have even said to my aunt, “But I’m still just a child.”
To which she possibly replied, “Yes, when it serves your purposes!”
There’s this quote, but I can’t remember who wrote it, forgive me: “My desires consist of nothing more than a humble village house with a tree in the yard, and six or seven of my enemies hanging from its branches.” Now I remember—it was Heinrich Heine who said that. Why am I bringing this up now? Because they were unfair to me. You think they were unfair, right? I wasn’t looking for support or someone to take up my cause. I’m just asking . . . As if! Dumbasses are always “just asking.” So don’t get me
wrong: I have no intention of doing that.
When I returned, I saw that Yunus was waiting for me on the top of the wall. When I saw him like that, I was reminded of the Little Prince sleeping on top of the planet. Before he had a chance to ask me anything, I said, “I was out counting the trees in the park.”
“If you keep going out on these excursions, they’ll catch on to us.”
“You’re saying that just as I’ve mustered the courage to go out into the world, like the Little Prince, who was the ruler of the world and the universe . . . Now that you can comfortably hang out on the top of this wall and in the branches of the trees.”
“This isn’t about me.”
“I know, it’s all been about me. That’s exactly why I’m here. So as not to be the issue at hand. At least, not down in the world below.”
That was perhaps the first time we got upset with each other. Rather, I was upset with him. But Yunus was so kindhearted that he merely looked at me, a gentle expression on his face. He truly could have been the Little Prince.
“Today’s your birthday, right? This is no day for pouting.”
“How did you know it’s my birthday?”
“Because I found you.”
“It would seem so. I’m standing right here, aren’t I?”
“I mean, I found you on the Internet.”
“How? I never told you my name.”
“I know Derin’s and Pembe’s names. And I know that you all studied at Notre Dame de Sion.”
“So, you found their accounts, and I was one of the people following them. Clever!”
“But you didn’t use your real name.”
“Of course not.”
“You used a fake name.”
“Yep. It’s called a username.”
“I don’t know much about that kind of thing. But I was hoping that the date for your birthday was real. I’d like it to be. Whether it is or not, I’d like to celebrate your birthday with you tonight.”
“The thirtieth of September. That’s right.”
“Happy birthday, sweetie.”
We hugged. We kissed. He gave me a present. I took my present. Excitedly I opened it. He’d gotten me a red scarf. I tied it around my neck.
“Thank you.”
“I hope you like it. You’re blushing.”
He’d also brought along dinner for us. We found a secluded spot and sat down. There was a full moon. It was so close that we could’ve reached out and touched it.
“Wasn’t there a full moon just a few days ago?”
“Who knows? Maybe it became full again tonight for us.”
“The other day it was snowing. The park was covered in snow.”
“Was it a dream?”
“At first it was real, but then it turned into a dream. As if they’d suddenly decided that what I’d seen should be a dream.”
“Don’t let it get to you. Sometimes that happens.”
“Indeed it does.”
Yunus laid out the food he’d brought, and after checking to make sure that no one could see us, he lit a small candle, the crowning touch to our dinner. Let me explain exactly where we were perched so you won’t find our boldness that night out of place. There was an area where the branches of the horse chestnut tree curved out over the wall, creating an arch of sorts, and the branches of the silver birch below were tightly interwoven like a net. I’m not exaggerating—they looked just like a net, after growing ever closer together over the years, interlacing. At that point along its length, the wall became one with the trees and broadened out, and the branches of the horse chestnut were like a dome over our heads. In every way it was as if the ideal of the warm, cozy home—a Hobbit home, if you will—had come into being in that very spot. As Yunus lit the candle, illuminating the small spread laid out before us, I wanted to make that place our home so much that I took the scarf off and hung it from a branch so it could be our curtain.
Yunus said, “Don’t worry, no one can see us here . . .”
Then, after a pause, he turned his attention to the food. Let me list what he’d brought for my birthday dinner. There was fried chicken. Yes, that’s right: fried chicken. Fried a golden brown and still warm. Roasted eggplant puree. White sandwich bread. And ginger ale. He’d gotten it all from the hotel. The chicken was from room 22, the order for its occupants having been incorrectly entered. When the bellboy writes down “chicken” instead of “roast lamb with artichoke”—that’s our boon, bon appétit! As for the eggplant puree, it had already been cooked up in a big pot for the beğendeli kebap. There was always bread, and ginger ale was easy to get.
“The only thing I couldn’t manage to get,” he said, “was a cake.”
Before I could say, “That’s okay,” I saw that he was taking some chocolate bars out of his jacket pocket. He forgot to bring plastic cutlery, but that didn’t matter because we managed to get that fine cuisine down just fine using a pair of stout twigs, which I cut and pared down to chopsticks. After becoming accustomed to gripping the bark of trees, my hands had started to become rough and animal-like, or at least that’s how it seemed to me.
I could tell that something was weighing heavily on Yunus’s mind. At first, I tried to distract him. As I showed him how to use the chopsticks, I told him how my mother had once won some free food at the Chinese restaurant in our neighborhood by being the hundredth person to place an order with them over the phone. When the girl on the phone insisted on asking, “Would you like any dessert?” at the last moment, my mother decided against ordering some deep-fried ice cream, one of her favorites, as she would have to pay for it and she didn’t have much money. But still, she would never forget that time when she was the lucky hundredth person. In those days, I was in primary school, and I remember that I was doing my math homework that night. When our order of free Chinese food was delivered, we couldn’t have been happier.
Yunus was still rather quiet. Still, gazing at his face illuminated by the glow of the flickering candle brought me more joy than anything else.
Softly, I asked him, “What’s bothering you?”
“I’m not going to be able to come see you for a while.”
“How will I go on living without you?!”
Those words suddenly fell from my lips. Wrenched from my heart. Poured from my tongue.
“How will I go on living without you?”
“But I’ll come.”
He reached out and took my hand.
“Don’t you worry, baby. I’m not going to leave you alone here.”
This time it was my turn to lapse into silence. Plunging into the well of sorrow without a rope. Scuba diving without a tank. Call it what you will.
“Okay, but why? Why are you leaving? More importantly, where are you going?”
“You know that they saw us . . .”
“Yes.”
“It was pointless, of course, and completely unexpected.”
“You said you’d made a deal with them.”
“I had. At first, I was under the impression that they believed me and were understanding about the whole situation.”
“Then what happened?”
“They threatened me.”
“How?”
“They said they’d tell the hotel management.”
“So, what do they want?”
“My salary.”
“Are you going to give it to them?”
“No. I need that money for my father. Payday is tomorrow, and then poof! I’ll disappear for a while. I’m going to tell the directress that I’m sick.”
“Do you think that vanishing for a few days will solve the problem?”
“I don’t know. But at least I’ll be able to keep my salary.”
“I wish you’d told me about this after dinner was over . . .”
“Are you upset?”
I nodded. I could have even cried.
“Don’t worry, it’s going to be okay. Because I love you very much.”
“I love you too.”
>
We went on eating in silence. Some birds gathered in the branches above us and started chirruping. After we finished eating, I got my fur coat from the nest and we set off down our path toward Sırça Palace. When we got to our place, I laid out the coat, which, in the light of the full moon, was as luxurious as the finest of beds. We undressed and made love, under the coat, tangled in the coat, on top of the coat . . . The lead-covered domes glimmered in the moonlight, which bathed us from head to toe.
“Look,” Yunus said, “it’s like we’re made of silver.” He reached out with one hand as if he was trying to catch hold of the moon. After making love twice, we stretched out on our backs, the endless night sky spread out above us, the huge moon directly overhead. We gave ourselves over to both of them. We gave ourselves over to love. To such an extent, perhaps, that we surrendered our souls.
Yunus said again, “It’s like we’re made of silver.” He may have been drunk on love, experiencing the dizzying pleasure of something felt for the very first time. I can say that was certainly true for me. Nothing so wonderful had ever happened to me before.
“It’s like we’re made of silver.”
In the darkness of the space between us, his arm reaching up into the sky was as beautiful as a sculpture of silver.
“‘We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep.’”
“That’s beautiful!”
“It’s from Shakespeare.”
“I know. I mean, I didn’t know those lines, but I know of Shakespeare.”
“Those words are as old as Sırça Seraglio here. As they were building this palace, in another corner of the world he was writing those lines. He penned into being glass palaces, glass seraglios.”
“You have such a way with words.”
What is your substance, whereof are you made,
That millions of strange shadows on you tend?
Since every one hath, every one, one shade,
And you, but one, can every shadow lend.
I had Yunus memorize the lines I recited to him. His lips moved ever so slightly in the darkness as he silently repeated after me. After a while, we fell silent and listened to the hum of the city. It wasn’t something noisy that grated on the ears, but rather a soothing sound. You watch the bustle of life from afar, like the trees, like me, and when you do so, the din quiets down, softens, becoming a gentle sound like that hum.
The Girl in the Tree Page 31
