How they went about having children, I wouldn’t know, but getting wed was quite a business. If you had a mind to get married you couldn’t just hang around the girl’s house; you had to trek right round the hill. And every hill was worse than a fortress! There wasn’t a farmer didn’t have a gun and every farm had at least a dozen dogs more vicious than a pack of hungry wolves. Not even a chicken could get anywhere near, let alone a lad courting his girl. So if you wanted to see your girl you had to lie in wait for her a whole week and more, and even then you never knew whether it was her you’d bump into or her father.
My Hatte’s father was a right wild ‘un, and he had this roan stallion. That’s how he got the name ‘Roany’. The horse had brass stirrups, the reins were decorated with mother-of-pearl, and the halter was covered in buckles and buttons. Old Soulyuman Roany had enough braid on his clothes to go twice round the hill, yet he himself was always sullen and surly. He never said much and when he did speak he measured everything he said like it was costing him a piece of gold for every word. But his daughter Hatte made up for him – when she opened her mouth and sang, every living thing fell silent and listened.
Her voice worked its way under my skin good and proper, and I said to myself: ‘She’s the one!’ I says. But how to tell her? If she’d come down to the Bayram it would have been easy, but her father didn’t let her. So I took to trekking round their hill. It drew me like a bee to a honey-pot, that hill of theirs, because every now and then Hatte used to graze her goats up there. And I waited on yon side of the gully, rolled stones into the river, felled trees or sang songs, so she’d see I’d fallen in love with her.
I’d rolled a good few stones into the gully, rooted up a good few trees and sung a good many songs when one day I noticed she’d taken off her headscarf and was waving to me with it. That same evening I went to see old Granny Pehlivanka. She made ointments and creams and sold them round the farmsteads. Everyone knew her – all the dogs did too – and there wasn’t a place she couldn’t go.
‘Go up to Hatte Roany’s place,’ I says to her, ‘and ask her if she knows any ointment to soothe the pain in a bachelor’s heart. If you bring me some of that ointment,’ I says to the old woman, ‘I’ll buy you red dye to colour your woollen rugs.’
She was a wise old bird, that Pehlivanka. She could see where the shoe was pinching me, and the very next day she went off to see Hatte on the hill.
‘I bring you greetings from Hassanchek,’ she said to her. ‘He’s lost his heart to you and wants to take you as his wife.’
‘My heart is his,’ Hatte answered, ‘for I’ve heard how sweetly he plays on his shepherd’s pipe. Only there’s one thing you must know – if my father gets to hear of it he’ll slaughter me like a lamb, so not a word to anyone!’
My heart jumped for joy when Pehlivanka brought me the news from Hatte, and I wished the sky were a huge great bell so I could beat it and clang it till that beautiful name of hers went ringing over the forests and mountains. But seeing as the sky couldn’t turn into a bell I tied the bells to my goats and drove the whole herd up through the gorge, jingling and jangling, till Hatte’s headscarf appeared way up on the hill. That was our first meeting. And by the time we’d met a second and third time the grass had gone grey, the trees had turned yellow, the mountain was a blaze of colour and autumn had come. The harvest was in, the threshing done and the time for betrothals and weddings was drawing near.
Mother and Father had noticed which bit of sky my sun shone brightest in, but they didn’t say a word. Then one day Father said to me:
‘Son,’ he says, ‘I wouldn’t ring those bells so much if I were you. There’s someone else treading the hay on your hillside!’
That piece of advice came like a bolt from the blue, but I didn’t dare ask any more. Instead I got Pehlivanka to go and see Hatte, and this time it was not soothing balm she brought, but poison.
‘When Hassanchek sees my headscarf tied round my stick,’ Hatte had told her, ‘he must take his gun and his dagger and wait for me in the gully!’
That’s all she’d said.
By evening, though, I knew the rest of the story. I saw the drummers come down from Baklara and go off to Lukavitsa. They’d been summoned by Deli Mehmet and they boasted to me how at nightfall the next day they’d be beating their drums on Roany’s hill. I knew all I needed : Deli Mehmet was taking Hatte Roany as a wife for his son Brahom.
The news gripped me round the throat and nearly stifled me. If it had been anyone else I could have done something about it: burn his beehives say, or set fire to his house or frighten him off somehow, but this was Deli Mehmet! The famous Deli Mehmet who’d led the Bashi-bazouks at Batak, plundering and murdering. A bloodthirsty scoundrel he was, rolling in money, and he put the fear of God into every living creature. If Roany had decided to give Hatte to him, then only Allah could rescue her from his clutches.
There was just one tiny flame flickering in that pitch-black night: the message Hatte had sent me to wait for her in the gully. To tell the truth though, I didn’t put much faith in what she’d said about coming to the gully and signalling with her headscarf tied to a stick.
The following evening I took my double-barrelled gun and climbed up to Eagle Rock opposite Roany’s hill. All of a sudden I heard them : ‘Dummm, dummmm, dummm, dummmm!’ Two drums had started beating down in Lukavitsa. Up the hill they went towards Roany’s place, leading a gay procession of wedding guests. Up and up the procession went, drums beating, and I could feel the blood pounding at my temples like my head was going to burst! I saw Roany jump on his horse and ride out to meet his guests. There was a pistol shot from down below. Ten rifles fired back in reply, and the hill disappeared in a cloud of smoke. When the smoke cleared I looked over to the rock where Hatte used to sit and saw her white headscarf, tied to a stick. So the Lord had not forsaken me! I’d felt sure she’d come flying to the gully to find me before the wedding guests arrived, but she’d clearly thought better of it. After all, if she left while it was still light, Deli Mehmet and his men would come after her and find her, so she’d decided to wait. Let the night get nice and dark and the men get nice and drunk, and then she’d run away.
And that’s just what happened. The wedding guests arrived. There was a lot of eating and drinking and music-making, and when midnight came Hatte said to her mother:
‘Mother,’ she said, ‘you’re tired out. Give me the sack of hay and I’ll feed the calves.’
Then she took the sack and went out. And she didn’t go back again. They sent her brother Rassim to look for her, but all he found was the sack. Her mother fainted, Roany ranted and raged and the wedding guests went wild. They buckled their belts, shouldered their rifles, leaped on their horses and rode off up the mountain to look for her.
While all this was going on I was waiting in the gully. Hatte was still a good three hundred paces off when I heard her footsteps. She came up to me and said :
‘Take me wherever you will!’
I grabbed her hand and led her away. But instead of taking her up to the caves and waiting there till everything had blown over and quietened down, stupid idiot that I was, I took her along the path to Kroushovo, the village where I lived.
Just short of the village it began to get light, and I saw Hatte from up close for the first time. Her teeth were white and regular, and her lips so bright and fresh, like she’d done nothing but eat blackberries all her days, that I didn’t dare touch them…. ‘There’s plenty of time,’ I thought to myself. But time was ticking away, as the saying goes, and every minute was numbered. It was still early when we got in, but the whole neighbourhood came flocking round. And everyone, relatives and neighbours too, were right pleased Kroushovo was getting such a bonny bride.
‘Quick!’ Father said, ‘someone go and find the hodja. They must be married right away. Deli Mehmet and his band of ruffians will be here any minute!’
That band of ruffians had searched high and low, but when dawn broke and th
ey’d found nothing they went back to Roany’s place, a-pondering and a-puzzling where Hatte could be – whether the earth had swallowed her up or whether the devil had spirited her away. Then they thought they’d try shouting to see if that would do any good, and we heard the echo of Roany’s voice:
‘Hey! You Kroushovites! Can you hear me? Have you got a girl of ours over there?’
‘Aye! We have!’ Father shouted back. ‘Only she isn’t yours, she’s ours! Do you hear – ours!’
When father said ‘ours’ the other lot went quiet. Then all hell broke loose – an almighty yelling and howling like three hundred wolves, and Deli Mehmet and his horsemen came pouring over the hill towards Kroushovo.
Now what? The wedding was in full swing, but we were still waiting for the hodja. The wedding guests – all kinds of nephews and nieces and uncles and aunts, on my father’s side and on my mother’s – they got all excited at first and started shouting, but as Deli Mehmet and his band got closer to the village they cooled down and melted away.
But Mehmet’s lot were coming! Daggers in their teeth and rifles at the ready! On they rode! The men standing there by me thought we’d best scram:
‘Come on Hassanchek!’ they said. ‘That lot’U wipe the floor with us. Let’s get out of here while there’s still time!’
‘I can’t protect you!’ Father shouted. ‘Two bullets is all I’ve got, and those bloodthirsty ruffians have a sackful each!’
The horsemen thundered into the village. Hooves clattered on the cobbles, rifles cracked and Deli Mehmet’s voice rang out:
‘Come on, let’s burn the place down! We’ll show ‘em, the bastards!’
There wasn’t a soul left to help me. I got the back gate open and ran off up the hill, and it was only when I got to the top I realized Hatte hadn’t come with me but had stayed down at the house. Our yard was already full of Deli Mehmet’s men, and I didn’t have the strength to go back….
‘What was it brought you here, you stupid wench?’ her father shouted.
‘Whatever it was, Father, I’ve found it!’
He was down in the yard, and she shouted back from the verandah.
‘Come down this very minute!’ Roany bellowed. ‘Or I’ll slit your throat like a baby lamb!’
‘You’ll never get me out of here alive, Father,’ Hatte answered.
‘Who did you run away with?’ asked Deli Mehmet.
‘With me, Mehmet Aga!’ a man’s voice thundered back. And do you know who came out on the verandah by Hatte’s side? My father’s brother, Uncle Selim.
He’d never married, Uncle Selim hadn’t, nor been engaged, neither. On account of his right arm being crippled, and he couldn’t go ploughing or digging. In stead he stayed back home. He had his meals with us, made bows and arrows and other toys for the kids and in the summer he kept watch for badgers in the maize fields…. His face was all pockmarked, and he had great horsy teeth – not at all the kind of fellow to do a thing like that. But there he was, standing by Hatte.
‘I brought her here, Mehmet Aga!’ Uncle Selim repeated. And in his left hand he held up a pistol – one with a revolving drum – and he shouted to Deli Mehmet: ‘Deli Mehmet! I’ve got just one pistol here and just one bullet in it. If there’s any man here more worthy of Hatte than me, let him step forward. We’ll each take a shot at each other, and the one who isn’t killed can take Hatte Roany as his wife.’
Deli Mehmet’s men grumbled and growled, but he shut them up.
‘Who’ll shoot first?’ asked Deli Mehmet.
‘Your man can shoot first,’ Uncle answered.
‘Brahom!’ Deli Mehmet said to his son. ‘Come and show us the colour of this joker’s blood so we can be getting on our way!’
Everyone drew back, and Brahom was left standing in the middle. Slowly Brahom Delimehmetyuv examined his gun, raised his arm and took aim. Very carefully he took aim, then he lowered the gun and took aim again. And all the while Uncle was leaning up against the wooden railing, smiling and looking him straight in the eye.
‘Aim straight, Brahom son of Deli Mehmet, aim straight. Because if you don’t kill me, I’ll shoot you so dead your mother’s milk will curdle in your belly!’
Very quietly he spoke, but there was such a hush, you could hear every word. So very quietly, but words like that send shivers down your spine….
Brahom’s rifle cracked, smoke hid the yard and when it cleared I could see Uncle Selim standing there, alive and unharmed.
Then Deli Mehmet’s offspring turned his horse and fled. He was that scared! His father flew into a temper and shouted after him:
‘Stop! You spineless funk! Karisina siktigimi! Stop, I say!’
But Brahom kept going, his coat fluttering behind him like a paper kite. Deli Mehmet fired his gun, but even that didn’t stop his son. Then Deli Mehmet turned to Uncle and said :
‘That litde ninny of mine doesn’t deserve a woman like her. You have her, Selim Aga, she’s yours!’
Then the horsemen wheeled about and rode off. By and by the farmers came out of the bushes, and I too went home. Hatte was sitting with Selim and they were looking into each other’s eyes.
‘Hassanchek!’ she said when she saw me. ‘I do want to stay, but with Selim!’
I threw myself at Selim and we got each other round the throat, but Father pulled us apart.
‘She belongs to Selim,’ he said. ‘He has a right to her. After all, but for him, we’d have had neither a bride to welcome nor a house to live in….’
Others chimed in as well, all supporting what he said … and Selim got Hatte as his bride.
What else is there to tell you? It would be better really if I didn’t say, but you did ask why I was called ‘Oak-wood’. Well, I was that ashamed I ran off into the forest and hid in the oak wood for a few months. And that’s how I got my name ‘Oakwood’.
I crawled into a hole in the ground and lived there like a wild animal. All by myself! But whichever way I turned I saw another Hassanchek leering at me and asking: ‘Why did you run away? Why?’ And if I looked to one side there was Hatte, calling me a frightened rabbit and a coward. I screwed up my eyes so as not to see, but that only hid what was going on outside. You can’t screw up your eyes against what’s going on inside, and inside my head over and over again I saw Hatte’s headscarf, our meeting, the wedding guests, the songs – everything! And Hatte holding Selim by the hand …! First I lay on one side, then on the other. I tried lying on my stomach and then on my back, but nothing could stop those inner eyes from seeing, and those inner ears from hearing.
In the end I said to myself: ‘Why poison your life like this? Why not kill them, both of them, and put an end to the hell you’re living in?’
And I started having these dreams. I dreamed I was killing Hatte. My right hand raised the pistol, but my left hand wanted to caress her. On one side my heart was hard, but on the other it was soft. I ate raw fox meat, made a brew of eagles’ talons and drank the blood of a wild cat – all to harden my heart. And in the end the dreams stopped and I said to myself: ‘Hassanchek, my boy! It’s time! Go and kill them!’
When I got home nobody asked me about anything. And I said nothing neither. I just went on sharpening my dagger … and wondering where to plunge it first: Selim’s back or Hatte’s white neck? And I said to myself: ‘Why not take a last look at her, look at her for the last time and listen to her voice while she’s still alive?’ So I stood at the window and watched her cross the yard to fetch water, and I could see how beautifully she swung her hips. And while I was watching her from the verandah, Uncle Selim was keeping an eye on her from the doorway, just in case anything happened to her between the house and the fountain. Such bright blue eyes Selim had, opened wide…. ‘Let him look!’ I said to myself. ‘Let him look, for just a little longer!’
Hatte went back to her room and started singing. They were all alone in the house. Everyone else was in the fields. She sang, and Selim hummed the tune with her. She sang and she
laughed. Night and day she was always laughing. Only at night her laughter was different – like she was being tickled, or Selim’s beard was prickling her. Her laughter bubbled up, then quietened down, right the way through till dawn, bubbling up and quietening down…. All night long….
Me in my room, and them in theirs, but you could hear everything. I used to pull the bedclothes over my head and tug my hat down over my ears so I wouldn’t hear, but I didn’t run away. The thought of food and sleep never entered my head. I was wasting away to nothing and could hardly lift my feet to walk. One day Father said to me:
‘Hassanchek,’ he said, ‘if you want to die, go and dig yourself a grave. But if you have a mind to go on living, get the plough and come ploughing and sowing with us.’
It was then I made up my mind : ‘Tomorrow I’ll finish them off, come what may!’
Early next morning the rest of the family went out into the fields. Hatte had gone to fetch water. Selim was sitting by the door and watching her. I took my dagger and crept up on him from behind. He was sitting there, nothing on his head, and a flower tucked in his ear. A crocus or a hellebore or something, I couldn’t really see, on account of the mist that clouded my eyes. And right behind his ear there was this wart, like a grain of maize, just like my father had…. All at once I felt it was Father I was about to stab and not Uncle Selim…. And before I knew what had happened the dagger slid from my hand and fell to the ground. Uncle Selim turned, picked it up and shoved it in my pocket.
‘Hassanchek, my lad,’ he said, ‘eagles are caught with live bait, not with carrion! Be off with you now!’
So I left and never went back. I moved from place to place, and never settled anywhere for long. I spent some time in Turkey, got married two or three times, but I never forgot the words Uncle Selim had spoken :
‘Eagles are caught with live bait, not with carrion!’
Just an hour running away, and a lifetime trying to get back! And no matter how you try, it’s never any good. You never can get back to where you first started.
Wild Tales Page 15
