Iron Earth, Copper Sky

by Yashar Kemal

  Chapter 10

  Long before sunrise as the east began to glow and cast its rosy light upon the white snow, the village was awake as though preparing to greet a day of festivities, and soon after sunrise the village square was alive with a colourful array of women decked in all the finery they could muster. The little mirrors that the young girls attached to their headdress on special occasions flashed in the early morning sun. Arm in arm a group of young men made their way to Long Ali’s house. ‘Take your pipe and play us a tune or two, Uncle Ali,’ they begged. And Ali promptly followed them to the square where the youths lined up for the halay dance. Farther off young girls were dancing and singing to the beat of a tambourine.

  The village had shed all its cares. Adil Effendi was coming at last. He would be there that very day, they were certain of it, and those bitter weeks of anguished waiting would be over and done with. Blithely the morning wore on. At noon, a rumour set them rushing with sudden cries of joy for the town road. But not a living thing was to be seen. They straggled back, somewhat chastened, but still hoping. In the afternoon, there was another false alarm. But when darkness began to fall they knew that there was not a shred of hope left. Utterly spent, all the blood drained from their veins, they crept back to their homes in a deathlike silence.

  The Muhtar was worried. Hands on hips he paced the house from one end to another. The younger of his two wives crouched in a corner hushing the baby she had borne him on their return from Chukurova. Outside a storm was brewing. The wind came howling ever more furiously from over the steppe, the frozen snow crackled, the world shook.

  The Muhtar’s uneasiness increased. He must do something, he must think of a way out. Suppose he told the villagers that they need not pay off their debt after all? ‘And let Adil tackle me about it, if he will! By God, why not? I’ll tell them their debts have been written off, that they never existed. But what if Adil comes along with a posse of policemen? Ah, but Sefer, the king of muhtars will find a way out of that one! After all, Adil’s only got that little yellow book of his to show. He could write anything he wished in there. Can you produce a promissory note, I’ll ask him, certified by the notary? No? Well then, we don’t owe you a jot. That’s what I’ll say, and then just watch Adil dance with rage.’

  He was pleased with his idea, but his uneasiness persisted. He paced the room more quickly, almost hurling himself from one wall to the other.

  ‘I’ll do it!’ he shouted out loud. ‘I’ll cancel the debts, whatever happens.’

  He was afraid. There was no knowing what the villagers might do now, after this long frustrated wait. He would never be able to retain his hold over them. They might turn against him like angry waters breaking a dam, and join Tashbash, his arch-enemy. Everything was going wrong for him.

  Look at what’s blowing outside now! Why, this storm’s going to uproot the whole village and sweep it right up to the top of Mount Tekech! What a storm! The very earth is shaking.

  A sinister fantasy gripped him, dragging him on against a dark wall of fear. The villagers waking up one morning to see Adil Effendi there, in the middle of the village, motionless, his head and shoulders white with snow. The villagers quaking with fear, trembling, trembling, until the trembling is no longer with fear but with rage, and closer, closer they creep to each other like sheep flocking together, pressing together, tighter, tighter … One solid compact mass gathering momentum … A thunderbolt striking Adil Effendi … When the mass breaks apart, there is no Adil at all! A spot of blood on the ground, a leg maybe, a bit of an arm, half a nose … Where has that large man vanished to? The police are nowhere to be seen. Panic-stricken, it didn’t take them long to decamp. The villagers are tired. There is no more Adil. Arms dangling lifelessly, heads hanging, they stand about, irresolute, a ready prey to lead by the nose.

  ‘Ah Adil, you scoundrel, see what you’ve done to these people.’ The pacing became more frenzied. He felt himself choking, the world darkening and he flung himself out into the night. The blizzard caught him with a slap and rooted him to the spot. The darkness, the stinging snow, the freezing cold … Sefer retreated hastily and closed the door.

  Suddenly he remembered the girl. ‘Pale Ismail’s daughter! It’s ages since I’ve talked to her.’

  At the thought his body tingled warmly. ‘Quick,’ he said to his wife. ‘Put the baby in its cradle. Go straight to Pale Ismail’s and bring back his daughter. That poor girl, we haven’t been able to do anything for her. Be quick!’

  By now the woman had got used to it. She knew what Sefer was up to and that if she delayed one minute things would go ill for her.

  ‘Quick,’ he shouted after her. ‘Bring her at once!’

  The passion in his voice shook her. She braced herself against the blizzard and ran.

  Sefer could hardly wait. He was trembling all over, but he was afraid. What if his desire died away before the girl arrived? He opened and shut the door a dozen times, letting in blasts of snow. His older wife and the children had come in at the shouting and were staring at him fearfully.

  Sefer was irritated. ‘Get along, all of you,’ he roared. ‘To your beds! Don’t let my eyes see a single one of you.’

  ‘Don’t shout like that, Sefer,’ his wife said. ‘What’s wrong with you now? All right! We’re going! What’s wrong with you?’

  He fell silent. The pleasant tingling warmth was slowly draining out of him. ‘Oh my God … The girl … quick!’

  The door opened. She came in followed by his younger wife. Eagerly he took her by the hand, and at her touch his body came alive once more, the tingling reaching deep into the very marrow of his bones.

  ‘Come,’ he said, ‘come, my lovely girl, my unfortunate angel whom I’ve left unavenged all this time. Come and let us find a remedy for your woes, let us bind your wound.’

  He led the girl to the fire and made her sit down. Then he squatted beside her. ‘You there,’ he said to his younger wife, ‘take the baby and go inside.’

  His wife picked up the cradle with the baby and retired into the back section of the house.

  ‘Now, tell me … Quickly, quickly!’

  By now the girl was used to it. She knew what she was expected to say and she was no longer ashamed as in the first days of her misfortune.

  ‘Speak, my girl, speak. Tell me, my gazelle, tell me all so that …’

  She even felt pleasure now in telling her story and would let herself be drawn by Sefer’s excitement.

  ‘Well, you know Ibrahim from the other village …’

  ‘Skip the part about Ibrahim. I know that.’

  ‘We were winnowing the grain close to each other that year …’

  ‘Skip the winnowing. I know all about that.’

  ‘He set a trap for me. He said he would marry me and …’

  ‘No, no, skip all that and come to the part about the cave, when they brought you to the cave, he and his companion. You remember? The cave all filled with bats hanging heads down. Now, you went in, and then?’

  ‘We went in and Ibrahim tried to strip me of my clothes. I wouldn’t let him. We struggled and night fell. And then his friend came. He attacked me too, but I didn’t surrender to them.’

  The Muhtar’s face began to burn. ‘Go on! Go on, quickly!’

  The girl was taking her time. She smiled at him through half-lidded eyes, enjoying the sensuous warmth that poured through her limbs.

  ‘Go on, go on!’

  She knew what she was about and paid no heed to him. Unhurriedly, she began to speak again.

  ‘His friend left us. I can’t be bothered with this god-forsaken girl any longer, he said, you do what you like with her. I was glad he was going. You see, I had my eye on Ibrahim all the time. Then Ibrahim threw himself on me, and what should I see, he held a knife and with it he ripped through my clothes, and I was left naked. They had lit a fire at the mouth of the cave and into the fire he threw all my clothes and held me pinioned until they were burnt to ashes. Then he attacked me
again. I tried to hold him off. He was naked too and his body was burning, burning my flesh. Oh, how it scorched into me! I felt myself growing limp …’

  Sefer quivered all over. ‘And then? Then? Quickly, what did you do then?’

  She would not let herself be rushed. Slowly, drawing the utmost pleasure out of every word, she went on.

  ‘I was going mad, mad. Ah, there is nothing in the world so pleasant as a man’s naked flesh upon yours, burning into your body. I kept myself from fainting because I wanted to feel him taking my virginity. He held me tighter and tighter until my bones were cracking. He forced me to lie down in the dust of the cave and came upon me …’

  She was trembling too now, like Sefer.

  ‘He came upon you …’ Sefer prompted her.

  ‘His arms pressed me to the ground, his breath burnt into my flesh. I tried not to let myself go. It was his eyes, the fiery look in his eyes that broke me down. I couldn’t hold him off any longer. I let myself go.’

  ‘Stop!’ he cried, beside himself, crushing her hand in his. Then he snatched her up in his arms. She was as light as a bird.

  Outside, the blizzard boomed over the steppe.

  Long Ali was squatting by the hearth talking to his mother.

  ‘Isn’t that so, Mother?’ he said. ‘Adil Effendi, who’s got possessions far and wide, who owns a whole marketful of shops in town! He’s got more important things to think about. He knows we’ll pay him off some time. He’s probably forgotten all about us. It seems to me we’re mistaken, hiding our things one day, bringing them out again the next. Adil would never come to strip a village for a few paltry debts. That was long ago, when he was a poor beggar. But now … we’re just making mountains out of molehills, isn’t that so, Mother? The hare’s got a grudge against the mountain and the mountain’s not even aware of the hare, isn’t that so, Mother?’

  Meryemdje would not open her mouth, but she was seething.

  My poor brainless son, where’s the man who would renounce his rights? Where’s the man who ever has enough though he own the whole world? Of course Adil will come! And he’ll strip the village bare too. You can find a way out of death, but not out of this. Aaah, if only I could speak out and give you a piece of my mind!

  ‘Isn’t that so, Mother? A man so rich, the whole world his for the taking, why should he come and strip the village bare?’

  He will, he will, you just wait and see. And bursting with joy as he does it.

  Ali rose suddenly. His mother’s obstinate silence was making him more and more nervous. He stood irresolute, listening to the fury of the blizzard. Then quickly he went to the door and opened it. The violence of the blast almost struck him down, but he struggled out and fought his way towards Tashbash’s house.

  ‘It’s me, brother Memet,’ he called.

  The door opened.

  They squatted down beside the hearth. The oakwood logs had burnt down to crystal-red embers that flared into little white flames at each blast of the wind down the chimney.

  The house consisted of a single room, but it had a large fireplace and over it Tashbash had woven a hood of weeds which he had plastered with mud. The walls, coated with white earth, were very different from the slapdash mass of stones of the other houses in the village. All along the base, from the ground to a yard up, Tashbash had painted flying cranes, wind-swept trees, flowering woods, leaping deer, horses, a whole living world. Right above the chimney hung a picture of Mustafa Kemal, a fur kalpak on his head, his eyebrows slightly lifted, a faintly sardonic look on his face. Whenever Tashbash glanced at the picture he felt a strange pang of something like pity. To him, Mustafa Kemal was a good man, a brave man. But why that faintly sardonic expression? Mustafa Kemal had laboured hard, had given his all to his nation, yet the religious hodjas had branded him as a godless giaour. He had done a great many things, surmounted many obstacles, still there must be something missing, some deed unaccomplished that had proved too much for him. Otherwise, why that subtle smile, as if mocking himself and the world too?

  Tashbash looked at Ali. ‘What’s wrong?’ he said.

  ‘We’ve got to do something, brother,’ Ali said. ‘Something for these villagers or they’ll die of shame. Why don’t we two go to town tomorrow, straight to Adil Effendi and speak to him. Try to explain …’

  Tashbash sat up and glared.

  ‘These villagers!’ he spat out. ‘They can go to the devil for all I care, and their mothers and wives and children as well. I wouldn’t lift my little finger for them. They’ve only got themselves to blame. If they’d done as I said, if they’d stood up to the Muhtar this year instead of letting themselves be led again into that field where grass doesn’t grow, let alone cotton, they wouldn’t be in this state now. No, my friend Ali! From now on I wash my hands of them. Never again. I wouldn’t stay here another day if I could help it, and as soon as it’s spring again I’m going to settle in another village. I don’t know about you, but I’m stifling in this place.’

  He was boiling with impotent anger. Neither of them spoke another word until midnight.

  Tashbash had never been able to digest the last-minute defection of the villagers and their submission to the Muhtar. It drove him mad. To think he had worked a good six years to lay bare to them Sefer’s double-dealing! And he had proved it to them beyond doubt, but still they had let themselves be cozened by him in the end. It was unbelievable.

  When Ali rose to go, his legs were numb. He limped to the door.

  ‘Farewell, brother,’ he said. ‘You’re right, absolutely right.’

  ‘Goodbye, Ali,’ Tashbash said. ‘Don’t worry. Let them pull at the rope until it snaps.’

  Ali sped home through the unremitting blizzard to find Elif waiting there behind the door. It was her habit when something was wrong. She would open the door the minute she heard Ali and look at him reproachfully.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ he cried in alarm. ‘What’s happened?’ Then he saw that his mother was lying near the fireplace, her eyes closed, drops of perspiration on her brow.

  ‘She went out, Ali. I thought she was just going to relieve herself and I must have fallen asleep for, suddenly, I realized it was far into the night and she wasn’t back. I went out and looked everywhere around the house. Where could she be in this storm? Then I woke the children and we began to search from house to house asking for her, when all of a sudden I thought, can she be running away from the village like Old Halil? And I ran towards the town road, and there by the rocks at the beginning of the road I saw a dark shadow on the snow. Mother, I said, but there was no answer. I called again and again, then I went nearer and there she was, a tiny trembling ball. I lifted her on to my back and brought her home.’

  Ali sat down beside his mother and took her hands in his.

  ‘It’s all right now, Mother,’ he said. ‘Elif, put some tarhana soup to cook over the fire. A hot soup’ll do Mother a world of good.’

  For the first time a sound came out of Meryemdje. She moaned and moved, lying on her side.

  Chapter 11

  There was not a vestige of last night’s blizzard. A bright clear day had dawned. The frozen snow glittered blindingly. The single poplar tree, way off in the middle of the distant steppe, looked much nearer, it seemed only an arm’s length away. And the air was warm too, as on a flowering day in May.

  Hasan emerged from the house, a happy smile on his face. His trousers were rolled up to his knees and he was carrying his little axe and a rope.

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Hasan,’ his mother said, ‘see you bring back some stouter wood this time. The last lot melted away the minute they caught fire.’

  ‘I want to go too,’ Ummahan cried.

  ‘Go, who’s keeping you!’ Hasan said. ‘So long as you don’t come with me! The huge big forest’s there, all for you.’

  ‘Mother!’ Ummahan wailed. ‘I want to go with him. Say something to him.’

  Elif gave Hasan a stern look. ‘Take the girl along,’ she or
dered. ‘What’s wrong with her bringing back a load too?’

  ‘It isn’t that,’ Hasan said. ‘It’s that she rattles on and on till my head bursts.’

  ‘I shan’t open my mouth,’ Ummahan promised.

  As they set off they were joined by the neighbour’s children.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Hasan asked the eldest boy.

  ‘To the forest to cut wood.’

  Other children joined them and by the time they were out of the village the group had grown considerably. Each carried an axe and a rope. No one spoke. They went quickly on their bare feet, almost at a run, as though fleeing before a monster. They reached the forest, out of breath, but no one stopped to rest. The boys fell to wrestling and the girls played hide-and-seek. After they had rolled in the snow to their hearts’ content, too tired to go on playing, scratched and bruised, they set about gathering the wood. Like a swarm of locusts they hacked the trees bare on their passage and in a short while the faggots were bound and ready and the children sitting on them, wondering what to do next for it was only a little after noon.

  For no particular reason a fight broke out between two of the boys. The other children did nothing to stop them. They just looked on and realizing that no one was going to separate them, the boys stopped by themselves.

  Then Hasan attempted to creep away from the group unseen. Hiding behind rocks and trees, he made his way stealthily, with infinite precautions, but the children had noticed him. They were all eyes, including Ummahan who was watching from behind a tree. Now he was crawling along the ground. The children held their breath. Suddenly, he jumped up and vanished behind a huge mass of rock. As though they were one body, the children shot forward and took up closer positions behind trees and rocks. There he was, standing beside a long, poplar-tall rock. He had lifted a huge stone and was looking beneath it, intent, spellbound. After a while they saw him carefully ease the stone back, as though he was handling a sacred object. Then he walked away.

  The children bounded out of their hiding-places. The first boy to get there grabbed the stone and raised it with some difficulty. The others watched, enthralled, wondering what they would find, but all there was to see was the black rich earth, streaked with pale yellowish roots. One thin flimsy root still clung to the upright stone, taut as a bowstring. They stared wide-eyed, then turned away, lost in thought, leaving the stone erect. What could have been there that they had missed?