Iron Earth, Copper Sky

by Yashar Kemal

  As soon as he had finished, he rushed out of the house without heeding his mother’s cries.

  It was mid-morning and the blizzard raged on wilder than ever, but the village was astir with comings and goings from house to house, Memidik the centre of it all, his tale told and retold. The groups gathered about the hearths swelled. It was a happy day for the villagers.

  fn1 Green is the holy colour of Islam.

  Chapter 22

  Memidik was on the point of going to the Muhtar to tell his tale when Lone Duran stopped him.

  ‘Are you mad, Memidik?’ he said. ‘If the Muhtar hears just one of the things you’ve been saying he’ll kill you.’

  But the news had reached Sefer already. And he was pawing the ground.

  ‘Quick!’ he shouted to the watchman. ‘Run and bring me Memidik, by hook or by crook. Go with him Ömer and carry the son of a bitch here if he won’t come. I had a feeling it would break out today! Now we’re in for it.’

  He waited, itching to get Memidik under his feet and grind his bones to pulp. Tashbash indeed! What he’s babbling about is the Holy Man of the Lights. Everyone knows about him and his balls of light. What’s that got to do with Tashbash, Memidik you fool? Was it Tashbash who had put him up to it? Or could this little runt have made the whole thing up just to show off? Well, he’d soon find out. He must make an example of Memidik so that no one would want to invent such stories again. But of what avail would that be? Memidik had dealt him the finishing blow. As he waited his anger grew. He clenched his fists and gnawed at his knuckles.

  When the door opened and the watchman and Ömer appeared herding in Memidik, he rushed at them with such a look of thunder on his face that Memidik promptly ducked into a corner and crouched there, trembling. But Sefer checked himself just in time. If he’d struck the blow, Memidik would have been killed on the spot or crippled at the very least. God! he thought, what are you doing, Sefer? You’re ruining everything.

  He went to Memidik. ‘Welcome, my child,’ he said. ‘How is it possible you should go to everyone and not come to your Uncle Sefer’s house? That’s why I’ve called you, so you can tell me too what you saw last night.’

  Memidik blinked, dazed, not knowing what to do, his body still shaking.

  ‘What’s the matter, my child? Why are you crouching there? Come, tell me all you saw.’

  Memidik was recovering from his fright. Sefer took his hand and led him to the fire.

  ‘Woman,’ he shouted. ‘Pale Ismail’s daughter! A glass of tea for our son Memidik.’

  She came and poured out the tea from the pot over the fire, dropped two lumps of sugar into it and handed the glass to Memidik.

  Sefer was smiling now and Memidik smiled back at him as he drank his tea. What the villagers say must be all lies, he thought. They’re always ready to speak ill of anyone. Look at Uncle Sefer now! At first, from a distance, he frightens you, but when you get to know him he’s a man after your own heart. See how he laughs. How can he be bad, a man who laughs so pleasantly? From now on I’ll stand up for him always. He gazed at Sefer with tears in his eyes. If his father were alive, he couldn’t have loved him more. He wanted to fly into his arms, to kiss his hands …

  ‘Uncle Sefer,’ he said, ‘you’re my mother’s own uncle, so you’re mine too. From now on, until I die, I’ll do whatever you say.’

  He was a child again, a child of seven.

  Sefer extended his hand and stroked Memidik’s hair. ‘Of course, we’re the closest of kin,’ he said. ‘But you and your mother have always kept away from me, I don’t know why, because to me you’re like my own children.’

  It came to him like lightning. He’d play such a trick on these villagers Fortune herself would be amazed. He held Memidik in the palm of his hand now, thanks be to God. ‘Yes, my little Memidik, my good clever boy, it’s our enemies who have kept us apart or how could the flesh be severed from the bone? We’re of the same blood, the same stock, you and I. Whatever the enemy may say, or invent, we can never be separated, can we, my child?’

  Memidik was melting with bliss. Never in his life had anyone treated him like this or talked to him so kindly. Ah, it was different when it came to your own flesh and blood! Curse the enemies …

  ‘Please forgive me, Uncle Sefer. It’s just that nobody knows how good you are, how kind …’

  Sefer sighed. ‘People can think what they like, my child,’ he said. ‘For me it’s enough that the great God above should know. Now tell me all about this business of Tashbash’s. What you saw, what you heard, everything. It’s very important for us all and especially for the democratic Government of Turkey.’

  Memidik was in seventh heaven. The head of the village, his new-found Uncle Sefer was telling him that what he had to say was of real importance to the great Government in Ankara! Promptly he launched into his tale. The words poured out like a flood. The balls of light grew in size from man-tall to the height of a poplar, in number from seven to twenty-five then to fifty … Soon they had covered the whole distance between the village and the snowy slopes of Mount Tekech, thousands of them, a vast forest of lights, led by the Holy Lord Tashbash, gliding behind him towards the peak of Mount Tekech … It was all Memidik could do not to say there were a thousand Tashbashes as well, he was so exalted. Somehow Tashbash remained one, but his stature soared by a yard or two.

  When he had finished, Memidik drew a deep breath. He was sweating. ‘And that’s how it happened, Uncle Sefer. That’s exactly how I saw it. Isn’t it wonderful?’

  ‘It’s very wonderful, my little Memidik, only it’s not true.’

  Memidik had not bargained for this. Up to now no one in the village had doubted a word of what he had said.

  ‘But it is true!’ he protested. ‘I swear it. May my two eyes drop down before me if …’

  ‘Hush, don’t swear, Memidik. Look, I’m your very own uncle, so I know you’ve made it all up. And beautifully too.’

  Memidik flushed to the roots of his hair. His face began to burn.

  ‘As God’s my witness, it’s true,’ he said. ‘I saw it all with these two eyes.’

  Sefer decided to change his tactics. ‘My child, my little Memidik, I’m not saying you made it up on purpose. What I mean is you fell asleep in the cave there, before the fire, and dreamed it.’

  ‘I thought that too,’ Memidik said, ‘so I pricked myself with my knife. It hurt and bled and then I knew it was all as real as real could be. I knew it wasn’t a dream but our Lord Tashbash himself there before me.’

  Sefer lost his temper. ‘Don’t go calling that dog our Lord Tashbash!’

  ‘God forbid, God forbid!’ Memidik muttered a rapid prayer. ‘Don’t say such things, Uncle Sefer, or your mouth will be twisted. Say you didn’t mean it. Quick, quick!’

  Suddenly Sefer was afraid. What if the lad really had seen it all? What if Tashbash … Nonsense! He collected himself and smiled.

  ‘Nothing’s going to happen to me, my child. Tashbash isn’t a holy man. He’s got so many sins … You dreamed the whole story.’

  ‘But I didn’t! Look, this is where I pricked myself with my knife …’ He rolled up his shalvar-trousers and pointed to a raw cut.

  Sefer flared up. ‘It’s a lie!’

  ‘But it isn’t, Uncle,’ Memidik said wheedlingly. ‘How can it be a lie when I tell you I saw it with these very eyes?’

  Sefer tried another tack. ‘Look, my child,’ he said, ‘say we believe you. Say we accept that everything you tell us is true. Still, it wasn’t Tashbash you saw in front of those lights. You mistook him for Tashbash, but later you thought he looked more like someone else … Like me, for instance, that man who glowed so greenly.’

  But Memidik was not to be hooked so easily. ‘Oh no, Uncle Sefer! No, it was Tashbash himself. My eyes wouldn’t deceive me.’

  ‘Well, even if it was, you’ll go out now and tell everyone what I’m telling you.’

  Memidik smiled. ‘But how can I, Uncle?’

&nb
sp; ‘Aren’t you my nephew, my son, the apple of my eye? You’ll do this for me.’

  ‘How can I forswear myself before the whole village? I’ll be branded as a liar for ever. Even my mother would never speak to me again. Look, Uncle Sefer, I love you like my father and more. I’ll do anything for you, only don’t ask this of me.’

  ‘But if you don’t then our whole family will be as good as dead, the family of the Headman Hidir …’ And the Muhtar went on to explain in detail what Tashbash would do to them. ‘And there’s worse. What about the good name of our village? The Government will throw us all into prison.’ He told Memidik about the Mehdis and the religious sects, and how the authorities wiped them out ruthlessly. ‘So you see, Memidik,’ he concluded, ‘if such a thing happens, if they hang Tashbash, it’ll be all because of this fairytale of yours.’

  Memidik was basking in self-complacency. ‘But I saw it with my own eyes,’ he said importantly. ‘The forest of lights with our Lord Tashbash leading it along …’

  Sefer was goaded into threats. Memidik was his mother’s only son. Wouldn’t it be a pity if something happened to him?

  ‘I can’t do it,’ Memidik said, with the air of one ready to go through fire and water.

  Suddenly Sefer found himself pleading with the lad.

  ‘Look, Memidik, you’re young. Young enough to be my son. And yet here I am at your feet, your own Uncle Sefer begging a favour of you. Do this for me and whatever you wish will be yours for the asking.’

  ‘I can’t do it,’ Memidik said again.

  The Muhtar insisted. He promised to marry Memidik off, to give him land and goods, even to make him Muhtar of the village.

  But Memidik remained obdurate. ‘I can’t do it,’ he repeated simply.

  The Muhtar realized that it was no use. He would have to use sterner methods.

  ‘Ömer!’ he called.

  Memidik was startled at the violence of his tone.

  ‘Yes, Agha?’

  ‘Ömer, my child, our friend Memidik here refuses to say the one word that will save our family, you, me, the whole village. You two are of the same generation. He’ll understand you better. Take him down into the back room and have a little chat with him. But mind you, I don’t want any fighting. And no noise either. Just have a pleasant little chat.’

  He made a sign and Ömer went out, returning a minute later, a stout oak club in his hand.

  ‘Come,’ he said, jerking Memidik up by the arm. ‘Let’s have a little talk, cousin.’

  Ömer’s face and the huge club spoke for themselves. Memidik was still looking at Sefer for help as Ömer dragged him away, cursing under his breath. When they reached the downstairs room, Ömer gave him such a shove that he was projected, sprawling, into the room. Coolly, Ömer picked him up and stuffed a large handkerchief into his mouth. Before Memidik had time to offer the slightest resistance he had rammed the club on to his back. Memidik fell to the ground. Ömer struck again. And again. And with each blow, anger rose within him and the stick came down faster and faster. Through the gag Memidik emitted hoarse sounds like a man strangling. Tired, Ömer threw away the club and began to stamp on his victim. Soon there was no more sound from Memidik. Ömer stopped and removed the gag. Memidik opened his eyes and looked up vacantly. Then his senses came alive and he moaned feebly. Ömer propped him up into a sitting position against the wall.

  ‘Now we can talk. Those lights, were they real or a dream? You’re in my hands now. Was Tashbash real or a dream?’

  Memidik’s eyes were open, but quite blank and revulsed, like a dead man’s.

  ‘Speak, you muckworm! Was it a dream or was it real?’

  A corpse would have made more sound than Memidik.

  ‘So you won’t talk, eh cousin? A little while ago though, when you were telling all those lies you were warbling away like a nightingale. But you’ll speak yet, or I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you and throw your carcass into the Peri Caves. Come, brother, there’s a brave lad. All it amounts to is that you’ll say you had a dream and thought it was real. And Tashbash will back you up too. How could it have been anything but a dream, he’ll say, when I was home all night and sound asleep? Well, why don’t you say something, you mangy dog? Just like a mangy dog you are, with its tail between its legs. Come brother, say it, just one little word. It won’t kill you. You won’t be lying. Anyone can have a dream … Why, you liar, you yarn-spinner, how can there be a forest of lights moving behind a man? And in this snowstorm too … So you won’t speak, eh? Then I’m going to kill you, brother. I’m going to skin you alive and stuff you with straw. You know I can do it, so why don’t you speak?’

  Memidik was trembling like a leaf. His teeth were locked fast.

  ‘Is it because you can’t open your mouth?’ He rushed out and returned with a tumbler. ‘Drink,’ he said. ‘Come on, drink. Open your mouth.’

  Memidik was trying, that was plain, but he could not loosen his teeth. Pulling his head back, Ömer pressed the tumbler to his mouth. The water spilled all over his chin and neck.

  ‘Why the son of a bitch!’ Ömer muttered. ‘I’ve never seen such a stubborn creature. But I’m going to make you drink. And talk too.’

  He was wet with perspiration, his whole body afire. What kind of a man was this? A madman, who was ready to give up his life, when one word would save him?

  ‘You just wait and see how I’ll open that mouth of yours!’

  He produced an old blunted knife and, holding Memidik’s lips apart, endeavoured to pry his teeth open. Memidik was trembling more than ever, his jaws even more tightly clamped together. Soon there was blood all over him, staining his shirt and shalvar-trousers.

  Ömer sat back. He was tired.

  ‘Why are you doing this to me, Memidik?’ he said, his voice tearful. ‘What have I done to you? Why don’t you speak, brother? Who are you afraid of? Say it, brother! I don’t want to kill you. It isn’t good to kill a man … Come on …’

  He begged and pleaded, for how long he himself did not know. Suddenly, he set upon Memidik and began to bite him like a rabid wolf, in a berserk fury. After a while Memidik went quite limp. Ömer lost his head. He prowled about the room distractedly, then rushed out and brought a pail of water which he tilted full over the prostrate body. Holding his breath he waited, his eyes fixed on the still, lifeless face. At last there was a flutter of the eyelids. Ömer threw himself at Memidik in a paroxysm of joy and began to kiss him.

  ‘You’re alive!’ he cried. ‘You didn’t die, thank God. You’re alive, bless you! Don’t speak at all if you don’t want to. What’s it to me? Maybe you did see it. Maybe Tashbash … Don’t hold it against me, brother, please!’

  Memidik’s eyes were still closed. Ömer fell into a panic again. What if he died? Ömer would be thrown into prison. He’d get ten or fifteen years at the least. And what if Tashbash turned out to be a real saint and cast the spell on him? His body would dry up like a dead tree … Saints have terrible vengeances …

  ‘Memidik! Brother! Open your eyes, please … Please don’t die …’

  He waited, his heart beating, unable to take his eyes off the pale blood-streaked face. Then Memidik moaned and opened his eyes. Ömer went wild with joy.

  ‘Hooray, Memidik! I’ll see my hands broken before I touch you again. You can go. I set you free.’