by Yashar Kemal
‘Bring them in,’ he said. ‘It’s no use …’
Soon the house was filled with a foul-smelling tattered crowd of sick and invalid, some bed-ridden for years, others at their last gasp, all of them pinning their ultimate hope on Tashbash.
He joined his hands and prayed to God with all his heart and soul. Then going to each in turn, he blew his breath over them. There was faith and gratitude in the eyes that opened weakly on him. He laid his hand over each one’s head and passed on.
They had brought presents, but he would not take them. ‘I will accept nothing but a pinch of salt from those who come,’ he declared. ‘Otherwise my prayers will not find grace in the eyes of Allah.’
A pinch of salt is half a thimbleful.
Chapter 28
Her skirts swirling in the keen blast from the steppe, her white headscarf fluttering like a flag, Meryemdje sped towards the village square. Those women who caught sight of her at once smelled something in the wind and fell in behind her. She reached the square and looked about her fiercely; obviously, she was in a tearing rage. Then she bent down and dug up a heavy stone from under the snow. The women imitated her, and when she whirled about and directed her steps towards Sefer’s house, they followed her. Others joined them on the way. They were quiet as a deep-swelling sea. Meryemdje went straight up to Sefer’s door and threw herself against it. It did not yield. Sefer had seen the angry horde of women and had not only drawn the bolt but propped a huge log against the door too. The women heaved with all their might, but it held fast. Then they retreated to a certain distance and began to pelt the door with stones.
Inside, Sefer held his rifle ready, but he had only five bullets left. He could hit five women at the most, but what about the rest of them, swarming out there like ants? They would make short work of him and his family, as wolves run wild and devour each other at the smell of one drop of blood. He knew he was lost. Only a miracle could save him now. Already a large stone had crashed through the door and had hit Pale Ismail’s daughter in the leg. She was writhing on the ground, screaming with pain.
A group of ten villagers had reached the town a day later than the Muhtar. They had gone straight to Adil Effendi’s shop, rejoicing in their good fortune and blessing Tashbash for it. But they were met by Adil’s brother, Riza Bey, who had stared at them in surprise.
‘Aren’t you from Yalak village? Why have you come? To pay your debts?’
‘But Adil Effendi promised …’
‘Look, friends, you’d better disappear before he sees you, because he’s very angry now. In fact as soon as the snows melt, he’s going to come to your village and seize all you have, down to your wives’ drawers.’
And he had told them all about the Muhtar’s visit the day before …
It was past noon and still the stones came raining down. They had amassed a man-tall pile, which they did not touch. A reserve. The door was riddled with cracks and holes. It would not hold long now …
When it broke open Sefer made his decision. He leaped out and threw himself on the ground beside the house with the left wall for cover. The muzzle of his gun was pointed at the crowd.
The hands holding the stones paused in the very act of throwing. The women had sensed his recklessness. They waited, watching him. Sefer lay there, still as the dead, hardly daring to bat an eyelid. The minutes crept by. An hour, two hours, and still no one moved. His life was held by a thread now. A screeching flight of birds in the sky, a sudden storm, a dog barking, the slightest sound breaking the stillness would also break the thread.
He prayed for the night to come quickly. A younger man might have trusted to his rifle and tried to frighten the women off with a shot or two. But Sefer knew that shooting might have just the opposite effect. He knew that a mob seldom gives way before bullets. From somewhere inside the house a cat mewed. His heart jumped. If they had heard it … Taut as a bow, he looked at the women who seemed to be growing taller and stronger in the slanting sun. Not a single man! What had happened to them? Where were they?
‘Come, brother, come, my beautiful sun, my lion … Why don’t you set more quickly?’ He was sweating and yet it was freezing cold.
And that Meryemdje right in the front of them, erect, motionless as a rock … She wasn’t one to remain still for long. Any moment now she might make the first move. Well, let her, the old witch! His first bullet would be for her, right in the middle of the forehead …
Meryemdje knew it. And the thought rooted her to the spot. If she could only summon up enough courage to take one step, that would be the end of Sefer and his wives and children. Perhaps he would not even have time to fire a single shot, as in the village of Akkisrak when the women had set upon the Bey who had raped so many of them. He had been waiting for them in a ditch, his gun raised. But they had swept on fearlessly and the Bey had thrown away his gun and taken to his heels. In the end they had caught up with him and torn him to pieces …
The sun had come to rest upon the peak of Mount Tekech and had stopped there. It seemed to Sefer that it would never move again. A reddish glow lit up the snow and the women loomed larger than ever. He could not take his eyes off Meryemdje, that bloodthirsty old witch bent on drinking his blood.
Now the sun was moving again, and there was only a thin red slice … Then it was gone, and twilight began to close in over the crowd. Slowly, the women faded away into the darkness. Sefer did not dare move yet. They could not see him, but they could still feel him. At last there was only darkness, and after a while faint thin murmurings, slow stirrings in the night, bare feet shuffling over the snow. Then he knew they were gone.
‘Allah!’ he cried, as he struggled to his feet. ‘Thank you, Allah, for delivering me from this evil. I swear I’ll sacrifice five cocks for you at the Rain Father’s shrine.’ His eyes searched the night. He could make out nothing but a thin vacillating shadow. ‘Who cares about one single woman?’ he thought. ‘Let her stay there as long as she likes. There’s nothing she can do now.’
Meryemdje had not moved. She stood there huddled over her stick, hardly aware that the others had all gone. The defeat was hers alone. Had she been a braver woman, had she given less thought to herself, there would have been no Sefer now.
Inside the house Sefer, exultant, could hardly restrain himself from setting out right away with his offerings to the Rain Father. This was a complete rout for the women. They would never be able to attack him a second time. A single person would try again and again. But it was rare that a defeated crowd would rally once more.
Chapter 29
Sefer realized that he’d made the biggest mistake of his life. The villagers would never forget this. How could he have let his feelings run away with him and get him into this mess? What he’d done was bad, very bad … To say nothing of all that boot-licking at Adil Effendi’s.
‘It’s a matter of life and death with me, Adil,’ he had pleaded. ‘You know how I’ve always been your best friend. You could kill me, but such is my devotion that even then my blood would flow towards you. Don’t give them credit. Do your worst to them.’
But Adil Effendi was adamant. ‘Never,’ he kept saying. ‘Never! I’m not one of those who lick what they spit.’
Sefer had begged and wept and kissed his feet to no avail until it had suddenly dawned on him that Adil was afraid. The old wolf could not be doing this out of simple humanity. Something must have happened to put him in such mortal fear of a handful of rustics. The first thing to do was to set his fears at rest.
‘Those villagers aren’t worthy of what you’re doing for them,’ he began anew. ‘Is there anything on earth as stupid and cowardly as the peasant race? Base, unreliable, biting the hand that feeds them. Timorous as rabbits they are, Adil brother, and when they get together no better than a flock of sheep and just as easily led by the nose. The very sight of a townsman sends them running for their lives. It’s as if they’d seen a dragon, that’s how stupid they are. How could it be otherwise when for ages and without
a murmur they’ve let us take the very morsel they eat from right out of their mouth? And still they’re afraid, like no other creature on earth is afraid, afraid of serpents, of ants, of the forest and the storm, of jinns and peris, of the darkness and the stars, of the lightning and of fire … Even the flying bird will scare the wits out of them. But when it comes to townsfolk, that’s what they fear most …’
He saw Adil’s face relax and begin to brighten up. Whatever could have put the man into such a state? Then it came to him in a flash.
‘By the way, Adil brother, has Old Halil been seen in town lately? You know Old Halil from our village? He disappeared a while ago …’
Adil stared at the floor and made no reply.
Could it really be that the old man had survived, Sefer wondered, survived and frightened Adil out of his wits?
But there was no vestige of fear now in Adil. ‘Sefer brother,’ he said, ‘don’t you worry. I’ll show these villagers what’s what. Not a pin will they get from me. Let them just try to step into this shop! As soon as the snows melt I’ll come to the village and claim my due if I have to strip it bare!’
Sefer had left the shop, gloating. Now let them see what Tashbash’s power amounted to. Drunk with triumph he had never given a thought to the villagers’ reaction. And this had almost cost him his life. A man should never fall prey to his passions. Every single one of his moves should be weighed and considered first. How was he to win the villagers over now? That was the question. He shuddered at the thought of his narrow escape. What if they came again? That would really be the end for him. Nothing would stop them this time, neither guns, nor cannon, nor even Ismet Pasha’s jets up on high.
Suddenly he saw three policemen marching into the village and making for his house. His heart jumped and his legs gave way under him. He held on to the doorjamb. Look what he’d brought on his own head and with his own hand too, just because he was jealous of Tashbash, just because he could not bear that the villagers should look upon him as a saint. The monster of jealousy had spurred him on. They were coming to take Tashbash away. And when they had gone, there was no knowing what the women would do to him, with that accursed Meryemdje egging them on. Meryemdje was not one to accept defeat. She’d bide her time and attack again and again. Why couldn’t he have curbed that impulse which had led him to denounce Tashbash?
The young Captain of the police, Shükrü, had been enraged. ‘What?’ he had shouted. ‘Saints in this atom age? Mehdis in this space age? I’ll break every bone in his body. I’ll show him how to be a Mehdi in the twentieth century.’ He had almost wept with rage. ‘It’s these exploiters, these liars, these Tashbashes who keep our poor people from modern progress. Mehdis in our modern Turkey, eh? Relics of the Ottoman fanatics, eh?’
Even Sefer had quailed before the Captain’s wrath.
And now his policemen were here. They would take Tashbash away and beat the life out of him. And suppose he survived, and came back? Like Azrael, the Angel of Death, he would swoop upon Sefer … How could he have made so many enemies in this Tashbash business? Memidik, for instance, would he ever forget that thrashing? Little men are apt to have the meanest vengeances.
‘Selam to you, Muhtar.’
‘And to you too, Corporal Jumali.’
‘A prophet has cropped up in your village, Muhtar, and you’ve denounced him. We’ve come for him. It can’t really be Tashbash, can it? I always knew him for a sensible man. Is it true that the sick flow in to him and that at a touch of his hand, they’re restored to health again?’
‘Come in first,’ Sefer said. ‘Come in and rest awhile.’
‘We can’t wait a minute,’ Corporal Jumali said. ‘The Captain wants this prophet quickly.’
Sefer was rubbing his hands, unable to make up his mind about what he ought to do. ‘Look, Corporal Jumali,’ he said with difficulty, ‘do you have to arrest him? Tashbash recanted last night. He proclaimed he wasn’t a saint, and in the presence of all the villagers too.’ Come what may, how he wished they would take him away!
‘Is there something wrong with your head, Muhtar?’ Corporal Jumali said. ‘You’re the one who came to inform against him. The Captain’s orders are definite. I’m to bring him back at any cost, and if there’s any resistance in the village he’ll come himself, with the whole platoon.’
Sefer saw his plan of action. ‘No!’ he screamed. ‘No, Corporal Jumali, I’m Muhtar here. I won’t give him up to you. Tashbash is our talisman.’
The Corporal laughed. ‘I see your game, Muhtar,’ he said. ‘You’re terrified of what they’ll do to you after Tashbash’s gone, eh? Well, that’s easy, twenty-five liras will solve your problem. Otherwise, I’ll tell everyone you denounced Tashbash. Twenty-five liras I want, and at once!’
Sefer disappeared into the house and was back almost at once, holding the notes tightly in his fist.
‘Take it, Corporal,’ he said, ‘it’s yours.’
‘All right, Muhtar,’ the Corporal said. ‘You can shout now to your heart’s content.’
‘There’s something else I want you to do for me, Corporal,’ the Muhtar whispered. ‘When we get to Tashbash’s, I shall plead and scream and raise hell. Just give me a swing or two with the butt of your rifle. I may fall down in a faint, but don’t worry.’
They set off, with Sefer shouting at the top of his voice. ‘You can’t do this! You can’t! We in this village will never give up our Tashbash. Over our dead bodies …’ A sudden thought came to him. If the villagers defied the police … This was worth a hundred liras even. The Captain would come then, with the whole platoon and arrest everyone. He whispered in the Corporal’s ear. ‘A hundred liras for you, Corporal, if the villagers try to resist.’
The Corporal smiled. ‘It’s up to you to make them do it,’ he said.
A large crowd had assembled about Tashbash’s house.
‘Move on, you loafers,’ the Corporal roared. ‘Memet Tashbash, son of Memet, come out of your house. You’re wanted at the police station.’
Sefer flung himself against the door. ‘Don’t come out, Tashbash brother! He hasn’t got a warrant to search the house. Just don’t come out!’
More and more people came streaming out of the houses to join the crowd. Meryemdje was there leaning on her stick, at the front of a group of women.
Suddenly Tashbash appeared on the threshold, all spruced up in his best clothes, a smile of defiance on his lips.
‘Here I am, Corporal.’
‘The Captain wants you.’
‘All right, let’s go.’
‘You can’t, no you can’t!’ Sefer shrieked. ‘You can’t take away the soul of this village. If you touch him your hand will wither. You can’t take him away, you can’t! If our village stands as it does, if it isn’t ravaged by sickness and serpents and earthquakes, it’s by the grace of Tashbash.’ He grabbed Tashbash by the shoulder. ‘I won’t let him go. Take him away from me if you can.’
Tashbash shrugged him off and fell in before the policemen.
Sefer appealed to the crowd. ‘Is there no blood in you? Not a spark of human feeling? Look, they’re taking him away, the apple of our eye, our Lord, our very soul? Are you going to just stand there? What are you waiting for?’
No one moved or spoke.
He flung himself into Tashbash’s path. ‘Stop!’ he cried. ‘Don’t go. Nobody can drag you away to police stations … Over my dead body …’
At that moment Corporal Jumali swung his rifle and Sefer fell to the ground howling with outraged pain. The blow had been in earnest. He scrambled shakily to his feet, clutching at his shoulder. The crowd was moving now in the wake of the police. Sefer set his teeth and ran after them.
‘Why don’t you stop them, good Moslems?’ he clamoured. ‘Are you going to give up your saint without a fight?’
The Corporal lifted his rifle again, tensing himself, and brought it down with all his might.
‘They’re killing me!’ Sefer howled as he dropped writhing
on the snow. ‘Help! Help me, my villagers!’
‘Kill you is what I’m going to do at this rate,’ Corporal Jumali smiled at him, ‘you rogue!’
Sefer knew that if he moved again he would be crippled for life. Some of the villagers looked at him pityingly, but they all walked on after Tashbash and the policemen. His eyes rested on Ömer.
‘Ömer, my child, have you become an infidel too, like all the others? Help me up. Come, let’s get our Tashbash out of the hands of these policemen.’
Without a word Ömer hoisted him to his feet. He knew that the Muhtar was up to something, but he could not fathom what it was.
‘Don’t let him go, don’t! He’s our very own saint. If he goes, this village is lost. Lost, lost!’
He dared not draw near again. There was no knowing what that vicious Corporal was capable of. And anyway he had lost all hope of stirring the villagers into action. Nobody was going to offer the slightest resistance, that was plain. He drifted in with the moving crowd. Tashbash was walking ahead, his head held high, trying to put on a show of indifference, but his face was pale.
They were out of the village now. With one last desperate scream, Sefer dashed at the policemen, throwing a cautionary look at Jumali. The Corporal gave back look for look as he raised his rifle again. There was a cracking sound and Sefer dropped down without another sound. This time the villagers gathered around him and helped him up.
‘Have they gone?’ He opened his eyes weakly. The police and Tashbash were far ahead now. ‘Don’t you dare beat him!’ he shouted after them. ‘Nor even touch him. If you do your women will be widowed, your children will be still-born. Earthquakes and floods and fire will ravage the land. There will be wars and plagues … Don’t say I didn’t warn you! Goodbye, Tashbash. Goodbye! You’ll come back to us …’
His voice died away and he sank down again, judging that a good faint would be just the thing to make a lasting impression on the villagers. They picked him up by the arms and legs and carried him to his house in dead silence.
