Iron Earth, Copper Sky

by Yashar Kemal

  The crowd was all ears.

  ‘There is an evil man among you, one whose murder is sanctioned by all the four Holy Books, and he it is who has denounced me. Because of him, they are taking me away from you …’

  All eyes turned to the Muhtar.

  ‘This man, this evil, lying, double-faced, hundred-faced man is your Muhtar Sefer, here before you.’

  A vengeful rumble rose from the crowd.

  ‘I want you never to speak to him again until the day he dies, no one, not even the ants and dogs and cats of this village, no one, neither his wives nor his children, nor his relatives. You will spread my word to the neighbouring villages, also to the people of the town, to all the creatures of the earth. He is damned, and he who speaks to him shall be damned in his turn and no one shall speak to him either. You will never again accept him as your Muhtar, however much the Government and the parties should wish it. This is all I ask of you. And now, farewell to you all, I may never come back again.’

  And he walked off swiftly with a lively step in front of the policemen.

  Sefer remained rooted to the spot, his face chalk-white, his eyes starting from their sockets like those of a madman. The crowd flowed past him in Tashbash’s wake without giving him so much as a glance.

  They were well out of the village when Tashbash turned again. ‘Give up your claim on me,’ he said again. ‘Farewell …’

  They stopped there, looking after him until he was lost to sight. Then they turned back to the village.

  Sefer had not moved, still rooted there like a man bereft of his senses. The crowd shied away from him as though he were the bearer of the plague, of death itself.

  Chapter 34

  A warm gust came and went like a keen fitful wave, and the sky grew darker. Out of the corner of his eye Corporal Jumali took stock of Tashbash. There was nothing of the crackpot in this man. He was not a hodja or anything religious either. How on earth had he turned into a saint? Of course, every man has something holy in him, but still! … Corporal Jumali was a member of the Alevifn1 sects from the region of Sivas. Like all the Alevis, he sported a huge bushy moustache and believed that man was the most precious creature on earth. Allah himself was sometimes manifest in the human form. After Allah, perhaps even before him, man was the lord of the universe. Allah was the light and a portion of that light was immanent in every man. Who knows, maybe one day that light would shine forth in a truly pious person. And so the Alevis always paid worship first and foremost to light and to man.

  Tashbash knew about this and sometimes he had thought it must be the light in him that the villagers had seen to make them venerate him so. He had the feeling that whether he was holy or not, there was deep in him something that was sacred, immune, that without him the world could not be, that whatever existed in this world existed only through him. He would strive to capture that sensation more palpably, but in vain. Slowly working himself into a state of winged ecstasy he would come to the very edge of holiness, but then, in an instant, all would fritter away into nothingness. At such moments he recked nothing of the Captain, the madhouse and the prison.

  But now he would have to face the Captain. How would he explain his broken promise? A man’s a man first, whether he’s a saint or not. And a man should keep his word. As he walked on ahead of the policemen, his shame became more and more unbearable. The Captain’s dark, moustached countenance never left his eyes. What would he say to him? He could not deny that he had breathed on the sick, that he had allowed people to kiss his feet and worship him. He could only plead that he had taken nothing from them in exchange, nothing but a pinch of salt. No, the Captain would never even listen. He would beat the life out of him. The man had made a name for himself as the most terrible of the flogging policemen that had ever come to that town. And Tashbash simply could not stomach the idea that he, the saint of Yalak, the elect of Allah, of the people, should be thrashed black and blue at the police station like any ordinary man and made to piss blood like all the Captain’s victims. He, Tashbash, who had seen the light, and over his own house tool Of that he was firmly convinced now, though at first he had had doubts. But how could he tell the Captain that? He would never believe him.

  On leaving the village a large yellow sheepdog, which belonged to his neighbour Blind Durmush, had tagged on after them and had followed them all the way. Tashbash had always loved this dog and it warmed his heart to see it keeping obstinately to his side. As for the policemen, they never uttered a word. Tashbash had noticed their uneasy covert glances at him, and he was highly gratified.

  Now they were passing through the forest of Karamuk, all bare in the wintry light, but which was so dark and leafy in the summer. The snow-coated branches glowed whitely in a havoc of light. And suddenly black clouds began to scud overhead blotting out the brightness, and gusts of wind lashed out again. Corporal Jumali looked anxiously towards the summit of Mount Tekech where clouds were gathering, thicker and darker with every passing minute. He knew how it was in these foothills of the Taurus, how the storm would be upon you just like that, without warning, and he cast a whimsical glance at Tashbash, thinking, now’s the time to show you’re a saint! Stall off this storm if you can.

  Not a living creature was to be seen in the all-encompassing whiteness, neither bird, beast, nor even a plant. The forest rustled faintly. Now and then, flakes of frozen snow dropped from the branches like autumn leaves. Softly …

  They pressed on, fleeing as before an unknown fear, but it was not long before the lowering clouds from over Mount Tekech had closed upon them like a black tent and the world was plunged into a crepuscular gloom, through which only the hoarfrost on the stiffly frozen trees glistened dimly. A clap of thunder rent the skies as in an autumn storm and from right and left, from above and below, from a thousand sides, gusts of wind spurted up, warm, fresh, then icy cold, and swept the frost off the boughs. Tiny flakes of snow materialized in the air.

  For the first time Corporal Jumali opened his mouth. ‘We’re in for it!’ he said. ‘If this storm lasts …’

  The yellow dog was right behind Tashbash, almost treading on his heels.

  ‘Isn’t there a cave or some place where we can shelter around here?’ the Corporal asked. ‘Memet friend, you know these parts better …’

  What warm-hearted people these Alevis are, Tashbash thought. Theirs is indeed a cult of justice and friendship and love. It isn’t man and light they worship, though they say so, but love, universal love. And isn’t that just what light really is? As his fears of the Captain increased, Tashbash had begun to pin his hopes on the Corporal. Who knows but that he might be persuaded to let him escape?

  ‘Don’t worry, Corporal friend,’ he said. ‘There’s a cave not very far from here, right behind those crags, the Secret Cave.’

  The snow fell ever more thickly, the sky darkened still more and the wild winds battered at them from all sides. Clambering over the rocks, they reached the cave panting, and quickly lit a fire to warm themselves. The yellow dog had slipped in too and was now stretched out on the sand by the fire.

  ‘We’ve got plenty of provisions, thank God,’ Corporal Jumali said.

  Tashbash smiled. ‘They gave me enough to last three days.’

  They ate their meal. Outside the storm raged even more furiously whipping up the snow from the trees, the ground, the sky, and flinging it from hill to hill. The trees cracked loudly as though the whole forest were being wrenched by its roots.

  ‘Well!’ the Corporal exclaimed. ‘What a storm! At this rate we’ll be here for a whole week. If Memet friend had not found this cave, our skins would have been only good for salting!’

  Tashbash was bursting with impatience. He had made up his mind and was waiting for the night to fall. He could not look the Corporal in the face. They had stocked plenty of wood and built up a big fire of smokeless lambent embers. With a few boulders they had narrowed the entrance to the cave. I was warm and cosy now, and soon they fell asleep.

  T
ashbash was wide awake. He waited awhile, then rose and tied his pouch of provisions to his belt. Soundlessly, he slipped out through the narrow opening. There was a rustle behind him. He turned and saw the dog.

  Outside he was almost struck down by the force of the blizzard. He had no cloak or felt boots to protect him, and up here, on the foothills of Mount Tekech, the cold was nothing like Tashbash had ever encountered before. He clambered down the rocks, hardly able to breathe in the face of the deadly blast.

  ‘It’s madness what I’m doing,’ he said. ‘It’s suicide and nothing else.’ But then he thought of the Captain. ‘Rather than be beaten to death …’

  But he did not want to die. He sank down on his knees and began to pray. Just let him get out of this alive and he would never again doubt that he was a saint.

  ‘Allah,’ he begged, ‘show me now that I am your beloved servant. If not take my life right here, tonight … You know best.’

  He plunged on, but the little strength he had was fast deserting him. He was still not fully recovered after nearly freezing to death that night in the ruin. For an instant he considered going back to the safety of the cave and the companionship of the three policemen. Then it flashed through his memory that there was another cave in these parts, a very small one, called the Cave of the Frozen Men. It ought to be quite near too, but he had lost his bearings. The only thing he knew was that he had found the road again. The rocks that led to the cave must be somewhere farther on. For a long time he walked on without encountering anything. He came upon another path and after taking a few steps he stumbled on to rocky ground. The cave had always been reached from the north, but how to find the north? He recalled some southward-bent trees on the way and advanced slowly, groping at every tree he came across. And now he had found them. He knew the cave must be less than half an hour away and he broke into a run. The yellow dog scurried after him. He stumbled and fell. The blood seemed to be draining from his heart. He was freezing. The cave must be quite near now, but he could not get up. His feet were numb, his body heavy, immovable. And then he felt the dog’s hot breath on his nape. With a desperate effort he crawled on over the snow.

  The forest roared about him, the trees crashed into each other, straining at their roots. Suddenly, unaccountably, a single flash of lightning lit up the forest and he saw the jagged outline of the Cave of the Frozen Men up there, right before him.

  Drenched to the bone, his legs useless, his body numb from the waist down, surrendering to the deathly drowsiness that was slowly seeping into his brain … Sleep … A mortal fear shook him into consciousness. He was half buried in the snow. With the last remaining strength in his hands, he drew himself up towards the cave. The dog inched along beside him, as though crawling too.

  And then he felt the matches in his pocket. ‘These are my Hasan’s matches,’ he thought. ‘His keepsake to me.’ A warm feeling of love swept through his body.

  fn1 Alevi: a branch of the Shiite schism in Islam.

  Chapter 35

  It was the time of the thaw. Yellowish rivulets coursed between the houses, bearing a mixture of straw and dung, and all day long the half-naked children played in the dirty polluted waters that poured down the valleys and into the village from their pure crystal-clear beginnings in the snowy mountains. Spring was not far behind.

  It was also the time of hunger, when the stores of grain would be exhausted. For the villagers the apprehension of oncoming spring overshadowed even the fear of Adil Effendi. With every passing year the grain ran out earlier and at this rate they would soon find themselves with empty sacks in the middle of the winter. The population of the village kept increasing, but no one did anything to arrest the depletion of the soil. ‘In my father’s time,’ Old Halil would often tell them, ‘the land gave thirty to one. Now, all we get is five to one, and soon we’ll get nothing at all … Ah, this world’s going down the drain. All men are bastards now …’ It was no different in the neighbouring villages and worse still up in the steppe, where sometimes the soil did not even give back the seed that was sown into it. Soon the whole land would turn into a vast blackened desolation.

  Shirtless was the first to wake up one morning and find he had no grain left. The thaw was still in full swing and the waters streaming through the village. It was always Shirtless who was hit first and a kind of relief, a release from the anguish which had plagued him all through the winter would sweep over him. This year it had happened earlier than ever, yet there was in him that same lightness, that same feeling of shedding off a heavy burden. At times Shirtless had unwonted bouts of perspicacity. ‘It’s not the coming of Adil we’re afraid of all winter long,’ he declared. ‘It’s this day! The day we have no flour left for our bread. Adil’s just a pretext.’

  At the end of the winter Shirtless would borrow a little flour from his friend, Köstüoglu. Then, when Köstüoglu had none left either, they would both turn to Slowcoach Halil, and so on. Thus, the whole village would run short of bread at about the same time. Some hid their grain and kept it all to themselves, but these were only a few. No one would ever give them a morsel of bread again even if they were dying of hunger. Come the harvest, everyone would pay back his debt, down to the last handful of flour.

  This year was like a year of famine. What did people eat then? How did they manage to keep alive until the harvest? Thank God, spring was nearly here. Soon the earth would sprout forth its blessings, madimak which boiled and salted was tastier than lamb, sheep sorrel, chards, and yalabuk, peeled off the bark of the pine tree, the very smell of which was enough to infuse life into a man.

  The thaw ended at last and with it the dread of famine. The earth emerged in a fresh, moist, lusty greenness. The winds from the steppe blew sunny and warm, wafting sweet scents in place of the wintry blizzard.

  Those who searched for Old Halil’s dead body in the Long Valley never found a trace of him. People were beginning to think that the wolves had got him when the rumour arose that he had taken up residence in the village of Injejik with an old friend, swearing he would never set foot in Yalak again, cursing its inhabitants from the Muhtar to Tashbash, and spreading gruesome stories about his narrow escape from their clutches. ‘They were ready to tear me to pieces, those monsters,’ was the burden of his tale. ‘To pieces! And hang each piece on a separate tree. Ah, but I don’t blame them! I’d have done the same and you too, because, let me tell you, good people, I brought them down late for the cotton and got them into trouble with Adil Effendi. But what they don’t know is that it was I who saved them from Adil’s wrath as well. How? Ah, that’s a secret between Allah and me! A couple of words was enough to make him see reason. So now I’m quits with those Yalak villagers. But still I can never go back, no … Those monsters would eat me alive …’

  Then from Sürmeli came the rumour that Old Halil was there, alive and kicking, inveighing all day long against the people of Yalak. Its women were all whores, and what’s more, they always gave birth to quadruplets, and with so many new children there was never enough food for the old people who were left to die of hunger … These rumours multiplied and people began to have doubts that the old man had ever frozen to death on the night of his flight.

  As for Hüsneh and Rejep, a little boy from the village of Buzdéré came upon them at the time of the first thaw in a little valley only two hundred yards away from the village. There they were, on their knees, folded tightly in each other’s arms, broad-shouldered Rejep and Hüsneh with her long, long hair flowing down her back. The little boy hid behind a bush to spy on them as they made love. He waited and waited but there was no movement, not the slightest sign of life from the lovers. So he aimed a little stone at them. Nothing happened. He threw another stone, then another. Suddenly he ran up to them and what should he see? Wedged between the tightly clasped bodies and resting over their intertwined arms were clumps of hard frozen snow! He rushed back to his village with the news.

  And so the bodies of Hüsneh and Rejep were brought to Yalak to
be buried. The whole village held a wake to keen over the young lovers and many were the dirges that were sung over them by the women and young girls. Even Old Meryemdje was heard to mutter an old lament to herself as she wept.

  Of Tashbash nothing was heard any more. He had vanished into the blue, without leaving a trace. There was only Corporal Jumali’s testimony, which he swore to before the Captain and repeated to whoever would listen to him. ‘A furious snowstorm burst upon us in the forest of Karamuk, and all the world went dark. All of a sudden I heard a voice crying, “Blessed be Ali,fn1 blessed be Ali! Blessed be the light of the world …” Tashbash had been walking in front of us … Then, hard upon the voice a light flared up before our eyes, and glided off swiftly towards the mountains. Tashbash, I called out, Tashbash! Memet Tashbash … There was no answer. I waited there till dawn, but he had melted into thin air. May I never see my children again, may Ali Himself drive me from His table if what I say is anything less than the truth!’

  And now, in all the villages, the women would be flitting about from house to house, carrying glowing embers on scraps of tin plate. This was a sign that spring had come, for the fires which had burned night and day all winter long were allowed to die out now. Matches are a precious article in the villages and should be saved as much as possible. So the women borrow embers from one another’s fires to light their hearths. And in the evenings the villages twinkle as though the stars of heaven had dropped into them.