by Latife Tekin
‘Taka tika tak tak tak,
Has the bride in white come down the mountain?
Taka tika tak tak tak,
Oh no, oh no, man, she hasn’t come.’
So, as Monsieur Paul listened, Mahmut sang and learnt all there was to know about the diameters of the pipes. One day he filled a tin can with gasoline to clean the snagged turnings out of a broken drill. Then he dumped the gasoline into the factory’s drainage pit. Monsieur Paul came by with his blowtorch, sat by the drainage pit and started to weld the boiler joint. But some sparks from his torch flew into the pit, and the gasoline flared up, burning his hands. From then on, Monsieur Paul started kicking Mahmut. Then Master Kazım’s apprentice, a youth the same age as Mahmut, was electrocuted. As his charred body crumpled over they heard him scream for his mother. Mahmut secretly stripped off his overalls and left the factory. That day none of the apprentices sang türküs while hammering pipes. Drills didn’t bite, no sparks scattered from the bellows and spanners didn’t grip as sand shot through the tempered pipes. When Mahmut arrived home, he leant his head against the window and listened to the sound of sand pelting at the windows and raining down onto the ground below.
That night snow as fine as the sand it covered drifted down. Murmuring, ‘I’m red blooded, aren’t I?’ Seyit picked up his bread just before sunrise and walked out munching it. With his monkey wrench, hammer and chasing-chisel he fought a razor-sharp wind that whistled through the windowless buildings on the construction sites. He fastened pipes with joints and installed ribbed radiators beneath the windows, all the while trying to shield himself from the wind. Then he proudly checked over all the pipes and radiators he had connected. Joyfully he tapped his swelling lungs with his fingers. To challenge the wind, he filled a big lime can with coals and fanned them red hot. He drilled holes in the sides and threaded them so that he could drag the can along behind him. ‘Why are you frowning?’ he sang as he turned his face to the darkening sky and powder-like snow. And, as he sang, the charcoal in the lime can dimmed and turned to ash.
One of Seyit’s lungs fell victim to the snow, and both of his eyes to the electric welder. Each night Atiye plastered raw potato rings over his red, aching eyes. The potato rings soothed away the pain and redness, quietening his insufferable groaning. But every day the electric welder’s purple arc glared fiercely, filling his eyes with tears. The pupils seemed to shrink as the whites grew. A battle was waged over Seyit’s eyes: the raw potato rings lost the fight during the day, as the electric welder did during the night.
Snow fell on Seyit’s back, feet, hands and face until at last there was no more to fall. Spring came. Seyit left no pipe unjointed or single window without a radiator planted beneath it. He opened his toolbox for the last time and let the water rush out through the pipes. Like a high-spirited bride it danced, spinning round and round the growling pipes that clung fast to it, drawing it in close, not allowing a drop to escape. Moving from one floor to another, Seyit leant his back against the wall and listened joyfully to the water as it raced panting from one pipe into the next. But the joy stabbed at Seyit’s lung. As he was rearranging his toolbox, he felt a sudden sharp pain. ‘No one can knock me now,’ he repeated to himself, putting his hand over the aching spot. ‘I’ve become a master.’ But Seyit fell ill. As he tossed and turned in his bed, the hot water spun in the pipes and the house spun above him. Then the water grew cold and withdrew from the pipes, and summer came. They moved into a cheap house with only one room, which Atiye had found. Carrying Seyit in first, they sat around him in a group and repeated reassuringly, ‘Now don’t you worry. Allah is great!’
Allah did watch over them. Zekiye gave birth to her new baby without very much kicking and crying and without needing to have her waters broken. Huvat drew Halit aside to warn him, ‘We’re naming the boy Seyit.’ Halit gave his father a stern look and sulked, but Huvat pretended not to notice and in a whisper admonished his son: ‘He might die, man! Then you’d regret it.’ Afterwards, Huvat cradled the baby boy in his arms and shouted three times in his ear, ‘Your name is Seyit.’ ‘Bring the baby over,’ Seyit called out, ‘so that I can spit in his mouth, too.’ But there was no response. Seyit waited for a while, then he held his breath and fixed his eyes on the ceiling. Baby Seyit, receiving no spit in his mouth, didn’t suckle or stop crying for three days and nights.
Huvat lifted up the baby and blew his prayers over him, all the time yawning, and, with each yawn, tears streamed from Huvat’s eyes. ‘My goodness, this baby must’ve truly been touched by an evil eye!’ he exclaimed as he wiped them away. ‘He was about to burst!’ Huvat yawned away his tears but he also put the baby to sleep. And, as the baby slept, Halit got up, dressed half-heartedly and strolled down to the coffee-house to look for work. He lacked the confidence to promote himself as a master but refused to offer himself as an apprentice either. So he returned home from the coffee-house in the evening. Lifting up his eyes from his green books, Huvat shot him a sharp look that Atiye caught, recognizing that Huvat was about to start a row with his son. With her eyes she signalled to Halit to leave the room and, when he had gone, she announced that cold winds were piercing her under her armpit. ‘I’m in pain,’ she said and claimed that she had suddenly been taken ill. ‘Quick, start praying,’ she moaned, pointing at Huvat’s green books. Huvat rushed over to her side and opened his books. With difficulty Atiye rolled her tongue and pleaded for God’s benediction. Then she grabbed hold of Huvat’s hands, saying: ‘Let’s let bygones be bygones, man.’ Huvat quickened the pace of his prayers.
Knowing that her mother was bound to die in three time-spans, Dirmit quickly totted up in her mind three weeks, then three months. However, if her mother’s death was imminent, it didn’t square with any of these. Heaving a sigh of relief, she shook her head behind her father’s back and smiled at her panting mother. Early the next morning she headed off to the park in search of the birdie-bird plant and found it spread out wantonly beneath the horse chestnut tree. Joyfully she plumped herself down beside the birdie-bird plant, who asked her what she had been doing all winter. Dirmit replied, complaining that she was curious about everything but knew next to nothing.
The birdie-bird plant offered her some advice, saying that if she read books she would learn many, many things. Dirmit mentioned her school library and said that she felt too shy to go and read there like the other children. The birdie-bird plant made her sit her down before it, and explained to her that if she kept on feeling shy she would always know very little. It went on to warn her not to feel abashed. If her heart started to pound when she entered the library she should just keep breathing deeply, and if she blushed she should bow her head quickly, and if her mouth felt dry she should bite her tongue, and if her hands shook she should hide them under the table. Dirmit listened to the birdie-bird plant’s advice and swore that she would read in the library every day until closing time. She stroked the leaves of the birdie-bird plant and then trotted off to the library, where she gulped down a few deep breaths, bit her tongue, gathered up some books and crept over to sit at the very back table.
First she read through a book with a picture on its cover of a donkey, a rooster and a cat standing one on top of the other. Then she pushed it aside and took up another one, which bore the title Historical Atlas. Looking at one page and then another, she felt bewildered because she wasn’t able to figure out the meaning of the red and green arrows or the fine print on them. Looking right and left, she slipped the book beneath the tabletop and secreted it over her tummy, the whole time biting her tongue and breathing deeply. She left the library with her hands over her tummy and raced home, where she quietly retreated to a corner and bent in wonder over the Historical Atlas.
Dirmit stood by her promise to the birdie-bird plant and visited the library every day to read there until closing time. She always sat at the table farthest back and read through all the books with glossy hard covers and pop-up pages of houses, lambs and frogs. Next she started reading
picture books with large black print and, after finishing those, she read thick books without any illustrations. Every evening she came home with a book held close to her tummy. Bit by bit she was swept off her feet into the world of young girls in glass slippers with very long hair, knights, devil’s islands, treasure hunters, Goths and Visigoths, red and green arrows and sorceress queens. Some she liked but others she feared, fleeing from them to hide under the quilts. Once, when she woke up screaming that the Vikings were coming, Huvat opened up his green books and sat down beside her. Atiye arranged for molten lead to be poured into cold water over her head, escorted her to dervish-houses and made her drink healing waters. She also lit candles at the shrines of holy men, sprinkled salt about and hung up silver thread. Huvat forbade Dirmit from studying anything but textbooks and seized the books that she had spirited home over her tummy, then took them away to show to the hodjas.
Later, he returned home grumbling and ripped them all to pieces. ‘If this girl ever reads any more of these books again, you just tell me!’ he ordered Atiye. Then he placed some green books before Dirmit. ‘Read these every day, and I’ll pay you,’ he declared, and each day thereafter Dirmit read one or two pages from the books and was paid by the page. She took the money and spent it all on scented erasers and coloured pencils. When Atiye discovered them in her daughter’s hands and pockets, she harangued her furiously. ‘Why don’t you go get yourself some red raisins and nuts to eat instead, you good-for-nothing!’ she said, but since Dirmit paid her mother no mind, Huvat reduced the price per page, and Dirmit quit bothering to read. Then Huvat started beating Dirmit to make her read the green books. But he couldn’t bear to hear her sob, so he began to implore her, ‘Why don’t you cover yourself up, girl, and learn something good?’ Finally, however, he let her be and started picking on Halit. ‘Go find yourself something to do,’ he grumbled.
Seeking respite from his father’s tongue and his mother’s sharp looks, Halit headed straight for the coffee-house as soon as he got up. In the evenings he slunk home guiltily and shrank into a corner. On some days he hollered and on others he ducked under the quilts early in the day, feigning dizziness and clouded sight. Fed up, Huvat finally took to tailing his son, who repaired to the coffee-house early in the morning to seek work but returned home every evening saying, ‘Nothing today either.’ When his father followed him into the coffee-house, Halit flung his cigarette onto the floor and swore to himself, crushing it out angrily with his foot. Pushing away the playing cards to the far end of the table with the back of his hand, he waited, longing for his father to leave so that he could smoke once more and play cards. The more sharply he glared at Huvat, the more snugly his father settled into his chair. Finally Halit ran out of patience and, to rid himself of his father, started to work. Half of what he earnt he brought home, but he kept the other half for himself with the result that soon all hell broke loose in the household.
Unknown to Halit, Huvat had collared his master on the street and done some checking, after which he came home shaking his head furiously. Forgetting that all his prayers would be nullified if he cursed or swore he lunged at Halit and yelled at him ferociously. Then, overcome by frustration, he lifted his hands and wept, hammering on his knees with his fists, and ordered Halit out of the house. Atiye rushed out onto the landing and stood blocking the stairs. She stopped Halit with some difficulty and then pushed him back inside. First she ran to Huvat’s side and then she turned back to Halit and took him by the arm. At last Halit bowed his head, knelt down before Huvat and kissed his hands. Huvat, his hand kissed, turned his face to the wall and sulked, as Halit flung himself with a sob onto the divan. Then he started to weep. With his head buried in the divan he sobbed, and his whole body shook. Zekiye couldn’t go up to her husband, put her arms around him and join him in a good cry – not in front of her in-laws. Instead, she picked up baby Seyit and stepped outside. Atiye quickly signalled Nuǧber to follow her, as Huvat walked over to Halit and lifted up his head from the divan. ‘Why be so proud, man?’ he asked reproachfully. ‘So what if you had to kiss my hand?’ ‘Oh, leave me alone,’ sobbed Halit, wiping away his tears with the back of his hand. Early the next morning, he crept into the toilet and secretly donned the white shirt with the stand-up collar that he had purchased with the money he put aside for himself. And then, descending the stairs quickly, unseen by anyone, he set off for work.
The family’s share of Halit’s halved wages was not enough for any of them to live on. So, saying nothing to her father or brothers, Nuǧber started working for the neighbourhood dressmaker. After Huvat and Halit had left for the day, Atiye signalled her daughter, then went over to Seyit’s bedside to keep him occupied as Nuǧber, holding her skirt, pattered quietly down the stairs. She hurried to the dressmaker’s, arranged on her lap the dresses that were already cut out and tacked together, then bent over her work. From time to time she reappeared briefly before Seyit and then, prompted by her mother’s winking and blinking, slipped off back to work. But Nuǧber’s earnings, too meagre even for Seyit’s medicine, vanished like the wind.
Then the time came to sell off Seyit’s work tools, one by one, until not a single screwdriver, pipe wrench or welding machine or cutting torch was left. Seyit grew pale and wilted in his bed as he watched first one then another of his precious work tools disappear. ‘Please spare my spirit level, at least!’ he pleaded. ‘You’re one hell of a master of your trade,’ Huvat replied as he patted him on the back. ‘Once you feel better, you can get a new one.’ Then he picked up the spirit level and left.
When Seyit’s tools had all been sold off, Huvat was again hot on Mahmut’s trail in the park. Mahmut slipped out of his clutches a few times but was finally brought to heel. Huvat led him over to Püzant the tailor, where for a few days he swept the floor of clippings. Then he picked up a needle and, with quivering fingers, threaded it. Püzant the tailor first taught Mahmut how to hem trouser legs and then to stitch on stiffeners. In between the sewing Mahmut ran errands, fetching lunch for Püzant from the restaurant, taking back the dishes and bringing him tea and coffee. He threaded needles but also gazed at the rolls of fabric.
Away from Püzant’s eyes, he unrolled the fabrics, stretching them in front of him and posing before the mirror. Enraptured, he shuffled about picking out all the tints and shades of striped and sandy fabrics for himself, trying on one suit, taking off another. Then he vaulted the park railings and shinned up the horse chestnut tree. But as he lounged in the forked branch of the horse chestnut, Püzant the tailor appeared under the tree, wielding a wooden yardstick. Ordering Mahmut out of the tree, he struck him on the chest with the yardstick. Still shouting, Püzant shoved a pile of trouser bottoms and stiffeners onto his lap. As Mahmut picked up one piece after another, his hands were busy with the trousers and stiffeners but his thoughts never left the park swings.
After Mahmut, Püzant the tailor hired two more apprentices, both of whom were mute. On their first day he started a fight between them and Mahmut. With screaming eyes the mute boys attacked Mahmut, and Mahmut first butted one with his head, then punched the other on his chin. Finally all three fell into the clippings on the floor, where they wrestled until they were out of breath. Then, laughing, Püzant the tailor separated them. From then on, if the mute boys stitched one piece, Mahmut, to spite them, did two, and if he stitched two, they did three, until their fingers bled and the flying lint got in their eyes. During the lunch break, the mute boys rubbed their eyes, uttered strange sounds and rested their heads on their knees, while Mahmut skipped out. No matter how hard he tried, Püzant the tailor couldn’t pit them against each other again.
One lunch time, unbeknownst to Püzant the tailor, Mahmut made friends with the mute boys, and after work led them to the park, where they all played marbles and chased one another with wooden rifles through the trees. As a tailor’s apprentice, Mahmut quickly learnt to communicate in sign language but he never learnt how to take measures or do the cutting, nor could he get use
d to holding pins between his lips, getting beaten with the yardstick, or sweeping the clippings off the floor. In addition, he was maddened by the tailor’s habit of wrapping his finger in a handkerchief and picking his nose. Once, as the tailor did this, Mahmut grabbed up the scissors and cut windows into the knees of two finished suits. ‘—— your mother,’ he swore at Püzant from the landing and, without looking back, fled home. For many days he was too frightened to go out and play in the park or mingle with the others. After holding back Mahmut’s weekly wages and harassing Huvat at the coffee-house, the tailor finally succeeded in receiving compensation for the knee holes.
Atiye, at this time, was practising her latest skill: reading coffee cups. Azmiye Haım, her neighbour, spread news of her fortune-telling ability throughout the area. A great number of women, some known to them, some unknown, began to call on Atiye, each one bearing some ground coffee. Atiye promptly prepared the coffee and, pressing her finger on the bottom of the cup, divined the appropriate words. First she talked and then she got the others talking. Early in the morning she would get Seyit settled on the divan, stash away his bed and see Huvat off. Then she would pass the whole day reviving her clients’ spirits, relieving their troubled, darkened hearts. To some she brought letters, to others wealth. Some she packed off on a journey, while for others she summoned the bird of fortune to perch on their heads or conjured up serpent-like foes. The house teemed with women, mainly old maids and worrying widows.
