The Miracle of Yousef: Historical and political thriller

by Gonçalo Coelho

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Forgive me. It’s just that I was enjoying listening to you, and suddenly I started thinking of all the things that were given to me here on this island, of all the things I’m learning, and at this point, a question passed through my mind: could it be that I really deserve all this?”

  “That’s enough of that. Look ahead. Consider that you have a new life. Consider that God has granted you a new life. Accept the miracle.”

  “I don’t deny it, but I find it very strange and wonder how long it can last. How long can this miracle last of having no past and nothing but this amazing present? Sometimes I wonder how much time I’ll have until my past catches up with me and drowns me…”

  “Stop tormenting yourself with all these questions. You act as though it were already established that your past is dark, but the fact is you don’t know that, do you?”

  “You’re right, I don’t know. But what if it is?”

  “Don’t be afraid of something just because it’s unknown. It’s been months since you washed up on this island, and as far as I’m concerned, I have a fully formed opinion of who you are. You can’t keep waiting until one day your memory comes back so you can start living again. A man has to create and build things to feel complete. He can’t live in suspension, without action, spending his whole life waiting for something to happen. Things happen in their own time, and if anything is certain in this life, it’s that time never stops, and death is certain. All we have before us is the present, and it’s a sin not to live the best we can, the best we know how.”

  A short soft silence prevailed in the mild air of the vineyard, until Okan resumed the thread of his rumination:

  “Know thyself. This aphorism that Socrates received from the Oracle at Delphi is extremely wise, and it is said that he knew enough to appreciate it from the first moment he heard it. And yet, you mustn’t succumb to illusions! You will not find this knowledge by looking into your past, but rather by looking within yourself now, today on any day that you’re alive. The past only tells us who we were and not who we are.”

  Having said this, Okan resumed walking, Argun following. They continued along one row of vines and the next few rows, then went to see the winery where the wine was made, and sat a while in the shade on a cool patio overlooking the vineyard.

  “Argun, I didn’t bring you here just to talk about wine,” Okan began. “I brought you here today, to this property, because I wanted to have a special talk with you, far from home, all by ourselves, man to man.

  Argun braced himself, wary as a cat, waiting to hear what Okan would say, while something inside him tried to guess what was coming.

  “Why do you think I’ve showed you practically all my businesses, including my vineyard today?”

  “I haven’t been wondering about it. As I told you, I feel that everything happening to me is a bit strange. As if this new life were only the result of a magic kaleidoscope that was just about to vanish, as though I were living a wonderful dream that at any moment could end just like that.”

  “Well I think it’s time you accepted the miracle and got on with your life. The reason I brought you here today, as you’ve probably already guessed, is Nefise.” Okan looked deep into Argun’s eyes as he said his daughter’s name, seeking his reaction. “I know my daughters and love them more than anything. They have become even more precious to me since the death of my wife, which has been extremely painful for all of us.”

  “I must tell you that...”

  “Hear me out. Then you’ll tell me what you have to say. As I was saying, I love my daughters and so I try to understand them. I try to follow their instincts and satisfy their wishes whenever I can, whenever they express them to me. I don’t believe that your past can change the feelings you have today for Nefise and above all, I believe that today your soul is good, today you are a good influence on my daughter, and that’s what interests me. It’s not because of me that I believe it, but because I see it in her eyes and her words.”

  Argun’s grave look softened, his tongue tied, and his throat shut down.

  “I brought you here, Argun, not as a son but as a future son-in-law, because I know your feelings for Nefise and her feelings for you. This is a small island, and although the world is much bigger, it is on this small Turkish island in the Aegean that I live, and here time passes leaving fewer marks of what we call modernity than do other parts of the world. Here it takes longer for customs to wear away. To sum up, and getting straight to the matter before us, here a woman still must be courted in the old-fashioned way, and if this isn’t done properly, it brings dishonor on the woman.”

  “I will never dishonor Nefise. Never. I swear it.” Argun’s eyes searched Okan’s, shimmering. He was overcome with emotion.

  “I can sense that your feelings are strong and noble, and that is why I give you my permission to ask for my daughter’s hand in marriage, which you must do today without fail, and if she accepts, we will hold a dinner this very week where we will announce it to the people closest to us, and then the matter will be made official. That’s how things are done here. One last father’s warning: never dishonor her, or else, by God, I do not know what I would do.”

  17

  Gökçeada, Turkey

  September 2002

  It all happened very quickly. One fine day at the beach, as Argun and Nefise were placidly discussing their future wedding, the date for which was already set, she was sitting on the sand looking out at the horizon, he was lying on his back with his head in her lap, looking up at the vast blue sky that served as a mere backdrop on which they contemplated the uncertain contours of their future, when out of nowhere, a swarm of uniformed policemen appeared, very well armed, and terrifying in the lightning speed of their arrival. Mehmet accompanied these veritable horsemen of the Apocalypse, and it was he who, from a few meters away, pointed Argun out to them. The officers, exhibiting an extraordinary rudeness in their gestures and demeanor, having been told that they were about to capture a man considered extremely dangerous, a terrorist wanted all over the world, violently immobilized Argun and dragged him off. More men arrived from all sides, armed to the teeth. It looked as though they had come to catch an indomitable beast, a dinosaur or an orangutan from the jungle. Argun, completely stunned by the eruption of this nightmare, did not even resist. Nefise, not knowing the reason they were snatching away her beloved, an event that had already happened once before in her life, wept copiously. First it had been Hakan, taken away by unavoidable and implacable death. Now it was Argun, snatched away by this fearsome mob of police. She fought back, even going so far as to slap one of them, who stoically ignored the blow as she shrieked at him with blazing eyes: You imbecile! Can’t you see you’re arresting an innocent man? This is a good man!” Tears streamed from her eyes. She leapt onto the back of another policeman who jolted and spun around causing her to fall helplessly to the ground. At this point Okan arrived on the scene, just in time to witness this last clash, which left him completely beside himself. He, too, moved to strike at the policemen, screaming over and over, You have no right! Instead, he was dealt a savage blow that dropped him to the ground, where he was instantly immobilized and cuffed.

  Meanwhile, a helicopter landed on the water, its propeller making an almost deafening noise, whipping up the surrounding, erstwhile quiet waters of Kaleköy as a detachment of police hauled Argun towards it, splashing as they entered into the water, and finally shoving him violently into the helicopter.

  Nefise wept an ocean of tears. She felt her heart being torn to pieces. For a moment she managed to get away from the policeman holding her, and splashing into the water, ran towards the helicopter. Reaching it, she clung to the window and saw Argun inside, whose face was already battered and cut. He flung his hand to the glass and the skin of his palm stuck to it, precisely marking the space where Nefise’s face appeared, teary-eyed, on the other side. The knot in their throats nearly choked them. One of the Turkish
policemen pulled Nefise away and the helicopter finally lifted off, leaving her on her knees watching her beloved disappearing into the sky.

  As the helicopter climbed, Argun sustained a few more punches from his captors, and as he spat out blood he heard one of them yelling in English, Terrorist scum! Now you can have a little taste of Guantánamo! Yet Guantánamo was the last thing on his mind. The ache he felt in his heart from this sudden, wrenching separation from Nefise was accompanied by a piercing sensation as he realized that fate had come ineluctably to find him: and finally, he would be facing up to his past. His most recent memories, though loose and disjointed, had foretold it, as well as a growing anguish that seized his soul relentlessly. Of his latest memories he had said nothing to Nefise, partly because he still couldn’t make any sense of them, couldn’t patch together any balanced impression of his past. Now, as a result, he would be learning about his past from strangers, which would be much worse. As far as he himself was concerned, it was time for him to face up to his punishment, his just reward. And to this he was fully resigned.

  REDENÇÃO

  1

  Istanbul

  September 28, 2008

  1:32 p.m.

  The door opens slowly into a dim, windowless room. A touch at the switch on the wall sets off a yellow glow diffusely illuminating the space, the effect of a suddenly bright bulb dangling carelessly from the ceiling. At the back of the room Nefise lies on a mahogany double bed with a sublime and delicate serenity, on her back, eyes closed, her body immersed in infinite peace. Two men come in, one of them bearing a syringe and a small phial. He inserts the needle in the phial and fills the syringe, then pointing it at the air, gives two flicks and taps the plunger, just enough to eject a tiny stream. The injection is ready. The man approaches Nefise who lies unconscious, and in one firm gesture sticks the needle into her and injects the contents of the syringe. Once this task is done, he leaves, closing the door behind him. The other man pulls up a chair and sits down in front of her, contemplating her. Suddenly she opens her eyes and recoils as she recognizes the man before her.

  “You here!”

  “Yes, it’s me.”

  “Oh no… the nightmare continues…”

  “Yes, and how I would give anything for things to be different… Or to be able to go back in time.”

  “But things aren’t different. Where am I?”

  “For the moment you are still a prisoner. We are still in the hands of our abductors.”

  “And if I scream for help right now?”

  “There are a couple of men outside who’ll hear you right away and will put you back to sleep again immediately. No one is going to help you in any way. All that will happen is that our conversation will end prematurely.”

  “Prematurely? Does that mean if I scream at least I won’t have to listen to you?”

  “You may do so, if that’s what you wish.”

  Silence.

  “All the better that you prefer not to scream.”

  “I’m not wild about the idea of them putting me back to sleep. I’m not sleepy. Who is our abductor?”

  “Sheik Omar.”

  “Sheik Omar? What does he want from me?”

  “From you, nothing.”

  Their eyes meet. He feels the weight of his remorse.

  “And what is it he wants from you?”

  “He wants me to blow up the Marmara Tunnel. What’s more, the North Anatolian fault passes a mere fifteen kilometers from the tunnel, and he is convinced that by blowing up tons of explosives at key strategic points somewhere on the bottom of the sea, it will be possible to cause a dislocation in the European and Asian tectonic plates. There’s a mad scientist who insists that this is indeed possible, and he was the one who came up with the plan. He showed me studies indicating an increase in the frequency of earthquakes in certain parts of the world where the Americans set off their so-called deep penetration bombs, such as Kosovo in 1999. I know, they’re crazy, insane... These are people who believe in miracles, in this case, miracles of mass destruction. I know what I’m talking about, I used to be on the same side. Beyond all the chaos and destruction, for Sheik Omar it will be immensely sublime and symbolic to blow up the tunnel connecting Europe and Asia, and better yet, knowing that he managed to help dislocate the European and Asian tectonic plates that he sees as distorted images symbolizing the West and the Arab world, or at least increasing the risk of earthquakes in this region for the next few decades, something whose probability is considerably higher.”

  “And you intend to carry out this demented plan?”

  “If I don’t do it, they’re threatening to kill you, and I believe they’d actually do it. Or perhaps they’d start out by wounding and torturing you, because they know that would hurt me terribly, far more than any physical torture they could inflict on me. If I blow up the tunnel, they say they’ll set you free without doing you any harm.”

  “For God’s sake…”

  “For the time being I told them I would do absolutely nothing unless they let me speak to you alone, and they agreed. So they’ve given us some time.”

  “What do you intend to do?”

  “I intend to free you and prevent any explosion. But if by any chance a decision clearly presents itself between one thing and another, you can be certain that I will not hesitate for one second over what my choice will be.” Silence fell again. “You are much more important to me than anything else in this world.”

  Nefise lay back on the bed, leaning against the headboard and avoiding his piercing eyes. She quickly changed the subject.

  “Who is this madman, this Sheik Omar?”

  “An Islamic radical extremely convinced of his own ideas. He was my protector and mentor from very early on. Until the day I had amnesia, and woke up on the island and met you. From that point on, everything changed for me.”

  “I don’t want to hear any explanations.”

  “But I want to give you an explanation.” Yousef reached out and touched her hand. Nefise moved her body slightly but did not pull her hand away, as though part of her longed to feel the warmth of his skin and another part recoiled at this. “I owe you this much, Nefise. In all my years in prison, you were my only reason to live, my oxygen tent.”

  “Nothing you can say will make any difference. Right now, I don’t trust you. I don’t even know who you are.”

  “Your father once taught me that the past only tells us who we were, not who we are. If you look only at my past, all you will be able to see is who I was, and today, I can tell you that I am exactly the same person that you always knew. Everything I experienced and learned on the island changed me. The problem is that I wasn’t born on Gokçeada. I didn’t know you before I knew the war in Afghanistan and faced the Soviets, before I read certain books and certain declarations that drove me to certain actions and extremist convictions.”

  “You say you’re the same person I always knew, and though it seems highly paradoxical to me, I think to myself: aren’t you, rather, the same person that I never really knew?”

  “I’m the same person you always knew and what you made of me, but as for my past, you can know it now. And I want you to.” He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and took out a key, presenting it to her. “Take it.”

  “What might that be?”

  “The story of my life. I wrote it during the whole time I was in prison. This key gives access to a safe deposit box in a bank, and my memoirs are inside it. The initials of the bank are inscribed on the key itself. I hope one day you read what I wrote and can forgive me, because only your forgiveness matters to me.”

  She stares at him, suspicious and undecided, unsure whether to take the key. He avails himself of this brief hesitation to place the key in her hand and close it.

  “I wrote these memoirs for you. They’re yours. You’ll read them if you want, when you want to. They’re yours. At bottom, my life has always belonged to you ever since the first moment I saw you.”


  “I know what you’re going to do now. You’re going to say you feel all sorts of things for me, you’re going to say you were innocent of all the things they accuse you of, all the acts of terrorism you committed, all the atrocities, all the abductions, all the people you killed.”

  “No. That’s part of my past, and I can’t blot it out. But I want you to know that after I succumbed to my amnesia, after I met you, after all that I experienced with you on that island, after meeting your sister and your father, I was never the same again. That’s the purest truth. When I learned of my past and faced it in the horrible solitude of Guantánamo, with all that I learned after my amnesia, I realized how wrong I had been all my life. I also realized how wrong that whole American prison complex is. How the life of all those guards and employees at the prison is horrible. How my own life, after a certain point, was also sunk in this horror, of living sealed off from everything, because life is worth living. Now I live only to see the day when you can forgive me.”

  “I knew this was the direction the conversation would take. But it’s going to take a lot more than words to convince me. And the girl in the picture? I read in some newspapers that they suspect you murdered her, that the car accident was deliberate. And you are suspected of countless other things.”

  “But the evidence is slight. That’s why I’m here on the outside after six years of torture and hard time. In any case, I stand here before you and confess to you, Nefise: I am guilty of everything you’ve accused me of just now, everything but the death of Nadia. I killed so many innocents. However, I believed that I was at war, and in war there are no innocents. But her death was an accident. She was my wife and I truly loved her. I have two children by this woman. Children whom I traded in for a worthless idealism. Yet all the memories I have of her are very happy and wholesome. We were a happy couple. Did you know she was an actress? Have you ever heard of a Saudi actress? In New York, of all places? She was a great actress, expressive and elegant. She had the talent to make it to the top. What I experienced with her is probably the only thing I’m proud of in all of my past, until the day I met you. Her life was destined to be awful in Saudi Arabia because one day she was unfaithful to her fiancé, but she asked me for help and I got her out of there with false documents and Sheik Omar’s money. In exchange, she enabled me to experience the happiest moments of my life until I washed up on Gokçeada with no memory. Without her my life would have been a complete waste. But I know that because of me she also experienced happy moments that she never would have known otherwise. One day, she was run over by a car near our home in New York. I was far away, and when I got to the hospital she was already dead. I am guilty of all you can accuse me of in relation to the political and religious cause that I embraced, but not her death.” He was making a visible effort to contain the pain these memories brought him, and he decided to conclude with a short phrase that seemed to him to sum up anything else he might have said about Nadia: “I loved her.”