The Flea Palace

by Elif Shafak

  “Article 1: At night-time, residents should not extend their feet in the direction of the holy saint. Those beds with the foot side facing the garden have to be turned around immediately.

  Article 2: Residents should not go around naked in their flats.

  Article 3: From now on, rugs and carpets needing to be whacked should not be hung outside the windows facing the garden and nothing should be flung down from these windows either.” ’

  ‘But how could that be?’ squawked the gilt-trimmed hairspray.

  ‘Please do not interrupt!’ scolded the brush with the bone handle.

  “Article 4: From this time forth, no clothes shall be hung out to dry from the windows facing the garden.

  Article 5: From this day forward no hair shall be cut within the boundaries of this apartment building.”

  ‘But sir, please take some pity on us, if we don’t cut hair, we’ll go hungry. This is our livelihood,’ spoke up one of the two multi-vitamin hair repairers with keratin. Cemal whispered another footnote winking at his customers: ‘That was Celal!’

  ‘We guessed so,’ trolled the women in unison.

  ‘It absolutely can’t be done. Don’t forget that of all the flats in this building it is yours that happens to be the closest to the grave of the honourable saint. As such, the deepest reverence is incumbent upon you. You can no longer open the windows to sing popular songs, shake out hair or clip nails, just like you cannot cut hair or pluck eyebrows whilst looking at the tomb of the saint. If you cannot abide by the rules, go open your beauty parlour somewhere else.

  “Article 6: From now on, the flesh, hair, feather and the like of animals such as horses, donkeys shall not enter into this apartment building…and this includes dogs as well…” ’

  The fine toothed comb blurted out from the top of the roller basket: ‘And why is that so, may I ask?’

  ‘For the very reason that according to our religion dogs are reprehensible,’ snapped the brush with the bone handle. However, realizing at this point he had barely any knowledge to support his claim, Cemal stared at the Blue Mistress for help. She spoke up as if waiting for an opportunity: ‘See the Araf sura in the Qur’an: if you go at it, it breathes dangling its tongue, if you let it loose, it breathes dangling its tongue. In addition, let’s not forget that Mevlana too calls human greed canine.’

  ‘None of these apply to my dog. Gaba isn’t Turkish. He’s Swiss!’ shouted the fine toothed comb.

  The women lined up in front of the mirror looked at the chunky, carroty, notched hair roller in sympathy.

  ‘But Mr. Hadji Hadji, as you already know the “Seven Sleepers” in heaven had dogs as well,’ said the Blue Mistress, taking pity.

  ‘Okay, okay,’ the brush with the bone handle surrendered. ‘But from now on, that dog will take a bath every day. There won’t be even a single flea on it. No fleas in the apartment! Needless to say, no lice either. We’ve got to get rid of these bugs as well. All the flats will be fumigated from top to bottom.

  “Article 7: From now on beggars, vendors, garment peddlers, pastry sellers and such shall not be let into the building.” ’

  ‘Very appropriate, sir,’ chorused the husband and wife of the colouring brush and pair of scissors.

  ‘And last but not least…

  “Article 8: From now on, the garbage of Bonbon Palace shall be collected regularly. A circle with a thirty metre diameter shall be drawn around the holy saint and not a bit of garbage will be dumped within. Maximum attention will be paid to keeping the apartment building sparkling clean. It shall be spick and span all around. Whatever needs to be done to get rid of this disgusting smell engulfing Bonbon Palace shall be done at once. All this time we’ve been suffocated by the putrid smell. Let’s at least make sure the praiseworthy saint doesn’t suffer the way we did.” ’

  Cemal suddenly realized he had forgotten to include Meryem. He quickly placed an eyelash curler onto the basket. However, just as he was getting it ready to speak up, an ear-splitting noise broke out in the back. Celal, whose face revealed how little he had relished the ongoing game, had dropped a hairdryer. When all the eyes turned on him, he flashed crimson with embarrassment. Without picking up the dryer, he hurried to the door stammering: ‘I’m going out, I need to get some air.’

  ‘With all due respect, Cemal,’ said the blonde with one eye cast, once the door closed behind Celal, ‘There have probably never been twins with as different dispositions as you two. If you had at least one single thing in common, for God’s sake.’

  As a bristly discomfort fell like drizzle on the parlour, each and every one of the performers around the basket turned into the inert items they once had been.

  Flat Number 7: The Blue Mistress and Me

  I sure hadn’t been expecting the Blue Mistress. It turned out she had applied bug spray all over her house, so she asked if she could stay at my place until the smell faded away. I told her I was eternally grateful to the bugs. She laughed. Her grin curled into a quizzical smile, when she caught sight of the mammoth plate of cheese and smoked salmon on the table inside.

  ‘I’m coming into money,’ I said. ‘Meryem stopped by this morning. The woman at Number 9 had sent her as an emissary. She wants me to give English lessons to her daughter. I wasn’t interested at first. The last time I had given such lessons I was a student myself, but then, for some reason unknown, the woman offered a hefty fee per hour.’

  ‘It’s probably because she hates the idea of her daughter going out of the apartment building.’

  ‘Whatever! We’ll have the lessons at their house.’

  ‘Perhaps she preferred to have the teacher from within the building,’ she beamed before gulping down a large piece of cheese. ‘Or perhaps, she too has fallen for you. Just like me!’

  When she smiles the scar on her left cheek becomes more visible. I like caressing that scar. Slowly, I pulled her hand and dragged her inside. I like the taste her tongue leaves on mine.

  ‘Do you know I was raised by my grandfather,’ she mumbled as she grabbed my fingers stroking her cheek and lifted them to her lips. I lit a cigarette and leaned back. I’ve always enjoyed pillow talk. Thanks to the Blue Mistress, I had started after all that time to sleep again in the bed that was ‘too big’ for me.

  ‘He was such a witty, well-bred person. My father and mother never got along, there were always rows at the house. They got divorced when I was four years old. Both got remarried within a year. Then my grandfather said to ma: “Let me look after this poor child. You set up your house, come and see your daughter whenever you want.” Ma accepted. I’m so glad she did. I loved grandpa immensely. If he had not passed on at such an early age, I would’ve been at an utterly different place now. Anyway, after grandpa died, I was left alone with grandma. I liked her too, but not the way I liked grandpa. I returned to my mother’s house. Everyone makes fun of Mrs. Tijen for not being able to leave her house, yet I, at such a young age, almost never left the house, not for two long years, would you believe it? Not because of a cleaning sickness or anything like that. Frankly, I don’t know why I couldn’t leave. I wouldn’t even step onto the street, let alone go to school. Not that I wasn’t curious about the world outside, but I guess I pined for a different sort of place. Both my mother and stepfather tried hard to encourage me to go out. Odd isn’t it? Normally youngsters feel restricted by their parents. It was just the opposite at our house.

  Anyway, one morning around the breakfast table, my mother and stepfather were talking about how to pay the phone bill, I heard myself say: “Give it to me, I’ll pay it”. Their eyes were wide with astonishment, I took the bill and threw myself outside. It had been so long since I had last left the house, I swear I wobbled like a drunk at first. I entered the post office. There was a line. I kept waiting and waiting, finally only a few people remained in front of me. That’s when I first saw him. He was the officer taking the bills, behind the glass. He wasn’t handsome like you, but his eyes were one of a kind. Could one�
�s pupils be tinged mauve? His were. When at last it was my turn, he asked for the bill, I held it out. He gave me back my change, stamped the bill, and then looked at me carefully as if he wanted to see through me. I felt a chill run down my spine. “Have a nice day,” he said. I couldn’t breathe a word. In that state I found myself back home. Next morning, I rushed outside early, straight to the post office. There was a line even at that hour. When it was my turn, with my heart in my mouth, I held out the already paid bill. He looked at me perplexed, and I too looked at him to see if his pupils were really mauve. They indeed were. The people waiting behind me started to grumble. He had a hard time hiding his amusement.’

  I couldn’t help thinking of Ayshin. In her entire life, she will never fall for a man just because his pupils are tinged mauve. Ayshin’s love is like the helm of bureaucracy. She files her correspondence, makes calculations, keeps records, deducts the expenses from the income and thus maintains a colossal archive. She never forgets a quarrel; not only does she not forget, she makes sure it is not forgotten as well. If we were married, I wondered for a moment, would the Blue Mistress be like her? Not likely. There is a stupendously rowdy, almost animal-like aspect to the way she relates to life. She is only twenty-two years old, though, conceivably she’ll change. Maybe as soon as she gets married, she too will rapidly turn into some replica of Ayshin.

  ‘What happened after that?’ I asked.

  ‘The rest is rotten. We went around together. My mother was mad but who listened to her? I couldn’t really tell if I was in love or not but I must have fallen badly for him. He wanted to get married right away and though I didn’t, I guess I lacked the courage to say no. It was a capsule of a neighbourhood, wallowing in gossip, how can you not marry the man you date? Anyway, we got engaged and that’s when he started to change, becoming a different person almost. He was such an unhappy soul. I was unhappy too, possibly, but my despondency was targeted at myself alone whereas his was targeted at everyone but himself…not that he was malicious… That was the problem at any rate. He wasn’t a sly man, but the man he was died to become one. He would not utter a single pleasant word to me, not any longer. He was constantly complaining about the post office, its managers and, of course, bills. Still that was not the reason why we separated.’ Her lips curved into an edgy smile. ‘You know, it was actually a horse that caused us to separate?’ Watching the confusion on my face she gave another laugh, this time even edgier.

  ‘One day, while strolling together, I saw a horse and carriage. You may find this silly but I’m gonna tell it all the same. You see, grandpa was a remarkable man, so out of the ordinary. “If you can’t manage to die before death, the life you live and the death you die will be nothing but an obligation,” he used to say. He cared for neither the houris of heaven nor the flames of hell. He had this habit of saluting every single animal he saw on the street. “Perhaps that’s an old friend of yours there, it would be awfully impolite not to pay your respects,” he would claim. “When one departs from this life, he doesn’t actually leave, but comes back to earth, at times as a human, at other times as an animal. Every time we take on a different form, whether it’s a donkey, swan, butterfly or frog, it’s all up to chance. No need to become embittered…” To prevent such resentment, our memories instead of our souls will die upon death. So that we won’t be able to keep track of all the creatures we had previously been. You know the most vivid incidents from my childhood were when grandpa and I used to wander the streets greeting every animal we met. We would yell greetings at cats, dogs, sparrows, donkeys and crickets. “How do you do my dear friend?” shouted grandpa and I imitated: “How do you do my dear friend?” How fun it all was!’

  I gingerly caressed the roundness of her belly, now hidden under the sheet tightly wound around her.

  ‘Anyway, as soon as I saw this horse on the street, I unconsciously greeted it. When he saw me talking to the horse, the Mauve Prince started to make fun of me…mocked in such awful ways, hurt me so bad… He kept going on and on. In the following days, whenever he saw a donkey on the road, he would sneer: “There, run, kiss the hand of your grandfather!” It was then that truth struck me: I didn’t love the Mauve Prince! The things that I cherished were of little value to him. “How am I gonna spend the rest of my life with him then?” I asked myself. Upon hearing of my decision to break up with him, he refused to take it seriously. “Oh, you are so touchy,” he smirked, thinking my mood would change in a few days and when he saw that it did not, bullying was his next move. Such threats! One night, we were having dinner at home; he came to the door, stinking drunk. He hurled insults at my stepfather. Then he grabbed me by the arm and pulled me outside. He smelt so strongly of liquor, it was as if he’d fallen right into the bottle. “Hey, look here, if you leave me, I’ll cut up your face!” That’s exactly what he said. “Don’t bother, I’ll do it myself,” I replied. I know you won’t believe me. I can’t believe myself either. I don’t know why I spoke like that or why I did what I did. I was seventeen years old then, but it still happens to me from time to time. Whenever in pain, I do such things without thinking…harming myself…Not intentionally; afterwards I’m amazed, I say, “Goodness how did I do this?” But my mind is blank while doing such things. You know what I mean? If I gave a thought to it before doing it, I probably couldn’t do it, right?’

  I smiled. One end of naivety leads to negligence, the other to innocence. The negligence part can be flawed but there is probably not much in this world as alluring as innocence.

  ‘My mother and stepfather were listening from behind the door, ready to intervene if something happened, fearing harm from the Mauve Prince. They had no clue what I was about to do. Of course, I didn’t have a knife or anything. There was only this steel pin in my hair bun – sharp enough – back then my hair was so thick, no other hairpin would do. Anyway, that’s what I used to slash my left cheek. Though I couldn’t see my face at the moment I could see the Mauve Prince’s: ashen with horror, almost lemon yellow. He started yelling and shrieking to stop me. My mother ran to the noise, she too let out a scream. Only then did I understand I must be in pretty bad shape, cut up bad. My stepfather started hitting the Mauve Prince, thinking he was the one responsible, and the other didn’t even defend himself, as he was still in shock! While my stepfather was giving him a thrashing, my mother and I jumped in a cab, straight to the emergency room. I was amazed that it didn’t hurt at all. Apparently pain only comes later. There was a fatherly physician at the emergency room, almost a soulmate of grandpa. He talked sweetly, amiably, trying to get information out to learn who had done this to me. When he sensed the truth, he was livid with rage, but even his rebukes were sweet, I tell you. They gave me narcotics, sewed up the wound. Just as I was leaving the hospital, he held my hand. “My crazy little girl, now that you have transcended the threshold of sanity and sliced up this beautiful face of yours, do not ever go back to the meadow of reason and common sense. What is even worse than slicing up your own face without remorse is the remorse that follows. In that case you’ll really suffer and suffer for nothing. So be true to yourself, remain as crazy as you have been once the sutures are removed, promise?” I promised. We shook hands. It was lucky for me that he did such a neat job. Any other doctor, I tell you, would have sewn my face up like a sack. Still a scar remains, that doesn’t go away.’

  I didn’t know what to say. Her story was not quite what I expected to hear. To fall in love with a person is tantamount to retrieving repressed stories from their house of sorrow – stories that have never seen daylight. As for staying in love, it is to nose-dive, once having heard those stories, into the house of dreams of your beloved only to stay put even upon encountering other stories that are far worse. I had acted impetuously concerning the Blue Mistress. She was not blue. At least, her blueness was not as lucent as it seemed at first glance. I pulled her toward me. She snuck closer, fidgeted until she had made her head comfortable on my chest. Then she silently, softly let herself go.
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  ‘I loved the Mauve Prince because of who he was but then he pretended to be someone else. Never lie to me, please? Everything should be what it is!’

  I just nodded. A person who claims to abhor lies, if not telling one herself will inexorably bring bad luck to those around her, just like a smashed mirror. One who asks never to be told a lie actually yearns for it. It’s similar to showing a gun in a film – sooner or later it has to be put into use. Still, I did not want to demur. Before long, she fell asleep under the light seeping through the window. She was not that beautiful but her face had a sort of magic. Watching her always gave me great pleasure.

  I got up. Groping around for something to wear in the dark, I turned on the lamp. The sheet covering the Blue Mistress had slid across, exposing her right leg. Only then did it occur to me for the very first time that we had always made love either in the dark or half-dressed; her naked body still remained a mystery.

  The upper part of her leg was covered with scarlet stripes of scars. Lined up vertically next to one another like those five line clusters of lines we imagine are used in prisons to count the passing, not-passing days. I took a closer look. The majority did not seem to be very deep, as if slashed open in a hurry. However, one among them was quite deep and seemed to have been opened more recently, having had no time yet to heal.

  02:22 a.m.: She turned onto her face with a clipped moan. I covered her body and turned off the light. Rakι would have gone down well at that moment. As soon as I turned on the kitchen light, several cockroaches vanished like greased lightning. Sooner or later I too would have to have the house fumigated. I sliced plenty of white cheese and melon. On the cheese, I poured the olive oil the Blue Mistress had brought and thyme, a great deal of thyme. The olive oil merchant would probably not want to know that the bottles he carried to his little mistress were consumed by another man.