by Orhan Pamuk
I heard the familiar sound of Halil’s garbage truck chugging up the hill. The birds became quiet. I saw an ant walking across the floor. Poor little ant! I stuck out my finger and touched it lightly on the back, and it was confused. There are creatures so much more powerful than you, you have no idea, you poor ant. You’re running and running, and then I put my finger in front of you and you turn and run back the way you came. I played with it a little more, and finally, I felt sorry for it; I wanted to think of happy things and so I thought about that glorious day I always think about.
That day, as I switch from one telephone to another calling out orders, I take the last telephone receiver that’s held out to me and I say, Hello, is that Tunceli, I say, that glorious day, hello, how is it there, Fine, Commander, says the gruff voice on the other end, we’ve cleaned the place out of all the bad elements, I thank him, and for the very last call I phone Kars, What’s the situation there? Just about normal, sir, they say, we’re about to finish off the atheists here, and I say, You’ve done a good job, thank you, and after hanging up, I enter the hall with a large entourage behind me, where thousands of delegates give me a standing ovation and I say, as the Nationalist’s Operation Lightning comes to a conclusion, I have just learned that we have crushed the last nests of Kurdish Red resistance in Tunceli and in our border city of Kars. And just as I am saying that paradise is no longer just a dream, my friends, there is not a single Communist atheist left alive in Turkey, my aide whispers into my ear, and I say, Oh really? Okay, I’m coming, and after passing through endless marble corridors, each door with armed guards opening onto the next, I enter the last of the forty rooms, and in a brightly lit corner, I see you, tied to a chair, and when my aide says, She’s just been caught, sir, they say she’s the leader of all the Communists, I say, Untie her immediately, it’s beneath us to tie a lady’s hands up, so they untie you, and I say, Leave us alone, please, and my aide and the men click their heels together, salute, and when they close the doors behind them, I look at you, at age forty you’re even more beautiful, a mature woman, and as I offer you a cigarette I say, Do you recognize me, Comrade Nilgün Hanim, and you say, Yes, a little embarrassed, I recognize you, and there’s silence for a bit, and we stare at each other, and suddenly I say, We won, we won, and we didn’t leave Turkey to you atheists, so now are you sorry? Yes, you say, I’m sorry, and when I see your fingers trembling as they reach out for the pack of cigarettes I’m offering you, I say, Relax, no harm will ever come to women or girls from me and my friends, please be calm, we are completely devoted to the Turkish traditions that have come down over thousands of years, so you don’t have to be afraid, I say, I won’t be the one deciding your punishment, it will be the court of history and the judgment of the nation, and you say, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Hasan, and I reply, It’s no use repenting when it’s too late, and unfortunately I can’t be swayed by my emotions to forgive you, because I have a responsibility to my nation before anything else, and suddenly I look and you’ve started to take off your clothes, Nilgün, you’re undressing and coming on to me, just like those shameless, immoral women I saw in the sex films I secretly went to see in Pendik, oh my God, she’s telling me she loves me, you’re trying to turn me on, but I’m disgusted by you, and I become ice cold, and while you plead, I call the guards and say, Take this sad excuse for Catherine the Great out of my sight, I have no intention of falling victim the way Baltaci Mehmet Pasha did, my nation suffered plenty because of Baltaci’s weakness for the czarina’s charms, but those days are over, and as the guards are taking you away, I go into another room and maybe I cry, and just because they reduced a girl like you to such an awful state, maybe for that alone, I decide I’ll be even harder on those Communists, but then I wipe away my tears and I comfort myself thinking, so, I’ve been suffering all these years for nothing, and as I go take part in the victory celebrations, maybe I completely forget about you from that day on.
I turned over and looked at the floor from the edge of the bed; the ant had disappeared. When did you get away? The sun was higher in the sky. Seeing I was late, I bolted out of bed. I stopped to get something to eat in the kitchen and then went out the window without anybody seeing me. The birds were in the branches again. Tahsin’s family was lining up their cherry baskets on the edge of the road that goes up the hill. By the time I got to the beach, the guard and the ticket guy had come, but Nilgün still wasn’t there. So I went over by the breakwater and looked at the yachts and feeling very sleepy still, I sat down.
I’ll call her up in a little while, I thought: Hello, Nilgün, listen, you are in danger, don’t come to the beach or the store today, I’ll say, in fact, don’t leave the house from now on. Who’s this? An old friend! Then I’ll hang up on her abruptly! Will she guess who it is? Will she understand that I love her, and only want to protect her from danger?
If there’s one thing I know, it’s that we have to be respectful toward women, we can’t just be ripping newspapers out of their hand and tearing them up! Woman is a pitiful creature, it’s not right to treat her badly. My mother, for example, is such a good woman! I don’t like people who show them disrespect, guys who only think about going to bed with them, rich guys and materialistic bastards. I know that with women you have to show that you are polite and gentle: How are you, please—after you, if you’re walking with a woman your feet should slow down by themselves at just the sight of a door, and without even thinking, your hand should reach out to open it for her, Please allow me, I know how to talk to ladies and girls. You want to smoke like us, even on the street? Fine, you can smoke, it’s your right, too, I’m not some backward, I can swoop in to light your cigarette with my locomotive-shaped lighter and talk to you with ease, just as I would with a man or a classmate, perfectly comfortable, if I want, if I just make a little effort, I wouldn’t even blush or stammer, and then they’ll see what kind of a person I am, they’ll be surprised and embarrassed that they had got me all wrong … can you imagine? Grabbing the paper and ripping it up! Maybe Mustafa wasn’t serious.
I got fed up looking at the sea and the yachts, so I headed back to the beach. Mustafa must have said it just as a joke, because, after all, Mustafa knows that you can’t treat girls badly. I did it to test you, Mustafa will say, to see if you’d learned that discipline means absolute obedience! There’s no need to mistreat that girl you love, Hasan!
When I got to the beach I saw that Nilgün was there and was stretched out like always. I was so sleepy that I didn’t even get excited. I looked at her like I was looking at a statue. Then I sat down, Nilgün, I’m waiting for you.
And maybe Mustafa won’t even come, he might have forgotten the whole thing, or decided it was so unimportant, he’d just stay in bed. The crowd was racing to the beach: cars from Istanbul, mothers, fathers, and children with baskets and beach balls.
I thought, Maybe I just won’t do it. I’m not that kind of person! But then they’ll say that he couldn’t even get the newspaper out of the Communist girl’s hand, let alone rip it up! They may even say, Well, he used to be an nationalist, but now he’s a Communist; watch out for that Hasan Karatas from Cennethisar, don’t let him in your group! But I’m not afraid of being isolated, I’ll do big things on my own, they’ll see.
“Hey! Wake up, man!”
I was startled. It was Mustafa. I got right up.
“Did the girl come?” he said.
“Over there,” I said. “With the blue bathing suit.”
“The one reading the book?” he said, giving you a dirty look, Nilgün. “You know what to do!” he said then. “Which shop is it?”
I showed him, then I asked for a cigarette, which he gave me, before going off a little ways to a spot where he would watch and wait.
I lit the cigarette, and as I started waiting, too, my eyes were fixed on the burning tip: I’m not an idiot, Nilgün, I’ll say, I have strong convictions, last night we were out writing slogans on the walls despite the danger, see, I still have paint on my
hands!
“Ah, you’re smoking cigarettes. It’s bad for you. You’re so young.”
Uncle Recep, carrying his string bags.
“It’s the first time,” I said.
“Throw it away, and go back home, son!” he said. “What are you up to around here again?”
I threw the cigarette away just to get rid of him. “I have a friend I’m going to study with, I’m waiting for him,” I said. And I didn’t ask him for money.
“Your father’s coming to the funeral, isn’t he?” he said.
He stood there for a minute, then went off, swaying in a weird way, like single horse pulling a wagon uphill: tick-tack, tick-tack.
A little later I looked in Nilgün’s direction. She was getting out of the water and coming this way. I went to tell Mustafa.
“I’m going to the shop,” he said, “If she buys Cumhuriyet as you said, I’ll come outside first and cough. You know what to do then, right?”
I didn’t say anything.
“Pay attention; I’ll give you the signal!” he said and went off.
I slipped into the side street and waited. Mustafa went into the shop. A little later, you went in, Nilgün. I got all nervous, so I decided, Let me tie my sneaker laces a little tighter, and as I did I realized my hands were trembling.
First Mustafa came out, looked my way, and coughed. Then Nilgün came out, the newspaper in her hand. I started to follow her. She was really walking quickly, her feet touching the ground the way a sparrow hops along before taking flight: If you think you can confuse me with those beautiful legs you’re mistaken. We moved away from the crowd. I looked back, there was no one but Mustafa. When I got close, Nilgün heard me coming and turned around.
“Hello, Nilgün!” I said.
“Hello,” she said, before she turned and continued on.
“Just a minute!” I said. “Can we talk a little?”
She kept on walking as if she hadn’t heard. I ran after her. “Stop!” I said. “Why won’t you talk to me?” No reply. “Or have you done something wrong that you’re ashamed of?” No answer still, she kept on walking. “Can’t we talk like two civilized people?” Still no answer. “Or don’t you even recognize me, Nilgün?”
When she starts to walk faster, I realize that there’s no point shouting after her, so I run up beside her. Now we’re walking together like two friends, and I’m talking.
“Why are you running away?” I’m saying. “What did I do to you?” She’s silent. “Did I do something wrong? Tell me.” She doesn’t say anything. “Tell me why you won’t even open your mouth?” She still doesn’t say anything. “Fine,” I say. “I know why you won’t talk, should I tell you?” She doesn’t say anything, and now I’m getting mad. “You have a low opinion of me, don’t you?” I said. “You take me for some who-knows-what! But you’re wrong, girl, you’re wrong, and now you’re going to understand why!”
I said that, but I didn’t do anything, because I felt so ashamed I could have screamed. Just then, I saw those two fancy young gentlemen coming along the other way.
I was waiting, hoping that these two snobs wearing jackets and ties in this heat wouldn’t get involved in our business. I drew back a little, so that they wouldn’t get the wrong idea, and when I looked again Nilgün was practically running. Since her house was off the next corner, I started to run too. Behind me, Mustafa started running, too. When I turned the corner there was Nilgün, arm in arm with the dwarf and the string bag dangling from his side. I stopped behind them, frozen.
Mustafa caught up. “Coward,” he said. “I’ll show you.”
“No!” I said. “Tomorrow! I’ll show them!”
“Tomorrow, huh?”
At that moment I thought, What if I just take a swing at Mustafa? He’d be lying there, knocked out. Then he’d see I’m no coward. I don’t like anybody assuming they’ve got me figured out. I am a completely different guy from what you think, do you understand this? Once these fists start flying, I’m not me anymore; I get so angry that it’s like stepping outside of myself and standing there watching all this anger, and then even I’m afraid of this other person. I guess Mustafa understood, because he couldn’t say anything, because he understood. So we walked on in silence. Because you understood that otherwise you’d be sorry, too, didn’t you?
In the shop, there was only the shopkeeper. When we asked for Cumhuriyet, he thought I meant we wanted one copy, so he gave it to me, but when I said we want all of them, he understood, and because, like Mustafa, he was afraid of me, he let us have them. There was no sign of a garbage can. So after I ripped up the papers I just scattered them around, wherever. I also pulled down the pictures of naked women the shopkeeper had in the window and ripped them up too, the sickening weekly porno magazines. So, it seems I’m the one who has to clean up all this filth! Even Mustafa was surprised by my anger.
“Fine, okay, okay, that’s enough now!” he was saying. He got me out of the shop. “Come to the coffeehouse this evening!” he said. “And be here again tomorrow morning.”
I didn’t answer at first. But as he was going off I asked him for a cigarette. He gave it to me.
23
Fatma Refuses to Live with Sin
After Recep took away my breakfast tray, he went to the market. When he came back he had someone with him. I realized from the footsteps, light as a feather, that it was Nilgün. She came upstairs, opened my door, and had a look at me: her hair was damp, she had gone swimming in the sea. After she left nobody else stopped by my room until noon. I could barely hear Faruk and Nilgün talking downstairs over all the noise coming from the beach. That’s the paradise on earth you wanted, Selâhattin. I got up to close my windows and shutters and then waited to have my lunch so I could drift off into my afternoon nap. But Recep, who had gone to some fisherman’s funeral, was late to bring it, and I had no wish to go downstairs. Finally he did come with my tray and shut my door behind him.
The afternoon nap, my mother used to say, is the best of all kinds of sleep. One has the best dreams after eating lunch. Yes. I would perspire a little at first and then relax until I felt light as a swallow. Afterward, we’d open the window to let out the stale air and let the fresh air in, together with the green branches of the trees in the garden in Nisantasi, and also to let my dreams escape, because I used to believe that my dreams continued on without me from wherever I left off with them. Maybe the same thing happens when we die, my thoughts floating around the room, inside the furniture, between the shutters closed tight, swirling around and brushing against my table and bed, over the walls and the ceiling, so that somebody slowly cracking open the door would think they saw the shadows of my memories: Shut the door, I don’t want my memories tainted, don’t poison them, just let my thoughts float in here like angels until Judgment Day, beneath my ceiling, in the hush of this house. But I knew what they’d do after I died: one of them, the littlest, actually, let it slip from his mouth once. This place has gotten so old, Grandmother, said Metin one time when he was eager to sin, let’s have it knocked down, let’s build an apartment house in its place.
You have to get beyond that ridiculous prohibition called sin, as I have, Selâhattin used to say, have some raki with me, just a sip, aren’t you at all curious, it does no harm, on the contrary it’s useful, it stimulates the mind. God forbid! Fine, then just say it for me once, Fatma, that’s all, and let the sin be on your husband, just say, “There is no God,” say it, Fatma, come on. God forbid! Fine, then listen to this, the most important article in my encyclopedia: listen, I’ve just finished it in the new script. From the article on bilgi—knowledge—under the letter B in the Latin alphabet, listen: The source of all knowledge is experimentation … nothing that is unproven by experimentation or that cannot be proved by experimentation can be deemed valid … Here is the crux of all our scientific knowledge, this sentence, in an instant it lays aside the whole problem of the existence of God, because this is a problem that cannot be proven by experimentation
, the ontological proof is merely so much scholastic blather, divinity is a concept only for metaphysicians to play with, there is, I’m afraid, no place for God in the world of apples and pears and Fatmas … ha, ha, ha! Do you understand, Fatma, your God is no more! I don’t have the patience to wait until my encyclopedia is finished, I’ve made an inquiry with an Armenian printer, I’m going to have this article published right away on its own. And I’m calling Avram the jeweler again, for the same reason: I can’t have the progress of knowledge subject to your possessive girlish whims, you’ll have to give me a nice piece from your box, I swear, atheism and secularism will do the whole country good, and if those idiotic fanatics try to stop my article from being sold, I’ll just go among the crowd at Sirkeci train station and hand it out to people myself. You’ll see, they’ll take it gratefully! Because I’ve spent years sifting through French books for these pearls and writing them in a language my people can understand. So you see, Fatma, what I’m really burning to know is not whether they’ll read it, what I can’t wait to see is what they’ll be like after they’ve read it!
Thank goodness that no one, except maybe his dwarf, would ever read those disgusting lies, that description of hell that my poor devil-led fool of a husband had laid out with such joy. I was the only one to know the horror.
Seven months after Selâhattin discovered he was going to die and three months after he passed, my Doğan was in Kemah; it was in the middle of winter; I was all alone in the house with the dwarf: it was snowing that night, and I shivered at the thought of how the snow was sticking on his grave, and I felt a great need to get warm. I’d been sitting by myself in the room where I’d gone to escape the reeking wine fumes coming out of his mouth; the pale irritating light of the lamp hardly made me feel any better, and as the snow was hitting the window, I found I couldn’t even cry. I went upstairs. Thinking it might be warmer in there, I went into his room, where I was never allowed while he was alive, the room from which I used to hear his footsteps endlessly, the pacing back and forth. I slowly pushed open the door and there, shamelessly scattered everywhere, obnoxiously strewn about, on the tables, the armchairs, in the pigeonholes of the desk, the drawers, atop the books, and stuffed inside them, all over the floor and the windowsills, were endless piles of papers, covered with writing. I opened the door of the big ugly stove and began to stuff them inside. I waited a little after throwing in the match before adding more papers, writings, newspapers; the stove swallowed them all up so nicely, Selâhattin, together with your sins! As your sins went up in smoke I felt myself warming up. “The work to which I’ve devoted my entire life: my beloved sin!” Well, what did the devil write? In the course of ripping up those papers and burning them, I was able to make some things out: Republic—the form of government we require … there are various kinds of republics … in his book on the subject De Passet tells us … 1342 … the newspaper brings word that it was established in Ankara this week … Fine … But we must on no account allow it to become like these people … Compare Darwin’s theory with the Koran and explain the superiority of science with simple analogies that even the idiots would understand … An earthquake is a geological phenomenon, the shaking of the earth’s crust … Woman is the fulfillment of man … Women can be divided into two groups … The first is natural women, those who enjoy the pleasures and joys that nature has given to them, relaxed, without problems, without worries, who usually come from the people, from the lower class … like Rousseau’s wife, whom he never married … a servant, who gave Rousseau six children … The second kind of woman: ill tempered, authoritarian, supposedly refined, who insists on persuading you to accept her preconceived notions, cold women with no empathy, like Marie Antoinette … This second kind is so lacking in empathy that many scientists and philosophers sought understanding and the warmth of love among women of the lower orders … Rousseau’s maid, Goethe’s baker’s daughter, or Marx’s household servant … He had a child by her also … Engels adopted it. Why be ashamed?… There are many more examples … And so, great men saw their lives poisoned by problems they never deserved, all on account of their cold unloving wives, and they exhausted themselves with nothing to show for it, never finishing their books … And those children that the law and society consider bastards are a separate grief!… I wonder if one could make a zeppelin in the exact shape of a stork with no screw propeller in the rear … The airplane is a weapon of war now … A twenty-two-year-old man called Lindbergh was able to fly across the Atlantic Ocean last week … All of the sultans were idiots … But Resat the puppet of the Unionists was the biggest idiot of all … The fact that the lizards in our garden lose their tails in accordance with Darwin’s theory without having read any Darwin should not be seen as a miracle but as a triumph of human thought!…
