by Orhan Pamuk
“Okay,” said Mustafa. “Time to split up.”
“Aren’t we going to tag some more walls?” I said.
“It’s going to rain again, we’ll get wet,” said Mustafa. “You keep the paint and brushes tonight, Hasan. Okay?”
So it was time for those two to go down to their houses and for me to turn around and climb up the hill, but first: twelve thousand liras three ways, that’s four thousand liras. Not bad. And if I got Nilgün’s record and the notebook, too …
“What’s the matter?” said Mustafa. “Something on your mind?” Then, finally, acting as if he had just thought of something, he said, “Oh, here, Hasan, cigarettes and matches for you, so you can smoke.”
I wasn’t going to take them, but he gave me such a look that I did.
“Aren’t you going to thank me?” he said.
“Thank you.”
They turned and as I watched them walk away, I was thinking again: there’s a lot I could get with four thousand liras! As they passed through the pool of light in front of the bakery and disappeared in the darkness, I shouted out, “Mustafa!”
I heard their footsteps stop, and he called out: “What’s up?”
I paused before I ran over to them.
“So, can I take that record and the notebook, Mustafa?” I said, out of breath.
“What are you going to do?” said Serdar. “Are you really going to take them back to the guy?”
“I don’t want anything else,” I said. “Just give them to me, and that’ll be enough.”
“Give them to him,” said Mustafa.
As he was handing me the book and record, Serdar said, “Are you some kind of idiot?” with an expression that said he was actually wondering.
“What did I say?” said Mustafa. “Look, Hasan, we decided to use the twelve thousand liras to cover expenses; don’t misunderstand. It doesn’t come to very much for each of us anyway. But, here, take five hundred as your share, if you want.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “It should all go to the Association, it should all be for the cause. I don’t want anything for myself.”
“But you’re taking the record!” shouted Serdar.
At that point, I got confused, so I took the five hundred he said was my share and put it in my pocket.
“Happy?” said Serdar. “Now that’s it for you out of this twelve thousand. I hope you won’t be telling anyone about it.”
“He won’t tell,” said Mustafa. “He’s not as stupid as you think. He’s very sharp, in fact, he just doesn’t show it. Look how he came back to get his share of the money.”
“Little sneak!” said Serdar.
“Okay, let’s get out of here,” said Mustafa.
I stayed there for a little while watching them go. They were obviously making fun of me. When they had disappeared, I lit a cigarette and went up the hill, with the paint and brushes in one hand and the record and notebook in the other. I’ll go to the beach tomorrow morning, I said, and if Mustafa shows up he can see I’m keeping an eye on the girl, and if he doesn’t, I’ll tell him tomorrow night, Mustafa, I was on the job, but you didn’t come, and that way he’ll realize that I know what discipline means: goddamn them all!
A little ways up the hill, the sound of Metin yelling gave me a fright, he was somewhere out there in the darkness just ahead, all by himself, cursing furiously. As I got closer, taking silent steps on the wet asphalt, it sounded like someone pounding on a plastic gas can, but actually Metin was kicking his car. He was like an angry horseman whipping a stubborn nag, but the Plexiglas beast didn’t respond, and so he beat it all the more. I had a weird thought: I could go give Metin a pounding, too! Then I thought of other violent things, hurricanes, people dying, earthquakes. I put down what I was carrying and imagined jumping him: So, you don’t even recognize me? How could you just forget who I am? I guess some people are important, you recognize them, you’d know them even from a distance, everything going on in their lives, all the details, but others you can’t be bothered to recognize, they live out their whole lives and you don’t even notice. One day, you won’t be able to help but recognize me!
Eventually, I left the poor jerk so he could go on kicking his car. I was going up through the muddy orchard so that he wouldn’t see me, when I realized what was going on. I’d thought he was fuming because of the money he’d lost and that piece-of-junk car that wouldn’t start, but it turned out there was a girl to blame, because he kept repeating that word for women who sell their flesh. Sometimes that word frightens me, women like that are scary, and I’d rather not think about them, so I went on my way.
Maybe you’re the one he’s talking about, Nilgün, I thought, but then maybe it’s somebody else. What a nasty word! Women scare me sometimes. They are like things you just can’t understand, with dark thoughts you can never know, some parts of them are so horrifying, and disaster is waiting for you if you fall for them. They’re a little like death that way, except dressed like a prostitute that stands there smiling at you with a blue ribbon in her hair!… The sky turned yellow in the distance, and I started to worry about lightning. Clouds, dark storms, shadows I don’t understand! Sometimes it’s as if we’re all slaves of someone we don’t even know, sometimes we stand there, trying to fight back, but then there’s fear, of thunderbolts, lightning, of unknown distant disasters that will come upon us! At those moments, I tell myself it’s enough just to live in the peaceful light of our house, without fighting back or knowing anything. I’m so terrified of sin! Like my poor father, the lottery seller.
It had started to sprinkle again when I noticed the light was still on in the house. Getting close I looked into the window, and I saw that not only was my father still up but my mother was as well. I wondered what that cripple could be saying about me to my poor mother to keep her from sleeping. The grocer must have told him what happened today. The fat slob just couldn’t wait. Ismail, he must have said, your son came to the shop this morning, he ripped up the newspapers and magazines and threw them all over the place, threatening people, who knows what sort he’s hanging around with, he’s gone berserk! What do I owe you, my father would have said, the lottery-ticket seller who can only think of things in terms of money, and he probably wound up paying for those horrible newspapers. But not for nothing, no: he’d be planning to take it out of my hide in the evening, assuming he could find me, of course. Maybe that was why I couldn’t make up my mind whether to go inside or not. I just stayed there watching my mother and father through the window, and when it started to rain again, I left the paints, Nilgün’s record, and Faruk’s notebook on the sill of my closed window, and, sheltered under the eaves, I stared at the downpour. When the gutters that my father had attached himself could no longer keep up with the flow of the water, I crept back toward the window and saw my poor mother running around inside with plastic laundry tubs and cooking pots trying to catch the leaks in the ceiling. When she remembered the one in my room, the one that made the eagle with its wings spread over the bed, she ran in there, turned on the light, and folded up the quilt.
Later, when the rain stopped, I realized that I wasn’t thinking about them or anybody else, but only about you, Nilgün! No doubt, you were lying in your bed, maybe the sound of the rain had awakened you, and you were gazing out the window at this moment, lost in thought, startled now and then by a clap of thunder. In the morning when the rain had stopped and the sun came out, you’d head to the beach, and I’d be waiting for you and finally you’d see me, we would talk and I’d tell you everything. Ah, life, I love you!
If a person believes, he can become a completely different person. There are so many possibilities: distant countries, their endless rail lines, the forests of Africa, the Sahara, the white deserts, frozen lakes, the pelicans in geography books, charging lions, the water buffalo I saw on television, the hyenas that corner them and rip them to pieces, the elephants in movies, India, the American Indians, the Chinese, the stars, intergalactic wars, all wars, history,
our history, the thundering beat of the war drums and the fear in the heart of the infidels who heard them: yes, a person could become someone completely different. We are not slaves: I free myself of all fears, rules, all borders, marching on to my goal, waving the flag: sabers, knives, guns, power! I am somebody different, not held down by my past, I have no more memories, from now on there is only a future for me. Memories are for slaves, to lull them. Let them sleep!
I was feasting on these thoughts, but then knowing I wouldn’t have the strength to just forget everybody, I picked up the notebook from the windowsill, the record, too, and walking into the darkness, I could already see the end of this night. The water was streaming downhill; the air smelled of rain. Let me take one more look at the neighborhood down below, I said, one last view of the lights, the well-kept artificial gardens, the smooth soulless concrete; while there was no one under the streetlights, I’d look one more time at those sinful streets, where no one had a care or a worry. And I’d take one last peek at one of those windows, a window I’d never see again until the day of victory. Maybe, I thought, you’re not asleep, Nilgün, and you’re looking out the window at the rain, and when a bolt of lightning strikes and in a flash everything’s blue, then maybe you’ll see me, planted there in this terrible rain, soaking wet, in the middle of the night, at your window. But in the end, remembering about the watchmen, I didn’t go: Son, they’d say to me, what are you doing around here at this hour, come on, this is no place for you! Okay, okay, I’m going!
I turned back and headed toward my house, all sleepy, as if going through some strange neighborhood. My mother and father still had the light on. A poor, pathetic light! They didn’t see me, and as I crossed the field and started to go downhill I was startled again: Metin was still there in the dark, cursing and pushing his car. I stopped and watched him from a distance, like someone observing strange people in some foreign country where he had just set foot for the first time, curious but a little afraid, an enjoyable feeling. Then I thought I heard him crying, some broken sound, and you couldn’t help but pity him if you heard it. I remembered our friendship as children, and forgetting that these people lived to accuse others, I went over to help him.
“Who’s that?”
“It’s me,” I said. “Metin, you didn’t recognize me back there, it’s me, Hasan!”
“I did eventually!” he said. “Did you bring the money back?”
“I’m all by myself!” I said. “Do you want the money back?”
“You stole my twelve thousand liras! Don’t you realize that?”
I didn’t say anything. We were quiet for a while.
Then he shouted, “Where are you? Come out where I can see your face!”
I left the record and the notebook in a dry place and went over to him.
“Aren’t you going to bring the money back?” he said. “Come out here!”
As I got close I saw his sweaty unhappy face; we just looked at each other.
“No,” I said. “I don’t have your money!”
“Then why did you come?”
“I heard you crying just now.”
“You heard wrong,” he said. “I’m just tired … why did you come here?”
“We were such good friends when we were kids!” I said. I quickly added before he said anything: “Metin, if you want I’ll help you!”
“Why would you do that?” he said at first. Then a second later, he said, “Fine. Help me push, then!”
I pushed. After a minute, as the car budged from where it was and started moving uphill, I think I was gladder than he was. It was a strange feeling, Nilgün. But then when I saw what a short way we’d gone I got discouraged.
“What’s the matter?” said Metin, pulling the hand brake.
“Stop! Let me rest a little.”
“Come on,” he said. “I’m late.”
I put my back into it again, but we still didn’t get very far. It was more like moving a boulder than something with wheels! I stopped for a second, and I was going to say, Let me rest again, when he released the brake. I pushed so the car wouldn’t roll backward, but then I stopped.
“What’s wrong?” he said. “Why aren’t you pushing?”
“Why aren’t you pushing?” I said.
“I don’t have any strength left!”
“Where are you going at this hour?”
He didn’t answer. He just looked at his watch and cursed. He started pushing the car with me, but we didn’t get anywhere, because while we were pushing the car uphill, it seemed the car was pushing us downhill, and we were just stuck in place. We both tried harder and managed to go a few feet, but by then I’d had it. When the rain started again, I got in the car. Metin came and sat next to me.
“What are you doing?” he said. “We’ve got to keep going.”
“You can go there tomorrow!” I said. “Let’s talk a little now.”
“What are we going to talk about?”
“What a peculiar night,” I said after a while. “Are you afraid of lightning?”
“No, I’m not afraid,” he said. “Come on, let’s try again.”
“I’m not afraid either!” I said. “But when you think about it, it’s pretty terrifying stuff, you know what I mean?”
He didn’t say anything.
“Want a cigarette?” I said. I took out the pack and offered it to him.
“I don’t smoke!” he said. “Come on, let’s push a little.”
We got out, pushed it as far as we could, and when we were good and soaked, we got back inside. I asked him again where he had to get to, but he answered with another question: why did those guys call me Fox?
“Oh, it’s stupid!” I said. “They’re maniacs, if you want to know the truth.”
“You hang around with them,” he said. “You joined in with them to rob me.”
I thought about telling him everything then—should I tell him the whole story?—but it was as if I didn’t know the story, not because it wasn’t all in my head, but because I didn’t know where to start. Because once I’d found the beginning, I’d feel obliged to go and punish the ones who were to blame in the first place, and since I had no desire to get blood on my hands, it seemed as if I really didn’t want to remember who started this, even though I knew that’s what I had to do, but I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow morning, Nilgün. But why wait till then? If Metin and I could just push this Anadol to the top of the hill, we could coast down the other side together as far as your house, and Metin would wake you up and then, while you listened to me in your white nightgown in the darkness, I could tell you without delay about the great danger you were in: They think you’re a Communist, my beloved, come on, let’s run away, let’s go, they’re everywhere, and they’re so powerful, but there’s got to be somewhere in the world we can live in peace, I’m sure there is …
“Come on, push!”
We pushed and pushed in the rain. After a while he gave up, but I kept at it until I couldn’t do it anymore, and when I stopped, too, Metin was staring accusingly. I went and sat in a spot where I thought I would not get wet.
“You say they’re maniacs,” he said, “but you hang around with them. It wasn’t just those two that took that money from me, it was all three of you.”
“I don’t answer to anybody!” I said. “And I didn’t take a cent of that twelve thousand liras, Metin! I swear.”
When he gave me that severe look that said he didn’t believe me, I wanted to grab him by the neck and strangle him. The key was there in the ignition. If I knew how to drive! There were so many roads in the world, so many countries, cities, seas, out there in the distance.
“Go on, push!”
I threw my back into it again, out in the pouring rain, but Metin wasn’t pushing, just standing there with his hands on his hips, observing like a gentleman. When I ran out of steam, he couldn’t even bother to pull the hand brake.
I practically shouted to make myself heard in the rain: “I’m tired!”
“No!” he said. “You can still push some more.”
“I’m letting go!” I shouted. “It’s going to slide back!”
“Fine, who can I ask about that money?”
“Are you saying if I don’t push you’re going to go to the police?”
When he didn’t answer, I pushed with all I had, until I thought my back would break. Finally he put on the hand brake. I was completely soaked. Just as I lit up a cigarette the whole earth and sky blazed with an awesome brightness, and I was terrified to see lightning fall right there at the tip of my nose.
“That scared you, huh?” said Metin.
“It landed right there!” I said.
“It landed way over there, maybe all the way out at sea, what are you afraid of.”
“I don’t want to push anymore.”
“Why?” he said. “Because you got scared? It won’t come that close again. Don’t they teach you in school?”
“I’m going home,” I said.
“Fine, what about my twelve thousand liras.”
“I said I didn’t take it!”
“You can tell it to the police tomorrow.”
Tucking my head between my shoulders to protect my neck from the rain, I began to push again, not even looking up, until I realized that we were nearly at the top, and my heart was glad. Metin got out of the car now, but unlike before he wasn’t even pretending to push with me, only once in a while contributing a “Come on, that’s it” word of encouragement.
Finally I stopped, thinking, I’m not his father’s servant.
And he said: “No, you can’t stop now! What is it, a matter of money? Do you want me to pay you? I’ll give you whatever you want. Just please keep pushing, Hasan.”
I got back at it only because we were very near the top. But when I couldn’t stand the pain in my back, and I paused to give my poor heart a little blood and my lungs a little breath, he started to whine again. “I’ll give you a thousand liras!” he said. So I pushed with all the strength I had left. And the next time I had to stop, he said, “Okay, two thousand liras!” I was thinking, I don’t know how you’re going to pay that after our guys cleaned you out, but I didn’t say it. When we finally got to the top he was so angry and impatient that he was no longer paying any attention to me. I thought that in a minute he might start kicking the car again, but he did something strange and frightening: he turned his face to the rain, cursing the dark sky, as if aiming his anger at the Almighty. I was afraid even to think it, so I pushed the car to the other edge as the sky rumbled just above the hilltop and everything flashed bright blue again, with the incredible blue rain streaming off my hair and forehead right into my mouth. I closed my eyes not to see the lightning flashes coming more and more frequently, and with my head pulled in between my shoulders, I turned my face toward the earth and started pushing like a blind slave, a pathetic creature who had forgotten his every thought, so no one could accuse me or punish me, with my head bowed down, see, and I don’t even know about guilt and sin. I felt a strange happiness as the car picked up speed. Metin got back in behind the wheel, still cursing and howling out the open window, like that old wagon driver who gets so angry at his horse, he winds up cursing Him as well. As though it wasn’t He who made the sky rumble! Who are you anyway? I won’t take part in anybody’s blasphemies. I stopped; I was not pushing anymore.
