10 Minutes 38 Seconds in this Strange World

by Elif Shafak

  Sabotage Sinan had many, many regrets in life, but nothing compared to the regret he felt for never having told Leila that since they were children in Van, walking together to school every morning as the sky above them cleared to blue, finding each other during break times, skipping stones on the edge of the great lake in summer, cradling mugs of steaming salep in winter as they sat side by side on a garden wall and studied pictures of American artists, ever since those long-lost days, he had been in love with her.

  Unlike the road from Kilyos, the streets of Istanbul, even at this ungodly hour, were anything but empty. The Chevrolet rattled past one apartment block after another, their windows dark and empty like missing teeth or hollowed-out eyes. Every now and then something unexpected appeared in front of the truck: a stray cat; a factory worker back from a night shift; a homeless man looking for cigarette butts in front of an upmarket restaurant; a lonely umbrella blowing around in the wind; a junkie standing in the middle of the road, grinning at a vision only he could see. All the more vigilant, Nalan leaned forward, ready to swerve at any point. She grumbled to herself, ‘What’s wrong with these people? They should all be in bed at this hour.’

  ‘I bet that’s exactly what they’re thinking about us,’ Humeyra said.

  ‘Well, we have a mission.’ Nalan glanced in the rear-view mirror.

  In addition to dyslexia, Nalan had mild dyspraxia. It hadn’t been easy for her to get a driving licence, and while Humeyra’s insinuation earlier had been crude, it wasn’t altogether untrue. She had flirted with the driving instructor. Just a bit. Yet in all the years since, she had never had an accident. That was no small feat in a city where there were more road hogs per square yard than buried Byzantine treasures. She had always thought that, in a way, driving was like sex. To enjoy it to the fullest, one needed not to rush and always to consider the other side. Respect the journey, go with the flow, do not compete and never try to dominate. But this city was full of maniacs speeding through red lights and cutting into emergency lanes as if they were tired of living. Sometimes, just for a lark, Nalan would tailgate their vehicles, flashing her headlights and blasting her horn, inches from their rear bumpers. She would get so dangerously close that she could see the eyes of the drivers in their rear-view mirrors – just above the dangling air fresheners, football pennants and gemstone rosaries – and watch their horrified expressions as they realized they were being chased by a woman, and the woman in question might be a travesti.

  Upon approaching Bebek, they noticed a police car parked at the corner of the steep road which led to the old Ottoman cemetery and then, further up, to Bosphorus University. Was it waiting for them or was it just another patrol car on a break? Either way, they could not risk being seen. Shifting gear, Nalan made a quick U-turn and stamped on the accelerator, sending the speedometer needle shooting into the red.

  ‘What shall we do?’ asked Jameelah. There were beads of sweat on her forehead. The trauma of the day and the exertion of the night were now taking their toll on her weary body.

  ‘We’ll find another cemetery,’ said Nalan, her voice stripped of its usual commanding tone.

  They had lost too much time. Before long it would be morning and they would be left with a corpse in the back of the truck with nowhere to house it.

  ‘But it’s going to be light soon,’ objected Humeyra.

  Watching Nalan struggle to find the right words, seeming finally to have lost control of the situation, Zaynab122 lowered her eyes. Ever since they had left the cemetery she had been troubled by pangs of conscience. She felt terrible about exhuming Leila’s body and was worried that they might have committed a sin in the eyes of Allah. Yet now, as she observed Nalan’s uncharacteristic confusion, another thought struck her with the force of a revelation. Maybe the five of them, just like the people in a miniature painting, were stronger and brighter, and far more alive, when they complemented each other. Maybe she had to relax and let go of her own way of doing things because this was, after all, Leila’s burial.

  ‘How are we going to find another cemetery at this hour?’ Sabotage asked, pulling at his moustache.

  ‘Maybe there is no need,’ Zaynab122 said so quietly that they all strained to hear. ‘Maybe we don’t have to bury her.’

  Nalan screwed up her face in a puzzled frown. ‘Say that again?’

  ‘Leila didn’t want to be buried,’ said Zaynab122. ‘We talked about it once or twice, back in the brothel. I remember telling her about the four saints who protect this city. I said to her, “I hope one day I’ll be buried next to a saint’s shrine.” And Leila said, “That’s nice, I hope you will. But not for me. If I had a choice I’d never want to be buried six feet under.” I was a bit irritated at the time, because our religion is clear on this. I told her not to say such things. But Leila insisted.’

  ‘What do you mean? She asked to be cremated?’ bellowed Sabotage.

  ‘Oh, God, no.’ Zaynab122 pushed her glasses back. ‘She meant the sea. She said she had been told that the day she was born, someone in their house had freed the fish they kept in a glass bowl. She seemed to like that idea very much. She said that when she died she would go and find that fish, even though she couldn’t swim.’

  ‘Are you telling us that Leila wanted to be thrown into the sea?’ asked Humeyra.

  ‘Well, I’m not sure she wanted to be thrown exactly, and it’s not like she left a will or anything, but, yes, she said she’d rather be in the water than under the earth.’

  Nalan scowled without taking her eyes off the road. ‘Why didn’t you tell us before?’

  ‘Why would I? It’s one of those conversations you don’t really take seriously. Besides, it’s a sin.’

  Nalan turned to Zaynab122. ‘Then why are you telling us now?’

  ‘Because suddenly it makes sense,’ said Zaynab122. ‘I understand her choices might not match mine, but I still respect them.’

  They were all thinking now.

  ‘So what shall we do?’ asked Humeyra.

  ‘Let’s take her to the sea,’ said Jameelah, and the way she said it, with such lightness and certainty in her voice, made the others feel like it had been the right thing to do all along.

  And just like that the Chevrolet Silverado zoomed towards the Bosphorus Bridge. The very bridge whose opening Leila had celebrated with thousands of fellow Istanbulites once upon a time.

  Part Three

  * * *

  THE SOUL

  The Bridge

  ‘Humeyra?’

  ‘Hmmm?’

  ‘You okay, honey?’ asked Nalan, hands tight on the wheel.

  Through half-closed eyelids Humeyra replied, ‘I feel a bit sleepy, sorry.’

  ‘Have you taken anything this evening?’

  ‘Maybe a little something.’ Humeyra smiled weakly. Her head rolled on to Jameelah’s shoulder, and just like that she fell asleep.

  Nalan sighed. ‘Oh, great!’

  Jameelah inched closer, repositioning herself to make Humeyra more comfortable.

  As soon as her eyes had closed, Humeyra tumbled into a velvety slumber. She saw herself as a child in Mardin, scooped up in her oldest sister’s arms. Her favourite sister. Then her other siblings joined them and now they were whirling in a circle, laughing. In the distance the half-reaped fields stretched flat and the windows of the Monastery of St Gabriel caught the sunlight. Leaving her siblings behind, she walked towards the ancient building, listening to the sough of the wind through the crevices in the stones. It looked different somehow. As she approached, she saw the reason why: the monastery was constructed out of pills instead of bricks. All the pills she had ever swallowed – with water, with whisky, with Coke, with tea, dry. Her face distorted. She sobbed.

  ‘Shhh, it’s just a dream,’ said Jameelah.

  Humeyra fell quiet. Unaffected by the clamour of the truck, her expression turned serene. Her hair came loose, its roots stubbornly black under the pile of intense yellow.

  Jameelah began to si
ng a lullaby in her mother tongue, her voice as clear and penetrating as an African sky. Listening to her, Nalan, Sabotage and Zaynab122 all felt the warmth of the song without having to understand a single word. There was something strangely comforting in the way different cultures had arrived at similar customs and melodies, and in how, all around the world, people were being rocked in the arms of loved ones in their moments of distress.

  As the Chevrolet sped on to the Bosphorus Bridge, dawn broke in all its glory. A full day had passed since Leila’s body had been found inside a metal rubbish bin.

  Hair clinging damp to her neck, Nalan revved the engine. The truck made a coughing sound and shuddered, and for a second she feared it was about to let them down, but it forged on, grumbling. She held the wheel tighter with one hand and patted it with the other as she murmured, ‘I know, love. You’re tired, I understand.’

  ‘Are you talking to vehicles now?’ asked Zaynab122 with a smile. ‘You talk to everything – except God.’

  ‘You know what? I promise, if this thing ends well, I’ll say hello to Him.’

  ‘Look.’ Zaynab122 pointed out of the window. ‘I think He’s saying hello to you.’

  Outside, the strip of sky along the horizon had turned the luminous violet of an oyster’s inner shell, delicate and iridescent. The vast expanse of the sea was dotted with ships and fishing boats. The city looked silky and soft, as if it didn’t have any edges.

  As they headed towards the Asian shore, luxurious mansions came into view, and behind those the solid villas of the middle class, and further up in the hills, row upon row of ramshackle sheds. Scattered between the buildings were the graveyards and saints’ shrines, their pale old stones like white sails, as though they might float off.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Nalan checked on Humeyra and lit a cigarette, feeling less guilty about it than she would normally, as if asthma were a condition that didn’t affect those in deep sleep. She did try to blow the smoke out through the open window, but the wind brought it all back in.

  She was about to throw the cigarette out when Sabotage piped up from his corner, ‘Wait. Let me take a puff first.’

  He smoked quietly, growing pensive. He wondered what his children were doing right now. It broke his heart that they had never met Leila. He had always assumed that one day they would all get together over a nice breakfast or lunch, and the children would instantly adore her, just like he did. Now it was too late. It seemed to him that he had always been too late for everything. He had to stop hiding, pretending, separating his life into compartments, and find a way to bring his many realities together. He should introduce his friends to his family and his family to his friends, and if his family did not accept his friends, he should do his best to make them understand. If only it weren’t so difficult to do that.

  He threw away the cigarette, closed the window and pressed his forehead against the glass. Something in him was shifting, gathering power.

  In the rear-view mirror Nalan saw two police cars enter the road, far behind them, leading to the bridge. Her eyes grew wide. She hadn’t expected them to catch up so soon. ‘There’s two of them! They’re behind us.’

  ‘Maybe one of us should get out and try to distract them?’ said Sabotage.

  ‘I can do that,’ said Zaynab122 quickly. ‘I may not be able to give you a hand with the body. But I can do this. I could pretend to be injured or something. They’ll have to stop for me.’

  ‘You sure?’ asked Nalan.

  ‘Yes,’ said Zaynab122 firmly. ‘Positive.’

  Nalan screeched the truck to a halt and helped Zaynab122 to get out, then hopped back in immediately. Humeyra, disturbed by the commotion, opened her eyes slightly, shifted in her seat and went back to sleep.

  ‘Good luck, honey. Be careful,’ said Nalan through the open window.

  Then they whizzed off, leaving Zaynab122 on the pavement, her small shadow standing between her and the rest of the city.

  Halfway across the bridge, Nalan hit the brakes and turned the wheel sharply to the left. Pulling over, she skidded to a stop.

  ‘Okay, I need help,’ Nalan said, something she rarely admitted.

  Sabotage nodded and squared his shoulders. ‘I’m ready.’

  The two of them darted round to the back of the truck and unfastened the ropes holding Leila. Swiftly, Sabotage took the scarf out of his pocket and tucked it into the folds of the shroud. ‘I shouldn’t forget her present.’

  Together, they hoisted Leila’s body up on to their shoulders and, sharing the weight, shuffled over towards the knee-high barriers. Carefully, they swung their legs over the barriers and kept walking. When they reached the outer railing they lowered the body to rest on the metal surface. As they caught their breath, looking suddenly small under the massive zigzagging steel cables that hung overhead, they glanced at each other.

  ‘Come on,’ said Sabotage, his face set into hard lines.

  They pushed the body further across the railing, gently and tentatively at first, as if encouraging a child to enter a classroom on her first day.

  ‘Hey, you two!’

  Nalan and Sabotage both froze – a man’s voice tore the air, the sound of screeching tyres, the smell of burning rubber.

  ‘Stop!’

  ‘Don’t move!’

  An officer ran out from a police car, yelling commands, and then another.

  ‘They’ve killed someone. They’re trying to get rid of the body!’

  Sabotage paled. ‘Oh, no! She was already dead.’

  ‘Shut up!’

  ‘Put him on the ground. Slowly.’

  ‘Her,’ Nalan couldn’t help saying. ‘Look, let us explain please –’

  ‘Silence! Don’t make another move. This is a warning, I’ll shoot!’

  Another police car pulled up. Sitting on the back seat was Zaynab122, her eyes full of fear, her face ashen. She had not been able to distract them for long. Nothing was going according to plan.

  Two more officers got out.

  On the opposite lane of the bridge, traffic was building. Cars passed slowly, curious faces peering from the windows: a private car carrying a family returning from holiday, suitcases piled up in the back; a city bus already half packed with early risers – cleaning ladies, shop assistants, street vendors – now they were all gawking.

  ‘I said, put that body down!’ an officer repeated.

  Nalan lowered her eyes, a flush of realization crossing her face. Leila’s body would be seized by the authorities and once again buried in the Cemetery of the Companionless. There was nothing they could do. They had tried. They had failed.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ whispered Nalan, half turning to Sabotage. ‘It’s all my fault. I made a botch of everything.’

  ‘No sudden moves. And keep your hands up!’

  Even as she kept hold of the body with one arm, Nalan took a small step towards the officers, her free hand raised in surrender.

  ‘Put the body down!’

  Nalan bent her knees, ready to pull the body back down gently on to the pavement, but she paused, having noticed that Sabotage was not doing the same thing. She glanced at him, puzzled.

  Sabotage stood still, as though he had not heard a single word of what the officers had said. As he almost closed his eyes, all the colour leached from the sky and the sea and the entire city, and for a moment everything was as black and white as Leila’s favourite films, except for a single hula hoop swirling, drawing circles in a bright, assertive orange, full of life. How he wished he could have turned back time just like that. How he wished, instead of giving Leila the money for the bus journey that would take her away from him, he had asked her to stay in Van and marry him. Why had he been such a coward? And why was the price of not saying the right words at the right time so high?

  With a sudden force, Sabotage lurched forward and shoved the body over the barrier, the breeze in his face laced with salt, tasting like his tears.

  ‘Stop!!!’

  Sounds di
ssolved in the air. The squawk of a seagull. The pull of a trigger. A bullet struck Sabotage in the shoulder. The pain was excruciating but strangely bearable. He caught sight of the sky. Infinite, fearless, forgiving.

  Back in the truck, Jameelah screamed.

  Leila descended into the void. She dropped over two hundred feet, fast and straight. Beneath her the sea shimmered blue and bright like an Olympic pool. As she fell down, a few folds of her shroud came undone, floating around and above her, like the pigeons her mother had raised on the roof. Except these were free. There were no cages to confine them.

  Into the water she plummeted.

  Away from this madness.

  The Blue Betta Fish

  Leila feared she might land on the head of a lonely fisherman in a rowboat. Or a homesick sailor taking in the view as his ship glided under the bridge. Or a chef preparing breakfast for his employers on the deck of a luxury yacht. That’d be just her luck. But none of these things happened. Instead she dropped down amidst the chatter of the seagulls, the swish of the wind. The sun was rising over the horizon; the grid of houses and streets on the opposite shore seemed aflame.

  Above her was a clear sky, beaming an apology for the storm of the previous night. Below her were the crests of waves, the flecks of white spattered as though from a painter’s brush. Far away on all sides, cluttered and chaotic, hurt and hurtful, but beautiful as always, was the old city herself.

  She felt light. She felt content. And with every yard she dropped, she shed another negative feeling: anger, sadness, longing, pain, regret, resentment, and its cousin, jealousy. She jettisoned them all, one by one. Then with a jolt that shook her entire being she broke the surface of the sea. Water parted around her and the world came alive. It was unlike anything she had experienced before. Soundless. Boundless. Leila looked around, taking it all in, despite its immensity. Ahead of her she caught sight of a tiny shadow.