The others listened to the old man without much comment. It was especially difficult for Meryem and Cemal to grasp what he was talking about.
Whenever Meryem sat in the garden during the day, she would suddenly stand up, take a few steps forward, then go back to her seat. This act might have surprised some, but there was a reason. She had discovered that the crickets were afraid of her white dress. Each time she walked toward the trees, all the noise in the garden abruptly stopped, and this made the others laugh. The ambassador would say, “Come on, Meryem, make them shut up. Show yourself.”
The moment İrfan and the ambassador waited for with expectation was when they sat down at the table among the trees and sipped their whisky.
None of them knew that the day on which the professor invited them out to dinner would change their lives forever.
The professor had become tired of eating pasta. He wanted to take them to the fish restaurant in the village. Besides, he had promised the boys working there that he would come there for a meal. The others were also looking forward to a change of diet. İrfan insisted on using the dinghy instead of walking, so at sundown, they crowded into the small craft and slowly glided toward the village over the crimson waters of a sea smooth as glass. İrfan thought that the ambassador would speak of “the wine-dark sea” and refer to himself as Homer, but the old man said nothing.
When they arrived at the fish restaurant, they found it full of British tourists, a merry group of young men and women, already slightly tipsy, singing, shouting, and showing off.
The owner of the restaurant showed them to a table in the garden by the sea. The table sat awkwardly on the uneven ground and rocked like a camel journeying across the desert, but the seafood was very fresh.
The owner showed them his trays of fish, carrying them out into the garden for the inspection of such honored guests and promising them that the sea bass were not from a fish farm. Three of the people at the table remembered the fish farm where they had first met. Recalling the mosquitoes and sand fleas that had attacked her so viciously, Meryem began to scratch herself. What a hellhole that place had been!
The restaurant owner also brought the local crayfish, squirming around on the tray for their inspection. With the air of an expert, the ambassador ordered some of these, explaining just how they should be prepared and served. “Of course, just as you say,” bowed the owner.
In a short while, he brought wineglasses and a well-cooled bottle of the locally produced white wine. The ambassador picked up his glass, swirled the wine around, and looked at it for some time before announcing, as if it were something very important, “Il a de la cuisse.”
He pointed to the oily trickles running down the glass. Then he took a sip, turned the wine on his tongue, swallowed it, paused, and said, “Very nice.”
The owner was surprised to receive praise for such a cheap wine, but he filled glasses for the ambassador and the professor. Cemal and Meryem declined, placing their hands on top of their glasses.
The ambassador and İrfan drank the wine down as if it were water, finishing the bottle before the salad was served. As the two men were used to whisky and hard liquor, wine was like sweet-smelling water for them. The owner’s son brought new bottles one after another.
From the moment they stepped into the garden, they realized that it was another of those paradises along the Aegean. They caught the sharp scent of honeysuckle, which in this area grew like a small tree, leaning down over them and spreading its fragrance all around. At this hour, the night-scented stock released its perfume to mingle with that of the honeysuckle.
Slowly, the crimson color of the sea disappeared. As darkness descended, the intoxicating scents in the garden grew stronger, and the young British tourists at the other tables continued their boisterous laugh.
“Since the waters of Lake Van are brackish, there are no fish there,” Cemal commented, “but in Erci, where the river meets the lake, we have delicious mullet.”
“Really,” said the ambassador, “how interesting.”
The professor said nothing, and the two men then returned to their conversation.
Suddenly the lights went off. Some of the British tourists exclaimed in surprise, but the locals, who were used to such problems, were not disturbed. The waiters immediately brought kerosene lamps to each table and hung lanterns in the trees.
That evening, the ambassador did not stop talking. It was as if he wanted to compensate for all his years of being alone. Both he and the professor began to slur their words after consuming so much wine, and each became unreasonably happy. Perhaps the merriment of the youths at the other table was contagious.
Meryem watched the girls and the boys embracing each other, but she did not yearn to be close to those slender, tanned boys anymore. When she looked at them, she thought of Mehmet Ali’s dark hair falling over his forehead and the sincerity in his brown eyes.
First the smaller fish, the crayfish, then the sea bass were served; bottles of wine came and went. The ambassador talked and laughed without a pause.
“Professor,” he said, “look at those candles. Aren’t they romantic? Marital romance. Yet there’s an invariable tragedy about marriage: Love is ephemeral, but quarreling is eternal.”
Both of them laughed uproariously.
“Romance is a European invention,” the ambassador continued, “which is imitated in this country. Married women are very interested in romance. As a married couple, you argue about money, then talk about your upset stomach, and discuss which medicine helps to relieve wind. Then, all of a sudden, you are sitting by candlelight, gazing into each other’s eyes, unconscious of anything else. And that’s the hour of romance!”
İrfan laughed heartily. “In this world,” he said, “every woman has a single goal: to have a man on his knees beside her till the end of her life.”
The old man waved his finger, and said, “I’ve got you this time … that’s from Dostoevsky!”
Toward midnight, the young tourists became even more exuberant. First they roared, “What shall we do with a drunken sailor.” Then three girls grabbed a boy by his arms and legs and threw him into the sea. Turning their backs to the boy, who was trying to clamber out of the sea in his soaking-wet clothes, they pulled down their shorts and displayed their naked bottoms as the rest of the group shouted with wild applause.
“When human beings became Homo erectus,” said the ambassador, “women’s vaginas got tighter. That’s why the human female gives birth with such difficulty. Her pregnancy is hard labor, and contrary to the babies of other species, a human baby cannot walk as soon as it is born. It needs care. So who is to feed the female in the cave during the long months of pregnancy and nursing; who will hunt for her? The male, of course. He has sacrificed himself for his family. Since the days of the cavemen, women have asked men the same three questions: Where are you going? When will you be back? Do you love me? It was so then and still holds true today in New York, Paris, or Istanbul.”
After the ambassador finished speaking, he and İrfan howled with laughter. Even the drunken tourists turned to look at them.
“Three questions eh, ambassador!” shouted the professor, as he rocked with laughter. Supporting himself on the table as he tried to stand up without falling over, he repeated the ambassador’s words before recalling in the back of his mind that this was from something by a famous journalist, but he had already forgotten what it was he would say by the time he managed to stand up. Meryem was afraid that he would fall, but the professor maintained his balance as he lurched toward the restaurant.
He was dizzy and had no idea where he was putting his feet, yet he felt exquisitely happy. He enjoyed the oblivion in his mind. He had not felt so carefree for a long time. Entering the restaurant, he paid the bill without checking it and asked where he could find the men’s room.
A lantern glowed in the small dilapidated hut behind the restaurant that served as the toilet. İrfan looked at his puffy face and bleary eyes in the mi
rror and snapped a salute. His jaws ached from laughing.
“Where are you going? When will you come back? Do you love me?” he repeated. “Bless you, my friend! It’s true, absolutely true!”
On his way back to the table, when he was passing under the lantern that hung from a honeysuckle branch, he almost ran into someone. A face appeared in the lamplight, and the professor stopped in his tracks. He could not believe his eyes. “Hidayet?” he mumbled.
It was Hidayet, his face illuminated in the yellow light, who stood there looking at him. That wavy auburn hair, those thin, rosebud lips … The professor remembered the words Oscar Wilde had said to André Gide: “Your lips are too straight, my dear friend. Because you cannot lie. However, your lips should be undulating like the lips of a Greek god.”
This face belonged to the Hidayet of his youth, no more than twenty years of age. The passing years had turned İrfan into an old man but had not touched Hidayet.
The professor swayed from side to side and almost fell down. The young man’s face came and went in the lamplight.
The young Englishman was as drunk as İrfan, and they nearly knocked heads. He gazed with unfocused eyes at this middle-aged man who was regarding him with awe and admiration.
Maybe because they both needed support to keep themselves from falling or out of drunken sentimentality, or perhaps for some other reason, they put their arms around each other. The professor laid his head on the young man’s bare shoulder. “Hidayet!” he murmured, and began to weep. A taste of salt came into his mouth.
“Hidayet,” he whispered.
He had never experienced such pleasure in embracing a woman or felt such overpowering desire.
“Hidayet … Hidayet,” he said again.
The drunken youth was not in a position to understand what the professor was saying. He freed himself from the old man’s embrace, pursed up his lips to kiss him extravagantly on the cheek, and lurched off to the men’s room.
The professor collapsed on the ground where he sat, looking at the sea, trying to understand what had happened. He did not know if he was looking at the dark sea or at the abyss inside himself.
“Hidayet,” he whispered again. “Where are you?”
If the ambassador had not come to pick him up, he would have passed out there and then. With the help of the restaurant owner, the ambassador dragged him down to the dinghy.
On the way back, Cemal rowed. No one spoke.
When they arrived at the small jetty by the orange grove, Cemal jumped out first and fastened the rope. Then he helped the ambassador and Meryem ashore. Finally, the professor stood up, accidentally grabbing Cemal’s arm while he was reaching for the jetty.
“Don’t touch me, you homosexual bastard!” shouted Cemal, pushing him away. The professor fell back into the dinghy and hit his face on the seat. Meryem and the ambassador stood by, watching helplessly.
Then he sat up. His nose was bleeding, and his whole body ached. He reached for the side and tried to pull himself up. After struggling for a while, he managed to get out of the boat. Holding his bleeding nose, he managed to stand up and take a step forward. Cemal loomed there above him on the jetty, looking more formidable than he really was, as if waiting for another attack. “Don’t you touch me again, you pervert!” he yelled. “Everyone saw what you did at the restaurant. Fag!”
Looking at him, an intense fury swelled up in the professor. As he tried to stop the blood streaming from his nose, he screamed, “It’s your father who’s the pervert! He raped his own niece!”
Cemal said nothing but only gritted his teeth in answer.
“You idiot. Don’t you realize that your father not only raped her but gave you the job of killing her?”
When he heard these words, Cemal went mad. He leapt at the professor and grabbed him by the throat. “Liar!” he screamed. “Liar! You’ll die for what you said!”
“Ask Meryem,” İrfan gasped. “She’ll tell you!”
Cemal turned to the girl. “Tell this man he’s a liar!” he shouted. “Tell him!”
Meryem said nothing.
“Speak!”
She remained silent.
“Don’t you understand?” İrfan said. “Her silence explains everything. Your father’s a pervert.”
Cemal began to beat the professor, venting his accumulated rage, hitting him again and again with his hammer-hard fists. Meryem and the ambassador watched in horror, as screaming like an animal, Cemal punched the old man in the face, cutting it badly.
The professor fell to his knees, crawling along the ground as blood poured from his mouth onto the boards of the jetty. When the ambassador saw him spit out a few teeth he began to tremble uncontrollably. Cemal let go of the professor and ran to the house, howling as though in pain.
İrfan turned around and lay down on his back on the jetty. Breathing heavily, he tried to recover himself.
The ambassador was quite overcome by what he had witnessed. “You see!” he cried hysterically to Meryem. “I was right not to want anyone around. My house has been filled with the barbarity of this country!”
Meryem knelt beside the professor, and not finding anything else more suitable, wiped his face with the hem of her dress.
From where he lay, the professor looked up at the stars in the sky. The brightest was right above his head. “That must be Jupiter,” he thought. Forty times bigger than the Earth. Was the Earth visible from Jupiter? At that moment he would have liked to see a shooting star, but none was visible.
The professor knew that something unpleasant had happened, an incident had occurred, but he could not remember what it was. He kept on thinking about Jupiter and the stars.
The impulse came over him to laugh. Unable to suppress this urge, he burst into a fit of laughter where he lay helplessly. Meryem and the ambassador stared at him dumbfounded. İrfan took Meryem’s hand and sat up with his legs wide apart, still laughing.
The ambassador asked him apprehensively why he was laughing.
“I’ve been defeated,” İrfan replied. “I swear to God I’ve been defeated. As General Trikopis once said, ‘I’ll retreat gracefully and go home.’ I, too, have reached the decision to go back where I belong.”
His speech sounded strange since two of his front teeth were broken and his mouth was full of blood.
“That’s the best thing to do, my friend,” said the ambassador, turning and walking toward the house. As he stepped into the garden, he shouted, without looking at them, “Have a good trip!”
The professor stood up, and, holding on to Meryem, slowly walked toward the boat. Meryem went aboard with him, continuing to hold his hand as they entered his cabin. Meryem wondered why they were going there. It was the cabin where the picture of the flying Armenians was hung.
“I’m leaving now,” İrfan said. “We won’t see each other again.”
Meryem was silent.
“Go and fetch me a drink.”
Meryem went upstairs, opened the liquor cabinet, chose at random one of the unfamiliar bottles there, and took it down to the cabin below. When she entered, the professor was closing a drawer. He took the bottle and put it to his lips. “Maybe I shouldn’t have told your secret, but I think it’s better that I did,” he said. “It’s time for you to get away from Cemal.”
The girl said nothing.
They went up on deck together, out into the open air.
“Are you mad at me?” asked İrfan.
Meryem shook her head.
“Can you throw me the rope when I turn on the engine?”
“Yes,” said the girl.
“Then, good-bye.”
The professor kissed Meryem’s hand, and she made a pretense of kissing his.
As she left the boat, the professor said, “Just a second. Take this.”
He thrust something into her hand. An envelope.
When she heard the engine start, Meryem threw the rope toward the professor. He swayed and had difficulty remaining on his feet, but he man
aged to pull up the anchor, and as the boat faded into the distance, he waved to her for the last time. “What really happened at the restaurant?” he shouted.
“Nothing,” Meryem shouted back.
The sailboat vanished in the darkness. Soon the noise of the engine could no longer be heard.
Meryem gazed into the darkness for some time, then walked to the house. The garden was empty, and the house was quiet.
When she entered her room, she realized that her dress was covered in blood. She would have to wash it immediately in cold water. She remembered the bloody pieces of cloth she used to wash every month back in the village. Blood should not be heated, she knew.
She placed the envelope on the bed and went downstairs to fill a washtub with water. She carried it back to her bedroom and dipped the dress in it. The water quickly turned red. “I’ll have to rinse it many times,” she thought. “Otherwise, it won’t come out.”
While she was wondering what to do, she sat down on the bed and opened the envelope. It was full of money—more money than she could count, and foreign money, at that!
GOD LOVES MERYEM NOW
After Cemal ran into the house and climbed the stairs, he felt a great fatigue come over him. He could hardly drag his body up the stairs; it was as if he had suddenly turned into a cloth puppet. Reaching his room, he threw himself on the bed without undressing and immediately fell into a deep sleep, like a stone falling to the bottom of an abandoned well. His sleep was dreamless, unbroken, undisturbed: a state of nonexistence.
The next morning, the ambassador told Meryem, “I want you to leave my house. Please leave today and take your relative with you.”
Purple rings had appeared under his eyes, and the broken veins under his skin were more obvious. He must have cut himself while shaving that morning, as the blood was oozing slightly from a piece of cotton wool stuck to a bright red wound on his neck. His hands were trembling anyway.
“Please get out of my house. Immediately! I want my peace back. I knew it would be like this. This country’s full of lunatics, and their madness has entered my house. Please go.”
Bliss: A Novel Page 30
