The Time of Mute Swans

by Ece Temelkuran

  “Önder.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Nothing important.”

  “Just tell me what he said, Sevgi.”

  “He’s coming to Ankara in two days.”

  “And?”

  “And we’ll be gone. So, what we are going to do with the swan when we go? What about leaving it with Jale Hanım? We could hide the guns under its wings. What do you say, Aydın Bey?”

  Dad laughed a little, then. Mom put her hand on his arm. I’m glad we saved the swan.

  Mom and Dad went to the bathroom. They’re going to light the fire in the water heater. They’re not going to cook the swan. I asked them. Three times. They’re going to burn some things. Ali’s sleeping. If they do anything to the swan while he’s sleeping, I’ll die. I stayed next to Ali. Lots of time passed. Evening came, even. Grandma won’t stop watching TV, and Mom got mad.

  “Mother, you’re not watching World of Faith, are you? Oh, I give up!”

  Grandma turned up the sound all the way. She’s acting funny. When I was sitting next to Ali, the window of Samim Abi’s secret room was swinging back and forth. They left the window open. Sometimes, Ali opens his eyes. It smells like vinegar everywhere. It was nasty at first. Now I like it.

  —

  When I open my eyes, I see Samim Abi’s locked room. The window is wobbling. The streetlamps are burning. In the light, there are shapes. Ayşe’s dipping towels in vinegar and pressing them to my feet, my head, my hands. Vinegar dribbles onto the bed. Warm, like I wet the bed. It’s nice. It flows from my forehead to my ears to the pillow. Slowly, drip drop. The shapes on the window look like yellow birds, like orange butterflies. Things are whirling on the window. I see Hüseyin Abi in the street, yelling. Birgül Abla, reaching out her hand to him. When the window moves, their hands come apart. They’re hanging a banner in Kızılay Square. Then they’re running. Hüseyin Abi runs slowly, so Birgül Abla can catch up. Yellow birds fly up from the places they pass. They go into Samim Abi’s house. Hüseyin Abi holds Birgül Abla’s face in his hands. Yellow butterflies fly up from her hair. They’re locking the door to the room. Hüseyin Abi’s thinking about me. About the kite, about Turgay Abi, about the neighborhood, about a ship, about a plane, about a car. He sticks his hands in Birgül’s hair. Her yellow hair, growing longer and longer, flying and flying. There’s knocking on the door, the police. Hüseyin Abi gets his gun. He kisses Birgül Abla. She’s trembling on the window pane. Kites, yellow ones, lots of them, go flap flap flap. The police are coming inside and they’re going out onto the balcony. Hüseyin Abi’s gun goes click click, not bang bang. And then they turn into birds, both of them. Yellow swans on the balcony. Laughing. Flying. There are no more drip-drops when the towel gets warm.

  —

  Ali closed his eyes again. I can hear the man on TV, his voice terrible and black.

  “… to believe in Allah, may His name be exalted, is to embrace His will and to accept that all outcomes are fortuitous for the true believer. Nothing will happen to us except what Allah has decreed for us …”

  As the man spoke, yellow monsters showed on Samim Abi’s window, their wings torn. They flew and circled over all the houses. And when they landed on apartment buildings, all the houses went dark and smoke started pouring out of the chimneys. They put all the children to sleep. The sleep of afternoon naps, always. The children they touched became like Ali when he was sick, never talking. Mothers are crying. Fathers are yelling. Children can’t wake up. The yellow monsters are terrible. Children need to hide. I see Ali in the window, all yellow. Holding the Wonderland of Knowledge. The one with the swans. He’s running away from the torn-winged monsters. He needs to hide it. I’m there, too, holding a stack of books. My favorites. If I don’t hide them, the torn-winged monsters will see us, too. I’m going to cry. Because Ali seems dead. When the torn-winged monsters, all yellow like that …

  I get up. If Ali weren’t asleep, we’d do it together, but I have to do it now. I get them and take them to the bathroom. Dad’s burning books. I hand him my books.

  “And this one, too!”

  Mom and Dad’s faces are red from the fire. They look at each other. Mom pulls her hair back from her face

  “Ayşe, we don’t need to burn any of the Wonderland of Knowledge set. And what’s that? 1001 Peaches. Take them back to your room. There’s no need, really.”

  “I said to burn them. It’s the encyclopedia with the swans. Or the monsters will come … Mom! Burn them!”

  Mom hugged me. I cried a little, my cheek on her belly. Mom has a nice belly. She looked at me and held my face between her hands. “You’re a heroic little girl, Ayşe!” she said. That’s exactly what she said. Mom’s face is close to mine. Her breath is sweet. I want to stay there, just like that, but Jale Hanım is yelling somewhere.

  “One floor up! The apartment directly above ours. You can’t miss it.”

  Mom looked at Grandma and shouted, “Mother! Ayşe! The swan!” Grandma put her hands on her head. We ran to Grandma’s room with the swan.

  UNIT 17

  Our Natural Riches

  Let’s See the Sights

  The soldiers are stopping a lot of cars. We’re going real slow. Nobody’s talking. Mom turned the radio way down. With no noise, the inside of the car smells only of soap. We all have wet hair. Little drops of water fall, slowly, one at a time, from Ali’s hair to his shoulders. When a drop of water grows big on the tip of his hair, inside them you can see the things from the window: apartment buildings, soldiers, cars. There are men lined up along the road, their backs to us. The drops are full of them. Not a sound. We all smell the same now. Ali smells of our soap, too.

  —

  It’s so noisy. The car lights, red triangles, go on and off, tick tock, like a clock. Walkie-talkies crackle. Ayşe’s mom is folding and unfolding a pack of cigarettes, chussy chussy. Her grandma prays, psss psss, and plays with a button on her purse, tuckurt tuckurt. Ayşe’s dad keeps going “hmmm … hmmm.” A general’s talking on the radio. We can see Ankara from Çankaya, and in the air, there’s a nnn. The sound of smoke. Everyone’s taking baths. Soon, maybe, they’ll take us all to prison. In the end, they’ll catch us, take the swan, cut its wings.

  —

  When Dad stopped the car, he said, “Don’t say anything.” But we’re already not talking. It’s a station wagon, so they put cushions in the back for us. It’s huge back here. The swan’s in a sack next to us. It’s sleeping, because of the chloroform. And me and Ali are sick!

  —

  Ayşe’s dad keeps playing with the stick shift, gurch gurch. Ayşe’s mom puts her hand on top of his. The sound stops. The car stops. He opens the window and talks fast.

  “Good morning. I’m taking the family to Ordu. My father’s in the hospital. He’s got a heart condition. The kids are ill, and sleeping in the back. We’re on our way to Ordu. That’s right. My father lives there. Yes.”

  The soldier went quiet. He poked his head into the car. I could hear him breathing. With nobody talking, you can hear everyone breathing. The soldier pulled his head back and yelled.

  “ID cards!”

  —

  “ID cards!”

  When the police came into our house, the big tall one said it to Dad.

  “Your ID cards! Get them now.”

  Mom was getting dressed in the bedroom. She came out, one hand pulling up her hair, one hand holding ID cards. I was watching from the bathroom door. The short policeman was smiling, sort of, but not the tall one, not one bit. Grandma said, “Stay right there, Ayşe,” in a small voice. She went to my room and came straight back. But I went out before she got back. When the policemen saw me, Grandma yelled, “Ayşe, get back here.” Mom said, “It’s okay, Mother.” The short one said, “Good morning, little miss.” The tall one said, “We’re going to look around.” When nobody said anything, the short policeman said, “We’re investigating yesterday’s incident at the apartment building next door.” The tall
one didn’t take off his shoes. The short one did. “We’ve learned that you knew them,” he said. “Naturally, we have some questions.” Mom said, “We weren’t close. And we’d never met the ones on the balcony. Perhaps Samim and Ayla didn’t know them, either.” The short one nodded and smiled. The tall one said, “They were trying to jump onto your balcony. That’s what your neighbor told us.” Then he turned to Dad and asked, “What’s your name?” As if Dad were a child. “Aydın,” Mom said. Dad gave Mom an angry look, then lifted his eyebrows as he looked at the policeman.

  “You have questions?”

  “Do you know where Samim and his wife are?”

  “No. I have no idea.”

  “Your downstairs neighbors said they visited you before they left.”

  “She’s lying. There’s some bad blood between us.”

  “How do I know she’s the one who’s lying?”

  “Sir, my wife and I are both civil servants. I work for the State Planning Bureau. My wife is employed in the archives—”

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  The short one said, “Enver Abi, let me handle this.” The tall one started walking around the house. Mom went with him. Me and Dad stayed with the smiley policeman. He said it extra fast.

  “Aydın Abi, my name’s Osman. We met at the seminar. I was about to ask you a question afterwards. Anyway, this is serious. I don’t want to get you involved in this, but … If there’s anything you’re hiding in your apartment, you can tell me.”

  Dad didn’t talk, but he sweated a lot.

  “Detective Nahit is like a big brother to me. Don’t worry. Is there anything here? Did they leave anything?”

  Dad still didn’t talk.

  “Keep calm. You can tell me.”

  “We burned everything. No.”

  The policeman went quiet. They looked at each other, he and Dad. We could hear Mom.

  “The bedroom’s messy right now. If you’ll just give me a moment to straighten things up.”

  A minute later.

  “That’s personal. You can’t open that.”

  A minute later.

  “Officer, those are my daughter’s coloring books. I mean, really!”

  The policeman yelled at Mom.

  “Lady! The army’s taken over. You don’t get it, do you? Get out of my way!”

  Dad and the short policeman were still looking at each other. Like in cowboy movies. The tall one walked down the hallway and opened the bathroom door. We heard Mom again.

  “Mother!”

  The tall policeman yelled too.

  “What’s going on here?”

  Me and Dad and the short policeman ran to the bathroom.

  “What’s the matter, Sevgi, my girl? Why are you shouting? Welcome, officer.”

  Grandma was sitting on the floor. The swan’s head was squeezed under her arm and she was poking at its bottom.

  “They sent us a nice goose from the village. Once I get it plucked, we can smoke it in the water heater. Sevgi, could you bring me a big tray?”

  The tall policeman, us, everyone, just stared. I was the only one who saw the chloroform cotton behind Grandma. Dad got a sweaty forehead again. The tall policeman was talking to himself.

  “I thought I’d seen it all, but this beats everything.”

  He walked out, but the short one stayed behind.

  “Aydın Abi, I’d make myself scarce for a few days if I were you. It’s a serious investigation. This guy, Samim, is suspected of supplying arms to an illegal organization. His place will be crawling with police for the next few days. They’ll probably come over and question you again. As for the dead student …”

  The other one yelled from the front door.

  “Osman, are you coming?”

  “I’ll be right there! The dead student was your neighbor’s brother. He and that woman were seen trying to jump over to your balcony. If you get caught up in this, it could get ugly. Stay away if you can. And remember, my name’s Osman.”

  The tall policeman came back.

  “I need to use your phone,” he said. When nobody said anything, he went over to it.

  “Hello? Nazime, it’s me. Me, your husband! The bakery’s open in Liberation. Do we need any bread? We do? Okay, I’ll get a couple loaves. Bye.”

  He hung up. They both left.

  The door closed. Nobody talked. From somewhere inside, Grandma yelled, “Are they gone?” Nobody answered. Ali was standing in the doorway of my bedroom.

  “Somebody answer me. Are they gone?”

  Ali pulled up his shirt and showed his belly. It was the first time I heard him yell.

  “I’m dying, probably!”

  Dad didn’t move. Mom ran over and looked at Ali’s belly.

  “That’s all we need right now.”

  Grandma came up with a feather in her hand.

  “I was so terrified I pulled out a feather. Ali? Ahhh! What’s happened to you?”

  Grandma looked at Ali’s belly, too.

  “You’ve got the measles.”

  Mom patted Ali’s head.

  “You’re not going to die, Ali. Lots of children get measles and it’s not dangerous. But …”

  Mom and Dad both looked at me.

  “But it is highly contagious. Ayşe must have it, too. Come here, let me have a look.

  Mom put her hands on her hips. She said it three times.

  “That’s all we need right now.”

  Ali got red spots all over his belly because he heard that Hüseyin Abi died, and that he was Samim Abi’s brother. Mom put her hand on my forehead.

  “She’s getting feverish. Aydın, now what are we going to do?”

  Dad didn’t make a sound. His eyes got big and he didn’t blink at all. “Aydın? Aydın?” Mom said. Dad didn’t say anything, just kept looking at Mom with big unblinking eyes. “Aydın, are you okay, sweetie?” Mom said. She called Dad “sweetie”! Grandma said, “Come along, children. Let me put you both to bed. You’ll get better soon. Sevgi, I think Aydın needs you. He’s looking rather odd. Has he gone into shock, or what? Oh, it’s one thing after another!” Mom took Dad’s arm and asked, “Aydın, what is it?” Dad said, “Huh?” Mom shook his arm and asked again, “Aydın! Say something. What is it?” Dad said, “Is this really happening, Sevgi?” Mom let go of Dad. “Oooph,” she said, as she came over to us.

  “Mother, what do we do for measles?”

  “Nothing. They need lots of rest. I’ll make some soup. It will do them good.”

  We slept. I mean, I did. Ali slept, too. We’re so tired. More tired than ever.

  —

  Me and Ayşe slept and slept. My dreams got all mixed up. I think my dad called. I think he said he couldn’t get me and he asked Ayşe’s dad to take me to Ordu. Then we were in Ordu, and it was all muddy. In the mud, there were footprints, and they were too big for my feet. When I woke up, Ayşe’s grandma put some soup in my mouth. I couldn’t eat it. It spilled on the bed. They did something, and the sheet got cool. When I woke up again, I could hear the news. Someone put a hand on my forehead. “I think the fever’s falling,” a voice said. I woke up and saw Ayşe’s foot in my face. But then I saw Ayşe’s hair in my face. I didn’t fall asleep. Or I never woke up.

  —

  It turned out to be Ali’s neck. I thought it was my mom. I thought she’d got into bed with me, and I was happy. But now I’m awake and I’m not happy. Then maybe I wet the bed and woke up. Maybe it was Ali who wet the bed. It’s warm and wet. In my dream, it’s summer and we’re at the sea, and we’re walking with the swan. I think the swan came when I opened my eyes, and then I saw Grandma holding a feather and going, “Hssst! Hssst!” But it could have been a dream. I slept a hundred times. I saw Ali’s feet in my dream. Then his face. He has red spots on his face. It’s so funny. I laughed, in my dream, I guess. I had the funniest dreams. I saw so many peaches, a thousand or more. They’re cold, and when I bite them juice runs down my chin. Ali’s eating, too. And we’re f
eeding them to the swan. The swan’s laughing. That was my dream.

  —

  When we woke up, everyone was running around. Me and Ayşe were looking at each other’s faces. Because she has red spots on her face. And so do I. They itch. We’re both a little cross, the two of us. “Sevgi, they’ve woken up!” Ayşe’s grandma said. And then she was gone. I could hear Ayşe’s mom.

  “Mother, what are we going to do with all that soup? Who takes soup on a car ride?”

  “I know what I’m doing.”

  Ayşe’s mom and dad stood in the doorway, whispering.

  “Aydın, I’m going to bathe the kids. We’ve got all this hot water. They slept all day yesterday. A bath will do them good.”

  “There’s no need, Sevgi. They’re both sick.”

  “I know what I’m doing.”

  “Sevgi, what about the guns?”

  “Don’t ask me, Aydın. You’ll have to think of something.”

  —

  When Mom and Dad were talking, I didn’t want to open my eyes. Because while they’re talking, the smell of toast is coming to come, the smell of sausages. That means we slept yesterday. Is that all we did? Did yesterday just get away? Did Ali sleep, too? Maybe we had the same dreams. About swans, and peaches. Where is the swan? My tummy itches. Mom takes my hand.

  “Don’t scratch it, honey. Come on, get up. Let’s get you a nice bath. You’ll feel better.”

  Mom yelled at Grandma in the kitchen when she was taking me to the bathroom.

  “Mother, please don’t make soup just as we’re about to leave.”

  “I know what I’m doing!”

  It’s like everybody wants to play a different game. I closed my eyes and when I opened them, we were in the bathroom. It smells like fire.

  —

  When Ayşe left, I sat up in bed. Ayşe’s dad came. “Lie down a little longer,” he said. “Until Ayşe’s had a bath.” He covered me. Dads can’t cover like moms. Your foot’s out in the open or the blanket gets in your mouth. “Your dad called. He wants you to go with us. He said it’ll only be for a couple of days and you’ll have a chance to see some sights. Okay, my boy?” Now Ayşe’s dad is calling me “my boy.” Is everything that terrible? I wish Mom was here. But if I think about it, my head will hurt. “Uncle Aydın, where’s the swan?” He laughed. “Get up,” he said, “and we’ll go have a look at it.” We went to the bathroom. He held my hand, like I couldn’t go there alone. Ayşe had her eyes closed. Her mom was undressing her. She’s got red dots everywhere. But the swan’s there. “See, Ali. We put the swan in the bathtub. A coup happened, but we were about to cook a goose. That’s how silly things got. Come on, let me take you back to bed.” I let go of his hand and went to the living room. I sat down on the sofa across from the balcony. The door and the window are closed now. They’re not swinging anymore. Ayşe ran in from the bathroom and sat down next to me.