—
“The gas station man said we’ll be able to make it as far as Çorum, but we’ll need to have it looked at as soon as we get there. What else can I do, Sevgi?”
Mom got mad when Dad said we should spend the night in Çorum. She let her spoon fall into her soup, plop. Grandma patted her on the arm.
“Sevgi, my girl. Is Çorum so very dangerous?”
“Oh no, not at all. Right, Aydın? What possible danger could there be in a place like Çorum? Kids! Finish up your soup.”
Me and Ali didn’t feel like eating. Grandma held a spoonful of soup in front of Ali’s mouth, then mine. The soup was ugly. The bread was cut into big chunks. There were no napkins, and the glasses were wrapped in pink paper. But the paper went to pieces when you wiped your mouth on it. The spoons were too big. And the plates were plastic, with big brown flowers on them, like they were dirty. And my legs stuck to the chairs, because they were plastic, too. Me and Ali leaned our heads on our hands. The red spots made our heads heavy.
—
“I’ll give Father a call,” Ayşe’s dad said. We can’t stay in Çorum. I should say it, “No,” but I’m sick, so I can’t. The inside of my head itches, like it’s full of red spots, too. The insides of my eyes itch. And the inside of my mouth. I can’t say anything. “They gouge out people’s eyes there,” I should say. “Hüseyin Abi went there once, and then he couldn’t sleep,” I should say. But I can’t. Maybe, because I’m with Ayşe and her family, it’ll be different. The police didn’t beat anyone up when they came to Ayşe’s house. Maybe nobody will try to gouge out our eyes in Çorum. My eyes are closing. Ayşe’s grandma put a pill in my mouth, and then she held a glass of water to my mouth.
“Okay, you’ve eaten enough. Go sleep in the back of the car now, the two of you.”
Ayşe’s grandma pulled a little bag out of her handbag and put a little salad in it. She winked at me.
“It’s for our friend in back, sweetie.”
She called me “sweetie,” like I’m Ayşe. I don’t remember anything else. I think me and Ayşe fell asleep in the back seat. Ayşe’s grandma got in the very back, with the swan, I think. Her voice came from far away, the bottom of a well.
“I’m perfectly comfortable back here. It’s nice to stretch out my legs. My knees were aching from all that sitting. The bird and I are just fine. Aren’t we, my pet? Ha-hah!”
—
Me and Ali were sleeping in the back seat. I could hear Grandma.
“Sevgi, it’s so well-behaved. As docile as a child. Aren’t you, my pet? Look! Up in the sky!”
Grandma was showing the swan the birds flying in the sky. I looked at the birds. It suddenly smelled like winter. The sky turned gray. Were these migrating birds taking the summer with them to a faraway place? If our swan flew with them, maybe summer would end. It would finally rain. Then I think I fell asleep.
We were in a strange room. I woke up as Mom was putting me on a bed. The white light hurt my eyes. Dad put Ali on the bed next to me. They were trying not to talk, so I wouldn’t wake up. But when I opened my eyes, I saw everything. Grandma was spreading a sheet on the couch.
“This sheet smells a little odd, but there’s nothing doing. We’ll have to manage for the night. Sevgi, use your blouses as cases for the children’s pillows. We don’t want them to get germs on their mouths. It’s not at all clean here, is it? I’ve never seen a filthier hotel. Are you awake now, sweetie? Come on, let’s wash your hands and face. She’s not running a temperature anymore, Sevgi. She’ll be well in no time.”
Grandma took me to the bathroom. There were dead mosquitoes in the light above the mirror. Nobody had saved them.
“Grandma, where’s the swan?”
“It’s sleeping, sweetie. Now let’s give your hands and face a good wash.”
There were slippers on the floor, big and green. Nobody will wear them. They’re ugly. And they’re for men. There aren’t any girl slippers. There’s not much soap left, and it’s stuck to the wall with a magnet. Grandma rubbed and rubbed the piece of soap under the water to get all the dirt off. The light went bzzz the whole time. This place bothers me. I think it’s Çorum, and I don’t like the fake flowers in the vase by the bed, either. Grandma opens the closet and says, “Look, there’s no coverlet.” The only thing in there is a broken hanger. And a little rug, for praying. There’s gold writing about God. It’s hung on the wall like a picture, but way up by the ceiling. And there’s a picture of a big tower next to it. “Is that tower in Istanbul?” I asked Mom.
“No, it’s in Paris, Ayşe. Come here and lie down. Let’s get to sleep right away so morning comes quickly.”
One of the pillows smells. I can smell Mom on her blouse, but at the end of the pillow there’s another smell, a bad one. Like Jale Hanım’s husband. It smells like curtains and ashtrays, all down the bed.
—
My eyes are open, but nobody sees me, because I don’t make a sound. I keep quiet. Maybe Ayşe’s mom would do this if she came to our house. Touch everything with her fingertip. Sniff everything without getting too close. Say, “Ugh, I can’t sleep under this, Aydın. Even the blankets are filthy.”
“May that be the least of your worries, Sevgi.”
“How are things outside? Is anything happening?”
“There are soldiers everywhere. Everyone’s talking about the match. Everything’s ‘back to normal,’ just like they said.”
Ayşe’s grandma starts going tsss tsss. Her mom and dad are smoking by the window.
“How’s your father? I forgot to ask.”
“He’s fine. He’s out of the hospital.”
“I can’t sleep, Aydın.”
“Me neither. Dad asked me to get a melon again. ‘Be sure to pick one up on the way,’ he said. Him and his melon.”
Ayşe’s talking in her sleep, real quiet: “Mommy.” I miss my mom. A lot. When I see her, I’m going to say “Mommy” too. When I talk like the kids in books, she’ll be so surprised.
—
When Mom and Dad were standing in front of the window, I could see their faces in the glass. They were looking at themselves in the window. Then Mom looked at Dad and Dad looked at Mom in the window. They suddenly closed the curtain. I understand why Dad closed the curtain the night Hüseyin Abi and Birgül Abla fell. You can see yourself in the window when it’s dark. People see themselves in the dark. And it’s kind of scary.
“You’ll like it now, sweetie. Look, I’ve spread some jam on top. You need to eat something.”
Grandma’s trying to make me eat that stinky cheese. I don’t want to. Mom’s not eating it. Neither is Dad. They didn’t eat anything. Dad’s shaking his leg under the table. There’s jam in little boxes, but it doesn’t smell good. It doesn’t smell like anything. Nobody’s here but us in the hotel restaurant. The waiter and another man are hanging up a big flag on the wall.
“Pull it harder! We need to stretch it,” the waiter says.
“It’ll rip if I pull it any harder. It’s worn out.”
“You heard me! It needs to be pulled tight.”
“Ayşe, please eat your breakfast so we can get out of here,” Dad says. He’s not mad at me. He’s just in a bad mood.
“Come on, Ayşe. Make your mother happy. Then I’ll give you your medicine and we can go. Ali ate his. Ah! Ayşe, Ali! You’ll never believe what I just saw in the newspaper.”
Me and Ali looked at Mom.
“Ayşe, I’ll tell you when you’ve finished your breakfast. It’s wonderful news. You’ll love it, just love it.”
I looked at Dad.
“It’s the Voice of Çorum newspaper.”
I started eating. If you swallow without chewing, maybe it’s not so stinky. Mom started reading out loud.
“The swans, which have stopped in Ordu for the first time anyone can remember, are thought to have arrived from Siberia. The mayor of Perşembe said that the swans were expected to resume their migration after resting for a few da
ys. Meanwhile, locals have begun flocking to Perşembe to see the swans…. Did you hear that? Did you hear that? Some swans have come to Ordu! Now finish your breakfast, Ayşe. Come on, open your mouth.”
I was about to laugh and Ali was about to take the newspaper from Mom when the big brother and sister came in. They sat down at a table right away. The big sister tried to cover her head with a scarf. The big brother spoke fast to the waiter.
“Two teas!”
“Hang on, brother. Let me finish with this flag.”
The big brother and sister looked out the window. They both lit cigarettes. Their faces were red, like they’d been running. Two men passed outside the window. They were holding their arms out to the side and looking mean. On their waists, they had walkie-talkies, just like Uncle Detective. They were scary. The man who hung up the flag got down and looked up at it. “It looks good!” he said. He went outside with the waiter. The big brother and sister put out their cigarettes. He held her hand on the table. Then they both put their hands under the table. They looked at each other. We looked at them. Ali got up. Mom saw the two men. “Ali, sit down,” she said. Ali didn’t even hear her. He started walking. The two scary men came inside and looked at everyone. Ali was walking over to the big brother and sister. He sat down at their table. The scary men were going over to that table when Ali yelled.
“Mommy! Mommy! I want some cheese, a matchbox of cheese!”
I saw the big sister’s face. Her eyes got big. She swallowed. Then she yelled.
“Okay, darling. We’ll tell the uncle to bring you some. You’ll have to wait for a little bit, though.”
“Ahmet! That’s no way to talk to your mother!” the big brother said. The big sister put Ali on her lap and kissed him.
“He’s a good little boy. He just forgot to say ‘please.’”
The scary men nodded to the big brother and sister. Then they went outside. The big sister hugged Ali.
“Thank you, my boy. Thank you.”
The big brother and sister were just leaving when the National Anthem started playing. One of the men who hung up the flag was coming in as the big brother and sister were running out. One of the men shouted.
“Show some respect!”
The other man came in, too. They both stood at attention. They looked over at us.
“The national anthem’s playing. Show some respect!”
Dad went dark. He was real mad, I think. Mom put her cigarette in the ashtray. They looked at each other. They didn’t say anything, but they were talking to each other. Grandma whispered.
“Get up, children. We don’t want any trouble.”
Grandma made me and Ali stand up. The National Anthem kept playing, longer than ever before. Dad looked at Ali. He kept his eyes on Ali the whole time. Dad seemed small. Ali seemed big. Mom put her hand on Ali’s shoulder.
“You’re a hero and a clever boy, Ali!” she said. She was looking at Dad. When the National Anthem finished, Dad picked me up.
“Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
We got in the car. Grandma had tied the swan’s feet together. She undid the knot and said she was sorry.
“It’s okay, my pet. It’s all better now. Look, I brought you some tomato wedges.”
This time Grandma sat in the back seat and we sat on the cushions in the very back. Grandma wiped her face with a handkerchief.
“It’s so hot this early in the morning. Aydın, let’s not forget that melon. Remember what your father said.”
“I’m not getting a melon!” Dad said. He turned around, and I saw his black face. Dark as can be.
“And we’re not going to Ordu!”
Grandma and Mom froze.
“We’re not going to Ordu. Because … we’re going to Perşembe, damn it. I’m going to show the kids the swans. That’s where we’re going! Is everyone ready for a last-minute tour?”
—
Ayşe’s dad cursed like Hüseyin Abi. He lit his cigarette with Hüseyin Abi’s lighter. Ayşe’s mom put her hand on his, on top of the stick shift. She turned her face to the window. I think she was smiling.
UNIT 19
What Did You Do on Your Summer Vacation?
There’s a Village Far Away
“Read it again, Mom!”
“Ayşe, how many times have I read it to you? That’s enough. Now sit down. You know better than to jump up and down when the car’s moving.”
“This is the first time the swans came? For real? You’re not making it up?”
“For real. Now sit down!”
I sat back down next to Ali.
“I think they found out we saved the swan. What about you? I think they came to get our swan so they can all fly off together. What about you?”
Ali nodded his head “yes.” He’s got measles, so he’s not so clever now. He keeps falling asleep. But I want to talk about it. I need to.
“Do you think it’ll be like The Little Black Fish? If our swan goes far, far away, it’ll turn around and look at its friends in Ankara and say, ‘There’s a huge sky in other lands far away,’ and they’ll all say, ‘Hooray!’ And then—”
“That’s not how it ended.”
“Remember how the little black fish and all the other fish got saved from the pelican’s pouch, and then it went home, and told all those stories and stuff? That’s how it ended.”
“No, it didn’t. You got it wrong.”
Dad said, “Kids! Look out the window. Look how green it’s getting the closer we get to the Black Sea.”
—
“The little black fish never comes back from the big sea,” I said. “Nobody ever saw the little black fish again.” Because that’s what happened. The poor baby fish was saved from the pelican’s belly, but then it died, right there. It never went home to its mother. Granny Fish tells the story of the little black fish to her grandchildren. When they ask, “What happened to the little black fish?” she always says, “I’ll tell you tomorrow.” The book never tells us what happened, though. And there’s this one kid—who’s a lot like the little black fish—and when the story ends, he can’t sleep and all he can do is think about the big sea.
—
“It never comes back from the big sea,” Ali said. “It dies in the pelican’s stomach. You read it wrong.”
Well, I didn’t read it. Mom read it to me. Before I knew how to read. Then I never read it, because Mom had read it to me. But at the end of the story the little black fish comes home, and everybody is happy, and it tells everybody about its adventures. Mom wouldn’t lie to me. Would she? Grandma pretends everything’s a game, but not Mom. Right? Or are they both doing it?
“Kids, we’ll be in Perşembe by lunchtime,” Dad said. “They say the swans are landing on one of the restaurant’s balconies. What was the name of that restaurant, Sevgi?”
“Dallas.”
“Dallas?”
Mom and Dad laughed. I don’t think it’s funny, not one bit.
“Ali, does that mean our swan will never come back, either?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Why not? It does so!”
“No, it doesn’t. When we were saving our swan, the other swans saw. That’s what matters.”
Ali’s talking nonsense. He’s not smart anymore because of the measles.
“It’s going on eleven, Sevgi. Let’s listen to the news.”
“… as we come to the end of this week’s program featuring the folk songs of the Black Sea region, we conclude with a beloved folk song from the highlands of Pokut as performed by the state choir here at TRT Ankara.”
In this false world every creature seeks a mate
A stone has no heart, but the moss embraces it still …
—
Me and Ayşe keep looking at the back. Ayşe’s got her arms crossed and she’s not talking to me. She’s mad because the little black fish died. I turn around and face the front. When the folk song starts, it’s a song full of hurt, and the sign on the road says
it’s forty kilometers to Fatsa. I feel, all at once, like I can look up at the sky and see Hüseyin Abi and Birgül Abla. Like they can fly and fly and land on the mountains up ahead. When I look at the sky, I want to cry. The song is sad, and maybe that’s why.
Don’t step in the mud, my darling
They’ll find our tracks
Oh, woe is me
They’ll find our tracks
Let’s mingle with the mist
May they think us dead
Oh, woe is me
May they think us dead
I wonder where Uncle Dürüst is? Someone probably led him away when the coup happened. “Come along, Uncle Dürüst,” they said. Birgül Abla wasn’t there, but someone took him away. The big brothers and sisters protected the neighborhood, of course they did. Gökhan and Hamit and the others all sang anthems. The soldiers couldn’t put anyone from our neighborhood in their jeeps. Auntie Seher yelled and grabbed her rolling pin and chased all the soldiers away. Everybody asked, “Where’s Ali?” “Haven’t you heard?” Gökhan said. “He went off to save Hüseyin Abi and Birgül Abla.” I wish they said that. And if Mom heard, and felt happy and got better … And if Dad laughed and said, “That’s my little lion!”
—
The red lights came on. I’m not talking to Ali anymore, but he’s not looking at me! He thinks I’m stupid. I didn’t even tell him Hüseyin Abi and Birgül Abla fell. I didn’t want him to get sad. But what would happen if I did tell him? Well, then we’d see who’s stupid!
—
The car pulled over, hard, pushing me and Ayşe to the window.
—
Our faces are side-by-side now, mine and Ali’s, by the window. “You know, Hüseyin Abi and Birgül Abla …” I was going to say, but then we saw the dog. The muezzin was singing out the call to prayer and the dog was barking at the minaret. Its eyes closed, it was howling. Like the song on the radio, sad and hurt.
In this false world every creature seeks a mate
Oh, woe is me
Every creature seeks a mate
A stone has no heart, but the moss embraces it still
The Time of Mute Swans Page 38
