by Yashar Kemal
She laid her head down and was asleep in a moment. The whole village was asleep. There was not a sound. Only the susurration of the heat and the sun and the chirping of crickets filled the plain now.
The children made their way along the river-bank through the burdocks and thornbushes and reached a small wood-swamp.
Hassan pulled at his sister’s arm. ‘Look!’ he cried. ‘Have you seen Memidik? How he’s running! It’s the same every day. He makes off at full speed to some place … Have you looked at his face, how thin he’s grown?’
‘Poor man,’ Ummahan sighed. ‘They say it’s Batty Bekir’s wife has got him into this state. They’re together every night. Memidik never gets any sleep now. It’s too bad!’
Hassan was angry. ‘That woman’s a curse on this village. Somebody ought to kill her before all the youths get consumption.’
‘Aaah ah!’ Ummahan let out a wail. ‘Consumption … But just look how he’s running! Where can he be going, I wonder?’
‘He’s in trouble,’ Hassan said knowingly. ‘Bad trouble.’
‘You know what?’ his sister said suddenly. ‘Let’s follow him. Let’s find out what he’s up to.’
Hassan hesitated. With the tip of his foot he scraped at the burning ground. ‘All right,’ he said at last. ‘But we must be careful. If he sees us he won’t do whatever he’s going to do. He’ll hide or run away.’
Ummahan quickened her step. ‘Secretly, very secretly …’
Memidik hurtled along raising the dust of the road. The children ran after him, carefully keeping to the cover of the bushes. At one moment to their dismay Memidik vanished behind a curtain of dust, but they soon caught sight of him again, rushing on faster than ever. Then suddenly he pulled up stockstill. The children crept up through the burdock bushes. Nearer to Memidik was a large dark cluster of blackthorns. With one last spurt they threw themselves behind it and crouched there holding their breaths. Memidik was only a hundred paces off. Before him was a derelict well. Its windlass still stood intact, but there was no pail and some of the stones had come unstuck. The trough hewn out of a purple stone had tumbled to one side and beside it grew a spindly leafless mulberry tree, smothered in dust.
‘He’s looking at the well,’ Ummahan hissed. ‘There’s something in the well.’
Suddenly Hassan’s face turned yellow. He rose, then sank down again, holding his nose. ‘I feel funny, Ummahan … This smell … Where …’
Ummahan grimaced. ‘It stinks in the nostrils. What can it be?’
Memidik was moving now. He took a few quick steps towards the well, then stopped dead again.
Suddenly Hassan threw up. Ummahan drew him away from the mess, holding her nose with one hand. ‘Let’s get away from here. This stink will kill us.’
The whole world reeked with the rank acrid stench of decay, nauseating, overpowering, insinuating itself into the light of day, into the warm earth, the grass, the trees, the river, the bushes and even the flying birds. Everything, even the light, stank of putrefaction, of maggot-ridden bloated flesh.
Memidik spurted up to the edge of the well and stood there very straight. The sun cast his shadow, a dark black circle, at the bottom of his feet.
Suddenly the children started to cough, both at once. Their eyes on Memidik, they tried to stifle their coughs but in vain. The repulsive greasy smell clutched at the back of their throats like a leech sucking away. The sun seemed to rock and the stench was intensified. The bushes grew larger and the earth became unfamiliar. At that moment Memidik slumped down near the mouth of the well.
‘He’s dead,’ Hassan whispered. ‘He couldn’t stand the smell. It’s killed him. Poor Memidik … Come on, let’s go.’ But he did not move. He kept repeating, ‘Come on, let’s go,’ but still he could not take a step. His eyes were glued to the body that lay with its head hanging over the well.
Then all at once a miracle happened! Memidik leapt up and jumped into the well. He emerged soon after, soaked to the skin, his clothes clinging to his body, and ran for all his worth in the direction of the Jeyhan River. He ran so fast you could not see his legs …
Hassan tugged at his sister’s arm. ‘Come, Ummahan, let’s have a look into that well too.’
‘I don’t want to. I’m dying. My nose hurts. This smell of decay is all over me, in my hair, in my mouth …’
Hassan gave her a push. ‘Don’t come then,’ he said crossly and ran over to the well. First he stood beside it, motionless, just like Memidik had done, then he leaned over and looked inside. He saw his reflection in the mirror-like bottom, his sun-bleached hair standing straight up as a hedgehog’s spines, his cracked, scabbed lips, his large eyes. Should he jump in like Memidik? What could there be down there? Why had Memidik thrown himself in like that? His head felt dizzy and he was afraid suddenly that he would lose hold and fall in. He staggered to his feet and ran to Ummahan. Grabbing her hand, he pulled her quickly on towards the wood. They ran for their lives, pursued by the smell, a strangling feeling at their throats, until they came to the woodswamp.
‘This smell? …’ Ummahan whispered. ‘Memidik? …’
‘Hush,’ Hassan said. He plunged deeper into the woodswamp. The smell was gone, now it had been only a bad nightmare. He led the way to where a planetree spread its large branches cloud-like over the swamp.
‘It’ll be here,’ he said, ‘our last year’s nest …’ He took off his red moccasins and climbed up the tree. Ummahan waited impatiently below while he rummaged through the foliage. Suddenly he shouted: ‘Ummahan, look, I’ve found it.’ And he pointed up to a very high bough. There in a bend where a branch had broken off forming a bulging node was a bird’s nest. But almost in the same instant he uttered a cry. ‘Oh, but this isn’t our last year’s nest! There are no nestlings in it …’ He slipped down again. ‘It was so like our nest …’
‘Hassan, brother,’ Ummahan reasoned with him, ‘it wasn’t here we picked cotton last year, so how can it be the same nest?’
Hassan bristled. ‘It is, it is, but the chicks have flown. They’ve grown up and become birds and they’ve flown off as all birds do. Perhaps the snakes have eaten them and the poor mother-bird’s gone to build a nest on another tree, a tall one which the serpents can’t get at. Come, let’s go and look for our nest in another tree.’
‘But this wasn’t the place!’ Ummahan protested. ‘And anyway ours was a swallow’s nest.’
He did not even hear her. Deeper and deeper into the wood-swamp he went where strange flowers bloomed, flowers that were larger than any others. He found a towering planetree and scrambled up into its branches. Then he climbed down again. ‘There are many, many nests,’ he said, ‘but they’re all empty. The serpents have eaten the chicks and so the birds have abandoned their nests and fled. No bird can live here in this wood any more. The Government ought to do something about it. Destroy those serpents or something …’ He found another planetree, but came down again crestfallen. Tree after tree he climbed, getting more and more excited and angry.
‘Those serpents!’ he shouted. ‘They’ve eaten all the birds.’
At this Ummahan burst into tears. She dropped down, trembling, her face in her hands. ‘I’m afraid,’ she sobbed out. ‘Oh, I’m afraid! The serpents will eat us too …’
Hassan sat down beside her. He stroked her hair and held her hand, trying to think of something to calm her fears. ‘But the serpents have gone, you know,’ he said in the end. ‘They’ve eaten all the birds here, and now they’ve moved to another wood to eat the birds there too. And when they’ve finished those, they’ll find still another wood, and then …’
Ummahan looked up. ‘Aaah,’ she wailed, ‘there won’t be any birds left in the world! Shall we go and tell the villagers? They could kill those serpents and save the birds …’
Hassan sighed. ‘Who’s got time to hunt for serpents? No, the serpents will just eat them all and the world will be left without birds. A world without birds! What a pity! Come on, let’s go.�
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Ummahan rose and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. They held hands, which did not happen often. Only in moments of great friendship would Hassan take Ummahan’s tiny hand in his, rapturous moments for Ummahan, ones she prized above all.
They picked flowers. They found a cool spring and quenched their thirst. The crackling heat of the plain did not make itself felt here. Then they came upon an ancient water-duct. Hassan let go of Ummahan’s hand and ran up to it.
‘Quick,’ he shouted. ‘Ummahan, come quick. Our nest! It’s here, and with a bird in it too.’
A kingfisher flashed into the air and flew off. Hassan danced for joy and laughed like mad. Ummahan joined in his pleasure and for a while the wood rang with their laughter.
‘See? We’ve found one the serpents didn’t get,’ Hassan crowed. ‘Birds can be very cunning. The serpents can’t eat all of them.’
‘Thank goodness for that,’ Ummahan said.
Hassan sank down suddenly and leaned his back on the wall of the water-duct. He closed his eyes. ‘Come and sit near me, Ummahan,’ he said wearily. His face was downcast now. Ummahan took his hand timidly. He did not draw it away, but when he opened his eyes they were full of fear. ‘If we could only get away from all this, Ummahan … Father will die of grief.’
‘He’ll die,’ she echoed.
There was an empty feeling in him, something missing. ‘But we’ve found our nest, and our bird too …’ Yet it was as if he had forgotten something. ‘If he doesn’t die of grief those villagers will kill him. It makes them mad that he should gather more cotton than anyone else … Now only Old Halil loves our father.’
‘He’s a good man, Old Halil is,’ Ummahan said. ‘And he’s got a good bright face …’
‘Don’t say such things,’ Hassan said. ‘If Granny heard you …’
‘Granny’s dead,’ Ummahan retorted. ‘Father killed her. He hacked her to pieces. And one of her arms is in a wolf’s mouth …’
They fell silent.
‘If only my Uncle Tashbash would come,’ Hassan said after a while. ‘He’d save Father. He’d save us all.’
‘He would do something to save the birds from being eaten up by serpents,’ Ummahan said.
‘If he doesn’t want to come back, he could take me with him to his cave with the Forty Holy Men …’ His voice broke and trembled. ‘I could carry their water for them, make their coffees …’
‘Take me too!’ Ummahan said quickly. ‘They must need a girl, surely.’
‘There was no one like my Uncle Tashbash in all the world. He liked children … If he knew how badly we need him …’ He could not go on because of the lump in his throat. ‘Ah, if he only knew …’
18
Old Halil is thinking hard all this time. What can be done to send Long Ali back to the village, to Meryemdje, as quickly as possible? He racks his brains and in the end he hits on a plan which he puts to Long Ali. But Ali will not be persuaded.
Old Halil was seething with impatience. As soon as he could he left his bed. He had not undressed, he had lain down on a blanket bedded over some dried grass and had drawn another blanket over him. Tonight the labourers had not lit their customary fire. They had gone to sleep early for the south wind had risen in the morning and by evening it was blowing briskly, sweeping away the hordes of mosquitoes.
When the wind is very strong mosquitoes cannot take to the air. It is only in stagnant windless weather that they smother the plain in clouds. On windy nights the labourers can sleep unmolested. No mosquitoes, no heat, cool as cool can be … Without such nights once in a while, the mountain villagers would never have been able to bear up in the Chukurova. They would have died like flies. Some years remain notorious in the hamlets of the Taurus Mountains; they are remembered as the years in which the Chukurova labourers were decimated. All were years when the south wind never blew at all and the nights were continuously sultry and windless.
Feather-footed, Old Halil moved past Muhtar Sefer’s mosquito-net which tossed in the wind and came to Long Ali’s wattle-hut. The villagers lay sprawled out under the moonlight, fast asleep beside their cotton heaps. Some snored as though strangling, others in a sing-song way. From others there came a thin sound like a whimper.
In the moonlight the cotton heaps gleamed taller and whiter, casting long dark shadows eastwards. The plain, a white haze steaming milk-blue, undulated in the blowing wind, delicate, strangely enchanted. The moonlight tossed and Anavarza Castle up on the crags glinted like some outlandish jewel, its ruined dwellings now the haunt of a thousand and one wild beasts, its walls and battlements crumbling … And one of those giant men of old, the size of five men, and seven hundred years old too, seemed to be marching down into the plain.
Old Halil stood by Long Ali’s side and looked at him with pity where he lay on the ground coiled up, shrunk into a tiny ball. He’s a good lad, he thought. Good as gold. If it weren’t for that wretched Meryemdje he’d have carried me on his back, he would. When I get too old and decrepit to stand on my two legs, my own son, that mean Hadji, won’t look after me but this one will … When I die that dog of a Hadji is quite capable of burying me without even washing my body, but this one, this man lying here before me, he’ll do everything. He’ll have me buried in style, and even pay three faqihs to read the Koran over me. And if I lend him a helping hand now that he has fallen on evil days, why there’s no end to what he’ll do for me. He may even take me from that good-for-nothing Hadji’s house and invite me to live with him. If I show myself a friend, a father to him now that he is surrounded by hostile people, he’ll never forget it. He’ll see to it that I live in clover for the rest of my days.
He bent over and called softly: ‘Ali! Ali, wake up, my child.’ But Ali did not stir. Kneeling down he laid his hand gently on Ali’s brow. Ali moved to one side and moaned. Old Halil did not have the heart to wake him. He stroked his head lightly, speaking to him in a low voice, like a lullaby. ‘Wake up, my good golden-hearted son. Wake up and listen to what I have to tell you in this cruel Chukurova land, on this wild windy night … Wake up, Ali, and see what your old Uncle Halil has thought up to help you …’
In the end it was Elif who awoke. She started up dazed with sleep.
‘It’s all right, my girl,’ Old Halil said, taking her hand. ‘It’s only me, Old Halil. I’ve got something very important to say to Ali. Wake him up, will you?’
Elif leaned over and roused her husband at once. ‘Uncle Halil’s here; get up, Ali.’
Ali rubbed his eyes, surprised. ‘Welcome, Uncle Halil,’ he said. ‘We’re glad to see you.’
‘Get up, Ali; come with me to the riverside,’ Old Halil said in a conspiratorial voice. ‘I’ve just had a wonderful idea. It’ll make you jump for joy. Quietly now! Quietly, for heaven’s sake. We don’t want any of those bastards to wake up and eavesdrop on us.’ He walked off towards the river so lightly that he seemed to be gliding along.
Ali and Elif set out after him. Far in the distance at the foot of the Anavarza crags jackals were howling.
Old Halil crept into a clump of oleanders and called to them in a low voice: ‘This way, this way. No one’s seen you, have they? Come on, be quick.’ He seized Ali’s hand and drew him down beside him. ‘Sit down, sit down here,’ he hissed. ‘And you, Elif, make sure no one’s followed us.’
‘No one’s seen or heard us,’ Elif replied, sinking down beside them. ‘They’re all sleeping like the dead. It’s the first windy night we’ve had, with no mosquitoes to plague us.’
A car was passing along the road that flanked the opposite bank. It held them spitted in its headlights for a while. This put Old Halil into a flutter. ‘There!’ he cried. ‘There, they’ve found us out.’
‘It’s all right, Uncle Halil,’ Ali said. ‘The car’s on the opposite bank.’ But the old man sat up rigid with apprehension until the lights had disappeared. Then he rose, looked carefully all around to see if the coast was clear, and started to speak.
‘An old
person’s life is more brittle than cotton thread, thinner than light … Yes, my Ali, that is so. And don’t forget you gave me your word that you’d never tell Meryemdje I cried over her, never … I know you’ll keep your word, my child … Ah yes, an old person’s life can be snuffed out at the slightest whiff … Another few days and your mother will die all alone in that empty village. As for you, you can’t go back before you’ve picked enough cotton to pay back your debts to Adil Effendi. So I’ve thought of a way that’ll get you to your mother in time and also enable you to settle your debts, a way that will save Meryemdje’s life and also your neck from the rope … Now listen to me. The three of us, you, Elif and I, we’ll get up at midnight when everyone’s deep in sleep. We’ll make for the best part of the field and we’ll pick and pick and pick. Just before the others wake up we’ll come back with full sacks … Then at dawn we’ll start again with everyone else. Think, Ali! Twice as much as we’re making now. Three times, four times …’
Old Halil was very excited. He talked and talked, rising, then sitting down again, gloating over his own cleverness, bragging about the wisdom of old age. ‘Well, Ali,’ he said at last, ‘how d’you like my idea?’
‘It’s a very good idea, Uncle Halil, but it won’t work,’ Ali replied. ‘If the villagers were to catch us picking at night they’d fall upon us and beat us to death.’
Old Halil had not expected this. He had pictured Ali kissing his hands, throwing himself at his neck, weeping with gratitude … ‘Are you crazy?’ he cried. ‘Who’s to see us, let alone beat us? There’s nothing to be afraid of.’
‘It’s a very good idea, but it’s not fair to the others,’ Ali persisted. ‘Even if they don’t do anything to us, it’s their share we’d be picking; it’s stealing almost …’
Old Halil did his best. He talked himself hoarse. He scolded Ali and inveighed against the villagers. ‘What are you afraid of?’ he kept saying. ‘Who’s to see you? They’ll be dead asleep and we’ll be picking right over here, on the edge of the field …’
