Bliss: A Novel (38 page)

“What really happened to that bird?”

“Come with me.” The ambassador grinned.

He took the professor to his room. He had placed the sparrow on a bed of cotton in a birdcage.

“I wasn’t wrong,” he said. “It was the parents that threw the poor thing out of the nest, but I won’t let it die.”

*   *   *

Meryem was lying in bed in a small dim room with only a tiny window. She could not get used to her bed and was tossing and turning. This house reminded her of the vineyard cabin near her village. Whenever she closed her eyes and began to doze, she thought she was in that cabin and kicked wildly in the air to repulse the black-bearded shadow bearing down on her, but the sinister shadow did what it wanted and made the place between her legs bleed. Then she began to moan. The sound of her own voice woke her, and she found herself soaked in sweat.

The part of her brain that was working soundly whispered to her that even in the barn she had not suffered so much. Much time had elapsed since then, and she was far away from the village. Just when she thought she had forgotten everything, how could the horrifying memories return to haunt her?

Meryem tried to make her mind numb and expel these images from her mind to become as pure as a child once more. Yet, she could not manage it.

As Cemal squatted in a corner of the garden and watched the two drunken men, his hatred swelled to the point of bursting. Those two were laughing together—maybe even making fun of him—and talking in a language he did not understand. It was clear that they despised him, as though he were lower than a farmhand or a servant in the east.

Yet it was the heroism of Cemal and his comrades that allowed such men to live comfortably in this country. If Abdullah could see these two repulsive alcoholics, he would question whether they were worth sacrificing an eye or a leg for.

In Cemal’s opinion they were not. The professor, in particular, was a traitor. He flew a foreign flag—larger than the Turkish one—on his boat. Every night, Cemal changed their places and put the glorious Turkish flag above the other, which, to him, resembled pajamas with its red and blue stripes. The next day, İrfan would say that it was against maritime rules and put the Turkish flag back in its former place. Cemal would not say anything, but at night, he would change the flags over again. The most important thing was the nation’s flag. After so many of his brave comrades had become martyrs for their country, what maritime rule could prevent the Turkish flag from blowing in the wind above the foreign flag?

The next morning, Cemal found an opportunity to show the professor and the ambassador some of his photos from the mountains. In one of the pictures, Cemal was seen on the crest of a hill in his commando uniform, with his bandolier and cartridge belt, and his G3 gun pointing in the air. The photo had been taken from below. There were clouds in the background, and Cemal had raised his head with pride.

The two men did not pay much attention to Cemal’s photographs; they gave them a cursory glance and handed them back. No matter what he did, they were not interested in him. If they had only asked, he could have talked about the war for hours.

WHAT DID THE DONKEY SAY?

For three days, the scent of orange blossom, which had become almost sticky in the heavy air, enveloped all of them. Not only were the ambassador and İrfan, indefatigable in their consumption of whisky, intoxicated by the odor, but so was Cemal, who spent his time dozing lazily on the boat or in the garden.

The scent came in through the open window of Meryem’s dim room, suffused her body like a balm, and healed her wounds. Compassion had turned into the scent of orange blossom pervading her room. The intense fragrance caressed her hair like Bibi’s hand. In the rare moments when she half opened her eyes, she had visions of butterflies. Butterflies with dark blue wings and yellow spots flew above her head, landed on her face and hair, and covered her blanket.

Within a few days, the scent of the orange blossom and the vision of the butterflies brought Meryem back to health. She woke up with a tremendous feeling of boundless energy and well-being and sat up. Her bones ached, but she devoured the food the professor had left for her while she was sleeping.

Tearing off her clothes as if they were hospital garments soiled with sweat and blood, she jumped out of bed. Her head did not ache anymore, and her body felt weightless. As she opened the shutters and let the sunshine fill the room, her arms and legs responded as though she were floating through water.

She saw the sun rise in a crimson cloud behind a nearby hill. From their nests in the cypress trees, the sparrows chirped nonstop. Her happiness overflowed. On the chair in front of the bed, she saw a white dress. It must be a surprise gift from the professor. After admiring herself in the mirror in her new white dress, she went downstairs.

There was no one to be seen. It was too early for anyone to be awake. She went out into the garden and walked to the jetty. She watched the boat, which had become like home to her, sway gently in the morning breeze. She looked around at the orange trees as if witnessing a miracle. How could this fragrance be so pervasive? It was even more enticing than the smell of jasmine.

As Meryem walked around the garden, she discovered a chicken coop. Like a child, she joyfully collected the warm eggs. Back in the kitchen, she made tea, boiled the eggs, and set the table for breakfast in the garden.

The first to wake up was the ambassador. Still groggy from sleep, he did not recognize Meryem at first. In her white dress, so fresh and lively, she seemed a completely different girl. Then he noticed the breakfast table. “You did all that!” he said in surprise.

“Yes!” said Meryem proudly, as she poured the tea.

As they were eating, the ambassador asked Meryem, “Were you seasick?”

“Possibly,” she replied.

“Had you ever sailed on a boat before?”

“No. I was in a rowboat on Lake Van once, but that was different.”

“I get seasick, too,” said the ambassador. “That’s why I don’t go sailing.”

“It’s so beautiful here,” said Meryem, looking around. “It’s like heaven.”

Cemal came down a little later. Glancing surreptitiously at the girl, he took his seat at the table. In a little while, the professor also arrived. He was glad to see Meryem, but refrained from giving her a hug.

Looking down at her dress, the girl said, “Thank you.”

“It suits you,” replied İrfan. The dress of fine cotton he had bought in the local market fluttered in the morning breeze like a wedding gown.

Two days passed happily by. No one disturbed anyone else. The ambassador read books in his room, the professor went to the village and sat in the teahouse by the sea, Meryem hoed and watered the sweet basil, mint, tomatoes, and parsley the ambassador had planted, and Cemal either fished from the jetty or went to the village.

The ambassador did not allow fish to be fried in the house since the odor would linger for as long as three days. Cemal could not bring home the fish he caught. Instead, he removed the hooks from their mouths and threw them back into the sea. However, this was not enough to prevent him from fishing; to count how many he had caught was satisfaction enough.

During the long hours on the pier, he brooded about his future. He had no money, no job, and no home. He could not live in this house forever. He was unable to decide if he should go back to his village or go to Istanbul to try to find work there, perhaps as a security guard. Selahattin had told Cemal that if the girl were not with him, it would be easy for him to find a job. Ex-commandos were hired as guards by all the big banks and companies, and they got paid well. Would it be such a bad idea to leave the girl here and go to Istanbul? But would these men accept her as their responsibility?

One day when he was immersed in his thoughts, Cemal realized that he no longer thought about Emine or yearned to be with her, a discovery that did not disturb him much. He had left his village far behind, together with everyone and everything that belonged to his past, except for Meryem.

*   *   *

In the evening, they all ate together. Then İrfan and the ambassador would drink whisky and talk for hours, using words neither Meryem nor Cemal understood.

Sometimes, Meryem or the professor prepared the food, but mostly it was the ambassador who cooked. They often had spaghetti. The ambassador would pour olive oil and sprinkle sweet basil over the noodles.

One evening, when the ambassador had a pot full of water on the stove, the gas ran out. “Oof!” said the old man. “We can’t buy a canister of gas at this time of day. The shops in the village are closed. We’d have to find someone to open up for us.”

Meryem immediately came up with a solution: “There’s bottled gas on the boat.”

The ambassador looked at the girl in amazement.

“I’ll go and get it,” said Cemal.

“There’s no need to bring it here,” Meryem responded. “We can take the pot to the boat, cook the noodles, and bring them here.”

Cemal was irritated. “It’s easier to bring the gas,” he said. “We might need it later for making tea or something.”

The girl and the boy faced each other angrily. Then they both turned to the ambassador, as if waiting for him to decide who was right. The atmosphere was tense. Any answer he gave would upset either Meryem or Cemal.

The ambassador hesitated briefly, then said, “Let’s eat out tonight. Forget about the gas. There’s a family from the southeast living nearby who make special pancakes and serve them in their garden.”

Everyone relaxed, and they set out along the sandy road to the village.

It was not far to a place where naked bulbs could be seen hanging underneath an awning. The family from the southeast had repaired the house, placed a few simple wooden tables and chairs in the garden, and begun to make and sell the traditional pancakes of their hometown. Foreign tourists, in particular, loved the food prepared by the mother of the family, her head swathed in a clean white muslin scarf. She made the dough, rolled it thin, then baked it on an iron sheet; the two sons served the customers, and the father with his bushy moustache sat at the cash register. Recently, many such places had sprung up in towns along the Aegean and Mediterranean coasts.

Meryem became nostalgic when she smelled the fresh odor of pancakes baking on the hot metal tray. She recalled how, as a child, she used to watch the bread baking in the backyard and later enjoy the triangular flaky pastries spread with butter. As soon as she arrived there, she had sensed that this was a place that would arouse her feelings.

As they ate their food, they could hear the sound of the waves. Otherwise, there was only silence since the father had told his sons to turn off the radio as soon as he saw the ambassador. He did not want to make the old man angry.

Meryem listened to the unending conversation between İrfan and the ambassador.

“What about wars and massacres?” asked İrfan. “Do you think they’re games, too?”

“Yes. They’re all games.”

“Mass murders, world wars, atom bombs?”

“Games … childish games—if you look at it from the point of view of the cosmos. Think about the recent Kardak crisis between Turkey and Greece. If you consider the matter from the military point of view of both countries, war might seem reasonable. But try to consider it from the point of view of the goats on Kardak island: a lot of men roaring in on assault boats, dirtying the sea with diesel fuel, and destroying the peace of centuries. They erect a pole with a blue cloth on the rocks and leave. Then some other men come on boats just as noisy and replace the blue cloth with a red one. What is it, if it isn’t a game? Human beings belong to the category of mammals, yet they try to turn themselves into something else. But no animal can survive outside its biological rules. A donkey has to live like a donkey, a snake like a snake, and a human being like a human being. However, the latter falls into error through his own strength by trying to become something else, forcing himself to change his nature. This is the real reason for unhappiness and war. In short, my friend, a human has to live like a human and a donkey like a donkey.”

The ambassador paused and turned to Meryem and Cemal. “Do you understand what I’m talking about?” he asked.

“A donkey has to live like a donkey,” Cemal repeated.

“Meryem understands everything,” İrfan said. “She understands whatever you say.”

“
She
understands everything,” Cemal muttered. “Who do they think they’re fooling?”

Then the ambassador said, “Let’s play a game. If you’re all so smart, then solve this riddle by tomorrow.”

The professor looked at the ambassador as if he wanted to say that it was not the right time or place for a game. “Don’t look at me like that,” said the ambassador. “You, too, are bound to find me the answer.”

Meryem and Cemal listened attentively as the old man spoke.

“A great sultan summons his two sons to his deathbed. He tells them that he will die soon and does not want his realm to be divided. ‘However,’ he continues, ‘you shall not fight between yourselves about who is to be the new ruler. Tomorrow, both of you will go to the hunting lodge an hour’s distance from here, and you will return the following day. Whoever’s horse enters the city last will become sultan.’ At once, each of the two princes begin to consider the problem. A race to come first would have been easy, but in what way would it be possible to enter the city last? They go to the hunting lodge and eventually find a solution. Now, you have until tomorrow morning for the most intelligent of you to come up with the answer.”

Everyone was silent, trying to puzzle it out.

As she was finishing her pancakes and buttermilk, Meryem heard a donkey bray. The sound came from behind the house. Meryem stood up and walked in the direction of the sound. Behind the tumbledown house was a garden planted with vegetables. Two dogs lay there lazing in the sun, and a donkey stood tied to a tree, braying from some unknown discomfort. Meryem went over to it, stroked its head, and whispered something in its ear. She could feel the hardness of the skin under its harsh coat. This backyard smelled like the poplar garden at home. A strange feeling welled up inside her as she heard someone coming. It was the dark-eyed boy with a lock of hair falling over his forehead, the boy who had served them.