Save the Last Bullet for God (14 page)

We entered the section of the studio
reserved for us. It was a gigantic room. A lot of cameras and
special devices had been placed at such angles that their shots
wouldn’t overlap one another. in the middle of the spacious lounge,
simple but high-quality armchairs were arranged around and a low
table. The producers obviously preferred a minimalist approach.

Six doors faced the lounge. On each
door, there was a plate adorned with our respective names in black
text on a bright golden surface. The assistant told me that the
other participants had already arrived. He then led me to my room.
After leaving my luggage on the nightstand, he didn’t miss the
opportunity to wish me luck.
I owe this
nice guy an autograph,
I thought.

It was a really stylish room. Clean,
light-colored walls, a metal-gray dresser and wardrobe, a small
desk, a chair, and a night-light that filled the room with harmony.
The interior door to the bathroom and its useful contents had been
carefully selected. Nothing was missing or exaggerated. I couldn’t
help but appreciate it, as it was apparently the result of great
planning and experience.

I could see a bit of the sky and greenery
through the small window next to the bed. I stripped off my
official clothes and put on something casual, then put my luggage
and clothes into the wardrobe. I lay down peacefully on my bed,
winked at the few cameras located in the corners of the room, and
fell asleep. It was my most peaceful sleep in months.

When I woke up at noon, I was both
relieved and rested. After washing my face, brushing my teeth, and
tidying up my appearance, I moved to leave for the lounge when a
large file on the desk caught my attention.
This wasn’t here before I went to sleep,
I
thought. I picked up the file. There were tabs in the upper left
corner and my name was written on the cover.

Following the official welcome and an
explanation of the general rules of the competition, we were given
the theme of the first week and a document that explained the
challenge in depth. In an area the size of a football field, a
labyrinth had been constructed, the walls of which were
approximately three meters in height. After drawing lots to
determine the order, we would take turns racing against the clock
to find the exit.

Meanwhile, an electronic sensor would be
placed on each of us that would alert us if we passed the same
spot. If we passed it more than twice, it would end the contest.
When that happened, our distance to the exit would be recorded as
our score, and those of us closer to the exit would avoid being
eliminated. The one who was farthest away from the exit, however,
would be eliminated immediately. As for those who were able to
reach the exit, their rankings would be determined by their speed.
The staff didn’t forget to remind us that each week’s winner would
receive extra bonuses and gifts.

With the flyer in hand, I went to the
lounge. Everyone was sitting in armchairs around the table and
chatting. They seemed to have gotten over the tension of the
previous night. After getting a glass of cold water from the
fountain, I sat beside them. I soon realized that we had all gotten
the same file.

“A labyrinth! Wow—what a well-thought-out
challenge!” said Ender, the indigo boy.

“It surprised me as well,” Feryal replied.
“If they hadn’t proposed a large donation to the university, I
wouldn’t have thought about participating, but now even I’m
fascinated.”

“I hope next week they don’t expect us to
have gladiator fights,” Gizem the astrologer added.

“I expected the competition to only test our
ability to use knowledge through thought experiments,” Feryal
continued.

“This competition requires no skills. How
can you call exiting a labyrinth a test?” Fatin grumbled. “I think
it is only demonstrating the clichés and problems with such
programs.”

“It would be more accurate to put it this
way,” Feryal corrected. “During our lives, we acquire a great deal
of knowledge. We forget most, and there is a lot we don’t use, but
through it all, we gather experience and retain some information.
We take advantage of this knowledge and experience to solve the
problems we encounter in life. If we encounter a problem that we
are unable to solve at first, we learn by solving it and try to
improve ourselves in that way. In the labyrinth, we each will be
alone with the knowledge and experience we have collected up until
now.”

“What is your point?” Fatin asked, rolling
his eyes.

“Everyone here has learned different things
during different stages of life,” she continued. “The knowledge we
have gained and the extent to which we have improved ourselves can
only be determined by facing tests. With such challenges we will
learn who has acquired only empty knowledge and who has the tools
to solve real problems? This is about you and your intelligence
against everything else,” Feryal explained.

Hıdır Zaman, the cleric, took exception to
Feryal’s argument. “I think you’re exaggerating,” he said. “They
can’t be that clever. Still, the cameras are rolling, and the
viewers have probably heard what you just said. If the competition
didn’t have a stated purpose before, now the organizers can use
your explanation as its purpose.”

Fatin grinned with a hateful smile. “Is the
purpose that important?” he asked. “One of you will be eliminated
this week, and I’ll be rewarded. In the following weeks, you’ll all
be eliminated one by one in front of my eyes. So, enjoy this while
you can.”

Every program had a bad guy, and this one
had revealed himself early.

“You are only challenging us in order to
mask your own fears,” I muttered.

Everyone turned to me, and Fatin
scowled.

“I know how to get out of the labyrinth,” he
said. “Where will you be when I am out? But, still, I like you. I
don’t want you to be eliminated in the first week—your readers
might return your book.” A slight grin crept across his tick
garnished face. He was playing the classic psychological game of
intimidating one’s rivals.

Gizem, the astrologer, spoke calmly. “You
realize you have shared your existing advantage with your rivals,
thus destroying what little chance you had.”

Fatin’s expression became more aggressive. I
wondered if the viewers would like him or if he was right that he
would be one of the winners? My rivals were obviously skilled, and
didn’t have any idea how to get out of the labyrinth. Would I
discover it? Or should I just close my eyes and pray for someone
else to be eliminated? I got up, grabbed some coffee, and went to
the smoking room.

In the evening, after dinner, as I moved to
my room, I passed by the lounge and saw Hıdır, the cleric, and
Ender talking. The others weren’t around, but, as I entered my
room, it bothered me to realize that I didn’t have any sense of
belonging. I switched off the overhead light, leaving on the
night-light, and the elongated shadows set my teeth on edge. I
enhanced the darkness by closing my eyes and forced myself to relax
into sleep. My thoughts had been running constantly and I needed to
relax my mind. But I only turned over and over in bed and grew more
tired as my agitated mind kept me on the border of sleep.

I woke up early with an unpleasant metallic
taste in my mouth and a body frozen in fatigue as memories of a
dream came to me in fragments.

In my dream, I had been wandering the
streets of an unfamiliar city. Rather than feeling lost, I had a
desperate sense of not being able to find what I was looking for. I
was trying to find someone but I only wandered hopelessly without
asking for help. I gave up and went home by train, exhausted and
defeated. Then I was at a train station in another city. I was
trying to find someone in the crowd at the station. In my despair,
I fell to the ground ashamed and furious. Who was I looking for,
and why had this dream bothered me so badly?

I couldn’t remember the rest of the dream,
so I got up and noticed a paper on my table. It read as
follows:

“Dear contestant, in today’s afternoon
session, it is your turn to express your thoughts and have a
personal interview with the host. We kindly request you not be late
as this will affect the live stream.”

As I looked at the paper, some faint
letters written in pen caught my attention. Bending the paper in my
hand, I tried to reveal the thin, scraped lines in order to see
what was written. All I could see was this:
Maria O
…

After a morning chat, a few cups of coffee,
and some private thoughts on what I might say that would help me
promote my book, I went to the interview room. The host was sitting
at a table and checking his notes while waiting for me. He wore a
suit, a smart tie, and a microphone on his collar.

I greeted him and he lifted his head and
smiled at me sincerely. As he was checking his notes, he turned
over the decorative hourglass at the corner of the table. “Welcome
back,” he said. I noticed the cameras were recording and the voice
recorder was on. The spotlights grew brighter, so I straightened in
my chair, set my book beside me, and stared at the host.

“First of all, I’d like to ask you how you
like our studio and the format of the competition?” he asked.

“The studio is simple and very well
designed,” I answered enthusiastically. “It’s beyond my
expectations. So far, everything has worked smoothly. But the
competition is really tough. It will not be easy to stand out among
the others. My first priority, though, is to use this opportunity
to promote my book and talk about my discovery. However, that
doesn’t mean that I want to give up and be eliminated in the first
week.”

“No one ever wants to lose,” the host said,
“especially since the rewards of such a competition are so big,
right?” Then, he gave me an opening. “Please tell us about your
book and your discovery.”

It was as if somebody had pushed my “on”
button. I began the speech I had prepared and presented to myself
countless times.

“Everything began with a question about a
bookworm…,” I started.

The host was taking notes now, sometimes
listening to me and sometimes interjecting with short questions. It
helped as I could get an idea of the viewers’ reactions by watching
him.

As I continued, I began to notice that his
glances got sharper, he asked fewer questions, his curiosity
increased, and he took notes more frequently. I had already lost
myself in my explanation; I was lining up the blank pages I’d torn
out one after another, describing the planes, showing the locations
of the disjointed letters at the edges of papers, and helping him
to visualize the three-dimensional version of the image. When the
last particle of sand fell into the bottom of the hourglass, I
still had more to tell and hoped the viewers were still listening,
but the host stopped me. He provided a ratings guarantee by saying
that he, like all the viewers, was looking forward to the next
interview.

A little bit tired and sweaty, I happily
returned to the lounge. The lounge was empty except for Gizem, the
astrologer, who occupied herself at the table drawing star
maps.

I drank a glass of water and then, after
getting a coffee from the dispenser, I sank into one of the
comfortable chairs. Gizem lifted her head, and we caught each
other’s eyes and exchanged a smile.

“How was the interview?” she asked.

“I think it went really well. I was able to
tell what I wanted to tell, and I didn’t have trouble or get too
exhausted.”

“I’m glad,” she replied.

I tried to change the subject. “Where are
the others?”

“They were here. After chatting for a while,
they went to their rooms. You don’t seem to like them much.”

Her comment surprised me, but I played it
off by asking her opinion.

Gizem stood up and moved to sit near me.

“So many of my life experiences have showed
me that there are things to discover and share with all human
beings,” she said. “But now I’m tired. Everything has gotten
faster, and they are moving toward the inevitable. The feeling that
there is nothing much I can do weighs heavy on my shoulders.”

“Are you talking about the others?” I
asked.

“No. Not that. I’m talking about what’s
coming,” she responded.

I remembered then who I was talking to. I
looked at her paper with its star maps and suddenly understood her
concern. I tried to reassure her.

“What if this is only something we think
about to distract ourselves. What if we decide to welcome the
morning of December 22 with a smile?” I asked.

She lifted her hands and laughed. “Then we
continue playing the extra time,” she said with a smile. “I sense
there is something special about you, young man.”

Young man
was
a compliment that I enjoyed hearing at my age. Gizem paused, as if
she was trying to find the correct words. Then, she continued as if
she had decided not to finish her thought. “Come on, let’s look at
your fortune,” she said. “It’s quiet now and we can relax a
bit.”

The shadows in the lounge had grown longer
with the approaching evening, and I realized the only thing that
would make me relax would be a sea view and a faintly burning
fireplace. I thought of Elif.

“So,” Gizem began, stretching out the
word.

I looked at her again and smiled. “Let’s see
what happens,” I said. “Even if my reading doesn’t reveal much, I
very much believe in fortune.”

“Then give me your hand, young man, and let
yourself rest in the silence…”

She pointed at my right hand and I extended
it to her, palm up. I felt the touch of her dry, thin, bony fingers
accompanied by the feeling of a strange, electrical sting. Or was
it my imagination? As the astrologer held my hand and looked at it
at length, she looked like someone who had been doing this for a
long time. As minutes followed seconds, she didn’t utter a word.
Then, suddenly staring at me, she let go of my hand and looked at
me with disappointment.