The Serenity Murders (17 page)

I put a friendly hand on his shoulder and gave him a good shake.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

I placed a tiny kiss on his cheek to make peace and calm him down.

We began walking again—now not saying a word.

Outside the apartment building was a cardboard box waiting for the trash collectors. Inside it I spotted the boomerang I had bought for Ponpon and brought as a gift all the way from Australia. Magical words had been inscribed on the boomerang by the Aborigines, who believed that the time a boomerang spent in the air before returning to the thrower would become additional moments added to the thrower’s life span. I’d gone to the trouble of schlepping it halfway around the world, and it was sheer ingratitude for Ponpon to chuck it during her spring cleaning.

I felt rotten.

I peeked into the box a bit more carefully to see what else she had thrown out. There was an undamaged coffee mug, a checkered patterned tin box, the old kitchen curtain, in a creased ball…Thankfully, nothing else that I had given her.

When Ponpon opened the door to find me standing in front of her, she stared as if in reproach.

“I can’t believe my eyes!”

What was it that she couldn’t believe? There I was, and she already knew Hüseyin. He had dropped her off at home several times after she’d been over for a visit.

“
Ayolcuğum
, just look at yourself! I wouldn’t go to my next-door neighbor for a morning coffee dressed like that.”

“Nice to see you too,” I said, stepping in. “I’m in disguise.”

“But you look dreadful…”

Clearly, she wanted to prolong the topic. I, on the other hand, was in no mood to discuss the attire I had donned for my visit to Hüseyin’s. I was still feeling rotten about the boomerang.

“We didn’t have much choice,” I said.

“And you say you’ve got nothing to hide from me…You see! You’ve been unmasked,
ayolcuğum
. The you I know is always elegant, always classy. Even if you don’t keep up with the latest fashion trends, you’re always smart and attractive. But just look at you now! You look like an ironmonger at the Thursday Market.”

One could only drop so many bricks in a single sentence. Hüseyin’s father was an ironmonger. It didn’t matter if he worked at the Thursday Market or not; I saw that the insult had stung Hüseyin. Of course, Ponpon couldn’t have known this.

“I picked it out at his place,” Hüseyin said sulkily. “My father is an ironmonger!

“Ohhh, no!
Ay
, I’m so sorry, darlings. I swear I didn’t mean it like that. It’s simply my silly rudeness! Ignore me. I sometimes speak without thinking, and then I make such faux pas.
Ay
, I’m so ashamed.”

She really was. I was seeing Ponpon blush for the first time in a long time.

And now, to make amends, she’d drown Hüseyin in compliments, treat him to various delicacies, find a way to give him a gift, and so on and so forth. The thing she liked giving away as a present
most was her own portrait. Signed and framed. With a sweet look on her face, or her lips puckered up in a kiss, all the lines on her face smoothed out, an ageless Ponpon in full makeup! The frames sometimes even come in silver, depending upon the importance of the person and the gravity of the occasion. She then expects her portrait to be displayed in the most privileged, honored corner of the recipient’s home. How many Ponpon portraits could any one sensible person possibly have in her home?

But, unlike Ponpon, I didn’t go chuck them in the bin for the whole world to see!

Ponpon immediately brought the note and the chip she’d been calling a rosette. We were now back on track.

The note had again been typed up on a computer, and printed right in the center of an A4 page, in large, classic Times New Roman font. I was sure there were no fingerprints on the envelope or the note itself. I put the note aside.

It was impossible to learn anything from the chip just by looking at it. I’d only figure what it was once I placed it inside a computer.

“This is a computer chip,” I said, turning it over in my hand.

“Which means?” said Hüseyin.

“I don’t know yet,” I said. “We’ll see once we’ve put it in a computer.”

I wanted to go home as soon as possible to find out what was on the chip. I moved to get up.

“Nooo, you’re not going anywhere!” said Ponpon. “You just got here. I won’t have it, cream puff. You can’t just get up and leave. Now, I’m going to give you each a rice pudding.”

Ponpon had gone on and on about my clothes, had ridiculed Hüseyin and his family, even if it was unintentional, and had carelessly discarded the present I had brought her. I was on edge and impatient as it was.

“Don’t call me cream puff!” I said.

“
Ayolcuğum
, what’s wrong with me calling you cream puff? Cream puff, cream puff, cream puff! There!”

On the last “cream puff” she had stamped her feet like an obstinate child. She stuck out her bottom lip and crossed her arms. Her chin rose into the air imperiously.

She couldn’t help but be hilarious! With the way she talked, the words she chose, her behavior and lifestyle, and her attitude toward life, Ponpon has always been the antidote to a rational and consequently boring life. And yet again she had managed to make me laugh and unwind.

Besides, she makes one scrumptious rice pudding. We decided to stay.

Foodwise, I was having one delicious day.

I
t was a good thing I’d given my mobile phone number to only a select few. Now that I’d turned it on, the thing was ringing off the hook! It was as if every person who had my number had wasted no time in sharing it with everyone and his brother. Every time I picked it up thinking it might be our psycho, the name of someone already saved or an unfamiliar number appeared on the screen. I couldn’t answer them all. I was now a famous person who was learning the hardships of fame! With a press of my thumb, I let them know I was unavailable.

I could hardly imagine the bombardment to which my home phone, or rather, my answering machine, had been subjected. After all, that number
was
common knowledge.

We got caught in the evening rush-hour traffic as we tried to make our way home from Nişantaşı.

As we idled, my mind was busy pondering what favor I could possibly ask my new Mafia connection Cemil Kazancı for. I had to think of something good. It had to serve my purposes and help me in my current plight.

I looked at my phone: some insistent unknown number was ringing me for the third time. I answered, ready to deliver a scolding to someone who had the wrong number.

It was Andelip Turhan, the tarot card reader.

“Sorry for disturbing you, but there’s something I have to tell you, and it’s something important to me…” she said. “And it should be to you too.”

I had no choice but to listen.

“I see you in every tarot reading I do. It’s not normal. The cards are trying to tell me something, but I don’t get it. Why you? And there’s someone with you. A man, not quite your lover. You’re in a dangerous situation. Maybe it hasn’t happened yet, but it will soon. Every time I flip your cards, I’m filled with anxiety. My chest feels heavy. As if…”

My Reiki master Gül had already told me that Andelip Turhan really was actually a medium with advanced precognition, and that she only used the tarot pack as a secondary means of confirming her visions. From what she was saying, it seemed that the woman who walked around with boxer shorts on her head was seeing or sensing the situation Hüseyin and I were in. As for her definition of my relationship with Hüseyin, that was particularly apt.

“The signals I’m getting aren’t so strong from afar. I can’t see clearly enough. It’s always easier in the person’s presence, when I can have physical contact. Please come to my place, and bring your boyfriend with you. I have to read your cards. I’m constantly preoccupied with the two of you. I’m incapable of reading anyone else’s cards. I’m stuck. I can’t stay like this. I can’t sleep at night.”

“It’s a bit late to come over tonight,” I responded resignedly.

I was planning to go straight home and investigate the chip. It was going to take time to fit it into the computer, put it through security tests, and open it. If the chip turned out to be problematic, if it required further auxiliary programs to run, then the whole endeavor really would be a challenge and could take all night.

“I’ll be expecting you, no matter how late,” she said. “I always stay up late anyway. Besides, I can’t sleep in the state that I’m in. Like I told you, my mind is absolutely stuck on you two.”

From the determination in her voice, I could tell that she was not going to accept no for an answer.

“But I can’t say when.”

“Well, then don’t,” she said. “Just call me to say you’re coming. I’ll be waiting.”

As if the day hadn’t been busy and exhausting enough already, there I was with yet another appointment lined up: a tarot reading with Andelip Turhan.

I told Hüseyin the good news.

“Turkey’s most famous tarot specialist, the medium Andelip Turhan, is going to read your cards tonight.”

He gave me a strange look, as if I were insane.

When the car behind us honked, Hüseyin shifted into first gear and turned his attention back to the road.

My mind wandered back to my new Mafia connection. What could I ask Cemil Kazancı for? Something befitting his power and connections…

At home, my answering machine was flashing away as I’d expected, but first I had to change my clothes. I’d started feeling like a proper ironmonger. Being an ironmonger wouldn’t be as bad as Ponpon had implied, but one could hardly argue it would be an appropriate profession for Audrey Hepburn and me.

The best thing would be to peel off my disguise and go nude; however, there was Hüseyin. If I traipsed around the apartment nude, I’d not be able to help seducing him. But what could I wear? I didn’t feel like wearing anything manly. I’d gone around dressed like that all day. My hand went for the baby-pink shorts; I slipped them on without thinking twice. Then I pulled on my white Bearded Barbie T-shirt; the neck and arms had been cut off using nail clippers, thus leaving them scraggly with strings dangling here and there—very à la mode.

It would have been good to have had a shower before getting down to work, but my curiosity overpowered my wish for cleanliness.
Hüseyin waited impatiently, pacing up and down and getting in my way, excited as if he were about to witness something extraordinary for the very first time.

“Let’s listen to the messages first,” I said.

The phone rang before I had a chance to push the play button. I didn’t want another surprise like Andelip Turhan. I decided not to answer it, for the time being, at least. I could always change my mind once I’d heard who it was.

As soon as I heard our psycho’s now all too familiar, mechanically deep voice say, “I know you two are home. Answer the phone,” I lifted up the handset.

“Well, well, well,” I said, sounding light and unconcerned, but with an edge. “Look who’s calling! If it isn’t our psycho liar!”

He had to be expecting this. The news that the hit man who shot Süheyl Arkın had been caught was all over the news.

Still there was a moment’s pause.

Hüseyin held his breath as he listened to the phone, which I had put on speaker. After all, this whole thing did involve him too.

“There’s been a misunderstanding,” said the voice.

“What kind of a misunderstanding,
ayol
? You said you did it, but it’s been proven that it wasn’t you who shot Süheyl Arkın. How could that be a misunderstanding? Next thing you know, we’ll find out Master Sermet poisoned himself by accident. You’re nothing but a lousy opportunist!”

“Hey, slow down!” he said.

“
You
slow down! It must have been very convenient for you to take responsibility for something you didn’t do. You probably thought you’d be scarier. You poor, pitiful soul!”

I intended to push his buttons; he’d gotten on my nerves and it was payback time.

“Then you still haven’t found the clues I left for you,” he said menacingly, trying to grab the upper hand.

No, I’d found no clues.

“Take a good look around your home!” he said. “I’d expect you to be more perceptive.”

I quickly scanned my surroundings. There was nothing out of the ordinary in sight.

“I’ll give you until midnight. Then I’m going to call again. If you haven’t made any progress, well, you’ll have a surprise in store!”

And with that, he hung up.

This man’s surprises always turned out less than enjoyable. I wasn’t sure I wanted a new one.

That’s when Hüseyin, his eyes filled with panic again, asked, “How does he know we’re back home?”

Good question.

“He must be spying on us.”

Hüseyin ran over to the window and looked out. He looked hopeful, as if he’d spot the psycho instantly. I walked over next to him. There was no one standing in the street spying on our apartment. In fact, there was no one at all. The view was one of cramped apartment buildings as far as the eye could see. The usual Cihangir view. There were as many windows with lights on as there were with lights out. A nestled Cihangir extended before us, with the chic district of GümüŞsuyu to the right, and farther on the cozy and bohemian neighborhood of Setüstü at its edge. Narrow streets, not one of which was straight, not one of which ran parallel to another, streets that curled like worms, and apartment buildings of staggered heights, all joined in the darkness of nighttime shadows. Anyone possessing one of those Korean-made telescopes sold at the underpass in Karaköy, or even a crappy pair of binoculars, could have been watching the house right now.