Bliss: A Novel (2 page)

She had spent her entire life in this place on the shores of Lake Van, this place half town, half village. She knew each house, each tree, each bird there. Every detail of the abandoned Armenian house, two stories high, in which they lived was stamped on her mind: the granary, the simple bathroom, the earthen oven, the stable, the chicken coop, the garden, the poplars, and the courtyard. Even with her eyes closed, she could easily find the smallest thing, as if she had put it there herself. On the wooden door of their house were two knockers—one big, one small. The larger knocker was used by the men and the smaller one by the women who visited the house. The women of the household understood from the sound who was at the door, and when they heard the banging of the bigger knocker they had just enough time to cover themselves for the male visitor.

Since Meryem had never left the village or even seen the other side of the hill that was always there in front of her, she sometimes thought she knew nothing of the world. But this did not bother her. After all, she could go to the city of Istanbul anytime she liked; whenever people talked about some acquaintance or other, they always seemed to remark, “She went to Istanbul” or “He came from Istanbul.” Meryem was certain that it lay just beyond the distant hill. She had always believed if she climbed to the top, she would see the golden city about whose glories the villagers never tired of telling.

To go to a city so near might not have been difficult, but now it was quite impossible. Quite apart from going to Istanbul just over the hill, now she could not go even to the fountain, the bakery from which she used to fetch bread, the store full of sweet-smelling, colorful cloth she had been taken to by her elders, or the public bath where once a week they used to spend the whole day. She was now imprisoned in the barn into which her family had thrust her, then locked the door. An outcast, she was in solitary confinement.

Meryem could not even go to make water with her aunts and female cousins anymore. On summer evenings, after the evening meal, the women used to gather in the far corner of the backyard, squat down, and urinate—gossiping together all the while. She remembered the evening when everyone else had finished but her gentle splashes continued without stopping. “Listen to that.” Her aunt had laughed. “Meryem’s so young, yet she has so much pee!”

“Oh, Mother!” her daughter Fatma objected. “What’s the connection between being young and peeing?”

Meryem had no mother. The poor woman had died a few days after giving birth to her. Despite the protests of Gülizar, the village’s elderly midwife, who knew how little strength her mother had left, various treatments had been inflicted on her. She was hung upside down by her ankles, breathed on by the village imam, and subjected to the many folk remedies prescribed by all and sundry. After a few days, she had expired and was laid to rest in the old, overgrown graveyard outside the village, the haunt of snakes and centipedes.

In the afternoons, Meryem’s aunts and stepmother would lie on their beds in the two-story stone house. Resting their heads on soft cushions, they chatted for hours. With the exception of her mother’s twin sister, all of Meryem’s aunts were fat, their buxom bodies bulging in every direction without any definite shape.

No longer could Meryem listen to their gossip, join them in the garden, or share their meals in the kitchen. She had no right even to eat the fish from the lake. In fact, the waters of Lake Van were so alkaline no fish could live there, but the mullet caught near
Erci
, where the river flows into the lake, were delicious. Canned fish were eaten throughout the year. Meryem was now cut off from everything that might be termed enjoyment.

Her father’s third wife, Döne, brought her food occasionally, and she was permitted to relieve herself in a secluded corner of the garden. But that was all. She had no other link with the outside world, and no idea what was to become of her. Once or twice, Meryem had plucked up the courage to ask Döne, who was near to her in age, about this matter, but always received the same malevolent reply, “You know the punishment for what you did.” This only served to frighten her more; the next time Döne came, she mentioned Istanbul.

Meryem had not seen her father since the incident when the sinful part of her body had been violated. Her father was quiet and withdrawn, and her uncle dominated the family. No one, not even Meryem’s father, dared to speak freely in front of him. He was highly regarded, not only in their village but throughout the neighborhood, and visitors, bearing gifts, would often come to kiss his hand and pay their respects. Strict, quick-tempered, and intimidating, he recited verses from the Quran, invoked the
hadiths
of the Prophet Muhammad, and acted as a guide in all matters of daily life. As he was the head of the religious sect of that area, he had many followers, even in Istanbul on the other side of the hill.

It was Meryem’s uncle who had confined her to the barn. She could still hear his furious shout, “Lock up that accursed, immoral whore!” and the memory of his cruel words made her tremble even more.

As Döne was quick to tell her, Meryem had thrown the family honor into the dust. No longer could they walk through the village with their heads held high.

“What happens to girls who get into trouble like this?” Meryem had asked her stepmother.

“They get sent to Istanbul. Two or three have already gone there.”

Meryem’s fear lessened. Her punishment would only be to go over the hill there behind them. But then she noticed Döne’s expression—as if she were saying, “You’ll get what you deserve, my girl!”

Döne had always despised Meryem as much as the sin she had committed, and the sneer on her face sent a chill through Meryem. As she walked out of the barn, Döne added, “Of course, the ones who hang themselves aren’t sent away. Some have solved their problems by finding a rope.”

After her stepmother had gone, Meryem gazed at the braided halters and coiled ropes lying in heaps on the floor around her. Had they shut her in the barn so she could hang herself? The beams on the ceiling, the cross timbers, the ropes, all were ready there at hand. If someone wanted to hang herself, the barn was just the place to do it.

Meryem began to understand the implication behind Döne’s cruel words and sneering face. She must have discussed the matter with Meryem’s father. As his youngest and newest wife, who had given him two children, she had influence, while the second wife remained barren.

So this is what her family had decided her punishment should be. Meryem was to hang herself in the barn quietly, without fuss, and soon all would be forgotten. Who in this place would think of inquiring into a young girl’s death or suicide? When, previously, two young girls had hanged themselves, everyone, assuming the false mask of grief, had gossiped about it endlessly in every detail.

Meryem picked up a coil of rope that lay in one corner. The plaited cord, old and worn, unraveled in her hand. She looked at the sooty, cracked beams above, black as the deed itself. She had heard talk of how it should be done: Throw the rope over the beam and fasten one end of it with a knot, climb up on a log, make a noose in the other end, and slip it over the head. All that remained to do then was to kick the log away. Her neck might hurt a little at first, but in a couple of minutes everything would be over. Death must be like the sleep she had awoken from a little while before, but a sleep in which she would never see that terrifying phoenix.

“Do the dead dream?” Meryem wondered. No one had ever returned from the dead, so no one could know the answer to this question. Perhaps her mother was dreaming of her now, watching reproachfully as she prepared to kill herself. Of course, what mother could bear to watch her daughter commit suicide?

Meryem fingered the rope for a while before flinging it to the ground as if it were a poisonous snake.

“Go away!” she shouted.

At once she felt relieved. Something soothed her fears, and her reaction was to giggle at herself for talking to the rope.

“Don’t cry, Mother,” she said softly. “See, I didn’t kill myself.”

Then Meryem realized what it was that had changed her mind—Istanbul. According to Döne, the girls who did not hang themselves were sent to Istanbul. In that case, Meryem, like those others, would simply go over the hill to that magnificent city. “If they’d let me, I’d walk there now, all by myself,” she thought. She could probably reach the city by the end of the day, but she could not go at all unless her uncle commanded it. She would not think of running away, because he was all-knowing and had demons that told him everything, down to the smallest detail.

According to Meryem’s uncle, all human beings were sinners but women were especially accursed. To be born a woman was punishment enough in itself. Women were devils, dirty and dangerous. Like their forerunner, Eve, all of them got men into trouble. Get them constantly with child and regularly give them a good hiding, for they are a disgrace to mankind. Meryem had heard this continually as she was growing up, and so she hated being a woman. She would cry out bitterly, “Dear God, why did you make me a woman?” and constantly question it—until she was up to her neck in sin.

Life used to be easier when she was a little girl, thin as a beanpole with scrawny arms and legs. She played with the other children from dawn to dusk, running through the streets of the dusty township of stone and mud-brick houses, through the middle of which ran a polluted stream, and where broken wagons with wheels leaned against garden walls. With her cousin Cemal, who was four years older, his best friend Memo, and the other girls and boys, they even went to the lake, where they ran along the shore and splashed each other as they stood knee-deep in the water. She splattered the sides of buildings with handfuls of mud, squabbled over the skeleton cars they made from old pieces of wire, or climbed up precipitous walls to demolish bird’s nests.

When her chest sprouted twin buds and her body found its curves, when the bleeding started between her legs, she knew she was different from Cemal and Memo. They were human, and she was a transgressor. It was considered proper for her to cover herself and hide away, to serve others, and to be punished. This was the way things were. She was now one of those creatures called women, for whose transgression the world was doomed.

So Meryem’s head was covered. With a scarf on her head and every inch of her body enveloped in thick clothes, none of which she was allowed to remove, she sweated out her punishment in the heat of the sun, which in summer sometimes reached a temperature of 120. On the day she stepped into womanhood, she also understood why she had no mother. Her mother must have received her punishment by dying in childbirth. God would not have punished her if he had created her a man, because then she could not have given birth and died.

Now Meryem herself was enduring the punishment of being a woman. It must be that place of sin that was responsible for all the trouble women had to go through and all that happened to them. Meryem knew this must be true. It was that which caused sin. It was for this that punishment was given. She had prayed to God so many times to take that aperture away, hoping to find on waking up one morning that it was closed shut and gone forever. Yet, every morning, her hopes were dashed when she realized that the ugly hole was still there.

When Meryem was little and wet her bed, her aunt would always threaten to burn that part of her. Once she even lit a match and brought it close to Meryem’s legs but changed her mind at the last moment. Later, Meryem regretted that her aunt had pulled the flame away.

Meryem’s problems had all started after the visit to the tomb of
eker
Baba’s, a holy figure to whom the villagers prayed for their wishes to come true. They visited his tomb to pray and pour out their troubles, beg for cures, and leave votive offerings. When Meryem was a little girl, her aunts had taken her to visit the shrine. They even let her ride on a donkey so that she would not get tired. She must have been four or five years old at the time. The journey up the crooked path to the top of the arid hill where the tomb was located seemed to last forever as she swayed backward and forward in the saddle. When they finally reached the shrine, they found people sitting on the ground all around it, eyes closed and palms stretched upward. Bewildered, Meryem asked her aunt what they were doing but was hushed with the reply, “Ssshh, we’re going to sleep now.” Pointing to the women sitting with their eyes shut, her aunt had added, “Look, everyone’s sleeping. Go on, close your eyes and take a little nap.”