Missing Rose (9781101603864) (11 page)

“No, He doesn't. But He may send the answers in unexpected ways. Sometimes through a dream, sometimes a rose, perhaps a mother or even a beggar.”

“A beggar!”

“Did I say something wrong, my dear?”

Diana didn't know what to say. She wanted to believe that what Zeynep Hanim had said was only a coincidence. Trying to hide her astonishment, she gestured that Zeynep Hanim should continue.

“Just like you, Diana, Mary hasn't heard any news of her mother yet. But she certainly will. And not the news that she lost her mother but the news that she'll never lose her.”

“And how will that happen?” Diana asked, her voice breaking.

“If God so wishes, anything can happen. If God so wills, just to send Mary news of her mother, sixty-seven years ago, a man and a woman fall in love. They get married, and two years later, a daughter is born to them. Even though the doctor says this premature infant can't live, the baby survives and flourishes. Many years later, as a grown woman, in the course of one of her journeys to far-off countries, she meets an old gardener. This gardener tells her that he can teach her how to hear roses. She believes him, and for the next twenty years she dedicates herself to the art of hearing roses. During this time, she goes through many difficulties. Solely on account of this ‘madness' of hers, her husband leaves her, she is rejected by the people around her and is left with no choice but to move away from her hometown, finally coming to Istanbul. Here, she buys a house with a garden and spends all her time with her roses. Within a short while, the seeds sown in her heart by the old gardener put forth shoots, and finally she is able to hear roses.

“Do you know why all these events and the many others going on around them occur, Diana? Perhaps simply because God wishes to make Mary hear her mother's voice through a rose. It's for this reason a Zeynep is born, a garden is created and a rose blooms . . .”

Although Diana thought Zeynep Hanim was speaking eloquently, since what she said was all based on the assumption that Mary could hear her mother's voice, Zeynep Hanim's words fell short of consoling her.

“Very well,” Zeynep Hanim said. “That will do both for mathematics and as an introduction. I've talked myself hoarse; let's have a break, and we'll meet back here in thirty-three minutes, okay?”

“All right,” Diana said. “But first, I have a question: What song were the roses singing?”

“I can't tell you that,” Zeynep Hanim said. “If I did, you wouldn't strive to hear them yourself.”

29

W
HEN THEY RETURNED
to their stools, Zeynep Hanim said, “Now, Diana, I'd like you to go to that fountain over there, wash your head thoroughly and then come back here.”

“But I washed my hair just this morning.”

“I can see that, dear. Now please go and wash your head.”

Shrugging her shoulders, Diana walked across to the fountain. The water was ice-cold and she couldn't avoid splashing her clothes. As she shivered in the cool morning air, she felt glad she hadn't come there in winter. After wringing the water out of her hair and combing it through with her fingers, she returned to her stool like an obedient schoolgirl.

“Now, Diana, I'd like you to go to that fountain over there, wash your head thoroughly and then come back here.”

For a minute Diana felt as though she were experiencing déjà vu. It wasn't just the words that had been repeated, but the expression on Zeynep Hanim's face was also the same as before. Diana sat glued to her seat for a minute without saying a word.

Unable to resist the stern look in Zeynep Hanim's eyes, she went back to the fountain and washed her head again. As she headed back to her stool, she feared the possibility that Zeynep Hanim might again ask her to do the same thing.

“There you go,” Zeynep Hanim said. “Now that's done, we can begin. Oh, before I forget, if this lesson goes well, I have a surprise for you in the next one.”

“What kind of surprise?”

“Didn't I say it was a surprise?”

“I see . . . By the way, am I allowed to ask questions in the garden?”

“Of course you are. Only, I should tell you that you don't need to understand the reason behind everything we do in the garden to achieve your goal. If you don't forget what you experience here, sooner or later, all your questions will be answered.

“During our time in the garden, you're both the student and the teacher. You already have all the answers. As I said earlier, at one time you even had the ability to hear roses. I'm just here to remind you of the things you've forgotten, that's all. Hearing roses is easy. Very easy. All you have to do is either recall what you've forgotten, or forget all you've been taught.”

“But I still want to know why my hair had to be wet!”

“Every question in the garden is like a seed, Diana. In time, it grows roots, stems and buds, and finally blossoms. I can assure you, you'll never forget for the rest of your life that one cool morning you had to wash your already clean hair twice. Once something is lived it can never be like it was not lived. And the experience of having lived it will sooner or later give you the answer you've been looking for. But this time, let me answer your question for you: I wanted you to wash your head because that head belonged to Diana.”

“But I
am
Diana!”

“Didn't we agree to wipe out the résumé?”

“Well, why did I have to wash it the second time, then?”

“After the first time, you were freed of Diana's hairstyle. But the mind that gave your hair that shape was still there.”

“Oh, so by washing it the second time, I stopped thinking like Diana, is that it?” she asked with a skeptical smile. “I don't mean to judge, but all this sounds too formalistic.”

“You're right; you can't cleanse the mind with water from a fountain. But it's a symbol. Silent at the moment, but if you don't disregard it, one day it'll speak to you. A print placed in your heart. It may not be apparent now, but when the right time comes, it'll be manifest.”

“When is the right time?”

“Perhaps the day you finally realize that the things you know can no longer help you. Or perhaps when you realize that awareness is like a ladder and in order to climb higher, you shouldn't retread the steps you've left behind.”

Diana, anxious to see the garden, refrained from asking any more questions.

30

I
N SPITE OF
bending her head, Diana still hit it on the lintel of the door. But at least there really was a garden on the other side.

A thin mist, pearly pink in the early morning light, covered everything, giving the garden an air of mystery, yet the mist was still unable to conceal the garden's rainbow colors. A narrow path of hexagonal tiles wound its way among the roses. The light breeze made the roses sway in harmony with the nightingales flying above. Only the sound of the birds and the gentle murmur of the water in the marble pool broke the silence.

Diana stood for a moment with her eyes half shut, inhaling the perfume in the air. With each breath, she felt as if she was being drawn closer to some heavenly place. But she returned to reality as Zeynep Hanim took off her shoes and started to rub her bare feet in the earth.

“Come, dear,” Zeynep Hanim said, “you do the same.”

Assuming the same attitude she'd had when going to the fountain, Diana took off her shoes and did as she was told.

“I know asking this won't make any difference, but I still want to know why I now have a pair of dirty feet.”

“The roses are always wary lest the beauty of a gift should make them forget the giver.”

“Of course!” Diana said. “Why didn't I think of that?”

“Roses never, not even for a moment, forget that their existence and beauty are gifts from the earth. They are well aware that when their time comes, they'll fade and fall to the earth as seeds, and that the earth will only accept the seeds of the roses which haven't forgotten where they've come from. By touching the earth with our bare feet, we show the roses that we haven't forgotten the earth, either. Roses appreciate this.”

Zeynep Hanim put her sandals back on.

“Everything we've talked about so far has only been a preparation for the quest to hear roses. Up till now, all has been about us, the seekers. But in the garden, the seeker must no longer exist but become completely absorbed in the roses. We must give them all we have, our minds, our hearts, our souls—everything. So, Diana, if you're ready, we can begin.”

Diana nodded.

“Very well, then . . . What do you know about roses?” Zeynep Hanim asked.

“Nothing, from the way you see them. Absolutely nothing.”

“Excellent. That's always the best start. So now I can tell you the golden rule for hearing roses.”

“Golden rule?”

“The golden rule says: Know thy rose.”

Zeynep Hanim delicately caressed the petals of the orange rose on her left before continuing. “One can only learn about a rose from a rose. That's the only way to truly know her.”

They began to walk toward the center of the garden. After a while, Zeynep Hanim stopped suddenly and bent down toward the yellow rose in front of her. “What's the matter, Yellow Flower? I've never seen you cry before. Why are you weeping in the garden of happiness?”

Diana watched Zeynep Hanim closely. The rose didn't utter a sound, but Zeynep Hanim seemed to listen to it intently, nodding her head from time to time as if in agreement.

“I'm so sorry, I had no idea, Yellow Flower,” she said to the rose. “If our guest agrees, I'd like to hear your story from the beginning.”

Zeynep Hanim turned to Diana. “Yellow Flower is very sad today. Would you mind staying for a little while and listening to what she has to say?”

“What do you mean? You know I can't hear it.”

“I'll tell you what Yellow Flower is saying as she tells me her story.”

“Well, I'll feel a bit strange, but okay.”

Diana sat down on the ground where Zeynep Hanim pointed, tucking her legs underneath her. What did she care if her white jeans got dirty if by sitting there she could offer some emotional comfort to a rose!

Zeynep Hanim turned to the rose. “She's Diana, Mary's twin.”

“Glad to meet you, Diana,” Yellow Flower said, speaking through Zeynep Hanim. “I'd have thought she was Mary herself if the little nightingale hadn't told me otherwise.”

“Glad to meet you, too,” Diana said, as if talking to herself.

“Well, Yellow Flower,” Zeynep Hanim said, “tell us what's making you so sad.”

“I'm so sorry,” Yellow Flower said. “I know you're used to seeing roses happy in this garden, but today is the anniversary of the day my old friend Venus lost her scent. I get like this once a year, forgive me . . .”

“There's nothing to forgive, Yellow Flower,” Zeynep Hanim said. “Sometimes happiness expresses itself best through the tears shed for a friend. But tell us, how did this happen? I would never have thought that a friend of yours could lose her scent.”

“Well,” Yellow Flower said. “Let me begin by telling you about the first scented rose, the one from which our kind originated, since this is closely related to the tragedy Venus lived through.

“One day, the Sultan of our kingdom wished to create a rose which would carry his own special scent. So he sprinkled the soil of his garden with the royal perfume. Later, he watered the garden with the elixir of life, so that his rose would never fade. And when it finally bloomed, he called it ‘The Rose of Nothingness.' Our Sultan chose this name deliberately, so that his rose would never forget it had no scent independent of the Sultan's perfume. Because where I come from, a rose is a rose only because of its scent.

“Sometime later, the Sultan willed his perfume to be known by all his people, so he allowed his rose to be planted outside the imperial gardens. His rose, no longer watered with the elixir of life, would one day fade, but in time, its offspring would carry the Sultan's perfume to every corner of the kingdom.

“Venus and I were both its descendants, and we were planted in a small village square. We bloomed for the sole purpose of making the Sultan's perfume known to everyone, and thus, we wished to be loved only for the royal perfume we carried.

“There were two kinds of people living in our village: ‘Those Like Mary' and ‘Others.' Those Like Mary were the ones who could recognize we carried the Sultan's perfume, and so they were more interested in our scent than in anything else. Unlike them, Others only placed importance on our colors, our stems, our petals, anything that is visible to the eye . . .

“One day, a merchant arrived in the village to sell artificial roses. Fake, lifeless, scentless roses . . . We could never have imagined that anyone would be interested in them. But within a short time, Others began to whisper: ‘That merchant has such pretty roses. Their petals are of silky cloth, their colors never fade and, best of all, their stems have no thorns.'

“Before long, the merchant sold so many ‘roses' that our village soon turned into a village of artificial roses. Those Like Mary couldn't bear this and gradually left the village. And in the end, Venus and I were left with two things: a need to be loved and Others.

“At that time, we couldn't foresee the disaster this situation would lead us to. Soon after Those Like Mary had all gone, little by little, we began to metamorphose into what Others valued in the hope of earning their love. And because it was only our external features that they valued, we became more and more concerned with our looks. We strove to stand up straight like the artificial roses; we tried to extend the time our leaves stayed on us. We didn't even weep during emotional times so our petals wouldn't become wrinkled. And soon, out of neglect, our scent started to fade away.

“We fashioned ourselves to meet the expectations of Others, taking one shape after another. We re-toned our colors, one hue after another. Others said, ‘Grow taller,' so we grew taller. They said, ‘Orient yourselves to this direction and to that,' so we did in a silent rush. First they were shaping us the way they liked, and then showering praises on us.

“But, in spite of all this, deep inside we felt we weren't loved. Only those who were interested in our scent could really love us. Because it is its scent that makes a rose a rose. The feelings that Others had for us could only be admiration at best.

“I was conscious of all this, but Venus behaved as though she was unaware of the situation. I tried to warn her. I told her that Others were like an invisible worm which had found out our bed of crimson joy, destroying our lives. I said to her, ‘We must immediately escape from here to a place where Those Like Mary live.' But she paid no heed to my words. ‘You're not normal,' she said. I couldn't blame her for saying that; she was right. There were so many artificial roses in our village by then that a rose had to be scentless to be normal.

“As I was trying to convince her, a swarm of ants appeared on the ground beside us. They formed themselves into these words: ‘Object to Others.' Venus glanced at them scornfully and muttered, ‘Damned ants, they're all over the place!'

“In the end, I realized I wouldn't be able to help Venus, so I decided at least to take care of myself. I had to leave the village as soon as possible, but I had no idea how to go about it. Roses have no feet, you know. So, I began to wait for someone to come along who'd uproot me and take me away.

“At last, they came: a bulky man, a thin child and a gray donkey. Although both the man and the child seemed quite exhausted, they weren't riding on the donkey but walking by its side. It was so odd, I couldn't make anything of the situation.

“They sank thankfully to the ground under a nearby tree. The boy turned to his father. ‘Dad, I'm so exhausted, we almost died along the way. Where did we go wrong?'

“‘Shut your mouth,' the father said, giving the boy a cuff around the ear. ‘Traveling on foot is always like that.'

“‘But we have a donkey, Dad! And a strong one, too.'

“‘Shut up, I said! Didn't you hear what people said when we were both riding on the donkey? Didn't they say, “See those heartless brutes, two people on one poor donkey!” Heaven knows what others will think of me if they hear this in the village.'

“‘Yes, that's when you told me to get off. But, Dad, at least you were comfortable.'

“‘But then, I heard someone else saying, “Look at that cruel man! He's riding on the donkey like a king while his poor child can barely walk.” I know that man. He's a real blabbermouth. Heaven knows what others will think of me if they hear this in the village.'

“‘Well, Dad, that's when you got off the donkey and put me on its back, instead. But at least I was comfortable.'

“‘And later? What did people say? “See that disrespectful boy, sitting there on the donkey when his poor father can only drag himself along.” I won't have anyone saying a child of mine doesn't respect his father. Heaven knows what others will think of me if they hear this in the village.'

“‘But, Dad! Then we were both left to walk!'

“‘Be quiet, foolish boy. At least no one can speak badly about us now.'

“Right then, a man nearby turned to his friend, saying, ‘See those fools! They have a donkey, but they walked the whole way to the village on foot!'

“Hearing this, the father flushed red to the roots of his hair. The boy was smiling. It seemed he'd understood what his father had not. Indeed, children do understand things.

“To attract the child's attention,” Yellow Flower continued, “I used all my strength to release the remainder of my scent. As soon as the royal perfume reached him, the child turned to me, because children always love the Sultan's perfume.

“When darkness fell, he tenderly uprooted me and placed me on the donkey's back.

“Before leaving, Venus spoke to me one last time. ‘Yellow Flower,' she said. ‘You say you're leaving to preserve your scent, but I see that it all faded away long ago.' The moment she said that, a tear trickled down my petals as I realized Venus had completely lost her scent. Because a rose is a mirror to another rose; when one looks at the other, she sees either her own scent or the lack of it.

“The next morning when the boy's father noticed me, he warned his son not to load the donkey with ‘useless things.' He then took me to the market and sold me. After traveling in the hands of many, I was finally brought by a rose-lover to your garden to reclaim my scent. I've been so happy here, but I can't help thinking about Venus on every anniversary of our parting.”

There was a short silence.

“If she's finished telling her story,” Diana said, “there's a question I'd like to ask Yellow Flower.”

“Go ahead, my dear,” Zeynep Hanim said.

“Yellow Flower, real roses like yourself must be bothered by the existence of artificial roses, isn't that so?”

“Why should we be?” Yellow Flower said. “Artificial roses exist only because there are real roses. Their existence only proves our value. Who would make an imitation of something that wasn't valuable?”

Diana nodded.

“I'd like to ask you something, too,” she said, turning to Zeynep Hanim. “When Yellow Flower was talking about the father and the boy, it seemed like a story I'd heard before. If I'm not mistaken, a long time ago, my mother might have told me a similar story. Is that possible?”

“Why not?” Zeynep Hanim said. “The experience Yellow Flower had with the father and the boy is known as a Nasreddin Hodja story here. But our Hodja doesn't resemble the father Yellow Flower encountered at all. Hodja is much kinder and more loving.”

Diana, puzzled, looked at Zeynep Hanim as if she was waiting for an explanation.

“Why are you so surprised, my dear? Nasreddin Hodja was also a gardener and naturally his stories were inspired by the roses.”

Zeynep Hanim got up. “So, Diana. That's all for today. Tomorrow's lesson will begin at 5:57 a.m.”