Silent House (36 page)

W
e gave that guy a good lesson!” said Serdar.

“You go too far sometimes,” said Mustafa. “What if he goes to the police?”

“He won’t,” said Serdar. “Didn’t you see, he’s a total coward?”

“Why did you have to take the record and the notebook?” said Mustafa.

That’s when I saw it, Nilgün: Serdar had taken the record you’d left in the car, and Faruk’s notebook, too. When we got to the neighborhood down below he stopped under the streetlight and looked at the cover.

“I took it because it makes me sick that he thinks everybody is his father’s servant!” he said.

“That wasn’t a good idea,” said Mustafa. “You got him mad for no reason.”

“If you want,” I said, “give me the record, and I’ll take it back to the car.”

“God, what kind of idiot is this guy!” said Serdar.

“Look,” said Mustafa. “You do not call this guy an idiot, a retard, or a fox in front of anybody ever again.”

Serdar was quiet. We walked downhill without saying anything. I thought how with that twelve thousand liras in Mustafa’s pocket I could buy the knife I saw in Pendik, the one with the mother-of-pearl handle, and a pair of leather shoes with rubber soles for winter. If I kicked in a little more, I could even get a gun. They stopped when we came to the coffeehouse.

“Okay,” said Mustafa. “Time to split up.”

“Aren’t we going to tag some more walls?” I said.

“It’s going to rain again, we’ll get wet,” said Mustafa. “You keep the paint and brushes tonight, Hasan. Okay?”

So it was time for those two to go down to their houses and for me to turn around and climb up the hill, but first: twelve thousand liras three ways, that’s four thousand liras. Not bad. And if I got Nilgün’s record and the notebook, too …

“What’s the matter?” said Mustafa. “Something on your mind?” Then, finally, acting as if he had just thought of something, he said, “Oh, here, Hasan, cigarettes and matches for you, so you can smoke.”

I wasn’t going to take them, but he gave me such a look that I did.

“Aren’t you going to thank me?” he said.

“Thank you.”

They turned and as I watched them walk away, I was thinking again: there’s a lot I could get with four thousand liras! As they passed through the pool of light in front of the bakery and disappeared in the darkness, I shouted out, “Mustafa!”

I heard their footsteps stop, and he called out: “What’s up?”

I paused before I ran over to them.

“So, can I take that record and the notebook, Mustafa?” I said, out of breath.

“What are you going to do?” said Serdar. “Are you really going to take them back to the guy?”

“I don’t want anything else,” I said. “Just give them to me, and that’ll be enough.”

“Give them to him,” said Mustafa.

As he was handing me the book and record, Serdar said, “Are you some kind of idiot?” with an expression that said he was actually wondering.

“What did I say?” said Mustafa. “Look, Hasan, we decided to use the twelve thousand liras to cover expenses; don’t misunderstand. It doesn’t come to very much for each of us anyway. But, here, take five hundred as your share, if you want.”

“That’s okay,” I said. “It should all go to the Association, it should all be for the cause. I don’t want anything for myself.”

“But you’re taking the record!” shouted Serdar.

At that point, I got confused, so I took the five hundred he said was my share and put it in my pocket.

“Happy?” said Serdar. “Now that’s it for you out of this twelve thousand. I hope you won’t be telling anyone about it.”

“He won’t tell,” said Mustafa. “He’s not as stupid as you think. He’s very sharp, in fact, he just doesn’t show it. Look how he came back to get his share of the money.”

“Little sneak!” said Serdar.

“Okay, let’s get out of here,” said Mustafa.

I stayed there for a little while watching them go. They were obviously making fun of me. When they had disappeared, I lit a cigarette and went up the hill, with the paint and brushes in one hand and the record and notebook in the other. I’ll go to the beach tomorrow morning, I said, and if Mustafa shows up he can see I’m keeping an eye on the girl, and if he doesn’t, I’ll tell him tomorrow night, Mustafa, I was on the job, but you didn’t come, and that way he’ll realize that I know what discipline means: goddamn them all!

A little ways up the hill, the sound of Metin yelling gave me a fright, he was somewhere out there in the darkness just ahead, all by himself, cursing furiously. As I got closer, taking silent steps on the wet asphalt, it sounded like someone pounding on a plastic gas can, but actually Metin was kicking his car. He was like an angry horseman whipping a stubborn nag, but the Plexiglas beast didn’t respond,
and so he beat it all the more. I had a weird thought: I could go give Metin a pounding, too! Then I thought of other violent things, hurricanes, people dying, earthquakes. I put down what I was carrying and imagined jumping him: So, you don’t even recognize me? How could you just forget who I am? I guess some people are important, you recognize them, you’d know them even from a distance, everything going on in their lives, all the details, but others you can’t be bothered to recognize, they live out their whole lives and you don’t even notice. One day, you won’t be able to help but recognize me!

Eventually, I left the poor jerk so he could go on kicking his car. I was going up through the muddy orchard so that he wouldn’t see me, when I realized what was going on. I’d thought he was fuming because of the money he’d lost and that piece-of-junk car that wouldn’t start, but it turned out there was a girl to blame, because he kept repeating that word for women who sell their flesh. Sometimes that word frightens me, women like that are scary, and I’d rather not think about them, so I went on my way.

Maybe you’re the one he’s talking about, Nilgün, I thought, but then maybe it’s somebody else. What a nasty word!
Women scare me sometimes. They are like things you just can’t understand, with dark thoughts you can never know, some parts of them are so horrifying, and disaster is waiting for you if you fall for them. They’re a little like death that way, except dressed like a prostitute that stands there smiling at you with a blue ribbon in her hair!… The sky turned yellow in the distance, and I started to worry about lightning. Clouds, dark storms, shadows I don’t understand! Sometimes it’s as if we’re all slaves of someone we don’t even know, sometimes we stand there, trying to fight back, but then there’s fear, of thunderbolts, lightning, of unknown distant disasters that will come upon us! At those moments, I tell myself it’s enough just to live in the peaceful light of our house, without fighting back or knowing anything. I’m so terrified of sin! Like my poor father, the lottery seller.

It had started to sprinkle again when I noticed the light was still on in the house. Getting close I looked into the window, and I saw
that not only was my father still up but my mother was as well. I wondered what that cripple could be saying about me to my poor mother to keep her from sleeping. The grocer must have told him what happened today. The fat slob just couldn’t wait. Ismail, he must have said, your son came to the shop this morning, he ripped up the newspapers and magazines and threw them all over the place, threatening people, who knows what sort he’s hanging around with, he’s gone berserk! What do I owe you, my father would have said, the lottery-ticket seller who can only think of things in terms of money, and he probably wound up paying for those horrible newspapers. But not for nothing, no: he’d be planning to take it out of my hide in the evening, assuming he could find me, of course. Maybe that was why I couldn’t make up my mind whether to go inside or not. I just stayed there watching my mother and father through the window, and when it started to rain again, I left the paints, Nilgün’s record, and Faruk’s notebook on the sill of my closed window, and, sheltered under the eaves, I stared at the downpour. When the gutters that my father had attached himself could no longer keep up with the flow of the water, I crept back toward the window and saw my poor mother running around inside with plastic laundry tubs and cooking pots trying to catch the leaks in the ceiling. When she remembered the one in my room, the one that made the eagle with its wings spread over the bed, she ran in there, turned on the light, and folded up the quilt.

Later, when the rain stopped, I realized that I wasn’t thinking about them or anybody else, but only about you, Nilgün! No doubt, you were lying in your bed, maybe the sound of the rain had awakened you, and you were gazing out the window at this moment, lost in thought, startled now and then by a clap of thunder. In the morning when the rain had stopped and the sun came out, you’d head to the beach, and I’d be waiting for you and finally you’d see me, we would talk and I’d tell you everything. Ah, life, I love you!

If a person believes, he can become a completely different person. There are so many possibilities: distant countries, their endless rail lines, the forests of Africa, the Sahara, the white deserts, frozen
lakes, the pelicans in geography books, charging lions, the water buffalo I saw on television, the hyenas that corner them and rip them to pieces, the elephants in movies, India, the American Indians, the Chinese, the stars, intergalactic wars, all wars, history, our history, the thundering beat of the war drums and the fear in the heart of the infidels who heard them: yes, a person could become someone completely different. We are not slaves: I free myself of all fears, rules, all borders, marching on to my goal, waving the flag: sabers, knives, guns, power!
I am somebody different, not held down by my past, I have no more memories, from now on there is only a future for me. Memories are for slaves, to lull them. Let them sleep!

I was feasting on these thoughts, but then knowing I wouldn’t have the strength to just forget everybody, I picked up the notebook from the windowsill, the record, too, and walking into the darkness, I could already see the end of this night. The water was streaming downhill; the air smelled of rain. Let me take one more look at the neighborhood down below, I said, one last view of the lights, the well-kept artificial gardens, the smooth soulless concrete; while there was no one under the streetlights, I’d look one more time at those sinful streets, where no one had a care or a worry. And I’d take one last peek at one of those windows, a window I’d never see again until the day of victory. Maybe, I thought, you’re not asleep, Nilgün, and you’re looking out the window at the rain, and when a bolt of lightning strikes and in a flash everything’s blue, then maybe you’ll see me, planted there in this terrible rain, soaking wet, in the middle of the night, at your window. But in the end, remembering about the watchmen, I didn’t go: Son, they’d say to me, what are you doing around here at this hour, come on, this is no place for you! Okay, okay, I’m going!

I turned back and headed toward my house, all sleepy, as if going through some strange neighborhood. My mother and father still had the light on. A poor, pathetic light! They didn’t see me, and as I crossed the field and started to go downhill I was startled again: Metin was still there in the dark, cursing and pushing his car. I
stopped and watched him from a distance, like someone observing strange people in some foreign country where he had just set foot for the first time, curious but a little afraid, an enjoyable feeling. Then I thought I heard him crying, some broken sound, and you couldn’t help but pity him if you heard it. I remembered our friendship as children, and forgetting that these people lived to accuse others, I went over to help him.

“Who’s that?”

“It’s me,” I said. “Metin, you didn’t recognize me back there, it’s me, Hasan!”

“I did eventually!” he said. “Did you bring the money back?”

“I’m all by myself!” I said. “Do you want the money back?”

“You stole my twelve thousand liras! Don’t you realize that?”

I didn’t say anything. We were quiet for a while.

Then he shouted, “Where are you? Come out where I can see your face!”

I left the record and the notebook in a dry place and went over to him.

“Aren’t you going to bring the money back?” he said. “Come out here!”

As I got close I saw his sweaty unhappy face; we just looked at each other.

“No,” I said. “I don’t have your money!”

“Then why did you come?”

“I heard you crying just now.”

“You heard wrong,” he said. “I’m just tired … why did you come here?”

“We were such good friends when we were kids!” I said. I quickly added before he said anything: “Metin, if you want I’ll help you!”

“Why would you do that?” he said at first. Then a second later, he said, “Fine. Help me push, then!”

I pushed. After a minute, as the car budged from where it was and started moving uphill, I think I was gladder than he was. It was
a strange feeling, Nilgün. But then when I saw what a short way we’d gone I got discouraged.

“What’s the matter?” said Metin, pulling the hand brake.

“Stop! Let me rest a little.”

“Come on,” he said. “I’m late.”