As she told the story, the doctor sat with his head in his hands, looking straight ahead. In front of him, on the table, was the child’s half-eaten
simit
.
‘Don’t move,’ said the strange man. ‘Don’t move at all, all right?’
There was no need for him to say this. The child wasn’t moving anyway. And she’d stopped so suddenly, it wasn’t as if she was frozen in place, but as if she had never moved even once in her life, and couldn’t move. Her motionlessness resembled a hard-working ant running around a dead bee lying on its back at the bottom of an empty water glass; from the same starting point it always watched the world turn, and turn again, with the same delighted amazement. The water glass had an outside, of course. But the child wasn’t there. She was in the coal shed.
‘Good for you,’ said the strange man. ‘Now I’m going to play a game with you. A counting game.’
In the back garden of the house next door there was a coal shed; with a zinc roof, and two doors. One of the doors was always closed, and the other was always open. There was a big padlock on the door that was closed. They kept wood and coal there in the winter. There was no need for a lock on the door that was left open. Thieves couldn’t steal emptiness.
There was a tiny window inside. The glass was broken. Two steps from the rays of sunlight that entered there, it was completely dark inside. There were pieces of broken glass, pieces of wood, countless lost marbles, yellowed newspapers, a single lady’s shoe with a broken heel, a tattered tea-strainer, rusty fingernail-clippers with a piece of fingernail stuck in them, broken razors, scattered chick-peas from a torn paper cone had all gathered together in the darkness and were whispering to each other. And children stopped by sometimes, children who were playing hide-and-seek.
In truth, the coal shed always confused the person who was ‘it’. Because it was the easiest place to guess, no one hid there, but because no one ever hid there, ‘it’ didn’t feel it necessary to look there, and like every place where ‘it’ is unlikely to look, it remained a favourite hiding place.
‘You know how to count, don’t you?’
Actually the child had come to the coal shed to escape from numbers. As soon as ‘it’ turned his head to the wall, she and the other children were off together like a shot. After a brief hesitation, she decided to climb the garden wall and hide behind Red Show-off. Just then, ‘it’ shouted ‘one!’ in a loud voice. Red Show-off was K1ymet Han1m Teyze’s oldest son’s new car. Every time Abdullah emerged without a scratch from accidents that turned his cars into scrap metal, he would throw himself to the ground in tears, and swear to the whole neighbourhood on the Koran that not a drop would ever again pass his lips; managing to keep his oath for a few days, he told everyone he met that he was a completely new man, and on top of this he would say that he had always been a good man and that he was a victim of bad company and wayward friends; before long, forgetting all his promises and all his tears, he would show up in a brand new car; as he drove the young men of the neighbourhood around in his new car, he would advise them that they had to become men, and go beyond what their elders had told them, and he would continue giving this advice at the tavern; at the end of the evening, at best, weeping next to the wreckage of the new car he had wrapped around a tree, he would be making vow after vow. Everyone knew that K1ymet Han1m Teyze had never given any money to her sons. It was a mystery where Abdullah managed to find so much money. Most people thought that he stole the cars; stole them and painted them. They were always the same colour: bright red.
Red Show-Off was a Mercedes. It hadn’t been enough just to paint it, it had waves and waves of highlights on the bonnet. Because, for whatever reason, Abdullah had disappeared soon after parking Red Show-Off in front of the house the colour of salted green almonds, for almost two months now Red Show-Off had been dozing sweetly in the middle of the neighbourhood, with a peace that no other bright red car had ever known.
‘It’ shouted, ‘Twooo!’ Just at that moment, the child was passing in front of the coal shed. Suddenly, Red Show-Off seemed very far away. She changed her mind. Quickly, she dove into the coal shed and pulled the door closed behind her.
There was someone else inside. Someone who was not part of the game.
There was a man inside. He was a stranger. He was just standing there, under the broken window, where the rays of sunlight shone in. Half of his face was in the light, and half was in the dark. He was leaning his back against the wall, and held his head in his hands. He looked very worried.
Perhaps he was crying. He was well-dressed. His shoes were very shiny despite being covered with coal dust. It was clear that the man was not a gypsy. The child knew that one had to stay away from gypsies. Gypsies’ shoes were never like this.
This man is a stranger. (I wonder who he is?) Strangers were to be avoided. (How unhappy he looks!) The best thing to do is to tell someone. (What is he looking for here?) She should leave the coal shed at once. (The moment she left she would become ‘it’!) There was a strange man inside. (‘It’ was outside.)
The child sat near the door, trying hard not to make a sound. She didn’t take her eyes off the man. Outside, ‘it’ was swearing at the children he had found but who were not listening to him. ‘It’ had such a foul mouth that one child’s mother, unable to stand it any longer, rushed out into the street, said she would complain to ‘it’s’ father that evening, and got involved in the children’s quarrel. In the middle of this uproar, faint padding sounds were heard in the coal shed. As if someone was walking gingerly across the zinc roof; someone…or else a cat…
A while later, the strange man slowly straightened himself up. His movements were so slow and heavy that a person might wonder whether or not he was alive. Perhaps this man who had lost his way was really one of those puppets that women sewed while looking at fashion magazines. There must not have been enough cloth, because his jacket looked a little tight. The child had a puppet like this in the drawer where she kept things she had seen. A puppet she had seen at the amusement park. A puppet who waited patiently, hanging on a string, among the dolls with yellow hair and painted lips, the electric cars that did somersaults, the multi-coloured tops, the phosphorescent yo-yos, the tailed kites and the jigsaw puzzles that were useless when a single piece was missing. They gave her three balls. If she could knock it down with the balls, the puppet would be hers. She hadn’t been able to knock it down.
The man’s eyes were an olive green, and much more beautiful than the puppet’s eyes. He had no whiskers on his face, and perhaps he was naturally beardless. The child sat motionless, with her eyes on the man, listening to the children fighting outside. Outside, ‘it’ was wandering around swearing; he kept finding the same children in the same hiding places, and always complained in the same way. As her voice could no longer be heard, the woman who had come out to scold ‘it’ had probably gone home. It was clear that the game was coming to an end. At this rate, all hell was going to break loose soon. She had to go out soon.
‘Will you play a game with me? A counting game? Would you like to play?’
His voice was just as beautiful as his eyes.
‘Now we’re going to count to three together,’ he whispered. ‘You know how to count, don’t you? What do you say, shall we count?’
Of course the child knew how to count: after a brief hesitation she nodded her head. Then the man caressed the child’s cheek. His hands were beautiful, just like his voice and his eyes.
‘Good for you! When I say “one” you’re to close your eyes. When I say “two” you’re to open them. The game isn’t over until I say “three”. There’s no leaving the coal shed until I say “three”. Do you understand?’
Outside, the children were calling her. They were going to start the game over again, someone else was going to be ‘it’. They were calling her name. She had to go out.
‘One!’ said the man. ‘Close your eyes!’
The moment the child closed her eyes she was in darkness. She looked straight into the darkness, and there she saw the number One. One was not a run-of-the-mill number. It was extraordinary. It was like a pregnant woman; its singularity was only a matter of time. Soon another life would emerge from its life, and its anxiety about what that life would look like was already showing on its face. The child was seized by fear as she looked at One. She had to flee this place right now, without waiting another moment, before it was too late to act on her decision, before it was time for One to give birth. In order to flee she first had to open her eyes, but unfortunately her eyes were fastened on One.
She felt her dress with her hands. It was a great relief to her, that she was wearing the dress her grandmother had bought her, and therefore wasn’t naked in front of this strange man. The floor of the coal shed was completely covered with broken glass. She was afraid that if she wasn’t wearing her dress, the glass would cut her body. But she was even more frightened of sewing needles. A sewing needle entered a person’s flesh, wandered through the veins until it reached the heart and pierced it.
‘Twoo!’ said the man. ‘Open your eyes!’
As soon as the child opened her eyes she was in the light. She looked straight into the light and saw the number Two. Two was not a run-of-the-mill number. It was extraordinary. It resembled a forked road; it had split itself off from the route of its main road. It was easy to see where it began, but its length was unknown, and it was impossible to determine where it ended. The child was struck with terror as she looked at Two. She had to flee this place right now, without waiting another moment, before it was too late to act on her decision, before she saw where Two ended. On top of this, her eyes were not closed, but unfortunately her eyes remained fastened on Two. And wherever Two was, there was always another.
That other was a piece of pink flesh. It was surrounded by very curly, very black hairs. It hung down from among these hairs like the tongue of a thirsty animal. The piece of meat must have liked being looked at, because as the child looked at it, it raised its head in a dignified manner. Very slowly, it was changing. It was becoming bigger, and longer, and thicker. It was becoming fat, with bulging veins. These veins didn’t resemble the purple cables on K1ymet Han1m Teyze’s legs one bit.
Just as the child was thinking that if it continued to grow it would no longer fit in the coal shed, the piece of flesh stopped suddenly. It stopped and waited. Outside they must have stopped playing hide-and-seek, because there was not a sound, and not even a leaf moved. The child felt that somewhere in the depths of this deathly silence, a pair of eyes was watching everything. They belonged neither to her nor to the strange man; neither far nor near…watching from somewhere else. She was being watched; by someone or something unknown. No matter how much she wanted to find the source of the eyes that were on her, she couldn’t ruin the game, and didn’t take her eyes off the piece of flesh.
Just at that moment the man began to approach. The child told herself that there was nothing to be frightened of. Anyway, the next number was Three. And since Three always came right after Two, it had to be nearby somewhere. Because it was never late. Indeed it came so quickly that anyone who hadn’t succeeded in hiding by the time ‘it’ counted to Two would definitely be caught out in the open at Three. That meant it was not long before this unpleasant game came to an end. She would finally be able to leave when Three arrived. She would leave the coal shed and never step foot in it again. She would never again play games with strangers in coal sheds. She already regretted taking part, and was waiting for Three to liberate her. Just a little longer…she would be free in just a little while.
But before Three, the piece of flesh arrived. It arrived and entered her mouth. It advanced step by step into her mouth. The man was wheezing heavily. This wheezing reminded the child of Elsa. When you stroked her under the chin she made sounds just like this. But the wheezing was continually growing faster. Now the child remembered the retired history teacher who lived in the house across the way. The retired teacher had asthma. Whenever he climbed stairs he wheezed exactly like this. A while later, the wheezing was so fast and so heavy that the child couldn’t determine what it resembled. The piece of flesh was moving back and forth in her mouth, but the child couldn’t see it now. She didn’t see anything now. She didn’t even know if her eyes were open or closed. She felt nauseous.
Suddenly, just as her stomach was about to raise the flag of rebellion and she was about to loose hope; just as the cosmos was stubbornly beginning to gather speed to emerge from its motionlessness of a short while ago and the man’s wheezes were turning into hoarse moans; just when, like any number that lives out its life and any number that is living out its life, it imitated the next number. Two finally came to an end.
The piece of flesh left her mouth. A strange liquid flowed in the emptiness it had left behind. It was very sticky. It had a terrible taste. The child couldn’t bear it, and opened the door to her stomach. She began to vomit. She vomited out what the piece of flesh had vomited into her mouth.
When she realized that she was vomiting nothing but bitter liquid, she lifted her head and made an effort not to cry. She looked directly into the nothingness and saw that the absence of Three was worse than One and Two and even than Three. Because the man had gone.
He’d gone.
He’d left without saying ‘Three.’
There was a coal shed in the neighbour’s back garden; with a zinc roof, and two doors. A child was stuck inside.
It didn’t matter whether she closed her eyes or opened them. Whether she opened her eyes or closed them, all she saw was the blackness of the coal shed. Everything and everyone was painted in the same colour of blindness. The whiteness she’d vomited, the cherries she’d eaten, the veins on K1ymet Han1m Teyze’s legs, and even Abdullah’s Red Show-Off were coal shed black.
‘Aren’t you tired of telling fairy tales yet? Because I’m fed up. Do you understand?’