He used to play games with his mother when he was small. He recalls them with a sharp pain. His favourite game was the stray kitten and its master. These were cherished moments in the mornings when he could climb into the big bed where his mother and father slept together and, purring like a cat, bury his head in his mother’s bosom, feeling her warmth, her closeness; when mother embraced child and stroked him gently like a kitten. Moments of happiness when his mother scratched him on the neck, behind his ears, under his tiny feet, when he never complained even if she tickled him, never said, ‘Stop! Don’t do that!’ He used to be ‘Tiny Kitten’, ‘dear little cat’ and his mother’s ‘kitty’, ‘his mother’s little mouse’. He didn’t remember his mother ever calling him Deniz when he was little. Then a light slap on the kitten’s bottom. ‘Come on. I’ve got to get up and go to work. The kitten should go to the kitchen and drink his milk.’
‘Take me to work with you, Mummy.’
‘I can’t, because my workplace is full of mice. Cats aren’t allowed there.’
Once she had taken him to that magical place. Elif was going to call in at the laboratory and pick up something she had forgotten. From there they were going to the cinema together to see the film ET; another one of those rare happy occasions: going somewhere with his mother!
‘Stay still. Mind you don’t harm the mice, Kitten.’
‘Why do you keep mice here, Mummy Cat?’
‘For my experiments.’
‘What’s an experiment?’
‘Well, for instance, to find a new medicine that will save the lives of sick children or to do something to stop their pain. We first give that medicine to animals. If it’s good for them, if it’s harmless, it can then be given to people. In other words, we experiment on animals.’
‘Why are there mostly mice here?’
‘The structure of mice is close to that of people. That’s why.’
‘But don’t mice feel pain?’
Elif was silent. Deniz still remembers that silence.
Then she said, ‘When you grow up and study, you will become a famous scientist and do experiments. You will find things that will be good for people. My tiny kitten son will be a great, great scientist.’
‘But I won’t hurt mice. I’m a good kitten, and mice are my friends. You know how you always say that even cats and dogs can be friends. And when the boys at kindergarten make fun of me and beat me you tell me that I should treat them well and try to tell them nicely that what they are doing is wrong.’
‘That’s true. You’re right, Kitten. Nevertheless, please stay away from the test animals until I’m finished. After all, you never know what cats might do!’
Whenever he recalls his childhood and thinks of his mother he feels a vague pain, like a scratch in the middle of his chest, a feeling of guilt, inadequacy and inferiority. Her voice is still in his ear. ‘Don’t sulk. I didn’t say your school report was bad, but your biology and chemistry could have been better. You could have had ten instead of nine for your physics if you had paid more attention to the exam questions.’
He remembers pulling his report roughly out of his mother’s hand saying, ‘I’m no Einstein and don’t intend to be!’ and shutting himself in his room seething with anger and rebellion. To hurt his mother, he shouted, ‘Carry on killing your mice!’
On the whole, his father didn’t get involved. He used to say, ‘Don’t stifle the boy. Let him be. He has his whole future in front of him. Besides, even if he isn’t first in the class he’s not a bad student. I wasn’t a model student at school either. One never knows what a person will be in the future, what they will develop an interest in or whether they will be successful. All that matters is that they’re a good person, someone who is interested in the world and someone who takes responsibility for people and for living things.’
The pain of the scratch in his chest gets more intense. That hateful feeling that he has known since his childhood, the feeling of being beaten without being able to defend himself, of suddenly being left stark naked in the middle of a crowd … The pathos of the dog that begs for affection as it gets beaten or the test animal whose brain is cut open while still alive … Guilt, remorse, helplessness, the wish to die … But I’m neither guilty nor repentant.
Deniz wants to hug his son who is skipping happily along in front of him. He wants to be washed and purified with him, to take refuge in innocence. He doesn’t dare. He is afraid of passing on that indefinable, horrible feeling to his son. Bjørn must never know that feeling — and he never will. He will capture the real meaning of happiness. He will be glad to be himself. He will spend his life surrounded by nature, peaceful, calm, contented with himself and full of self-respect, knowing that this is the one and only meaning of life.
I shall protect him from violence. I will not allow him to be a tyrant or victim. Nobody will be able to impose their values on him or ask him to conquer the skies. Perhaps he will be a kind-hearted jolly fisherman. Perhaps he will run a small guesthouse with customers who come only in the season of the white nights. I will not allow anyone to mistreat Bjørn or to force him into anything he doesn’t want to do. I must leave Elif a message saying, ‘Don’t come.’ Perhaps the best thing is not to answer at all.
Words, sentences and conversations that filter through the intricate maze of his memory and prick his insides like a pin, deepening his restlessness and suffocation: to carry the name of Deniz like a true Deniz … To be worthy of that name … They died for their beliefs … Even if the world should change, basic human values do not … Man cannot remain indifferent to his times, to his society. He should not … What do you think is the meaning of life? Should I be hanged like your Deniz to win your favour, Dad? This is basically the question of what life means for a human being … Pigs are happy, too, but I prefer to die fighting for human rights, justice and freedom rather than live happily like pigs … And have your son die, too? My son will be a scientist … You have everything, you have been given every opportunity to excel … You can go to the best schools abroad if you like … To be worthy … Of what, of whom? As you don’t seem to be good for anything, well, go to Iraq and take photographs of human suffering. I’ve fixed up a war correspondent’s job for you in Iraq … Wars are evil. People die in wars … It would be good for you to see how the world really is … Those named Deniz … The gallows … The domains of science, laboratories … A little ambition is good. It forces one to get ahead in the race … Well, what do you want to do in life? The happiness of pigs … To sleep, to sleep for ever … With that village girl, on that island where you’ve buried yourself alive … The meaning of life? And what is that? The eternal fugitive, the eternal loser … Don’t go. Let’s try to start all over again … As a child you struggled even to learn to ride a bike. That stupid psychologist who said your IQ was close to that of a genius should see you now … I don’t want to be a genius. I want to be a nobody … Leave me alone. I want to sleep … Your values, your value, my value … Don’t go, Son … To lose a child … What is love? Ulla loved me. She was the only one who loved me … Am I invisible? The girls who come to class in the mornings kiss all the boys, but they don’t even see me … I’m lonely, so lonely … I’m very, very, very well … Everything I told you was a lie … Everything I told you was true … I’m frightened, Mum … I’m frightened, Dad … I’m frightened, Ulla … The unknown deserter … The unknown deserter of life…