‘Yes, I was angry, but the window really was wide open. I closed it.’
He saw the shadow of fear passing over the boy’s face, and he felt sorry.
‘If the latch wasn’t closed properly perhaps the cat opened the window. After all, it was in the kitchen, and it shot out when I opened the door.’
‘But, still, I should look. They might throw something in or something…’
‘What sort of thing?’
‘Four or five years ago they threw a couple of Molotov cocktails — bombs and stuff. I wasn’t here then, and after that nothing like that happened, thank God. But nowadays things are stirring up again, so you never know. They could throw something different, such as smuggled goods, I mean, white stuff. Then they mount a raid and extort money.’
‘Who does?’
‘All of them. How do you think people get by here? Is there regular work? Where are the factories? The military and the government don’t even shop from local tradesmen. Even their jars of honey are surreptitiously imported from some way away. The people are destitute, and they try to get by through their own means.’ Lowering his voice he whispers, ‘Smuggling, especially drug smuggling, serves everyone in these parts. Jiyan Abla doesn’t get mixed up in that sort of thing. That’s why they keep raiding the market and the chemist’s shop to conduct searches. They don’t find anything and off they go.’
Ömer remained quiet and contented himself with watching the boy carefully searching the kitchen through the open door.
‘There does not seem to be anything here,’ said the boy. He stood in front of the door and looked outside. ‘They are not coming this way. They are going into the market. Don’t call Jiyan Abla straight away though. Leave things to settle down a bit. Your calling would not be good for her either. Here things resolve themselves, and, if not, nothing can be done about it.’
Two steps away Jiyan is in trouble, perhaps in danger. And I can’t do anything. I can’t help. My hands are tied. This rascal of a hotel boy gives me advice, tells me what I should and shouldn’t do. I’m of no use to anyone. I cannot help either of the two women I love.
He slumped into the torn leather armchair. He began to fiddle with his phone. There were new messages in the inbox. Why can’t I just switch the thing off? Why don’t I take the SIM card out and be free of it altogether? Frustrated by his indecision, displeased with himself and also a little worried, he reads Elif’s message: ‘I can’t reach you. I’m with the boy. Call me.’ He looked at the date of the message. It must have come while they were at Soğukpinar. Suddenly he felt shattered, all done in: weak, feeble, hesitant and homeless. Not even in limbo — at a complete loose end.
I’ve slowly rolled into this chasm, destroying myself, forsaking myself. Writing with an eye on customer satisfaction, calculating the number of editions, measuring the length of the queue of admiring readers — mostly women — that stretch in front of me on signing days … And then that difficult question: What was I really? What did I have to destroy? Elif had written in her message that she was with the boy. The boy … my son who ran away from violence, life’s cruelty, the savage world of grown-ups; whom I abandoned because he longed for an insignificant, happy life and I considered him lacking in courage and drive. My wounded son who ran away and sought refuge on a distant island. What noble cause was I espousing when I accused him of being worthless? Was I courageous when I flung his failures, his incompetence in his face?
He felt as though he were in a bad film with a stupid script that had no proper beginning or end but which one could not help watching. The décor, time, place and actors were all strange, and unreal. What if he got up and left? He didn’t have to watch it, did he? But the doors of the cinema were shut. The youngster who showed people to their seats was of no help to the inconsiderate latecomers. He looked at the mobile’s inbox again. He reread Elif’s message. He felt he could not call her at this hour. She would be sleeping now. He would have to wake her up. He thought he might feel relieved, be purified if he heard his wife’s voice. He wrote a short message: ‘I received your message too late. I’ll call you early tomorrow, dear.’
He felt like crying his heart out. The youth on night duty was still standing in front of the door. The sun must have risen from behind the mountains to the east. A glow had appeared in that direction.
‘Day is breaking.’
‘Not yet,’ said the child hoarsely. ‘There’s been an assault, The glow you see is our mountains burning.’
It would be good if he could go up to his room and sleep a little. He was in no state to collect his thoughts and think sensibly. When had the Commander wanted me to come? At twelve, if possible, he said. It’s a long time until noon. What’s more, the request was quite deferential in tone. There is no sense in rushing off at the crack of dawn.
‘I’ll go upstairs and try to sleep. If I don’t stir, wake me at ten.’
‘I’ll leave a message for the colleague on day duty, abi. Do as you please. I’m here. If anything happens I’ll let you know.’
What can happen? he thought to himself. The Kurd enjoys scaring me and making me anxious.
He slowly climbed the stairs, entertaining himself by counting the stains in the maroon stair carpet, the luxury fixture of provincial hotels. Exactly thirty-two large stains. What do people fixate on when they are tense and knackered! The corridor was dark and stuffy. His headache was developing again. As he turned the door handle he remembered that he had not locked the door when he went out. He paused for a moment as he opened it, then he became ashamed of his panic and angry with himself. You’re not on top of your game, Ömer Eren! You’re behaving as if you’ve always been safe, as though you never rushed into danger before. It’s as if you’ve entirely forgotten the soldiers with Sten guns kicking the door down and barging into the house at dawn, the screams you heard as you waited your turn to be tortured in the cells where they took you blindfolded, the years of your youth when you were on the run to avoid giving yourself up. No, I haven’t forgotten. I haven’t become so estranged from my past. But it is different here. It feels foreign here. In those days I knew where the threat and the danger were coming from, what I was up against, what I was fighting. Here I don’t know. I cannot comprehend. People fear the unknown.
He had left the light on, and the room was bright. He realized from the coolness of dawn that filled the room that the window was open, and he shivered. As he walked over to the window to shut it his eye caught on the envelope from the Command Headquarters that he had left on the small table. On top of the envelope there was a second piece of paper torn from a chequered notepad. He was sure that this piece of paper did not belong to him and that it had not been there before. He had always hated chequered notebooks. He never used them. Perhaps it was because they reminded him of maths lessons, the nightmare of his childhood. He held the paper to the light and read the two lines on it: ‘Don’t interfere in our business. Stay away from the chemist. Go home.’
Where is my country, my home? Whose business is it? Who are you? Who am I? Who is the chemist? When was this paper put here? Who put it there?
He thought that he would hear similar advice from the Commander a few hours later. Jiyan had said, ‘People who do not take sides are put aside. I am trying not to be on the side of the people holding weapons and I’m also trying not to be put aside. I’m just attempting to be on the side of humanity and life. It’s very difficult, if it weren’t for the power of the clan and my being a woman I wouldn’t succeed.’
Who wants me to stay away from the chemist? Why am I upsetting them? At the end of the day, I’m a writer looking for a subject for my book in this area. Neither the organization nor the state would bother with me. That leaves the clan — and the possibility of some child’s game. Even that rascal downstairs might have done it to frighten and taunt me.