He began to learn that in this land no question had a single, clear, indisputable answer. The shadow of the mountains, the flames of the fires, the colour of blood and the power of violence wiped out all truths, rendered the answers doubtful and obscured them. Here everything seemed different to what it was, was different to what it seemed. Even Jiyan’s face, her identity. But perhaps, on the contrary, everything was open, as clear as day, simple. And there was no secret, no secret side, and we were writing — I was writing — this complicated scenario as an outside observer embellished by my overactive imagination.
He lay down on the bed. He was amazed at the solitude, the calm inside him. His fear had subsided. I’m not anxious. How strange — and how good! It was a feeling of having overcome that which had been imposed upon him. Was it from helplessness? Perhaps I am gradually adjusting to the region. His eyelids, brain and heart grew heavy. He fell asleep. If they had not called him from reception and woken him up at ten he could have slept until the evening.
As he was shaving and getting dressed in a leisurely manner, his mind was not on what the Commander was going to say; it was on Jiyan: her hair that was demure in the street and unruly in bed, her changeable face whose real exression he had not managed to catch, her anger, mutiny, pride and submission, her mystery, her secrecy. Jiyan who could not be possessed even at the moment of union, who did not surrender even when moaning with pleasure, always belonging to another world, to another lover.
When he entered the market he purposely walked on the pavement opposite the Hayat Chemist. As he came level with the shop he restrained his desire to enter and glanced over casually from across the road. Jiyan was not there. The young female assistant was arranging the shelves. He walked slowly across the middle of the market road as though he were challenging the unknown enemy. Two stray dogs lazing in front of the butcher’s shop feebly wagged their tails without getting up. The barber, who was sitting on the wicker stool he had put in front of his shop and sipping his very strong tea, gave a friendly greeting. He slowed his steps as he passed in front of the internet café. When one of the youths chatting away in front of the door saw Ömer he left the others and came across. With a strong eastern accent he respectfully asked him for a book. There was no bookshop in the town, and they would be delighted if the writer could send some books. Then he added, ‘Write about us, abi. Our voices don’t reach your parts. Our language isn’t suficient. As you are a writer, be our voice.’ Ömer promised to send some books, but he could not promise to be their voice.
As he passed in front of the photographer’s shop two girls emerging in local dress ran off giggling. His eye spotted the honey pots on the shelves of the honey-seller who sold every imaginable kind of foodstuff, from cereals to potatoes and onions. He craved honey; he longed for it. I must buy some on my return. He fell in with the ginger-and-white piebald dog that followed him whenever he went through the market and reached the end of the market road. A military jeep passed him by lifting the dust from the earth road. The dog gave up following him and turned back with its tail between its legs as though he had been spooked by something. The dusty, deserted road sloped gently up towards the military zone. At the side of the road, yellow daisies had opened despite the dust. He picked one. As he passed the first checkpoint he only had to say his name. They knew him by now, so they did not ask for his identity card, but he produced it as well as the invitation from the Commander for the guards on the main gate. There was a short telephone call with ‘yes, sirs’ and ‘no, sirs’ and then ‘The Commander is expecting you.’ He remembered the day he had first passed this gate. It was as though there used to be a kinder, friendlier atmosphere. Come on, I’m imagining it. It’s always the same formalities!
The Commander was alone. He was composed and respectful as always. He stood up from his chair and stretched out his hand from behind his desk and bade him sit down. Ömer remembered that the first day they had met the Commander had got up from behind the desk, come over to him, shown him to a place and then sat down in his own chair again; not like a superior but like a host welcoming guests of consequence.
Contrary to what he expected, there were not the awkward, silent moments, and the formal enquiries after his health did not drag on. The coffees without sugar were ordered straight away. What needed to be said was said, as the Commander put it, ‘in plain, soldier language’, without prevaricating and hiding behind polite, meaningless sentences. It had been quite some time since Ömer Eren had arrived. He had been given suficient time and opportunity to scrutinize the area, its problems and the people in situ. The Commander said, ‘You can be sure that we have given no other civilian such extensive freedom of movement. You are one of our most prominent writers, and I have no doubts about your patriotism. We wanted you to see things with your own eyes, to evaluate things in your own mind.’ Of course it was their duty to provide the country’s eminent intellectuals with such opportunities, and the army and state were extremely grateful to him for taking the trouble to travel so far to see things for himself. However, as reflected in the media, tensions were increasing in the region. The ‘ceasefire’ was, as always, just a tactical diversion. There was reliable intelligence that the separatist terrorist organization was about to attack, and at times like these — the Commander felt the need to lower his voice as he was saying this — it was impossible to separate the good from the bad, and it was not certain how and from where provocation would manifest itself. From the sake of the writer’s safety, it would be better for everyone if he were to leave the region as soon as possible.
For a moment Ömer thought of mentioning the note left in his room and saying, ‘There are others beside you who want me to go.’ Then he remembered his words ‘It’s impossible to separate the good from the bad’ and remained silent.
‘Is that an order, Commander?’
‘Let us say a request and a friendly warning, if you like.’
‘I understand.’
‘Now, relying on your tolerance and confidence, as a friend I’m going to tell you something in all honesty. Something that I should not tell you, something you should not hear from me.’
Ömer felt like saying, ‘If you like, don’t tell me.’ Whether it was because he was afraid of what he would hear or whether he had doubts about the veracity of what he was to hear, he did not know.
He just said, ‘Please go on, sir.’
‘I don’t want you to misunderstand, to construe this as our interfering in your private life. Besides, we might be wrong. But, still, I wanted to warn you about the lady chemist. We get far more intelligence leaked to us than we can deal with. We get overwhelmed by what we know and learn.’ He stopped talking. It was as though he were waiting for permission to carry on.
For a moment Ömer thought about not giving his consent, thanking him and getting up. Then he was overcome by his curiosity and his emotions. ‘I would not wish you to be overwhelmed by what you know.’
‘Jiyan Hanım is a very unusual woman. She is a mystery to everyone, even to our intelligence units. Her secrets are hidden in the depths of this land. I’m telling you, swearing on my honour, that we have no evidence to prove for whom she is working and who her inside and outside connections are. It’s as though some invisible force is protecting her. Clan relationships, especially since the war has escalated in the region, have become so complicated, so thoroughly confused, that even we cannot work them out. I can’t even claim that we completely understand the militia clans who cooperate with us. The shield provided by the clan that protects the lady chemist is important, of course, but it does not explain everything. What is more, the clans are gradually disbanding. They are dabbling in politics and are to an extent losing their former power and unity. You know they always talk about the ‘deep state’; well, in these parts, there are systems even deeper than the deep state, and it is not known who is pulling the strings.’