A Strangeness in My Mind Read online

  Each of these buildings shone as brightly as the Süleymaniye Mosque, and at night, their radiance formed a halo over the city, honey gold or mustard yellow. On nights when the clouds gathered low, they would reflect the city’s lemon-colored light, like strange lamps illuminating it from overhead. Amid this tangle of lights, it was difficult to distinguish the Bosphorus unless some ship’s spotlights, like the navigation lights of faraway planes, briefly flickered in the distance. Mevlut sensed that the light and darkness inside his mind looked like the nighttime landscape of the city. Maybe this was why he’d been going out into the streets to sell boza in the evening for the past forty years, no matter how little he earned from it.

  So this is how Mevlut came to understand the truth that a part of him had known all along: walking around the city at night made him feel as if he were wandering around inside his own head. That was why whenever he spoke to the walls, advertisements, shadows, and strange and mysterious shapes he couldn’t see in the night, he always felt as if he were talking to himself.

  “What is it, what are you staring at?” said Süleyman, coming out onto the balcony. “Are you looking for something?”

  “I’m just looking.”

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? But I hear you’re going to leave us and go to Çukurcuma.”

  When he went back inside, he saw that Samiha had taken her father by the arm and was walking him toward the door. Over the past few years, senility had crept up his crooked neck, and he didn’t talk much anymore, instead sitting quietly with his daughters like a well-behaved child as soon as he’d had a couple of drinks. Mevlut was surprised he was still able to take the bus from the village and come to Istanbul on his own.

  “My father isn’t feeling too well, we should go now,” said Samiha.

  “I’m coming,” said Mevlut.

  His wife and father-in-law had already walked out.

  “So, Mevlut, I hear you’re abandoning us,” said Korkut.

  “Everyone wants boza on a cold holiday evening,” said Mevlut.

  “I don’t mean tonight. I mean that you’re going to leave this place and move to Çukurcuma.” When Mevlut didn’t respond, Korkut said, “You don’t really have it in you to go away and leave us.”

  “Oh, I do,” said Mevlut.

  In the elevator, with music playing constantly in the background, his father-in-law’s weary, quiet demeanor saddened Mevlut, but mostly he was upset with Samiha. Downstairs in their apartment, he picked up his boza gear without saying a word to her and headed out into the streets full of joy and fervor.

  Half an hour later, he’d reached the backstreets of Feriköy, feeling optimistic that the streets were going to tell him wonderful things that night. Samiha had broken his heart by reminding him that there had been a time when she hadn’t loved him. In moments like this, when he felt distressed, and all of his life’s failures and inadequacies seemed to surge inside him like a wave of regret, Mevlut’s mind would automatically turn to Rayiha.

  “Boo-zaa,” he cried toward the empty streets.

  Whenever he dreamed of her lately, the problem he had to solve was always the same: Rayiha was waiting for him in a palatial old wooden mansion, but no matter how many turns he took and how many doors he opened, he couldn’t seem to find the door to the house where she was staying, and he just kept going around in circles. He would realize that the street he had just passed had changed again, and if he wanted to find the door he was looking for, he would have to walk along the new street, too, and so he would resume his long, measureless journey. On some nights, when he found himself selling boza in some far-off street, he couldn’t quite make out whether this was a scene from that dream or whether he was in fact on that street at that moment.

  “Boo-zaa.”

  As a child and a teenager, Mevlut had already understood that the cryptic things he noticed while walking on the street were figments of his own mind. Back then, he had knowingly dreamed all these things up himself. But in later years, he began to feel that there was another power placing these thoughts and dreams inside his mind. In the past few years, Mevlut had stopped seeing any difference at all between his fantasies and the things he saw on the street at night: it seemed as if they were all cut from the same cloth. It was a pleasant sensation, intensified by the glass of rakı he’d just had over at Süleyman’s.

  The idea that Rayiha was waiting for him in a wooden mansion somewhere along these streets could be a figment of his imagination, but equally it could be true. The eye that had been watching him from above even as he walked along Istanbul’s farthest streets for the past forty years might actually be there, or it might simply have been a momentary fantasy that Mevlut had ended up believing forever. It might just be his imagination that the distant skyscrapers he’d seen from Süleyman’s balcony looked like the gravestones in the picture from the Righteous Path—just as he had been given to feel that time had started running faster ever since a man and his son had robbed him of his wristwatch eighteen years ago…

  Mevlut knew that every time he called out “Boo-zaa,” his emotions really did spread to the people inside the homes he passed, but at the same time he also realized that this was no more than a charming fantasy. It could be true that there was another realm hidden within this one and that he might be able to walk and ponder his way into it if he allowed his secret other self to emerge. For the moment, he refused to choose between the two realms. His public views were correct, and so were his private ones; the intentions of the heart and the intentions of words were equally important…This meant that all the words that had leaped out at him from advertisements, posters, newspapers displayed in grocery stores, and messages painted on walls may have been telling Mevlut the truth all along. The city had been sending him these symbols and signs for forty years. He felt the urge to respond to the things it had been telling him, just as he used to do as a child. It was his turn to talk now. What would he like to say to the city?

  Mevlut couldn’t quite work this out yet, though he had already decided to announce it like a political slogan. Perhaps this message—which he intended to write on the city walls as he had done in his youth—should relate not to his public views but to his private world. Or maybe it should be something that was faithful to both: the most essential truth of all.

  “Boo-zaa…”

  “Boza seller, boza seller, wait…”

  A window opened, and Mevlut smiled in surprise: a basket from the old days was descending rapidly before him.

  “Boza seller, do you know how to use the basket?”

  “Of course.”

  Mevlut poured some boza into the glass bowl inside the basket, took his money, and was soon eagerly back on his way, still trying to figure out what thought he should share with the city.

  In recent years, he had been fearful of old age, death, and being forgotten. He’d never hurt anyone on purpose, and he had always tried to be a good person; provided he didn’t succumb to a moment of weakness between now and the day he died, he believed he should make it to heaven. Recently, though, a fear that he may have wasted his life—which he’d never felt in his youth—had begun to gnaw at his soul, despite all the years he still had ahead of him with Samiha. He wasn’t sure what he could say to the city on this matter.

  He walked all along the wall around the cemetery in Feriköy. In the past, the strangeness in his mind would have pushed him to go inside, even though he used to be so afraid of dead people and graveyards. Nowadays he was less scared of cemeteries and skeletons, but he was still reluctant to walk into one of these historic graveyards because they brought to mind his own death. But a childish impulse made him look over a slightly lower section of the wall and into the cemetery, where he saw a rustling that alarmed him.

  A black dog, followed shortly by another, was heading deeper into the cemetery. Mevlut turned around and started walking briskly in the opposite direction. There was nothing to fear. It was a holiday, and the streets were full of well-dressed people of goodwill, smiling at him as he walked by. A man around his own age opened a window and called out to him and then came down with an empty pitcher into which Mevlut poured two kilos of boza, which cheered him up, and made him forget all about the dogs.

  But ten minutes later, two streets down, the dogs cornered Mevlut. By the time he noticed them, he realized that two others from the pack were behind him, and that he wouldn’t be able to back off and slip away. His heart sped up, and he could not remember the prayers his father’s holy man had taught him, or the advice the Holy Guide had given him.

  When Mevlut tiptoed past them, however, the dogs didn’t bare their teeth or growl at him, nor was their demeanor threatening in any way. None of them came to sniff at him. Most ignored him, in fact. Mevlut was profoundly relieved; he knew this was a good omen. He felt the need for a friend he could talk to. The dogs loved him now.

  Three streets, one neighborhood, and many eager, hopeful, and kindhearted customers later, Mevlut was amazed to find that he was almost out of boza, when a third-floor window opened and a man called out, “Boza seller, come on up.”

  Two minutes later, Mevlut was at their door with his boza jugs, on the third floor of this old building with no elevator. They showed him inside. There was that dense humidity that formed when people kept their windows mostly shut and their stoves and radiators turned low, and he detected a heavy dose of rakı fumes, too. Yet this was not a table of querulous drunks but a group of family and friends delighting in the festivities. He saw loving aunts, dignified fathers, gregarious mothers, grandfathers, grandmothers, and an indefinite number of children. As their parents sat at the table and talked, the children kept running around, hiding underneath and shouting at one another. These people’s happiness pleased Mevlut. Human beings wer
e made to be happy, honest, and open. He saw all this warmth in the orange light from the living room. He poured out five kilos of his best boza as a number of children observed him with interest. A gracious woman, around his own age, came into the kitchen from the living room. She was wearing lipstick and was without a headscarf, and her dark eyes were huge.

  “Boza seller, how good that you came upstairs,” she said. “It was good to hear your voice from the street. I felt it right inside my heart. It’s a wonderful thing that you’re still selling boza. I’m glad you’re not just saying, ‘Who’d buy it anyway?’ and giving up.”

  Mevlut was at the door. He slowed down on his way out. “I would never say that,” he said. “I sell boza because it’s what I want to do.”

  “Don’t ever give up, boza seller. Don’t ever think there’s no point trying among all these towers and all this concrete.”

  “I will sell boza until the day the world ends,” said Mevlut.

  The woman gave him a lot more money than what he usually charged for five kilos. She gestured as if to say that she didn’t want any change, that this was a gift for the Feast of the Sacrifice. Mevlut slipped quietly through the door, went downstairs, and stopped in front of the main entrance to throw his stick across his shoulders and pick up his jugs.

  “Boo-zaa,” he cried when he was back out on the street. As he walked toward the Golden Horn, down a road that felt as if it were descending into oblivion, he remembered the view he’d seen from Süleyman’s apartment. Now he knew what it was that he wanted to tell Istanbul and write on its walls. It was both his public and his private view; it was what his heart intended as much as what his words had always meant to say. He said it to himself:

  “I have loved Rayiha more than anything in this world.”

  2008–2014

  Index of Characters

  All page numbers in bold refer to first-person narratives.

  Abdülvahap

  Abdurrahman Efendi: retired boza and yogurt seller. Father of Vediha, Rayiha, and Samiha; Mevlut’s father-in-law. Comes to Istanbul and goes back to the village, 3.1; his wife, son, and daughters, 8.1; his search for a husband for Vediha, 14.1; with Korkut, 14.2, 14.3; 21.1; 24.1; 27.1; 28.1; 30.1; with Süleyman, 27.2, 34.1; in the Ghaazi Quarter, 34.2, 34.3, 34.4, 34.5; 45.1; at Fevziye’s wedding, 51.1

  (The) Admiral. Bringing down a nightclub; 49.1

  Ahmet from Ankara. In the army

  Ali

  (Uncle) Asım

  Atiye: Mevlut’s mother, who stays behind in the village. Writing letters, 3.1; in the village, 45.1

  (The) Blind (village) Grocer; 3.1

  Blind Kerim: high-school gymnastics and religion teacher, 7.1, 19.1

  Bozkurt: Korkut and Vediha’s elder son. His birth, 20.1; 21.1; 21.1; 26.1; when Samiha elopes, 27.1; 34.3; 50.1; 57.1

  Burhan

  Captain Tahsin: owner of the Binbom Café, 37.1; his precautions against his employees’ tricks, 37.2; his fight with his employees, 39.1

  Cezmi from Cizre: Beyoğlu gangster

  Chubby Muharrem: employee at the Binbom Café, 39.1, 39.2

  (The) Concrete Brothers, Abdullah and Nurullah, 9.1, 33.1, 53.1

  Doorman Ercan, 42.1, 42.2, 42.3

  Emre from Antalya (Emre Şaşmaz). In the army

  Erhan

  Fatma: Mevlut’s elder daughter. Her birth, 26.1; her first day of school, 37.1; her friendship with her father, 43.1, 50.1; 45.1; 50.1; on Bozkurt, 50.2; at university, 50.3; her wedding, 50.4; 54.1

  (Mr.) Fazıl: school principal. The flag-raising ceremony, 7.1; on the poor and the rich, 7.2

  Fehmi: physics teacher

  Ferhat: the son of a Kurdish Alevi family from Bingöl who settle in Istanbul. Mevlut’s best friend. His first meeting with Mevlut, 8.1; his letters to European girls, 8.2; 9.1–9.2; 10.1 putting up posters, 12.1; 12.2; funeral riots, 13.1; the attacks on the Alevis, 13.2; 13.3; the war between Duttepe and Kültepe, 13.4; arrests, tortures, and the departure of the Alevis from Kültepe, 13.5; 17.1; his restaurant job, 17.2; 17.3; 17.4; the first love letters, 18.1; 24.1; Samiha, 27.1; 30.1; 30.2; 31.1; his days as a waiter, 31.2; working as a meter inspector, 35.1, 40.1; with Mevlut, 40.2, 40.3; 41.1; the privatization of the distribution of electricity, 41.2; 41.3; he meets Selvihan, 42.1; among the archives of electricity consumption 42.2, 46.1, 48.1; on public and private views, 43.1; the Brothers-in-Law Boza Shop, 43.2; working with Mevlut as meter inspectors, 46.2, 47.1; the Sunshine Club, 48.2; 48.3; 49.1; his death, 49.2

  Fevziye: Mevlut’s younger daughter. Choosing her name, 28.1; her birth, 28.2; her friendship with her father, 43.1, 51.1; visiting Rayiha’s grave, 45.1, 51.2; 45.1; 50.1; eloping with Erhan, 51.3; their wedding, 51.4; Samiha, 53.1, 54.1

  (The) Groom: son of a doctor, and Mevlut’s middle-school friend, 7.1, 44.1

  Hadi from Gümüşhane

  Hadji Hamit Vural: former grocer from Rize; contractor operating in and around Duttepe and Kültepe, entrepreneur, and construction magnate. His introduction to the grocery and construction businesses, 10.1; bringing unmarried workers over from the village, 10.2; Duttepe Mosque, 10.3; a dormitory for his workers, 14.1; on love, 14.2; at Mevlut’s wedding, 24.1; at Rayiha’s funeral, 45.1; giving Mevlut the share he wants, 56.1; the Tower, 57.1, 57.2

  Hamdi from Gümüşdere

  Hamdi the poultry dealer: Beyoğlu shopkeeper, 34.1, 37.1

  Hasan: Süleyman’s elder son, 52.1, 57.1

  (Uncle) Hasan: Mustafa Efendi’s older brother; Mevlut’s uncle; Korkut and Süleyman’s father. The house in Duttepe, 3.1; the grocery store, 5.1; 14.1; the plot of land in Kültepe, 15.1; on Mahinur, 47.1; paper bags, 56.1; the neighborhood councilman’s papers, 56.2

  Haydar, 30.1, 31.1

  Hidayet the Boxer

  Hızır: ice-cream vendor

  (The) Holy Guide: head of a secret lodge; master calligrapher. His first meeting with Mevlut, 36.1; Mevlidhan, 36.2; 37.1; on the fear of dogs, 47.1; on prayer and intentions, 50.1; 56.1; 56.2; 57.1

  İbrahim: Fevziye and Erhan’s son; Mevlut’s grandson, 53.1

  Kadri Karlıovalı (Kadri the Kurd): restaurant manager; 18.1

  Kâzım: Süleyman’s younger son. His birth; 52.1; 57.1

  Kemal from Zonguldak: car valet, ; 46.1

  Korkut: Mevlut’s elder cousin; Süleyman’s older brother; Vediha’s husband; Bozkurt and Turan’s father. His old school blazer, 5.1; when he beats up a teacher, 5.2; 12.1; 12.2; putting up posters, 12.3; 13.1; 14.1; falls in love with Vediha, 14.2; with Crooked-Necked Abdurrahman, 14.3, 14.4, 14.5; peacemaker, 24.1; 27.1; 36.1; in Azerbaijan, 42.1; 45.1; with Mahinur, 47.1; 50.1; 56.1; 56.1; misplaced words, 57.1

  Librarian Aysel (high school)

  Mahinur Meryem: Süleyman’s singer lover and wife; her real name is Melahat. Her music career, 32.1; with Süleyman, 32.2; pregnant, 46.1; asking for a girl’s hand, 47.1; in her new home, 57.1

  Massive Melahat: biology teacher, 7.1, 7.2, 13.1

  Mohini: Mevlut’s middle-school and army friend; a barber. His long hair gets cut off, 8.1; UNICEF milk, 8.2; his work as a hairdresser during military service, 19.1; at Mevlut’s wedding, 24.1; 49.2

  Mustafa Efendi: Mevlut’s father. Boza and yogurt seller, 3.1; his surname, 3.2; goes to Istanbul with Mevlut, 3.3; the history of the neighborhood, 4.1; takes Mevlut to a holy man in Kasımpaşa, 5.1; 5.2; in Istanbul with Hasan, 5.3; empty land and unlicensed homes, 5.4; the secrets of being a street vendor, 6.1; 6.2; his fear of the state, 6.3; the secrets of the city, 6.4; 8.1; 10.1; glass bowls, 13.1; 15.1; 17.1; hitting his son, 17.2; his death and funeral, 20.1

  (Mrs.) Nalan (housewife), 31.1, 31.2

  (Miss) Nazlı: middle-school English teacher, 7.1; 7.2; 7.2; on 12 March, 8.1

  Nazmi from Nazilli. In the army

  Nazmi the Laz: neighborhood chief

  Necati: a neighbor in Tarlabaşı, 33.1, 51.1

  Nedim (from the ferry pier)

  Neriman. Stalking her, 11.1; 13.1; the moment, years later, when Mevlut thinks he’s just seen her again, 35.1

  Ramses: high-school history teacher, 7.1, 8.1