Silent House Read online

  “Crazy!” said Ceylan, looking back at the dog that looked mesmerized as it flashed its sharp gleaming white teeth. “Get a little closer to the dog, Fikret.”

  “Why?”

  “Just do it.”

  “What are you looking at?” Fikret slowly drew closer to the dog. “Is it a male or a female?” He stopped the motor.

  “It’s bad luck!” shouted Ceylan, in a weird way.

  Suddenly I wanted to throw my arms around her, but instead I just looked at her, wondering what it would take to make her love me. I was becoming increasingly convinced that I was just a no-good lowlife, but at the same time I was feeling pretty good about myself, empty pride being the best antidote for worthlessness, to the point that I wanted to do something to make everyone pay attention to me, though unfortunately I couldn’t find either the courage or an excuse to do anything. It was like a straitjacket of poverty they had put on me. A few were dancing around and shouting while in the bow of the other boat two of them were wrestling, each trying to throw the other into the water. Then that boat came near and they started throwing buckets of water at us. We threw water back at them, and there was some dueling with the oars as swords for a while, causing some in our boat to fall in the water. By then the gin bottles were empty. So Fikret grabbed one of them and threw it at the dog, but he missed and the bottle smashed on the rocks.

  “What’s going on?” shouted Ceylan.

  “It’s okay, now, it’s okay, we’re going back,” said Fikret.

  He started up the motor, but by the time we’d collected the ones who had fallen into the water, the other boat had caught up, and they threw another bucket of water on us.

  “Okay, wise guys,” said Fikret, “let’s see what you can do, come on, we’ll race!”

  Side by side, the two boats went at the same speed for a while, but then Gülnur gave a shout, and it became obvious that the other boat was going to pass us, which made Fikret curse and order everybody toward the prow so we could gain speed. When the others passed us anyway and started to do a victory dance, Fikret balled up a towel and threw it at them. Of course he missed, but we turned right around and got there in time, but since nobody bothered to reach out and grab it, we rolled like an iron right over it, and the towel disappeared. The other boat, with everybody still howling, started chasing the car ferry that goes from Yalova to Darica and, when they caught up with it, circled it twice, shouting taunts at the crew, before coming back toward us for a game of bumper cars. When our two boats started to cruise among the swimming heads near the beach without cutting speed, I got nervous, and as the swimmers shouted and tried to get out of the way, I murmured, “What if there’s an accident?”

  “What are you, a teacher?” shouted Fafa. “You’re a high school teacher, huh?”

  “Is he a teacher?” said Gülnur.

  “I hate teachers!” said Fafa.

  “Me too!” said Cuneyt.

  “He didn’t drink anything,” said Turan. “That’s the problem. Too many multiplication tables.”

  “I drank more than you did,” I said pathetically, but since I noticed Ceylan wasn’t looking I didn’t care.

  Later, after we’d returned to Ceylan’s dock and tied up, I saw a woman about forty-five wearing a robe on the dock: it was her mother.

  “You kids are soaking wet,” she said. “What were you up to? Baby, where’s your towel?”

  “I lost it, Mom,” said Ceylan.

  “How did you do that? You’ll catch an awful cold,” her mother said.

  Ceylan made some gesture to say she didn’t care and then said, “Oh, Mom, this is Metin. They live in that old house. The strange silent house.”

  “Which old house?” said her mother.

  We shook hands, she asked what my father did, I explained the situation and also told her that I was going to go to America for university studies.

  “We’re going to buy a house in America,” Ceylan’s mother said. “Who can say what’s going to happen here. Where’s the best place in America?”

  I gave her some geographic information, I spoke about the climatic conditions, the population, and cited some statistics, but I couldn’t tell whether she was listening because she wasn’t looking at me. Then as we were talking a little about the street killings and the leftist gangs and the nationalist thugs in Turkey, Ceylan interrupted.

  “Mom, has he got you trapped now listening to his boring knowledge?”

  “You’re so rude!” said her mother. But then she went off without listening to the rest of what I had to say.

  I went over and stretched out on a chaise longue and watched Ceylan and the others diving in and getting out and diving in again. When everyone was reclining on the chairs and on the concrete, giving in to that unbelievable torpor under the sun, I fantasized about a clock left out there on the pier among our idle naked legs: as it exposes its face to the motionless sun it mixes up its hands until it has to confess that it can no longer measure time, and the thoughts of the clock are no different from the thoughts of someone who has no thoughts at all trying to understand what his thoughts are.

  11

  Grandmother Takes Out the Silver Candy Bowl

  Somebody knocked. I closed my eyes and kept quiet, but the door opened anyway.

  “Grandma, are you okay?” said Nilgün.

  I didn’t respond. I wanted them to look at my pale face and still body and realize that I was in the throes of agony.

  “You look better, Grandmother, you have some color in your face.”

  I thought: They’ll never understand and they’ll keep smiling, with their plastic cologne bottles and fake good cheer, and I will remain all alone with my pains, my past, and my thoughts. All right, leave me to my nice thoughts.

  “Feeling better, Grandmother?”

  But they won’t leave me. And I don’t speak.

  “You had a good sleep. Do you want anything?”

  “Lemonade!” I said all of a sudden, and when Nilgün had left I carried on with my nice, pure thoughts. I still felt warm after waking up from that cozy sleep, warmth on my cheeks and in my mind. I thought about the dream, the images in the dream, how I was very small, I had left Istanbul and was on a train, and as the train moved, I could see gardens, one within another, lovely old gardens. Soon Istanbul was far away, and we were in those gardens within gardens within gardens. Then I thought about the first days: the horse-drawn cart, the well bucket with the squeaky pulley, the sewing machine, the peaceful moments as the pedal of the machine creaked, then times we spent laughing together, the sun, the colors, the sudden feeling of fun, the fullness of that moment, Selâhattin, I thought about those first days: getting off in Gebze when we got sick … tossing and turning in those rooms at the inn in Gebze, the first time we came to Cennethisar because we thought the air was better.… A dock abandoned after the railroad was finished, a few old houses, a few old chicken coops, but the air is wonderful isn’t it, Fatma? No need to go any farther! Let’s settle down here! We’ll be near your mother and father in Istanbul, so they won’t worry, and we’ll be ready to go right back as soon as the government is toppled. Let’s get a house built here!

  We used to go for long walks together in those days: There are so many things to do in life, Fatma, Selâhattin would say, come, let me show you a little of the world, how’s the kid in your tummy, is it kicking, I know it will be a boy and I’m going to name him Doğan (Birth), so that he’ll always remind us of the new world that is dawning, so he lives in security and prosperity and believes that his strength is a match for the world! Take care of your health, Fatma, let’s both of us do that, let’s live for a long time, isn’t the world an extraordinary place, those plants, those brave trees that grow up all by themselves: it’s impossible not to be amazed by nature, let’s live like Rousseau in the lap of nature and keep far away from those self-proclaimed monarchs and the pashas who suck up to them, let’s examine everything all over again with our own minds. Just to think of all these thi
ngs is so wonderful! Are you tired, dear, take my arm and look at the beauty of the earth and sky, I’m so happy to have escaped all the hypocrisy of Istanbul that I almost feel like writing Talat a thank-you letter! Forget about those people in Istanbul, let them rot for their crimes and the torture that they take such pleasure in inflicting on one another! We’ll establish a brand-new world here, thinking and living things that are fresh, simple, happy, and free: a world of freedom such as the East has never seen, a paradise of logic on the face of the earth, I swear, Fatma, it will happen, and we’ll do it better than the West, we’ve seen their mistakes, and we won’t repeat them, and if we, or even our sons, don’t get to see it, our grandchildren certainly will, I swear, a paradise of logic on this earth! And we absolutely must give the child in your womb a good education, I’ll never ever make him cry, he must never feel fear, I will never teach this child the Eastern melancholy, the weeping, pessimism, the defeat of our terrible Oriental fatalism; we’ll work on his education together, we’ll bring him up free, you understand what this means, don’t you, good for you, Fatma, I’m so proud of you, I respect you, you know, I think of you as a free and independent person; I don’t think of you the way others think of their wives, as a concubine, an odalisque, a slave: you’re my equal, my dear, do you understand? But let’s go back now, yes, life’s as beautiful as a dream. But there’s work to be done so others can see the dream, we’re going back.

  “Grandma, don’t you want your lemonade?”

  I lifted up my head from the pillow and looked. “Leave it there,” I said, and as she put it down, “Why didn’t Recep bring it? Did you make it?”

  “I made it,” said Nilgün. “Recep’s hands were greasy, he’s cooking.”

  I feel sorry for you, dear girl, but what can I do, because the dwarf has already pulled the wool over your eyes, he does that, he’s sneaky. I thought: How he got in among them, how he turned their thoughts around, how he drowned them in that evil feeling of shame and guilt with his disgusting, ugly presence, how he fooled them the way he fooled my Doğan. Did he tell them? My head fell exhausted on the pillow, and I thought, Poor me, of that terrible and pathetic thing that kept me from sleeping at night.

  I thought about how it must have been as he spoke: Yes, Madam, I am telling them, he would say, I’m telling your grandchildren one by one what you did to me and my poor mother and my brother, let them hear and know all about it, because now, as my departed father—Quiet, dwarf, no—as the departed Selâhattin Bey, wrote so beautifully, there’s no God now, thank goodness, there’s science, we can know everything, we must know everything, they should know, they do know, because I told them, and now they say, Poor Recep, you mean our grandmother mistreated you and still does, we’re so sorry, we feel so guilty, so don’t trouble yourself washing your greasy hands just to make lemonade; don’t work, just sit there and relax, this house belongs to you too, they say, because Recep told them. But did he tell them: Children, can you imagine why your father, Doğan Bey, would have wanted to sell your grandmother’s last diamonds and give the money to us, did he tell them that? Just the thought of it and I felt as if I were drowning. My head popped up from the pillow, full of hate!

  “Where is he?”

  “Who, Grandmother?”

  “Recep! Where?”

  “Downstairs, I already said, Grandmother. He’s cooking.”

  “What has he said to you?”

  “Nothing, Grandmother!” said Nilgün.

  No, he wouldn’t tell them, he wouldn’t dare, Fatma, don’t be afraid, he’s sneaky, but he’s also a coward. I took the lemonade that was next to me and drank it. But then I thought of the closet again.

  “What are you doing here?” I said abruptly.

  “I’m sitting here with you, Grandmother,” said Nilgün. “I missed it here this last year.”

  “Fine,” I said. “Sit! But don’t get up now.”

  I slowly got up, and taking the keys from under my pillow and my cane from the edge of the bedside, off I went.

  “Where are you going, Grandmother?” said Nilgün. “Can I help?”

  I didn’t answer. When I got to the closet I stopped and rested. As I put the key in the lock I looked back: yes, Nilgün was still sitting there. I opened the closet and checked right away: I had gotten all upset for nothing, the box was still there, it was completely empty, but at least it was there still. Then I thought of something as I was closing the door. I took the silver candy bowl from the bottom of the bottom drawer, locked the closet, and brought it over to Nilgün.

  “Oh, Grandma, you got up just for me, that was so much trouble.”

  “Take a red one, too!”

  “What a beautiful silver bowl!” she said.

  “Don’t touch it!”

  I went back to my bed, Let me think of something else, I said, but nothing came to mind: I lost myself in thoughts of one of those days when I couldn’t leave the closet for a minute: “Look, aren’t you being rude, Fatma,” he said, that day, “the man came all the way from Istanbul to see us, and you won’t even leave your room, and he’s so refined, he’s like a European. If you’re doing this because he’s Jewish that’s even worse, Fatma, after the Dreyfus affair all of Europe knows how wrong it is to for you to think this way. Then Selâhattin went downstairs, and I looked out from between the shutters.

  “Grandmother, isn’t the lemonade sweet enough?”

  I looked at them from between the shutters: a scrawny old thing who looked even smaller next to Selâhattin, a jeweler from Kapaliçarsi!

  But Selâhattin was talking to him as though he were a scholar instead of a little trader; I could overhear: Well, Avram Efendi, what’s going on in Istanbul, are people happy with the proclamation of the republic? According to Selâhattin the jeweler said: Business is off, sir, off! And instead of replying, Selâhattin said, “No, really? Business, too? But the republic was supposed to be good for business just as for everything else. Business was going to save us. And not just our people, business will wake up the whole East; first we have to learn how to make money, how to keep accounts and records: this is what they call mathematics, then, when trade and mathematics and money all come together they’ll set up factories. And then we, too, will learn not just to make money like them but to think like them as well! What do you think, to live like them do we first have to learn to think like them or is it sufficient to learn first how to make money like them?” The jeweler said, “Who is the ‘they’ you’re talking about?” And Selâhattin said, “Who else, my friend, the Europeans, the Westerners,” and he asked, “Don’t we have anyone at all who’s both a Muslim and a rich businessman? Who’s that Isikçi Cevdet Bey, have you ever heard of him?” The jeweler: “I’ve heard it said he made a lot of money during the war.” And Selâhattin asked, “Well, what else is going on in Istanbul, do you have connections with Babiali, what are those idiots saying, who are they pushing forward as new writers or new poets, do you know any of them?” And then the jeweler said, “I don’t really know. Why don’t you go and have a look for yourself!” Then I heard Selâhattin shouting, “No, I won’t go there! Let them talk to the devil, damn them. They won’t produce anything after this. Look at that Abdullah Cevdet, his last book was such a piece of trash, he stole everything from Delahaye but wrote it up as though it were his own, and on top of everything, it was all jumbled, since he didn’t understand a thing. Anyway, it’s impossible to say anything about religion and industry anymore without reading Bourguignon. He and Ziya Bey always take stuff from other writers and without understanding a thing: besides, Ziya’s French is minimal and he can’t understand what he’s reading, I said to myself, I should write a piece and humiliate them, but who would understand, and would it be worth eating into the time I must devote to my encyclopedia just to be a scribbler of such trivial things. I say leave them, let them devour one another in Istanbul.”

  I lifted my head from the pillow and took a sip of the lemonade set next to me.

  Then Sel�
�hattin said to the jeweler, “Go and tell them that that’s what I think of them,” to which the jeweler replied, “But I don’t even know them, sir, people like that, they never come by my shop,” which prompted Selâhattin to start shouting, “I know, I know!” and cut him off, “you don’t even have to say anything. Anyway, when I’ve finished my forty-eight-volume encyclopedia of all the basic principles and ideas, everything that must be said in the East will have been said once and for all: I’ll fill that unbelievable gulf in thought in one fell swoop, they’ll all be astonished, the newsboys on Galata Bridge will sell my encyclopedia, Bank’s Avenue will be turned upside down, they’ll go after one another in Sirkeci, some readers will commit suicide, and, above all, the people will understand me, the nation will understand! And that’s when I’ll return to Istanbul, in the middle of that great awakening, I’ll come back!” said Selâhattin, and the jeweler said, “Yes, mister, you stay here meanwhile, Istanbul’s no fun anymore, and neither is the Kapaliçarsi. Everyone’s trying to gouge the other men’s eyes out. One jeweler will try to drive down the price of another’s merchandise. But you can trust me. As I said, business is slow, but I figured let me at least go and take a look at the stuff. If you don’t mind it’s getting late, so perhaps you should you show me that diamond. And how about the earrings like you mentioned in your letter, what are they like?” Then there was a silence; I listened to the silence with my heart pounding; I had the key in my hand.

  “Grandmother, maybe it’s too sweet?”

  I took another swallow and turned away toward the pillow. “It’s just right!” I said. “Congratulations, and good health to you.”

  “I made it very sweet.”

  Then I heard the jeweler’s nasty cough and Selâhattin saying in a whiny voice: But aren’t you staying for dinner, Avram Efendi? When the jeweler mentioned the earrings once more, Selâhattin ran upstairs to my room: Fatma, he said, come on, come downstairs, we’re sitting down to eat, it’s very rude! But he knew I wouldn’t come down. A little later he went down with my Doğan, and then the jeweler said “What a polite boy!” and asked after his mother, and Selâhattin said that I was ill, and as I listened to the three of them eating whatever that whore was serving them, I was filled with disgust. Then he started to tell the jeweler about his encyclopedia.