Silent House Read online

  “Madam!” I said. “If we don’t set off soon we’ll get caught in the heat.”

  “Okay, okay. Make sure the door is closed.”

  I went downstairs and put on water to heat for washing up the dishes. As I drank the other half of my milk and waited for the water to warm up, I thought about the cemetery, and I felt a bit emotional, a little strange; I thought about the clothes and the equipment in the laundry room as well. A person feels like crying sometimes, in a cemetery. I went out, Metin Bey wanted tea, which I brought. Faruk Bey, smoking a cigarette, was looking at the garden. The two were silent. I went in and finished washing up. When I went in again Metin Bey had returned from getting dressed, so I went back, took off my apron, checked my jacket and tie, combed my hair, and smiled at myself in the mirror the way I did after the barber combed my hair. I went outside.

  “We’re ready,” they said.

  Upstairs, Madam had finally gotten dressed, the same terrible black coat, of course, her skirts touching the floor, since Madam was getting a little shorter each year, and the tips of her weird pointy boots stuck out like the identical noses of two curious foxes. She was putting a scarf on her head. She looked embarrassed to see me, and we were silent for a minute.

  “Won’t you be too warm in this heat?” I said.

  “Is everybody ready?”

  “They are.”

  She was looking around the room for something and, seeing that the closet was closed, seemed to look for something else, before looking at the closet again.

  “Take me down, then.”

  She saw me pulling the door open but had to give it a tug with her own hand, too. At the top of the stairs she leaned on me rather than on her cane. We went down very slowly, and when the others had gathered outside, we all worked at getting Madam into the car.

  “Did you make sure the doors are closed?” she said.

  “Yes, Madam,” I said, but then I went back in and this time slammed them so she could be assured.

  7

  Grandmother Offers Her Prayers

  My God, suddenly, so strange, when the car started to move, I got so excited, just as I did when as a girl I’d gotten into a horse-drawn carriage, but then I thought of you, all you poor souls in the cemetery, and I thought I would cry, but not yet, Fatma, because looking out the windows as the car passed through the gate into the streets, I saw Recep in the house, was he going to stay there all by himself, I began to wonder, but the car stopped and we waited a little till the dwarf got in on the other side and crawled into the back.

  “You shut the doors tight, didn’t you, Recep?”

  “Yes, Faruk Bey.”

  I sighed and leaned all the way back in my seat.

  “Grandmother, you heard, didn’t you, Recep shut the doors tight. So don’t let it be like last year, constantly saying that they were left open …”

  I started to think about them and, of course, I remembered they were talking about how you had hung a brass sign on the garden gate, Selâhattin, that said DOCTOR SELHATTIN, these are my hours and I won’t take money from the poor, Fatma, you said, I want to be in touch with the people, of course we don’t have many patients yet, it’s not a big city, we’re all the way out on the shore after all, really nobody else except a few miserable villagers in those days, now when I lifted my head—My God, look at the apartment buildings, the shops, the crowds, these half-naked people on the beach, don’t look, Fatma, what’s all that noise, all of them falling on top of one another, look, the hell you dreamed of has come to earth, Selâhattin, you won, if this is what you wanted, of course, look at the crowd, maybe this was it.

  “Grandmother looks really interested in everything, doesn’t she?”

  No, I wasn’t looking at anything, but your shameless grandchildren, Selâhattin.

  “Should we go the long way around and give you a little tour, Grandmother?”

  They must think your innocent wife is like you, yes, well, what can the poor kids do, brought up as they were, because you made your son just like yourself, Selâhattin, Doğan didn’t have any interest in his children either, Mother, their aunts can take care of them now, I can’t do it; if the aunts take care of them, then this is how they turn out, believing their grandmother is keen to see all the ugliness on the way to the cemetery, well, I’m not even looking, I bend my head down and open my purse, I inhale the smell of old age that rises up, and in the alligator darkness my little dry hand fishes for my handkerchief and I dab my poor dry eyes, because my thoughts are of them, only of them.

  “What’s the matter, Grandmother, don’t cry!”

  They don’t know how much I love all of you, how I can hardly bear to think that you’re dead on this sunny day; I dab my eyes a little again, poor me, and okay, that’s enough now, Fatma, I should know how to bear up, since I’ve spent my whole life in pain, there, it’s over now, nothing’s the matter, I lift up my head, I’m looking at everything—apartment buildings, walls, plastic signs, posters, shop-windows, colors—but right away I start to hate it, my God, what ugliness: Don’t look anymore, Fatma.

  “Grandmother, what did it used to be like around here?”

  I’m lost in my own thoughts and sorrows and I don’t hear what you’re saying, so how can I tell you that this used to be one garden after another, what beautiful gardens, where are they now, there was no one around and in those years, before the devil took your grandfather, early in the evenings, he’d say, Fatma, let’s go for a walk, I’m just stewing in here, we never go anywhere, this encyclopedia is exhausting me, I don’t want to be like some Eastern despot saying I don’t have any time, I want to make my wife happy, let’s at least walk a little in the garden, and we can talk, I’ll tell you about what I read today, I think about the necessity of science and how we’re so backward because we lack it, I truly understand now our need for a Renaissance, for a scientific awakening, there’s an awesome job before me that must be done, and so I’m actually grateful to Talat Pasha for exiling me to this lonely corner, where I can read and think about these things, because if it weren’t for this emptiness and all the time in the world, I could never have come to these conclusions, would never have realized the importance of my historic task, Fatma, anyway, all of Rousseau’s thoughts were the visions of a solitary wanderer in the countryside, surrounded by nature, but here the two of us are together.

  “Marlboros here, get your Marlboros!”

  Lifting my head, I got a fright, he almost stuck his arm inside the car, Careful, little boy, you’ll be crushed, and soon we’d left all the concrete behind, finally, thank God, we were among the gardens, spread out …

  “Really hot, isn’t it, Faruk?”

  … on both sides of the road going up the hill, where Selâhattin and I used to walk in those early years and, along the way, one or two miserable villagers would stop us and say hello, because they hadn’t yet grown afraid of him. Doctor, my wife is very sick, would you come, please God, because he hadn’t yet gone raving mad, the poor things, Fatma, I feel sorry for them, I don’t charge them anything, what can I do, but when we needed money they didn’t come anyway, then it was my rings, my diamonds, did I shut the closet door, I panicked, yes, I did.

  “Grandma, are you okay?”

  They don’t give a soul a moment’s peace with these ridiculous questions; I dab my eyes with my handkerchief: How can a person be okay when she is going to the graves of her husband and son, all I—

  “Look, Grandmother, we’re going by Ismail’s house. There!”

  feel is sorrow, but listen to what they’re saying, my God, here’s the house of the cripple, your bastard, but I’m not looking, do they know that, I

  “Recep, how is Ismail?”

  know and listen

  “Fine. Selling lottery tickets.”

  carefully, no, you don’t hear, Fatma, I

  “How’s his foot?”

  just have to save myself and my husband and my son from sin, does

  “Same as always, Faruk Bey.
He limps.”

  anyone know I had anything to do with this, did he

  “How’s Hasan?”

  go and tell them, that dwarf, knowing they’re so interested in equality, like their father and grandfather …

  “His marks are terrible. He failed English and mathematics. And he has no job.”

  Let’s see, they’ll say, well, Grandmother, then that makes them our uncles, we had no idea, for shame, Fatma, don’t think about it, is that why you’ve come here today—but we still aren’t there, I start to put my handkerchief to my eyes, imagine, on this sad day for me they’re sitting in the car chatting about this and that, as though we were out for a ride, a long time ago, about the only time we ever did, we had gotten a one-horse cart, and Selâhattin and I went up the hill tiki-taka, tiki-taka: What a good idea, Fatma, I never seem to find time for things like this because I’m always working on the encyclopedia, if only we had brought a bottle of wine along and some hard-boiled eggs, we could go and sit somewhere in the country, but just to get some fresh air, some nature, not to stuff ourselves for no reason, the way the Turks do, doesn’t the sea look beautiful from here, in Europe they call this a picnic, they do everything in moderation, Fatma, God willing we’ll be like that one day, our sons won’t see it but maybe our grandchildren, both boys and girls, God willing,

  “We’re here, Grandmother, we’re here, look!”

  in those days when science is ascendant our grandchildren will live happily in our nation that will be no different from the European nations, my grandchildren, they’ll come to my grave, yours, too … and when the motor stops my heart jumps, it’s so quiet here, the crickets in the heat, death at the age of ninety, they get out and open the door.

  “Give me your hand, Grandmother.”

  This plastic thing is harder to get out of than a horse-drawn carriage. God help us, if I fall I’ll die on the spot and they’ll bury me at once, maybe they’d like that,

  “Easy does it, take my arm, lean on me, Grandmother!”

  or maybe they’ll be sad, forgive me, why am I even thinking like that now? I get out, we walk among the gravestones with one of them on each arm, moving slowly, God, forgive me, these gravestones just give me the creeps,

  “Are you okay, Grandmother?”

  slowly in the heat, with nobody, this burnt smell of the dried weeds, me, too, one day, I’d be

  “Where was it?”

  among them, the graves—But don’t think of that now, Fatma,

  “It’s this way, Faruk Bey!”

  look, he’s still talking, the dwarf, to prove he knows where they are buried better than his own grandchildren, because I’m his son, too, is that what you mean, but when the others see their father’s and real mother’s

  “Here it is!”

  grave …

  “We’re here Grandmother!”

  My heart, I’m going to cry now, yes, you’re here, you poor things, let go of my arms, leave me alone with them, I wipe my eyes and when I see you all here, my Lord, why didn’t you take me, too, as though, for shame, I know anyway, I never once gave in to the devil, but I didn’t come here to accuse you, I’m going to cry now … I wiped my nose and when I held my breath for a second I heard the crickets and put my handkerchief in my pocket. I lifted up my hands and prayed and prayed to God that you might rest in peace, and when my prayer was done, I lifted my head and saw that at least they had lifted up their hands in prayer, too, good, Nilgün had covered her head nicely, but I hated the way that dwarf liked to show off—God, please forgive him, but I can’t stand to see someone so proud of being a bastard, as though he loves you more than any of the rest of us, Selâhattin, who do you think you are fooling, I wish I had brought my cane, where did I leave it, did they close the doors, but I didn’t come here to think about this, I came to think about you, here under this lonely gravestone, oh, did you ever think that one day I would come here and read on a stone placed on top of you:

  DOCTOR SELHATTIN DARVINOĞLU

  1881–1942

  MAY HIS SOUL REST IN PEACE

  I just read it, oh, Selâhattin, and you stopped believing anyway, and that’s why your soul is suffering the torments of hell, dear God, I don’t want to think about it, but is it my fault, how many times did I tell him to say he was sorry, and didn’t you make fun of me: Foolish woman, stupid woman, they brainwashed you just like everybody else, there is no God, no hereafter, the other world is a terrible lie they made up to keep us in line in this world, there’s no proof of God except that scholastic nonsense, there are only phenomena, and we can know them and the relationships among them, and so my duty is to explain to the whole East that there is no God, are you listening, Fatma, for shame, don’t think of it, I want to think of you as in those early days, when you still hadn’t given in to the devil, not just in death and fond memories, but you really were a child, though, as my father said, you had a brilliant future, didn’t she just sit there quietly in his office, she did, otherwise God knows what he might have done to those poor sick people, even totally uncovered European ladies with painted faces would come and shut themselves up in there, and their husbands came, too, I would be uncomfortable in the next room, don’t think of that, Fatma, yes, yes, maybe everything happened because of them, just when we had settled in, and we had one or two regular customers, patients, that is, because they were hard to come by, and about that I think you were right, Selâhattin, a bunch of sleepyheads from some remote village that nobody cared about, who spent their time dozing with the fishermen in the corners of a coffeehouse at some abandoned dock on the seashore, who never got sick in this clean air, who wouldn’t know it if they had, and who wouldn’t come if they did know it, who would come anyway, a few families, a few stupid villagers, but in spite of this you became known and people came all the way from Izmit, the most from Gebze, some came by boat from Tuzla, and just as he started to make money, he began to abuse his patients, God, I was listening from the next room: What did you put on this cut, First we put tobacco, doctor, then we bound it in dried dung, Those are just old folk remedies, there’s something called science now, well, what’s the matter with this child, He’s had a fever for five days, doctor, Why didn’t you bring him earlier, Didn’t you see the windstorm on the sea, doctor, Well, you almost killed the kid, What can we do if it’s God’s will, What God, there is no God, God is dead—My God, ask forgiveness, Selâhattin, What forgiveness, foolish woman, don’t you talk nonsense, too, like those stupid villagers, I’m ashamed of you, I’m going to make all these people grow up but I can’t even put two thoughts in my own wife’s head, you’re such an idiot, at least realize how stupid you are and believe in me; But you’re going to lose all your patients, Selâhattin, when I say that, I listen from the next room, he’s so stubborn he loses control, listen to the poor woman who’s come all this way with her husband to get some medicine: She should uncover herself, he says, irritating me, you’re her husband, you stupid villager, you tell her, she won’t uncover herself, fine, I’m not examining her, get out, I’m not going to give in to your primitive idiocies, Please, doctor, give us some medicine, No, if your wife doesn’t uncover herself there’s no medicine or anything else, no, get out, they misled you all with this lie of God, for shame … If only you could keep it to yourself, Selâhattin, or at least not talk to them like that, no I’m not afraid of anyone, but look, who knows what they’re saying behind my back, they say this doctor is an atheist, don’t go to him, he’s the devil himself, didn’t you see the skull on his desk, his office is filled with books, he has strange charms for casting spells, lenses that can turn a flea into a camel, pipes with smoke coming out the end, there are dead turtles pinned to boards there, don’t go, who in their right mind would submit to this godless man if they didn’t have to, this guy could, God forbid, make a healthy person sick, anybody who crosses his threshold runs into an evil spirit, not long ago he told a patient who had come all the way from Yarimca, You look like a sensible person, I like you, take these p
apers and read them in your village coffeehouse, I’ve written about what you have to do to fight typhus and tuberculosis, he said, I also wrote that there’s no God, go and maybe at least your village will wake up, he said, anyway if I could send someone sensible like you to every village to gather the villagers together every evening in the coffeehouse and read an article from my encyclopedia for an hour, this country would be liberated, but first, oh, I have to finish the encyclopedia and it keeps dragging on, damn it, and there’s no money, Fatma, your diamonds, your rings, your jewelry box, did they close the gate tight, they didn’t, of course, because patients no longer came aside from a few hopeless cases no longer afraid of anything, and some other poor souls who regretted it as soon as they entered the garden but who were afraid to turn back and anger the devil, but you paid no attention, Selâhattin, maybe because of my diamonds, The patients don’t come anymore, and it’s good that they don’t, because when I see these fools I get irritated and depressed, it’s so hard to believe that these animals will ever make something of themselves, the other day while we were talking I asked one of them what is the sum of the interior angles of a triangle and, of course, I knew, the poor villager who had never heard of a triangle in his life wouldn’t know the answer, but I got a pencil and paper and explained it to him, let me see how good they are at mathematics, I said, but it’s not the fault of these poor things, Fatma, the government never reached them to give them a good education, my God, I spent forever explaining, trying to make him understand, but the poor fool just sat there looking blankly at me, scared as well, oh, you foolish woman, just the way you’re looking at me now, as though you’d just seen the devil, poor creature, I’m your husband, you know, and, yes, you are a devil, Selâhattin, look now, you’re in hell, with the demons in the fires of hell, the burning cauldrons, or is death the way you said it was, I’ve discovered death, Fatma, he said, listen to me, this is more important than anything else, it’s so terrible now, death—I couldn’t bear it, thinking about him there in the grave, I was afraid and