He stopped at a café up the street after a quick shave and then started walking the streets of the city, a few times running the risk of getting lost to make sure that no one was following him. As he walked, sweat started pouring down his face, stinging his freshly shaven cheeks, so he sat down on a park bench for a while before continuing on his way. At one point he stopped to eat a generously buttered ham sandwich at the end of a cul-de-sac and then clambered over two walls to throw himself into the throng of people bustling along the next street. After dusk had fallen, he continued his peregrinations in the outskirts of Marseille. The sky was clear and the air was balmy, so he decided to sleep on a pile of hay near a vineyard abutting a farmhouse.
When Celal awoke with the morning sun shining in his eyes, he saw a servant step out of a nearby hut. Calling him over, Celal offered to buy an old horse he’d seen tied up near the farmhouse. The deal done, Celal squeezed his swollen feet into his shoes and swung himself into the saddle, and although the horse was as listless as they come Celal set off with the decisiveness of Don Quixote, riding the old horse as far as it could go—which was the first station on the train line from Marseille to Paris.
After setting the horse free when a train bound for Paris pulled into the station a few hours later, Celal boarded the train and settled into a seat, noting that it was almost completely empty. Like everyone who enjoys travelling by rail, he gazed out of the window, watching the scenery speed by, and then felt an urge to read something. He took the notebook that the Commissioner had slipped into his chest from his bag. The first thing that he noticed was that it was written in Turkish. Intrigued, he started reading:
ARIF BEY, THE WINGED BATS ARE RIGHT
—A One-Act Play in Four Scenes—
SCENE ONE
The courtyard of Arif’s home. A path lined with fruit trees leads to the garden wall. Mount Sipylus fills the horizon in all its majesty. There are a desk and a chair in the courtyard.
The afternoon call to prayer has just resounded from the minaret of the nearby mosque. Darkness is starting to fall. Arif and Pierre are in deep conversation as they walk among the fruit trees.
PIERRE (pulling a tree branch laden with apples towards him, he plucks one of the apples from the branch and, holding it to the bridge of his nose, examines it closely, one eye closed) Take the worm in this apple, for instance. Did nature want this apple to be riddled with holes or does the worm exist so that we’ll have to learn how to deal with such things? (He bites into the apple) Maybe it’s the same thing. An affliction, a calamity, has been unleashed upon us and I’m trying to fend it off. Call it what you will—God, nature, it doesn’t matter. Regardless of whoever or whatever brought it upon us, there is a cure. There is a cure that we can track down, dazzling it with a torch in its lair and then pulling it out by its ear.
ARIF (gazing at the mountain) Do you really believe that the remedy is hidden in that mountain?
PIERRE It’s not hidden. You can’t hide a mountain, can you? Your mountain there is drawing iron towards itself. Even if you could hide the mountain, you couldn’t hide the iron. The remedy has left its traces out in the open. And what’s out in the open for all to see is destiny. As the human mind works to achieve its destiny, everything acquires meaning, and in the process we become one with our fate. And what is destiny? A pointless weed growing in nature’s garden? A path chosen by God? It’s not that important. When you become one with your destiny, you either arrive at nature or attain that which is divine. Or maybe both at the same time…
Pierre takes Arif by the arm and they slowly start walking towards the house.
ARIF (plunged into thought) These days I’ve been thinking a lot about death. Actually, I’m not even sure that “death” is the right word. It’s more like I’ve been thinking about what happens after death. I’m concerned, but not about what will happen to my poor soul. The body isn’t the prison of the soul. Ever since I understood that saying such a thing isn’t a sin, I’ve been more at ease. In reality the soul is the prison of the body. You mentioned attaining that which is divine, and you were right. The soul was breathed into us… Meaning that the source of the soul is the divine. The soul prevents the body from attaining its desires, which means that this is what God Almighty wants. Life isn’t difficult. It’s enough if you discipline the body with that which the divine has breathed into the soul.
Silence.
PIERRE (trying to be convincing) The divine or nature… Our woes and the remedy are the very essence of our souls. Until the day of death, the soul speaks to us of that which is relevant. But the soul can’t always stifle the body’s desires. No matter how much you control yourself, there’s always a chance that at one point you’ll find yourself in a situation in which the soul breaks down. In fact, that which belongs to the body consists of the blink of an eye. If the body deceives the soul but once, you can then dupe it with a single reality. After a while, you start thinking that what you’ve grown accustomed to, that which you’ve seen, are rules that have been laid down by the soul. But the things to which we are accustomed are just the stringing together of the moments of the body’s blink of an eye. (Excitedly) Think about it like this. You look up and see a bird flap its wings once. You look again, and yet again you see the bird flap its wings. Then when you see the bird flapping its wings with every blink of your eye, you notice that it is flying. However, the things to which you’re accustomed are not the true basis of perception. Sure, the bird is flying, but not because someone looked at it or because you’re used to looking at it. The bird is flying because every muscle in its wings has been designed for that. The bird is flying not because someone has watched it fly but because someone observed it and made measured observations of how it flies. The signs are there for all to see. But if the human mind does not seek out those signs, the divine order or the laws of nature cannot be grasped. And when they are not grasped, the bird flies for nothing. It’s just you watching a bird, nothing more or less.
ARIF (animatedly) Did the Absolute Being create birds just so they could be dissected with the aim of understanding how they fly? What good will it do anyone, if they find out how a bird flies without comprehending why it flies?
PIERRE (emphatically) Arif Bey, it will do plenty of good. (He stops and with a grand gesture points to the mountain) Just like with your mountain there, drawing iron into itself. The way that the mountain attracts iron is a sign in itself. It’s a riddle put in place by divine fate, by nature, for us to solve. And when we solve it, we may not understand why it does that. We don’t understand why birds fly when we work out how they fly. That’s not the problem. If we can comprehend the “how”, we can then be part of the remedy of the “why”. (Silence) I know that I’ve rambled on a lot but there’s something about the shadow of that mountain, it says something. (They walk in silence) I was listening to you… You were saying that you were thinking about what happens after death.
ARIF (takes a deep breath) I’m not too worried about the salvation of my soul. I’ve soundly imprisoned my body in my soul. (Concerned) Of course, we all know who is up above and, who knows, perhaps I deserve to be punished far worse than the most wicked of sinners… (Agitated) Still, I know that I have done everything I could for the grace of God. And I know that even saying such a thing is a sin. But I can’t stop myself! There are people who have never fallen prey to anger or passion. They always take shelter in logic, in understanding. Such people simply observe humanity because they think that, in doing so, they can then distinguish between God and superstition. As they tread down God’s path, they hold to the false belief that they are following reason, and as they drink of its narcissistic tranquillity they think that they have turned their back on superstition. But the thing is, when they prattle on about being sensible, and stability, they don’t realize how misguided they actually are. (Sadly) So, Monsieur Pierre, the whole lot of such people will fade away to death, struck down by an unknown ailment. Even so, their deaths will make sense to the people around them. And beca
use they never glowed with life, the way they fade isn’t really a fading at all. When they’re gone, no one will say that they were on the side of God, that they rejected superstition. At best, someone might say, “He was a good person.” That’s it and nothing more.
PIERRE (pauses mid-stride) There are a thousand and one ways to take God’s side against superstitions! But there’s just one true path: embracing destiny in our very souls. It’s in our power to establish the soul’s reign over the body. Arif Bey, why does a murderer kill? Because his nature commands it or because his surroundings lead him to the act, right? His family, upbringing, income, education, and so on. The coming together of uncountable factors caused by a thousand and one reasons under certain conditions. (A pause) If he committed murder because his very nature drove him to do it, there’s no way it could’ve been prevented. If the fault lies with his surroundings, it would be possible to identify what led him to do it and perhaps find a way to prevent it from happening again, but there is no single solution that would work for every society, every country, every age or every person. So tell me this, Arif Bey. What is our fate? To accept the fact that people kill one another or to find a way to prevent it? (He smiles, noticing that Arif is listening carefully to his every word) If you embrace your fate, you will never have to worry about being one of those people who simply fade away and die. Life is a game, Arif Bey. The person who embraces their fate understands the goal of the game. And when you do that, the horror of death vanishes. To do anything else is to lose the game, and the meaning of life wilts away. That’s why people are so afraid of death. Perhaps it is actually quite easy to find one’s fate and stave off the fear of death. So, let me ask you this: will you help me build the peace machine?
The sound of the call to prayer. Pierre offers Arif an apple.
ARIF (hesitantly biting into the apple) Monsieur Pierre, obviously you’re not the only person waiting for an answer. (He looks up at the sky) I’m going to say my prayers now. That’s when the best answers come to me.
SCENE TWO
The sun has set behind Mount Sipylus. Arif and Pierre are having dinner in the living room. Young Sahir is sitting at a desk in the courtyard working by the light of a candle. The desk is covered in papers.
ARIF (glancing at Sahir) In his own way, he’s even sort of charming. And I wouldn’t be off the mark if I said that he was intelligent. That’s why I teach him things when I can find the time. Sometimes he cleaves right through the most difficult subjects as if he has a forehead like an ice-breaker, quickly learning by rote things that it would take someone like me an hour to learn. Of course, he’s got his odd moods. Such a tenuous strangeness… Sometimes he doesn’t hear what’s said around him. He’s got something feline like that in him—he suddenly gets spooked by things that I can’t even see. Most of the time he just stays at home. Since his sensitive eyes aren’t strained by the dim light, he works in the courtyard with a single candle, from the last prayer of the day until morning. I let him, so that he can get some fresh air. He does the accounts for my olive groves.
PIERRE Is he a good bookkeeper?
ARIF (proudly) He’s extraordinary. As long as he’s allowed to work after the sun goes down, he’s proving to be a clever, efficient clerk. That is, if you know how to manage him. Whoever he works for has to put up with his somewhat bizarre ways and frail constitution.
PIERRE (popping stewed apricots into his mouth with pleasure; he pauses to wipe his moustache) Has a doctor taken a look at his eyes?
ARIF Of course. An Italian doctor in Istanbul ascribed it to a neural disorder, saying that his nervous system is like a rowing boat in a storm. Like you, that particular doctor is well-versed in matters of electricity. He said that the tissue behind the lenses of Sahir’s eyes is like wool cloth constantly being rubbed together, creating static electricity whenever he gets agitated.
PIERRE (trying to remember something) I think it’s called… photophobia. An excessive build-up of electricity in the optic nerve. Such an unfortunate affliction. (He pauses for a moment) Why can’t he go back to his village?
ARIF It’s a rather odd place.
PIERRE (suddenly interested, he glances at Sahir) What’s so strange about it?
ARIF (reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a cigarette case; he offers Pierre a cigarette; a moment of silence) As you know, we don’t have lords, counts, dukes and marquises like you do in your country. We have agas, beys and pashas… But you won’t find any of those in Sahir’s village. They are simple folk. For the most part they are Muslim, but they don’t like the people in the surrounding Greek villages because they’re “newcomers”. They disdain the Ottomans, too, saying that they’re latecomers to the land. For them, even the prophet Abraham was a new arrival. If your lineage is known, then so is your name. For instance, all the men in Sahir’s family are named Sahir. Every male child has to take up the same line of work as his father.
PIERRE (putting out his cigarette) So, why can’t Sahir go back to his village?
ARIF Because his father was the village watchman, and also a hunter. With Sahir’s eyes afflicted as they are, he can’t do either.
PIERRE Isn’t there any way that he can go back home?
ARIF Not really. You see, he ran away. The heads of all the families got together and declared him an outcast. There’s a small stream called Red Brook which runs down the slope above the village. It is forbidden for anyone who has been cast out of the village to cross it again. But Sahir has little interest in going back. I’ve always been somewhat curious about the place, perhaps because I’ve heard so much about it. Sahir was just ten years old or so when he arrived in Manisa. A shopkeeper knew about my fascination with Kudretköy—which was the name of the village—so he told me about Sahir’s arrival and I took him in. But Sahir refuses to even talk about Kudretköy. He’s strange that way. Anyway… Pierre, I’ve put a lot of thought into this. But I have to confess, I can’t quite grasp the particulars of those invisible sparks in the air and electromagnetism swaying the human mind. (Murmuring to himself) “His light is like a niche within which is a lamp, the lamp is within a glass bell, and the glass bell is a pearly white star.” (Speaking more loudly) Still, my dear Monsieur Pierre, do you really think you can put an end to war?
PIERRE Most certainly. Haven’t you noticed that all of our conversations keep coming back to the same point?
ARIF Peace?
PIERRE Exactly. Now, Arif Bey, let us work to realize our common dream. (He gets to his feet)
ARIF (also rising to his feet) Well said, Monsieur Pierre. But how?
PIERRE (smiling, he places his hand on Arif’s shoulder) Now you, too, have come around to the question of “how”. We’re living in a new age, in a way that befits the times. We’ll create a machine. A peace machine that will put an end to all wars.
SCENE THREE
Pierre and Arif are standing in a doorway that opens onto the garden. They are watching Sahir, who is still working at his desk at the far side of the courtyard.
ARIF A peace machine that will put an end to all wars… How is it going to work?
PIERRE (turning his gaze from Sahir to Arif) How do bats perceive the world around them, Arif Bey? By the sound of echoes. They hear an echo, and based on that they create an image in their minds. Because the sounds they make are actually waves, the images they create in their minds are in a constant state of motion. Arif Bey, bats are right. In the world, everything that seems still is actually moving all the time. Don’t the verses in that holy book of yours say the same? “I created waves on the Earth so that all would be in fixed motion.”
ARIF (excitedly) There are actually two verses. The other one says, “I placed great weights upon the Earth so that mankind would not be shaken and I raised stable mountains.”
PIERRE Voilà! Some people fall from God’s grace and struggle for years, yet in the end, like me, they become aware of certain things, seeing that what they’ve finally grasped has been winking at them all along i
n some holy text. Mountains weren’t just put in place to anchor the ground during earthquakes. Some have their own unique functions.
ARIF You’re talking about our mountain here, aren’t you? The one that pulls in iron?
PIERRE (smiling) Yes. Just one of the many magnetic mountains. They regulate the magnetic order as the overseers of electromagnetism. The world wasn’t created on a foundation of water or earth. Every single thing was built on electromagnetic waves. The Bible says, “In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. The earth was empty and formless, and darkness covered the vast expanse.” (He chuckles to himself. A few moments of silence) Like the world, our souls are made of electromagnetic waves. But what seemed in the past to be a vast expanse covered in darkness is now visible to us. We are living in a day and age when the human race has discovered the essence of the universe. That was the task assigned to us. A question was asked and we found the answer through science.
ARIF (as if reciting a prayer) They say that the soul arises through the order of God but little of science has been granted you. (Unsure of himself) But—is that our task?
PIERRE By Jove, Arif Bey! I take my hat off to you. Erudition demands patience. If it were so easy to tell right from wrong, Eve wouldn’t have eaten the apple simply because that’s what the serpent told her to do. We are being tested, just as she was tested. The exhortation “Know thyself!” wasn’t said in vain, nor was the injunction “Have the courage to use your reason.” (He pauses) If only they’d all said, “Let’s find solutions to the tasks set before us and answer the questions that face us in life.” True, the soul is the work of God. But now we have science. We can make the soul carry out the commandments of God. (Resolutely) And could there be a more important divine order than creating peace in the world?
The Peace Machine Page 4