Young Turk

by Moris Farhi

  On the beach, Ester, still contorted, hugged us. ‘How did you know I was in trouble?’

  Lisa pointed at Gül, who had picked up the ball and was practising some fancy footwork. ‘She saw you.’

  Deniz nodded. ‘Yes, I heard Gül shout! That’s what made me turn round and see Ester.’

  I was amazed. ‘How could you have heard her? You were too far out.’

  ‘I don’t know how. I just did.’

  Gül dragged me away. ‘Come on – let’s play!’

  Later, at siesta time, Gül and I took to our bikes. Defying the afternoon heat with strenuous activity was our way of demonstrating our toughness. We went across to the Golden Horn and, pretending we were competing in the Tour de France and climbing mountains like the Tourmalet, the Aubisque and the Izoard, rode furiously up and down the hills. Gül, being the faster rider, had long designated herself the maillot jaune and always wore a yellow jersey.

  When we stopped to pick some figs from the trees lining the lane to the Greek patriarchate, I asked her. ‘How could Deniz have heard you? You weren’t even shouting!’

  Gül thought for a long time. ‘Strange, isn’t it?’

  ‘Telepathic, I’d say.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘What else?’

  Gül pulled me closer to her. ‘Can you keep a secret?’

  ‘You know I can.’

  ‘Nobody must know.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘It is like telepathy, only stronger. I sense – see – things. Dangerous things. Just as they’re about to happen ...’

  ‘You’re kidding me ...’

  ‘I can see Death ... When he gets too near ...’

  ‘That’s impossible ...’

  She looked annoyed. ‘I can! I’ve chased Death away many times. I chased him when he came for you ...’

  ‘For me?’

  ‘When you had diphtheria the second time.’

  ‘I had diphtheria the second time because they inoculated me at school before I’d recovered from the first!’

  ‘Well, he came for you – Death ... Stood around for three nights ...’

  I remembered those nights. My windpipe was so blocked I could barely breathe. My mother had managed to procure an oxygen cylinder from the hospital – probably the only one in Istanbul in those days – but even that hadn’t helped. They had had to do a tracheotomy.

  ‘It was the tracheotomy that saved me.’

  Gül smiled smugly. ‘That was my doing.’

  I forced a laugh. ‘Oh, sure!’

  ‘I kept shouting at all the doctors I could think of! Inwardly – the way I shouted at Deniz this morning: Do something! Do something! Finally they performed the tracheotomy.’

  I stared at her, expecting her to giggle and tell me she’d been teasing me.

  She stared back defiantly. ‘You don’t believe me?’

  I did. And I didn’t. I nodded uncertainly.

  ‘You’ll keep it a secret – you promised!’

  I nodded again.

  She rubbed her hands. ‘Right. Now, don’t think Death’s forgotten you. He’s around somewhere. So, time to get you really strong. Turn all that fat into muscle. Do you wrestle?’

  ‘No ...’

  ‘Best way. Let’s go!’

  I gaped at her. ‘Wrestle with you?’

  ‘Why – scared I’d beat you?’

  ‘You’re a girl ...’

  ‘I won’t tell, don’t worry!’ We were near a plot of land awaiting builders. She dragged me there and drew a square on the earth. ‘This is the mat ...’

  And as we grappled, as I locked my arms around her muscular thighs and felt her buttocks, firm like flexed biceps, I decided I would definitely marry her, too young or not. I even swore I would stop being unfaithful to her in my fantasies and no longer lust after dream women like Deniz – an impossibility, as I soon found out.

  Much as I loved tumbling with her, I didn’t like losing to Gül every time we wrestled. So I joined the Fenerbahçe Youth Club and began some serious training after school.

  I surprised everybody, most of all myself, by showing an aptitude for sport. After about a year’s weight training, I had converted most of my fat into muscle and was noticeably stronger, so much so, in fact, that I thought I might be asked to join Naim’s gang. I wasn’t. Prejudices die hard. Moreover, because of my association with Gül, I was seen as a girl’s man.

  Another year on, I finally defeated Gül. After that, I never lost to her again.

  Looking back, I should confess I felt I had triumphed far too soon and too easily. With hindsight, I attribute this to the fact that, getting more and more enmeshed in her deathsayer’s world, Gül was losing interest in ours.

  I should also confess that, somewhere in my soul, I was aware of this dislocation. But I chose to think her detachment simply meant she no longer needed to worry about my health. As if that wasn’t bad enough, I also ignored Mahmut the Simurg’s cautionary tales about such oracles as Pythia and Cassandra, the Sibyl and the Sphinx. These seers, the teller of truths explained, succumbed sooner or later to a condition known as ‘Pîr’s palsy’, which is a darkening of the mind that afflicts the Pîr after too many sightings of Death. Gül, whom I had introduced to him, was an exceptional Pîr, he warned me, and might yield to this palsy sooner than most.

  Even more unforgivably, I didn’t perceive the depth of Gül’s anguish when she first confided her fears to me.

  It was a national holiday, 19 May, the day celebrating Atatürk’s arrival in Samsun in 1919 to launch the War of Independence. We had gone to the park where the fairground had set up shop. Though on that occasion we could have joined the gang – Naim was in bed with jaundice and Bilâl, his deputy, quite obviously had as soft a spot for Gül as she had for him – we didn’t. This time Gül, stuck even deeper in her inner world, insisted that we should be on our own.

  So we went round the shooting galleries, chairoplanes, carousels, acrobats, jugglers and the rest. My efforts to brighten her mood failed dismally.

  But when we reached the Gypsies, she became animated. Leading me by the hand, she started surveying the booths. Then she stopped in front of one and stared at its placard. Beneath a painting of herbs and crystal balls, the legend read:

  * FATMA * HEALER * MEDIUM *

  ‘I need to go in there, Rιfat.’

  I dragged her away. ‘Later.’

  My attention had been drawn to the enclave of a bear-leader who was challenging the onlookers for a ‘brave heart’ who would have the mettle to wrestle with his mammoth bear called Yavru, ‘nursling’. Ten kuruş only – refundable if the challenger stayed on his feet for a minute.

  I nudged Gül. ‘Shall I?’

  ‘Waste of money.’

  ‘What’s ten kuruş?’

  ‘It’s a tenth of a lira. And with a lira we can both go to the cinema.’

  ‘But this is a challenge ...’

  ‘Oh, all right. As long as I get to see Fatma, the medium, later.’

  ‘Sure.’

  She grimaced. ‘The bear stinks!’

  ‘So? Shall I? I’m very tempted ...’

  ‘Go on, then – do it!’

  I took off my shirt and paid my ten kuruş.

  As soon as I moved into the circle, Yavru rose on his hind legs. He looked twice his huge size.

  The bear-leader shook Yavru’s chain.

  The bear growled.

  I stood transfixed, suddenly terrified.

  The bear launched himself. He moved so fast that I could neither back away nor run. Seconds later, I was on the ground with his front paws triumphantly pressing on my chest.

  The bear-leader whistled.

  Yavru sauntered away.

  I hauled myself off the ground, ashamed at having failed so pathetically.

  The bear-leader shook my hand. ‘At least you’ve got balls.’ He pointed at the crowd. ‘They’re all chicken-hearted!’

  Gül kissed me on the cheek. ‘I’m prou
d of you!’ Then she took out her handkerchief and dabbed my chest. ‘He scratched you!’

  I shouted in frustration. ‘He could have killed me.’

  ‘I would have been forewarned.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Had you been in danger, I’d have seen it.’

  ‘Oh, sure ...’

  ‘I see such things ... I told you once ... Don’t you remember?’

  I nodded vaguely. Still smarting from my defeat, I wasn’t prepared to be convinced. I put on my shirt and started walking.

  She pointed at the booth advertising Fatma, the medium. ‘Wait! I need to go in there.’

  I grumbled. ‘Do you have to?’

  ‘Yes. I won’t be long.’

  I waited, curiosity overcoming my irritation.

  When she came out a few minutes later, she was smiling – for the first time that day.

  That fuelled my interest. ‘What do you want a medium for?’

  ‘She’s not just a medium. She’s also a healer.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘For Naim.’

  ‘What on earth for?’

  ‘Let’s have an ice-cream – I’ll tell you.’

  We bought our ice-creams and sat on a bench. Gül’s smile had evaporated. She stared, seemingly nowhere, with wide-open eyes.

  She looked so vulnerable that my bad humour dispersed. I ruffled her hair. ‘I’m all ears.’

  To my surprise, she held on to my hand. ‘I’m scared.’

  ‘Because of Naim’s illness? It’s only jaundice.’

  ‘He’s had it for over a month. He’s very weak now. It’ll get worse.’

  ‘Come on ...’

  ‘I’m never wrong about these things. I see all the possibilities – all that might happen. All the calamities. That’s what’s so scary. Naim needs a healer. Fatma can make him better.’

  ‘Would your parents agree?’

  She sneered. ‘My parents? Trust their son to a Gypsy? Not in this world.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘It’s got to be done secretly. I have to smuggle Fatma into the house.’

  ‘That’s asking for trouble!’

  ‘I’ll need your help ...’

  ‘Me? Oh, no! I mean, a healer doing things to Naim! When there are plenty of good doctors ...’

  ‘Please. You’ve got to help me! If Fatma doesn’t treat Naim, he’ll die!’

  ‘Don’t be silly!’

  ‘I’m telling you! I can see Death! I can see how Naim will suffer! All the horrible details!’ She started crying. ‘Naim will die unless we intervene! Believe me!’

  I remembered that time at Suadiye beach when she had somehow communicated with Deniz to save Ester. I also remembered her claiming to have saved me the second time I had diphtheria by getting the doctor to perform a tracheotomy. ‘It’s difficult to make sense ...’

  ‘I know. But it’s true. I see these things. I see Death. That’s why I’m so scared.’

  I couldn’t help it, I believed her. ‘What will the Gypsy do?’

  ‘What do you think? Lay hands. Give herbs. Their way ...’

  ‘Nothing else?’

  ‘What else? Will you help me?’

  How could I refuse? ‘What do I have to do?’

  ‘Late tonight. After everybody’s gone to bed. Bring Fatma to our house. I’ll let you in. She said she only needs a few minutes ...’

  I nodded, but remained apprehensive.

  She kissed me. ‘You’re a true friend!’

  ‘One thing. Do you see things about yourself?’

  ‘Never, thank God. Why?’

  ‘What if things go wrong tonight?’

  ‘They won’t. You’ll be there. I haven’t seen anything happening to you.’

  Gül lived in a small house by the sea at the end of a parade of taverns that catered for the staff and passengers of Haydarpaşa, the railway station that served Anatolia and the countries beyond. Thus, the neighbourhood was busy day and night, and no one – not even the night-watchman – paid any attention to Fatma and me as we made our way in the early hours of the morning.

  Gül had been on the lookout at the window and opened the door the moment we arrived at the house.

  Guiding us with a torch, she led us to her brother’s room.

  Naim, clammy with sweat, was sleeping restlessly.

  Fatma lit a match, then took out a razor blade and held it to the flame.

  That made me uneasy. I whispered. ‘What are you doing?’

  Fatma muttered. ‘Sterilizing.’ She directed me to the other side of the bed. ‘Hold him by the shoulders. Gül – hold his head steady.’

  I stammered, aghast. ‘You’re not going to cut him?’

  Fatma growled urgently. ‘Hold his shoulders!’

  Gül, clutching Naim’s head with both hands, hissed angrily. ‘Trust her, Rιfat!’

  Bewildered, I gripped Naim’s shoulders.

  Naim woke up with a jerk. Then, seeing us – three shadows behind the torch’s faint light – he grew frightened and tried to shout.

  Fatma covered his mouth with one hand. With the other, she swiftly cut three parallel lines, about half a centimetre apart and two centimetres long, on Naim’s forehead.

  Naim struggled violently.

  Gül tried to restrain him. ‘Ssshhh! It’s all right! Everything will be all right!’

  As he felt the blood trickling down his face, Naim’s panic increased. Finding some reserves of strength, he threw us off and started screaming.

  Calmly, Fatma put her blade away. ‘Let’s go!’

  But before we could take a step, the light went on in the room and Naim’s parents, Lisa and Sami, rushed in.

  For a moment we stared at each other in shock.

  Naim, still screaming, scrambled out of bed and rushed over to them. ‘Mami! Papi!’

  Noticing the blood on Naim’s forehead, Lisa started shrieking.

  Sami turned to us in horror. ‘What have you done?’

  Fatma patted his shoulder. ‘He’ll be all right. I took the poison out!’

  Sami stared at him. ‘You did – what?’

  ‘The poison that turned him yellow. I drained it through the third eye. Your son will be fine in three days.’

  Lisa, with Naim still hanging on to her, wailed. ‘Fetch the police! Fetch the police!’

  Gül shouted. ‘No! She’s just saved Naim’s life!’

  Lisa and Sami stared at her as if she were mad.

  Gül pointed at Naim’s cuts. ‘Look – just three little cuts. Nothing else! The blood’s drying already!’

  That set Lisa off screaming again. ‘Sami – the police! Get the police!’

  Gül blocked her father’s way. ‘No, Papi! Trust me! Let me explain ...’ She turned to Fatma and me. ‘You two – go now! Thank you.’

  We slunk off.

  The next day, everybody talked about our diabolism. Only the fact that the family doctor, summoned post-haste, declared the cuts Fatma had inflicted on Naim as superficial and not at all infected prevented Lisa and Sami bringing charges against us.

  On the third day, Naim’s jaundice disappeared, as if angels had wiped it clean during his sleep.

  In another week, as his strength began to return, he became his old cocky self again.

  In the ensuing months, Fatma, Gül and I – particularly Gül – came to be seen as ‘different’. People who must be treated with caution.

  Fatma was hardly bothered. Gypsies had always been considered different.

  But I grew resentful. For a start, when I asked whether I could now join the gang, only Bilâl backed me. I confronted Naim: not only had I played an important part in saving his life, but also, thanks to having taken up wrestling seriously, I was stronger than most of the boys, including him. He agreed with me, but contrived a sly excuse: I had wrestled with a bear; that made me as filthy as any Gypsy. (I should have punched him on his third eye, but I didn’t think of that. I’ve never been quick-witted.)

  Gül fared
the worst. Rather than applaud her resolve in saving Naim, people looked on her as if she had tried to murder him. Malicious tongues implied that she was a daughter of Şeytan, the Devil – even that she consorted with him. Gül ignored these rumours or laughed at them. But I could see she was much troubled by them. I could see that with each passing day the ‘Pîr’s palsy’ was increasingly possessing her.

  Time passed.

  We remained close, but somehow distant. I continued loving her. We met less and less. She had become a close friend of Handan Ramazan, the girl who lived next to the bakery and played the kanun, that magical instrument that Handan’s father, our greatest player, claims can produce every sound in heaven with its seventy-two strings. They were turning into teenagers and had developed a passion for dance music and films. I had found my religion: wrestling.

  About two years later, on another national holiday – 30 August, Victory Day, we met again at the fair in the park. As if in homage to the previous occasion, we had made our way, separately, to the bear-leader’s enclave.

  She teased me. ‘Come for a return match?’

  I smiled and took my shirt off. ‘Why not?’

  I went into the arena. But this time I was ready for the bear. As he attacked, I jumped aside and leaped on his back. Using every skill I possessed, I tried to unbalance him. Needless to say, he eventually threw me off. But I had stood my ground much longer than the requisite minute.

  After that, still nostalgically, we went to have an ice-cream. We didn’t say much. I basked in my success with the bear. She stared at her hands – a sure sign that she was lost in her own world. Eventually, flustered by our silence – yet we must have had so much to tell each other – we got up to leave.

  ‘Be well, Rιfat. And be careful.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Terrible things are happening. In Europe. China. Worse to come.’

  ‘You’ve been seeing things again?’

  ‘Streams of them. All the time. Death everywhere. Not just for Jews. For everybody. Even for our friend ...’

  ‘What friend? Who?’

  ‘I can’t tell yet ...’