by Yashar Kemal
Why are they behaving so strangely? he wondered. Even the children are shy of me, scattering like a flight of partridges before my path, and children, mirror-like, always reflect what grownups try to hide. What are they up to?
‘He said stones will rain upon us! Stones!’
‘How does he know?’
‘He said that throughout this land of the Taurus the women will be barren, the animals will not give birth, the grass will wither, the green of the mountains will turn into brimstone.’
‘How does he know?’
‘He said that if we go on like this dark clouds will close over us, we shall never more see the light we love.’
‘How does he know?’
‘There’s something about this Tashbash. We all hid our things like the Muhtar told us, but he didn’t. He knew Adil wouldn’t come.’
‘How did he know?’
Tashbash was becoming more and more a burning question in the minds of the villagers. That he kept to his house only added fuel to the fire.
Zaladja Woman now began to dream about Tashbash nightly. She, as usual, attempted to make the Muhtar interpret her dreams, but he flew into a thunderous rage and ordered her out of his house.
‘Don’t you ever come to me with your dreams about Tashbash! To dream about him brings bad luck,’ he shouted.
But Zaladja had to tell someone and she found ready listeners among the villagers. It was true that nobody could interpret her dreams like the Muhtar, but still it was gratifying to have people lend such eager ears.
‘A black tent is spread over me, and all around me darkness. Then the tent begins to come down, lower and lower, until it is pressing me to the ground. There I lie, breathless, stifling, fainting, when suddenly the blackness is torn apart, as though with a sword, and light pours through the tent, and in the light is a hand! A beautiful hand … Whose hand can it be? What is the face behind it? My eyes are dazzled as I draw nearer. A face bathed in green light … Whose? Tashbash! I throw myself at his feet. And then I wake up. I rush to Tashbash’s house, and what should I see there?’
‘What? What?’
But this, Zaladja will not reveal to anyone. And an uneasy suspicion takes root among the villagers. What can it be that appears at night about Tashbash’s house? They press her to speak.
‘Don’t force me, for pity’s sake,’ Zaladja replies darkly. ‘My mouth will be twisted, my hands and arms will wither like a sapless tree. For God’s sake don’t make me speak.’
In everyone’s mind a dream is taking shape, a new world, half real, half fantasy. No one dares tell what he thinks, and as the days go by, Tashbash slowly retreats into a distant, magic world. He takes on stature.
‘What was it? What was it Tashbash said? One night you will lift up your heads and there will be no stars, no moon. They’ll have taken them away. And in the morning you’ll rise up and what will you see? No more blue sky, no forests on the Taurus mountains, nothing, gone for ever. As for Adil, Tashbash said he may come, but then again he may not …’
‘How did he know?’
Chapter 16
The Muhtar was having a hard time of it. Only the thought of Pale Ismail’s daughter kept him going. He had firmly made up his mind to take her as his third wife, this girl who had come to be the only bright spot in his existence. Whenever the weight of his cares became unbearable he would send for her or he would visit her father’s house himself.
Adil had no intention of coming, that was certain. And matters were going from bad to worse. This Tashbash business … they were well on the way to making a saint of him. These villagers will catch at the slightest straw when they’re in trouble, and if they find no straw, well, they’ll produce one out of the blue and then cling to it for dear life. Tashbash, clever, cunning fellow that he was, had been quick to take advantage of their despair. He had begun by pouring forth imprecations just like the prophets in the holy books, and this had served to plant the fear of God into them. Then he had put Spellbound Ahmet through the mill. That kissing of the ground before Tashbash had been the crowning point. Imaginations had been fired well and properly. If this went on, and it looked as if it would, Tashbash, his arch-enemy, would have himself recognized as a saint. He’d be the uncrowned lord of all the Taurus, with everyone at his beck and call, ready to die for him. And there was no doubt that the first thing he’d do would be to have the Muhtar driven out of the village.
Sefer and the four members of the Village Council put their heads together to see what could be done to stop the Tashbash landslide.
‘We have no evidence to bring the law against him,’ Mealy Muslu said. ‘He never even stirs out of his house, and won’t let anyone in except Old Meryemdje.’
‘He’s a sly calculating fellow, knows what he’s about,’ Sefer said. ‘But when I’ve done with him, he’ll be worse off than that other bogus saint, Murtaza.’
‘There’s no proof,’ Muslu insisted. ‘We can’t do a thing for the present. And anyway, it isn’t like Murtaza’s case. Murtaza was just a poor dumb beggar. Tashbash has got half the village behind him. He’ll know how to swing his power at our expense, especially now that people are sick to death of everything. He’s a menace.’
‘A menace,’ the Muhtar agreed despondently. ‘We’ll wake up one morning soon and find everybody kissing the ground under his feet. No, the only thing to do is to get Adil Effendi to come. That’ll give them something else to think about. Adil’s got to come and you’re going to fetch him, the four of you. You’ll set out for the town right away. Tell Adil that Tashbash is just the first spark. This is going to turn into a fire that’ll spread all over the Taurus. So he’d better look sharp and get here before it’s too late. Godspeed to you. Tell Adil I kiss his hands and don’t forget to do the same as soon as you come into his presence. He likes that.’
‘See here, my friends,’ Adil was saying. ‘Nothing can induce me to come to your village. Nothing! Not at any price! Because … You know the reason why as well as I do. You just tell my friend Sefer, with my compliments, that matters have got out of hand. He’ll know what I mean. Let him watch his step with those villagers and not tread on the tail of the sleeping serpent. I know exactly what’s been going on up there. I’ve been kept informed day by day of the doings of those ungrateful villagers. No one’s ever got away with Adil’s money and I’m just biding my time. So tell Sefer it’s no use sending me messages every other day, for I won’t come, not now. I ask you, and mind you tell Sefer this: why did those villagers dress up as for a festival, and with songs and dances wait for me on the road? Whoever heard of anyone greeting a creditor like that? Tell Sefer I wasn’t born yesterday, and anyway what kind of a friend is he? Does he think I don’t know those villagers are armed to the teeth with clubs and even guns? But I’m not afraid of them. They can plant a cannon before each house for all I care. Haven’t I always been good to them? Why should they have anything against me? But I know what’s in their heads, I can guess. Let them thank their lucky stars I haven’t descended upon the village with a hundred armed men to claim my due, that I haven’t left them naked as the day they were born, without a crust of bread, or even a haircloth under them. No, I thought of how I’ve been doing business with that village for the past forty years. Those villagers are my children. It’s for their sake that I work so hard. Would I ever let them go naked and hungry in the winter? I know they weren’t able to pick good cotton this year and that’s why they haven’t paid their debts. Now what’s there to get angry about? Let them come to me, my shop is open to them. They can take whatever they need on credit. I know they’ll pay me back next year. I have great faith in the people of Yalak. But they’re to come only one at a time. Because if they come in groups … it’s not that I’m afraid, I fear no one.’
Adil’s house was a two-storied blue-washed building with eight rooms and a vast hall. On the ground floor were the stables from which came a strong stench of stale manure. He was seated with his back to the wall, dressed in navy
-blue trousers and soft slippers. A gold chain dangled from his waistcoat pocket. His whole body, the enormous paunch, the crinkled pendulous throat, the tiny sunken greenish eyes, the thick short hands, the set of golden teeth, betrayed his nervousness. He seemed to be trapped in a cocoon of fear, fear that conflicted with angry frustration.
‘No, I fear no one but Allah. So tell Sefer to be careful with those villagers. They’re half-crazy as it is and there’s bound to be trouble. For heaven’s sake, do everything to placate them. And give my compliments to Old Halil. I’ll never forget his service in coming to warn me about what was brewing up there. Just for that, I’ve written off all his son’s debts. Now, don’t forget, the villagers can come to my shop and take whatever they fancy, and at cost price too. I won’t press them for payment. And tell Sefer not to insist, because I won’t put my foot in that village at any price. And if he asks the reason why, tell him, I can’t reveal it to anyone.’
Chapter 17
Barefoot Murat told the story and the Bald Minstrel bore him out.
‘There’s something different about this Tashbash race, but what would you ungrateful villagers know about that! I could tell you a thing or two … If any of you’d listen to Barefoot Murat … Did you know that all the male children of this family are called Memet? Look, isn’t our Tashbash’s name Memet? So was his father’s. He calls all his three sons Memet, and his forefathers ever since the beginning have been Memets. Now, there’s something about that, some secret of divine wisdom, as our Muhtar would say. But, most important, and there I hit the nail on the head, how did that family come to be called Tashbashfn1? Have you ever asked yourself that, you stupid sons of Adam? Why Tashbash? You don’t know, but I do, and now the time has come for me to open my mouth.
‘One day, the Holy Man of the Mountains, the great Tashbash, a forefather of our own Tashbash was going up the mountain, when what should he see! A man with a body of stone, but on top of it a head that talked and laughed and wept, with large black eyes and a forelock falling over his sweating brow. It was a spring day with the mountains and the trees and the flowers singing softly. The great Tashbash drew near and said: whatever has happened to you? And the young man told him. A wicked sorcerer, he said, fell in love with my sweetheart. He cast a spell over me and carried her away. You are the Holy Man of the Mountains, our great Lord Memet. Find a remedy for my woes. And the Holy Memet said: I will. He stretched his hand out into infinity and plucked a sprig of pomegranate from Paradise. Then he knelt and prayed all day, and when it was evening he struck the stone body three times with the sprig. And the stone thawed out into human flesh. Our Lord Tashbash was beginning to rejoice when what should he see! This time it was the head which had been petrified! God, what have I done, our holy Lord Memet cried. He threw himself down and prayed again till the soft winds of morning blew on the mountain, and he looked up, but nothing had happened. The stone head was there, hard as ever. Then he got angry and said: Let my own head be turned to stone instead. And lo and behold, he found himself with a head of stone, and the young man was free to go and seek his sweetheart.
‘You may well ask what he did then, the holy Lord Memet, the great great grandfather of our own Tashbash! He had no mouth to pray with, no eyes to see with, no ears to hear with. He was all alone on the mountain with his stone head. But his was a holy body. The wolves and birds of prey, the serpents and scorpions, the tigers and bears could not touch it. Time passed and one day two roses began to bloom out of his palms. Ah, if the great Lord Memet had been able to think he would have laid his hands directly on his head and been saved, for this was the magic of the roses! But how could he think with that brain of stone? But then a blackbird alighted on his head and started pecking at his eyes. His right hand shot up and where the rose petal touched his stone head a bit of flesh appeared. The bird pecked away harder than ever, and the holy man put up both his hands and, behold, his head was a human head again! Our Lord Memet fell to the ground, exhausted, and slept for three days and three nights.’
‘Barefoot Murat,’ Puffy Poyraz protested, ‘that’s the story of Mollah Ahmet. He was the Holy Man of the Mountains, and the birds and beasts brought him food for he was their saint. What’s it got to do with Tashbash, you yarn-spinner?’
‘You don’t know anything about it. You wouldn’t understand anyway,’ Barefoot Murat replied. ‘That holy man wasn’t Mollah Ahmet, it was Mollah Memet, the ancestor of the Tashbash clan.’
‘God damn you for a gossiping fool,’ Puffy Poyraz cried, ‘and the biggest liar on earth.’
‘You’re the liar,’ Murat retorted. ‘A thousand curses on your descendants.’ He turned to the villagers. ‘Who’s right, Puffy or me?’
‘You are,’ they replied. ‘Puffy doesn’t know or else he’s lying on purpose. If it hadn’t happened that way up on the mountain, why was the family named Tashbash? Ask Puffy Poyraz that! Some people are too feeble-minded to be alive.’
Everyone was against Puffy Poyraz.
‘That wasn’t Mollah Ahmet, it was Mollah Memet Tashbash. What have we to gain by denying a man’s noble antecedents?’
‘And he’s the very ancestor of our own Tashbash.’
‘Some upstarts may want to deny it, much good it’ll do them!’
‘We’ve got brains in our heads, although some half-witted people don’t bother to think! Why wasn’t anybody else called Tashbash?’
‘Of course it’s true! We have it from our fathers and grandfathers that it was so.’
Puffy saw that nothing he could say would be of any use. They were all on Barefoot Murat’s side.
The story of the stone head got around. Everyone related it at least twice to his neighbour, and then, out of nowhere, sprang a new story, that of Mount Erciyesfn2 and the dragon, the imaginations of the villagers took fire.
Even Tashbash got wind of it. ‘I never heard that there ever was such a person in our family!’ he said. ‘It was no ancestor of mine who went up Mount Erciyes. It was the famed Lokman the Physician, as everyone knows.’
The villagers were furious.
‘He’s raving mad, the son of a dog! Unworthy of his great race. And anyway, if he’d been a man would our village have come to this?’ But then they thought it over. ‘What could he say, poor creature? He didn’t want to blow his own trumpet, our good Tashbash. He couldn’t do anything but deny it …’
Once upon a time, long long ago, there lived a physician called Lokman Tashbash. His name was Memet too, but everyone called him Lokman the Wise because he had found cures for all the diseases on earth. The world was a happy world in those ancient times, a world in which people lived without ever being ill. They suffered from only one complaint and that was death. How had Lokman Tashbash found all those cures? Well, he was a great traveller. From east to west there was not a country he had not journeyed in, and everywhere he went the plants and trees and flowers, the earth, the flowing waters, the rocks would speak to him. As he went his way a little flower would raise its head: stop a minute, Lokman Tashbash, stop for I’ve something to whisper into your ear. I’m a panacea for all eye diseases, ask my name. And Lokman would write down the name and fill his large leather saddlebag with the flower. It was the same wherever he went. The flowers, the plants, the whole of nature spoke to him.
You must know that Lokman the Physician was born in this village like all the Tashbashes. And many of his cures he found in the plants of the Taurus Mountains. One day he set out to find the cure for death. First, he went to Mount Erciyes. There, right on the summit, blooms a magic flower. Its colour changes from hour to hour and it glows as though a light burns within it. Whoever approaches this flower and smells its fragrance, even from a distance, becomes immune from all evil and sickness. Even death will come suddenly and painlessly to him. He will live in bliss for the whole of his life long and never know want or poverty. And should a man find a way to come under the shade of the plant, should he touch one of its petals, that man will gain immortality. You may ask the
n, why doesn’t everyone do just that? This magic flower, whose petals are as long as a poplar, is guarded by a dragon whose mighty body is coiled all about the peak of Erciyes. It never sleeps except for one second in twenty-four hours, but when is that? Is it at night? During the day? No one knows, and so the magic flower has never been touched by a human hand. But can’t one slay the dragon? Never! Should you find a way of hacking it to pieces and afterwards grind its flesh at the mill and burn it and scatter the ashes to the winds, when you go back to Mount Erciyes you will see the dragon just where it was before and has ever been. Is it possible to kill a dragon who’s lived in the shade of the magic flower since the world began?
Well, our Lokman Tashbash waited on Mount Erciyes for years and years. And then one day he hit upon the moment when the dragon fell asleep. He slipped past the beast and his hand touched the flower, but just as he was making away the dragon woke up. But even a dragon would not kill our Tashbash Lokman. No, the dragon didn’t kill him, but it undid the immortality charm. If only the beast hadn’t opened its eyes just then, Tashbash Lokman would have been among us to this day.
After this, Tashbash Lokman set about looking for a certain flower, a flower that had never been seen by anyone. His ear alert, he went in search of it about the world. Finally he returned to the Taurus, and what should he see! More flowers, more plants than anywhere else in the world. So he set about looking for the elusive flower here. One day he came to the flatland that overlooks the city of Tarsus. He was tired, and old too, by now. He came to a lofty plane tree with a spring bubbling beneath it, and after taking a draught from the spring he lay down and went to sleep, using a stone for a pillow. It was still dark when he awoke, but the east was lighting up. Suddenly, with a loud crack, a light burst forth at the foot of the plane tree, so bright you could count the legs of an ant, and a voice said: I am the cure for death. Thank God, cried Lokman, this too has been found. And he wrote it down quickly in his little book and hurried into the plain. When he came to the bridge at Misis, he summoned all the people, saying: I have found the cure for death. And the people gathered around him until the earth was dark with the expectant multitudes. Tashbash Lokman took up his little book, but just as he was about to read out the cure a white wing knocked the book out of his hands and it fell into the river Jeyhan.