by Latife Tekin
From that day onwards, Mahmut was too ashamed to speak to the girl, and never went to play in the park again. He left home early to avoid seeing her and returned after dark. He dawdled his days away in faraway parks or hung around the cinemas. Despite pressure from his father, he refused to take up a job until Huvat finally made Seyit swear to cut off Mahmut’s pocket money. So for spending money Mahmut started selling glossy, hardbound comic books, which he displayed in front of cinemas. He took so well to the business that he decided to spend his whole life at it. However, when he met Dum Dum he renounced his decision and went into the bingo business instead. Stuffing one hand into the bingo sack, he jangled it at street corners while making his pitch. He let his hair grow far down his neck, as the job demanded, and got some eagles and serpents tattooed on his arms. After persuading Toto, the chief of the bingo-men, to make a deal with him, he stopped by to see Crip Arm, purchased a supply of cigarettes at a discount, took them back with him and turned a profit. From then on, he proceeded not only to work as a bingo-man but also to supply the other bingo-men with cigarettes at a knockdown price, both enlarging his business and boosting his daily takings. Mahmut offered money to his father, who at first vowed not to touch it. Atiye managed to worm her way into Huvat’s thoughts, however, and convinced him that there was nothing illicit about bingo. Nevertheless, before putting the money in his pocket Huvat made certain that he prayed and blew the sin onto Atiye’s back. For her part, Atiye had no qualms about bearing the sin of Mahmut’s profits, and each and every day she placed her son’s sack in his hand and saw him off to work.
One morning Mahmut left home early but still wasn’t back by dark. Fearing for her sons safety, Atiye sat at the window. All the others were home by midnight, but she still hadn’t heard Mahmut’s whistle or the jangling of his sack. Huvat wouldn’t budge, however, even when Atiye started to cry. Blaming her for his son’s bingo business, he yelled at her to go out and find him. Atiye took Dirmit and walked down to the coffee-house, where she had Seyit called out so she could tell him that Mahmut wasn’t back yet. Seyit walked his mother and sister back home, then chided Huvat for allowing his womenfolk to trek down to the coffee-house in the middle of the night. Bending his head over his green books, Huvat made no reply. Seyit, having spoken his piece, set out in search of his brother.
Much later, Seyit led Mahmut through the door, muttering, ‘In you go, boy. Don’t be scared.’ Dumbfounded, Atiye surveyed the swollen gash over Mahmut’s eyebrow, the dried blood that had trickled down from his lips and the purple bruise that shaded his chin. Then she fainted dead away right in the middle of the room. That night, in addition to the beating he had received at the police station, Mahmut also got a thrashing from Seyit because he wouldn’t promise never to speak to Dum Dum or Toto again. ‘You didn’t have to come to my rescue, man!’ he added defiantly. ‘Did I ask for your help?’ Huvat, who wasn’t content with Seyit’s beating, rose from his seat, saying, ‘And now a third one for Allah,’ and landed a blow with the back of his hand on Mahmut’s gashed and swollen eyebrow. With a groan, Mahmut toppled down between Huvat’s legs, and blood streamed out of his brow, seeping onto the kilim. ‘You’ve killed my brother!’ Dirmit howled when she saw the blood, and Seyit sprang over to muzzle her with his hand. Kicking and twisting her way out of his arms, Dirmit heaved herself towards the sewing machine, snatched up her book that was lying open there and flung it on the floor.
At breakfast the next morning, seeing roses blooming on her brother’s swollen eyebrow and bruised chin, Dirmit gazed in awe and wonder. ‘Have a go at me now, if you think you’re man enough,’ Mahmut said, laughing, as he gave his brother a hard punch on the shoulder. ‘Oh, mother!’ Seyit sighed, and in a second had Mahmut laid flat out on his back in the middle of the floor. Then he lay down beside Mahmut and bared his arm to the elbow. ‘Let’s go to it, man,’ he challenged. Propping their elbows on the floor, Seyit and Mahmut locked hands in a firm grip. Huvat, who had come over and was now kneeling beside them, called foul because Mahmut was clinging to the kilim with his free hand, and started the match all over again. On account of his youth, Mahmut was granted a handicap of two twists of the wrist. Bracing himself hard against the floor and tensing up his knees, Mahmut inched Seyit’s hand down onto the kilim. Then he jumped joyfully to his feet and punched his father on the shoulder twice. ‘Just look at that whelp!’ Huvat snorted as he got up and did some fancy footwork in the middle of the room, waving his fists at Mahmut, who still found a way to grab hold of his father’s prayer cap.
‘Come and get it if you can,’ he jeered again and again as he danced around the room, twirling the cap on the end of his forefinger. Running out of breath, Huvat bent his head sideways, sticking his hand inside his mouth and twisting his tongue. ‘Man, I’ll have both of you on the mat in no time!’ he declared, then dropped down, squatting on his haunches in the middle of the floor. ‘What, you? No way!’ Mahmut snickered, placing the cap back on his father’s head. Adjusting his cap properly, Huvat chortled and, paying no mind to Atiye’s sharp glances, he started sporting with Seyit, who still lay on the floor, leaning on his elbow, enjoying himself. Huvat stuck his head between Seyit’s legs, pulled one of them over onto his back and dragged him across the floor. Atiye, appearing suddenly at his side, held her broom under his nose. ‘May all the hodjas send you packing! Get up or else I’ll lay one on you.’ But Huvat couldn’t stand up, because he was still stuck between Seyit’s legs. Letting his head drop onto the kilim, he burst out laughing and almost choked on his saliva as he tried to catch his breath. While he struggled, gasping like a fish and kicking his feet against the floor, he felt the broomstick strike him on the back of the neck. ‘Help me, girl,’ he whimpered like a baby, ‘I’m dying!’
Atiye tossed aside the broom. Freeing his legs, Seyit knelt down beside his father, while Nuǧber bent over Huvat with a glass of water in her hand and said, ‘Quick, drink this, Father.’ Dirmit remained where she had sat for breakfast, silently watching her father as Mahmut leant over her. With a wink and a smile, he nodded towards his father, but Dirmit pushed his face away with the back of her hand and stood up. Quietly, she walked out of the room and leant back against the ladder in the hallway. Lifting her head, she looked up at a patch of sky that appeared through the open trapdoor to the roof. From somewhere above, two teardrops fell onto her face.
Mahmut may have beaten his older brother at arm-wrestling but he had to bow down to him and take up work again as an apprentice to the central-heating installer. Seyit gave Mahmut his word that before the winter was out he would make him a master’s master, while Mahmut trudged along beside him, repeating every once in a while, ‘Man, this empty construction site scares me like a djinn.’ Pretending not to hear him, Seyit would laugh and say, ‘We’ll start our own company together, Lion Heart.’ While Seyit was laughing, Mahmut was thinking of the bleak early morning hours when he would have to come into the icy cold construction sites to kindle a fire and wait fearfully, all alone, for his masters to arrive. Then there were nights when he would have to hold the towel for each of his masters before cleaning all the tools that were spread out on the counter and packing them in a chest while he shivered between the towering, dark, wet walls that drowned out his voice. He also thought of all the overcast nights and misty mornings when he would have to hasten out onto the streets, trying to catch his breath. He felt giddy. Pushing away his brother’s arm, he suddenly started to run. Seyit caught up with him and grasped him by his shoulder, panting. With fine words, Seyit pleaded with him, telling him that he was taking the wrong path. However, the more concerned he became, the more Mahmut shrugged him off, saying, ‘What’s it to you?’ Seyit finally grew so angry that he punched Mahmut in the face. Lying on the ground, Mahmut glared up fiercely at his elder brother. Then, as Mahmut turned to look to the left and right to see if anyone had been watching, Seyit suddenly felt sorry for having struck him. Ashamed, he crouched beside Mahmut and asked, ‘Did that hurt, man?’
Then he started pleading with him once more, but Mahmut was so hurt that he let his brother know exactly how he felt.
‘My lion, my ram!’
‘My lion, my ram yourself, man.’
‘Please, man, don’t do this.’
‘Please, man, don’t do this yourself, man.’
‘I’ll beat you up again, my boy.’
‘I’ll beat you up again, my boy yourself, man.’
‘The devil tells me “Enough! Be off!”’
‘The devil tells me “Enough! Be off!” yourself, man.’
‘Look, for the last time, are you coming with me, man?’
‘Look, for the last time, are you coming with me yourself, man.’
Seyit finally lost all patience and socked Mahmut in the eye again. Only in this way could Mahmut finally free himself of his brother. And after he had given up on working as an apprentice for the central-heating installer, Mahmut again took up what he had once thought would be his life: selling the glossy hardback comic books that he displayed in front of cinemas.
Once Seyit realized that he would be setting up the company he planned to name ‘The Three’ on his own and that he had no other means of accumulating capital, he started lowering his bids in order to snap up anybody’s contract. He sent in offers for jobs, whether he knew anything about them or not. He had no qualms over exploiting the reputation he’d made for himself as a tough guy when it came to snatching business from his fellow villagers. He hurled threats in every direction and threw his weight about in the trade. ‘Even if he were my own father, I’d still break his balls,’ he proclaimed loudly. Now he became known as ‘Snapper Seyit.’ He mastered the art of the bribe, both with money and carpets, and he waylaid some of his fellow villagers on the streets while he forced others to undo the deals that had already been wrapped up. His ambition finally grew so strong that no one would greet him either on the street or in the coffee-house. Not caring that his fellow villagers had turned their backs on him, he weaseled his way into factories and sniffed around the business of others. Then the trouble Seyit had been looking for finally came looking for him.
He was shot one evening as he was leaving Blind Yusuf’s coffee-house. He fell flat on his face and lay there groaning and struggling, unable to get up. No one came to help him to his feet. Blood streamed from his left leg, forming a thin pathway and turning cold. Focusing his glassy eyes on the ground, he saw an enormous nameplate lighting up, the words ‘The Three’ written on it in lights that blinked on and off. Gently twisting his lips into a smile, Seyit laid his head on the flashing nameplate, grabbing hold of it and moaning ‘Mother!’ Then he fell silent. Somebody appeared before him and stuffed a lot of little white business cards flecked with gold in his pocket. Beside him stood a thin, dark girl who picked up a black folder and sat down. Then she answered a telephone that had been ringing for a long time and passed it over to Seyit, who held it to his ear as he settled back comfortably in his huge swivel chair. After he had returned the receiver to its cradle, he signalled the thin, dark girl to take her seat at the typewriter. He began carefully dictating various letters of proposal, which were then taken away by the girl. Seyit fixed his glassy stare on the ground. His swollen tongue filled his mouth. His left leg grew longer and longer, like a rope that twisted around Atiye’s neck as she lay breathing heavily.
Atiye awoke with a start. After feeling Seyit’s bed, she leapt to her feet and screamed, ‘They’ve shot Seyit!’ Tearing her hair and pummeling her breast with her fists, she finally collapsed onto Seyit’s bed. Huvat put his green books under his arm and sped off in a car. Around daybreak he returned, his face as white as limewash. ‘His condition is serious,’ he said and started to weep, which set everyone else off weeping. They all sat down to pray, and Azrael, the Angel of Death, taking pity on his youth, looked kindly on Seyit and spared his life. Some days later he came home, leaning on Huvat’s arm and dragging his left leg.
Once more they spread out a bed for Seyit and waited there by his side, their faces resting on the palms of their hands. Then, after they grew tired of waiting, Seyit lay in bed all alone, tossing and turning, as Atiye carried on about a dream she had witnessed when she was pregnant with him. She insisted that if they had listened to the white-bearded old man who had appeared to her in a dream and given the baby the name he had proposed, Seyit would never have been wounded and had to lie in his own blood so often. She interpreted her dream first one way and then another. Finally she stopped harping on about it and lamenting, ‘I wish we hadn’t named him Seyit,’ and set herself to thinking of a way her son would be able to work for their livelihood with only one good leg. While Atiye was lost in these dark thoughts, Huvat lugged Seyit’s tool kit away once again and sold the tools. ‘How can I ever set up my company without the tools?’ Seyit pleaded painfully. Huvat stroked Seyit’s back and replied, ‘You’ll do it, you’ll do it.’ When all the tools had been sold off, Huvat started hounding Mahmut again. But Mahmut always slipped through his fingers. He came home at midnight, crept into bed and left again before dawn, driving Huvat crazy.
While Huvat grumbled viciously behind Mahmut’s back, Atiye was never far from Dirmit’s side. ‘Study hard so you can fend for yourself,’ she whispered as she leant over her daughter’s ear. ‘There’s no one to look out for you. Bear that in mind.’ She plied her daughter with advice to devote her thoughts to her lessons, to block her ears to everything that was going on in the household and not to be distracted. So Dirmit shut her ears to Seyit’s groaning as he fixed his glassy eyes on the ceiling. To Mahmut’s whistling and the melodious rise and fall of Huvat’s voice. To Nuǧber’s sighs as she unfolded the embroidered pieces for her dowry, to Zekiye’s talking to herself and to Atiye’s loud whispering as she said her devotions over her prayer beads. It was also at this time that Dirmit brought home with her authorized certificates full of praise and moved up a year in school. She was so happy that roses budded on her chest, which first itched and then turned red. Curious, Dirmit went into the bathroom and stared at her chest. When she touched it gently, it suddenly heaved under her fingers, and her heart pounded.
Caught up in a whirlwind, with her hand pressed on her throbbing heart, she ran off to tell the good news to the birdie-bird plant, who listened to her with a smile and advised her to go and see her mother. Dirmit complained that she felt ashamed and blushed when she saw her mother. The birdie-bird plant tried hard to encourage her, swearing that Dirmit wouldn’t blush if she told her mother all at once and without thinking about it. Dirmit promised the birdie-bird plant that she would speak to her mother that very day and, after caressing its slender leaves, she ran home, leant over Atiye’s ear and, holding her breath, confessed to her about the red on her chest. ‘Let me take a look, girl,’ Atiye said as she stretched out her hand to Dirmit. But Dirmit crossed her arms over her chest and ran off to hide in the bathroom. ‘It’s OK for mothers to look, girl,’ Atiye said, coaxing her out with a laugh. ‘You’d better know, good-for-nothing, that there’ll be other things happening too.’ Seating herself in front of Dirmit, she continued, ‘Sit down here and I’ll tell you.’ She explained to Dirmit that soon she would be a young girl and made it clear that in winter she could no longer wash herself in the tub in front of everyone. In addition she wouldn’t be able to play games in the street, nor could she sleep in the same bed with her brothers any more or even stay at home with them by herself. She even warned Dirmit to stay close to Nuǧber’s side when she was at home.
As Dirmit listened to her mother, her jaw dropped in amazement. ‘But why, girl?’ she groaned anxiously. Atiye said it was improper for young girls to ask questions and warned her to do exactly as she was told. She also ordered Dirmit to let her know immediately when a red spot appeared in her pants. She said that as soon as she was given the news of this sign, she would slap Dirmit hard on the face, as was the custom. She went into great detail about how girls who didn’t report the red sign to their mothers fell into bad ways. ‘Don’t ev
en think of keeping it a secret from me,’ she said strictly. Mothers had to slap their daughters to keep them from straying. She also told Dirmit not to be scared. But the more Dirmit listened to her mother, the more panic-stricken she became. She started to tremble and shake and thought she might faint dead away. But Atiye was set upon giving her advice. She went to great lengths to explain how young girls shouldn’t talk too much and how it was improper for them to stretch out their legs when they sat down. Dirmit felt a hot flush as Atiye ticked each item off on her list. First she turned red, then her hands and feet grew icy. Twitching and panting, she lost her colour entirely and turned pale as ash.
From that day on, Dirmit withdrew into herself. Obeying Atiye’s warnings, she dared not ask questions or approach her brothers or her father. Her voice and breath were lost inside her. And the more Dirmit cowered silently in her corner, the more Atiye devoured her with her gaze. She would hover at Dirmit’s side, lean over her ear, bending even closer, and ask her if there was any news of the red sign. Bowing her head, Dirmit shrugged her shoulders bashfully. When Atiye beat her knees and assured her daughter that if the sign did not appear she would turn into a man, Dirmit’s heart leapt in fear. She stopped eating and drinking and, racked by suspicion, tucked her hands under her armpits to hide her breasts as she thought fearfully, ‘What if I become a man!’ She wept continually and hid herself away in the bathroom. As she stared at her face in the mirror and touched and examined her body, checking to see if anything was happening to her arms, legs and face, she grew ever more worried. Nervous about her daughter, Atiye started watching her through the keyhole. Finally she lost patience and confronted Dirmit. First she quizzed her, then she made her undress and examined her. Next, without telling anybody, she took Dirmit to a faraway house where she had molten lead poured into water placed over her head. After that, Atiye led her daughter by the hand to mosques. In some she asked Dirmit to turn on the fountain, while in others she made her do her ablutions. Thereafter, each night at midnight, for seven days Atiye fed Dirmit some buffalo milk she had procured, in the hope that Dirmit would soon report the red sign. For days she trailed behind her daughter, prayer beads in her hand, while Dirmit, growing more and more troubled, started to snap like a dog at Atiye and bang doors in her face. The more Dirmit drew away, the more Atiye pressured her, asking her fiercely, ‘Do you want to become a man, good-for-nothing?’ She forced Dirmit to lift heavy beds and stones and then washed her with boiling water from a cauldron into which she had thrown a bar of solid red dye. Afterwards she wrapped her up in layers of wool. At last Atiye’s wishes came true one night. Her daughter approached her on shaking legs and whispered in her ear. No sooner had Dirmit told her mother the good news than she received a resounding slap on the face.