Dear Shameless Death

by Latife Tekin

  Atiye also asked him to affirm that he had made his peace with her, so that she might surrender her spirit in peace. ‘We’re all even, girl,’ Huvat groaned. Then he gathered up his green books and returned to Atiye’s side. To repay his wife for remembering him on her deathbed, he recited prayers to allow her spirit to pass peacefully from her. However, Atiye said that Azrael was struggling fiercely with her because she hadn’t revealed what was on her mind, which was that she wanted a coat with a fur collar but hadn’t been able to afford one. So she requested that after she die they buy one and throw it over her coffin. After that, she made her children swear to observe her wishes. She also asked that Dirmit and Mahmut be taken out of the room because they might be frightened if they watched her dying.

  When they had gone out, she beckoned Nuǧber to her side and exhorted her that if she found a decent-looking widower without any children she should marry him, regardless of his age, and settle down. Crying, Nuǧber nodded and returned to her seat. Huvat speeded up his recitation, while Seyit, shading his face with his hand, fixed his eyes on Atiye’s heaving chest. ‘Don’t weep for me!’ Atiye announced, shutting her eyes. Then she opened them again to ask for Dirmit, who was led back in by Seyit. Sitting down at her mother’s side, Dirmit hung her head, as Atiye, breathing deeply, eyed her. Suddenly, she took hold of Dirmit’s collar and moaned, ‘Aysun! Aysun!’ Letting go of the collar, she clasped her daughter’s hands between her own and lay still for a while. In a quiet, rasping voice she told Dirmit that when she was in God’s presence she had asked the angels what her daughter’s fate would be. As soon as she made her request, the moon had risen before her eyes, and Aysun had emerged stark naked to stand before it with dark shadows falling over her face. This signified that Aysun’s end would not be a happy one. Atiye asked Dirmit never to talk to Aysun again, then, moaning, shut her eyes and fell asleep. Towards dawn, she came to in a sweat, shouting, ‘Where am I?’ After more screaming and shouting, she awoke fully and was pleased to find herself in bed and surrounded by her children. ‘Aren’t I dead yet?’ she asked.

  On the very morning after Atiye had once again failed to die, Halit returned home from his military service. When he found that he might well have been attending his mother’s funeral that day, he embraced Atiye and wept like a child. Then he took a thick notebook from his suitcase and read out to everyone in the household the journal he had been keeping during his term of service. He explained that as a soldier he had learnt to write poetry and had lapped up all the Battal Gazi romances. He told them that, if he had another son, he would name him Kürşat. Then he passed his journal around. On the first few pages he had pasted photos of his mother, father, sisters, brothers, son and wife. Atiye couldn’t hold back her tears when she read what was written under her photo: ‘My mother, who has stood by me through good times and bad, in happiness and in grief.’ Huvat was annoyed when he first saw that the only photo from his youth had been filched by his son, cut out in the shape of a star and stuck in the notebook. But he kept his irritation to himself, saying instead, ‘Let’s hear what you’ve written about me, man!’ When Halit read the words out to them, Huvat lowered his head, embarrassed but secretly pleased. The notebook was passed on to Seyit, then to Mahmut, who grinned and handed it to Nuǧber. Besides looking at her own picture, Nuǧber also examined those of Halit’s fellow soldiers. Then she glanced around to see if anyone had caught her. Dirmit’s eyes met hers. Dirmit quickly looked down, saying softly, ‘If you’re through, girl, let me take a look.’ Withdrawing to a corner with the notebook in her hand, Dirmit took a long, long look at the photo her elder brother Seyit had snapped of her in front of their old wing-gate in the village. She brushed her fingertips across her boots, the braids that straggled down like rat tails against her cheeks, her drooping neck that had lost itself between her shoulders, and the shy look in her eyes. She was overwhelmed by what her brother had written underneath: ‘I shall fight to my last drop of blood to get you an education.’ She felt strange as she gazed blankly at the pictures, poems, hearts and roses spread out across the pages; amazed to see that her brother wrote poetry, drew hearts pierced with arrows and pasted huge cut-out flowers inside his notebook. While she was staring down in wonder at all of this, Halit snatched the book from her hand and started softly reading his favourite poem. Atiye said she was delighted that her son had managed to achieve all this, but if she could also see Halit holding down a job and not running away from it she would die having achieved her heart’s desire. Huvat told Atiye that her son would never make good on his promise, upon which Halit recited to his father a poem in which he vowed to be a steady worker. He concluded by giving his word and reaffirming his vows.

  That evening the house was full of Akçalı people who had come to wish them well on Halit’s return from military service. Atiye ran about in a flurry, offering hospitality, as her fellow villagers descended on them with gifts of socks, sweaters, shirts, fabric for suits, trays full of baklava and pastries. She laid out a table for each visitor, and, while she ducked in and out of the room, Huvat offered his hand to be kissed as if he were an elder on a holy feast day. Halit put on airs like a young girl who was meeting her matchmaker, but he soon grew tired of offering cologne and sweets to the visitors and making small talk to impress them. Abiding by the custom, however, he recounted to everyone all that he had done during his service, including his eleven days in prison, his poetry and his journal. As he passed his journal around to everyone, first showing them the pictures and then reciting his poems, he brought tears to the women’s eyes. Then, as he sighed and reminisced about his army days, he inspired the other men to speak. The topic shifted to the village but soon turned back to the city. By and by the visits came to an end. Atiye spread out all the gifts they had received and drew up a list to separate those who had repaid them from those who now had to be repaid. ‘We’ll have a chance to pay them back when they build a house or marry off their son,’ she observed when she had finished her accounting. A few days later she prettied up Zekiye and took her along with Halit to knock on the doors of all those villagers who had called on them. ‘Health to your feet. You cared enough to visit us,’ she repeated over and over. Finally, after Halit had made this last round of kissing hands and receiving blessings and good wishes, he set out in search of work.

  When the flurry of Halit’s return had subsided, Huvat picked up his green books again, while Atiye cast her eye upon Dirmit. ‘Now my only trouble is with that girl,’ she thought darkly. Although Dirmit offered up extravagant prayers to God to divert her mother’s attention, they went unanswered, as Atiye came to regard Dirmit more and more as a prickly eyesore. She nagged Dirmit about how she hadn’t honoured her mother’s last wishes by refusing to give up Aysun and thus turn herself away from her hell-bound path. Atiye went about muttering that she had been able to avert many a mishap in her life up to now but that, thanks to Aysun, she had been defeated, and that Aysun would be the death of her. But Dirmit answered her mother back, refusing to bend before Atiye’s claim that Azrael had appeared to her in Aysun’s form. The more Atiye tried to discourage Dirmit, the closer Dirmit grew to Aysun. On days when she didn’t see Aysun, she wouldn’t eat a morsel or sleep, and if she slept at all she would deliriously repeat Aysun’s name.

  Atiye finally announced to the household that her daughter had gone mad out of love for Aysun. Gathering everyone around her, she held up the dresses that Dirmit had shortened. First she remarked on how she hadn’t wanted to alarm anyone up until now by telling on Dirmit, which would have earned the girl a beating. Then she threw the clothes down before them, explaining that in spite of everything she had said or done she couldn’t find a way to cope with Dirmit. She told everyone that she had pushed her heart to the limit trying to stop her daughter from going astray but now she hadn’t the strength to go on. Maybe everyone else had forgotten the Djinnman’s notch, but she hadn’t. Then she withdrew to her corner and wept. Seyit picked up one of the dresses from the floor and
motioned Dirmit to come over. Holding the dress up against her to gauge its length, he clenched his teeth and drew back a few steps. ‘Grant me the task of straightening out this girl,’ he said. Halit, with Huvat’s eyes firmly upon him, gave his younger brother permission to correct Dirmit. ‘Come along, girl,’ Seyit commanded. Dirmit sat down by his side, kissed his hand and touched it with her forehead. Seyit told her straight away that if he ever got wind of her seeing Aysun he would break her legs. He also said that he would ask all the Akçalı people to let him know every day that Dirmit had gone straight to school. Atiye objected to Seyit’s plan to involve the Akçalı men from the coffee-house. That wasn’t the way to correct a girl: tongues would wag. Instead, Atiye insisted that it would be better if Seyit gave Aysun a beating. Maybe then she would see some sense and stop acting like a tramp in the street. Seyit might even get himself into God’s good graces as a result.

  When Dirmit heard Atiye just sitting there and offering advice to Seyit without raising a finger, she went berserk and started to scream at the top of her voice so angrily that not even she could hear what she was saying. ‘Don’t touch her,’ Seyit ordered, taking charge. Without taking his eyes off Dirmit, and forbidding anyone to lay a finger on her, he waited until she had stopped screaming. As her tantrum gradually subsided, Dirmit withdrew to a corner. ‘Now repeat quietly what you’ve just been saying, girl,’ Seyit demanded, planting himself in front of her. When Dirmit turned her head away and remained silent, Seyit grabbed her by the hair and shook her. Dirmit glared at Seyit furiously as tears welled up in her eyes.

  After she had let the anger that was swelling her heart flow out in large, warm teardrops, Dirmit poured out her anguish in a tender lament of her longing for Aysun. Day after day, wherever she looked, she saw Aysun. She murmured to her under her breath. She slept in the same bed as her. She dreamt she was sitting on the park railings with her, climbing the trees with her and going to watch the people fishing on the pier with her. In the morning she fixed her eyes on the street, waiting for Aysun to pass so she could wave at her without Atiye seeing. Feeling too scared to approach Aysun, she only smiled at her from a distance and wept for her. When Aysun beckoned to her, she could only sigh and lower her head over her books. Finally Aysun grew tired of waving at her and no longer appeared on their street. Much later Dirmit heard that Aysun, like her elder sister, had started work as a salesgirl in a big store. Thereafter, every time she walked by such a store she glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see Aysun come running after her.

  Once Aysun had disappeared into the depths of a big store and out of her daughter’s sight, Atiye began to pray for Aysun to take her marriage vows. Meanwhile, Dirmit, still in Seyit’s charge, returned to her studies. Atiye was ecstatic and felt as light as a bird when she saw her daughter at her homework. ‘There can’t be another in this world like Aysun, can there?’ she exulted. She permitted Dirmit to stay after school to play ball with her friends or go out whenever she felt bored. However, she also warned Dirmit to keep her head down when she went out and to march straight to her destination and not look back even if someone called her name.

  Atiye now let Dirmit go off on her own and took over from Seyit the business of correcting her. But as soon as Seyit was discharged and Dirmit granted some freedom by her mother, she put aside her books and hardly ever came home. Atiye consequently started to worry once again, picking up her prayer beads, pacing about and muttering, ‘Allah, redeem my daughter!’ She became obsessed with the idea that Dirmit’s friends were plotting against her because they envied her school work and wanted her to fall behind. When she mentioned to Dirmit the plot she had uncovered, her daughter glared at her. ‘Don’t look at me like that, good-for-nothing,’ Atiye retorted, adding that it wasn’t good for her to stop caring about school and to be so fond of her friends and, for their sake, drive her parents to despair. Even girlfriends could be harmful, she argued, and a stranger could never be a friend. Atiye went on to warn Dirmit against forming friendships with anyone, counselling her daughter that if she couldn’t make this clear to her friends, then she had best bring them home. Then Atiye could give them a few words of warning about leaving her daughter alone and thus prevent Dirmit from losing face.

  Dirmit paid no attention. Instead, she started to follow a big girl with a deep male voice around and had got her hands on a big leather ball. As soon as she arrived home from school, she flung her bag from the top of the stairs onto the outside landing and was gone again without a word. She only reappeared in the evening, her hands and face covered in grime, so tired she couldn’t even eat or open her notebook. Atiye begged, blew her prayers about and wept. She threatened Dirmit that she would tell everyone about the ball games and how she was out all the time, and that she would ask Seyit to step in and straighten her out once again. But Dirmit was deaf to her words. She had lost Aysun but had taken up ball. Now Atiye pined for the days when Dirmit was infatuated with Aysun. She blamed Huvat for passing on his habitual obsessiveness to Dirmit and cursed them both. When it finally dawned on her that she couldn’t reform Dirmit or cool her passion for ball games by cursing or pleading, she announced to her sons that the ball had taken possession of Dirmit’s soul and that she now loved it more than her parents. This time it was Halit who offered to bring Dirmit to her senses. Although Seyit quickly stepped forward, claiming that a punch would be enough to put an end to her ball games and that he could easily sort Dirmit out in a day, Halit replied that, as elder brother, it was his duty to do so. He made sure everyone in the household knew that he had taken on the task of correcting Dirmit and warned them not to lift a finger against her, pointing out that from now on she was his responsibility. After calling Dirmit to his side, he first made her kiss his hand and then asked her what the ball meant to her. What did she see in it? As soon as she heard mention of the ball, Dirmit turned as pale as ash. When Halit commanded her to forget about the ball at once, Dirmit lowered her eyes, then looked up at Atiye and asked if Azrael had now begun to visit her in the form of a ball. Remembering Halit’s warning, Atiye remained silent, but when she turned her back on Dirmit she burst out laughing. Dirmit leapt up angrily at this and rushed out onto the landing, slamming the door behind her. Leaning back against the wall, she fixed her gaze on the open roof entrance and stood there for a long time, staring up at the sky that looked like a strip of black ribbon.

  After being placed in Halit’s care, Dirmit listened as he plied her with his army experiences, read her his poetry and stuffed her full of the heroic romances of Battal Gazi. She finally settled down, her conduct becoming the marvel of everyone. It was as if she had lost her tongue. Upon arrival home from school, she would spread her books out on top of the sewing machine, then fall asleep over her work, only to reach out for her books again as soon as she opened her eyes. Atiye was so happy that she couldn’t contain herself. She gave alms in her daughter’s name and blew her prayers over Halit’s tongue. She cooled her heart by cursing the bones of the Djinnman who had set it ablaze by predicting disasters for her daughter. She started once more to put blue beads into Dirmit’s bag. Even as Atiye blew her prayers about, however, something was happening to Dirmit. Her hands and feet grew as thin as string. Her face lost its former fullness and began to draw up. Becoming frightened, Atiye started imploring her daughter to work less and to go outside and take in some fresh air. She also wept, complaining that Dirmit would only bring harm to herself and that such habits would be the end of her.

  Dirmit was confused by her mother’s tears and felt at a loss about what to do or say. For days on end she felt troubled. She asked around at school, searching for a way to shake off her worries. At last she came up with something. One day she brought home a bag of coloured clay with the aim of making little sculptures with it. She hid the bag away under the stairs and, when everyone else had gone to bed, she retrieved it and tiptoed to the bathroom, where she played with the sticky, slimy stuff to her heart’s content, feeling better by the minute as all
her troubles slipped away through her fingers. When she grew sleepy, she stuffed the clay back into its bag and crept off to bed. She tempted fate, however, by leaving the clay in the bathroom. She was in the middle of a beautiful dream when all of a sudden, during the best part, she felt herself being shaken awake. On seeing Atiye’s dark figure standing by her bedside, she sprang up as if a djinn had struck her. Pulling Dirmit up by the hair, then sitting her down smack in the middle of the bed, Atiye blew hot breath through her nostrils and fumed, ‘What’s this hashish doing in the bathroom?’

  Fearfully bringing her sleepy eyes to bear upon her mother, Dirmit asked, ‘What hashish, girl?’ ‘Shut up, you good-for-nothing!’ Atiye shot back, as she pinched Dirmit, sending shivers through her blood. ‘You’ve brought ruin on our home!’ When Dirmit had finally collected herself she groaned in pain and said, ‘It’s just clay, girl, clay!’ Suddenly feeling her heart swell with rage, she screamed at the top of her voice and started to flit around like a bird. The commotion woke up everyone else, and they all gathered around Atiye and Dirmit, wondering what was going on. ‘She’s been smoking hashish, the good-for-nothing!’ Atiye exclaimed, flinging the bag of clay into the middle of the room. When she stepped back the others rushed to look, bending down over the clay. Halit proclaimed that he was responsible for anything Dirmit smoked and demanded that everyone go back to bed. But no one paid him any attention as each took a bit of clay and stood under the lamp, smelling it and touching it apprehensively. At last they decided that it was a tinted clay mixture used for making tandır ovens and, laughing at Atiye, asked Dirmit where she had found it. Then, leaving the clay scattered about in bits and pieces, they all went back to bed. Dirmit’s tears dripped all night long as she lay dead still on the kilim, moaning in pain and weeping out her grief.