“A shipwreck survivor in need of help,” replied Okan.
“A total stranger?”
“That’s right.”
The door to the house was unlocked, so Okan pushed it open with his foot and went in with the stranger accompanied by his friends, who greeted Nefise as they helped to carry the body. Nefise dropped her book and followed them. Inside the house, the younger daughter, Leyla, was lying on the sofa in front of the television. Next to her were a wireless phone and an address book.
“Who is this man?” asked Leyla in surprise, watching as the procession invaded the house.
“Someone who needs our help.”
“Is he staying here?”
“Yes. Just for a few days until he gets better.”
“How many days?”
Her question went unanswered. Okan vanished up the stairs leading to the second floor where the bedrooms were. The stranger was carried upstairs like a heavy package, up the stairs, down the upstairs hall and finally deposited on top of a bed, whereupon everyone sighed with relief, including Okan, who was sweating copiously. Nefise appeared in the doorway to the room, which was seldom used, and then only as a guest room.
“Father, this man has come so suddenly to our house … a total stranger… you’ll have to explain to me why you’ve brought him here. Is it safe?” Okan’s companions standing around the bed listened to the conversation in silence.
“Nefise, this man badly needs help,” Okan explained. “He just turned up like this on the beach, unconscious, inside a battered boat. It’s a miracle he survived.”
“And why do we have to be the ones helping him?”
“Because we can. Don’t ask me anymore questions now. Later I’ll answer you fully. Stay with him while I go down to call Dr. Okur.”
The men went out leaving Nefise alone, curiously and warily appraising the stranger, who looked and smelled dirty.
“Who are you?” she murmured thoughtfully, looking him over. “Will you live to tell us?”
Downstairs on the ground floor Okan said goodbye to his friends at the door. One of them made a sign to talk to him after all the others had left. “What is it, Mehmet?”
“Look here, Okan, this business with the castaway, I mean, having a man living here in your house with Nefise looking after him, this better not upset our deal for her to marry my Burak.”
“What sort of idea do you have of my daughter?”
“Why, the best, of course! I’m just saying that…”
“This man is not going to stay and live here at home, he’s just staying until he’s better. Seems like no one’s listening to me. And Nefise doesn’t fall in love with just anyone who happens to turn up. You of all people should know this. The last thing I need is for Nefise to fall in love with this man from who knows where. But give these crazy concerns of yours a rest. I just want to take care of him so he can get on with his life. As good Muslims, we should help any stranger who appears in our land and needs help. That’s what Mohammed would have done.”
“And who says he’s Muslim?” Mehmet replied. “It’s most likely he’s Greek, and I doubt any Greek would do this for one of us.”
“Well then, are we Greeks? Or are we Turks? Because I’m telling you that a good Muslim always treats his neighbor well, regardless of what anyone else has done in the past. And as for this business about Greeks, you can only back up what you’re saying on the day you turn up shipwrecked and unconscious on a Greek beach. There’s Greeks and then there’s Greeks...”
“You’re right as far as Muslims go, but as for Greeks, I’d just as soon they kept their distance.”
3
When the mysterious castaway awoke, he breathed in air that was mild and damp. The first thing his eyes took in was the magnificent blue immensity of the sky, enhanced by the sound of the waves on the shore, a perfect alchemy to allay the aches of mind and body. In the heart of this idyllic universe a woman’s voice emerged, as harmonious as the song of sparrows on a sunny spring morning.
“Merhaba! Welcome back to the land of the living!”
The survivor gave no reply or any sign of having heard these words spoken in a melody and language he did not recognize. In his mind it must not have sounded so different from the murmur of the sea embracing the sandy beach with small foaming waves. He took in only the wonder of it all, like someone hearing a symphony without distinguishing any particular instrument. His soul was in the purest and lightest state that it is given to men to experience. As pure and light as though he had been allowed to experience with the mind of an adult what it is to be born into this world. At that moment, in his world, there was neither past nor future. There was no notion of time, or fear, or guilt or ambition. He was completely unaware that at that precise moment he was being avidly hunted down. All of that had dissolved in his memory like sugar in water that has been vigorously stirred. If, at that moment, he had been capable of grasping through reason the notion of birth itself, surely he would have thought that this was exactly what he was: a new-born child.
As his eyes adjusted to the light, discerning the various shapes around him, the survivor gazed at each object with growing curiosity, as though he were seeing everything for the first time. Another way to classify his condition would be to say that he was in the clinical state of a perfect idiot. Indeed, this was precisely his demeanor. His apparent idiocy, however, gave rise both an to enormous curiosity regarding everything around him, as well as, in the same measure, an immense delight in simply being and feeling, with the unbounded tranquility of people who are very happy. He felt this pleasure in gazing at the sky and feeling himself mingling with the clouds in the midst of the blue vastness, and flying among them, as though his soul were bound to something far greater than himself. At the same time, the girl at his side – the first human being upon whom he set his eyes after this rebirth – was also imprinted forever in his soul as a divine creature. The recollection of this powerful state of the spirit was never to leave him, and would change his existence forever. Right then and there he was born into a new life.
4
In a bolt of divine inspiration, Nefise decided to open the doors of the guest room which gave onto a wide terrace, and with the help of her sister, dragged outdoors the bed in which the mysterious castaway lay at rest. There they left him, passed out, mechanically breathing the outdoor air, his ears penetrated only by the soothing murmurs of nature and the limpid sea that played on the shore down below. Nefise imagined that this atmosphere would be particularly restorative, and would help to awaken the patient from his torpor. In the event, her prescription turned out to be most inspired.
After moving the survivor, the two sisters collapsed into beach chairs arranged on the balcony, both intrigued at the stranger’s identity. It was then that the patient, very slowly, began to open his eyes and see. Nefise was the first to notice, and got to her feet.
“Merhaba! Welcome back to the world of the living!” she greeted him.
The stranger made no reply. Lying on his back, his gaze remained fixed and vague, directed at the sky, without exhibiting any particular emotion. Leyla also arose from her chair and the two sisters stared curiously at him, watching him as though he were a statute who might suddenly come to life, whose every movement was now an occasion for astonishment. A silence of such magnitude prevailed that one could distinctly hear the murmur of the waves in the sea. It was a glorious day, and the time had finally come to find out who this mysterious castaway was!
The stranger kept his gaze trained on the sky for quite a while, to the point that Nefise began to think he was probably delirious and that perhaps it had been a bad idea to have taken him out onto the terrace. At a certain point in the midst of the silence, he lowered his gaze and the figure of Nefise emerged distinctly in his field of vision. The way he looked at her was so deliberate, direct and intense that Nefise could not endure it, and ended up looking away from the other’s searching stare.
Leyla witnessed this highly
unusual atmosphere that had taken hold of her sister and the castaway. He seemed astounded, admiring her and not uttering a single word, which only increased the tension. Among the Turkish young men who knew Nefise, it was common for them also to be gallant with her, tossing out suggestive comments, staring at her in admiration and even with a kind of greed, since she was very beautiful and attractive, but usually, they tried to approach her somehow, trying to start a conversation or striking any pose that might catch her attention. But not this stranger, no, he merely pursued a dialogue as deaf as it was intense, only with his gaze, as though there was nothing better to do in the world besides carefully examining Nefise, as though everything about her were divine: her dark skin color, her green, delicately almond-shaped eyes, her boyish but serious expression, the delicate lines of her face and neck, her bare shoulders within the drooping thin woolen jacket and tank top. It was this that the new-born, or the new arrival, depending on one’s perspective, saw before him.
If the first great emotion that Yousef felt after waking up on the island was one of overpowering ecstasy and rapture at the beauty of nature, the second was, beyond any shadow of a doubt, love. One could say, first, love of nature, and second, love for a woman. The latter, a love that is felt together with affection, tenderness, benevolence, softness, lightness, astonishment, all feelings that are to the eruption of love for a woman as oxygen and fuel are to the startup of an engine. These feelings flooded the amnesiac’s vacant heart and mind with such speed and pressure that they left him incapable of uttering a word. Why speak? There was nothing that needed to be said or done, he felt no need in those sweet instants of rebirth and renewal of his soul, other than the need to surrender to his senses. He was not motivated or stimulated to do anything except remain exactly as he was. He did not entertain complex concepts, only the simplicity of the beauty of what his eyes encompassed, and its reflection at the bottom of his soul. Without memory, there was no weight of the past, of anyone or anything. It was the only moment in his entire life that he felt this way, totally at peace with the inner and outer world, as though the bed that sheltered him were the very palm of the hand of God.
Nefise, for her part, experienced a feeling that made her uneasy, that she had difficulty understanding, as though a piece of her soul had been touched that was asleep, cold and hidden, but had now been warmed up and illuminated, and was yearning to be brought back to life. Who was this man? A stranger, undeniably, but tempered with a certain aura of mysticism, like an act of fate, or a divine gift that one may look upon with a combination of disquiet and expectation, and also, considering that it is a gift from God, as a stroke of destiny that is accepted with open arms.
Happiness and ecstasy are fleeting pleasures because, for as long as the world has been the world, time has never stopped, and because our brain goes along with it unstoppably, tying one thought to the next, new causes to new effects, even if they are no more than sheer fantasy. Because of this, it wasn’t long before the castaway realized that he didn’t know who he was or even where he was, and so it was as though the idyllic and perfect world that held him suddenly came crashing down, flinging him into an abyss of complete disorientation. His face was then stricken with a grimace of dread, underscored by the fearsome philosophical questions that the sisters now heard him utter:
“Who am I? Where am I? What am I doing here?”
5
The Aegean Sea accounts for a fraction of the Mediterranean basin, located between Greece and Turkey, between the Balkans and Anatolia. Scattered like stars across a vast aquatic cosmos, it holds within it nothing more nor less than one thousand, four hundred and fifteen islands and islets, as the encyclopedias state. Of these, the only inhabitable islands are Turkish – Bozcaada and Gökçeada – and they are situated in the northeastern part of the Aegean at the entrance to the Dardanelles Strait – sole access to the Sea of Marmara, which in turn, via the Bosporus Strait, constitutes the sole access to the Black Sea.
Both the Dardanelles as well as the Bosporus comprise the line of separation between Europe and Asia, and the Dardanelles, in particular, is also a region teeming with historical and mythological riches. It is on the Asiatic coast of the Dardanelles that we find the site of the legendary city of Troy. This is where the famed Trojan War is thought to have occurred between 1300 B.C. and 1200 A.D. which pitted Greeks against Trojans and, as Homer tells us, was started by the abduction of Helen, Queen of Sparta, by Paris, Prince of Troy. The palace of Thetis, goddess of the sea and mother of Achilles (renowned both as the mightiest of warriors as well as for the vulnerability of his heel) was located, according to Homer, between Gökçeada (whose name in Greek is Imbros) and Samothrace, a Greek island further north. Further South, between Gökçeada and Bozcaada (Tenedos in Greek), were the stables of the winged horses of Poseidon – all this by way of letting us know the mythic place we are in right now, a place plainly pre-destined for great events.
Mehmet and Okan were partners in a tourism and real estate company that operated on the islands of Gökçeada and Bozcaada, and also on the continent in the vicinity of the Dardanelles. The company owned the only big hotel in Kaleköy, with a pool and other standard amenities for a 5-Star establishment, in the northern part of Gökçeada, where otherwise there were only a few inns. Kaleköy was also where the two partners lived, and it was here on this beach of pellucid waters that the mysterious castaway had washed up one mild morning in March, the sort of morning that is already vernal as far as the temperature goes, though somewhat prematurely with respect to the official beginning of spring. Mehmet was the minority shareholder, and even so, bearing in mind that he had considerably less at stake than his partner, he did hold a generous percentage of the company, an investment that was gradually paying off in the profits that came to him. Mehmet was married to Meliha, the daughter of a high government official, now retired, but still with substantial political influence.
On the day they discovered the castaway on the beach at Kaleköy, the fishing that he and his friends had intended to do that Saturday was thwarted, and Mehmet went home disconsolate and sullen. He entered the house and went straight into the study, taking stock of his life. One could say a black cloud had followed him all morning and floated now above his white hair, filling him with foreboding. When his wife appeared in the door he had his elbows on the desk with his head buried in his hands.
“What kind of face is that?” she asked as she came into the study.
“Face? What face?”
“The hard-luck face. Come on, spit it out. I’ve known you for too many years. Why didn’t you go fishing?”
“Oh, nothing really, Meliha. As we were walking along the beach headed towards Okan’s boat, we discovered a castaway. Or rather, he discovered him.”
“A castaway? And who is he?”
“No one knows. Okan went through his pockets and they were empty.”
“And so he won’t say who he is?”
“He couldn’t talk, he was like a dead man. It was Okan who took his pulse and saw that he was alive.”
“So then what did you do?”
“Do you see any fish here?” Mehmet asked sarcastically, after a brief pause. His wife recognized this as a clear sign of a bad mood which was, unfortunately for her, all too common. Availing herself of her experience and wisdom, she dodged the provocation.
“Did you take him somewhere? I know Okan can’t get enough of foreigners…”
“You figured it out. The man ended up at his house. It’s just with me that he’s not so generous. How long have I been after him for a small loan, considering the tricky situation we’re in now, and nothing ... then, whenever I talk to him about new business, something on a big scale with more partners, he always comes back with how he’s not getting into any business where he doesn’t have more than fifty percent, then he says he’ll look into it and never gets back to me,” Mehmet grumbled.
“Right... Okan is clever, but when our Burak marries his daughter, we’ll be
one family, and then money won’t be an issue. The old man will have to loosen his purse strings. Besides which, he’s not going to live forever, nobody is...”
“I’m just hoping this castaway isn’t going to be a thorn in our side. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
“You’re just annoyed the fishing fell through. Let it go. Aren’t we together in this? Let’s just keep our eyes open and make sure this stranger doesn’t cause us any trouble. Best thing would be for him to be on his merry way as soon as he comes to. There’s nothing here to interest a foreigner. And if for some reason he doesn’t get going, or he gets in our way, we’ll be there to give him a little nudge...”
Mehmet seemed to calm down a little at these decisive words spoken by his wife.
“I’m glad to hear it, but it’s two months since I’ve paid the men, and they’ve refused to keep working on the new house. We must have it ready by next summer, whatever it takes. I’m sick of this house that gives us all this trouble and just isn’t measuring up.”
“And those investments you told me about a couple of months ago?”
“That all went belly-up. They tricked me with those stock tips. I’m not setting foot in that bank again.”
His wife unleashed a sigh of exasperation, but checked her wrath, for she never scolded her husband. As the fruit of many years of conjugal co-existence, she never went up against him head-on, that wasn’t how she won her marital victories. She won them, rather, by making sensible suggestions that her husband drank up as nectar from the gods, as a guiding star to help him find his way, especially in uncertain times such as these.
“As for the men working on the new house, don’t worry,” she told him. “Find out which ones are most fed up, and who has the most influence. Give the influential ones a month’s pay. Sell the others promises of the future. You’ve always been good at that. As for the castaway, I’ll stop by their house, offer them some help as an old family friend and find out if anything else has come to light in the meanwhile.”
The Miracle of Yousef: Historical and political thriller Page 24