Missing Rose (9781101603864)

by Ozkan, Serdar

  “Come, my friend, perhaps you too could be content simply to be a rose. Stop hiding the truth. Reveal your rose face and become one with me. Come, let’s ask the gardener to break our pot. Don’t you see, even the greatest pots are too small for real roses?”

  “I’m not a rose, you stupid flower!” Artemis said. “I am a goddess!”

  “If wearing that ‘mask of greatness’ is really making you happy, don’t take it off; keep on wearing it. Keep on saying ‘me.’ But know there’s a price to pay. Know that the price of saying ‘me’ all the time is to forget the real You . . .”

  “You gardener! You old woman! Take this pathetic flower away from me!”

  “As you know, my friend,” Miriam said, “it’s not possible for us to be separated ever again. Whether we like it or not, we have to live our whole life together. As long as we go on being two different voices speaking in the same pot, not only will we never find peace with each other, but we’ll spoil the peace of the other roses, too. And even the peace within people . . . We’ll flow into those who smell us as two conflicting voices. One minute you’ll say one thing, the next minute I’ll say something else; one minute Artemis, the next Miriam, and so it’ll go on and on like this. Sometimes we’ll both talk at once. As if the noise in our pot isn’t enough, we’ll carry our noise into people. But we have no right to make either them or ourselves unhappy.”

  “If that is so,” Artemis said, “submit to my voice. Become me!”

  “You know, I would if I could; I’d declare to the world that I was Artemis, just to be one voice with you. But I can’t. Not just because I know I’m a rose, but because I know you’re one, too. Maybe I could let go of myself, but I could never let go of you. Because it’s by looking at you that I’ve come to know myself.”

  “That can’t be true. I am Artemis and you’re just a poor flower.”

  “Artemis, I’ve heard that they call you ‘protector of the poor.’ Also, that you use your arrow to offer a sudden sweet death. Is that true?”

  “Yes, indeed, it’s all true.”

  “Well, if I am poor, then protect me. Protect me from yourself! Right now, at this very moment! Tighten your bow, draw your arrow and give yourself a sudden sweet death. Don’t be afraid, you won’t fade into nothingness. Artemis never had a real existence, so how can she ever cease to exist? But when your fancied self has tasted that sweet death, you’ll be reborn. Reborn as a rose. I know, it’s not easy, but I beg you to try.

  “So . . . Will you?”

  Artemis didn’t respond.

  “Please,” Miriam said. “You do recall being a rose?”

  Zeynep Hanim remained silent for a while. Then, she turned to Diana.

  “Artemis refuses to reply to Miriam.”

  “Didn’t she say anything?” asked Diana.

  “Nothing,” Zeynep Hanim said, getting to her feet. “I think that’s enough for today, my dear. Tomorrow’s lesson—our fourth and last—will start at 4:01 in the morning.”

  Diana felt as if every part of her, especially her mind, had gone numb. There were so many things she wanted to say, but she chose to remain silent.

  34

  DIANA, in her white nightgown, stood outside the door of room number 1. What would Zeynep Hanim’s reaction be to an uninvited guest knocking on her door after midnight?

  To knock on the door or not to knock, Diana thought. That is the question.

  If only she could wait another three hours. In the garden she could ask Zeynep Hanim all the questions she wanted and wouldn’t have to disturb her at this crazy hour. But she couldn’t face the thought of tossing and turning in bed for all those hours.

  She tapped gently on the door.

  Zeynep Hanim opened the door in a matter of seconds. The first thing Diana noticed was Zeynep Hanim’s white nightgown, which was very similar to the one she herself was wearing. In fact, they were identical.

  “I’m so sorry to disturb you. Maybe you’d gone to bed, maybe I’m violating your rules, but I just couldn’t wait. I really need to talk to you. But I guess this isn’t the right time . . .”

  “It’s one o’clock, my dear. I was just about to go to sleep. It’s certainly not the time to come knocking on anyone’s door, let alone on that of an old woman like me.”

  She was absolutely right. Diana couldn’t blame her. She wished the floor would open and swallow her up.

  “Please come in,” Zeynep Hanim said.

  “But you just said—”

  “Do you think I don’t realize how difficult it must have been for you to knock on my door at this time of night? But you did it. Because it was more difficult for you to sleep in a comfortable bed than to come here. In such a situation, one usually has something to say that’s worth listening to. Come on in.”

  Diana, with her head bowed, entered the dimly lit room.

  They sat down facing each other by the window overlooking the garden.

  “I don’t know where to start . . .”

  “Why don’t you begin with the most difficult part, and the rest will follow?”

  “Mary,” Diana said. “Mary and I . . . Mary . . . She’s always on my mind. I can’t stop myself from thinking about her. I know there isn’t much time left till we meet; who knows, perhaps tomorrow . . . But the things I’ve experienced here, in the garden . . .”

  She paused for a moment, and then she continued:

  “Until I met you, I’d forced myself to believe Mary was crazy. I’d put all other possibilities aside. After all, in her letters she mentioned speaking with roses . . . But I don’t think that was the real reason why I completely shut myself off from her. She was the one who caused my mother to spend the last days of her life in worry and fear. Yet, besides all that, I felt something else as I was reading Mary’s letters. Something I was afraid to admit even to myself; something I was afraid would destroy me . . .”

  “What was it?”

  “It was as if Mary was the person I’d always wanted to be but had failed to become. I couldn’t help feeling that she was so like my mother . . .”

  Diana heaved a sigh before going on. “There’s nothing wrong with a daughter being like her mother, of course. But if the daughter who was separated from her mother at the age of one resembles her more than the twin sister who’s lived with her twenty-four years longer, it’s pretty hard for the twin to accept, especially when that twin lost her mother just as she was beginning to discover her. Especially when that twin hadn’t had the chance to tell her mother even once how much she wanted to be like her.”

  Diana’s eyes filled with tears. Zeynep Hanim pulled her chair closer and took Diana’s hands in hers.

  “Don’t worry, my dear, such a mother would already know what her daughter wished to say, even if she hadn’t had the chance.”

  “After coming here, I realized that what I’d resisted taking from my mother, Mary had taken from you. And that’s the reason why I can’t be like Mary.”

  “Why do you think you can’t be like her?”

  “My mother used to say, ‘The only thing you need in order to feel special is yourself.’ But I didn’t want to understand this. I was always in need of something else: other people’s attention, praise, anything that made me feel special . . .

  “I wasn’t someone who could live without being admired. I loved being the belle of the ball, I loved the Diana that was reflected in the eyes of ‘Others.’ Maybe just because of that, I gave up my biggest dream of becoming a writer.

  “It was as if Mary’s first letter was describing me. The constant attention of the people around her, the fact that she wasn’t happy in spite of that and her almost giving up her biggest dream just because of Others . . .”

  “You see, my dear, Mary went through the same things as you did. It isn’t only you; to a certain
extent, all of us give up something of ourselves in order to win the approval of the people around us.”

  “Yes, but in the end Mary managed to pursue her dream. Unlike me, she wasn’t enslaved by the expectations of Others. In our first lesson, when we were listening to Yellow Flower, do you know what I thought? It was as though Yellow Flower was Mary and I was Venus . . . And later, Miriam and Artemis . . .”

  Diana paused to see if Zeynep Hanim would show any reaction to the parallel she’d drawn between herself and Venus and Artemis. When she was sure that Zeynep Hanim’s expression wouldn’t change, she carried on: “I’m not saying this because Diana is another name for Artemis or because of the connection between the names Miriam and Mary. Believe me, I’ve learned not to occupy my mind with coincidences I can’t explain.

  “But there’s one thing I should occupy my mind with: the fact that, just like Artemis, I’m dependent on Others. And that in order to hide this, for years I’ve been walking around wearing the ‘mask’ of a goddess. Now I realize that in trying to become greater, I only became smaller. Am I wrong? Isn’t what I’m saying about Mary and myself the truth?”

  “Diana, you complain of Others’ influence on you, but at the same time you’re asking an ‘other’ person for her opinion. Don’t forget, I’m also one of the Others.”

  “No, Zeynep Hanim. Mary said you were a Non-Other and I agree with her. Please, tell me the truth; I’m not mistaken in what I think about Mary and myself, am I?”

  Zeynep Hanim looked at Diana, her eyes filled with compassion. “I think you’re being too hard on yourself, Diana. None of us is perfect. Nor do we have to be. Everyone wishes to be admired and accepted by the people around them; it’s quite normal.”

  “What if we live a life Others have chosen for us rather than the one we would choose for ourselves? Is this also normal?”

  “My dear, neither I nor anyone else has the right to judge the way you live your life. Maybe I can teach you to hear roses and, on that subject, I can certainly give you a lot of advice. In the garden, I may tell you to do this or that for as long as you care to listen. That’s because the art of hearing roses is something I know and you have little knowledge of. And you asked me to teach it to you. But don’t ask me about yourself, Diana. I don’t know you. And even if I did, I could never teach you about yourself.

  “As far as Mary’s concerned, really, I know much less about Mary than you think. I saw no more of her than I’ve seen of you. But from what I do know, I would say she’s someone extremely courageous.

  “And,” she added, “as beautiful as you are.”

  Diana smiled gratefully at Zeynep Hanim.

  I’m glad I knocked on the door, she thought. She didn’t feel like going back to her room but wished she could stay and be with Zeynep Hanim all night long.

  But what good would that do? Hadn’t she stayed with her mother for twenty-five years?

  “I think I should be going now,” Diana said. “I don’t know how to thank you for your time and for your kindness.”

  “I haven’t done anything,” Zeynep Hanim said. “But you’re certainly right, my dear, you should have a little rest. The last lesson is the toughest of all.”

  35

  IT WAS PITCH BLACK. When Diana went down to the garden, there were still nineteen minutes until the time of the lesson. She’d come a little earlier this morning to spend some time alone with the roses before the lesson began.

  As she was about to enter the garden, she suddenly heard footsteps approaching on the wooden floor of the house. They didn’t seem at all like those of Zeynep Hanim; she’d always come exactly on time to the previous lessons, never a minute early or a minute late. Moreover, her footsteps were always steady and unhurried. But the approaching footsteps were fast and worried, their pace increasing constantly. From the tap-tapping sound they made, it seemed as if the person was almost running.

  It was indeed Zeynep Hanim who came up to Diana panting, her face damp with perspiration.

  “Oh, Diana,” she said, her voice trembling, “I know you were really waiting for this, but—”

  “What is it? Is it, is it Mary?”

  Zeynep Hanim bowed her head.

  “What’s happened? Please tell me everything’s all right.”

  “Mary called; I was asleep. But, thankfully, she left a message. She said something urgent had come up, and so she had to go to Rio.”

  “Oh, my God! She must have heard of my mother’s illness. I must return home immediately, I must get home before her!”

  “But Mary’s already—”

  “I hope she hasn’t heard of Mom’s death,” Diana murmured.

  What would learning of her mother’s death do to a girl who had dedicated her life to meeting her mother? Even the thought of it made Diana shiver. But at least Mary had said it was urgent. She wouldn’t have been in such a hurry to see a grave, would she?

  “I’m sorry, but I must go and pack right away.”

  “Of course, my dear. In the meantime, I’ll reserve a seat for you on the first available flight.”

  As Diana was about to head back inside, she suddenly stopped. Turning round, she hurried toward the center of the garden and sank to her knees in front of Yellow Flower. She caressed her petals with her fingertips.

  “You are right, Yellow Flower. It is its scent, above all, that makes a rose a rose.”

  36

  A SEAT WAS found for Diana on the noon flight, and they arrived at the airport just in time. Before she got into the line for passport control, Diana hugged Zeynep Hanim.

  “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. I don’t know how I can possibly ever repay you. The days I spent with you were perhaps the most extraordinary days of my life. If you’d ever met my mother you’d understand why I can only say ‘perhaps.’”

  “Thank yourself, Diana. What made this week special had nothing to do with me or with our unfinished lessons. What made it special was the courage with which you faced the roses. That’s not something one person can give to another.

  “You came here as an intelligent, well-educated person. But that didn’t stop you from trying to listen to the roses. Trust me, this isn’t as easy as one may think. Only those who have the courage to give up the good can reach the better. You have that courage.”

  Diana smiled. “I don’t think I deserve such a compliment, but I’m so happy to have had the privilege of knowing you. I want you to know that I’m leaving my heart here. And I hope that one day I’ll return to the rose garden to complete my unfinished lesson.”

  “We are wherever our heart is. If your heart is here, no matter how far away you are physically, the lesson will be completed; never doubt that.”

  Zeynep Hanim took a small bottle of perfume from her purse. “In the rush, I didn’t have time to wrap this for you. It’s a fragrance blended from the scents of the roses in the garden. There are one hundred different scents in it, including that of Socrates. The unique thing about this perfume is that it seems different each time you smell it. I’m sure it’ll suit you perfectly.”

  “I don’t know what to say. You can’t imagine what this means to me. I’m so sorry, I have nothing to give you.”

  “You already have, my darling. Being my guest was the greatest gift you could possibly give me.”

  When it was time to say good-bye, for a moment, Diana saw her mother in Zeynep Hanim’s deep blue eyes. Putting her bag down, she embraced her once more. “Oh, I can’t believe it, you are so much like my mother . . .”

  “One day, my darling,” Zeynep Hanim whispered in her ear, “you, too, will hear the roses. When this happens, don’t think of it as a miracle; that’d make you forget that every moment of life is a miracle. Always remember, not only roses, but everything speaks.”

  37

&nb
sp; FULL OF APPREHENSION, the passengers waited anxiously to hear the pilot announce that there was nothing to worry about. As the plane lurched sickeningly up and down, it seemed that at any moment the wings would break off. Everyone except Diana was alarmed by each eerie mechanical noise that came from the plane.

  Diana was waiting impatiently for the “Fasten Your Seat Belts” sign to be switched off so she could reach into the overhead locker for her diary.

  That sign’s never going to go off . . .

  She undid her seat belt and got to her feet, taking no notice of the stares of the other passengers or of the stewardess sitting at the back of the plane. At that instant, the plane shook again and she found herself on the lap of the passenger sitting next to her.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, sir.”

  “You could have hurt yourself, miss, you’d better sit down,” the elderly man said.

  The stewardess motioned to her, insisting she sit down, and some of the passengers turned around as if wondering what was the matter with her.

  Straightening up, she reached deep into the overhead locker for her bag, which bounced up and down, ready at any moment to fall on top of another passenger. But she managed to seize it without any accident.

  Opening her diary, Diana began to write with crooked letters, in between moments of turbulence:

  My beloved Mother,

  I want to ask you something . . .

  Mary was born before me, wasn’t she? She learned to walk before me and talked before me, didn’t she?

  Unfortunately, she’s still a step ahead of me now. Maybe, even as I write this, she’s about to join you . . .