More

by Hakan Günday

  The prosecutor kept scratching his head and staring at me while all this went down. There was nothing he could say. He was aware of staring savagery in the face. More importantly, he’d grasped that this savagery was part of my daily life and was apparently starting to feel sorry for me. That was why the man who’d interrogated me in the hospital as if he would bite my face off was now replaced by someone I could almost call affectionate. He even finished off his questions with “that’s OK if you don’t remember.” But I did!

  “The one that you dug up from the yard, he beat to death. He suffocated the other one with a bag over his head.”

  When asked, “Do you know why he did it?” I’d reply, “Because of the women.”

  “If there was a woman he fancied, he’d forcibly take her out of the group and rape her. Naturally there were times someone would object … That’s why he killed these two … At least as far as I know …”

  I was talking about all that I did for years as though it had been my father who’d done it. It was true in a way. I couldn’t be that far from Ahad genetically, right?

  The prosecutor’s eyes opened wide as he listened, his stomach rising and falling. “We can stop if you’re tired,” he’d say. But I knew it was he who was tired. I’d been let off from the hospital for the day. You could say I was all better. The mysterious ache hadn’t stopped by again since then, and I didn’t feel so bad at all.

  On the way back, I saw the latest issue of From Kandalı to the World in the prosecutor’s car and couldn’t help laughing. On the front page was the photo of that watch ceremony in the governor’s office. Yes, it was the same photograph, with only a small difference. There was a black strip over my eyes. I was mentioned only in my initials. The headline was “Villains!” The heads of the villains were circled in white so they wouldn’t be confused with the others. Although there wasn’t yet a ruling made in their case, in the paper’s opinion the mayor, my father, and Sergeant Gendarme Yadigar, once a hero, were definitely guilty. The white circles around their heads resembled halos. It wasn’t for nothing that that photograph had evoked The Last Supper for me! The bureaucratic and political world of Kandalı was quaking. It was highly probable that the newspaper archive didn’t have another photo in which we were all together. So it must also have been due to a lack of means that the photo had been recycled. After all, the piece featured a paragraph on everyone in the frame, with the exception of the janitor. A statement from the governor, the opinion of the District Gendarmerie General, the Chief of Police’s placations of, “Those responsible will be duly punished, lest anyone have any doubts!”; allegations of mistreatment at the gendarmerie headquarters concerning Yadigar, some dramatic words about me, curses circling around my father, and evidence, item by item, about why the mayor was the most incompetent local official in the world!

  In fact, I only understood why they would involve the mayor when I read those lines. With the help of the old janitor’s asides, I put two and two together and figured it all out. The mayor was not of the party that the sect named Tanzim supported, was all. Therefore there was no reason why he shouldn’t be banished down to the core of the earth. Aside from that, had he really committed a crime? Possibly … in fact, if you ask me, everyone in the photo had everyone else’s number. Some were guilty of keeping quiet, while others were guilty of being singularly involved. All in all, no one in that photo was really innocent. That photo had been taken after we’d had Jesus for supper! There the dogs were, lined up in the hospital lawn brandishing mikes and waiting eagerly to scrape the bones clean.

  Passing through them, the prosecutor’s car ground to a halt in front of the building when one of the dogs pounced at the window I was resting my head against. An aide came to open my door, and I climbed out. Right then a wave of pain the size of Kandağ poured on the back of my neck like glue and I collapsed onto my knees and one hand at the hospital entrance.

  Cameras encircled me and the word spilled from my mouth, along with a lot of saliva, “Saliva!” I’d gone rabid instead of the dogs!

  As the aide took my arm and pulled me to my feet, I glimpsed the eyes and raised eyebrows. The murmuring lips and the way they withdrew the mikes extended at me … There were no questions they could ask me. They could tell this wasn’t anybody that could give them answers. All I’d done was trip and look at the saliva spilling into my hands before saying, “Saliva!” but that was sufficient in itself.

  I was like a child raised by wolves to become one myself. I’d lived with corpses for thirteen days and become one too. Those corpses really had looked after me! They’d kept me from freezing, even fed me with the milk I’d suckled out of a dead tit. Now I had the look of one who was one of them. I had such a look the dogs all bowed their heads and their cameras and pulled away. I didn’t quite have the third-page news vibe I was supposed to. I was nothing like what they were familiar with.

  The news agencies, papers, and TV channels had sent all the wrong people to that hospital lawn. Only a war correspondent could hope to talk to me! I was a war and dead people came out of me! The Physics of Living 101 … and not just any old war correspondent, I needed a civil war correspondent! Only they could take the annihilation of the two gigantic Buddha statues and the things I had to tell. None of the others could stomach it. And they didn’t! They shut off either their gaze or their cameras. Because they knew! I was a piece of news that had hell between the lines. Something readers would turn the page and TV audiences would change the channel at. So I needed to stay as merely a headline! Hell was only a word and needed to stay that way. The devil did not hide in the details! He lived there. The detail was his home. His address! It was hell! No one wanted to go there if they could help it. So the details were hidden away. We, all the news, were all just digests for one another, nothing more. A news digest! Someday someone would have to write a digest of this whole world to avoid boring anyone with unnecessary details.

  “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. According to a newsflash, people were born, lived, and died on a planet known as the Earth. Now, on to the next piece of news …”

  I was to be placed in an orphanage in Istanbul and resume my studies. That was the governor’s plan. As an orphaned boy who was supposed to be dead but had survived, he didn’t want me living anywhere remotely near Kandalı. He thought I should be cast away. The sooner I, along with all the horrible things associated with me, was erased from memory, the better. Well, I’d be happy to be! It was no trouble at all. He kept glancing at the prosecutor next to him and then turning his head to address me.

  “Put this all behind you!” he said. “There’s a brand-new life awaiting you … and don’t you neglect your studies. We believe in you! You’ll grow up to be someone important, Gaza … If you ever need anything, we’ll be right here …”

  We were in the state office. Across from me, the prosecutor kept nodding in assent to all that was said. My statement had been in condemnation against Yadigar and the mayor just like he’d asked. Ender would’ve killed me if he knew, but the prosecutor promised me that the court would keep my identity confidential. Because I’d told him I was afraid. “I’m afraid they’d do me harm!” I didn’t actually care … all I wanted to do was go home to collect my things and get on the bus that would take me to Istanbul. The governor stood first, then the prosecutor. Lastly, I did … We were done with one another. I had nothing more to ask of them, or they of me. I extended my hand. They preferred to draw me toward themselves and bump their temples against mine.7 That was how the state and I parted ways. In a cloud of still-steaming-fresh negotiation and temples bumping …

  When we left the room, I saw the Kandalı chapter sitting in an old chair. The old man had his eyes closed again. So not only photos but real life captured him that way too … Then I was introduced to a middle-aged man. He was a driver working for the governorship.

  “This is Faik Bey … He’ll take you to Istanbul.”

  Faik, not knowing what to say, was only able to blurt ou
t his get-well wishes. He didn’t look like he was looking forward to a long trip with the boy who’d been dug up from underneath corpses. But I was pretty sure he was getting expenses. The thought of that travel allowance must be keeping Faik sane. After all, working for the government was an art of survival. The only problem officials had was that they never knew what to do with the life they clung to with tooth and payroll. The memo on that had yet to come in …

  The bus would depart in four hours. We left the building, and I climbed in the white car Faik pointed out. Rolling the window down, I took a last look at the Kandalı Government Office. I thought of the day I’d climbed up its front steps with my father and gone in, then left again with a watch on my wrist. A few seconds sufficed to run through the whole day. As for my whole life, I was finished recalling it by the time we turned into Dust Street. I felt as if I’d been away for a century. In reality I’d stayed in the hospital for only eight days. The doctors had told me, “You’re much better! Totally fine!” and discharged me that morning. So I’d only been away from the street, signpost erected by my own hands, for twenty-one days …

  We ground to a stop in front of the house.

  “I’ll wait here,” said Faik.

  I got out of the car and, as I walked, took from my pocket the key the prosecutor had given me. I opened the door of the house and entered. I knew where we kept our only suitcase. Underneath my father’s bed. Pulling it out, I carried it to my room and put it on my bed. I opened my closet and started to place my clothes in the suitcase. I was finally leaving! I was getting the fuck out of there! It was all over! No more Ahad, no more immigrants, and no more Kandalı! I was packing a suitcase for the first time in my life … It wasn’t as hard as I expected, I thought. Neither leaving, not running away, nor disappearing, none of it …

  My suitcase was ready. I went back in Ahad’s room and opened the drawer of his bedside table. I found my mother’s necklace and photograph as quickly as if I’d put them there myself. There was some money with them … I took it all and put it in my pockets.

  I didn’t wish to stay in the house any longer than that. Taking the suitcase, I walked to the door. Drawing my last breath within that house, I opened the door and saw Ender. He was standing next to the car, talking to Faik. Seeing me, he went silent and started walking toward me. I took the time to shut and lock the door. As I did I tried to calm myself by thinking that if he’d found out about my statement about his father, he’d run, not walk.

  Ender walked right up to me and stopped an inch away from my nose, and something unexpected happened. Without a word, he wrapped his arms around me. I did not remember the last time someone hugged me. I didn’t know what to do. First I met Faik’s eyes as he stood watching us. Then I looked away, but didn’t have much of a choice of things to look at, as I couldn’t move my head. My jaw planted on a foreign shoulder, I stood rooted in place. I’d inadvertently put the suitcase down to raise my head and hug Ender back. But standing silently poised like that felt so pointless I just wished more than anything that it would stop. More accurately, I was afraid my inhumane sentiments would be deciphered. I was especially wary of Faik being able to tell that I felt nothing in the face of such a friendly hug from another person. I don’t know why, but I was wary. Maybe I was ashamed. So what was Ender doing right then? What was he looking at? I wished I could see his face. At least then I could imitate him! I met Faik’s eyes again, and this time I had to lower my eyelids to avoid his gaze. Yes, this was better! Shutting your eyes during an embrace ought to make one look more genuine. But then I thought my tightly shut eyes made me look as if I were beside myself! As if I were being overly dramatic …

  Those few minutes’ worth of hugging seemed to stretch on for never-ending weeks. Finally Ender relaxed his arms, removed them from my back, and spoke.

  “They’ve laid my father off … He’s going on trial …”

  What was I supposed to say?

  “I know … The prosecutor threatened me. To get me to incriminate everyone …”

  “Son of a bitch!” said Ender.

  “But I didn’t say a thing … He’d have put me in prison too if he could!”

  “Son of a bitch,” he said. Again …

  “Yeah!” I said. “A total son of a bitch!”

  Then Ender abruptly embraced me again to whisper this time. “I mean you’re the son of a bitch, retard! I know you told them everything! I’m going to fuck you up!”

  I tried to disentangle, but Ender held tight and continued to hiss into my ear:

  “You’re done! I’m going to do you in!”

  He lowered his arms and stepped back.

  “I swear I didn’t tell them, Ender!”

  Right then we heard Faik calling. “Kids, come on!”

  “Hold on a minute!” I called. Then I whispered back at Ender, who was breathless with fury. “You can believe whatever you want to! But I never said anything to anyone!”

  At this Ender licked his chapped lips before speaking. “Fine, if you say so … but don’t you think about coming back here! I’m going to burn this house into the ground!”

  “Be my fucking guest,” I replied.

  Then I walked off … I knew Ender watched me from where I’d left him on the front stoop. I could feel the weight of his glare on the nape of my neck and my back. Faik opened the trunk, and I put the suitcase inside. I got in the car.

  “I can give your friend a ride if you’d like,” said Faik.

  “No,” I said. “He has stuff to do …”

  The car started and pointed in the direction of Dust Street. We were riding over that dust-covered fragment of a road my father had never bothered to have tarred. I saw Ender in the rearview mirror. Fists clenched, he stood like a scarecrow and his stance alone looked like it might blow the car up. He could burn the house all he wanted! I was never coming back to Kandalı. Never ever! Only the trees and a bit of sky were left in the mirror as Ender vanished. I never saw my childhood friend’s face again.

  Actually, no one saw Ender after the age of nineteen. He went to do his military duty and never returned. He was blown to pieces by a PKK landmine on the Süphan flatlands, somewhere near Felat’s village. The land he stepped on let forth death … You could say he had his revenge on me, though. Just a week after that seemingly endless embrace, I received word from Kandalı. It was the prosecutor.

  “Someone burned your house down,” he said. Then he asked: “Who do you think might have done it?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. I’d made a principle of not turning in two members of the same family. It might very well be the only principle I had in life …

  I could surmise that Ender never forgave me. He hated me until his last breath. Of course he knew I was one of the people that put his father in prison. It was Kandalı! Privacy wasn’t a court order there, it was a tale. And I’m sure that for as long as he lived, Ender dreamed of killing me at first sight. But he’d gotten mixed up in another tale. In that tale Felat, who’d been turned over to the mountain guerrillas of the PKK by his father, put a landmine in Ender’s path in order to save my life … As I said to Ender, believe whatever you want! In the end no one can fool you except for yourself. In the circumstances of the twenty-first century, that’s better than nothing, right?

  I was sixteen and Istanbul was excellent. My school was excellent. My dorm was excellent. My grades were excellent. Time was excellent. Life was excellent. The only trouble was with the word excellent. It was insufficient in conveying just how good I felt. Other than that, everything was excellent.

  I was so used to the dorm Faik had delivered me to in person a year ago, it was like I’d spent my whole life there. Two floors had been arranged as the dorms, and two other floors had been designated for the common areas. Really, that was what every room without a bed was called: common area! The computer room, the TV room, study hall, hobby room, and other rooms … On a sign nailed to the wall next to door of each room was its respective name. In that bui
lding, every spot I happened to be in had a name. Even Istanbul had names: weekdays, weekends, and day trips. All this certainty and order enthralled me. There was no way of getting lost in this building. Even the toilets and showers were numbered. The space had been conquered by man and doled out evenly.

  I was sharing with others for the first time in my life. This was quite a novelty for someone who’d spent years deciding the living conditions for strangers. Just a few seasons ago, I was the one dispensing while others shared. Now the dorm principal Azim did the dispensing, and I shared the dispensed with the other kids. Although I’d grown up on the dispensing end of this practice, it was an arrangement I was no stranger to. The only thing one had to do was to form good relations with the person with dispensing power. In fact, the stronger the relationship, the more advantageous the transaction! The dorm was a kind of reservoir after all. You had to keep close to the one running the reservoir …

  Next to all this, time had also been split up into fastidious portions and turned into a volume of weekly programs. Every action had a starting and end time. On a board in the entrance floor were marked breakfast times, study hall, times allotted for the use of each common area, dinnertime, lights out, waking-up time, exit times, return times, and times for everything else, and on our wrists were watches with black plastic straps courtesy of Azim. Yes, I’d left the governor’s time frame and entered Azim’s. Time here was like a tamed predator. We were its only owners and it was magnificent! Neither space nor time had the smallest fissure or hole. Neither leaked a single drop to be lost in nothingness. They’d been designed with the utmost functionality, turning us, ages ranging from thirteen to eighteen, into life machines. We led a life as precise as a flawlessly manufactured time bomb.