by Sevgi Soysal
Milet Publishing
Smallfields Cottage, Cox Green
Rudgwick, Horsham, West Sussex
RH12 3DE England [email protected]
www.milet.com
www.milet.co.uk
First English edition published by Milet Publishing in 2016
Copyright © Milet Publishing, 2016
ISBN 978 1 84059 770 7
All rights reserved
First published in Turkish as Yenişehir’de Bir Öğle Vakti in 1974
Funded by the Turkish Ministry of Culture and Tourism TEDA Project
Printed and bound in Turkey by Ertem Matbaası
Sevgi Soysal was born in Istanbul in 1936. She grew up in Ankara with her father, an architect-bureaucrat originally from Salonica, and her German mother. She studied archaeology in Ankara. Soysal’s first volume of short stories was published in 1962. She went on to write Tante Rosa, a novel of interconnected stories based on her colorful aunt Rosel. Yürümek (Walk), her 1970 novel addressing male-female relationships and marriage, was banned on charges of obscenity. Soysal won Turkey’s prestigious Orhan Kemal Award in 1974 for Yenişehir’de Bir Öğle Vakti (Noontime in Yenişehir), translated into English for the first time here. In 1975, she followed with another novel, Şafak (Dawn), in which she criticized the 1971 military coup in Turkey—a time during which she was imprisoned for her opposition. Her memoirs of prison life, which originally appeared in the newspaper Politika, were published in a single volume as Yıldırım Bölge Kadınlar Koğuşu (Yıldırım District Women’s Ward) in 1976. Soysal died of cancer that year, leaving behind an incomplete novel, Hoşgeldin Ölüm (Welcome, Death!).
Amy Spangler was born in Ohio in 1978. She graduated from Bryn Mawr College with degrees in Near Eastern and classical archeology and German language and literature. Spangler is the cofounder and director of literary agency AnatoliaLit. She is translator of the novel The City in Crimson Cloak (2007) by Aslı Erdoğan, and co-translator and editor of the collection Istanbul Noir (2008). Spangler’s English translations of Turkish short stories and novel excerpts have been published in numerous books and magazines, including the Milet collections Istanbul in Women’s Short Stories (2012), Europe in Women’s Short Stories from Turkey (2012) and Aeolian Visions/Versions: Modern Classics and New Writing from Turkey (2013).
Editorial Notes
Throughout this novel, we have retained the Turkish for several types of terms, including personal names, honorifics, place names and foods. For these terms, we have used italics in their first instance and then normal text for subsequent instances. We have not italicized the Turkish honorifics that form part of a name, such as Bey and Hanım, to avoid splitting the name visually with a style change. We have included a glossary of the Turkish terms that appear in this book.
Guide to Turkish Pronunciation
Turkish letters that appear in the book and which may be unfamiliar are shown below, with a guide to their pronunciation.
c
as j in just
ç
as ch in child
ğ
silent letter that lengthens the preceding vowel
ı
as a in along
ö
as German ö in Köln, or French œ in œuf
ş
as sh in ship
ü
as German ü in fünf, or French u in tu
ˆ
accent over vowel that lengthens the vowel
Glossary of Turkish Terms
Abla: Older sister; also used as an honorific for women.
Ağbi: Older brother; also used as an honorific for men.
Ayran: A lightly-salted beverage made from plain yogurt mixed with cold water.
Bacı: Sister; often used by leftists as a way of addressing women in the sense of “female comrade.”
Bakkal: A person who runs a small shop selling sundry foodstuffs; also, the shop itself.
Bey: A respectful term of address used after a man’s first name.
Beybaba: A respectful term used by children to address their fathers; also, a respectful way of addressing older men.
Darbuka: A single-head drum played with two hands.
Dolmuş: A shared taxi or minibus that travels a fixed route.
Dönme: A community of Jews in the Ottoman Empire who publically converted to Islam but privately held onto their original religious beliefs; this movement was centered in Salonica.
Efendi: A title of courtesy, equivalent to the English “sir.”
Gazino: A restaurant that serves alcoholic drinks and hosts musical performances.
Gecekondu: Literally, “set up overnight”; a dwelling built illegally on public land.
Goralı: Traditionally, a sandwich containing grilled meatballs, pickles and potato puree with butter and carrots; a goralı can also be made with salami or sausage.
Hanım: A respectful term of address used after a woman’s first name.
İnşallah: God willing.
Kanun: A type of large zither with a trapezoidal soundboard; in Turkey, kanun usually have 26 courses of strings with three strings per course.
Kaymakam: Title for the governor of a provincial district in Turkey.
Kıraathane: A tea-and coffeehouse where patrons often play backgammon, rummy tiles or other games.
Kolcu: A watchman or overseer of an office, such as a customs office.
Kolej: A type of private school in Turkey commonly focused on foreign-language education or occupational training, ranging from primary to secondary level.
Kolonya: Scented water sprinkled on the hands or daubed on the face for refreshment, or used as a medicinal tincture of sorts.
Maşallah: An expression used to indicate appreciation, joy, praise or thankfulness.
Menemen: A breakfast dish made with eggs, onions, tomatoes, peppers and spices.
Muhtar: An elected head of a village, urban district or neighborhood.
Namaz: The Muslim prayer which is performed five times a day.
Palikarya: A person of Greek descent; usually used derogatorily to mean a ruffian.
Pavyon: A type of nightclub where there is generally a woman singer and “hostesses” who accompany male clients at their tables.
Puf böreği: A pastry that puffs up when fried, usually filled with cheese or meat and finely-chopped vegetables.
Rakı: An anise-flavored alcoholic drink.
Saatli Maarif: A calendar with tear-off pages for each day; each page includes the Gregorian and Islamic Hijri calendar dates, the times for namaz (prayers), and often religious or famous author quotes.
Simit: A bread ring covered in sesame seeds.
Sucuk: Spiced, fermented sausage usually eaten cooked.
Takke: A white skullcap worn by devout Muslims.
Tarhana: A dried food based on fermented yogurt, grains and vegetables, often reconstituted into soup.
Tespih: Muslim prayer beads.
Yarabbi şükür: Thanks be to God.
Ahmet the clerk meets with defeat in the department store basement
The poplar swayed as if about to collapse with a thunderous crash. Those who failed to see those things that happened, that changed with each passing moment, failed to sense this. It was noontime. The crowd coursed towards Piknik, the liveliest, noisiest, most frequented haunt in the neighborhood of Kızılay, with the fastest service too. The sales manager of the department store Tezkan, located on the opposite side of the boulevard, was still at his desk on the ground floor. He had just closed the installment sales ledger. The fastidious customers wading through the ironing boards, blankets, and clothes hangers in this particular department had not yet tired of touching the same items over and over, of testing the woolen texture of
the blankets, expecting their fingers to display extraordinary talents, or of opening and closing the doors of medicine cabinets they contemplated hanging in their bathrooms, or of scolding their snotty-nosed children who knocked over ironing boards as they sprinted from one end of the store to the next, or of trying to wrest their future curtains or divan covers out of wrinkled paper wrappings. Husbands sick of scowling at their wives when confronted with “necessary” items that absolutely had to be bought for the home, narrow-minded housewives who mistook household amenities for the center of the universe, families who never tired of change and innovation when it came to appliances, certain that each would spice up their bland lives (and indeed, it was perhaps in this regard alone that they made any so-called progress in their lives), fiancees who derived incomprehensible pleasure from decorating the nests they were about to build, imprisoned birds who spent endless amounts of money and labor on their cages, and those who bemoaned the act of shopping all the while they were engaged in the very act … But amongst these types, the store manager could not distinguish one from the other. For it wasn’t his job to do so. Distinguishing different types of customers was the clerk’s job. In short, the clerk should know how to distinguish newlyweds from oldyweds, and fiancees from both; that is, he should be able to distinguish those likely to lay out a small fortune from those liable to pull tightly at the purse strings.
The sales manager was responsible for installment payments; he was responsible for making sure that payments were made to the right places at the right times, for the traffic of money coming in and out, and for making sure that there were no disruptions in the flow of that traffic. He had spent all morning identifying those customers who had not made their payments on time and then undertaking the necessary procedure. Meanwhile, he had also registered new installment plans, and made sure the business was, on the whole, securely anchored. That is, as securely anchored as financial figures can possibly be. For example, though for many one or two hundred was nothing to sweat over, like anyone who deals in numbers the sales manager knew the tempests that a figure of one or two hundred was capable of whipping up. Or at least, how misleading the apparent stability of a hundred lira could be, and the villainous hoaxes one might encounter when trying to deal in hundred lira bills. One hundred liras might be good for a blanket one day, and just two clothes hangers the next, to give the simplest of examples. That much the sales manager knew. Therefore, he was responsible not only for making sure there were no disruptions in the incoming and outgoing traffic of figures, but also for being vigilant so as to ensure that, when it came to the insidious volatility of numbers, it was the customers and not the store that got screwed in the end. Looking at it this way, his job was equivalent to the jealous sailor who attempts to sequester the regiment’s whore yet himself spends months at sea. It was a tough, calculating task, trying not to get cuckolded by money. Customers turned the goods over in their hands with the incomprehensible idiocy of husbands doomed to be cuckolded, with the logic of husbands who assume that they can protect their honor by objecting to the revealing nature of their wives’ attire, no matter how slight it might be. They wearied themselves, as if squeezing the wood of the clothes hanger twice and inquiring after the price thrice would somehow subvert the preassigned roles in this game of shopping with its rules that never changed and never would. The salesmen would take part in the same wearisome game, running themselves ragged and running their mouths nonstop. The purchasers were the righteous who must never know that their rights were being violated. The clerks dashed about, wet with perspiration, repeating the same words over and over, lighting up with smiles for snot-nosed children, submitting to the insane demands of crotchety housewives, convincing husbands that their precious money was not being wasted and thereby striving to cover up the crime that no one would admit to. There were spoilsports out there trying to ruin the game of shopping, but who were they? According to the sales manager, it was the clerks’ job to make sure that none of the customers became a spoilsport and to endure all manner of suffering in the process. Suffering was part of their job. And for them to think it was they themselves who cheated the customers, that was part of the game too. Their own salaries a constant from one month to the next, like bewildered eunuchs they kept a meaningless watch over the natural friskiness of numbers. In truth, such thoughts never occurred to them or the sales manager. This was not a place for thinking. And it was not a place for watching and observing either. They were all slaves under the whip of an unjust division of labor, obliged to bear for months and years on end a weight which they did not ponder.
On this day too the sales manager was tired. He picked up the ledger and locked it in the safe. He placed the calculator in front of him. He began crunching the numbers, punching them into the machine and then pulling down on the handle again and again. There weren’t many customers left in the shop. Now the salesmen were busy trying to return the goods which had been strewn all over the counters to their rightful places. Customers who plunged into the store in a sweaty rush, filled with the sense of panic that strikes once the closing time announcement is made, attacked the salesmen, as if the store were closing for good, never to open again. The clerks, weary from having exhibited good intentions all day long, were trying to palm off to the customers whatever goods happened to be in front of them.
A couple intending to purchase a trash can and wallpaper for a newly furnished home grew angry at the clerks’ hastiness:
“Look, darling, that wallpaper with the violets is by far the prettiest!”
The woman really loved violets. And to have her nails done too. When they first started dating, Hayati had always brought her violets.
“That way you won’t forget to bring me violets every now and then …”
The exasperated salesmen reached for the scissors.
“How much do you want?”
“Wait, no need to rush, dear. Look, that there with the birds is awfully pretty. Take that one down too, would you?”
The salesman was just about to hang the violets back up and take down the birds when he was interrupted:
“Wait, don’t hang it back up. Take down the birds too. Not that one, that one. Do you have it in pink? Not in the storeroom either? Okay, so do you have the bird wallpaper with violets?”
The salesman put down the scissors. Even the most infatuated of men would lose patience pandering to such whims.
In a dimly lit corner of the store, an old woman was analyzing a suitcase.
“How much can this hold?”
“It can hold all kindsa things.”
“Give me a proper answer son, will you? What do you mean exactly, ‘all kindsa things’?”
“It’ll hold all of your stuff, ma’am.”
“I’m not buying it for myself, I’m buying it for my son. He’s going to America. How much of his stuff can it hold?”
“It can hold a lot of stuff, ma’am. Look, you can put yer dress shirts here.”
“Who puts dress shirts in a suitcase, son? They’d get all wrinkled. I’m going to put those in his hand luggage.”
“Look at how soft the leather is, ma’am. Luggage with soft leather like this can hold all sortsa stuff.”
“But then the clothes will all get wrinkled. How many suits and how much underwear will this hold?”
“It holds a lot, ma’am. Enough that you can go anywhere with just one suitcase.”
“Who goes all the way to America with just one suitcase, son?”
The salesman leaned against the suitcase for a moment. He stared at the old woman with vacant eyes. With full eyes the old woman was calculating how many suits her little boy could fit into the suitcase.
In front of a counter where the latest patterned bed sheets were displayed, a middle-aged woman with hair dyed golden blonde and wound in a neat bun, wearing plain but clearly expensive clothes, ran into a heavy-set young woman with glasses who, as was apparent from her attire, had spent a long time in America, and who, as she would s
oon make apparent, had studied at a fancy private high school.
“Ohhh, Mine, my dear, how are you?”
“Just fan-tas-tic! * I’m about to lose my wits.”
“Well, I’m in a wretched mood myself. What’s up with you? I swear, if you ask me, you’re just fine. You’re always just like this, always so active.”
“Don’t say that. It’s enough already.”
“Don’t be cross. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Well, you see, I’ve been without help for months, my dear. Cooking, cleaning, getting two kids to do their lessons, the whole burden is on me. And just when the ladies’ auxiliary is starting to have their teas.”
“Do you know who’s going to be the next Madame President?”
“Not yet. We’re going to hold the next tea at the Ankara Hotel again. The entrance fee is a hundred liras.”
“Oh, how wonderful!”
“There are cheaper solutions but then the next thing you know it’ll be a disaster and at the end everyone will be talking behind our backs. Last year was better, I tell you. I mean, nothing’s new, you know, haha!”
“Oh, I almost forgot. A woman called yesterday. She wants to join.”
“Who?”
“I’m not sure, actually. Her husband works for the air force, I think.”
“Does she know English?”
“If you want my opinion, I don’t think we should dwell on that anymore. I’m sick of people just showing up and giving speeches left and right. We need some members who are actually useful. Look, last year we got everything we needed for the dinner for cheap from the Army Solidarity Cooperative thanks to Muazzez Hanım’s husband. By the way, she’ll improve her English as she comes and goes.”
“True. You’ve put on a little weight, dear.”
“All because of those anti-baby pills. They said it wouldn’t do me the least bit of harm, but then I started bleeding. We tried all kinds of doctors. Hüseyin Bey told me to lie still in bed. Faruk Bey tried to give me an abortion. Meanwhile of course it was just sleep and eat, sleep and eat. Anyway, I’m better now. With a little help from the sauna and regular massages, hopefully I’ll be able to shed the pounds.”