Noontime in Yenisehir

by Sevgi Soysal

  “In the basement of Gülsen’s family’s apartment building?”

  Gülsen was the wife Güngör was in the process of divorcing.

  “Did you marry her because she was the daughter of the owner of the apartment building?”

  There she went, talking too much again. Güngör was perturbed. He was about to rebuff her, but then he changed his mind. He had an important appointment at noon—best not to let himself get unnerved.

  “Maybe! Why not? How about the fact that you chose this ring out of all the rings at the store? Though you most certainly had cheaper options.”

  “Well, um …”

  “Anyway … At the time, my father was still in prison for embezzlement …”

  “Sweetheart, don’t say that … He was the victim of slander, that’s what your mother says. I don’t understand why you choose to disparage yourself like that.”

  “What are you talking about, disparaging myself? Embezzlement is the most righteous action a civil servant can take. Doesn’t the state constantly embezzle the money of the citizens? Someone who sensed and saw this took back from the state a very small portion of the money that the state had usurped from a whole slew of people, money to which he was actually entitled, and even if he himself wasn’t entitled to it, well, he had essentially taken back the money that was actually the entitlement of a bunch of other people. What’s wrong with that? If I were stupid enough to become a civil servant, I would do the same thing. Only, I’d be smarter about it. If you want to embezzle the state’s money, you don’t necessarily have to be an accountant and get caught and spend time in prison. Look, instead you become a building contractor. You take part in a tender bid, and then you overcharge the state for services rendered. You do everything by the rulebook. All your documents bear the signatures of high-ranking civil servants. Those same high-ranking civil servants who discovered the poor accountant’s embezzlement and turned him over to the merciless hands of the courts. What’s more, you would gain the respect of everyone around you for being a highly intelligent, competent man. Your wife wouldn’t be ashamed of her husband then, like my idiot mother is of hers.”

  When he looked up, he found his fiance inspecting the clothes of some woman sitting at the next table. Again, she’s not listening, he thought.

  “Why are you even looking at her? Her clothing is utterly tasteless. A person should always dress well. If you’ve got some free time, study my magazine collection. That way, you’ll learn how to dress more stylishly. That color doesn’t go well with your hair. When a blonde woman wears pink, it makes her look like a plastic baby doll. A baby doll suits the basest of tastes, even that of little girls in the slums, because baby dolls are designed according to primitive tastes. Don’t wear pink again.”

  Melahat was taken aback. Güngör’s words upset her. She looked into her fiancee’s eyes with a hurt expression in her own. She gave him a long, lingering look in an effort to curry favor. She squeezed her fiancee’s hand. She trusted her hands. She believed that when she held a man’s hand, it excited him.

  Seeing that he had put Melahat sufficiently on edge, Güngör continued talking:

  “I lived in that basement with four siblings, plus my mother. We didn’t have any money. But all of us were impeccable when it came to how we dressed. We were a beautiful family. Despite everything, we turned the heads of everyone on that street. My sisters were the most beautiful girls on it. And neither of them was stupid enough to go wasting time with the neighborhood lads. And you see how it paid off, who they’re married to now. What’s more, their husbands are much better off now than when my sisters first married them. Everyone in our family is determined to better their station, no matter how good it may be, and we’re quite successful at it too. For those who have a good eye and the ability to make the right decisions, it’s really not that difficult. If you know how to aim, hitting the bull’s eye is easy. That’s always been the case, ever since the first humans began to roam this earth. Back then, people were hunters. Whoever was best at spotting the game and taking aim, and who was capable of flawlessly delivering the fatal blow to his victim, was the one who always had the fullest stomach.”

  Though bored with Güngör’s talking, Melahat was reluctant to withdraw her hand from his, to tear her eyes from his and look in another direction. Güngör was quite temperamental. How easily he had dropped his wife of so many years. What’s more, he was always going on about the virtues of changing things. Any item in the store that didn’t attract attention, that didn’t sell, was never kept around for long. Güngör never hesitated to get rid of such items immediately, selling them for next to nothing, even if it meant losing money. Melahat simply had to be someone who was always capable of attracting the attention of Güngör and others, and who others, men other than Güngör, that is, were prepared to sweep off her feet at any moment. She must respond to Güngör’s ambition to own, to possess, to compete at all times. Meanwhile, Güngör would want to consume whatever it was he had acquired. Why would he acquire anything that he wasn’t going to consume? Güngör would absolutely positively want to consume her, and he would do everything he could to that end. She would have to resist. She wasn’t going to let Güngör consume her the way he had consumed his first wife. The woman had turned over her share in the apartment building so that Güngör could open his first store. And her father had always supported Güngör on his road to success. But at first, he was frequently unsuccessful. Now, Güngör would be paying her a nice alimony in exchange for the divorce. True, but still she had borne three children, had fifteen abortions, and been worn out, depleted from trying to make Güngör’s fickle wishes come true and seeking to keep up with his nightlife. It wouldn’t be easy at all for her to find another husband, not after this. Yet she was what many would still deem quite young. Worn out and depleted as she was now though, she meant nothing to Güngör. On this topic Güngör would say, “Look, she and I are almost the exact same age, the two of us shared the same life, but look at her, and look at me. I’m tough as iron. I’m in much better shape now than I was in my youth. In many ways I’m far ahead of where I used to be, and much more attractive. I’m much better than I used to be at speaking, thinking, dressing, doing business, earning money and living well.”

  As for his wife, when the topic of separation came up, he had explained it to her as follows:

  “Don’t go on whining about ‘Oh, what am I going to do now?’! It’s not my fault if you don’t know what you’re going to do. I’m going to pay you an alimony far greater than the amount your father gave me once upon a time. What else can I do? What if I went and whined and cried to you about how worn out I am? You know what anyone in their right mind would say to that? ‘Well too bad, then you shouldn’t have gone and worn yourself out!’ As you can see, I’m not worn out. To the contrary, I am more attractive now than ever before. After a certain age, everyone is responsible for his or her own looks.”

  Güngör’s wife was unable to stomach her husband’s mind-boggling hard-heartedness.

  Güngör meanwhile spoke of his wife to his fiance as follows:

  “A bumbling idiot of a woman. So it turns out she’s just not as talented as I am. Otherwise, she would be just like me. I mean, look at me, I’m capable of attracting women who are much younger than me. All of them are dying to marry me. But her, she’d have a hard time finding anyone, even an old fogy. Which means I’m out of her league. So why would I stay with her? We’re just not a good match, we’re not equals …”

  Captured by a sudden feeling of fear, his fiancee responded:

  “But you weren’t equals when you got married either. She was the educated daughter of a well-to-do family. You had neither money nor an education. Moreover, seeing as your father was in prison, yours could hardly have been considered a respectable family …”

  Güngör replied:

  “Well, that was for her to think about. And it only goes to further prove my own value. Even though I started out much less fortun
ate than she did, I always made progress, always moved forward and bettered my station in life. She on the other hand was unable to make proper use of her good fortune, and ended up worse off than she was in the beginning. And that only serves to underscore the massive difference between us.”

  At that point, Melahat kept quiet. It was no use arguing with Güngör. She would appear to take it lying down, for now at least. But just wait until they got married, then she’d show him what a tough cookie she was; like a fine antique, she’d make sure her value went up and up and up. She’d have him sweating buckets trying to keep hold of her …

  The waiter brought their food. Later, I won’t let him bring me to Piknik, even if we are in a rush like today; it just won’t do, she thought. It was unfathomable that Güngör should eat at this place, even if it was seldom that he did so. Always the same old standard fare. Always the same, identical taste-alike kabobs, Russian potato salad … Yet didn’t he always say that everything should progress towards something better, something more unique, something incomparable?

  “It’s odd that you eat here …” she said to Güngör. “There’s nothing special at all about the place. The same old stuff all the time. The only thing it has going for it are its location and its service. All the times I’ve come here over the years and it’s always the same old stuff …”

  Güngör gave his fiance a stern look …

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Right now, the important thing is that we get through lunch quickly. You know I have an appointment with the divorce lawyer. But I can just not get divorced, if that’s what you prefer, huh?”

  “Oh, it’s impossible to talk with you. You’re always pointing out the faults of others. Don’t you have any faults of your own?”

  Güngör narrowed his gray eyes, which were now cold as ice.

  “No, I do not. Get that into your head—I am perfect!”

  Yes, he was perfect. There was no way he could tell this playboy bunny how he had turned what started out as a job dyeing Easter eggs into the business it was today. She wouldn’t be able to wrap her head around it. I’m wasting my breath, losing time. I need to finish eating and get to work on this divorce suit a.s.a.p.. Putting this beautiful dunce on the straight and narrow is a task for later. Of course he was perfect. Back then, before the neighborhood of Kavaklıdere had become the developed place it was now, when the first Americans had only just descended upon Ankara, before anyone knew how long they would stay, just what they were or what they would bring, he was wise enough to know how to take advantage of this new development and, you see, it was then that he thought of dyeing and selling Easter eggs to the Americans living in Kocatepe.

  Back then, he didn’t know any English, other than the words “why” and “very good.” One day, the local girls—he doesn’t recall if Gülsen was amongst them—were sitting on the garden wall, giggling nonstop. Güngör looked in the direction they were facing and saw that the American bachelors who lived of the first floor were making all kinds of gestures at them and blowing kisses. The other neighborhood boys witnessing the same scene were also upset by it. They would have to beat those guys up, just like they’d beat up that boy from Gazi High School who had followed Güneş and dared to set foot on their street. But in this case, the guys had uniforms, and then there was the fact that they were foreigners, and it would be rude to do that to foreigners. Güngör, believing it nevertheless necessary to take action for the sake of the honor of the neighborhood, hiked up his shoulders a bit, held his arms out slightly from his body, and walked straight to the Americans’ window. The American sergeants were having a blast as they watched the young man walk up to their window. Güngör reached the window. To the Americans, who were watching him with curiosity, he asked, “Why?” Because he didn’t know enough English to respond to the answers the Americans gave him, he sufficed with shaking his head and smiling. And in doing so, he took the first steps towards a peace pact. The Americans invited him into the apartment and offered him a beer. It was a different kind of beer. Güngör really liked this beer, which was ice cold and drunk from aluminum cans. Without responding to the men’s talk—but then how could he—he piped in occasionally, doing the best pronunciation he could, with a “Very good,” as he drank his beer. Later Güngör began spending almost more time with the neighboring American bachelors than he spent with his friends from the neighborhood. He helped the Americans decorate their Christmas tree. He was invited to their Christmas celebrations. All of this rendered him special. The American gum he carried in the breast pocket of his shirt he gave to those who got on well with him. In a short time, his appearance changed. The Americans had given him a pair of the “blue jeans” they got on the cheap at Piyeks as a present. And he had a colorful, patterned dress shirt and every time he wore it, his mother would tell him, “Son, that’s a women’s shirt.”

  In the spring he saw dyed eggs in the Americans’ apartment and learned that it was a great hassle for them to dye those eggs. After finishing middle school, he was enrolled in a school for master builders. The truth was, he had a real knack for drawing and all kinds of handiwork. He immediately went and got ten eggs from the corner market and then locked himself up at home. He worked on those eggs for a whole three days. Then he took the painted eggs and showed them to the Americans. He had in the meantime improved his English a bit. He explained to them that if they liked, he could paint a large number of eggs for them. When they asked how much he would charge, he replied, “You are my friend!” The Americans were very pleased and touched that someone from a different religion would show such an affinity for their religious traditions and extend a helping hand, and what’s more, that he wasn’t charging them for it. They took the eggs from Güngör, but they didn’t send him home empty-handed. It wasn’t long before Güngör started painting eggs nonstop. He had in the meantime amassed a slew of American goods. Easter went by fast. Güngör, however, remained in possession of goods that were far more valuable than the eggs. Cartons of cigarettes, “blue jeans,” gum, shirts. All of which he was able to sell at extravagant prices in a very short time. Wasn’t that a phenomenal discovery? Güngör had had the smarts enough to take advantage of the silly coquetry of two stupid neighborhood girls and thereby gotten his start in the world of commerce. A short while later he opened one of the first shops selling American goods on the corner of Meşrutiyet. He didn’t carry all kinds of knickknacks like the other shops of that sort did. From his American pals he only bought whatever he deemed purchasable, usable, sellable. The most discriminating customers began to patronize his store. What’s more, the financial exchange that he engaged in with his American friends was not only to his but to their benefit too. They were able to earn their spending money for Turkey by selling Güngör goods they bought on the cheap at Piyeks, and in turn, this allowed them to save up a large portion of their wages to be put to use once they’d returned to their homeland.

  Always keeping the cogs of his mind oiled and running, Güngör proceeded to open a place named “Gift Shop” next to his store, thinking that when his buddies returned to their country, they would want to display some souvenirs from the distant country in which they had spent several years, much like hunters who hang the stuffed heads of wild animals they have hunted in the desert on the walls of their living rooms for all and sundry to see. Because he had a wide circle of acquaintances amongst them, most of the Americans did their shopping at his store. Sometimes, when they didn’t have Turkish money on them, because they knew that he sold American goods, they gave him things in trade. And in such cases, Güngör undoubtedly came out on top of course. Meanwhile, he had married Gülsen. Gülsen’s father had helped him open the store, and whenever funds were tight, he gave him money for the business. Then, when her father died, Gülsen sold her share in the apartment building to her siblings. Güngör used the money to open a bigger, fancier store. He spent the years constantly growing his business, constantly making it fancier. Finally, he opened the store on Çankaya hill, where h
e sold only European goods. American goods were actually pretty tasteless, if you asked Güngör. He didn’t need to sell them anymore. Now there were more customers for the Italian, Swedish, and German goods he sold. The customers who bought stuff from the stores that sold American goods were usually middle class people buying odds and ends. It was boring and exhausting bargaining with them over underwear, bras, cigarettes, irons and glasses. Now, those luxury-loving, new generation snobs, those nouveau rich who equated the quality of an item with its price and who were infatuated with European goods, were virtually scrambling to snap up the items he brought in using the trousseau permits. Those whose income was below a certain level could only tour the store, as if touring a museum. Meanwhile, he’d had an apartment building constructed on Vali Dr. Reşit Avenue and bought himself a Mercedes. Güngör considered the Mercedes to be superior to all other automobiles. A good businessman, just like the businessmen in British magazines, should use “conservative,” expensive, fashionable goods. Güngör’s attire was like that too. He wouldn’t be caught dead wearing the Italian fashions that the youth of the petite bourgeois were so keen on, he didn’t give the time of day to such exaggerated sensibility—with the exception of Italian shoes. He wore English cloth, and made certain that his clothing was tailored to be nothing less than classic. He wanted to dress like a diplomat and give the impression that the impossible was possible by achieving an appearance that was serious and inspired confidence. In short, the objective of his behavior and his attire was to sell.

  That’s right, I’m perfect, he thought once again. Squinting his eyes, he looked at the pretty little bird sitting across from him, someone incapable of assessing his success for what it was worth yet prepared to perch upon the blessings of that success. They were done eating. He had to be quick. He called the waiter over. This whole ordeal with his wife, he had to get it over with for once and all. He heard the fire engine siren. The waiters ran over to the window. There you have it, the typical behavior of useless people. Whenever an ambulance or a fire truck happens to drive by, there they are, gawking. The city starts digging a sewage canal, and they’re there in a snap, ready spectators. What’s that, a road digger machine at work? They’ll spend hours gathered round a-watching—because they don’t have anything important to do, they don’t have any goals. Everything, all that happens, is beyond them. They’re spectators of everything, of the roads that are built, of the homes that burn down, of people who make money. These are common people, I don’t have time to be watching people or running over to some stranger’s burning building—as long as it’s not my store that’s on fire. And if it were, I wouldn’t be a spectator, not only would I be the hero but I’d come out ahead, because I insured the store for a whole lot of money.