Noontime in Yenisehir

by Sevgi Soysal

  Usually whenever they met they would go for walks. Because Ali didn’t have any money, he couldn’t take Olcay out. And whenever Olcay offered to take him out, he unequivocally rejected the offer, saying “It wouldn’t suit an Ottoman like me.” Olcay responded by telling him that underlying this behavior of his was an Oriental attitude that viewed women as inferior. And when she did so, Ali would retort, “You may be right, but now’s not the time for resolving such issues.” One day when they were walking by a construction site, Ali pointed out one of the laborers. “Do you think there’s any sense in telling this guy about male-female equality?” he had said. “Or his wife? If a home becomes too small for you, first you knock down the walls. Next you build a new house, and only after that do you think about a chimney.” They’d walk for hours debating such topics. They’d usually head out to the Eskişehir Road. They enjoyed the walk back, watching the sun go down. On these return journeys, Ali would treat Olcay to a glass of tea, telling her, “I’m not that hard up just yet!” They’d sit down and have their tea at one of the kıraathanes in the slums. The coffeehouse regulars would cease playing backgammon for a moment to give these unusual customers the once over before continuing with their game. “We’ve given these guys a shock. Actually, we don’t have the right to shock them, to wear them out like that for nothing,” Ali would say. “But I don’t feel comfortable at the patisseries, bacı. I can’t stand those snobs who show up there everyday like it’s their job to sit around and gab. I can’t take pleasure in the tea or the company.” Olcay had blushed at the words “take pleasure in.” With Ali … it was going to be wonderful, of this she was certain. In her high school days, back when she greedily devoured any book she could get her hands on, she had read Freud, and for a while had exaggerated the importance of sex, thinking that freedom in this regard would resolve personal problems. But the narrow-mindedness and hypocrisy she had witnessed surrounding this issue, especially amongst her own family members, made her think that the things that annoyed or depressed her had to do with sex. And that’s why her first rebellion against those close to her was to break such taboos. As a result, she had some relationships early on, which she pursued indiscriminately and without much thought. Those relationships did nothing for her, except to increase her frustration and make her feel like a failure. She had put an end to that period of her life, still bearing certain false generalizations regarding love, a pessimistic attitude and a feeling of emptiness.

  After getting to know Ali and starting to think again about a slew of topics, this time in a sounder manner, she understood that declaring a one-woman war on sexual taboos was not going to change the underlying unsavoriness of it all. Such behavior would only assist the system in accelerating her own degeneration and consumption. The interest she took in Ali was of a different nature. For the two of them to become physically close would not change the character of their relationship. Olcay believed that such a union would only serve to strengthen their friendship through a new form of sharing, that it would propel them towards a more creative, more complete togetherness. At least, for her it would be that way. Or, in short, she desired Ali, in any way she could have him, no matter the consequences.

  It was on the return journey of one such long walk that Olcay suddenly stopped in her tracks.

  “What is it, bacı?”

  “Why do you insist on using the word ‘bacı’? What does it mean?”

  “For goodness sake, it means friend, sister, buddy, so, that’s what it means, my bacı!”

  “Would you call the woman you love ‘my bacı’?”

  Ali remained silent for a while.

  “I never thought about it before. The truth is, I’ve never loved a woman.”

  Upon hearing these words, Olcay, under the impression that Ali had tried to cut her down to size, blushed. She was horribly embarrassed.

  Upon seeing Olcay blush, Ali understood that he had put his foot in his mouth in a major way. He took Olcay’s hand in his own. Both of them acted as if it was something they always did, the most natural thing in the world. The blood coursing through two bodies separately suddenly began coursing simultaneously, making for a bigger, more beautiful, more stimulating journey. They walked, filled with the joy transmitted to each other via the touching of their hands, as if the sap of their very beings flowed into one another.

  They didn’t speak again until they reached Dışkapı. When they arrived at Ali’s house, Ali said to her, “I’m going to make you tea.” Olcay knew that Ali’s family was away in Konya. Still, Ali felt the need before stepping inside to inform her that his family was away in Konya. In his usual plainspoken, honest, frank manner.

  While Ali was in the kitchen preparing tea, Olcay walked over and stood by him. She told him all about her previous relationships, the emptiness she felt inside, and her fears of decay and degeneration. And then she asked: “Will you love me anyway, despite all that?” Ali took Olcay’s head in his hands:

  “Actually, I feel closer to you now, not just because you don’t like this system, neither with your heart nor your mind. You’re a victim, just like me, a victim whose salvation depends on change.”

  Olcay had rolled up the sleeves of her blouse. Her blue veins were visible beneath her dark yet thin skin. Ali slowly, gradually grew to know those veins; for awareness of blood coursing as one is a familiarity that requires patience. Olcay pressed her cheek against Ali’s, and slipped into a feeling of rest. She felt not only that she hadn’t rested like this in a very long time, but also the creative power of her renewed cells.

  They laughed as they filled their second glasses of tea. They were sitting naked on the divan, their backs to one another. Their backs were cool.

  “We’re like Siamese twins.”

  “Does it bother you not seeing my face?”

  “I can’t get enough you. I share the flow of your blood, the beat of your heart. I live you, I mean. And so it so it doesn’t matter if I see you or not.”

  “Let me make the tea this time.”

  “Okay, bacı.”

  This time, Olcay was delighted by the word “bacı.” So it seemed that their relationship hadn’t lost its former friendly, sibling quality.

  “So nothing’s changed?”

  “No, of course it’s changed. Is it possible for something not to change after such a wonderful experience? Everything’s changed, for the better.”

  “You’re right, it was just a silly fear I had for a moment.”

  “Don’t be afraid, fear isn’t for those who can see the light, even if just a glimpse of it. Kids in the dark are afraid. We’re neither kids, nor is it dark.”

  “Until recently I used to get scared at night.”

  “Will you be now?”

  “Not while I’m with you.”

  “No, you have to not be afraid even when I’m not around. Like courageous people, that’s how we must hold on to one another’s hands. Not to greet one another, or to lean on one another. Look, Olcay, they may take you away from me, but only I can rip you out of me. It’s the same with courage, and belief. Now, for example, you’ve got a slew of habits—can you give them up?”

  “Yes.” Olcay said the word hesitantly but with a desire to appear determined.

  “Right, so, I don’t want to be one of those habits. One of your ties to the system. I don’t want to be your toothbrush in the morning, or the deodorant you spray under your arms, or your egg shampoo. These may comprise only tiny parts of your daily happiness and comfort. I have no desire to comprise a larger part of that same daily comfort. I mean, I can’t give you support in order to make you more comfortable, or to make you unafraid, for example. Once you’ve severed all of your ties to the system, and that takes courage, once you’ve shown that courage, you’ll no longer be someone who’s afraid of the dark. And when that happens, if you still love me, I’ll accept that love as genuine. Okay?”

  Doğan is of two minds

  Olcay was a natural part of Doğan and Ali’s friendshi
p by now. When Doğan understood that an affinity between Ali and Olcay, of which he could not be a part, which he could not share, had begun, he was worried at first. He was cold toward Olcay for a while. He behaved like a child seeing others trying to play with his toy. Many times he nearly lashed out at Olcay, “How dare you! I found him first!” Towards Ali he felt a little resentful. But still, the three of them were together, always—with the exception of Ali and Olcay’s romantic relationship, which was not something they hid but which remained in Doğan’s eyes a clandestine affair. Except for the occasional times when the couple was alone, together the three of them discussed and debated, worked and shared life to the degree to which they were able to understand it. Did he take the relationship between Ali and Olcay to heart so much because he viewed it as something singular, a selfishness that interrupted their union? At first Olcay and Ali didn’t sense this change in Doğan. For a while, they didn’t notice the change in his behavior. They assumed that this stillness on Doğan’s part was just a passing phase of his rollercoaster personality. But soon they began pondering the possible reasons for Doğan’s quiet but peevish behavior. It unnerved each of them in different ways.

  Olcay found in his behavior something that reminded her of the “big brother rights” that she was frequently reminded of in her childhood. Old sentences came to mind:

  “Olcay, don’t go into your brother’s room!”

  “He’s a boy, and he’s older than you, it’s his right!”

  “Your big brother is right, the man is always right!”

  “He’s a man, he needs it, he’s a man, he needs a good education, he’s a man, he can do it, he’s a man, it’s his right …”

  And on and on they went, those sentences belonging to her childhood memories. No matter how much those sentences infuriated her, the truth is, they had conditioned her. And so now, she felt guilty towards Doğan, she couldn’t help it, because Doğan was acting as if his rights, which he had rejected in his mind but which had long become a part of his daily habits, had been taken away from him.

  Ali, on the other hand, felt a completely uncalled-for sense of despair, something he had no desire to feel. Doğan didn’t believe in him like he used to, that he could sense. He acted as if he had detected some great weakness in Ali, as if Ali had disappointed him. It was as if Ali’s taking an interest in Doğan’s sister had somehow revealed Ali’s “desire to jump up a class.” As if Ali secretly yearned for those things which only people of Doğan’s class possessed, like sports cars, and had revealed this side of himself at the first chance … It was as if his sister were one of those possessions, one of the rights that another class would own, and Ali had betrayed his own class by aspiring to them. Meanwhile Ali wanted to take Doğan aside and scream at him, “Is Olcay some thing that belongs to you, man, is that it, huh?”

  Ali couldn’t reconcile this attitude of Doğan’s with the mentality that had helped to secure their friendship originally; he found it crude. So it seemed that most of Doğan’s thoughts were superficial; Ali had believed that he could change Doğan’s class values. But a simple incident had quickly revealed that the foundations of Doğan’s beliefs were anything but solid. Ali thought back: All those discussions we had about the bourgeoisie’s perception of women, what was that about? And wasn’t it Doğan who frequently brought up such topics? Didn’t he take such things much further than I did? Was it not he who insisted that change in this regard was imperative, while I maintained that such topics were a mere luxury for the time being? But now, in refusing to accept my relationship with Olcay, what difference is there between him and Mevhibe Hanım, who views her daughter as if she were some crystal plate? But Ali was getting a bit carried away with such thoughts, going a little too far, due in part to that uncalled-for sense of despair. Doğan’s feelings had nothing to do with him looking down on Ali. It was actually nothing but a simple case of jealousy. Doğan had absolutely no desire to share with anyone else the light, which he falsely assumed he and he alone had seen after years of meaningless struggle inside a labyrinth. Fueled by a desire to possess, a desire he had failed to squelch within himself, he wanted to seize for himself and himself alone a thought, a discovery, a salvation, belief, enlightenment, friendship, love, even these most human of things, the most important things we have to share. He was partially aware of this. But still he was yet unable to deal with these feelings. And his failure to deal with them set him back, making him feel all over again those old feelings of failure and hopelessness. It was as if he was losing the self-confidence he had only so recently gained, and at the conclusion of hours and hours of pointless and exhausting thought, he would reach a point of ridiculousness to the degree that he thought it possible Ali never thought anything of him from the get-go, that perhaps the only reason he took an interest in Doğan at all was because he was actually interested in Olcay. He recalled the snobs of former days who, back when Olcay was in high school, having taken a liking to her used to invite him here or there but who then only showed an interest in Olcay, and by dwelling on such thoughts, Doğan was in a way equating his friendship with Ali with the relationship he had with those kids. Deep down he knew that they weren’t at all one and the same. And he didn’t even get angry with those snobs. He thought it quite natural that they would use him to get to Olcay. Just as he had thought it quite natural for other kids to snuggle up to him just so they could get their hands on his football. For Ali, Olcay was not some football, and Doğan sensed that the relationship between them was not your run-of-the-mill bond. Still, he couldn’t help but be of two minds.

  Unable to decide upon a course of action, Doğan kept his distance from Olcay and Ali for a while. But what started out as keeping his distance from two individuals started to turn into something else. He started keeping his distance from university, demonstrations, debates and discussions. When Ali admonished him for this one day on the telephone, he knew Ali was right, though he didn’t say so. The day Ali called, Doğan was pacing around his room in frustration, trying to concentrate on the cinema magazine he was holding. It was one of the most recent to come out in Paris and Giselle had sent it to him. When his mother reluctantly told him that Ali was on the phone for him, Doğan couldn’t help but feel a sense of joy, but then suppressing the feeling, he took the phone and said in the coolest voice he could muster:

  “This is Doğan.”

  “Where have you been, buddy?”

  “Where do you think?”

  “I don’t know. The only thing for certain is that you haven’t been at the places you should be; I wouldn’t know about the rest.”

  Doğan was overtaken by a sudden rage. Who did Ali think he was anyway? An inspector? Who was he to tell me where I should and shouldn’t be?

  “At least I’m not out skirtchasing!” he said, and as soon as he did so, he regretted it. Ali remained quiet for a while. Then, in a gruff voice, he said:

  “I hope by skirtchasing you’re not referring to Olcay.”

  “Why should I be?”

  “You know where you picked up that word, and you know the kind of mentality it stands for. But know this too: Olcay and I share a bond, at least as close as the two of you do. I mean, I’ll defend her against you if necessary.”

  There was an uneasy silence. Once again Olcay had come between them. Did Ali even have anything more to say anymore, other than making speeches about Olcay? Had he picked up the phone to call Doğan, or to defend Olcay? It was Doğan, barely able to contain the irrational burst of rage inside him, who broke the silence.