Noontime in Yenisehir

by Sevgi Soysal

  The other policemen laughed.

  The humiliated one responded:

  “What’s that, pretending you’ve still got a shred of honor are you now, you whore!”

  “Honor, now that’s something I can live without! It’s a luxury I’ve got no use for. Even so, I can always do better than some lowlife like you. Hell, I could buy the honor of a lowlife like you with just a single night’s wages.”

  When the enraged policeman lunged forward in retaliation, Aysel grabbed the bottle of ink used for fingerprints and doused him with it. And that’s when all hell broke loose. The chief, who turned out to be an acquaintance of Aysel’s from the gazino, intervened and calmed the officers down. He also invited Aysel into his office for some tea in a bid to calm her down as well. While drinking her tea, Aysel insisted that she was going to sue the police. The chief knew just how particular women like Aysel were about their flesh; after all, it was the one piece of property they owned, and therefore they depended upon it for everything. Their bodies were their only capital, and they’d gouge the eyes out of anyone who impinged upon it. There in the chief’s office, Aysel sat nonchalantly sipping at her tea, as if she were anything but a criminal in custody. And it was indeed true that she had nothing to do with the concept of crime. If it’s a crime to make a living, then you can just fuck off, brother. What am I supposed to do? Ain’t like I’m going to just give up and die. Better you die than me, brother, then they can say, “Oh, he died so innocent.” She had one leg crossed over the other, and she swung the leg on top, occasionally popping her chewing gum and thus interrupting the routine chatter in the chief’s office. Aysel watched the police coming in and out of the chief’s room with the same scornful look in her eyes that she’d acquired as a child. So you brought me in here—now what? Won’t I be right back at work, at the exact same place tomorrow? Won’t your chief being paying me a visit like always? They make their living from playing with other people’s livings. When they were bringing her in, she had said to the policeman who handcuffed her, “Catching prostitutes—you call that a job!” and then she learned that the policeman had been doing this same job for the past ten years. “For God’s sake, and have you been able to wipe out prostitution in those ten years, huh?” “Nope.” “Weeelll, in that case, your job isn’t combatting prostitution; this isn’t a solo job, takes two to tango, you know. Who do you think we’re plying our trade with? With your superiors, that’s who. So why don’t you go combat them, if you’ve got the balls!”

  Stunned, the policeman fell silent.

  “Now look here, get this into your head, would ya? If they’d pay me without me having to sell my body, then I wouldn’t sell my body. But as long as there are buyers out there, what do you expect me to do? Should I go hungry, when I got paying customers out there, huh?”

  Since she lacked an ID, this wasn’t the first time she’d been taken into headquarters. That’s just how men are, they’ll pay you to do something and ban it at the same time. They’re a bunch of idiots who constantly contradict themselves. Some men probably get paid because they’re idiots. So they can be ordered not only to catch a thief, but to let him go too.

  After explaining to Aysel that it would be useless for her to file harassment charges against the police, the chief did her a favor by revealing to her the name of a barber who sold fake IDs in Kızılay.

  Once again, Aysel was baffled by the course of developments. “Now just look at that! They bring me in her for not having an ID, and then they show me how to get a fake one. Unbelievable!” And so it was that the contradictions she encountered on a daily basis erased any semblance of the concept of crime that she might once have possessed, for she had seen how the same concept always assumed different characteristics in different situations. And now this chief, by referring her to someone who was committing a crime, was in effect showing her how to commit a crime in a more seemly manner. But he himself, the policeman, wasn’t a criminal. Yet if it weren’t for criminals, he wouldn’t have a job. In other words, both he and I, we make our living off crime.

  Aysel saw Ali as she waded through the crowd opposite Piknik, making her way towards the dolmuş stops. He was someone she couldn’t possibly ever forget. While she was waiting to be taken in for a physical examination at the station, they’d deposited Ali right next to her. The boy’s eyes and face were swollen from the beating he’d just received. Aysel had taken a liking to him at first glance. There was something different about that boy. Something about him that was different from the male species she was used to interacting with. He’s not just a regular guy, he’s a decent man, she thought to herself. She poured some of the pine-scented kolonya with thyme that she always carried in her handbag onto a handkerchief and used it to dress his wounds.

  “Thank you, sister,” Ali had said. Without looking at her, at any part of her, but with genuine sincerity.

  Aysel was used to men looking at her, at every bit of her. She couldn’t bring herself to ignore this gesture, a gesture which was warm, but in a very different way. She usually addressed men with a scowl and a “hey man” or a “hey buster.” But in this case, she said to Ali: “They beat you up pretty bad, huh, brother? I hope those bastards’ sperm shrivel up and die, I hope they drown in their own blood, I hope they choke on the bread they buy with the money they make from beating up others, I hope their children suffer by Go—”

  “Don’t go cursing them like that, sister, it’s not their fault.”

  “Whose fault is it then?”

  “It’s the fault of those who give them no choice but to do these things.”

  “And just who are they?”

  “Look, do you like doing what you do for a living?”

  “Why shouldn’t I like it? It’s better than going hungry, isn’t it?”

  “Of course, as things stand right now, you have no choice but to do what you do, and so it’s the system that forces you to do it that’s guilty. Those responsible for this sys—”

  “You mean the guys who abducted me and took me to Antakya?”

  Ali laughed.

  “Yes, and no. In a way, they didn’t have a choice either. You see, you being taken to Antakya is also a consequence of the system doing its thing.”

  “No, I ran off with those guys because of my mom/sister. It’s all that woman’s fault. The things she put me through …”

  “Now look, sister …”

  “Call me Aysel.”

  “Now look here Aysel, you do the work you do in order to stay alive, right?”

  “No, I do it for the fun of it. You think anyone would put up with all those assholes for the fun of it?”

  “Right, that’s exactly what I’m saying. So wouldn’t you prefer to do a different job, and still make a living?”

  “But I can’t, I don’t have my ID papers.”

  “Why not?”

  “Cause I’m a bastard. The bastard child of my father and sister.”

  Ali fell silent.

  “That’s no fault of yours. No matter who you are, you too have to the right to go to school, to work at a decent job, to live a decent life, and so, you see, it’s those who don’t give you those rights, who refuse to give you those rights, that are guilty.”

  “Tell me, just who are those sons of—” She was going to curse, but seeing the look on Ali’s face, she changed her mind.

  “It doesn’t really matter who they are, I mean, their names and whatnot. It’s not difficult to figure out who benefits from these injustices. But it wouldn’t do us much good to tackle each of them one by one.”

  “Nah, brother, that doesn’t fly with me. If someone punches you in the eye, you gotta punch him right back in the face. You gotta put a fear of death in ’em, otherwise, it’s no use. You gotta find those guys who punched you in the eye and you gotta beat them so bad that—”

  “It’s no use getting angry at the guys who gave me a black eye. They’re just doing their job … Same as you, just trying to get by … The important thing
is knowing why they gave me a black eye.”

  “So why’d they give you a black eye?”

  “Where’d you grow up?”

  “Hacı Doğan.”

  “Were there blue collar workers over there?”

  “Course there were.”

  “And how did they live?”

  “Are you kidding me, brother? They lived the way everyone lived in our neighborhood.”

  “Okay, and so did they work a lot?”

  “Course they did. In our neighborhood, if your back wasn’t sore from working, your belly didn’t get full.”

  “You see, that’s ’cause they didn’t get their rightful due. What I’m saying is, they have rights, and they have to get their due and enjoy those rights.”

  “What’s it to you? In our neighborhood, nobody looks out for anybody else. Just the opposite, everyone’s always looking to get a piece of someone else’s pie.”

  “That’s because they get so little already. And because of hopelessness and desperation. If they knew how to go about getting what’s rightfully theirs, then they wouldn’t go wasting their energy fighting one another.”

  “Oh, sweetheart, you got it all wrong, it’s just the way those bastards are. A leopard can’t change his spots, after all. It’s written in their stars. What a pity if that’s the reason you got yourself all beat up like that. Those guys only know how to beat the shit out of each other, and now you’ve gone and let them beat the shit of you, but they ain’t lifting a finger to defend you.”

  “They’re bitter because they’re oppressed, but then they take it out on each other because they don’t know why they’re oppressed. If they knew, well … Well then they’d go out and fight for their rights.”

  “Oh yeah, well, in our neighborhood, everyone protects what’s theirs, by God. You must’ve thought they was idiots or something. But oh no, ain’t nobody where I come from would let their neighbor nick even a dime off of them”

  “But you see, that’s the point: it’s not their neighbors who are cheating them out of their rights. It’s the ones who have them at each other’s throats that’s cheating them, and so you see, because I try to explain how this all works …”

  “Oh, I get it! You hate rich people. Well, ain’t you clever! So, now you’ve done all your explaining, does that mean Hacı Doğan’s full of rich people now, huh?”

  “Look, sister, it’s not that simple. And it’s not just a matter of rich versus poor. For anyone who’s looking to get what is rightfully his, first he has to figure who’s depriving him of it, right?”

  “I get it. So you mean those guys who are depriving others of their rights had you beat up so you wouldn’t go ruining their plans. Well, those pussies!”

  Ali laughed.

  “Can’t you speak without cursing?”

  Aysel took offense.

  “What’s that, you don’t like the way I talk? After all that talk of yours about standing up for one’s rights. Where I come from, if you don’t know how to curse, there’s no way you’re getting your bucket filled at the fountain, let me tell you.”

  “Don’t be offended, I didn’t say it to offend you. But if you’re unhappy with your life, you’re not going to gain anything by cursing … If you’re happy though, well, that’s another story.”

  “And why the hell should I be happy? Hold on, let me dampen that eye of yours again. So you think a street dog can be happy, is that even possible? I mean, like the song says, ‘C’mon world, is this your idea of justice …’”

  “But the world doesn’t have to be this way. I mean, it shouldn’t, and we should do something to change it.”

  “If you’re saying we should all go and get the crap beat out of us like you did, well then you can count me out! There’s plenty of that happening in Hacı Doğan as it is. Thank you very much. At least I’m surviving without having the brains beat of me.”

  Ali laughed again. His head hurt. He closed his eyes.

  Aysel wet the handkerchief with kolonya once more and used it to massage his forehead. She felt immense compassion for Ali. This emotion, so unfamiliar and new to her, rattled her self-confidence.

  “Close your eyes, get some rest,” she said. “Otherwise you’ll be bitin’ the dust before you’ve had your fill of this crappy world.”

  Ali drifted off to sleep, rousing every now and then, to find Aysel by his side each time. Every time he woke up, he tried to pull his feverish and exhausted mind together and explain to Aysel just who and what was responsible for all of this mess. Finally, Aysel quieted him: “Forget about it, brother! It’s no use getting yourself all worked up over those sons of bitches. One day you’ll get the chance and you’ll give it to ’em real good. Better than letting them beat you to a pulp like they done did.” Ali struggled to right his throbbing head before asking in a saddened voice:

  “Don’t you believe me, Aysel?”

  “And what if I don’t? We gettin’ hitched are we? Am I handing over some deed to you or something? Cause if not, what difference does it make whether I believe you or not? It doesn’t matter either way.”

  “Alright, so let’s say I got in trouble. Would you hide me?”

  “From who?”

  “I mean, would you turn me in?”

  “To who? To the government?”

  “Sure, the government, let’s say. Would you?”

  “No. Why should I?”

  “Why not?”

  “Oh, sweetheart, what’s the government to me? I don’t recognize it, so fine if it don’t recognize me neither. What good have we ever done one another anyway? But I know you. You’re a good kid. And you haven’t done me any harm.”

  “Okay, now let’s say they give you something in return for turning me in?”

  “What?”

  “Let’s say … an ID!”

  Aysel pondered this idea for a moment.

  “Now don’t get upset with me brother, but, I don’t know. An ID’s pretty much my ticket to making a living at this point. And so maybe, in that case … But no, I still wouldn’t turn you in.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t trust them. I mean, I don’t trust them to give me an ID.”

  Again Ali laughed.

  “You’re an honest gal. I’m going to come visit you one of these days. You work at Gölbaşı, don’t you?”

  “You betcha. So, seems I got me a new john! But then everyone I meet becomes my john.”

  “No, I don’t mean like that, I mean as a guest.”

  Aysel took offense at his words.

  “So I’m not good enough for you, is that it, brother?”

  “No, that’s not it at all. It’s not you, it’s your line of work I’m opposed to. People being sold—I mean, I can’t, you know … Not when I’m angry at the fact that you’re forced to make a living off of this … You get it … I mean, I can’t take advantage of your situation.”

  “Well it’s not like I do it for free, sweetheart.”

  “Still.”

  “Ali, brother, it’s a good thing the rest of the male species ain’t like you. Otherwise, I’d be in the poorhouse.”

  “Don’t worry, if it was up to me, you’d have another job.”

  “In that case, why don’t you find me one now?”

  “It’s not that simple. You have to have patience, Aysel, patience.”

  “Oh boy. And just what am I supposed to do while I’m patiently waiting till I find another job? Is God going to take care of me, huh?”

  “That’s not what I meant by patience. I meant to say that we need to have patience if we’re ever going to make things right in the world.”

  “You know what they say: Curiosity may have killed the cat but patience killed the saint.”

  “We’ll talk more later,” Ali said, before drifting off again, a stream of semiconscious thoughts running through his mind: I talked with that girl like those fanatics who went to the Industrial Market crying, “We’re here to enlighten the workers!” only to get the
crap beat out of them by the small business owners there. But she’s a good person, after all, she looked after me instead of just cursing at me and minding her own business. But he was tired, too tired to think any more. Unconsciousness descended upon him like the heaviest of slumbers.

  They took Ali away early the next morning.

  “Thanks for your help, sister. See you later.”

  “See ya!”

  Aysel wondered if Ali would really stop by and see her at Gölbaşı. The idea of being alone with him excited her. So he was going to stop by, be her guest, or so he said. You young buck, you think you’re pulling my leg, but I know better. Get a couple glasses of rakı in ya, and next thing you know … But that business about being her guest, that had really rubbed her the wrong way. Why? Because … because she wanted for Ali to be into her. It was the only way in which she could imagine a man liking a woman, the only way she knew of. Her thoughts swung like a pendulum between excitement and rage. He won’t show up; guys like him are too stuck up. What a fool, champagne taste on a beer budget … They were right to beat him up, he had it coming, sticking his nose into other people’s business like that! Let him come to our gazino singing that song. Çarliston Nuri would plunge a knife in him for sure, by God! He’d be done for! Aysel daydreamed:

  Ali comes to the gazino. Not like he’d shown up at the station, in those shabby, tattered clothes. No, this time he’s wearing a white linen suit. For Aysel, stylish attire for men means only one thing, and that is a white linen suit. So Ali shows up in a white linen suit. Aysel ignores him. She’s laughing boisterously, having the time of her life. Ali sits down at the table next to Aysel and says something to the waiter. Aysel doesn’t give him the time of day. Ali orders a bottle of champagne, ice bucket and all, and has it delivered it to Aysel’s table. Aysel empties the bottle of champagne onto the floor. Ali stands up, walks over to Aysel and grabs her by the elbow. “Come with me, I’m here to rescue you,” he says.

  And then, Çarliston Nuri, Tiki-Tiki Niyazi and Koço all descend upon Ali, pouncing him, clobbering him until he’s a thousand times worse off than he was at the station. Just as Çarliston takes out his straight razor and makes to slice into Ali’s face, Aysel screams: “Stop it, you fucking oaf!” As soon as Aysel intervenes, Çarliston Nuri and Koço release Ali, before bowing down in a reverent salute to her.