by Rik Stone
“Maybe you’re not, but I bet you never had a trial.”
“No, you’re right, I didn’t.”
“See? To keep their backs covered, local government ordered all prisoners who hadn’t been through the courts to be moved out of the police stations and into state prisons. But there’ll be no paperwork on you, so unless you escape this is where you’ll live out your days. As I said, you’re a ghost, so if you can get far enough away, they’ll stop looking for you. They can’t be seen to hunt down somebody who doesn’t exist, can they?”
Oz rambled on but Mehmet followed the gist. “I suppose not.”
“So, all we have to do now is find a way out.”
“We?” Mehmet asked.
“Of course. Two of us will stand a better chance.”
“But the captain sounded like the night guards are unforgiving. What would happen to us if we got caught?”
“Don’t think about that one. The last two to escape were dead by the time they’d brought them back through the gates. Don’t worry,” Oz said gleefully, “Selim will help. He’ll make sure our escape is fool-proof.”
Mehmet felt himself warm to Oz; such little-boy optimism. “Okay, if we can find a way we’ll do it together. But I’ll be heading back to Istanbul and when I get there I’ll have to go it alone. I’ve scores to settle that don’t include you.”
“That suits me fine. I can disappear in Istanbul easily enough. It’s getting there that’s the problem. I feel more excited than I can remember! Let’s make the pact.”
They gripped each other’s wrists firmly and shook on the deal.
“Speaking of going to Istanbul,” Mehmet said, “exactly where are we now?”
“This is Synopi Prison, east of Canakkale.”
Mehmet winced; even if they were to escape, Canakkale was a long way from home on foot. They spent the rest of the day in the open compound and shared Oz’s cell overnight. It wasn’t much, but better than where he’d just come from and it kept the night chill at bay. Wide corridors led to tiny cells, a narrow bed left the same amount of floor space and it was the floor where Mehmet was destined to sleep; they weren’t about to become that close.
That day and night had been much the same as the ones that followed and Mehmet came to appreciate Selim. Oz told him the pretty prisoners were sexually assaulted, which Mehmet knew could have meant him too, but the protective arm of Selim cast a frightening shadow amongst his peers, enough to keep them away from him and Oz. He also stood between them and the torture that other prisoners were subjected to; cells weren’t locked, but the iron-barred doors still existed and prisoners were punished by having their feet jammed between the bars and the soles of their feet beaten with riot sticks. If the guards were really upset with them, they’d beat the tops of their feet, which meant they couldn’t walk and in some cases, meant they didn’t live because they couldn’t hold their corner in the food queue.
Mehmet had seen derelict places in his time, but nothing as depressing as the prison building where they lived. On its jaundiced, sandstone walls, rainfall had leaked from broken gutters and drawn black fungal shapes that presided over the courtyard like vengeful angels. The thick bars at the windows were lined with wire mesh grids: another reminder of times when inmates were kept under stricter control. Inside, the painted walls had worn through to stone and the tiled floors sounded hollow underfoot. They rocked when stepped on and cockroaches scattered in every direction. Nevertheless, the smell of disinfectant was stronger than the incessant stink of piss everywhere else. And he had to admit, there was less disease there than there had been under the jetty with the Little Dogs.
One day, Mehmet took to Oz’s bed after Oz went down to the courtyard. After a little more rest than he got sharing the cold floor with the beetles, he went to join his friend feeling fresher. He found him at his patch of wall talking to Selim. Mehmet made his way over.
*
Selim stood with Oz at the wall as he watched Mehmet lazily walking across the prison yard. A strange young man, he thought, clearly afraid of life and yet fearing nothing. There was a constant bitterness about him, but at the same time he was so open and likeable. A total contradiction, but the way he was fucked about what else could you expect? Oz was different, a brother from the old gang that Selim felt obliged to protect, but with him it was like having a dog, or a small child around, no real peer to peer stuff. Unlike Mehmet, he was intelligent and good company. His only real problem was going on too much about wanting to escape. Even that was understandable, especially knowing the story of how he got there. But what was Selim supposed to do? He didn’t believe Mehmet had even heard of Beyrek Ozel, but listening to his story, it seemed fairly clear to Selim that Beyrek had been his downfall. But it was Beyrek who had moved Selim up from the Little Dogs, got him the job on the police force and stationed him in Synopi so that he’d have somewhere to hold his enemies. In fact, that was how Mehmet had been transferred there. Because of the Little Dogs, Selim felt obliged to both Oz and Mehmet, but he owed Beyrek big time, without him he’d be nothing. No, he had no choice; he had to carry on bullshitting Mehmet, make sure he stayed there, but keep him happy.
*
Selim was pretty much what anyone would imagine a scary-looking prison guard to be: tall, not fat but full figured – all meat. It wasn’t the sergeant stripes that stopped the other guards arguing with him; he was a fearful-looking man with a natural aggression, and the scar that begun at his eye and finished near the corner of his mouth completed the picture. Mehmet ran his finger along the tiny scar he received when robbing the souk and smiled.
As he approached, Oz beamed while Selim stood quietly with his arms folded high over chest. That was one of the foreboding looks that even made Mehmet cower inside. But then Selim’s face twitched. Mehmet had known him long enough now to know he was smiling.
“Listen, Mehmet,” said Oz, “remember I told you about the generals arresting Menderes?” Mehmet nodded. “They hung him in September.”
September 1961, Mehmet had been in Synopi close to a year. He raised his eyebrows, fixed his attention on Selim. It must have been nine months ago that he’d promised to help them get out.
“I don’t want to push you the wrong way, Selim,” he began, “but we’ve been talking about escaping ever since I got here. Do you really believe it’s possible? If it isn’t, I’d rather have an honest answer. Put an end to the idea before it drives me mad.” Oz visibly cringed, but Selim showed no emotion. Mehmet waited uneasily for him to say something.
“There was no loyalty under the jetty when I was there,” he began, “but for me, I looked on the Little Dogs as brothers. I said I’d do what I could to get you out of this hellhole, but the timing has to be right. You want my honest answer? Okay. The right time could be tomorrow or two years from now. I just don’t know. I have to stay when you’re gone, so I can’t afford to have eyes on me after your escape.”
Inside, Mehmet felt his little world collapse. “Of course, Selim, I understand.”
Chapter 26
The next two years disappeared without much happening. Mehmet and Oz embraced a training regime, ready for their big escape, and his muscles grew muscles. He no longer gave thought to Yuri and Nina, telling himself that his survival was all that mattered – and believing it. At the end of that period, a new truckload of prisoners was shipped in; with it came a man called Berker.
He was one of those big men. Some might quake inside looking at him – and not because of his size. The top half of his ear was torn off, a scar in his cheek was so deep it had to have been inflicted with a meat cleaver. An eye looked gouged out and the open socket was left exposed. Things got worse when he took an immediate dislike to Mehmet. Why? Who knows, but he couldn’t stop scowling at him. In itself it wasn’t a problem, but then he moved to tormenting him and elbowing him out of the way in the meal queues; trying to goad him into a fight. And when he wasn’t bullying Mehmet, he was bullying everyone else. As far as Mehmet could te
ll, there wasn’t anything more to the man than that. He dominated the prison yard; even the guards gave him a wide berth.
Mehmet thought it was his fitness and sculptured body that Berker hated. It had to be, the way he watched him train with Oz. His obsession was too intense. And there was nothing to be done if Mehmet was to keep a low profile. If he became known because of fighting he would be missed after his escape, ghost or not. Berker, however, wouldn’t leave it and Mehmet felt forced into doing something about it. But before standing up to this man he would take it to Selim.
“Berker, the big man with the torn ear,” Mehmet said to him one day when they were alone in the prison yard.
“What about him?” Selim asked, disinterested.
“He’s always trying to pick a fight. I’m not scared of him exactly, but if we come to blows and I beat him, even the guards would remember me. My chances of escape would become hopeless.”
“Bullying you? Okay, leave it with me,” he said, without his interest picking up. But he did warn Berker off – in fact, it took several officers with riot sticks.
The beating should have been the end of it, but Berker seemed to be made of sterner stuff and he wouldn’t leave it alone.
Eighteen months of the same and Mehmet managed to dodge his nemesis, sticking to the workouts with Oz, but it seemed there was no escaping the inevitable. One morning, Mehmet made a ball out of a piece of cloth with sand and weed sewn into it. Him and Oz had been throwing high balls. Oz sent one too high and it bounced off a wall and into the alley that ran up the side of the main building. Mehmet ran into the alley to retrieve it, picked it up and turned to find Berker had blocked the exit.
“At last, I’ve got you to myself,” he said, in a voice that made it clear to Mehmet that Berker hounding him hadn’t been about a fight after all. It had been something much less savoury.
Mehmet took a step back. Berker followed, put a hand to his shoulder and squeezed gently. “No need to be afraid, Mehmet. I won’t hurt you.”
Mehmet weighed up his options. He couldn’t worry about becoming known to the guards now. Berker turned his head slightly to the left to compensate for only having one eye. Mehmet thought if he smiled and moved in, made him think he was a willing party, he could reach up and gouge out the good eye.
He readied himself, about to spring, but then Oz shouted, “Mehmet, what are doing in there? Don’t go hiding just because I’m beating you.” He laughed.
Berker half turned, obviously irritated. Mehmet saw the chance and slipped by on his blind side. Mehmet resumed the game with Oz and their laughter clearly put Berker on the wrong foot, his interest really was aggression now. But then, a new truckload of prisoners showed up with a man as big as Berker amongst them: his name was Nazar. He had a large, round, angelic face and it struck Mehmet strange how gentle and considerate he seemed to be, like a giant baby. Mehmet never found out why Nazar was there, but it couldn’t have been much – he was too … gentle.
Nazar turned out to be the opposite of Berker, which meant he took an immediate like to Mehmet and while the two of them never became that close, friendship wasn’t an unreasonable description of their relationship.
Berker decided to shift the glowering from Mehmet to Nazar. One morning, the big men stood together in the soup queue. Berker nudged Nazar and then bellowed at him, “Did you do that on purpose, you fat, ugly bastard?” and pushed him backwards. Nazar stumbled and fell clumsily. The other inmates laughed.
Nazar got back to his feet, brushed himself down and then stared blankly at Berker, innocently. But then he reacted with unbelievable speed for such a big man. He took Berker into a bear hug and pulled him in close. Berker was trapped, his hands flapping, arms pinned against his sides. Nazar tucked his head in and Berker screamed in agony. It became evident why when Nazar pulled back and spit Berker’s left cheek from his mouth.
Mehmet couldn’t believe it when Nazar turned his head to look at him – and grinned, blood running from his lips and red gore stuck to his teeth. How was Mehmet supposed to react to that? He smiled.
Turning his attention back to the job at hand, Nazar threw Berker to the ground, dropped on top of him and pummelled him, head and body. The crowd encircled them, but were soon dispersed as guards waded in with riot sticks. The sticks were turned on Nazar, but he wouldn’t quit punching – and biting. The guards beat him on the head and body, but he continued using fists and teeth on Berker. How long it went on for Mehmet couldn’t say, but eventually Nazar did fall away.
His unconscious body was dragged off. Mehmet had no idea of the damage he’d taken and he never did find out – he never saw him again. Berker, on the other hand, was dead for sure. His head had been caved in on one side and most of his face had been chewed off.
While the reason for Nazar being at Synopi became a little clearer, Mehmet shouldn’t have taken such pleasure from watching the killing, or felt a glow when thinking back on it, but he’d grown to hate Berker and had been more than happy to witness his mutilation. It was the shock of those very feelings that made him realise he’d become an integral part of the senseless and violent penal system he was trapped in. Desperation filled his soul. He had to get out. And it would be with or without Selim’s help.
*
Yet another three years passed. It was now seven since Menderes was hanged for corruption, and that had happened at about the same time Selim told Mehmet to be patient about escaping. And what progress had been made on that front? None! Selim did watch out for Mehmet and Oz so they never had to work or do anything they didn’t want to, which at least kept them safe. But something had to be done and it would have to be done without Selim helping.
It was early one morning and not long after Mehmet had decided to do things his own way. He and Oz lazed at the wall after breakfast, before their workout, and chatted about nothing and everything. And then nervously, Mehmet went for it.
“Oz, I don’t want you speaking to Selim about this but I have a plan…”
Oz’s expression stayed blank.
“We’re going to go it alone, without his help.”
And then he looked shocked. “But, Mehmet, Selim’ll think you’re dumping on him when he finds out.”
Captain Iscan approached and they quietened. The captain’s hands were firmly clasped behind his back and his head was in the clouds, oblivious to all around.
“Yes, I know,” Mehmet said once the captain had passed. “Believe me, Oz, it’s the last thing I want to do, but Selim’s afraid of losing his job. The time will never be right for him.”
Oz stayed silent and Mehmet could almost hear his brain ticking over – then he pouted like a child. Mehmet’s nervous energy changed course and he burst out laughing.
At that moment, Selim came to the wall. “What’s the great joke?” His face twitched… “Well, are you going to share?”
Mehmet felt his face sour. “Oh, I was just messing with Oz about the work detail down in the fields. He doesn’t fancy it.”
The prisoners tended the fields around the prison: olive and orange groves. A detail went out and down the hill most days to work the land.
“But I’ve always kept you away from those details,” said Selim. “So what’s so funny?”
“Nothing really. I was just saying it would break the routine if we volunteered for a detail. But you should’ve seen Oz’s face,” Mehmet said and forced a laugh.
Selim nodded and his face twitched a little more fiercely. “Oh, right, but do you really want to go down there? It gets really hot around midday.”
“I don’t know. I wouldn’t mind giving it a try.” Mehmet couldn’t believe how lucky he’d been the way the subject had come up; it was the first step of the plan he had in mind. “But I’m not sure about Oz.”
Selim sniggered. “Oz?”
“I suppose it might make a change,” he said sullenly.
“Okay, I’ll arrange it. And don’t worry, if you don’t like it, you won’t have to do it again.”
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“Thanks, Selim,” Oz said, his face dropping further.
Chapter 27
Selim had been right about the midday heat; it was stifling. But it was good for Mehmet to watch the day’s events unfold. The guards marched the detail down to the fields first light, they then worked till noon before being allowed to roam the groves looking for shade from the heat. The air cooled mid-afternoon, they worked a couple more hours and then returned to the stockade. The whole event was sloppy and Mehmet thought it could work in his favour; even getting back, there wasn’t a head count or roll call until the general one later that evening. And the return had been equally disorganised. Once in the prison yard, the prisoners wandered off in their own sweet way.
Mehmet wondered how there hadn’t been more escape attempts, but then a new notion sent a thrill up his spine: perhaps ghosts had escaped. Who would know? The revelations were putting flesh on his plan.
The day soon came when Mehmet wanted to test if anyone missing from the detail would be noted. The work gang went down to the fields at first light and worked to midday. Come noon, Mehmet steered Oz along a line of olive trees until they were out of sight from the guards.
“Sit on the opposite side of that tree, Oz,” he told him.
Oz’s face quizzed him and Mehmet gave him a little push and a determined nod. Oz shook his head belligerently, but sat where he was told to.
Mehmet moved next to him and looked to where he knew the guards were resting. “Good, even when they get back to work there’s no way they will be able to see us.”
“Why’s that good?”
“Because this will be our first move when we go. If they do look for us this afternoon, it won’t be a problem. We’ll pretend we fell asleep. No one will touch us for fear of upsetting Selim.”
“But then what?” he asked with a little hostility.