Save the Last Bullet for God

by J. T. Alblood

Elif raised her voice and began to yell.

  The cleric, sitting beside me with all his courtesy and dignity, spoke to Elif as well. “Young lady, please sit down and calm yourself. The things happening here—”

  As he was trying to put his hand on Elif’s shoulder, I also tried to hold her, and, in the midst of the struggle, the cleric inadvertently struck Elif’s face.

  There was a moment of complete silence. Then, a thin line of blood appeared between Elif’s nose and mouth.

  She ignored all of the forthcoming apologies and excuses. I was sure the camera was zooming in on all our faces, especially Elif’s. Time had stopped, and I really didn’t know what to do. I was paralyzed. Elif tried to wipe the blood away with the back of her hand. Then she took my hand and growled, “The show is over!”

  I’d never seen Elif that angry before. As for me, I felt like a kid who had dropped his candy. I had almost finished my lecture; I had almost fulfilled my duty by telling them everything. But, the sandcastle got destroyed before I could finish.

  Neither she nor I uttered a word until we got home. Elif used a tissue to wipe away the blood and her tears. I thought of stopping at a gas station and proposing she wash her face, but I kept my silence. At home, having still not uttered a word, I surrendered myself to the darkness and slept in our room alone.

  I was relieved when I woke up from my deep sleep. What had happened during the program no longer loomed as large; I had done my best and made an effort. I had already made significant progress on my first day of publicity: I had appeared on a live TV program and promoted my book. But I couldn’t wrong Elif. I couldn’t take the risk of losing her for any reason, especially for a book or fame. I decided that she was jealous of me; I even felt my manly pride flattered by her fear regarding my possible fame. There was no need to make a fuss out of this; she had been hurt, albeit accidentally, and she deserved a big kiss, my forgiveness, and my sympathy.

  As the raw light of the morning slipped into the room through the curtains, the door opened and Elif, in all her simple beauty, entered the room. She spoke, first hesitantly, then more quickly. She told me that I had been right and had done the right thing and that she had acted wrongly because of jealousy on her part. When she finished, I relieved the tension in the air by saying, “Let’s just forget about it!”

  Later that day, the station manager called the house and told Elif that the previous night’s show had garnered incredible ratings. The channel, having seen the show’s market share, had now decided on a new format in which everyone would display his or her talent in a show called the Big Brother Mystery show or BBM.

  They believed such a program would garner a lot of buzz and everyone would benefit. I would even be given a portion of the ad revenue as a reward. The publishing company had already agreed to come on as one of the sponsors, thus increasing our earning potential. Elif joined me in my excitement as she explained that this program, which could last for weeks, would make me famous and give me more opportunity and time to promote my ideas.

  The more she talked, the more enthusiastic I became. I knew that my first instinct to join the show had been the right one. She left the room happily, saying that she was going to pack my suitcase. I sat opposite my half-opened window inhaling the brisk air of the morning and drinking my coffee. I sank into meditation, and then came dreams…

  I awoke to the door opening and saw light from the corridor silhouetting Elif’s form. She walked in, taking delicate steps toward where I sat, facing the window. Elif’s hand touched my shoulder in a gesture of approval and support to show her wish for my success. “Everything is ready,” she said. Her words hung in the air as we sat together by the window in silence.

  * * *

  I checked my suitcase and the things Elif had packed for me. She hugged me sadly and I felt the warmth of her head as it lay on my shoulder. She let out a deep sigh and used the back of her hand to wipe away her tears. I didn’t understand why she was so upset. This was her fate as well, and she had been just as excited as me at the news of the opportunity.

  Elif helped me dress in my best clothes, combed my hair, and walked with me to the parking lot, trying to keep pace with my happy steps.

  As usual, Elif drove. My happiness, and enthusiasm prevented me from settling down in the passenger seat. Despite the heavy traffic, the gray-black asphalt, wet from the rainfall the night before, flowed rapidly under us. We seemed to be okay again. When I reached out to switch to another radio station, she threw me a glance followed by a little smile. She loved me. No matter how tired she got of my attempts at success, she loved me. I was filled with a warm feeling. For a moment, I wanted to tell her to forget it all and just go home. I felt an urge to hug her and talk about something else. But the desire to do my share for both of us—and the prospect of a little fame—calmed my thoughts and feelings.

  Taking advantage of the mild atmosphere, I started a conversation with my eyes on the road. “After the show last night, the host committed suicide; did you know?” I asked her.

  Elif was silent. I supposed she was wondering how I had learned this. She looked at me with a smile and a loving glance. She seemed hopeful and delighted by the fact that I knew what had happened.

  “Yes…yes,” she said. “He committed suicide, right after the show.”

  “He was a loser, anyway,” I continued. “It seemed like it was his sole purpose to host a one-night program and disappear, and he did it quietly without disturbing anyone. Hasan Tahsin was his own worst enemy.” I laughed at my own wit.

  “We have to thank him,” Elif corrected. “By his suicide, he drew a lot of media attention to the show…”

  She was deep in her thoughts now, and I was in a state of inexpressible happiness as the car approached the BBM studio.

  The Labyrinth

  The studio was gigantic. Once we got inside, the assistants and studio personnel checked my belongings—mobiles and any other communication devices were forbidden—and welcomed me. Elif was only allowed as far as the guest room, so she hugged me and said, “Take care of yourself!”

  In my happiness, I promised her, “We will win the contest, promote the book, and then we will be rich and famous until the end of our lives. Everything will be great.”

  The farewell hurt more as it grew longer. I gave Elif a kiss and a warm hug, and then I waved as I went through the door.

  Long, wide corridors, gates with security, and clean and shiny walls made up the building; it was a bright and spacious place. They’ve worked with a very good architect, I thought. They obviously had a large production budget. As we walked, the assistant carrying my luggage told me about the format of the program. During my time here, it was forbidden to be in touch with, or get information from, people on the outside. This was to ensure a fair competition and to prevent the competitors from changing their behavior in response to viewer reactions.

  We entered the section of the studio reserved for us. It was a gigantic room. A lot of cameras and special devices had been placed at such angles that their shots wouldn’t overlap one another. in the middle of the spacious lounge, simple but high-quality armchairs were arranged around and a low table. The producers obviously preferred a minimalist approach.

  Six doors faced the lounge. On each door, there was a plate adorned with our respective names in black text on a bright golden surface. The assistant told me that the other participants had already arrived. He then led me to my room. After leaving my luggage on the nightstand, he didn’t miss the opportunity to wish me luck. I owe this nice guy an autograph, I thought.

  It was a really stylish room. Clean, light-colored walls, a metal-gray dresser and wardrobe, a small desk, a chair, and a night-light that filled the room with harmony. The interior door to the bathroom and its useful contents had been carefully selected. Nothing was missing or exaggerated. I couldn’t help but appreciate it, as it was apparently the result of great planning and experience.

  I could see a bit of the sky and greenery t
hrough the small window next to the bed. I stripped off my official clothes and put on something casual, then put my luggage and clothes into the wardrobe. I lay down peacefully on my bed, winked at the few cameras located in the corners of the room, and fell asleep. It was my most peaceful sleep in months.

  When I woke up at noon, I was both relieved and rested. After washing my face, brushing my teeth, and tidying up my appearance, I moved to leave for the lounge when a large file on the desk caught my attention. This wasn’t here before I went to sleep, I thought. I picked up the file. There were tabs in the upper left corner and my name was written on the cover.

  Following the official welcome and an explanation of the general rules of the competition, we were given the theme of the first week and a document that explained the challenge in depth. In an area the size of a football field, a labyrinth had been constructed, the walls of which were approximately three meters in height. After drawing lots to determine the order, we would take turns racing against the clock to find the exit.

  Meanwhile, an electronic sensor would be placed on each of us that would alert us if we passed the same spot. If we passed it more than twice, it would end the contest. When that happened, our distance to the exit would be recorded as our score, and those of us closer to the exit would avoid being eliminated. The one who was farthest away from the exit, however, would be eliminated immediately. As for those who were able to reach the exit, their rankings would be determined by their speed. The staff didn’t forget to remind us that each week’s winner would receive extra bonuses and gifts.

  With the flyer in hand, I went to the lounge. Everyone was sitting in armchairs around the table and chatting. They seemed to have gotten over the tension of the previous night. After getting a glass of cold water from the fountain, I sat beside them. I soon realized that we had all gotten the same file.

  “A labyrinth! Wow—what a well-thought-out challenge!” said Ender, the indigo boy.

  “It surprised me as well,” Feryal replied. “If they hadn’t proposed a large donation to the university, I wouldn’t have thought about participating, but now even I’m fascinated.”

  “I hope next week they don’t expect us to have gladiator fights,” Gizem the astrologer added.

  “I expected the competition to only test our ability to use knowledge through thought experiments,” Feryal continued.

  “This competition requires no skills. How can you call exiting a labyrinth a test?” Fatin grumbled. “I think it is only demonstrating the clichés and problems with such programs.”

  “It would be more accurate to put it this way,” Feryal corrected. “During our lives, we acquire a great deal of knowledge. We forget most, and there is a lot we don’t use, but through it all, we gather experience and retain some information. We take advantage of this knowledge and experience to solve the problems we encounter in life. If we encounter a problem that we are unable to solve at first, we learn by solving it and try to improve ourselves in that way. In the labyrinth, we each will be alone with the knowledge and experience we have collected up until now.”

  “What is your point?” Fatin asked, rolling his eyes.

  “Everyone here has learned different things during different stages of life,” she continued. “The knowledge we have gained and the extent to which we have improved ourselves can only be determined by facing tests. With such challenges we will learn who has acquired only empty knowledge and who has the tools to solve real problems? This is about you and your intelligence against everything else,” Feryal explained.

  Hıdır Zaman, the cleric, took exception to Feryal’s argument. “I think you’re exaggerating,” he said. “They can’t be that clever. Still, the cameras are rolling, and the viewers have probably heard what you just said. If the competition didn’t have a stated purpose before, now the organizers can use your explanation as its purpose.”

  Fatin grinned with a hateful smile. “Is the purpose that important?” he asked. “One of you will be eliminated this week, and I’ll be rewarded. In the following weeks, you’ll all be eliminated one by one in front of my eyes. So, enjoy this while you can.”

  Every program had a bad guy, and this one had revealed himself early.

  “You are only challenging us in order to mask your own fears,” I muttered.

  Everyone turned to me, and Fatin scowled.

  “I know how to get out of the labyrinth,” he said. “Where will you be when I am out? But, still, I like you. I don’t want you to be eliminated in the first week—your readers might return your book.” A slight grin crept across his tick garnished face. He was playing the classic psychological game of intimidating one’s rivals.

  Gizem, the astrologer, spoke calmly. “You realize you have shared your existing advantage with your rivals, thus destroying what little chance you had.”

  Fatin’s expression became more aggressive. I wondered if the viewers would like him or if he was right that he would be one of the winners? My rivals were obviously skilled, and didn’t have any idea how to get out of the labyrinth. Would I discover it? Or should I just close my eyes and pray for someone else to be eliminated? I got up, grabbed some coffee, and went to the smoking room.

  In the evening, after dinner, as I moved to my room, I passed by the lounge and saw Hıdır, the cleric, and Ender talking. The others weren’t around, but, as I entered my room, it bothered me to realize that I didn’t have any sense of belonging. I switched off the overhead light, leaving on the night-light, and the elongated shadows set my teeth on edge. I enhanced the darkness by closing my eyes and forced myself to relax into sleep. My thoughts had been running constantly and I needed to relax my mind. But I only turned over and over in bed and grew more tired as my agitated mind kept me on the border of sleep.

  I woke up early with an unpleasant metallic taste in my mouth and a body frozen in fatigue as memories of a dream came to me in fragments.

  In my dream, I had been wandering the streets of an unfamiliar city. Rather than feeling lost, I had a desperate sense of not being able to find what I was looking for. I was trying to find someone but I only wandered hopelessly without asking for help. I gave up and went home by train, exhausted and defeated. Then I was at a train station in another city. I was trying to find someone in the crowd at the station. In my despair, I fell to the ground ashamed and furious. Who was I looking for, and why had this dream bothered me so badly?

  I couldn’t remember the rest of the dream, so I got up and noticed a paper on my table. It read as follows:

  “Dear contestant, in today’s afternoon session, it is your turn to express your thoughts and have a personal interview with the host. We kindly request you not be late as this will affect the live stream.”

  As I looked at the paper, some faint letters written in pen caught my attention. Bending the paper in my hand, I tried to reveal the thin, scraped lines in order to see what was written. All I could see was this: Maria O…

  After a morning chat, a few cups of coffee, and some private thoughts on what I might say that would help me promote my book, I went to the interview room. The host was sitting at a table and checking his notes while waiting for me. He wore a suit, a smart tie, and a microphone on his collar.

  I greeted him and he lifted his head and smiled at me sincerely. As he was checking his notes, he turned over the decorative hourglass at the corner of the table. “Welcome back,” he said. I noticed the cameras were recording and the voice recorder was on. The spotlights grew brighter, so I straightened in my chair, set my book beside me, and stared at the host.

  “First of all, I’d like to ask you how you like our studio and the format of the competition?” he asked.

  “The studio is simple and very well designed,” I answered enthusiastically. “It’s beyond my expectations. So far, everything has worked smoothly. But the competition is really tough. It will not be easy to stand out among the others. My first priority, though, is to use this opportunity to promote my book and talk about my di
scovery. However, that doesn’t mean that I want to give up and be eliminated in the first week.”

  “No one ever wants to lose,” the host said, “especially since the rewards of such a competition are so big, right?” Then, he gave me an opening. “Please tell us about your book and your discovery.”

  It was as if somebody had pushed my “on” button. I began the speech I had prepared and presented to myself countless times.

  “Everything began with a question about a bookworm…,” I started.

  The host was taking notes now, sometimes listening to me and sometimes interjecting with short questions. It helped as I could get an idea of the viewers’ reactions by watching him.

  As I continued, I began to notice that his glances got sharper, he asked fewer questions, his curiosity increased, and he took notes more frequently. I had already lost myself in my explanation; I was lining up the blank pages I’d torn out one after another, describing the planes, showing the locations of the disjointed letters at the edges of papers, and helping him to visualize the three-dimensional version of the image. When the last particle of sand fell into the bottom of the hourglass, I still had more to tell and hoped the viewers were still listening, but the host stopped me. He provided a ratings guarantee by saying that he, like all the viewers, was looking forward to the next interview.

  A little bit tired and sweaty, I happily returned to the lounge. The lounge was empty except for Gizem, the astrologer, who occupied herself at the table drawing star maps.

  I drank a glass of water and then, after getting a coffee from the dispenser, I sank into one of the comfortable chairs. Gizem lifted her head, and we caught each other’s eyes and exchanged a smile.

  “How was the interview?” she asked.

  “I think it went really well. I was able to tell what I wanted to tell, and I didn’t have trouble or get too exhausted.”

  “I’m glad,” she replied.