Save the Last Bullet for God

by J. T. Alblood

  I tried to change the subject. “Where are the others?”

  “They were here. After chatting for a while, they went to their rooms. You don’t seem to like them much.”

  Her comment surprised me, but I played it off by asking her opinion.

  Gizem stood up and moved to sit near me.

  “So many of my life experiences have showed me that there are things to discover and share with all human beings,” she said. “But now I’m tired. Everything has gotten faster, and they are moving toward the inevitable. The feeling that there is nothing much I can do weighs heavy on my shoulders.”

  “Are you talking about the others?” I asked.

  “No. Not that. I’m talking about what’s coming,” she responded.

  I remembered then who I was talking to. I looked at her paper with its star maps and suddenly understood her concern. I tried to reassure her.

  “What if this is only something we think about to distract ourselves. What if we decide to welcome the morning of December 22 with a smile?” I asked.

  She lifted her hands and laughed. “Then we continue playing the extra time,” she said with a smile. “I sense there is something special about you, young man.”

  Young man was a compliment that I enjoyed hearing at my age. Gizem paused, as if she was trying to find the correct words. Then, she continued as if she had decided not to finish her thought. “Come on, let’s look at your fortune,” she said. “It’s quiet now and we can relax a bit.”

  The shadows in the lounge had grown longer with the approaching evening, and I realized the only thing that would make me relax would be a sea view and a faintly burning fireplace. I thought of Elif.

  “So,” Gizem began, stretching out the word.

  I looked at her again and smiled. “Let’s see what happens,” I said. “Even if my reading doesn’t reveal much, I very much believe in fortune.”

  “Then give me your hand, young man, and let yourself rest in the silence…”

  She pointed at my right hand and I extended it to her, palm up. I felt the touch of her dry, thin, bony fingers accompanied by the feeling of a strange, electrical sting. Or was it my imagination? As the astrologer held my hand and looked at it at length, she looked like someone who had been doing this for a long time. As minutes followed seconds, she didn’t utter a word. Then, suddenly staring at me, she let go of my hand and looked at me with disappointment.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Sometimes, even though you may really want to, you can’t tell a person’s fortune. Some call this ‘an unwritten page,’ but I just call it failure.”

  “This is what happens in the movies,” I said half in jest. “When the fortune-teller foresees something bad, she doesn’t say anything to the victim.” I laughed to myself.

  “Should I remind you of the age when fortune tellers were burned due to bad prophecy, young man?” she said, taking on a more serious tone.

  “Should I remind you that we live in a civilized world?” I asked. That disarmed her and, now, we both were laughing. “Seriously, can I ask you a personal question?”

  The astrologer nodded.

  “Do you really believe in what you feel and say? I mean, do you ever have any doubts?” I felt anxiety as I tried to make the question clear.

  “There are a lot of things I can’t prove or express, so sometimes I just let it go. Am I sure? No, I’m not, but even the possibility is enough, I think.”

  “Something like…knowing the correct answer among the incorrect ones?” I asked.

  “I think so, but rather like knowing the truth and changing people’s perception of fate. For instance, you were born with a talent, and from your youth you have communicated with others from the outside world,” she said.

  “The outside world?” I asked, surprised.

  “Let’s say you communicate with extraterrestrial life forms, or, more specifically, with entities in the solar system around Alpha Tauris. You get very famous by transferring to humanity what you have learned from them. You become their most trusted medium; you pave the way for the most powerful countries’ ability to dominate the world. But, just when you are about to win the fight and be the most powerful individual of all mankind, poof! Everything is over,” Gizem said.

  After saying, “Poof,” she made a vague gesture with her hand.

  “In that scenario,” Gizem continued, “because you put the weapon into the hands of a man, and he has a fate, your fate, then, is to lose as you are about to win. Even if you had direct contact with a UFO that landed in the Black Forest in Bavaria, and even if you had the technology of a very advanced age and weapons that could instantly destroy the world thousands of times, you could still lose.”

  “Wait a minute, you are talking about something that has happened. What happened? Who is the person you are talking about?” Many questions came to my mind, and I tried to ask them all.

  “Nineteen thirty-eight. Bavaria, the Black Forest. Maria O…,” she said.

  Before Gizems could finish, Feryal and Ender came into the lounge. Gizem and I fell suddenly silent as if we had been caught revealing a secret.

  Feryal had Ender sit in the armchair next to hers and she commenced stroking his hair. She was obviously a mother. She then turned to us. “Fortune-telling? Without me? I want in.”

  I laughed about how fortune-telling always attracts women, and we all began a friendly chat that became the kind of conversation I used to have back in my school days—one made just for pleasure. We were laughing, joking around, and teasing one another. The night was black, and the lights were on, but we were still having fun.

  Eventually, the boy excused himself and after I watched him go to his room, I turned to the others, “Everyone has a reason for being here,” I said. “I’m here for the promotion of my book, you for the donation to your university. But why is Ender here? Why is an eleven-year-old child here, and why do his parents allow such things?”

  Gizem stared at me with gentle eyes, and gave me a look as if to say, “So, you don’t know.”

  “If that poor boy had parents, they wouldn’t let him come here,” she said. “However, to answer your question, he’s here in the hopes of getting a good donation to the orphanage, an opportunity to prove how smart and valuable the children there can be, and maybe, more importantly, the need of one child to be cherished.”

  I had been so stupid. I was only interested in my own problems and again wasn’t aware of what was going on around me. The chat didn’t last long after that, and I excused myself and went to my room.

  In the morning, I got up hastily and almost ran into the lounge only to find that no one was around. After a necessary visit to the smoking room, I returned to the lounge to find the cleric eating his breakfast quietly. Ender was curled up in one of the armchairs with a book in his hand, but he wasn’t reading.

  I sat beside the boy and asked with my kindest expression, “How are you? Did you have a good night’s sleep?”

  Ender moved his long brown hair out of his face and stared at me with his deep blue eyes. “As far as I can see,” he began, “you have just learned what everyone else already knows.” After a short pause, he went on. “Let’s make a deal: you can see me as a freak and treat me like that, but please be sincere; do whatever you feel like, like before. Nothing would disturb me more than seeing you feel upset by things that are not your responsibility. You are a clever man, and I hope you understand what I mean.”

  I was stunned by his incisiveness. The boy was truly brilliant. I smiled at him.

  “Okay,” I said. “I get the message.”

  I thrust out my hand, and, as Ender shook it, he gave me a small wink.

  * * *

  Wednesday finally arrived. This was the day I got to see Elif. I was so overwhelmed by being in the competition that I had nearly forgotten. I rushed into my room to get prepared and then to the lounge, trying my best not to be late.

  When I entered the room, Elif was there. I had
forgotten how beautiful she was. I immediately sat opposite her and held her hands in mine. One of the competition officials stood near us, making us feel his presence. I wanted to ask her what was going on outside, if people were watching us, who they were supporting, whether or not I looked stupid in front of the cameras, if there was anything I’d missed, but of course, I couldn’t ask any of those questions because I didn’t want to be disqualified.

  “You look pale,” I said, “but even this looks good on you. Oh, how much I’ve missed you.”

  Elif held my hands more firmly now. “Are you all right?” she asked. “Do you need anything?”

  She couldn’t talk about anything, but I could. “The meals are great. My opponents are tough, but they are all nice, and there are a lot of things I’m learning from them. Actually, if I didn’t feel your absence, I could even say I enjoy being here. By the way, Mr. Hıdır asked me to tell you that he apologizes again for the accident.”

  “It was an accident. I’ve already forgotten,” Elif muttered, embarrassed.

  “He is a very good man in his field,” I continued. “What am I talking about? You must be watching it on TV anyway. This week’s competition is the labyrinth, and I still haven’t thought of how to get out of it. But I will find a solution—wow, I just realized there’s only a short time left before this week’s final.”

  Elif just listened to me with a concerned look on her face while she ran her thumb over my fingers. Time flew by so fast, and, before I knew it, I was hugging her tightly as she left. For a while, I couldn’t let her go.

  …

  As the time for the labyrinth competition approached, the tension between everyone became blindingly obvious. One evening, as we were sitting all together and everyone was lost in their own world, Feryla said what was on all our minds. “With all the time we have been spending together,” she said, “I’ve begun to get used to you all.”

  “Stockholm syndrome,” I muttered, and my words were followed by some soft laughter.

  “My self-respect and my relationships with some of you oblige me to tell you something, though,” she continued. “I knew how to get out of the labyrinth the day it was declared. It might be because I am a scientist or because I have read a lot or because of the things I have learned and retained. But whatever the reason, I know the answer—I mean, the solution. However, since it is still a competition, I don’t want to lose my advantage by telling you how. Maybe I have told you all of this now to relieve my conscience.”

  Fatin frowned at her confession. “I already told you of my ability to win the challenge,” he said, “and I did not do so because of any respect or love for any of you.” Fatin played with his nails without looking at us as he went on. “Even before I came here, I knew this question would be asked. Please don’t take it as arrogance, but I also knew that Feryal would know the answer. Anyway, can I make a humble suggestion? Don’t upset each other; draw lots among yourselves and solve the problem that way.”

  Ender jumped in. “How can we know for sure what you know?” he asked. “You can’t tell us.”

  “Clever boy!” Fatin grinned. “If I tell, then you learn, and that’s unacceptable. If you still want me to tell you after the competition, I can do that.”

  “Well,” Ender responded, “considering my current position and the details I’ve noticed, I can tell you that I’m close to the exit as well.”

  The conversation increased my anxiety and I sank deep into my own thoughts. I had thought about it over and over again, but up until then, I had been unable to work it out. It seemed like there was no solution or escape. There had to be something I was missing. Was I asking the wrong questions? I suddenly feared being eliminated.

  * * *

  The first phase of the competition came and went, and I managed to make it through. Waiting outside the elimination room, I knocked on the door and went in to say goodbye to Gizem.

  “I’m sorry; you know I like you. If I had the chance to choose, it would not be you who got eliminated, believe me,” I said.

  “I’m sorry, too. I did not expect to be eliminated so soon. I’m surprised. I thought I was doing pretty well, but they only focus on the results without understanding the method.”

  I tried to reassure her with all the clichés: life goes on, don’t be sad, etc. She zipped her bags angrily and tried to pick them up. I stepped in to help, and, as I was trying to grab the handles of the bags to carry them for her, my hand suddenly touched the elderly woman’s skin. There was that indescribable electrical shock again! The woman took the bags from my hand, put them on the floor, and stared at me.

  “Young man, you have something mysterious about you, but I’m unable to solve it, despite all my life experience and knowledge. When I looked into your fortune that night, I did see something, but I decided to not tell you. No one loves the one who gives them bad news, and doing so has never been to my advantage in my market.” She smiled at that and touched my shoulder.

  “Young man, you need to change your perspective and look back at what you have seen. You can win this competition by eliminating everyone; I have no doubt about that, but if you do not win this competition, and if you lose the chance given to you in another competition…,” her voice briefly trailed off before she continued. “When I took your hand, I caught a vision that I haven’t had for a long time. It was so clear that it is still before my eyes. I can still smell the blood and taste the metal in the air. I saw a setting sun, its last rays obscured by the dense smoke of a battlefield. The field was full of corpses of your friends and a defeated army. You were in the middle of the battlefield with a broken sword, screaming at the sky, begging, and no one could hear you. Your enemies were busy sharing the spoils and digging graves. They didn’t care about you—even fighting and dying with honor was denied you.”

  She let go of my hands and picked up her bag again. “Genghis Khan and his successors destroyed one third of the known population of the world and influenced the fate of all living things afterward; did you know that?” she asked.

  The absurdity of what she’d said left a strange, knotted feeling in my throat. I wanted to say something. I wanted to remember. All I could do was turn and leave the room.

  As I entered the hall, I heard a child’s voice behind me, “It’s just a snapshot, and, if you are still alive, then you will have another chance. Whether it’s an honorable death or a victory, who cares? Sometimes, taking that chance is, itself, the war that has to be won.” I turned and looked at Ender. He had heard everything.

  * * *

  All the excitement and glamour of the first week of competition was gone. Awards had been distributed and messages of support had been read. After Gizem left the studio, we gathered in the dimly lit room to watch the episode. No one had slept and no one cared to speak. We just stared at the television screen in the lounge, quietly watching the recording (Gizem’s seat remained empty).

  The show began with some trailers and some touching music. Ender had been the first competitor, as drawn by lots. We watched as, on tape, he prepared to take his turn in the maze. In one corner of the screen, there was a stopwatch, and in the other corner there was a countdown from one thousand meters. In keeping with the rules of the competition, we were all dressed in special clothes. Ender had on a bright purple jumpsuit that glimmered in the light. He also wore an armband with a flashing sensor attached.

  As he began his turn, he lingered at the entrance a little, touched the walls by bending and leaning against them, checked the connecting hallways, and then proceeded with cautious but quick steps. He stopped, looked back, and kept moving, all the while mumbling something. He was rapidly running out of time, but the light on his armband remained green. The action was easy to follow as the pilot camera showed the distance to the exit for the audience.

  As the music increased in tempo and intensity, with only 124 meters left to the exit, Ender made a mistake. He suddenly walked in the opposite direction, and when he turned again to go
the same way he had before, the light on his arm suddenly turned red. An alarm followed, and the score was registered: 124 meters, 8 minutes, 34 seconds to the exit.

  Watching himself, Ender spoke with a weary voice, “I made assumptions in accordance with the paint layers on the walls, the brush strokes, and the wear on the most-used roads. I considered the fact that, during constructing, the entrance and exit of the labyrinth must have been built first with the other parts added later. However, that’s it.” He laughed slightly.

  The second runner was Fatin. He was dressed in jet black except for thin bands of red on his arms and on his upturned collar. He approached the entrance with firm steps. After a little pause to adjust his eyes to the whiteness, he proceeded with steps that were hesitant, but quick. He did not even touch the walls. The meter counter declined rapidly as the time moved slowly. When he arrived at the exit, he paused for a moment, then crossed the finish line as a winner. The numbers on the screen were frozen at zero meters, three minutes, fourteen seconds. “Winner!” graphics now blinked on the screen.

  “Now I’ll tell you how I did it,” Fatin said. “My elves told me the strategy for the labyrinth well in advance. They simply held my hand and led me to the exit.”

  At that, silence and tension pervaded the lounge, and I grew afraid.

  Hıdır was third. The cleric had trimmed his gray beard and was wearing black trousers, a snow-white collarless shirt, and a dark-green belt. His lips were moving as if in prayer. He stopped at the entrance and took the first step with a ‘bismillah.’ He then proceeded rapidly with confident steps as if a bright path was showing him the way. I wouldn’t have thought that even the ones who’d built the labyrinth could have gotten out of there so easily. When he reached the exit, the screen again stopped, this time at zero meters, four minutes, twenty-eight seconds.

  When we turned to him, he greeted us with a gentle smile and opened his hands. “Sometimes you need to believe in luck,” he said humbly.