Endgame, page 11
As we were speaking I could hear people whispering at the other tables; news had just blown through the restaurant. Rahmi called over the head waiter, who said something in his ear. For a moment I could see a slight smile on Rahmi’s face but it quickly disappeared.
‘What’s happened?’ I asked.
‘Muhacir’s men shot two of Oleander’s in the main square. One of them is in critical condition. He’s in the hospital now. I said there was going to be trouble. And there you have it.’
It wasn’t long before people in the restaurant were leaving and gargantuan bodyguards emerged from the Mercedes parked outside. Everyone was taking precautions.
I also went home early.
That night there was a knock on my door. No one ever came over so late. It was Mustafa’s driver.
‘His honour the mayor wishes to see you,’ he said.
‘Now? What’s happened?’
‘I don’t know.’
The town was silent. We raced along dark roads. In the distance Mustafa’s palace looked like a forest on fire, lights thrown up into the sky.
He met me at the door.
‘What’s the matter?’ I asked. He was frowning.
‘Things aren’t so great, but we’re going to fix it,’ he said.
The judge, the district governor and the police commissioner were all sitting quietly in the living room. They nodded to me without getting up.
Mustafa asked a servant to prepare me a coffee.
No one said a word until the coffee arrived. I was brimming with curiosity but I said nothing. As my coffee was set down on the table I couldn’t wait any longer.
‘So what’s happened?’
‘They shot Muhacir’s man in the hospital last night,’ Mustafa said.
‘And?’
The police commissioner chimed in: ‘Now the dogs will go to war. The animals will burn down the jungle. Disturb the peace.’
‘Do you know who the shooter is?’
‘We have a pretty good idea but there were no witnesses. No one saw a thing. And if they did, they wouldn’t speak.’
‘Was it Sultan?’
The words just slipped out and the four of them glared at me and I thought they might kill me right then and there, but in his gravelly voice the judge rumbled, ‘How do you know Sultan?’
‘I saw him once with Remzi at the köfte restaurant.’
‘It probably was him,’ the police commissioner said. ‘But we have no witnesses.’
Turning to Mustafa, I said, ‘Why are they killing each other? Does it have to do with the treasure?’
Mustafa twisted his face angrily. ‘Those dogs have nothing to do with any treasure,’ he erupted. ‘They’re fighting over marijuana sales. That’s why they’re fighting it out like wild dogs.’ He stopped and then added, ‘And the worst of it is that everyone thinks they’re killing each over the treasure. All these people are village idiots. What do these brutes have to do with the treasure? The imbeciles in this town go on about the treasure if a flea flips up into the air.’
‘That’s the way they all think,’ I said.
‘I know, and that’s why we need to calm them down. They’re acting as if it’s the start of a world war. If this madness spreads to the general public we won’t be able to get it under control.’
I looked at them as if to ask, ‘What does any of this have to do with me?’
Smiling, Mustafa said, ‘We would kindly ask you to write a statement saying that the construction work there last night was to do with the closing of a dangerous well and that there will be no future work. I will read the statement in the municipal assembly and then we’ll post the announcement in town.’
On the one hand they were telling me that the murders had nothing to do with the church, but on the other they were trying to stop them by making it clear that there would be no further digging at the church.
I wasn’t a fool.
And I was getting fed up with them calling me in every two minutes to write something for them, although it did elevate my importance in town. But again, I really didn’t want to have anything to do with these men.
Then it dawned on me. I should never have accepted their initial offer. I didn’t really have a good excuse but now I had no choice other than to carry on helping them.
I’d made the wrong decision the first time around.
Standing up, I said, ‘I’ll send you the document tomorrow.’
‘Have you seen Zuhal lately?’ Mustafa asked me as he saw me out. It seemed like an ordinary question.
‘No,’ I said without any hesitation.
For a moment I thought I saw the muscles in his face loosen. and then a faint smile, but it quickly disappeared.
The next day the announcement was posted all over town.
Mustafa had taken a step back, putting the conflict on hold for the time being.
XVII
‘do you want to know how i feel when i’m with you … now i know you’ll think i’m exaggerating … and maybe i am … i don’t know … in a strange way i know you won’t misunderstand me and you won’t get angry at what i do or say … and you know that i trust you … and this gives people an incredible sense of freedom and the chance to reveal all your secrets … it’s such a warm feeling … i feel the same kind of feeling in God … i know that he’ll understand my choices and that he’ll forgive me … for two people to share the same feeling … it’s strange.’
When I got back from Mustafa’s late that night I found Zuhal waiting for me online. She wanted to speak about the night before. I was happy to think of returning to that world of only us, our world, a blend of the real and the unreal. I had tumbled down the rabbit hole and found myself in a fantasy world that was ours alone.
‘when i make love to you i feel such emotions …’ she began. ‘parts of me break off and become part of you … i don’t know what you feel … whether you feel this … sometimes i’m afraid … i think that whatever it is in me that i surrender to you won’t ever come back … i don’t want you to think i’m exaggerating … this is different from making love to the man i’m in love with … i suppose the laws of nature have changed … or this is just something i never experienced before … maybe others have felt the same way … i’m not talking about sexual satisfaction … yes, that’s there and so much … but i’m talking about something else … at the height of it i feel something altogether different … i love you, i become a woman, i create you and i am your child, you’re mine, i’m yours and then everything is chaotic and something shifts … please tell me i’m not insane because i really am starting to think that i’m going insane …’
I understood what she was saying because I felt the same way.
‘we’re not just making love,’ I began. ‘at the same time we’re changing our identities, our personalities … in this sense we’re tasting a freedom unlike any other in this world … something inside us is cracked open and another person emerges … a person that belongs to no one … a person whose very existence depends on the other, who cannot live without the other … because it’s only when we’re together that these aspects of ourselves emerge … but it’s an addiction … we need each other to experience that split inside … and in a way it is only at certain times and situations when those people inside feel a particular kind of love … it is the moment of birth … and the attachment and the dependency of a child on their mother … and the love …
‘it is another life running parallel to real life … a different kind of love parallel to real love … it comes alive with love-making and finishes there, but doesn’t disappear, only goes into hiding … but its presence is always felt … this bond turns us into so many different things, a woman, a man, a mother, a father, a child, a lover … we become many and the multitude and this makes it so hard for us to leave each other …’
I wrote all this from the heart. And when we physically made love again we had the same feeling, as if we were creating each other, drawing out other aspects of our personality.
It was true that making love seemed like love itself, and perhaps it really was, but the feeling was later repressed.
But when we returned to that hidden refuge there was a physical upheaval, a frenzy of desire.
This is what I went through every time we made love.
Some things I will simply never know: why was it that the love we made together did not take shape in our real lives, despite the way it grew and gained strength in our fantasy world?
What was the answer?
You might say it was because of her love for another man, or my own fear of falling in love with her, but I don’t think that was it. Those truths had been toppled by a powerful swell of emotion.
We had prevented the love from reaching into our real lives.
The reasons for doing so were hidden deep inside us.
Thinking about it now, maybe neither of us had the courage to channel the dual nature of our relationship, the flux between fact and fiction, into one life, because neither of us was willing to let go of the strength that came with this duality, the mystery, to even consider exposing all those hidden aspects.
Maybe both of us wanted to keep this thing we had – whatever you might call it – hidden, so as not to damage it in any way, to preserve it. We couldn’t let it out into the open.
I told Zuhal about what had happened in town.
‘i heard,’ she said.
She always knew what was going on.
‘sometimes mustafa goes mad … i don’t know why … and when it happens there’s nothing he won’t do … i know him … be careful.’
‘but he’s a friend of mine now.’
‘don’t trust him … he’s actually a good guy but when he loses it he’s pure evil … you have no idea what he’s capable of …’
‘he’s after the treasure?’
‘no … he doesn’t need money … his family’s rich … but now he wants the entire town … and he won’t suffer anyone standing in his way … he wants everything done his way … that hill where the treasure is, if it’s even up there, well it’s become a kind of obsession … it’s strange … i suppose he thinks if he can take control of the church then everything else will follow … once when he was drunk he told me some mad things … i don’t know why he thinks that way.’
‘will the others let him do this?’
‘no … i suppose they all think the way he does …. i mean the rich crowd … that hill is some kind of legend for them.’
‘tomorrow night i’m having dinner with raci bey and his family … kamile hanim invited me when i was at mustafa’s party …’
‘you’ll have to tell me all about it …’
‘i will.’
‘i miss you … i can’t stop thinking about that night … strange.’
‘me neither …’
The following evening Rahmi sent a car for me. His place was in a housing estate at the edge of town in the middle of an olive grove. I thought of Mustafa’s palace on the opposite side of town, one of those old sandstone houses. And the biggest one there.
Rahmi met me at the door. The whole family was in the living room. Rahmi’s wife and his two little boys, sitting there as if posing for a family photograph.
I was surprised to find the living room tastefully decorated. The furniture was a little gaudy but everything seemed well placed, giving the room a natural, comfortable feeling.
Despite their enormous Mercedes, the crude jokes, the funny tracksuits and the black suits and loose ties, the rich set in town actually seemed to have some taste. Like the furniture in this living room, they had settled in town and were a natural part of the habitat, living by their own customs and traditions.
From the way his wife and sister fluttered around him, I got the feeling that Rahmi was more important among the rich than I’d thought. In their eyes I was nothing but a new toy. I felt there was a kind of unspoken competition set in motion as they tried to capture ‘the writer’, possess him like they did everything else in life. They were competing all the time and I suppose I was just another object that they were fighting to have as their own.
Admittedly Kamile Hanım was the only one who fascinated me. Raci Bey was a quiet man, and his children Gülten and Rahmi were like all the other rich kids in town, but there was something about Kamile Hanım, something that sparked my curiosity. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. It was an attraction that inspired you to take a second look, an allure that called for a second glance.
I imagine she was in her early fifties.
She was a little plump but in good shape. She hadn’t let herself go; indeed she was very much alive, full of life and a desire to live. I think most people would sense this energy in her but would have a difficult time explaining it. Maybe it had something to do with the agile way she moved, maybe it was the teasing, flirtatious smile that every so often flashed across her face.
She was like a radio broadcast with secret signals that could be heard and understood by anyone who took the trouble to tune in. If you listened carefully, and you had the talent to pick up such tones, you would hear another voice altogether. I didn’t fully understand these signals, but I could receive them; my ears had been tuned to them since childhood. And I could hear them loud and clear.
A long table was covered with all kinds of food. There were elaborate salads with greens I’d never seen before, vegetables in olive oil, pickles, salted bonito and a plate of little fried fish.
Gülten and Rahmi’s wife Nuray were having white wine, but Kamile Hanım had joined the gentlemen, pouring herself a glass of rakı.
‘I’ve read all your books,’ Nuray said, excitedly.
‘Me too,’ said Gülten.
‘If only I’d come to this town sooner. My books have never been so widely read before.’
‘Everyone’s reading them. All the women in town,’ Gülten said.
Raci Bey and Rahmi listened to the conversation with distressed expressions. I found it all very amusing.
‘How do you do it?’ asked Gülten.
‘You get women just right. You get the way we think,’ Nuray said. Then, shooting a glance at her husband, she added, ‘I told Rahmi to read your books but he won’t.’
Rahmi mumbled something about not having enough time and was clearly angry at his wife for having put him on the spot.
Kamile Hanım listened quietly without saying a word.
She was waiting for something. I was waiting for something too.
I was still speaking with the others at the table, and as I turned my head from one person to another I slowed down for a fraction of a second, levelling my gaze at her, pausing for enough time to catch her signals.
Then it happened.
In that split second we caught each other’s eye and looked deep inside. I was right. She was right too. Now we knew what was bound to happen next.
I had been tense as I waited for this moment, but suddenly the stress left my body.
I have always sought the dark side of a woman’s heart, and when I find it I indulge, prepared to pay the price later on. I do it over and over again. I had discovered a new dark side; I was on the verge of doing something I definitely should not do. But I knew I could never hold myself back.
Kamile sensed the change in me and asked: ‘Why do you always write about women?’
‘They’re far more entertaining than men.’
‘But more dangerous,’ she said, challenging me.
‘And thus entertaining, no?’
Rahmi seemed lost. ‘Women more dangerous than men?’ he said.
I pitied him, along with the other women there. They ignored him. This man’s wife is up to something, I thought. The devil in me was working overtime.
I looked at Nuray. Her husband was behaving like a fool in front of a man he barely knew, and the rage and condescension in her face was tangible. He must have felt it too, because he’d lowered his head.
‘I’ve always wondered what people think to themselves when sitting around a table like this,’ I said. ‘What if we all shared every thought?’
‘What do you think? We’d kill each other,’ Kamile said.
Raci Bey didn’t say a word but glanced at his wife and I thought, This man is brighter than his son. I shouldn’t underestimate him.
I decided to address the men at the table.
‘What happened to the man shot in the hospital?’
‘He died,’ Rahmi said. ‘He was Muhacir’s son.’
‘I met Oleander but I’ve never met Muhacir,’ I said.
Seemingly uninterested in the world around him, Raci Bey quietly shifted in his chair.
‘Where did you meet Oleander?’
‘There’s a köfte restaurant where I usually have lunch. He came over once and we spoke for a while.’
‘Hmm,’ Raci Bey murmured and there was silence. Everything was silent. Rahmi looked over at his father.
‘What did he say?’
‘Not much … He told me about how he had been ambushed on the road into town. He seemed very proud of the incident.’
‘He’s a bad apple,’ said Raci Bey. ‘A nasty piece of work. If I were you, I’d stay away from him. You give him your hand and he’ll rip off your arm.’
‘So there’s a blood feud raging between him and Muhacir?’
‘For years.’
‘What kind of man is Muhacir? I’ve never seen him.’
‘He’s a gentleman,’ said Raci. ‘Respectful. Not like Oleander. Of course he’s involved in some shady stuff but that’s none of my business.’
So I could clearly see the two sides in the dispute. Raci Bey and Muhacir were aligned. And Mustafa’s real competitor in town was Raci Bey. It was surprising that this quiet, slovenly man, who was intimidated by his wife, was one of the main players in the power struggle. I hadn’t expected it.
‘That night they put up a fence around the church. Around the wells,’ I said.
‘I think you wrote the announcement?’ said Raci Bey.
‘I did. Mustafa asked me to.’
Raci Bey let out another hmm. ‘Do you know Mustafa from before?’
