A Useless Man by Sait Faik Abasiyanik Page B

there was a student we didn’t know very well. He was probably repeating the year. Or maybe he was our age, but he looked like an old man. The way he talked and the way he smoked reminded us of those strange men we saw in the neighborhood coffee houses; he was from the streets. He gave off those dark desires. When he called out from the back, his voice was rough, even unbridled. Or maybe he was trying to bring the poor teacher back to life:
    “Damn, Celil! How many minutes left, for the love of God …”
    My friend blushed bright red. I could see sorrow in his face, but also rage and loathing. He turned around and stared at the brute in the back without saying a word. I’m sure the brute would have beaten him to a pulp if the teacher had been the sort of man who would let a brute beat a boy who wouldn’t hurt a fly. But the teacher was not that sort of man. With a kindly smile on his sallow face, he said:
    “Celil,
efendi
, my son, could you have a look at your watch? I would also like to know how much longer I must wait until I can leave.”
    Ashamed, Celil stood up:
    “Sir, the hairspring on my watch is broken.”
    Silence from the back. And then a shout:
    “Boooo … The hairspring’s broken … Go, hairspring Celil, go … Hairspring! Hairspring!”
    Then there were cries from the back and the front:
    “Hairspring! Hairspring!”
    I never imagined that the nickname would stick, and neither did my friends. But even before he left the classroom, Celil himself seemed to know.
    Within days, no one even remembered what his real name was. Even I wasn’t sure what to call my sad-eyed friend: Celil or Hairspring.
    I couldn’t call him Celil because everyone else in the class called him Hairspring. And for the same reason, I couldn’t call him Hairspring.
    When they called him by that name, he would lower his head and do his best to ignore them; but on the second or third time, he’d turn to face them, calmly, furiously. But he wouldn’t say a word.

    It was the last class of the day. My friend stood up to help a friend with his work. On his desk there was a clean copy of a letter he’d been scribbling out since the beginning of class. Though I knew it was a tasteless thing to do, I read the letter out of the corner of my eye, as if my friend had never left.
    Dearest Father
,
    I received your letter dated the 8th of this month. I can’t tell you how happy I was to hear from you. The weather here has been excellent. Though yesterday clouds covered the sky, and it rained buckets. The Nilüfer plain was so beautiful in the rain. The entire plain stretches out in front of my window. In the mornings it’s covered in mist, and it reminds me of the sea, and I think of Gemlik
(that’s where Celil was from)
and I long to see you. I’m studying hard like you told me to. But father, if I may, I need to ask a favor of you. You know the watch you gave me on our journey to school. It’s broken. You know the metal piece inside … what’s it called, that curly steel bit inside? Well, that’s broken. If someone is going that way next week I’ll give them the watch. The school is full of clocks. I don’t even need a watch. You can have it repaired and use it yourself. Love to you and mother and waiting for good news from you, my father
.
    Your son
,
      
Celil

A Useless Man

    I’ve been feeling odd lately. I prefer to keep myself to myself, and I don’t want anyone knocking on my door, not even mailmen, the nicest men in the world. But I’m happy enough with my neighborhood. What if I told you I hadn’t left it in seven years? Or that none of my friends know where I am? For seven years now, I haven’t strayed beyond these four streets, except to walk down to Karaköy at the end of each quarter, to collect the rent from our store.
    There are three parallel streets, and one that cuts across, and then there is my street, cut off from all the others and so short and narrow you might not even consider it a