looked out the open window together.
“Recep, how is Cennethisar this summer?”
“Bad,” he said. “It’s not like it used to be. People have become bad, really nasty!” he said.
He turned and looked me in the face, expecting understanding. Between the trees the sea was visible in the distance, and we could hear the buzz coming from the beach. Metin joined us:
“Faruk, could you give me the car keys?”
“Where are you going?”
“I’m getting my bag out and then I’m leaving.”
“If you bring our bags upstairs, I’ll let you have the car until tomorrow morning,” I said.
“Don’t worry, Faruk Bey, I’ll take care of the bags,” said Recep.
“Aren’t you going to the archives now in search of the plague?” said Metin.
“What are you going to look for?” said Recep.
“The plague I’ll look for tomorrow,” I said.
“Are you going to start drinking right away?” said Metin.
“What’s my drinking to you?” I said, but I wasn’t mad.
“Right,” said Metin, as he took the car keys and left.
Without thinking about anything I walked out behind Metin and went down the steps to the opening of the narrow passage. Recep was behind me.
“Is the key for the laundry still here?” I said. I slid my hand along the top of the door frame and found the dusty key.
“Madam doesn’t know,” said Recep. “Don’t tell her.”
I had to push hard to force the door open. Something must have fallen behind it: a skull covered with dust stuck between the door and the trunk. I picked it up and blew on it, then trying to look cheerful I showed it to him.
“Do you remember this?”
“Sir?”
“I guess you never come in here.”
I left the dusty skull on a little table that was covered with papers.
I was playing with a glass pipe I had taken into my hand as a child would, before setting it down on one of the pans of a rusty pair of scales. Standing silent in the doorway, Recep looked fearfully at the things I was touching: hundreds of little vials, pieces of broken glass, trunks, pieces of bone thrown into a box, old newspapers, rusty scissors, tweezers, French books of anatomy and medicine, boxes full of paper, pictures of birds and airplanes tacked to a board, eyeglasslenses, a circle divided into seven colors, chains, the sewing machine whose pedal I used to push pretending to be a driver when I was little, screwdrivers, bugs and lizards pinned to boards, hundreds of empty bottles with MONOPOLIES ADMINISTRATION written on them, all kinds of powders in labeled pharmacy bottles, and even mushrooms, in a flowerpot …
“Are those mushrooms, Faruk Bey?” said Recep.
“Yes, take them if you can use them.”
He didn’t enter, probably because he was afraid; so I went over and gave them to him. Then I found the brass sign indicating in the old Ottoman letters and in Ottoman time that Dr. Selâhattin accepted visitors every day from two to six and in the afternoon from eight to twelve. For a moment I felt like taking it back to Istanbul, not just because I thought it was charming but as a memento of him. Immediately, however, I was overcome by a strange disgust and fear of the past, and so I tossed the sign back on the heap of dusty things. After locking the door, I went over to the kitchen with Recep. On the staircase, Metin was carrying the bags upstairs, grumbling.
5
Metin Wastes No Time
A fter I’d brought Faruk and Nilgün’s suitcases upstairs, I stripped down, put my bathing suit on under my summer clothes, grabbed my wallet, for once full of money, went downstairs, and took off in the old broken-down Anadol, headed for Vedat’s. When I got there, there was no sign of life except for the maid working in the kitchen. So I went around to the back through the garden, and pushing a little on the window, I spotted old Vedat lying in his bed. I sprang like a cat into the room and smashed his head into the pillow.
“Hey, you stupid animal,” he shouted. “What’s the idea? You
“Recep, how is Cennethisar this summer?”
“Bad,” he said. “It’s not like it used to be. People have become bad, really nasty!” he said.
He turned and looked me in the face, expecting understanding. Between the trees the sea was visible in the distance, and we could hear the buzz coming from the beach. Metin joined us:
“Faruk, could you give me the car keys?”
“Where are you going?”
“I’m getting my bag out and then I’m leaving.”
“If you bring our bags upstairs, I’ll let you have the car until tomorrow morning,” I said.
“Don’t worry, Faruk Bey, I’ll take care of the bags,” said Recep.
“Aren’t you going to the archives now in search of the plague?” said Metin.
“What are you going to look for?” said Recep.
“The plague I’ll look for tomorrow,” I said.
“Are you going to start drinking right away?” said Metin.
“What’s my drinking to you?” I said, but I wasn’t mad.
“Right,” said Metin, as he took the car keys and left.
Without thinking about anything I walked out behind Metin and went down the steps to the opening of the narrow passage. Recep was behind me.
“Is the key for the laundry still here?” I said. I slid my hand along the top of the door frame and found the dusty key.
“Madam doesn’t know,” said Recep. “Don’t tell her.”
I had to push hard to force the door open. Something must have fallen behind it: a skull covered with dust stuck between the door and the trunk. I picked it up and blew on it, then trying to look cheerful I showed it to him.
“Do you remember this?”
“Sir?”
“I guess you never come in here.”
I left the dusty skull on a little table that was covered with papers.
I was playing with a glass pipe I had taken into my hand as a child would, before setting it down on one of the pans of a rusty pair of scales. Standing silent in the doorway, Recep looked fearfully at the things I was touching: hundreds of little vials, pieces of broken glass, trunks, pieces of bone thrown into a box, old newspapers, rusty scissors, tweezers, French books of anatomy and medicine, boxes full of paper, pictures of birds and airplanes tacked to a board, eyeglasslenses, a circle divided into seven colors, chains, the sewing machine whose pedal I used to push pretending to be a driver when I was little, screwdrivers, bugs and lizards pinned to boards, hundreds of empty bottles with MONOPOLIES ADMINISTRATION written on them, all kinds of powders in labeled pharmacy bottles, and even mushrooms, in a flowerpot …
“Are those mushrooms, Faruk Bey?” said Recep.
“Yes, take them if you can use them.”
He didn’t enter, probably because he was afraid; so I went over and gave them to him. Then I found the brass sign indicating in the old Ottoman letters and in Ottoman time that Dr. Selâhattin accepted visitors every day from two to six and in the afternoon from eight to twelve. For a moment I felt like taking it back to Istanbul, not just because I thought it was charming but as a memento of him. Immediately, however, I was overcome by a strange disgust and fear of the past, and so I tossed the sign back on the heap of dusty things. After locking the door, I went over to the kitchen with Recep. On the staircase, Metin was carrying the bags upstairs, grumbling.
5
Metin Wastes No Time
A fter I’d brought Faruk and Nilgün’s suitcases upstairs, I stripped down, put my bathing suit on under my summer clothes, grabbed my wallet, for once full of money, went downstairs, and took off in the old broken-down Anadol, headed for Vedat’s. When I got there, there was no sign of life except for the maid working in the kitchen. So I went around to the back through the garden, and pushing a little on the window, I spotted old Vedat lying in his bed. I sprang like a cat into the room and smashed his head into the pillow.
“Hey, you stupid animal,” he shouted. “What’s the idea? You
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