since one of them is so ideological that she hates money, and the other is such a slob he wouldn’t even lift a finger to earn any, I’m the one who has to deal with practical matters. That weird, awful house is still sitting on that plot of land for nothing.”
“Aren’t your grandmother and that, you know, the guy who works there, aren’t they living in the house?”
“They are. But why can’t they live in an apartment of a building we could build there. Then I wouldn’t have to spend the wholewinter telling rich retards about the length of the hypotenuse and its relation to the radius of a circle, know what I mean?”
“I see your point,” he said. Vedat seemed a little uncomfortable, and I was afraid that he would think I was some kind of enemy of the rich.
He got up from the bed he hadn’t budged from until now, naked except for a little bathing suit, a nice tan on his handsome, smooth body. He yawned in an easy way, no pains, no cares.
“Funda will want to come! But she’s still asleep.”
He went to wake up his sister. A little while later he came back and furiously lit a cigarette as though his life were completely full of problems and he couldn’t do without one.
“You still don’t smoke?”
“No.”
There was a silence. I thought about Funda sleepily scratching herself in her bed. We talked a little about stupid things, like whether the sea was hot or cold. Then Funda came in the door.
“Vedat, where are my sandals?”
Last year this Funda was a little girl, this year she had long, beautiful legs and a little bikini.
“Hello, Metin!”
“Hello.”
“How are things?… Vedat, I asked you, where are my sandals?”
The brother and sister immediately started to argue: One said he wasn’t the keeper of the other’s things, the other asked how her straw hat had turned up in his closet the other day, and so it continued, back and forth, until Funda left, slamming the door. When she came back a little later, it was as if nothing were wrong, but then they started up again over who would look for the car key in their mother’s room. Finally Vedat went.
“Well, Funda,” I said, tense just to be there, “what else is new?”
“What could be new! It’s totally boring!”
We pressed on, talking for a while: I asked what year she had just completed—freshman year: she was doing two years’ “prep,” no, notin the German or Austrian high school, in the Italian one. So then I murmured these words to her: “Equipment electrique, Brevete type, Ansaldo San Giorgio Genova …” Funda asked me if I’d read them on some present someone brought me from Italy. I didn’t tell her that they were from the incomprehensible metal plates found above the doors on all the trolleys in Istanbul and that everyone in the city who used the trolleys wound up memorizing them to keep from dying of boredom; I got a feeling somehow that she would look down on me if I told her I rode the trolley. Then we were silent. I thought a little about the horrible creature they called their mother who slept until noon, reeked of creams and perfumes, who talked about playing cards to pass the time, and who passed the time by playing cards. Then Vedat came back, swinging the car keys on his finger.
We took the car that had been baking in the sun two hundred meters to Ceylan’s. I wanted to say something because I was afraid of seeming too excited.
“They changed this place a lot.”
We walked across the flagstones set a step apart in the lawn. A gardener was watering it in the heat. Finally I saw the girls, and trying to act natural, I said to Vedat and Funda, “Hey, do you ever play poker?”
“Huh?”
We came down the steps. The girls looked good lying there. Realizing they’d seen me, I thought with satisfaction: That money I won playing poker bought me the shirt from Ismet’s and these Levi’s I have over my bathing suit, and in my pants pocket I still have twelve thousand liras I earned in a month
“Aren’t your grandmother and that, you know, the guy who works there, aren’t they living in the house?”
“They are. But why can’t they live in an apartment of a building we could build there. Then I wouldn’t have to spend the wholewinter telling rich retards about the length of the hypotenuse and its relation to the radius of a circle, know what I mean?”
“I see your point,” he said. Vedat seemed a little uncomfortable, and I was afraid that he would think I was some kind of enemy of the rich.
He got up from the bed he hadn’t budged from until now, naked except for a little bathing suit, a nice tan on his handsome, smooth body. He yawned in an easy way, no pains, no cares.
“Funda will want to come! But she’s still asleep.”
He went to wake up his sister. A little while later he came back and furiously lit a cigarette as though his life were completely full of problems and he couldn’t do without one.
“You still don’t smoke?”
“No.”
There was a silence. I thought about Funda sleepily scratching herself in her bed. We talked a little about stupid things, like whether the sea was hot or cold. Then Funda came in the door.
“Vedat, where are my sandals?”
Last year this Funda was a little girl, this year she had long, beautiful legs and a little bikini.
“Hello, Metin!”
“Hello.”
“How are things?… Vedat, I asked you, where are my sandals?”
The brother and sister immediately started to argue: One said he wasn’t the keeper of the other’s things, the other asked how her straw hat had turned up in his closet the other day, and so it continued, back and forth, until Funda left, slamming the door. When she came back a little later, it was as if nothing were wrong, but then they started up again over who would look for the car key in their mother’s room. Finally Vedat went.
“Well, Funda,” I said, tense just to be there, “what else is new?”
“What could be new! It’s totally boring!”
We pressed on, talking for a while: I asked what year she had just completed—freshman year: she was doing two years’ “prep,” no, notin the German or Austrian high school, in the Italian one. So then I murmured these words to her: “Equipment electrique, Brevete type, Ansaldo San Giorgio Genova …” Funda asked me if I’d read them on some present someone brought me from Italy. I didn’t tell her that they were from the incomprehensible metal plates found above the doors on all the trolleys in Istanbul and that everyone in the city who used the trolleys wound up memorizing them to keep from dying of boredom; I got a feeling somehow that she would look down on me if I told her I rode the trolley. Then we were silent. I thought a little about the horrible creature they called their mother who slept until noon, reeked of creams and perfumes, who talked about playing cards to pass the time, and who passed the time by playing cards. Then Vedat came back, swinging the car keys on his finger.
We took the car that had been baking in the sun two hundred meters to Ceylan’s. I wanted to say something because I was afraid of seeming too excited.
“They changed this place a lot.”
We walked across the flagstones set a step apart in the lawn. A gardener was watering it in the heat. Finally I saw the girls, and trying to act natural, I said to Vedat and Funda, “Hey, do you ever play poker?”
“Huh?”
We came down the steps. The girls looked good lying there. Realizing they’d seen me, I thought with satisfaction: That money I won playing poker bought me the shirt from Ismet’s and these Levi’s I have over my bathing suit, and in my pants pocket I still have twelve thousand liras I earned in a month
Similar Books
