Ceren got on his tail.”
Her face suddenly grew bitter, lower lip twisted and distended, like Mürevvet Sim. Her eyes rolled sideways, disapprovingly.
“Ceren peddled him right and left. He was just rolling in it. A hairless boy, like a peanut. And he knew what he was doing.
Who knows how many tricks a night he turned; you can imagine.”
There was an unmistakable trace of envy in Gönül’s voice. And she did have a point after all, she’d found the beautiful boy, brought him to the city, and then seen the cream of her efforts skimmed off by Ceren.
“Do you have any idea how he died?”
“He drowned. In a well. You know the proverb about the earthenware water jug being broken on the way to the well. Well, in this case it’s true. He died as he lived.”
“And Ceren died just a day earlier in a fire.”
“May Allah damn her to hell! May she burn in hell! The whore got what she deserved. That disgusting bitch! What else can I say?”
“Well, she is dead,” I noted.
We exchanged plates. I started on the filet mignon.
“I’m so upset about Gül,” Gönül continued, mouth full.
“He was just so pretty. Like his name. A beautiful face like the Prophet Joseph.”
That’s it! The uncanny coincidence, half registered and half hidden somewhere in the shadows of my mind, was lit up as though by a flashbulb: the similarity between what happened to Gül-Yusuf and the story of the Prophet Yusuf! Both were renowned for their beauty. Both were the youngest of a large family. With his perfect temperament and beauty, the Prophet Yusuf was the most beloved of his father’s children. The Prophet Yusuf also had elder brothers. According to the Holy Book, the brothers were so jealous of their father’s favouritism they cast poor Yusuf into a well. Gül also had brothers. And Gül died in a well.
The newly arrived cup of strong, black coffee brings me back to my senses. Her brothers must have found and punished her. That sort of traditional justice is still common in some parts. Families gather to pass judgement on members who have gone astray. A verdict of execution is often reached. And this particular execution is usually carried out in the most horrific way imaginable. That could be what happened to Gül, the young Yusuf. If so, it was a truly brutal act. I shuddered.
Eight
I got rid of Gönül as quickly as possible. I needed to collect my thoughts.
If Yusuf had been killed by his brothers, they could have stumbled across Ceren while tracking down Yusuf, and killed her for getting her brother mixed up in homosexuality. But Ceren died first! Well, that was possible. Perhaps they grilled her to find out where Yusuf was; they may even have tortured her to make her talk. And then they found Yusuf . . .
Okay so far, but even if true how could I prove it? I had nothing but a collection of hypotheses. I might be imagining the whole thing.
There was a pounding in my temples. Violence of any kind totally rattles me.
The lady doctor at the coroner’s office could be of help, but that was conditional on one thing: letting her play with my arse. I could clench my jaw and let her. The worst possible scenario was failing to get any information. I’d end up with a sore bum for nothing.
If I only knew exactly what I was looking for. But I didn’t.
Perhaps commissioner Selçuk Tanyer, whom I hadn’t seen in ages, could be of some help. I went home and looked him up in my rolodex. He was listed on the last page under the title “police chief”. Right at my fingertips.
It took some effort to reach him, but I finally did.
“Hey!” he exclaimed. “Long time no see. You only call when you need something.”
There’s nothing more irritating then beginning a conversation with a reproach. He acted as though my answering machine was full of messages from him. As though he’d been trying to reach me but I only thought of him when it was useful.
“I didn’t wish to disturb you,” I said. “I know how devoted you
Her face suddenly grew bitter, lower lip twisted and distended, like Mürevvet Sim. Her eyes rolled sideways, disapprovingly.
“Ceren peddled him right and left. He was just rolling in it. A hairless boy, like a peanut. And he knew what he was doing.
Who knows how many tricks a night he turned; you can imagine.”
There was an unmistakable trace of envy in Gönül’s voice. And she did have a point after all, she’d found the beautiful boy, brought him to the city, and then seen the cream of her efforts skimmed off by Ceren.
“Do you have any idea how he died?”
“He drowned. In a well. You know the proverb about the earthenware water jug being broken on the way to the well. Well, in this case it’s true. He died as he lived.”
“And Ceren died just a day earlier in a fire.”
“May Allah damn her to hell! May she burn in hell! The whore got what she deserved. That disgusting bitch! What else can I say?”
“Well, she is dead,” I noted.
We exchanged plates. I started on the filet mignon.
“I’m so upset about Gül,” Gönül continued, mouth full.
“He was just so pretty. Like his name. A beautiful face like the Prophet Joseph.”
That’s it! The uncanny coincidence, half registered and half hidden somewhere in the shadows of my mind, was lit up as though by a flashbulb: the similarity between what happened to Gül-Yusuf and the story of the Prophet Yusuf! Both were renowned for their beauty. Both were the youngest of a large family. With his perfect temperament and beauty, the Prophet Yusuf was the most beloved of his father’s children. The Prophet Yusuf also had elder brothers. According to the Holy Book, the brothers were so jealous of their father’s favouritism they cast poor Yusuf into a well. Gül also had brothers. And Gül died in a well.
The newly arrived cup of strong, black coffee brings me back to my senses. Her brothers must have found and punished her. That sort of traditional justice is still common in some parts. Families gather to pass judgement on members who have gone astray. A verdict of execution is often reached. And this particular execution is usually carried out in the most horrific way imaginable. That could be what happened to Gül, the young Yusuf. If so, it was a truly brutal act. I shuddered.
Eight
I got rid of Gönül as quickly as possible. I needed to collect my thoughts.
If Yusuf had been killed by his brothers, they could have stumbled across Ceren while tracking down Yusuf, and killed her for getting her brother mixed up in homosexuality. But Ceren died first! Well, that was possible. Perhaps they grilled her to find out where Yusuf was; they may even have tortured her to make her talk. And then they found Yusuf . . .
Okay so far, but even if true how could I prove it? I had nothing but a collection of hypotheses. I might be imagining the whole thing.
There was a pounding in my temples. Violence of any kind totally rattles me.
The lady doctor at the coroner’s office could be of help, but that was conditional on one thing: letting her play with my arse. I could clench my jaw and let her. The worst possible scenario was failing to get any information. I’d end up with a sore bum for nothing.
If I only knew exactly what I was looking for. But I didn’t.
Perhaps commissioner Selçuk Tanyer, whom I hadn’t seen in ages, could be of some help. I went home and looked him up in my rolodex. He was listed on the last page under the title “police chief”. Right at my fingertips.
It took some effort to reach him, but I finally did.
“Hey!” he exclaimed. “Long time no see. You only call when you need something.”
There’s nothing more irritating then beginning a conversation with a reproach. He acted as though my answering machine was full of messages from him. As though he’d been trying to reach me but I only thought of him when it was useful.
“I didn’t wish to disturb you,” I said. “I know how devoted you
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