Silent House (45 page)

I didn’t go by the lower neighborhood, because there was a pack of worthless bums hanging out there, watching everybody pass, trying to figure out what they were up to. I went off the paved road, right where Metin’s car got stuck last night, and straight down through the vegetable gardens. When I reached the train track, I walked the length of the Agricultural School toward the station. If it had been up to my father and if the entrance exam hadn’t asked questions about stuff we were never taught, I would have been put in this Agricultural School, because it was close to home, and I would have graduated next year with a gardener’s diploma. But when you have a diploma, they don’t call you a gardener, they say, “civil servant,” yes, a civil servant, because you wear a tie, but, if you ask me, you’re just a gardener wearing a tie. They have classes in the summer too. You see them when the bell rings, running over to kiss the teacher’s ass so they can show you in a laboratory what a tomato seed looks like. Pathetic zit faces! Anyway, seeing them, I was really glad that girl crossed my path, because if she hadn’t brought all this upon me, I might have been willing to become a gardener with a tie or a barber with his own shop. Of course to get to be a barber from being an apprentice, I’d have to spend at least ten years smelling not just my father’s breath but the barber’s as well. These things took time!

In front of the cable factory, a bunch of workers were waiting together by the red-and-white guardrail that went up and down so
that cars couldn’t cross when the train was passing, except they didn’t enter that way but quietly through the little side door, punching in at the guard shack, where the watchmen looked them over like prison inmates. The factory was completely surrounded by barbed wire. Yes, what they called a modern factory was basically a prison, and for the pleasure of the machines, the lives of the poor slaves were consumed from eight in the morning until five in the evening. If my father had only had a connection, he would have instantly forgotten about my studies and gotten me a place among these workers, and while I fretted about spending all my years in this prison at some machine, he would have been happy, telling himself “My son is set for life.”

I looked at some empty barrels on which our guys had written what we do to Communists. Then I watched some freight that a crane was lifting from a ship at the factory’s dock. What a huge load! Its movements in the air were so strange! Who knew where this ship would go now, once it had delivered its cargo. I wanted to watch the ship a bit longer, but then, seeing the workers coming from across the way, I didn’t want them to think I was some kind of worthless bum. Just because these guys had some connection by which to get themselves a job, I couldn’t have them thinking they were better than me. Anyway, there wasn’t much difference between us; their hair was combed and their clothes were clean. If I didn’t have mud on my sneakers you wouldn’t even know that I was out of a job.

I had forgotten about the fountain here. First, I had a really good drink of water, which hurt my empty stomach, but still it was good. Then I managed to clean my sneakers, and as I was getting the red mud of this godforsaken place, the disgusting filth of the past, off my feet, somebody came by.

“Could I get in and have a drink there, brother?” he said.

I stepped back. He must have been a worker, considering he was wearing a jacket in this heat. He took it off, folded it neatly, and laid it to the side. Then instead of drinking water, he started to flush out his nose and gargle. I got it: if you were really smart, you could not
only find a job, but you could take somebody’s turn by asking if you could have a drink and then wash your snot out. I wondered if he had graduated from middle school. I could see a wallet in the pocket of his jacket. While he was still blowing his nose, I got mad, so I grabbed the wallet out of his jacket and stuck it in my back pocket. I had it tucked away, and he was still blowing his nose. A little later, just to make me feel good, he pretended to take a sip of water.

“Okay, buddy, that’s enough,” I said. “I have work to do, too.”

He stepped back. Then he said, “Thanks!” out of breath. He took his jacket and put it on. He didn’t notice anything amiss. As I calmly washed off my sneakers he went off toward the factory. I didn’t even watch him go. By the time I had removed most of the mud he was gone from sight. I went off quickly in the other direction, straight toward the station. The crickets had started up on account of the heat. A train came in behind me, people packed like sardines, heading to work on Monday morning, and they stared at me as it passed by. I figured I’d let this one go by and wait for the next one.

I walked the station platform with the notebook in my hand, trying to seem lost in thought like everybody else with something to do. I didn’t even look at the two gendarmes on patrol. I headed straight to the snack bar.

“Three cheese toasts!” I said.

A hand reached out into the window and took three pieces of yellow cheese that were hanging there and put them into rolls. They hang the cheese slices in the window like that so you think that the sandwiches have a lot of cheese in them. You’re very clever, aren’t you, and because you think you’re smarter than I am, you think you’ve got it made. But what if I’m not the idiot you think I am; what if I’m smarter than you are, and I mess up your little schemes. Then I had an idea.

“Let me have a razor blade and some glue,” I said, laying one hundred liras on the marble countertop of the snack bar.

I picked up the change and my purchases and left. Again, I didn’t look at the gendarmes. The restrooms in these stations are at the
end of the platform. They smelled like shit. I fastened the latch on the door from the inside and proceeded to go through the wallet I’d put in my back pocket. Our clever worker had one one-thousand-lira bill, two five hundreds, and so, together with the change, that made two thousand five liras. In the other compartment of the wallet there was identification, as I expected—a social security card. Given name: Ibrahim. Family name: Sener. Father’s name: Fevzi. Mother’s name: Kamer, Trabzon, Sürmene, etc. Perfect. I read all of it a few times and memorized it. Then I took out my student ID and, leaning against the wall, carefully cut out my picture with the razor. With the edge of my fingernail I scraped off the cardboard backing from the picture. Then I took Ibrahim Sener’s picture off the social security card, and when I’d glued my picture in its place, I became Ibrahim Sener. So far it was easy. I put Ibrahim Sener’s social security card back in the wallet and put the wallet in my pocket. Then I left the restroom and walked back to the snack stand.

My toasts were ready. I ate with pleasure, since I had put nothing in my stomach for a whole day except for cherries and unripe garden tomatoes. I drank an
ayran
, too, and looked to see what else I could eat, since my pocket was full of money. There were cookies, chocolate, but none of it caught my eye. So I asked for another toast and told him I wanted it well done, but the guy didn’t say anything. Leaning against the counter, I turned a little toward the station, I felt good, not worried about anything. Only once did I turn toward the fountain to see if anyone was coming along the train tracks, but there was nobody. He thought he was so smart, our clever worker, but he still hadn’t figured out that I had made off with his wallet. Maybe he did realize it was gone but couldn’t imagine that I would have taken it. When my toast was ready, I asked for a newspaper.

“Hürriyet.”

They had put a bench there, so I sat down without attracting anyone’s attention and read while I ate my sandwich.

First, I looked to see how many people had been killed yesterday. In Kars, in Izmir, in Antalya, in Balgat, in Ankara … I skipped over
Istanbul and looked at the end. We’d lost twelve, they’d lost sixteen people. Then I looked at the ones from Istanbul, nothing there, not even the name of Izmit. Then, anxiously, I looked at the section I was really afraid of; I read quickly, but there was no Nilgün Darvinoğlu among the injured. I read through all the names again, but in fact she wasn’t there. Maybe this newspaper missed her, I thought, so I went and got a
Milliyet
. She wasn’t among their list of injured either. Anyway, they listed the injured, but not usually the ones who did it. It’s not important: if I’d wanted to see my name in the newspaper, I would have become either a prostitute or a football player.

Then I absentmindedly folded up the newspapers, went inside, over to the ticket booth; I knew right away where I was going.

“One for Üsküdar,” I said.

“The train doesn’t go to Üsküdar!” said the obnoxious ticket agent. “The last stop is Haydarpasha.”

“I know, I know!” I said. “Give me a Haydarpasha.”

He still didn’t give me the ticket. Goddamn you. This time:

“Regular or student?” he said.

“I’m not a student anymore!” I said. “My name is Ibrahim Sener.”

“What do I care what your name is!” he said, but he must have got scared when he saw my face, because he shut up and gave me the ticket.

I was ticked off. I’m not afraid of anyone. I went outside and looked up and down the track, but there was nothing coming or going. Some other smart alecks were sitting on the bench where I had been sitting. I thought of going over and making them get up, saying I was just sitting here, but it didn’t seem worth it right now, the whole crowd waiting for the train might have ganged up on me. As I looked around to see if there was anyplace else to sit, I suddenly got scared: the gendarmes were looking at me.

“Buddy, do you have the time?” said one of them.

“Me?” I said. “Yeah, I have the time.”

“What time is it?”

“Time?” I said. “It’s five after eight.”

They didn’t say anything, just went off talking together. I kept on walking, but where was I going? Anyway I spotted an empty bench, so I sat down. Then like the people going to work, I lit my cigarette and opened my newspaper and concentrated on my reading. After finishing with the domestic news, I read the international news as well, paying close attention, like some important guy with a wife, kids, and responsibilities, interests to look after; I said to myself, If Brezhnev and Carter have secretly agreed to carve up Turkey, nothing could stop them. I was saying, Maybe they are the ones who sent the pope to Turkey, too, when somebody sat next to me, and I got scared.

I looked at him from the corner of my eye, without lowering my paper. He had huge, wrinkled hands, thick fingers, resting in a tired way on pants that were even more worn than mine. I looked at his face and understood: he was a poor old worker, sagging from work. I felt sorry for him. In a few years, assuming you don’t die, you’ll retire, and your life will have been for nothing. But he seemed completely unaware, not complaining, just staring at the people on the other side of the tracks, pretty cheerful, actually. Then I thought, Is he up to something, maybe he and they are in on this together, maybe all of them, everybody waiting in the station, are just playing with me. I shivered. But then the old worker let out such a yawn that I realized he was just a complete fool. What am I afraid of? They should be afraid of me! When I thought of that, I relaxed.

At that point it occurred to me that I could tell him everything, this old guy, maybe he even knew my father from somewhere—my dad really gets around—that’s right, I’m the son of that crippled lottery-ticket seller, and now I’m going off to Istanbul. To Üsküdar! I could even tell him about Nilgün and about our guys and what they thought of me, But look, that newspaper you’re holding has nothing about it yet, you know, sometimes it seems to me that all of this, all our country’s sorrows, are on account of some bastards who just enjoy playing with us, but one day I’m going to do something, I’m going to take the fun out of their games. I don’t know yet what it is that
I’m going to do, but you’re all going to be amazed, you understand? This newspaper here will write all about it then, these fools waiting for the train, happy because they have a job to go to every morning, who ignore everything that’s going on, they will understand then, they’ll be shocked, they’ll even be afraid of me, and they’ll think, We didn’t know all this, everything, was so pointless, and we had no idea. When that day comes, the television will talk about me, too, not just the newspapers, they’ll understand, you’ll all understand.

The train was coming; I folded the newspaper carefully and calmly got to my feet. Then I took a look at Faruk’s notebook filled with his handwriting, even read a little! What nonsense!
History is for slaves, stories for people who are half asleep, fables for stupid children; history is for fools, pathetic creatures, cowards!
I couldn’t even be bothered to rip it up. I just threw it into the trash bin next to the bench. Then, just like people who don’t think about the things they do, just like everybody, I dropped my cigarette butt casually on the ground, and I crushed it without thinking, just the way you do. The doors of the cars opened: hundreds of faces looking out at me. They go off to work in the morning, they come home from work at night, so they can go back to work in the morning and come home at night again, poor jerks, they don’t know, they don’t know! But they’ll learn! I’ll teach them, but not just yet, I thought; for now, okay, I’ll be like one of you who has a job to go to in the morning, look, I’m just like all of you, I’m getting on the crowded train, I’m joining you.

The inside of the car crawling with people was humid and hot. Watch out for me from now on! Be afraid!

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