Zülfü Livaneli: Bliss
03. May 2011 11:31
Is this what death is like?
When observed from the unfinished, desolate viaduct, the view of Istanbul presented a picture of misery, a scattered, mournful city, like the ruins left behind by a defeated army. It extended into the distance like a wounded giant-and all out of proportion, deformed.
No glimpses of the glamorous temples of the Paleologues, combining the form of the basilica with that of the dome, of the Ottoman mosques with their triple-balconied minarets, of the cheerful messages spelled out by festive Ramadan lights strung between these minarets, of Catholic or Orthodox churches, of imperial galleys with forty banks of oars, or of the palaces with porphyry columns, which transformed the Bosphorus with their brilliance, could be seen in this part of Istanbul.
This was a city distorted by immigration, its tissues swollen and its joints displaced. Under a gloomy, gray sky, drizzle and yellow haze blurred the outlines of jerry-built concrete-block shantytowns, green spaces saved from the axe either because they were military zones or cemeteries, and the distant skyscrapers.
On this wet, unpleasant Istanbul day, the two thin figures standing on the half-built, high concrete bridge paid no attention to the city, or the drizzle, or the occasional lightning flash or crack of thunder that livened up the dismal scene. This was any one of many unfinished bridges and roads around Istanbul, abandoned once the rapacious construction companies in league with a few ambitious bureaucrats had made sufficient profit from illegal deals and shoddy workmanship.
When Meryem looked down, she saw an enormous empty space stretching away beneath her toward a rocky piece of ground. It reminded her of the precipice in her dream, which had made her inmost being shiver and prompted her to take shelter from the coastal wind. This time, it was not the birds flying above, but Cemal, standing silently behind her like a serpent, who made her blood freeze.
Early that morning, Meryem had been woken abruptly and bundled out of the house. The way they had left Yakup's house at dawn without bidding a proper farewell, the absence of Yakup himself, the expression of terror on Nazik's face, and Cemal's implacable attitude indicated that the fate she had tried for so long to ignore was about to overtake her.
As they walked along the road wet with rain, then through muddy fields, Meryem realized that the day of reckoning had arrived. Cemal had taken his own bag but left hers behind at Yakup's house, suggesting that Meryem would no longer need that ragged bag or the few pieces of frayed clothing. She understood now the real reason for their sudden journey to Istanbul.
Now, here she was, trembling on the edge of the precipice, waiting to be thrown down like a used tissue. She recalled the fat, oily faces of the village women, who had grinned and wished her good luck in Istanbul. She remembered the hens she and Cemal had thrown into the air, to make them fly like airplanes. It was as if she had to review every small detail of her short life. She recalled how the birds' feet and wings had been broken. "I'm so sorry," she thought. "Cemal, are you sorry, too? Did you ever think about those hens? They hadn't far to fall. It's higher here-so high. Is Istanbul always so deserted and lonely? I'm cold, Cemal. My dress is wet. My back is freezing. Actually it's not the cold that is making me shiver, but fear. Have you ever felt such fear, Cemal? I have no wings to flap like that crow flying away over there. I can't look down while flying as it can, my heart would stop. God, why don't you love me? Why have you gone on punishing me ever since the day I was born? Cemal, God doesn't love me. He loves you. Why doesn't he love me? Forgive me, §eker Baba. I didn't sin on purpose. My aunt with the stony heart, who shut the door in my face, didn't warn me. If God had only loved me just a little . . ."
Meryem did not know whether she was thinking those words inside her head or saying them aloud. Dizzy and nauseated, she felt her stomach contract each time she looked into the void. Her belly perceived its depth, and gravity exerted its pull.
Suddenly, she heard Cemal say, "Say your prayers and show you believe in God."
He did not sound angry, and his voice was surprisingly soft. The warmth in his tone encouraged Meryem to turn around to look at him, but Cemal caught her by the shoulders and forced her to face the drop.
"Show that you believe in God," he said again. "After committing so many sins, at least say your prayers before you stand in front of Him."
After she had chanted three times in a loud voice the Islamic confession of faith: "E§hedu en la ilahe illallah, Muhammeden resulul-lah," the sudden, total silence made Meryem desperate. There was nothing more she could do now. God, who had never loved her, was punishing her for the last time, and here she was at the edge of this fearful drop. Cemal 'was merely the means, a wretched murderer fulfilling God's will that Meryem be punished.
"Cemal," said Meryem, the courage and determination in her voice startling even herself. "Cemal, I have one last wish to ask you, for the sake of the times we shared together in the past. Please blindfold me. I don't want to see the rocks when I fall. Please, I beg you, blindfold me." Her words ended with a hiccup and a sob.
published by St. Martin's Griffin, September 2007
photo: Petr Machan, PWF 2011
Watch Zülfü Livaneli reading at the 21. Prague Writers' Festival here.