Zülfü Livaneli: Bliss

His father had given him only just enough money for the long journey to Istanbul, partly from poverty, partly from his ignorance of the world outside his village. So it had not been enough for two tickets on the bus, and the train was so much cheaper.

Opposite Cemal sat a black-haired girl with what must be her parents. The man next to him was hugging a woman who was obviously his wife. Cemal turned to look at Meryem. She was sitting still, quietly star­ing out of the window.

"What am I going to do with this girl?" he wondered, reverting to the problem he had been trying to push from his mind since the be­ginning of the journey by reminiscing over his days in the army.

He could not oppose his father's will and defy his family. Killing , her would be easy from what he remembered of her as a small girl, but doubts had begun to grow in his mind after he had spoken with Emine when they had met in the seclusion of the poplar grove.

"The whole village knows the duty you've been given," she said. "That poor girl's being sent to Istanbul, just like others before her. Can such a thing be happening in this day and age? Your family's crazy. At least, don't you murder her! What's the poor child done?" Then, more to the point, she added, "I've waited two years for you to come back from the army, and I'm not waiting for you to come back from jail."

Cemal had not had the courage to explain to his father that he wanted to marry Emine, with whom he was deeply in love, and these words struck him a great blow. He knew there were many previously rejected suitors waiting to step into his shoes if he should go to prison, and here she was telling him she would wait no longer.

"Let somebody else do it," she said.

"There's no one else in the family who can."

"Then spare her."

...

However hard Cemal might try to forget Meryem, she was real and sitting there by his side. However much it might cost him, he had to fulfill his duty. Emine was right, but the matter was beyond his control. He had no choice.

Maybe he could take Meryem to the end of the carriage that night while everyone was asleep, strangle her, and throw the body into a de­serted field. In two minutes the train would have left that place behind. Someone would probably find her the next day, but what could they prove? Maybe it would be better to push her off the train while they were crossing a bridge. Even if her body were found at the bottom of a gorge, who would care about a dead girl in baggy pants?

Cemal had become familiar with death during his time as a soldier. In fact, life without death seemed strange. He never forgot the cap­tain's words spoken during their training: "It is you who will punish the traitors who are trying to destroy the nation and divide this country created through the blood of countless martyrs, who died in the ser­vice of the Turkish state. It is your honorable duty to protect the unity of the Republic and the nation. Whoever dies for his country goes straight to heaven. Kill the terrorists on sight, my sons-remember, it is they who are murdering your friends."

The captain then told them that there was no such language as Kur­dish, and that those who called themselves Kurds were actually moun­tain Turks who had come to Anatolia from Central Asia like all other Turkish peoples.

Cemal did not understand the meaning of this as he knew that Kurds spoke a different language. He himself could speak their language a little. Even the dogs in the region understood Kurdish, not Turkish, and would attack if the soldiers used Turkish to send them on their way.

Cemal got up, left the compartment, and went to the toilet on his way to inspect the door at the end of the corridor. On the floor there was a sick woman lying on a pile of newspapers. She was moaning, as a man and two children looked on.

When Cemal returned to the compartment, he found himself in the middle of a commotion. Everybody was talking at the same time. He sat down. Seher was exchanging words with the young man sitting be­side him, while everyone else was either taking sides or trying to hush things up.

Curled up in her seat, Meryem sat watching in silence. The quarrel had broken out because of her. Taking advantage of Cemal's absence, she had tried to strike up a conversation with the old woman by asking her why she had cried earlier when she had said, "If we're in time."

The woman said that her son, a university student, had been put in prison where he was taking part in a hunger strike. Along with several others, he was protesting against the conditions in the jail. For the past seventy days, the protestors had not taken any nourishment.

...

The old woman was going to Ankara to try to see her son and beg him to abandon the fast. As a mother, what else could she do!

When the old woman finished her story, the young man across from her said that he could understand a mother's pain, but that terror­ists had been using the strike for political propaganda. All hell had then broken loose-just as Cemal entered the compartment.

"What kind of person are you?" Seher was shouting at the young man. "Hundreds of young people are dying. Besides doing nothing to help them, you tell a mother her son's a terrorist! What right have you to say such things?"

"Wasn't your brother arrested under the Prevention of Terrorism Act?" replied the young man calmly.

"My brother isn't a terrorist. He never joined in any of their activi­ties."

"Why was he arrested then? Wasn't it for terrorism?"

The young man was an aggressive, quarrelsome type, whom his wife strove in vain to keep quiet.

"My brother worked for a student association and read books," Se­her retorted. "That's all."

"But this law only punishes terrorists."

"Ten thousand people are in jail because of that law," Seher yelled, "and nine thousand of them are there because they wrote slogans on walls, read certain books, or set up student associations! You have no feelings."

Seher's mother tried to calm her down. "Don't get upset," she pleaded. "Keep calm."

Silently smoking his cigarette, Seher's father looked on without taking any part in the argument, careful not to meet anyone's eyes.

"Student associations?" the young man sneered. "I know what kind of students they are!"

"What do you know?" Seher exploded. "Have you ever met my brother?" "No, not your brother, but I've come face-to-face with those like him. I've fought against them. I know their type."

...

Ekrem jumped up immediately, utterly furious. He grabbed the old man with one hand and made as if to reach for his pistol with the other. The old man took no notice of his gesture and even had a slight smile on his face.

...

Meryem's legs were numb. She wanted to stand up and walk a little, but was afraid of waking up Cemal, who was sleeping next to her. He had done hardly anything but sleep since they started on their journey.

Plucking up all her courage, Meryem slowly got to her feet and tip­toed toward the door. She had taken no more than two steps when Ce­mal asked, "Where are you off to?"

"Just into the corridor."

...

Meryem opened the toilet door and stepped out. She saw Cemal standing in the corridor, silently smoking. He 'was frowning. Should she say nothing and just pass by him quietly? What else could she do? Wishing she were invisible, she walked forward to go past him. "Stop," he said suddenly, stepping in front of her and taking her by the arm.

Meryem was surprised and relieved. Cemal had begun to talk to her again. She did not mind what he said, even if he got angry and scolded her. She just wanted him to talk.

The train swayed suddenly, and Meryem held on to the rail in front of the window.

"Look, girl," said Cemal. "This is the door of the train."

"Yes, I know," replied Meryem before she could stop herself. "That's how we got on last night." It seemed to her that Cemal became a little angrier.

Suddenly, Cemal opened the door, and a rush of wind and deafen­ing noise filled the corridor. Cemal bent forward and looked out. Al­most immediately, he pulled his head in, gasping for breath. "Here, take a look," he ordered Meryem.

Meryem, uncertain whether it was some kind of game like the ones they had played in the old days, was afraid to lean out, but felt she had no other choice. Clinging to the side of the door, she leaned forward, thrusting her head out. The wind whipped her face, and the train's whistle screeched, terrifying her. 

Translated from the Turkish by Çiğem Aksoy Fromm