The Birds Have Also Gone Page 6

  Don’t imagine that Semih will hunt quails with his falcon only. Oh no! There are those long nets fishermen hang up to dry on the wharves at Rumelihisar. That’s where Semih plans to pilfer a net of two. He has often done this in the past, selling off the nets to fishermen in another part of the town, telling them, my father went to sea and never returned, his boat leaked, a storm blew up, these are his nets … If they make it up, Semih, Hayri and Long Süleyman … And why shouldn’t they? There’s been no blood shed between them … This isn’t the first time Semih has played a dirty trick on them, not by a long shot! Well, anyway, they’ll hang those nets along the shore of the Black Sea at Kilyos and filch a sailor’s lantern from the blind ironmonger at Kasimpaşa, five lanterns if necessary and place them all aglow in the night behind the hanging nets, so the birds coming from across the sea will be lured by the lights and fall into the trap. Semih knows well how to set about it. It’s not as though he’s never eaten one of those nice juicy quails. So has Süleyman … Well, fuck it, he’s eaten one quail in his life only. Oh fuck it, would Semih refuse Süleyman one wing of the quail he was devouring? Liar! Is there another one as generous as Semih in all of Istanbul? Why, Semih would give his life for a friend, not just a quail’s wing, a meagre little bit of meat … As for Hayri, he’s fed on quails all his life, back there in Rize, his hometown on the Black Sea. Aaah, if only that fool of a father of his, that drunkard, had not shot his next-door neighbour in a moment of rage, that neighbour who had always been like a brother to him … Would Hayri’s mother ever have sold the family’s tea garden then? Never, not if they killed her. Yet she had to, in order to save her husband. All the money went to the lawyers. And after the tea garden … They had owned five cows, she sold them too. Then the house went, the huge house where they lived in Rize, and then the large fishing boat on which eight deck hands were employed. Everything the family had was sold and the money handed over to the lawyers who said they needed it to mollify the judges. All that money the judge pocketed, and in the end they sentenced Hayri’s father to fifteen years in prison. He’ll be released at the next amnesty, for sure, but God knows when that’ll be.

  Hayri ran away. He left his mother back there in Rize, all alone, penniless, homeless … What else could he do?

  This is how it came about. One dark wet night, they had fastened their net between the trees and were waiting with their hawks ready for the quails to come … Oh yes, Hayri has caught ever so many quails, he fed on them one time … The quail smells of the sea, of seaweed and of rain. It smells also of wet tree bark. You broil it and, as you eat, the good juicy fat trickles down your chin and fingers. The very thought of it … Well, anyway, they were lying in wait there for the rain of quails, when Hayri moved a little way off from his friends, towards another tree where it was very dark. Why did he go there? He does not remember now. Had somebody called to him, had he heard a sound? He doesn’t know. What he remembers is that the minute he reached the tree two strong hands closed over his mouth, so hard he could not breathe, and at the same time another pair of hands gripped his throat. Then he fainted. That’s all he remembers. When he opened his eyes again he was in the house of Skipper Temel, another neighbour. Later he learned that it was the two brothers of the neighbour his father had killed who had tried to strangle him. And after that they began to follow Hayri like his shadow. One day, one early dawn maybe, Hayri never says exactly when, he managed to give them the slip. Straightaway he hopped into a fishing vessel heading for Istanbul and thus made good his escape.

  Ever since, Hayri has been adrift in Istanbul. That’s quite a long time now and there’s nothing he hasn’t tried his hand at, including all kinds of petty thievery. Yes, Hayri tried, he survived, but there was no future in any of those things. Then one day, when an old man in Fatih, Sado Efendi the cobbler, was reminiscing about his past, as he always did to whoever would listen, young or old, man or woman, deaf or dumb, all the twenty-four hours of the day, non-stop … Well, one day when the boys were listening to him, Sado Efendi told of how he used to trap birds on Florya Plain, how he would sell them in front of mosques and churches and synagogues for “fly and be free”, making bags and bags of money, how he then invested the money in this and that business and how he became immensely rich, only to dissipate his fortune in drink and gambling, how through his own foolishness he had come to this … On and on he rambled, making the boys’ mouths water. That was the day they stole Aunt Zare’s kilim and bought a tent. As for the net, they filched it from a fisherman. What was left of the money they just spent. There’s no end to the things you can spend money on in Istanbul. They went to the movies, they bought sunflower seeds, ate ice creams, drank cereal cider, and even took a boat trip to Kadiköy. And they also shot lewd remarks at girls in platform shoes. And why shouldn’t they? This is a free country, isn’t it? It’s nobody’s business if they chat up girls, and even go a step further, damn it. Like Semih … He’s a smart one, he is … Last year, when he was still only so high, he laid Şero’s daughter, Mimi, and even blood came. Everyone heard of it. Semih had to make himself scarce, and for six months he could not set foot in the neighbourhood. Just let Semih get started, he’ll go on for ever describing how it happened, down to the smallest detail.

  And then, after they’ve caught all those quails in Kilyos and sold them at the Flower Market, when they’ve made a good pile, ah then … They’ll go straight to that kilim merchant from Antep. No, no, he’s not at all a bad fellow, that kilim merchant. At first, he even refused to buy the kilim from the boys. This is a very beautiful kilim, he said. The boys begged and pleaded so hard that the merchant relented. He took the kilim and gave them a small sum of money. Listen, my young lions, he said to them, I’m not going to sell this kilim. As soon as you can find money to repay me, I’ll give it back to you. But if you can’t, well then, you’ll come to me and I’ll pay you the rest of what it’s worth … And a fortnight later, without even consulting Süleyman, Semih went to the merchant and drew the rest of the money. Süleyman was very annoyed, but he tried not to show it. Such things shouldn’t be done, but when it’s a friend, and he does it, well it’s done. Semih has done a great many things that aren’t at all honest … Does a fellow ever run off with a bird that’s already been paid for? How can he do that to someone who’s been so kind to him? All right, one should be smart to survive, but isn’t this going a bit too far? Why, if Ali Şah learns of what Semih has done, he’ll send him packing. Semih will never be able to set foot there again. For Ali Şah is the grand sachem of the Dolapdere underworld. Would all the roughnecks of Dolapdere be so devoted to him if he wasn’t? And who else but him would dare to saunter up and down Beyoğlu in broad daylight with two revolvers stuck in his red sash? No, Semih will never tell Ali Şah what he’s done, and then, please God, Ali Şah won’t send him packing, he’ll train the falcon …

  Hayri worries himself sick, thinking of his mother, back there in Rize. He cannot sleep, he cannot rest, so much so that he once bought dope from a fellow in Sirkeci and smoked it. He not only used the dope himself, he sold some to tourists. He didn’t like it, though, not Hayri, and he never touched it again, nor did he sell any more of the filthy stuff to tourists.

  Besides, Hayri’s real name is not Hayri at all. He uses this name so his enemies from Rize will not be able to trace him. You could kill him but he’d never reveal his real name to anyone.

  So there you are, if they had enough money, if they could sell all those little birds they catch on Florya Plain, then Süleyman would take the money and he and Semih would travel to Rize and bring Hayri’s mother back with them to Istanbul. Somehow, by hook or by crook, Hayri would manage to make her live in comfort. Never, for one moment, is the image of his mother absent from his eyes, and if he is secretive, taciturn, always downcast and melancholy, it is because his mother is all alone there, destitute … There are nights when Hayri, in his sleep, cries out, Mother, Mother, and gives such a sob as to tear his lungs.

  In truth,
Hayri could long ago have found the money to bring his mother over, but he does not want to become like Semih. Why, if he set himself to it, Hayri could strip the whole of Beyoğlu bare in one day! Suppose he were to pull off a big job, suppose he were to make a sizeable haul, and then sent Süleyman and Semih to Rize to fetch his mother … And they brought her back with them … In the meantime, Hayri has rented one of those small wooden houses in Samatya. Samatya is Hayri’s favourite part of the town. He says it reminds him of Rize. And Hayri’s mother has moved in, ever so happy at last, and just as she has lifted her hands in a prayer of thanksgiving to God for having blessed her with such a good son, suddenly there is a knock on the door and a whole pack of policemen burst into the house, shouting, where’s that thief Hayri? Hayri the thief … His mother, of course, protests. There’s no thief in this house, no one by the name of Hayri either. But the police have already spotted him. Here he is, they say, this is the thief we’re looking for. And so they clap a pair of jingling handcuffs onto his wrists. It’ll be the death blow for Hayri’s mother. She’ll die of grief on the spot … No, Hayri’s not mad. He’ll never do anything like that, he’ll never become a thief, a criminal. If he did once smoke hashish, it was to relieve the anguish he felt for his mother, and if he left off it was because he thought of her worse than ever when he smoked, because the hashish made him ache with longing for her still more.

  Please God, make Ali Şah train the falcon …

  Please God, don’t let the merchant sell that kilim …

  Please God, oh please, please, don’t let anything bad happen to Hayri’s mother, don’t let her enemies hurt her … Please God, let Süleyman and Semih find her safe and sound in Rize town and bring her with them to Istanbul …

  Young girls have such small breasts … Then how do they grow? Ah well, it’s the boys make them grow. They caress and fondle them, and those little breasts grow and grow and become like large downy quinces, sweet-smelling, driving the boys crazy. Young as he is, Semih has already made a lot of young girls’ breasts grow. Ah yes, Semih has a way with girls. They can’t resist him. Why does Semih darken his budding moustache every morning with a pencil? It’s so the girls won’t protest when he fondles their breasts. Girls adore moustaches, so is it Semih’s fault if they fall for him? Hayri, now … He never fools around with girls. Not that he’s not fond of them, he even strokes their breasts sometimes, but his heart’s not in it. It’s his mother he’s always thinking of, day in day out. What does he care what Semih does to the girls’ breasts! As for Long Süleyman, is it because he’s so tall, a real beanpole, or for some other reason that he’s ashamed even to look at a girl. Never mind, he’ll soon get over it, his turn will come! Aaah, if only one could sport a moustache like Ali Şah’s, an Albanian moustache, bushy as a fox’s tail … Maybe Süleyman will grow out of it, he won’t be so bashful when he’s older. Then, maybe the girl Mido … She’s smallish, that Mido, but already her breasts are like a grown woman’s, and so are her hips, she’s had so many boys caressing them … Maybe one day Mido will entice Süleyman to come with her to one of the empty rooms in Zülfikar Pasha’s crumbling forty-room old mansion, for Mido has proclaimed it high and low that she is resolved to make love in all of the forty rooms of the mansion, and each time with a different boy. She’s her own man, that Mido. When she likes a boy, she leads him on freely. She goes with a whole lot of boys, but with Semih she always remains aloof. She turns her nose up at him when they meet … Just let Semih catch all those quails at Kilyos, large fat quails, smelling of the sea, the brine, the rain … See how he’ll sell them, and with the money …

  Well, with the money Semih will buy a street peddler’s cart. Semih is ever so quick on his feet. Say the police are after him. Why, then he can run like a greyhound. That’s God’s truth, and no fear that the cops from the Municipality will catch up with him, not even if they’re in a car, not even if they’ve got that superintendent, Death-head Nihat, to lead them. That’s what they call him, Death-head Nihat, and he’s the sworn enemy of all the vagrant boys in Istanbul … Semih will load his peddler’s cart with combs, knives, torches, razor blades, sunglasses, and many many other articles, things that sell fast. He won’t spend the money on himself at all, not even on food … Well, you can’t go without food, but even if he’s got banks full of money, he’ll eat only bread, and bread that he’ll steal from the baker’s at that … It’s easy to steal. If he’s caught at it, Semih will give the baker a good dressing-down as he has done many a time … So what, man, are we to die of hunger when there’s so much bread in the world, smelling so good, brown and fresh from the oven? And the baker will feel so guilty that he’ll let him go scot-free. There was even that baker who, after having caught Semih stealing his bread, was almost moved to tears by the piteous story Semih told him. So he gave him three large loaves and made him swear that he’d come to bakery whenever he was hungry. Each day, Semih went to that same baker to get a loaf of bread and then sold it to someone or other as soon as he turned the corner, and when he’d saved enough money, the three of them would go straight to the cinema. But some old sneak spotted them and went and blabbed to the baker and the next morning, when Semih arrived for his loaf, the baker pounced on him in such a rage he nearly killed him. Anyone else would have been done for, but Semih somehow managed to shake the man off. He ran for his life, never stopping until he reached the Old Walls by the sea. It took a month for the purple mark on his neck to disappear, the baker had squeezed so hard. Eh, after that, Semih never again …

  With the money saved from peddling, Semih will first set up shop on the Oil Market wharf. All three of them will work there. Semih knows exactly what each of them will do. All the money the shop brings in they’ll save, or almost all of it. They’ll put it into banks, and there’ll be so much that when Semih enters a bank the manager will rise to his feet to greet him. Then, when they have saved a really big sum, Semih will buy two new shops, one in Eminönü and the other in Beyoğlu, and he’ll put Süleyman to manage the one and Hayri the other. Of course, there’ll be salesgirls employed in the shops. By that time, Süleyman won’t be so shy of girls, so ashamed of his long neck stretching like the neck of a goose and of his bulging eyes that stick out like two fists. And Hayri … Oh, he likes girls all right, what man doesn’t, but it’s because of his mother’s warning … Don’t ever even look at a girl, she had cautioned him, they only get a fellow into trouble … And even here, in Istanbul, he keeps to his mother’s advice, although now and then he steals a covert look at girls’ breasts and at their round bouncing hips, becoming so fascinated he can’t take his eyes off them any more … When Semih has made still more money from the shops and filled whole banks, he’ll set up a factory. What kind of factory? That’s something Semih won’t tell anyone, not even himself, but it’ll be such a factory that Semih will be able to buy three houses on the shores of the Bosphorus … He’ll put one of his wives in one of the houses, his other wife in another … Each of the houses will have such a huge garden that if a boy wanted to hide in it, the police could search a whole month and still not find him. And in the Bay of Bebek, Semih will have boats at anchor, of the kind they call yachts … As for the third house, the largest, well, he’ll give it to his dear friends, his brothers, his partners, Hayri and Süleyman …

  If ever Semih tries a mean trick on them again, then there’ll be hell to pay. Süleyman will plug a bullet right through the centre of his forehead. His tongue will hang out, he’ll be covered with blood … And the girl Mido? All this while she’ll be bursting with envy, because though Hayri and Süleyman both like her, Semih has made it a condition that not one of them will let her into his house, that little tart. No, no, this won’t do, what right has Semih to interfere in everyone’s affairs? Do the others meddle with him when he takes girls to the empty houses of pashas, and even when he gets his friends into all kinds of trouble? No, Mido is none of Semih’s business. Neither Süleyman nor Hayri would accept such a condition.

&nb
sp; Aaah, Ali Şah, come on now, Ali Şah …

  And maybe Uncle Mahmut will find a way to sell those cages full of birds, he’ll help us get rid of them. And then … Whoopee!

  fn1 dolmuş: a shared taxi.

  10

  “Look here, man,” Mahmut said, “they’re a funny lot, those young fowlers of yours!”

  “Yes,” I agreed. “Have you been able to do something for them?”

  “I’m trying,” he said. “Wait a little. You never know. This town’s full of people, so many, swarming like ants … But those people …”

  Those people absorbed in themselves, who cannot even see the tip of their own nose … Withdrawn, cowering in their own darkness … Are those the ones to see these bright tiny birds fluttering in cramped cages, waiting to be set free, longing to fly away, even over the polluted waters of the Bosphorus?

  “Come now, Mahmut, don’t get angry.”

  But he does get angry, Mahmut, he gets storming mad.

  It is not with those who catch the birds and cram them into cages that Mahmut is angry, it is with those who refuse to free them, who refuse to do a good turn, those are the ones he blames.

  Tomorrow or the day after, Mahmut will not go fishing as usual. Instead, he will take the boys with their cages full of birds to the courtyard of Sultan Ahmet Mosque, and to the plaza in front of Haghia Sophia, and also to the old Moslem quarter of Üsküdar, and to Eyup Mosque, and perhaps also to Taksim Square, and even up to the posh quarter of Şişli. He will go in quest of people with still a spark of love for birds, for their fellow human beings. And he will find them, oh he will, he will. Maybe it will be some old woman, a relic of bygone days, wrapped in a white shawl, stepping softly over the earth, light as a fairy, ready to float away … A grandmother who’ll hand over two and a half liras and ask for a bird … She’ll cradle the bird in her hands and stroke its back with her forefinger, she’ll look into the timorous, panic-stricken black eyes and her heart will be filled with a magic love, a deep compassion, and from her thin lips will flow some old forgotten childhood prayer, and her warm breath will caress the bird. Her eyes never leaving it, she will lift her right hand into the air and loosen her grip. The little bird will hesitate at first, it will linger another moment in the warmth of her palm, then it will shoot up, arrow-like, in a joyful sheering flight and vanish between the minarets.