Selim Özdogan - The Blacksmith's Daughter

Hülya looked her sister-in-law in the eye, and she would have liked to reassure her; she would have liked to say, You’ll have plenty more chances to feed her , and she’d have liked to laugh as she said it. Fatma was still as beautiful as a piece of the moon, even though her cheeks had caved in, but her eyes seemed to be looking inwards, into a darkness longer than the evening sun’s shadows. Then her gaze turned outwards again, and she smiled, put Sibel to her breast and let her suckle. Gül was still scared. Her mother had made the world smaller, but it hadn’t helped.

The next day, Fatma couldn’t get up either. The fever had seized her, and the mist had folded in around her, but she did see that her mother-in-law took much better care of her son than of her. There was nothing she could she do about it, left to lie in her sweat-soaked clothes, not getting clean sheets every few hours, no more than half a cup of broth being spooned into her mouth because she swallowed so slowly. There was nothing she could do, and little changed over the next few days. She lay next to her husband, who got better and better from day to day. He could already get up and take a few steps, while she lay there in fever dreams and was incapable of almost anything.

In a moment of clarity, she said: ‘Timur, get them to take me to hospital. Your mother’s not caring for me like she is of you, and I don’t have anyone else. Get them to take me to hospital, please, I’m very sick. You can get better faster, your mother can take better care of you, and then you can come and pick me up from the hospital and nurse me back to health. Timur, I beg of you, for the love of God, get them to take me to hospital. I’m very sick… I’m scared.’

Timur kissed her brow and nodded.

Sibel cried all through that first night in the strange house. Yücel, who had work in the morning, walked back and forth through the house with her in his arms; he rocked her, placed a hand on her back and hummed songs to soothe her. Melike wet the bed three times that night, and Hülya, who couldn’t sleep either, changed the bedclothes three times, while Gül lay there and pretended to be asleep. She liked her aunt and her uncle, who was a quiet man and often seemed quite serious.

Early in the mornings, Hülya would take Sibel to her mother, so that Fatma could nurse her at least once a day, and each time Hülya would say: ‘See, there’ll be many more times like this.’ But Fatma’s milk had all but dried up.

The sisters had been at their aunt’s for a few days when Yücel went to the mosque for Friday prayers.

‘Come here,’ Hülya said to Gül. ‘You know how we wash ourselves before prayers, don’t you?’

Gül nodded, her mother had taught her how, so they did their ritual ablutions together and then they prayed. While they were praying, Melike came into the room and, though she knew she wasn’t to disturb them, said: ‘Look, I can do a backward roll now too.’

Gül tried to keep going, unfazed like Auntie Hülya, but she was distracted by Melike’s fidgeting, and hissed: ‘Go away!’ But that only made Melike keener to perform her latest trick. And when they had finished praying, Auntie Hülya didn’t scold Melike; she acted as if she hadn’t noticed. She changed her clothes, took Sibel in her arms and told Gül not to let go of Melike’s hand.

‘We’re going to Nene’s.’

Fatma was being taken to hospital that day, and Uncle Yücel was already at Zeliha’s, as were a few neighbours and friends of the family. There were so many people there that Gül was completely bewildered and forgot to keep an eye on Melike, who ran around trying to find someone to play with. Gül knew which room her mother was in, but she didn’t dare go in.

Eventually, Zeliha brought Fatma out of the room. The carriage was waiting outside, and when she saw her mother, all Gül could say was: ‘Mum.’

Fatma smiled and said: ‘Gül, my rose.’

Then she kissed her children one more time, and her voice cracked as she spoke to everyone around her: ‘Friends, forgive me if I have sinned against you.’

Gül didn’t understand what this meant, but she knew that it couldn’t be good. There was so much she didn’t understand. At first, her mother had been the one who made the world smaller with her words, but it didn’t help, and now the words she spoke made the world big again, so big she didn’t know what to do with herself. The world grew so huge that Gül just stood there.

She just stood there again when they went to visit her mother in hospital seven days later. For seven days Hülya went with Sibel to the hospital, for seven days Melike wet the bed every night, for seven days Sibel cried half the night in her aunt’s arms without her losing her patience, for seven days Uncle Yücel rocked Sibel back and forth on his feet, as was the custom. He sat down with his legs outstretched, placed a cushion on his feet and Sibel on the cushion and rocked the little one back and forth gently to soothe her. Seven days in which the blacksmith felt a little better each morning. He could soon feed himself again, he was able to walk a few steps and slowly he found his strength. He had been able to visit his wife three times, and soon they’d be out of the woods. Soon they’d return to the village and be together at home as a family, soon he’d be back at the forge and hold[ing] the heavy hammers in his hands, soon he’d be able to ride his horse again – soon, so soon.

Seven days passed and it was Friday again. Auntie Hülya and Gül did their ritual ablutions together and Melike joined in this time, copying the motions of prayer and giggling, failing to get anyone’s attention.

Then Uncle Yücel, Auntie Hülya, Sibel, Melike and Gül went to the hospital together, where Zeliha and Timur were already waiting. Gül was frightened when she saw her mother. Fatma had violet rings around her eyes; the colour was almost garish, like the methylated spirits they kept in brandy bottles at home. Like lilac mixed with dark green, then illuminated.

‘Don’t get too close,’ Zeliha hissed at Melike and Gül. ‘It’s catching.’

But Melike didn’t listen. She climbed up onto the edge of the bed and then simply sat there.

Gül felt that her mother’s eyes were almost disappearing into the rings around them and they looked sad, sad and like they were trying to hold onto something. Gül wanted to be a good girl, so she stood there, she stood on the same spot the whole time they were in the hospital room, unmoving, and nobody seemed to notice. Since Timur was nearly better, Gül and Melike went back to their grandmother’s. Sibel would spend a few more days with her aunt. Gül couldn’t sleep that night and wanted to get into her sister’s bed, but Melike woke up as Gül crept under the covers, and just said: ‘Go away.’

Gül went to her father.

‘What’s wrong, my girl?’ he asked.

‘I can’t sleep.’

‘Go to your Nene, I toss and turn all over the place.’

So Gül went to her grandmother’s room, and her grandmother groaned but took her into her bed. The same image lingered in Gül’s mind’s eye; how she had stood in the corner of the hospital room and how wretched her mother had looked. It took a long time before she finally fell asleep, and she woke in the middle of the night to her grandmother snoring. She turned away from Zeliha’s body and closed her eyes and waited until the images faded away at last, until the darkness came and took her.

It was usually only in winter that they had soup for breakfast, a warming soup that gave them energy for the day, a thick lentil, yoghurt or tripe soup. But Timur had to regain his strength, so they had beef broth the next morning. Melike, Zeliha, Timur and Gül were sitting on the floor, where the cloth lay spread with the steaming pot, bread, bowls, cheese and olives. Zeliha ladled out the soup until they all had a bowlful, but Timur didn’t have a spoon.