Hasan Toptas - Reckless

‘Let’s hope so,’ said Ziya.

He kept his eyes fixed on the clouds of powder that rose up through the darkness every time the truck swayed, contracting the tent above them only to expand it.

‘Did you see the commander’s nameplate?’ whispered Kenan.

Ziya nodded.

Briefly, they exchanged glances.

The truck began to climb up a hill. There was barbed wire running alongside the road, and beyond it was a minefield. The truck turned around a bend and stopped. They were now standing in front of the Mezartepe Outpost, and the thick stone walls that enclosed its courtyard. The commander jumped down from the driver’s seat and came around to the back. Opening the flap of the tent, he pointed to the three soldiers he saw first. ‘You, and you, and you,’ he said. When they had stepped down, he turned to the officer standing next to him. ‘I am putting these men in your charge. Now take care of the rest.’

‘Yes, sir!’ said the other.

The round-faced cook standing behind the sergeant jumped up into the back of the truck. Finding the bread sack marked ‘Mezartepe’ and cradling it in his arms, he jumped down again with a great thud.

And then they were off again. They went back down to the asphalt road, and then it was another ten or fifteen desolate minutes, until, at a crossroads, they went hurtling up another hill, this time to stop in front of Seyrantepe Station. The commander came round to the back of the truck again, lifted the flap of the tarpaulin, and, drawing a horizontal line with his forefinger, he said, ‘You two get down.’

Gathering up their things, Kenan and Ziya got down.

The truck moved on to the Ege Outpost, and as it went down the dirt road, it grew smaller and smaller, until it reached the watchtower at the end of the road, and vanished.

Once it was gone, the sergeant said, ‘Welcome,’ and shook both Kenan’s hand and Ziya’s. And then he said, ‘Go straight into the dormitory without making too much noise, and go straight to sleep, my friends. Because in just a few hours, you’re on guard duty.’

Ziya had turned to look at the graves just in front of the outpost.

Seeing this, the sergeant said, ‘Those are two soldiers who were hit during a skirmish. They’re buried here because we had no family to send them to. That’s enough fooling around. Off to the dormitory! Get some sleep!’

‘All right,’ said Ziya.

He and Kenan went across to the prefabricated building that looked like it might collapse if you so much as blew at it. The dormitory they found to the left of the entrance was no bigger than a matchbox. They lay themselves down on the two empty bunks, but surrounded as they were by so many snores and outstretched limbs, they hardly slept. Towards evening, the cook came to wake them up. Hitting the frosted glass with the back of his hand, he said, ‘Hopla! Time to get up, my fine sirs, your food is ready!’ and with that he was gone. When the men had washed their hands and faces with water pulled from the well, they proceeded to the mess hall at the back. With its uneven stone walls, it looked just like a sheep pen. And there they sat down in front of their bowls of noodle soup. After this soup, which had nothing to offer them but heat, they moved on to soggy dried beans and semolina halva that was lumpy and as hard as rock. Then they went outside, taking with them a piece of bread each, to eat during the night, while on guard duty. Some went over to the well, others to the dormitory. Others went over to stand in line in front of the roofless wooden outhouse some fifteen or twenty paces to the right. And that was when a shame-faced Kenan went up to Ziya. ‘I’ve started to itch,’ he said softly. ‘And scratch.’

‘Don’t even ask,’ said Ziya. ‘I have, too.’

Osman of Selçuk, who had been wandering amongst them like a cow let off his lead, noticed them whispering. He came to their side. Smiling slyly as he swung his head from side to side, he said, ‘Nothing to be ashamed of, friends. You can scratch to your heart’s content.’

And then he sized them up, these two, who still seemed uncertain as to how to scratch, and then, turning sad and solemn, he said, ‘Don’t get upset. You have lice, that’s all. That’s why you’re itching. But while you scratch, just remember that you’ll never get rid of them. Whatever you try, I can guarantee you it won’t work. Sometimes we put this ointment on — spread it over every inch of skin, and as if that weren’t enough, we throw all our pillows and blankets and bedding into vats, along with all our clothes, and boil them for hours and hours, but that doesn’t make a shit of difference. Twelve hours later, the lice are back. Because these little critters live inside the earth, that’s why. Sit down just once at the edge of the barbed wire over there, and you’re infested. So that’s what I’m trying to tell you. Don’t be ashamed. Scratch away, and try to get used to it. You’re three-day birds, anyway. Whatever way you look at it, you’re here for another seventeen months. You don’t mind my calling you that, do you?’

‘Not at all,’ said Ziya.

‘Oh please,’ said Osman of Selçuk. ‘I implore you. Don’t take offence.’

And then, hopping off towards the guardhouse, he stopped in front of the graves. And in a voice so loud you’d think his throat might burst open, he bellowed, ‘Fuck off, you fucking village! Fuck off, before I fuck you more!’ Sparks flew from his eyes as he stared out into the distance, teeth clenched. And it was as if he could actually see that village he wanted to fuck over.

He was still staring out there when the sergeant came out of the guardhouse, holding his blue register. In an agitated voice, he said, ‘That’s enough fooling around, my friends. Get over here, all of you, and sign your names.’

They went over and signed the register.

‘You’ve signed up to the third station to the east of the D-3 outpost,’ the sergeant told Ziya. ‘I’m sending you out with some people who know the drill.’

‘That’s fine,’ Ziya murmured.

Then they all got ready together; they filled their canteens with water, and lined up their rifles in a row, and attached the chargers to their rifles, took out the bolt handles and loaded the bullets and then more bullets and, leaving behind them only the cook and the night watchman and those two unclaimed soldiers in their graves, they followed in the sergeant’s footsteps as he slowly led them out to the border. So here we are , Ziya whispered to himself, here we are, inside that story the convicts at battalion headquarters told us . As he whispered these words, he cast a tense gaze at the lands of Syria stretching out before them and breathed in sharply. They went down a hill that was covered with dry grass, and after they had patrolled the dirt track that went along the barbed wire from one end to the other, the sergeant put them in charge of the border and when night fell they moved with their rifles into their trenches. That was when Hayati of Acıpayam did as the sergeant must have asked, and gave them a bit of instruction.

‘You see that railroad over there,’ he said, turning his head in the direction of the barbed wire. ‘Well that’s the actual border. And between that asphalt road and this barbed wire, it’s a minefield. If you see a shadow trying to cross the railroad, you must shoot without hesitation. Understood? According to the rulebook, we’re supposed to tell them to stop three times and only open fire if they fire first, but don’t you pay any attention to that. The book counts for nothing out here! And anyway. If we played it by the book, those smugglers would hunt us all down like grouse. And then, God forbid, we’d all be going home early, in coffins. In the meantime, don’t forget that smugglers go between these countries in both directions. That means you have to keep a watch on both sides of this border. You have to do this even when there’s a skirmish. Because the ones trying to cross over into Syria meet with fire from Syria while the ones trying to cross over into Turkey meet with fire from this side, and in a skirmish like that we end up getting fire from both sides. Understood?’