Orhan Pamuk - My Name is Red

“Mother, we’re back,” Orhan said.

“Hayriye! Where have you been!” I said forcefully, but as if I were whispering, not shouting.

“But Mother, we didn’t stay out past the evening call to prayer…” Shevket had begun to say.

“Quiet! Your grandfather is ill, he’s sleeping.”

“Ill?” said Hayriye from below. She could tell from my silence that I was angry: “Shekure, we waited for Kosta. After the gray mullet arrived, without tarrying, we picked bay leaves, then I bought the dried figs and cherries for the children.”

I had the urge to go down and admonish Hayriye in a whisper, but I was afraid that as I was going downstairs, the oil lamp I carried would illuminate the wet steps and the drops of blood I’d missed in my haste. The children noisily climbed the stairs and then removed their shoes.

“Ah-ah-ah,” I said. Guiding them toward our bedroom, “Not that way, your grandfather’s sleeping, don’t go in there.”

“I’m going into the room with the blue door, to be by the brazier,” Shevket said, “not to Grandfather’s room.”

“Your grandfather fell asleep in that room,” I whispered.

But I noticed that they hesitated for a moment. “Let’s be certain that the evil jinns that’ve possessed your grandfather and made him sick don’t set upon the both of you as well,” I said. “Go to your room, now.” I grabbed both of them by their hands and put them into the room where we slept together. “Tell me then, what were you doing out on the streets till this hour?” “We saw some black beggars,” said Shevket. “Where?” I asked. “Were they carrying flags?” “As we were climbing the hill. They gave Hayriye a lemon. Hayriye gave them some money. They were covered in snow.” “What else?” “They were practicing shooting arrows at a target in the square.” “In this snow?” I said. “Mother, I’m cold,” said Shevket. “I’m going into the room with the blue door.” “You’re not to leave this room,” I said. “Otherwise you’ll die. I’ll bring you the brazier.” “Why do you say we’re going to die?” said Shevket. “I’m going to tell you something,” I said, “but you’re not to tell anyone, are we understood?” They swore not to tell. “While you were out, a completely white man who’d died and lost his color came here from a faraway country and spoke to your grandfather. It turns out he was a jinn.” They asked me where the jinn came from. “From the other side of the river,” I said. “Where our father is?” asked Shevket. “Yes, from there,” I said. “The jinn came to take a look at the pictures in your grandfather’s books. They say that a sinner who looks at those pictures immediately dies.”

A silence.

“Listen, I’m going downstairs to be with Hayriye,” I said. “I’m going to carry the brazier in here, as well as the dinner tray. Don’t even think of leaving the room or you’ll die. The jinn is still in the house.”

“Mama, Mama, don’t go,” Orhan said.

I squared myself to Shevket. “You’re responsible for your brother,” I said. “If you leave the room and the jinn doesn’t get you, I’ll be the one who kills you.” I put on the frightening expression that I made before slapping them. “Now pray that your ill grandfather doesn’t die. If you’re good, God will grant you your prayers and no one will be able to harm you.” Without giving themselves over to it too much, they began to pray. I went downstairs.

“Somebody knocked over the pot of orange jam,” said Hayriye. “The cat couldn’t have done it, not strong enough; a dog couldn’t have gotten into the house…”

She abruptly saw the terror on my face and stopped: “What’s the matter, then,” she said, “what happened? Has something happened to your dear father?”

“He’s dead.”

She shrieked. The knife and onion she was holding fell from her hands and hit the cutting board with such force that the fish she was preparing flopped. She shrieked again. We both noticed that the blood on her left hand had come, not from the fish, but from her index finger, which she’d sliced accidentally. I ran upstairs, and as I was searching for a piece of muslin in the room opposite the one the children were in, I heard their noises and shouts. Holding the piece of cloth I’d torn off, I entered the room to find that Shevket had climbed onto his younger brother, pinning Orhan’s shoulders down with his knees. He was choking him.

“What are you two doing!” I shouted at the top of my lungs.

“Orhan was leaving the room,” Shevket said.

“Liar,” said Orhan. “Shevket opened the door and I told him not to leave.” He began to cry.

“If you don’t sit up here quietly, I’ll kill both of you.”

“Mama, don’t go,” Orhan said.

Downstairs, I bound Hayriye’s finger, stopping the bleeding. When I told her that my father hadn’t died a natural death, she grew frightened and recited some prayers asking for Allah’s protection. She stared at her injured finger and began crying. Was her affection for my father great enough to unleash such a fit of crying? She wanted to go upstairs and see him.

“He’s not upstairs,” I said. “He’s in the back room.”

She gazed at me suspiciously. But when she realized I couldn’t bear another look at him, she was overcome by curiosity. She grabbed the lamp and left. She took four or five steps beyond the entrance of the kitchen, where I stood, and with respect and apprehension, she slowly pushed open the door of the room, and by the light of the lamp she was holding, looked inside. Unable at first to see my father, she raised the lamp even higher, trying to illuminate the corners of the large rectangular room.

“Aaah!” she screamed. She’d caught sight of my father where I’d left him just beside the door. Frozen, she gazed at him. The shadow she cast along the floor and stable wall was motionless. As she looked, I imagined what she was seeing. When she returned, she wasn’t crying. I was relieved to see that she still had her wits about her, enough to be able to register completely what I was prepared to tell her.

“Now listen to me, Hayriye,” I said. As I spoke, I waved the fish knife, which my hand had grabbed seemingly on its own. “The upstairs has been ransacked too; the same accursed demon has destroyed all, he’s made a shambles of everything. That’s where he crushed my father’s face and skull; that’s where he killed him. I brought him down here so the children wouldn’t see and so I might have a chance to caution you. After you three left, I also went out. Father was home by himself.”

“I was not aware of that,” she said insolently. “Where were you?”

I wanted her to take careful note of my silence. Then I said, “I was with Black. I met with Black in the house of the Hanged Jew. But you won’t breathe a word of this to anyone. Nor, for the time being, will you mention that my father has been killed.”

“Who was it that murdered him?”

Was she truly such an idiot or was she trying to corner me?

“If I knew, I wouldn’t hide the fact that he was dead,” I said. “I don’t know. Do you?”

“How should I know anything?” she said. “What are we going to do now?”

“You’re going to behave as if nothing whatsoever has happened,” I said. I felt the urge to wail, to burst out crying, but I restrained myself. We both were quiet.

Much later, I said, “Forget about the fish for now, set out the dishes for the children.”

She objected and started to cry, and I put my arms around her. We hugged each other tightly. I loved her then, momentarily pitying, not only myself and the children, but all of us. But even as we embraced, a worm of doubt was anxiously gnawing at me. You know where I was while my father was being murdered. To further my own designs, I’d cleared the house of Hayriye and the children. You know that leaving my father alone in the house was an unforeseen coincidence…But did Hayriye know? Did she comprehend what I’d explained to her, will she understand? Indeed, yes, she’d quickly understand and grow suspicious. I hugged her even tighter; but I knew that with her slave girl’s mind she’d assume I was doing this to cover up my wiles, and before long even I felt as if I were deceiving her. While my father was being murdered here, I was with Black engaged in an act of lovemaking. If it were only Hayriye who knew this, I wouldn’t feel as guilty, but I suspect that you might make something of it as well. So, admit it, you believe that I’m hiding something. Alas, poor woman! Could my fate be any darker? I began to cry, then Hayriye cried, and we embraced again.