Orhan Pamuk - My Name is Red

I was paralyzed with terror. But the situation immediately got worse: I heard noises from within the house. Where was Hayriye? In which room had Black fallen asleep? In what state was my father’s pitiful corpse? My God, I prayed, protect us. The children were deep asleep.

Had this happened before I was married, I’d have risen from bed, and taking charge of the situation like the man of the house, I’d have suppressed my fears and scared away the jinns and spirits. In my present condition, however, I cowered and hugged the children. It was as if there were no one else in the world. Nobody was going to come to the aid of the children and me. Expecting something awful to happen, I prayed to Allah for deliverance. As in my dreams, I was alone. I heard the courtyard gate open. It was the courtyard gate, wasn’t it? Yes, absolutely.

I rose abruptly, grabbed my robe and quitted the room without even knowing myself what I was doing.

“Black!” I hissed from the top of the stairs.

After hastily donning shoes, I descended the stairs. The candle I’d lit at the brazier blew out as soon as I stepped out onto the courtyard’s stone walkway. A strong wind had begun to blow, though the sky was clear. As soon as my eyes adjusted, I saw that the half-moon was flooding the courtyard with moonlight. My dearest Allah! The courtyard gate was open. I stood stunned, atremble in the cold.

Why hadn’t I brought a knife with me? Neither did I have a candlestick or even a piece of wood. For a moment, in the blackness, I saw the gate move of its own accord. Later, after it appeared to have stilled, I heard it squeal. I remember thinking, This seems like a dream.

When I heard a noise from within the house, as if from just beneath the roof, I understood that my father’s soul was struggling to leave his body. Knowing my father’s soul was in such torment both put me at ease and plunged me into agony. If Father is the cause of these noises, I thought, then no evil will befall me. On the other hand, his tormented soul, frantically fluttering about, trying to escape and ascend, so troubled me that I prayed to Allah to comfort him. But when it occurred to me that his soul would protect me and the children, a feeling of great relief washed over me. If there were truly some demon contemplating evil just beyond the gate, let him fear my father’s restless soul.

Just then, I worried that perhaps it was Black that was upsetting my father so much. Would my father bring evil upon Black? Where was he? Just then, outside the courtyard gate, on the street, I noticed him and froze. He was speaking with somebody.

A man was talking to Black from the trees in the empty yard on the far side of the street. I was able to infer that the howling I’d heard as I lay in bed had come from this man whom I straightaway knew to be Hasan. There was a plaintive strain, a weeping in his voice, but also a threatening overtone. I listened to them from a distance. Within the silent night they’d given themselves over to settling accounts.

I understood that I was all alone in the world with my children. I was thinking that I loved Black, but to tell the truth, what I wanted was to love only Black-for Hasan’s melancholy voice singed my heart.

“Tomorrow, I’ll return with the judge, Janissaries and witnesses who’ll swear that my older brother is alive and still fighting in the mountains of Persia,” he said. “Your marriage is illegitimate. You’re committing adultery in there.”

“Shekure wasn’t your wife, she was your late brother’s wife,” Black said.

“My older brother’s still alive,” Hasan said with conviction. “There are witnesses who have seen him.”

“This morning, based on the fact that he hasn’t returned after four years campaigning, the Üsküdar judge granted Shekure a divorce. If he is alive, have your witnesses tell him that he’s now a divorced man.”

“Shekure is restricted from remarrying for a month,” said Hasan. “Otherwise it’s a sacrilege contrary to the Koran. How could Shekure’s father consent to such disgraceful nonsense?”

“Enishte Effendi,” Black said, “is very sick. He’s on his death bed…and the judge sanctified our marriage.”

“Did you work together to poison your Enishte?” said Hasan. “Did you plan this out with Hayriye?”

“My father-in-law is deeply distressed by what you’ve done to Shekure. Your brother, if he’s really still alive, could also call you to account for your dishonor.”

“These are all lies, each one!” said Hasan. “These are only excuses cooked up by Shekure so she could leave us.”

There came a cry from within the house; it was Hayriye who’d screamed. Next, Shevket screamed. They shouted to each other. Unwitting and afraid, without being able to restrain myself, I shouted too and ran into the house without knowing what I was doing.

Shevket ran down the stairs and fled out into the courtyard.

“My grandfather is as cold as ice,” he cried. “My grandfather has died.”

We hugged each other. I lifted him up. Hayriye was still shouting. Black and Hasan heard the shouts and everything that was said.

“Mother, they’ve killed grandfather,” Shevket said this time.

Everyone heard this, too. Had Hasan heard? I squeezed Shevket tightly, and calmly walked with him back inside. At the top of the stairs, Hayriye was wondering how the child had awoken and sneaked out.

“You promised you wouldn’t leave us,” said Shevket, who began to cry.

My mind was preoccupied now with Black. Because he was busy with Hasan, he didn’t think to close the gate. I kissed Shevket on either cheek and hugged him even tighter, taking in the scent of his neck, consoling him and, finally handing him over to Hayriye, I whispered, “You two go upstairs.”

They went upstairs. I returned and stood a few steps behind the gate. I assumed Hasan couldn’t see me. Had he changed his position in the darkened garden across the way, perhaps moving behind the trees that lined the street? As it happened, however, he could see me, and as he spoke he addressed me, too. It was unnerving to convene in the dark with somebody whose face I couldn’t see, but it was even worse, as Hasan accused me, accused us, to realize deep down that he was justified. With him, as with my father, I always felt guilty, always in the wrong. And now, moreover, I knew with great sadness that I was in love with the man who was incriminating me. My beloved Allah please help me. Love isn’t suffering for the sake of suffering, but a means to reach You, is it not?

Hasan claimed that I’d killed my father in league with Black. He said he’d heard what Shevket had said, adding that everything had been laid bare and that we’d committed an unpardonable sin deserving of the torments of Hell. Come morning he’d go to the judge to explain it all. If I were found to be innocent, if my hands weren’t red with my father’s blood, he swore to have me and the children returned to his house where he’d serve as father until his older brother came back. If, however, I were found guilty, a woman like me, who’d mercilessly abandoned her husband-a man willing to make the highest sort of sacrifice-for her no punishment was too severe. We patiently listened to his fury, then noticed that there was an abrupt silence amid the trees.

“If you return of your own free will to the home of your true husband, now,” said Hasan, assuming a completely different tone, “if you silently pitter-patter back with your children without being seen by anyone, I’ll forget the fake wedding ploy, the crimes you’ve committed, all of it, I’ll forgive it all. And, we’ll wait together, Shekure, year after year, patiently, for my brother’s return.”

Was he drunk? There was something so infantile in his voice and what he was now proposing to me in front of my husband that I feared it might cost him his life.