Oya Baydar - The Lost Word

Zelal remembers that night. The night they raided the village and filled the military vehicles with men amid shouted orders and oaths and took them away. They had left only her old grandfather who could not walk — although not before kicking him a few times to see that he really was disabled. They had taken her father and her Mesut Abi with the other men. Her father had returned three days later with swellings and bruises on his face. He was limping. He had not said much. He had told her, ‘They maintained that we were aiding and abetting. Provisions will no longer be given to anyone who comes to the door, even if that person’s my own son.’ Shouting and crying, her mother had asked about Mesut. ‘He’ll be back in a few days. Don’t bellow like that, woman, I told you he’ll come, didn’t I? What has the boy got to do with the mountain and the organization? They’ll let him go. Don’t worry!’

Her father was right: Mesut had returned to the village a few days later. He didn’t look at all good. He had been beaten up. He had gone straight off the barn and crouched in a corner and had lain there for days without eating, drinking, speaking or communicating. He heard neither his mother’s begging him to eat at least some soup, nor his father’s words of advice and comfort. He was in shock. Who knows what they had done to the boy for him to lose his reason, they said, and they had even brought a hodja to say prayers over him — but in vain.

Then one morning I quietly came to him without anyone seeing me. I called to him, ‘Kekê Mesûd.’ He didn’t react. I asked him who had done this to him, so that I would know. He still remained silent. I wanted to stroke his face, but he pushed me away roughly. He had never pushed me, but this time he did.

He said, ‘Kekê Mesûd is dead.’ His voice, his face, his behaviour — it had all changed. He really was dead. We never knew what they had done to him.

We asked others who returned to the village. ‘For some reason they picked on him. They wanted to make him tell them where someone was, but he didn’t. They threatened to do something to his mother and his sister, and then he gave in. They tortured him, too, because he gave in. They made him eat shit, we heard. And then they did the worst thing of all: they pushed a stick into him from behind. Nobody knows whether it’s true or a rumour,’ they said. What did my brother know that he could tell? He was only a village boy in the fields with the goats.

My father would always say that the teacher used to say, ‘If you let him study he could be a university professor.’ They had not let him study, and he had stayed in the village. Before that day I don’t think he knew about the mountain and the organization or anything.

Then one day he left the barn. He said, ‘I’m going to the mountains. Don’t come looking for me.’ Crying, my mother prepared some provisions. He did not take them. Towards the evening we saw him walking away towards the small town along the village road. He got smaller and smaller and disappeared behind the huge rocks. I think that Satan had entered him, not because he had confessed; but long before that day he had been released from the military post and returned to the village. Evil men had put the Devil in his head and into his body. The Devil had entered, but we had not realized it then.

The morning call to prayers had stopped. The day had long since dawned. Zelal lies hidden under the sheets. They had put a policeman in uniform on the door of the room. She sees this through her observation hole. A civilian and a young doctor friend of Nurse Eylem enter the room. The policeman salutes the doctor’s companion. He must be someone important. The man is angry and reprimands everyone. He keeps shouting, ‘You should not have moved the murdered woman’s bed until it had been thoroughly investigated! Even the traces of blood have been wiped off!’ His eye alight on the bed in which Zelal is lying.

‘You should have moved this one to another room. Make a file on this one. We’ll call on her for a statement. She is our only eyewitness.’

‘This patient is a very young woman who was wounded by a stray bullet. They call it celebratory gunfire, you know. She lost her baby in the accident. She has not got over the shock yet. And then this incident on top of it. I really don’t think she is in a condition to give a statement at the moment, sir.’

Zelal thinks the doctor is trying to protect her. After all he is Nurse Eylem’s friend. They know about us, and they know that they have to protect us. Perhaps the writer had quietly said something to them.

‘Of course it’s your job to assess the patient’s condition. But her statement should be taken as soon as possible.’

‘We’ll inform you in the shortest possible time as soon as she comes out of shock, sir.’

They approach the bed. The man slightly lifts the sheet that she has pulled over herself. He meets Zelal’s huge pure-blue eyes and is surprised. ‘She’s very young, almost a child,’ he says. ‘Get well soon, my girl. When you are better, tell us what you saw. Don’t be frightened. It’s nothing to do with you. Trust in the state. We’ll protect you. Don’t be afraid!’

Zelal remains silent. She remains deaf and dumb. If they were to kill me I wouldn’t open my mouth. I didn’t see anything, and I didn’t hear anything. Can one give a statement about a nightmare? I saw the Devil’s face and blood. That’s all. She looks at the man’s face with vacant eyes.

The man avoids her glance. ‘The poor thing really is in shock.’

Torrents of blood flow in front of Zelal’s eyes. The Delicesu stream has turned into blood. Her Mesut Abi rolls into the river of blood as he carries her on his back. The springs of love on the mountain have become blood. Hevi is thrashing about in blood. The blood flowing from Mahmut’s wound drips on the floor of the cave. The blood of the dead patient who took my place so that I wouldn’t be afraid, so that I would sleep comfortably, transforms the white sheets into the red flag. Zelal feels sick, and her head is spinning. She wants to call the doctor who is about to leave the room. She would like him to give news to Mahmut, to tell him to escape. She trusts the young doctor. He is Nurse Eylem’s friend. She calls out to him with all her might but no sound comes. She tries again. I don’t want to play deaf and dumb any longer. I have things to say to the doctor. She shouts, ‘Doctor Abi!’ A croak comes out of her throat.

The young doctor conducting the stranger to the door hears the croak as he is about to go out and turns back. ‘Is there something the matter?’

She nods. Yes, yes, yes … No sound emerges. There is no sound to give life to her voice.

With her finger she points to the ballpoint pen in the top pocket of the doctor’s white gown. The doctor hesitates for a moment. He cannot understand what she wants. Zelal straightens up in bed and pulls the pen from his pocket as he leans over her. On a corner of the white sheet she writes in capital letters with one last effort, ‘IT WAS MESUT ABI. MAHMUT MUST ESCAPE.’ Then she slumps back on the bed.

The doctor checks out of the corner of his eye to see if anyone has witnessed this and then slowly gathers up the sheet. He folds it so that the writing cannot be viewed, crumples it and throws it under the bed. He shouts to the cleaner standing by the door, ‘This patient’s sheets are dirty. Please have them changed.’

He turns to Zelal and looks directly into her limpid blue, fathomless eyes. He nods as though to say, All right. He touches the girl’s forehead with his fingers. ‘Don’t worry. You’ve been very frightened and made yourself dumb. It will pass after a while. It’s better that you should carry on like this for now.’ He winks at her with the smile of an accomplice.