Oya Baydar - The Lost Word

‘Diyar has arrived,’ said Jiyan.

They closed the door slowly and went out.

‘Activity is increasing. There seems to be preparation for a military operation. They want us to leave the area early tomorrow morning,’ said Diyar without a trace of excitement. They discussed what time they would set off for the town the next day and the safety precautions that should be taken.

‘I’m glad I came to this house one last time. Now we won’t be able to return for a while,’ said Jiyan. ‘I have a strange feeling. We should not leave any of the private possessions, notebooks, anything that is of value to us, in the Hoca’s study here in case anything should happen to them.’

After that they began to argue about recent political developments concerning the region. They were heading towards bad times when it would be difficult even to talk about a peaceful solution. The different interests in the region, the different balances of power, the new difficulties brought about by the problem spilling beyond Turkey’s borders extinguished hopes of a solution — or at least delayed it. Jiyan, with her passionate, emotional speech that had touched him the first moment he met her, believed that work schedules, current activities and plans should not be changed or postponed on the pretext of the emergency situation. She placed great importance on the act of shared mourning in which the families of martyrs and the families of those killed on the mountain — or at least their mothers — came together, and she advocated that this should be done at all costs.

‘We have always put it off saying that it is not the right time or that the time has not come. Well, when will the time come for peace in this country? When, tell me!’ she demanded angrily.

She had no intention of abandoning either the cultural festival that she had been working on for a year and that she had planned to the last detail or the women’s project against landmines. She said, ‘I shall try to do it even if I am left on my own.’ And she added, ‘They want us to give up, to get fed up and withdraw into our holes. We mustn’t give them the opportunity.’

Ömer noticed lines of exhaustion on her face that he had never noticed before. He saw the shadow of sadness. She would keep on struggling like this. The lines and shadows would deepen on her lovely face. He would remember the book’s parentheses. One of those brackets would be our love and our passion. Then one day the book would end. By itself, because the story had ended. Or — he shudders to think — a bullet, an unsolved murder, a treacherous mine, an insidious explosion … The book would fall to the ground before the story ended.

Late into the night, she had said, ‘Diyar will show you your room. I want to go and collect the books, notebooks and my own private belongings together’, and had let them.

Now, as he thinks about it, he cannot believe that such an ending can be real. In any case, he doesn’t believe that there can be an ending with Jiyan. A beginning! Yes, it was a beginning. The beginning of a new word. Perhaps it was a sad very poignant word but a word that would find people’s hearts and focus on the future.

When they passed under the arch over which was written ‘One country, one language, one flag’ and reached the town, Diyar stopped the jeep in front of the Yildiz hotel. They did not even get out of the car to say goodbye. Jiyan held out her hand, her graceful hand with the array of rings on her fingers. Ömer bent over and kissed the rings. ‘Goodbye,’ he said. ‘Thank you for the notebooks that you have entrusted to me. I’m going to learn your language and read them.’

‘See you.’

‘See you.’

Now as he returns along the roads along which he had come he thinks about this. He keeps on saying ‘See you’ to himself.

The message box of his mobile is full to overflowing. It’s as though he has forgotten the existence of his phone. It has been days since I turned the damned thing on. What would happen if I did not switch it on and threw this bloody device in the rubbish? I should have done it when I started on my journey in pursuit of a scream to look for the word. I should have burnt my bridges, but I could not.

Elif’s message had come this morning: ‘I still cannot reach you. I’m coming back with Deniz and Bjørn.’

There is not just one but five messages from Mahmut. The last one was sent towards dawn. ‘SOS. We are in trouble.’

As for Jiyan’s message it is very recent. ‘You have found the word, so now be our voice.’

He ignores the other messages and phone calls.

As he collects together his few belongings in room 204 of the Yildiz Hotel he has a terrible fit of laughing.

He repeats the messages out loud, ‘I’m coming back with Deniz and Bjørn … SOS. We are in trouble … Be our voice…’ And he laughs and laughs. He almost chokes and laughs until he cries. He cries and cries — in great sobs. In a hotel room in the most east of the east, in a town that waits with ears pricked to the distant sounds of fighting, to the Cobras flying and to the noise of tanks passing through the streets and heading for the mountains, Ömer Eren cries bitterly with his head in his hands.

Then he goes into the bathroom with the dripping tap and the toilet reservoir that does not work, and washes his face. He does not look in the mirror. He knows that he has a growth of beard and bags under his eyes. He dreads his appearance. He needs a painkiller and a strong drink. Should I drop in at the Hayat Chemist? What if a woman whose raven-black hair seems to have become entangled with her voice should say, ‘Can I help you?’ If we reshoot the film. If I play my part better this time. If I said to her, ‘Your eyes are like a country. Your voice is the voice of these lands.’

He puts the notebook that Jiyan gave him in his bag. He sits on the bed and looks around to see if he has forgotten anything. He texts Elif and Mahmut the same message: ‘I’m coming now.’ He does not reply to Jiyan. She does not expect a response. After casting a quick glance round the room, he goes down counting the stains on the maroon stair carpet. His coach is about to leave. He must hurry. If he is in time, he will catch the evening flight to Ankara. If he is in time he will reach Mahmut and Zelal. If he is in time, he will board the Istanbul plane. If he is in time he will find his lost son. If he is in time he will take up a new life. If he is in time…

The elderly hotel clerk has difficulty sorting out his bill. ‘How many nights haven’t you paid for? Were there any extras?’ Then in a meek voice. ‘You are going and leaving us, begim. You are right to leave. Things have started to get tricky again here. We had got used to you. Think of us.’

The cat Virik is beside the door in its usual place and is licking itself with its face to the light. He strokes Virik with the top of his foot as he goes out. For a moment he looks across towards the marketplace. He sees the Hayat Chemist shop. Virik is happy with being stroked even if only with the toe of his shoe and rubs against the bottoms of Ömer’s trousers.

The hotel clerk comes to the door to see him off. ‘Wait. Let me call a car, begim. Don’t walk all the way to the station.’ He waves down a taxi waiting in front of the hotel.

He does not object. He must not wait. He must leave here immediately. There must not be any goodbyes. He must not be drawn to the voices of the sirens. Anyway the sounds heard in the town now are not the sound of sirens but of tanks.

The driver shouted ‘Zap Bridge’, pointing to the bridge of his imagination. Military convoys passed us by. We stopped and were stopped. Identity? Open your bag! Where have you come from? Where are you going? … Road closed, road open, the mountains are still beautiful, the earth is still that yellow-grey, and the Zap river keeps on flowing as usual.