Oya Baydar - The Lost Word

‘But don’t mice feel pain?’

Elif was silent. Deniz still remembers that silence.

Then she said, ‘When you grow up and study, you will become a famous scientist and do experiments. You will find things that will be good for people. My tiny kitten son will be a great, great scientist.’

‘But I won’t hurt mice. I’m a good kitten, and mice are my friends. You know how you always say that even cats and dogs can be friends. And when the boys at kindergarten make fun of me and beat me you tell me that I should treat them well and try to tell them nicely that what they are doing is wrong.’

‘That’s true. You’re right, Kitten. Nevertheless, please stay away from the test animals until I’m finished. After all, you never know what cats might do!’

Whenever he recalls his childhood and thinks of his mother he feels a vague pain, like a scratch in the middle of his chest, a feeling of guilt, inadequacy and inferiority. Her voice is still in his ear. ‘Don’t sulk. I didn’t say your school report was bad, but your biology and chemistry could have been better. You could have had ten instead of nine for your physics if you had paid more attention to the exam questions.’

He remembers pulling his report roughly out of his mother’s hand saying, ‘I’m no Einstein and don’t intend to be!’ and shutting himself in his room seething with anger and rebellion. To hurt his mother, he shouted, ‘Carry on killing your mice!’

On the whole, his father didn’t get involved. He used to say, ‘Don’t stifle the boy. Let him be. He has his whole future in front of him. Besides, even if he isn’t first in the class he’s not a bad student. I wasn’t a model student at school either. One never knows what a person will be in the future, what they will develop an interest in or whether they will be successful. All that matters is that they’re a good person, someone who is interested in the world and someone who takes responsibility for people and for living things.’

The pain of the scratch in his chest gets more intense. That hateful feeling that he has known since his childhood, the feeling of being beaten without being able to defend himself, of suddenly being left stark naked in the middle of a crowd … The pathos of the dog that begs for affection as it gets beaten or the test animal whose brain is cut open while still alive … Guilt, remorse, helplessness, the wish to die … But I’m neither guilty nor repentant.

Deniz wants to hug his son who is skipping happily along in front of him. He wants to be washed and purified with him, to take refuge in innocence. He doesn’t dare. He is afraid of passing on that indefinable, horrible feeling to his son. Bjørn must never know that feeling — and he never will. He will capture the real meaning of happiness. He will be glad to be himself. He will spend his life surrounded by nature, peaceful, calm, contented with himself and full of self-respect, knowing that this is the one and only meaning of life.

I shall protect him from violence. I will not allow him to be a tyrant or victim. Nobody will be able to impose their values on him or ask him to conquer the skies. Perhaps he will be a kind-hearted jolly fisherman. Perhaps he will run a small guesthouse with customers who come only in the season of the white nights. I will not allow anyone to mistreat Bjørn or to force him into anything he doesn’t want to do. I must leave Elif a message saying, ‘Don’t come.’ Perhaps the best thing is not to answer at all.

Words, sentences and conversations that filter through the intricate maze of his memory and prick his insides like a pin, deepening his restlessness and suffocation: to carry the name of Deniz like a true Deniz … To be worthy of that name … They died for their beliefs … Even if the world should change, basic human values do not … Man cannot remain indifferent to his times, to his society. He should not … What do you think is the meaning of life? Should I be hanged like your Deniz to win your favour, Dad? This is basically the question of what life means for a human being … Pigs are happy, too, but I prefer to die fighting for human rights, justice and freedom rather than live happily like pigs … And have your son die, too? My son will be a scientist … You have everything, you have been given every opportunity to excel … You can go to the best schools abroad if you like … To be worthy … Of what, of whom? As you don’t seem to be good for anything, well, go to Iraq and take photographs of human suffering. I’ve fixed up a war correspondent’s job for you in Iraq … Wars are evil. People die in wars … It would be good for you to see how the world really is … Those named Deniz … The gallows … The domains of science, laboratories … A little ambition is good. It forces one to get ahead in the race … Well, what do you want to do in life? The happiness of pigs … To sleep, to sleep for ever … With that village girl, on that island where you’ve buried yourself alive … The meaning of life? And what is that? The eternal fugitive, the eternal loser … Don’t go. Let’s try to start all over again … As a child you struggled even to learn to ride a bike. That stupid psychologist who said your IQ was close to that of a genius should see you now … I don’t want to be a genius. I want to be a nobody … Leave me alone. I want to sleep … Your values, your value, my value … Don’t go, Son … To lose a child … What is love? Ulla loved me. She was the only one who loved me … Am I invisible? The girls who come to class in the mornings kiss all the boys, but they don’t even see me … I’m lonely, so lonely … I’m very, very, very well … Everything I told you was a lie … Everything I told you was true … I’m frightened, Mum … I’m frightened, Dad … I’m frightened, Ulla … The unknown deserter … The unknown deserter of life…

I must get hold of Elif without delay; send a message to her mobile.

He remembers that he doesn’t have a mobile. A mobile means a link with the world. Wherever you are, they will find you. I’ll use Jan’s phone when he gets back from fishing. There’s no need for that. I’ll call from the Gasthaus. A very short message: ‘You don’t have to come, I’m fine.’

The child walking along in front of him disappears among the rocks. He is playing his usual game of hide-and-seek, but this evening Deniz panics; he is anxious about his son. ‘Bjørn,’ he calls. ‘Bjørn, please come out. I’m not playing.’

To lose Bjørn … The last time we saw each other, Dad, you asked me if I knew what it was to lose a son. You were suffering; you were sad. Even I noticed. You know, you always say I’m insensitive. For a moment I even thought of doing the things you wanted me to do, being what you wished me to be and trying again. However, hadn’t you considered the risk of losing your son when you sent me off to become a war correspondent? When I could stand it no longer and came back, and you sneered at me saying scornfully, ‘Didn’t that job work out either?’ When you lamented the fact that I couldn’t be like others named Deniz?

‘Come on, Bjørn. Come out. Look, it’s late. Daddy is going home now.’

The child comes out laughing from behind the rock where he has been hiding. ‘I frightened Daddy, I frightened Daddy!’

‘Don’t frighten me again. Daddy doesn’t have any other sons. And, besides, we are as hungry as wolves. Let’s go straight home and have dinner. Let’s see what Bestemor has prepared for us.’

The child points to the boat approaching the quay in the slowly darkening sea. ‘Look. Our boat has arrived. Let’s go and see if there are any passengers.’

This is another game: Bjørn’s game of waiting for the mysterious strangers he imagines will disembark from the boat that links the island to the mainland. Deniz knows that the child is really waiting for Princess Ulla. In the fairytale world they have invented Ulla may miss them very much, come down from her star and come back to earth one day. The boat either returns empty from its last run, especially in the winter months when it gets dark early, or a few belated villagers get off the boat. Very seldom there are one or two strangers who cannot face continuing their journey and prefer to spend the night on the island. There are more arrivals in the summer months, especially at this time. They stay at the Gasthaus. The child is not content with these. ‘Why doesn’t anybody come to us, Daddy?’ he asks. His high-pitched frail voice quavers with disappointment, loneliness and sadness.