Oya Baydar - The Lost Word

The Commander of the Garrison is sitting in his office behind a solid desk between the Turkish flag and standard in front of the large photograph hanging on the wall of Supreme Commander Mustafa Kemal, walking thoughtfully at Kocatepe before the Great Offensive. He is not alone. He gets to his feet when Ömer enters the room. The two other people in the room, one wearing an officer’s uniform and the other in civilian clothes, follow suit. Stepping in front of his desk to welcome Ömer, he introduces the others saying, ‘The District Governor and the Commander of the Mountain Commando Troops.’ He points to a black morocco-leather chair immediately in front of his desk.

‘Please sit down, Mr Eren. It really is a great pleasure for us to see you here.’

Ömer notices that the man is choosing his words carefully. Is he sincere, or is this a standard speech? Have I been summoned to be intimidated or be warned off or because an officer, a man of pleasure fed up with the suffocating, tense atmosphere here, needs to unwind and talk to a writer who has come from the world he is missing. Not knowing what to say, he smiles and nods slightly.

‘Here, among the mountains, we spend our days involved with mines, battles, death, attacks and military operations. And when we find someone like you we don’t easily let them go before they have had a cup of tea with us.’ He laughs brightly. ‘Of course, you don’t have to drink tea. We can offer something more tempting. You are our window to distant regions, Ömer Bey. So we want to show you that the people on duty here, who face death in these remote parts, can be different from what you suppose. Recently’ — he mentions the name of a well-known Turkish reporter — ‘came here. It was after the incident of this latest unsolved murder. He had made his decision some time earlier. I expect you have read his articles. You know, he doesn’t look kindly on the army, soldiers. He doesn’t mince his words. We took him around so that he could see the situation through our eyes, and we allowed him to contact local people. Believe me, in a few days we were friends. We began to trust each other. When he left, I won’t say his mind had changed, but he had new questions in his head. Not everything is as black and white as the terrorist organization would like to maintain.’

Again Ömer cannot decide whether the man’s words are a hidden threat, a hint or whether they are sincere. ‘Commander, it is a great joy to hear from a soldier that not everything is black and white. You are right. It is a different matter to see and to study a complex political situation on the spot. One must not be prejudiced. However, some things are clear cut and should not be swept under the carpet. I know the journalist well. I might even call him a friend. He has always argued that there cannot be any reason or excuse for the principles of the constitutional state to be suspended.’

He realizes that his words are too bullish and tries to soften his remarks. ‘But then I’m a novelist. The reason for my coming here is to do with the new book that I have started. I need to get to know the surroundings, the local people better. Perhaps my timing is a little out; my visit seems to have coincided with a period when trouble has broken out here once more. My journalistic streak is not overly developed. I write features from time to time on subjects that catch my interest. That’s all.’

‘You are modest, Ömer Bey. I read with pleasure your article in the paper written from Baghdad while waiting for the allied attack and also your previous Afghanistan notes. And I have watched you on television, too. I haven’t been able to read your fiction. I must confess that we military men don’t read novels very often. We don’t have time.’

‘I don’t read fiction much either,’ says the District Governor joining in the conversation. ‘When I was at high school I read Goldcrest and later Mehmet, My Hawk. Recently I thought I would read a novel by one of our fashionable writers. I started it with good intent, but I couldn’t get on with it and didn’t get to the end. My wife reads a lot of fiction. She is one of your fans. She likes your books very much. I think she’s read most of them. When I told her you were here she said, “I don’t believe it!” She would love to meet you.’

‘I should be happy to meet her. Please convey my respects to your wife. If she would accept, I should like to sign one of my books and send it to her.’ He is pleased that he has been able to speak in such a courteous, polite and restrained manner. Here one has to get on well with the state.

‘Are you going to be staying long, or will you be abandoning us soon?’

‘I haven’t made up my mind when I’ll return. It is not enough to see a place superficially. Writing requires sensitivity, getting under the skin of the people, talking to them, looking into their eyes and understanding their characters through contact. I think I need a little time.’

‘Never look too deeply into the eyes of people around here. And don’t put too much trust in what they say. Leaving politics and politeness to one side and speaking openly, honestly as a soldier, they are all enemies of the state. Even the most peaceable, those who appear to be loyal to the state,’ says the Commander of the Mountain Commandoes firmly.

As Ömer prepares to respond, the Garrison Commander changes the subject. ‘We are glad our intellectuals come here. Of course, it is good for them to see the real side of terror, the realities of the country. It’s also very important for the people here that they come; important to show that they are not forgotten, that those in the west are not ignoring them. The Commander speaks harshly with good reason. He’s very upset. Only two days ago he lost a petty officer and a private as well in a treacherous ambush; a very young soldier, just a boy, and Kurdish to boot. The petty officer was an excellent lad, a patriot who had come here voluntarily. He has left three children behind. Unfortunately, under these circumstances, it is not really possible always to be lenient. In fact, if the state could be more welcoming, if the civil government could bring food and work to this area — if it could dress its wounds — the people here are mostly trustworthy and good. You can find a handful of traitors anywhere. Unfortunately the conditions here make it easier to influence people.’

‘I understand your difficulties,’ says Ömer half-heartedly. ‘This war, terror and bloodshed has wearied everyone. You know this much better than I. You are the ones confronted with these events. You are the ones risking your lives fighting. As far as I have been able to see in these last few days, the people here want peace and justice, their identity recognized, respect shown to them and they don’t want to be considered dishonourable, traitors or to be badly treated. Perhaps you think this is the pipe dream of a writer, but despite all the bloodshed, these are people who have not lost their innocence. I say there is still hope.’

‘Try not to fall under the influence of the people you have met since you arrived, my dear author. Those who decide to be militants of the terrorist organization under the guise of campaigning for human rights and those who behave divisively cannot be true guides.’ Once again it is the Commander of the Mountain Troops who issues the warning.

Ömer can tell he is starting to lose patience with the man’s entrenched attitudes and his hectoring talk. For heaven’s sake, stay calm, he tells himself. There is no need to get on the wrong side of these people. After all, they are the rulers of this region. And, what is more, we writers do go on about empathy; one has to understand these individuals, too. They are surrounded by death, war, fear and hostility. In addition the man’s petty officer and his soldier have just been killed. Who can guarantee that others won’t die tomorrow? Just as he is about to ask who they mean when talking about ‘behaving divisively’, he notices the District Governor giving him a kind but warning glance. He seemed to want to look after and protect his guest from the stern officer’s fury.