Oya Baydar - The Lost Word

‘There’s nothing wrong. It’ll pass in a moment. Now off you run to the quayside and see if everything’s ready, if the nets have been put up. If anyone asks, say, “Daddy will be along soon.”’ He smacks the boy on the bottom. The child runs off.

‘What the matter, Mother Cat? What’s wrong?’

‘I don’t know,’ she says between sobs. ‘I don’t know: when I saw you on the cliff I suddenly got really frightened. You were talking to someone, something. It seemed as though you were talking to a snake. I was terrified.’

‘Oh, Mother … What snake! Bjørn was standing below the cliff and was insisting that we went to the fairground, and I was saying that we would wait for Granny to wake up and then go. I was waiting for you. That’s all.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘I’m sorry, my nerves are in shreds. I’ve started to hallucinate. Last night was a difficult night for me. As a matter of fact, everything has been very hard for years. Well, off you go. Don’t leave the boy alone. Never leave your son alone. I know the way. When I’ve pulled myself together I’ll follow you.’

He helps his mother get to her feet. He hugs her; just as he hugged her when he was very, very small, with the same submission, the same amiability.

‘There are no snakes here, Mother. Don’t be afraid. Go inside and wash your face and freshen up your makeup. My mother should look beautiful to the islanders. I’m not late, and, besides, I’ve no more work to do there. It’s much too early for serving beer. I’ll wait for you, and we’ll go to the quay together.’

This time Ömer answered his phone. At last he had managed to reach a civilized place where mobile phones had a signal! She had grown fed up with hearing the message ‘The number you have called is unavailable. Please try later’, and she had been hurt that he had not replied in spite of seeing her number on the screen. He had said on the phone that he was going east. Where is the east? Van is east and so is Tunceli and Hakkari, Iraq, Syria and Afghanistan … The east is everywhere. Even Europe is the east when looking at it from here, from the North Sea. The stress of following the symposium that had passed with interesting presentations, the excitement of putting the finishing touches to her paper on ‘Ethical Issues of Gene Technology’ — she thought that the paper would make her a strong candidate for the Woman Scientist of the Year prize that she had her sights on for years — and the question ‘Should she or should she not go to see Deniz?’ that was gnawing away at her mind and her heart had prevented her from thinking too much about Ömer. In the bustle of the last few days he had sent a text message saying, ‘There is not always a good reception here. Don’t worry. I’m fine. I shall be here for a while.’ Well, that was a sound and valid excuse for both of them: there’s no reception. What can I do?

Now she was standing in a relatively calm corner where the row of houses began, a little way from the festivities, and looking at the square by the quay that had been decorated with fish, starfish seahorses and large mermaids made from colourful foil, pieces of material and thick cardboard, dangling from nets. She had taken refuge in the corner of a house in order to shelter from the noise of the festival where a wide range of fish was displayed on long tables covered with white wax cloths, where biscuits, cakes and coloured sweets were sold and where preparations were being made for serving beer, and with her mobile in her hand she was waiting to hear Ömer’s voice.

‘I was going to phone you, dear. I phoned several times before, but I couldn’t reach you. Where are you, or have you returned to Istanbul?’

‘These phones are to blame. I expect mine didn’t have a signal either. What with you in the middle of the mountains and me on the Devil’s Island, what can we do?’ Her words are sarcastic, but her voice is not bitter or despondent. One could even say it is cheerful with a subtle vibrancy. ‘Guess where I am!’

‘You’re on the island, Deniz’s island.’

‘How did you know that?’

‘Didn’t you just say I was in the mountains and you were on the Devil’s Island?’ He pauses for a moment and in a voice different from his previously teasing, childish voice he says, ‘Thanks for going. I didn’t feel ready yet, and I put the burden on you. I didn’t support you either.’ His voice sounds subdued with a faint tone of embarrassment and apology.

When we talk about our son we always seem to be scared, shy and apologizing to each other. Why? Is it because we each feel guiltier than the other, or because we each think that the other’s inadequacy is greater? Or is it because of our weakness, our helplessness?

Trying to sound cheerful she says, ‘Now, forget all that. There is a fish festival today, a herring festival or something here on the island. We are at the square by the quay. Do you remember the quay? They’ve decorated everywhere with fishing nets and multicoloured fish. Your grandson’s dashing around. He’s having a wonderful time.’

‘My grandson! I have a grandson, do I?’

It is then that Elif realizes what she has said. ‘Yes, you have a grandson, and he is really sweet. Little Bjørn who waits for Princess Ulla, who, when he realized that we didn’t speak the same language, showed his affection by rubbing against me like a cat.’

‘How is Deniz?’

‘Deniz … Deniz is well. Everyone’s fine.’

They both think at the same time of that heart-wrenching film that they love: Everyone’s Fine … When the elderly Sicilian father who has gone to see his children living far away returns home, he replies to those who ask how the children are and also says to his wife in her grave, ‘Everyone’s fine.’ The summary of the desperate grief of their children’s lives wrapped in dreams and lies; their children who have perished and been crushed in a distant city; the daughter who is a prostitute, the elder son who has committed suicide and the young son who has gone to prison for drug dealing. Everyone is fine.

She continues, ‘We’ll talk about it when I come. I’ll tell you about Deniz and Bjørn. I’ve missed you, I suddenly had this feeling, and I couldn’t resist it, so I just had to phone you straight away.’

‘Why on earth were you resisting it?’

‘Your not getting in touch, your clinging to the excuse that there was no reception. Get out now from among those mountains and caves and get to a place where your phone has a signal. There is a meeting in Switzerland in a few days. I’m going to take part in it and then return. Come home, too.’ She is astonished at what she has said. She had made the call to put her own mind at rest rather than Ömer’s as well as to be seen to have made the effort in asking after her husband — or that is what she thought. When one was incapable even of understanding one’s own feelings how could one tell others that one could understand them?

‘I’ll be there when you get back, dear. We’ll talk. Give my greetings to Deniz … Well, say whatever’s appropriate — whatever will make him feel better…’

Elif ends the call. The little boy comes running over to her, and, pulling her by the arm, he says something that she doesn’t understand. His eyes are flashing. He’s excited, joyful, full of life. She walks towards the quay following the child. He points to the fishing boats that have been decorated for the festival and that are drawing up to the quay. Women and men, old and young, people in regional dress from the surrounding islands and from the mainland get off the boats singing cheerful songs to the accompaniment of a strange instrument, something between a fiddle and a mandolin. The square by the quay comes to life. It is as though this far-away island that has exceeded the limits of serenity, silence and peace and threatened to be bleak has had a fit of jollity and excitement that it finds somewhat alien.