Oya Baydar - The Lost Word

He seems to sense the source of Jiyan’s hidden anger, her distance and her open rebellion which she cannot rid herself of even when they are at their closest.

The fish, the rakı and the water filled from the spring all taste divine. Real butter has been spread on the hot kete. The chattering poplar leaves turn their never-ending talk into song and the little bee-eaters defy the crows. Jiyan’s wild hair flies around; it ripples as she talks, as she shakes her head. Ömer Eren understands that without realizing Soğukpinar’s beauty, without tasting the healing power hidden in its water, without being in love with Jiyan, it cannot be said that he knows the area and likes it, and if it is said it won’t go beyond words that remain on the edge of his lips. I can stay here for the rest of my life, at the water’s edge listening to the rustling music of the poplars and stroking Jiyan’s hair. When the snow melts and the snowdrops shoot up through the green grass, while looking for coolness in the summer heat, in autumn when the leaves of the poplars assume the colours of sadness and fly around, and when the snow settles and the wolves come down, I can stay in the hut by the fire I have lit. A whole life is not a very long time for a man who has reached his mid-fifties. I will stay here; not as the other or the one who alienates and not as a stranger, just as me, just Ömer Eren…

That day, when he returned to the hotel towards evening, pretty drunk, pretty tired but with a heart that for a long time had not felt so light, he stroked the ginger cat that was dozing in the old morocco leather armchair near the reception desk. ‘What’s its name?’ he asked the youth responsible for room service who was wandering around. ‘Virik,’ said the boy shrugging his shoulders and grinning.

‘And what does Virik mean?’

‘How should I know, abi? It’s just a cat’s name.’

As the boy chased the cat away with his long-handled mop, he remembered something and added, ‘They came from the military. The Commander sent a note. They could not reach you on your phone. It’s on the counter under the customer records book.’ He came over to Ömer, bent his head slightly and whispered in his ear. ‘These days there are a lot of people asking about you, abi, both civilians and military men.’

‘What do you tell them when they ask?’

‘I say, he’s writing a book in his room.’

‘Even if I’m not in my room?’

‘Well … how will they know? If they go up and have a look, I’ll say, so he went out without my noticing.’

‘Why do you say that then?’

The boy shrugged his shoulders, ‘You’re Jiyan Abla’s friend, that’s why. Here they get suspicious of foreigners. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.’

Ömer opened the envelope. This time the note from the military was not an invitation for a chat; it was an official summons to the Commander’s office around noon the following day. The Commander had not allowed other units to do the interview or questioning because of Ömer Eren’s reputation and because of the good relationship they had formed between them. Apparently he preferred to resolve the problem himself. Ömer thought, I’ve stayed long enough to attract attention — although it hadn’t been three weeks since he had arrived. He stuffed the envelope into his pocket and went up to his room.

The bedroom was hot and stuffy. He opened the window wide and drew back the net curtains. He threw his dusty shoes on the floor and lay down on the bed just as he was.

When he awoke it was past midnight. His head was thumping, his tongue was furred, his throat dry. He felt terrible. That homemade raki had really knocked him out, he thought. Yet how good everything was at the edge of the water. How easily the sips of raki had glided down his throat. He emptied the rest of the water in the bottom of the plastic bottle on the little table in front of the window into a glass and began to look for the painkillers he had bought from Jiyan’s shop the first night he arrived in town. He rummaged through his trouser pockets, the side pockets of his bags and the empty drawers in which he was sure he had not put anything. After that first night he had not needed painkillers. He thought that perhaps he had left the box at the shop on the counter after he had taken the pills with the water Jiyan had provided. He washed his face at the basin. He needed some ice-cold water, but the tap water was almost warm. He decided to go downstairs and ask the boy on night duty for cold water and to send him to one of the two chemists in the market or town — whichever was open — to buy some analgesics for his headache.

The boy on night duty had rested his head on the counter and was snoring lightly. Ömer did not have the heart to wake him up. He thought he heard a noise from the kitchen. He went towards it in the hope of finding someone to ask for water and whom he could send to the chemist’s. The cat Virik streaked out of the kitchen and hid under one of the armchairs in the lobby. Ömer pressed the light switch beside the door. A feeble yellow light illuminated the room which looked more like a place for making coffee than a working kitchen. As he turned to the corner where the fridge was, he noticed that the window opening on to the side street was open. They must have left it open to air but, still, what careless behaviour! A shadow passed in front of the window. He shuddered and was angry with himself for doing so; he was angry with this sinister town and the clouds that had descended over it.

‘I want to live without the fear of masked men raiding my house in the middle of the night and wandering around inside, taking me away to some unknown place; without the fear of being hit by a bullet in the neck on a street corner; without experiencing the fear of losing my loved ones or turning against them. This is all I long for, all we long for,’ Jiyan had said. ‘And I want to wander as free as a bird on summer nights along streets lit by street lamps, where people sit in front of their doors, where they sit and talk in front of their shops, without fear weighing on my heart,’ she had said. He understood.

He took a bottle of cold water from the fridge. Although it was not his job he shut the window. As he closed it he did not stick his head out of the window but took shelter behind the wall. This time instead of being angry with himself he laughed. This is what I call adapting to the environment; if someone who was not from this area were to see me they would make fun of my behaviour. He went out of the kitchen leaving the light on. The boy at reception was still fast asleep. The cat was waiting in front of the hotel’s glass door, watching for the door to open. When it saw Ömer it rubbed itself against his legs and miaowed. ‘Do you want to go outside? Come on, Virik.’ He liked addressing the cat by its name. Virik stopped being any old cat and became a cat he knew, that knew him; it was as though it smoothed out his feeling of foreignness.

As he was trying to open the door to let Virik out, the youth at reception awoke and leapt up befuddled with sleep. Ömer glanced at him and saw the gun that had suddenly appeared on the counter. He pushed Virik who had begun to miaow away with his foot.

‘Don’t worry. You were asleep, and I didn’t want to wake you up. I came down to get some cold water, and the cat wanted to go outside.’

‘Let him go out, abi. Wait, I’m here now. I’ll open the door.’

As the boy was opening the door and pushing the cat outside, he stood for a moment as though riveted to the spot and then hastily closed the door. He said something in Kurdish. Ömer did not understand what he said but gathered from his tone that he was swearing.