Orhan Pamuk - A Strangeness in My Mind

Ferhat told him that his wife had left their house and gone to stay with Vediha and the Aktaş family, refusing to come home. In fact, Mevlut knew more: their mutual father-in-law, Crooked-Necked Abdurrahman, unable to hide his glee at the news that Samiha had left her husband, had jumped on the first bus from the village to come and be near his daughter and support her in this difficult time. Of this Mevlut said nothing.

“I’ve made mistakes, too,” said Ferhat. “But that’s all going to change. I will take her to the movies. But first she has to come home. Of course, we can’t have you speaking to Samiha directly. But Vediha can be the one to talk to her.”

In the days that followed, Mevlut would often wonder why it would have been wrong for him to speak to Samiha himself. But at the time, he didn’t object.

“Vediha is a clever woman,” said Ferhat. “Out of all the Aktaş and Karataş lot, she’s the smartest. She can persuade Samiha. Go tell her that…”

Ferhat told Mevlut about a big scheme he was part of, though, as a precaution, he didn’t name any of the places, gangs, or people involved. He wanted Mevlut to pass it all on to Vediha, so that Vediha could then tell Samiha. It really was true that he was neglecting his wife because of work.

“Oh, and Samiha was also upset about something else,” said Ferhat. “She said you don’t want Fatma and Fevziye coming over to our place in the afternoon to spend time with their aunt. Is that true?”

“That’s a lie,” lied Mevlut.

“Well, anyway, you tell Samiha that I can’t live without her,” said Ferhat self-importantly.

Mevlut was unconvinced, and he thought sorrowfully of how, throughout the whole conversation, they had only shared their public views. Twenty-six years ago, they had become friends while selling Kısmet owing to the hopeful belief that they could reveal all their private thoughts to each other.

Now, the two friends went their separate ways, like two inspectors who’d just concluded a routine bit of business. It was to be the last time they would ever see each other.

—

Vediha.With all the time and effort I’ve spent since marrying into this family twenty years ago — settling arguments, covering for flaws, and mending fences — is it right that I should be held responsible whenever something bad happens? After all those times I told Samiha “Whatever you do, don’t leave your house and your husband,” is it right that I should be blamed when my sister decides to pack her bags and come live with us in Duttepe? After I spent four years sifting through Istanbul for a nice and decent girl for Süleyman, is it my fault if he ends up marrying some old lounge singer? If my poor father decides to come to Istanbul to be with his daughters and spends more than a month living up on the third floor with Samiha, do I deserve the dirty looks from my father-in-law and husband? When Süleyman can’t even be bothered to come visit his parents anymore, is it right that he should get away with saying “Samiha is there” as his excuse and put me and my poor little sister in such an awkward position? After all the times I said, “Let’s move to Şişli, we’ve got enough money now,” and Korkut ignored me, is it right for Süleyman and his wife to go and live there themselves, as if to rub it in? In fact, is it right that Süleyman and his wife haven’t even invited me and Korkut to their new house yet? And what about Melahat’s being so condescending about how Duttepe’s roads are still not paved and we don’t even have a hairdresser in the neighborhood? Or when she’s telling my fortune and says, “Men have bullied you and pushed you around all your life, haven’t they” as if she’s so much better than I am? Should a new mother be relying so entirely on her maid that she forgets all about her baby in the other room and spends three hours prattling on with her guests, getting drunk, and trying to sing? Is it fair that my poor little sister and I shouldn’t be allowed to go to the cinema in Şişli? Or that Korkut should categorically forbid me to go out, or to leave the neighborhood if he does happen to let me leave the house? Is it reasonable that I should be the one who’s been taking my father-in-law’s lunch over to his shop every single day for the past twenty years? That I should hurry to make sure his food doesn’t get cold only for him to say “Not this again” or “What on earth is this,” regardless of whether I’ve made his favorite meat-and-bean stew or tried something different with okra in it? Is it right for Korkut to tell Samiha what she can and can’t do and order her around like his wife, just because she’s living with us now? Or for Korkut to tell me off in front of his mother and father? Or talk down to his wife in front of the children? Is it right for all of them to come to me with their problems, but then always turn around and say, “You don’t understand”? Does it seem fair that I should never get the remote when we’re watching TV together in the evenings? Should Bozkurt and Turan be as rude to me as their father is? Or swear like sailors in front of their mother? Is it right for their father to spoil them so much? When we’re watching TV together, is it right for them to say “A snack, Mom!” every five minutes without even turning to look at me? After all that their mother does for them, is it right that they never even bother to say thanks? Would it be wrong to object to how they respond “Yeah, sure, whatever you want, Mom” or “Are you insane?” to everything I say? Is it proper for them to keep those disgusting magazines in their room? Is it right for their father to come home so late every other evening? Or that he’s hired some scrawny, surly blonde with too much makeup on and gives her all this attention because “She’s good for business”? Should the boys turn their noses up at everything I cook? Is it fine for them to ask for fries every day even though their faces are covered in pimples? Is it okay to do their homework while they watch TV? After I’ve spent hours making them dumplings, just because I love them both so much, is it right that they just gobble them up with nothing to say except “Not enough meat in them”? And that they pour Coca-Cola into their grandfather’s ear when he falls asleep in front of the TV? Is it right for them to copy their father and call anyone they don’t like a “faggot” or a “Jew”? When I say, “Go and get some bread from your granddad’s shop,” is it right for them to argue every time about whether it’s Turan’s or Bozkurt’s turn to go? Whenever I ask them to do anything, is it reasonable for them to say “I’ve got homework to do” even though they never really do their homework? Is it right for them to answer back “It’s my room, I can do what I want!” every time I ask them to be careful with something? If once in a blue moon we decide to take the car and go somewhere together as a family, is it acceptable for them to say, “We’ve got a football match in the neighborhood”? Is it right for them to refer to their uncle Mevlut as “the boza seller” and be so mean to his daughters all the time, even though they’re so infatuated with their cousins? How about when they take their father’s tone with me and say, “You say you’re on a diet, but then you stuff your face with pastries all day”? Or that they make fun of me as he does for watching my soap operas in the afternoon? Is it right for them to say, “We’ve got our tutoring sessions to prepare for the university entrance exams,” but then go to the movies instead? When they fail the entire school year, is it appropriate for them to call the teacher a nutcase instead of admitting their own deficiencies? Should they be taking the car when they don’t even have a driver’s license yet? If they happen to see their aunt Samiha out on her own in Şişli, must they inform their father as soon as he comes home in the evening? Is it right for Korkut to tell me “You’ll do as I say, or else!” in front of them? Or to squeeze my wrist hard enough to hurt and bruise? Is it right for them to shoot seagulls and pigeons with their air gun? That they should never help me clear the table after dinner, not even once? After all my lectures on how important it is that they do their homework, is it appropriate for their father to tell that old story yet again of how he beat up the donkey-faced chemistry teacher in front of the whole class? When they have a test, shouldn’t they try studying instead of making cheat sheets? Is it right for my mother-in-law, Safiye, to say, “You’re no angel yourself, Vediha!” every time I complain about any of these things? After all their pronouncements on God, the nation, and morality, is it right that all they should ever think about is how they can make more money?