Orhan Pamuk - A Strangeness in My Mind

Süleyman insisted that what his father was doing was pointless — profligate, in fact: plastic bags were much cheaper by the kilo than salvaged newspaper. Still worried about their inevitable discussion over the percentages, Mevlut was happy to see their argument drag on: this spontaneous division within the Aktaş camp could only help. When Uncle Hasan said, “Money isn’t all that matters in life, son!” Mevlut supported him, adding that just because there was money in something, that didn’t necessarily make it a good thing.

“Come on, Dad, Mevlut’s still trying to sell boza,” said Süleyman. “You can’t do business thinking like that.”

“Mevlut is more respectful of his uncle than you are,” said Uncle Hasan. “Look, he’s folding newspapers and making himself useful, unlike you two.”

“We’ll see about respect when he tells us what he’s decided. So, Mevlut? What do you say?” said Korkut

Mevlut panicked, but everyone was diverted when a boy walked into the shop and said, “Some bread, Uncle Hasan.” Now well over eighty, the old grocer took a loaf out of the wooden bread cupboard and placed it on the counter. The ten-year-old kid was dissatisfied; this loaf wasn’t crispy enough. “You shouldn’t touch unless you’re buying,” said Uncle Hasan and went over to the cupboard to pick out one with a harder crust.

Meanwhile Mevlut went outside. He’d had an idea. In his pocket was a mobile phone Samiha had bought him six months ago. He carried it only so Samiha could call her husband; Mevlut himself never used it. Now, he was going to call his wife to tell her that sixty-two percent was too much, and they had to go lower, otherwise it wouldn’t end well.

But Samiha didn’t pick up. It began to rain, and Mevlut saw that the boy had finally gotten his bread and left the store, so he went back inside, sat across from Uncle Hasan, and resumed folding newspapers just as meticulously as before. Süleyman and Korkut were giving their father a withering account of all the obstructors who’d caused them trouble at the last minute after everything had been agreed, the schemers who’d changed their minds and demanded a new negotiation, and the scoundrels who’d secretly solicited bribes from the contractors in exchange for persuading their neighbors to sign an agreement. Mevlut knew that they would start talking about him the same way as soon as he left. He noticed with some surprise the questions Uncle Hasan was asking his sons, which suggested he must have been following all these negotiations and the various construction contracts very closely, still trying to tell his sons what to do from his base at the grocery store. Until then, Mevlut had always imagined that Uncle Hasan had no idea what went on beyond those four walls (where he spent long hours not so much for profit as for personal enjoyment).

A face on one of the newspapers he was folding up caught Mevlut’s eye. The headline next to it said MASTER CALLIGRAPHER DIES. He realized with a pang that the Holy Guide had passed away, and his heart quivered with sadness. Under another photograph, this of the Holy Guide in his youth, the caption read: “The works of our last great calligrapher are displayed in museums across Europe.” Mevlut had last visited the lodge six months ago. Swarmed by his legions of admirers, the man was out of reach, and it had been impossible to hear let alone understand anything he said. In the past ten years, the streets all around the house in Çarşamba had filled up with votaries of many different sects, all wearing robes of one color or another. It was the same traditional religious garb that people wore in Iran and Saudi Arabia. These people’s political Islamism had begun to unnerve Mevlut, and eventually he stopped going there altogether. Now, he regretted not having seen the Holy Guide one last time before he died. Mevlut hid behind the newspaper he was holding and thought about the Guide.

“You can fold newspapers with my father some other time, Mevlut,” said Korkut. “Let’s get this deal worked out, as we agreed. We’ve got other things to do. Everyone’s saying, ‘Why hasn’t your cousin signed yet?’ Haven’t we given you and Samiha everything you’ve asked for?”

“We don’t want to stay in Hadji Hamit’s dormitories after they knock our house down.”

“Fine. We’ll put a clause in the contract that says you’ll get one thousand two hundred and fifty liras a month for three years. You can go live wherever you want.”

This was a lot of money. Feeling encouraged, Mevlut just came out with it: “We also want a share of sixty-two percent.”

“Sixty-two percent? Where’s this coming from?” (Mevlut would have dearly liked to say, It’s Samiha, she won’t take no for an answer!) “Last time we spoke, we told you fifty-five is impossible!”

“This is what we feel is appropriate,” said Mevlut, surprising even himself with his own assertiveness.

“That’s not going to happen,” said Korkut. “We have our own honor to think about, too. We won’t let you rip us off in broad daylight. Shame on you! I hope you realize what you’re doing. See what kind of man our Mevlut has turned out to be, Father?”

“Calm down, son,” said Uncle Hasan. “Mevlut is a sensible fellow.”

“Then he’ll take fifty percent, and we’ll close this deal right here. If Mevlut doesn’t sign the contract, everyone will be talking about how the Aktaş family haven’t even got their own cousin to agree yet. You know how they meet at each other’s houses every night to scheme. Now our crafty Mr. Mevlut is using that to blackmail us. Is this your final decision, Mevlut?”

“It’s my final decision!” said Mevlut.

“Right. Let’s go, Süleyman.”

“Wait,” said Süleyman. “Mevlut, think about this for a minute: now that the neighborhood is officially an earthquake zone, a contractor who has two-thirds of the property owners on his side won’t make excuses for anyone. They’ll just kick people out of their houses. They’ll only give you as much for your land as it says on the title deed or as you’ve declared to the tax office. You don’t even have a title deed. You just have the councilman’s paper. Now I’m sure you know that if you look at the bottom of that piece of paper — the one you tried to give me that night you got drunk while writing love letters to Rayiha — you’ll see my father’s name under your father’s. If this ends up in the courts, ten years from now you won’t even get half of what we’re offering you today. So think about that.”

“That’s no way to talk to people, son,” said Uncle Hasan.

“My answer is the same,” said Mevlut.

“Let’s go, Süleyman,” said Korkut. They stormed out of the grocery store, the younger brother following the older off into the rain.

“They may be in their fifties, but my boys are still as hot-blooded as ever,” said Uncle Hasan. “But this kind of arguing isn’t right. They’ll be back soon. Maybe then you can ask for a little less…”

Mevlut couldn’t find it in him to say, I will. He would have been ready to settle for fifty-five percent had Korkut and Süleyman been nicer about it. Samiha was insisting on sixty-two percent out of sheer obstinacy. Even the thought of a ten-year court battle that left him empty-handed was enough to make him sick. He looked back down at the old newspaper in his hand.

The news of the Holy Guide’s death had been published four months ago. Mevlut read the short piece one more time. The paper didn’t even mention the lodge or his role as leader of a sect, even though these things had been as important in his life as being a master calligrapher.

What should he do now? If he were to leave, it would only make things worse, and harder for him to come back later to settle on a figure. Maybe that was what Korkut wanted: in court, they would argue “Our father’s name is on the councilman’s paper and he has a claim to the land, too” (making sure, of course, to ignore how they’d seized the land in Duttepe for themselves all those years ago and sold off the other plot in Kültepe) and finally leave Mevlut with nothing. He didn’t know how he would tell Samiha what had happened; he sat quietly and kept folding newspapers. Women who wanted rice, soap, and cookies, and children who wanted chewing gum and chocolates were coming and going.