Orhan Pamuk - A Strangeness in My Mind

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Vediha.The children heard the gunshots and rushed joyfully out into the garden as if someone had set off firecrackers. Bozkurt, Turan, I yelled after them, go back inside and shut the door. They didn’t listen, so I smacked one and dragged the other inside by the arm. I thought I should call the police. But it was Süleyman who’d fired the shots; would it be wise to call? “What are you doing standing there, you idiots, call your father!” I said. I’d told them not to touch the phone without my permission; otherwise they would have played with it all the time. Bozkurt rang the number and told Korkut, “Dad, Aunt Samiha’s run away!”

I started crying, though part of me felt Samiha had done the right thing — just don’t tell anyone I said that. It’s true, poor Süleyman is hopelessly in love with her. But he is not the smartest guy in the world, or the handsomest. He’s already a little overweight. He has these long eyelashes, some girls might love them, but Samiha always found them stupid and girlish. The main problem, though, is that despite being in love with her, Süleyman kept doing all kinds of things he knew would get on Samiha’s nerves. Why are men mean to the women they fall in love with? Samiha can’t stand the way he struts around, trying to be macho, and he’s such a show-off, he thinks everyone wants his advice just because he happens to have some money in his pocket. I say to my little sister good for you, not giving yourself to a man you can’t love, but then I wonder if this other guy she’s run off with can be trusted. After all, taking a girl away in a taxi in the middle of the city in broad daylight isn’t the brightest idea. We’re in Istanbul, not the village; did he really have to come honking at the door like that?

—

Samiha.Everything I see on our drive through Istanbul just amazes me: the crowds, the people dodging buses as they run to the other side of the road, the girls in skirts, the horse-drawn carts, the parks, the big old apartment buildings; I love it all. Süleyman knew how much I liked driving around the city in his van (he knew because I kept asking him to take me), but he rarely took me, and do you know why? (In fact, I’ve given it a lot of thought.) Because although he wanted to be close to me, he couldn’t respect a girl who got too friendly with a boy before she was married to him. But I’m the kind of girl who only marries the man she loves — is that clear? I didn’t think about money, I only followed my heart, and now I’m ready to face the consequences of what I’ve done.

—

Süleyman.Before I’d even reached Mecidiyeköy, they’d already passed Şişli. I went back home and parked the van, trying to keep calm. I’d never thought anyone would dare to take my betrothed away in broad daylight, right in the heart of Istanbul, so I still couldn’t believe what I’d seen. No one would ever do something this crazy; everyone knows it’s the kind of thing that people get killed for.

—

Samiha.Duttepe is neither “the heart of Istanbul” nor, as you know, did I promise Süleyman anything. It’s true that someone might end up getting killed, but that’s exactly why we’re running so far away, and besides, everyone has to die someday. Istanbul never ends. Now that the coast is clear, we’ve stopped in a café to enjoy the salty yogurt drink ayran from carton bottles. My darling’s mustache is all white from it. I’ll never tell you his name, and you will never find us, so don’t even bother asking.

—

Süleyman.When I got home, Vediha cleaned the wound on my forehead with a cotton ball. I went out to the garden and fired two shots at the mulberry tree with the Kırıkkale. The strange silence began soon after that. I couldn’t stop thinking that Samiha would surely come back home as if nothing had happened. That evening, everyone was in the house. Someone had switched the TV off as if we’d had a death in the family, and I realized that what really pained me was the silence. My brother kept smoking. Crooked-Necked Abdurrahman was drunk; Vediha was crying. I went out into the garden at midnight, and as I looked down from Duttepe to the city lights spread out below, I swore to God that I would avenge what had happened. Samiha is standing at a window somewhere among the millions of lights down there. Knowing that she doesn’t love me hurts so much that I’d rather think she was taken against her will, which in turn makes me think of how I want to kill those bastards. Our ancestors used to torture criminals before they executed them — it’s in times like these that one truly understands the importance of tradition.

—

Abdurrahman Efendi.What is it like to be a father whose daughters keep running away? I’m a little embarrassed, but I’m also proud that my daughters don’t settle for the husbands someone else picks out for them but bravely go with the men they choose for themselves. Though, if they’d had a mother to confide in, they would have done the right thing, and no one would have run away…In a marriage, trust is more important than love, as we all know. I worry about what they’ll do to poor Vediha after I go back to the village. But my eldest is smarter than she looks, and perhaps she’ll find a way to avoid getting punished for this.

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Süleyman.I fell in love with Samiha even more after she ran away. Before she eloped, I loved her because she was beautiful and clever and because everyone admired her. That was understandable. Now, I love her because she left me and ran away. This is even more understandable, but the pain is unbearable. I spend mornings at our shop, daydreaming about her coming back and thinking that if I were to rush home right now I would find her there and we would get married and have a huge wedding reception.

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Korkut.I made a few insinuations about how hard it would be to run away with a girl unless you had someone helping you inside the house, but Vediha didn’t take the bait. All she did was cry and say, “This city is huge, how was I supposed to know?” One day it was just me and Abdurrahman Efendi in the house. “Some fathers take a man’s money and anything else they can get, and then when a better match shows up, they secretly sell their daughter to the richer man and then pretend the girl eloped. Please don’t get me wrong, Abdurrahman Efendi, you’re a respectable man, but how could Samiha not think about this when she ran away?” I asked. “I’ll be the first to make her pay for this,” he said. Later, he decided that he was offended by what I’d said and stopped coming home for dinner. That’s when I told Vediha: “I don’t know which of you helped her, but you will not leave this house until I find out where Samiha went and with whom.” “It’s fine, you never let me go outside the neighborhood anyway, so now I just won’t even bother leaving the house,” she said. “Can I at least go out in the garden?”

—

Süleyman.One night I put Abdurrahman Efendi in the van and drove down to the Bosphorus, telling him we needed to talk. We went to the Tarator Seafood Restaurant in Sarıyer and sat in a corner away from the fish tank. Our fried mussels hadn’t arrived yet, and we were already on our second glass of rakı, all on an empty stomach, when I said, “Abdurrahman Efendi, you’ve lived much longer than I have, and I’m sure you will know the answer to my question. What does a man live for?” Abdurrahman Efendi had sensed a while ago that our conversation tonight could potentially head into dangerous territory, so he spent a long time trying to find the most harmless answer he could think of. “For love, my son!” he said. “What else?” He thought again and said, “For friendship.” “And?” “For happiness. For God and country…” “A man lives for his honor, Father!” I interrupted.