Orhan Pamuk - A Strangeness in My Mind

“They didn’t know that it contained alcohol,” said Süleyman. “Any way, if boza really were as blessed as holy water, people would be drinking it all day and you’d be rich by now.”

“It’s not like it can only be holy if everyone is drinking it. Very few people actually read the Koran. But in all of Istanbul, there is always at least one person reading it at any given time, and millions of people can feel better just by thinking of that person. It’s enough for people to know that boza was our ancestors’ favorite drink. That’s what the boza seller’s call reminds them of, and it makes them feel good to hear it.”

“Why do they feel good?”

“I don’t know,” said Mevlut. “But thank God they do, because that’s why they drink boza.”

“So that means you’re like a symbol of something bigger, Mevlut.”

“Yes, exactly,” said Mevlut with pride.

“But you’re still willing to sell me your boza without a profit. The only thing you don’t want is for it to go down the toilet. You’re right, wasting food is a sin, so we should distribute it among the poor, but I don’t know if people will want to drink something that’s got alcohol in it.”

“If you’re going to start insulting boza after all the years you’ve spent lecturing me about patriotism and boasting about what a good fascist you are, then you’re on the wrong track, Süleyman…”

“There you go, the moment they see you succeed, they get jealous and tell you you’re wrong.”

“I’m not jealous of you. It’s clear that you’re spending time with the wrong woman, Süleyman…”

“You know full well that it makes no difference whether it’s the right woman or the wrong woman or any other woman.”

“I got married, and thankfully I’m very happy,” said Mevlut, rising from his seat. “You find yourself a good girl, too, and get married as soon as possible. Good night.”

“I won’t get married until I’ve killed the bastard who took Samiha,” Süleyman yelled after him. “You go tell that Kurd.”

Mevlut made his way home as if walking in his sleep. Rayiha had brought the boza jugs down. He could have tied them to his stick and gone out. Instead he went up the stairs and into the house.

Rayiha was breast-feeding Fevziye. “Did he make you drink?” she whispered, trying not to startle the baby.

Mevlut could feel the force of the rakı inside his head.

“I didn’t drink at all. He just kept asking who Samiha had run off with and where did she go. Who’s the Kurd he keeps mentioning?”

“What did you say?”

“What could I have said? I don’t know anything.”

“Samiha ran away with Ferhat!” said Rayiha.

“What?…Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Süleyman’s lost his mind,” said Rayiha. “You should hear the things he says back home in Duttepe…If he finds out who took Samiha, he’ll kill him.”

“No way…he’s all talk,” said Mevlut. “He’s a loudmouth, but Süleyman wouldn’t kill anyone.”

“But why are you so tense, what’s making you so angry?”

“I’m not tense and I’m not angry,” he shouted. He went out, slamming the door behind him. He heard the baby start to cry.

Mevlut was fully aware that it would take countless nights of walking on dark streets before he could even begin to accept what he’d just found out. That night he walked from the backstreets of Feriköy all the way to Kasımpaşa, even though he had no customers there.

At some point during the evening, he lost his way and climbed down several steep roads, and when he came across a small graveyard squeezed between two wooden houses, he went in to have a cigarette among the gravestones. One dating all the way back to Ottoman times, and surmounted by a large sculpted turban, filled him with awe. He had to put Samiha and Ferhat out of his mind. On his long walk that night, he convinced himself that he wouldn’t dwell on the news. In any case, whenever he went home and lay down to sleep with Rayiha in his arms, he forgot all his troubles. Besides, the things that troubled him in this world were all just specters of the strangeness in his mind. Even the dogs in the cemetery had been nice to him that night.

We’re Going to Hide in Here

Samiha.Yes, I eloped with Ferhat. I’ve kept quiet for two years now, just to make sure no one finds out where we are. But I’ve got so much to tell.

Süleyman was really in love with me. It’s true that love can make a fool of any man. He was acting so strange — especially in the days just before I ran away — and whenever he spoke to me, his mouth would go dry from nervousness. No matter how hard he tried, he could never figure out how to say all the sweet things I would have liked to hear. He used to play pranks on me like a naughty kid taunting his little brother, and even though he liked taking me for drives, every time we got in the van he would still say, “Let’s hope no one sees us” or “We’re wasting so much gas.”

I left behind all the presents Süleyman had given me, though I can’t see my father returning his false teeth or any of the other gifts, either…he must be so angry at me. To tell the truth, I’m pretty angry too about how they all decided Süleyman was good enough for me without even bothering to ask what I thought.

Ferhat says he first saw me at Rayiha and Mevlut’s wedding. I hadn’t even noticed him. But he couldn’t forget me; that’s what he said when he stopped me out in Duttepe one day to declare face-to-face that he was in love and intended to marry me.

So many boys had wanted to marry me but couldn’t even work up the courage to come near me, so I liked the boldness of his approach: he told me he was a university student who worked in the restaurant industry (he didn’t say he was a waiter). He used to call me at home in Duttepe, though I’ve no idea where he got our number. If Süleyman and Korkut had found out, they would have beaten him bloody and broken his bones, but Ferhat didn’t care, he would call me anyway and try to arrange a meeting. When Vediha was home, I wouldn’t pick up. “Hello…Hello? Hello, hello!” my sister would say, with one eye on me. “No one’s speaking…Must be that guy again. Be careful, Samiha, this city is full of perverts looking for a good time.” I wouldn’t respond. But Vediha understood perfectly well that I would prefer a fun-loving rascal over a fat, lazy rich boy any day.

When my father and Vediha weren’t home, I’d be the one to pick up the phone, since Bozkurt and Turan weren’t allowed to touch it anyway. Ferhat wouldn’t say much. There was a place behind the Ali Sami Yen football stadium where he used to wait for me under a mulberry tree. There were some old stables there where homeless people lived. There was a little shop where Ferhat would buy me a bottle of Fruko orange soda, and we would check under the cap to see whether we’d won anything. I never once asked him how much he made in the restaurant industry, whether he had any savings, or where we would live. That’s the way I fall in love.

Once I got into the taxi, we didn’t head straight for the Ghaazi Quarter. First we turned back toward Taksim Square, where we figured we could lose Süleyman in the bustle, in case he was still following us; from there we went down to Kabataş, where I admired the simple deep blue of the sea, and as we drove over Galata Bridge I was entranced at the sight of all the ships with their passengers and all those cars around us. At one point, I felt like crying at the thought of being separated from my father and my sister and going to a place I didn’t know, but at the same time I felt in my heart that this whole city was now mine and that I was starting a very happy life.