Istanbul Noir - Mustafa Ziyalan [14]
They passed Bebek Hotel, Starbucks, Divan Bakery, and then the grocery store. Even if the whole world were to go haywire, the colorful fruit-packed trays of that grocery store would be enough to restore the illusion that everything was A-OK. Cavidan Hanım, turning to her right, pointed to the olive oil specialty shop and asked: “Have you ever shopped there?”
“No,” said Tolga, laughing.
Brightly lit windows, the headlights of standing cars, people going in and out of restaurants and liquor stores on both sides all blended together into one big blur; a single, gigantic organism quivering in the wind. They stopped again, where the waterfront houses ended and the sea began. The coats and the scarves of people crossing the avenue were flying in the wind. An old man laughed as he pressed down on his fedora. Now that’s a retiree, Cavidan Hanım thought. She was happy, giddy; she’d never felt younger. The whistle of the lodos blew in one window and out the other.
An increasingly contented Tolga pointed to a man selling fish on the shore. “Beautiful, isn’t it? How bright and colorful they are, even in this weather … Do you like fish?” he asked.
Cavidan Hanım looked at the round wooden trays on the stand and the neat rows of pink, white, and silvery fish displayed on them. Lamps and bundles of garlic suspended from the poles above the vendors’ carts swung to and fro in the wind. The fish seller was sprinkling water on lettuce, garden cress, radishes, and lemons. “Yes, I do. I like it a lot, in fact. And how about you? Do you like snapper soup? Red snapper? I should make it for you someday.”
“My mom makes delicious snapper soup.” As soon as the words came out of his mouth, the young man knew he had said something wrong; he clammed up.
Cavidan Hanım pretended she hadn’t heard him. What was the point of embarrassing the poor boy? He already regretted having said it anyway. “I just learned how to make it. But Pygmy loves it.”
Curious, Tolga asked: “Pygmy?”
“My cat. She loves my snapper soup.” She laughed again. “She’s so black, I bet you’d be scared of her if you saw her in the dark; she walks around like a pair of bodiless green eyes.”
“Come on, why would I be afraid? I’m sure she’s adorable …”
Beaten black-and-blue by the wind, the sea churned and foamed. The bus in front of them let out a hiss as it lurched forward, and they followed. Launched from the terrace of one of the seafront houses, an umbrella, a remnant from summer, blew over the road and toward the water. Spared, by the grace of God! The incident brought them closer; it was that special affinity shared by people who have survived an accident together. Just then the young man’s cell phone started ringing.
“What’s that, Pınar? … Yes, I left early, I had a few errands … To Akmerkez … To buy a present for Mom … Unbelievable … I couldn’t find anything … What’s that? … Pınar, can I call you a little later? I can’t hear you …” He felt obliged to offer an explanation: “My girlfriend.”
Cavidan Hanım found an excuse for joy in this revelation; so he wasn’t married after all! “She was worried, I suppose. I can’t blame her, I’d be worried about you too.” Was that a spark of desire she saw in his eyes? No, it couldn’t be, she must be mistaken.
“Should we keep going? Is there any particular place you’d like to stop?” For the first time in his life he felt the comfort of being with an assertive woman, a woman in charge, a woman who made decisions for him. But then, there were many firsts in store for him that evening. Feeling submissive to the core, he waited for an answer.
“There’s a parking lot by the water, across from the graveyard. Let’s go there. It’s always deserted after dark.” The traffic abated. She unzipped the jacket of her jogging suit a little further, just to get some air. The medallion hanging from her neck glinted for a brief second, catching the young man’s eye; Cavidan Hanım promptly took notice. The lodos was blowing through the giant trees along the