Istanbul Noir - Mustafa Ziyalan [50]
“Ekber Amca … man, this just ain’t right.”
“Why not?”
“I mean, I don’t know. This shit’s got me feeling so naked, so exposed. This, that, everything …”
“But you can read mine too.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. Just try … No, son, you’re not high, you’re clean … No, no! Ha ha ha! … No way! You haven’t hit your head or anything either.”
Tufan didn’t get it. He didn’t get it, so he tried. How he tried, or how he did it, he did not know, but in no time his head was spinning from all the images, scents, tastes, sounds that filled it. He heard the leaves from the plane trees rustle in the wind in the side streets in the middle of winter. He saw children running through the alleys in the spring. He saw fourteen-year-old Ekber, in the middle of summer, drinking cognac and smoking dope with friends in the hut of the older Emin, who rented out boats on the shore, before the road had been built over it. The day he married Hilmiye Teyze, may she rest in peace. Ekber becoming a father. And then his son slamming the door shut behind him, cursing. How his daughter married a hard man who, yes, was just like him. His departure for Germany. Hilmiye’s Teyze sudden death. Pain. Loneliness. Growing old. He saw him growing weak. He felt it.
“Focus,” said the old man.
It was so easy.
I just learned how to do it myself. You came up next to me, you know, when I turned around and looked at you. And you were about to attack me. No, don’t worry, it’s okay. I’m not angry. There you go, calm down. Just like that. You understand me now? … Oh, come on, don’t get upset. The loneliness is my loneliness, it’s no fault of yours! My wife’s death, the way my son and daughter up and left … How were you to know that I had no other friends but you and those other kids out on the street? I got up early every morning and waited for you guys to go out into the garden and play—what did you think? … Oh, now, son … No, no, you didn’t get on my nerves. I couldn’t have cared less about you messing up the flowers. You get it, don’t you? The reason why I got so upset, yelled and screamed at you guys … Oh, now, son, I know, you’re lonely too. There are lots of us. C’mon now … . Shhh … Don’t cry. You got used to it back in law school, so much hope, so much ambition … How proud dear Mehmet Bey was that you were going to become a lawyer. But then, well, you became a filthy drug dealer … Ohhhh, please now, son! Well looky here, so there is a special someone. Oh, but she doesn’t know, huh? That’s all right.
Tufan couldn’t stop crying. I’ve already hit thirty, Ekber Amca, and just look at me, man!
Okay, son, now just calm down. It’s all over now.
What do you mean all over? Can’t you see? I sell poison to kids! I wait for them in front of school, sell to kids as young as fucking fifteen! Everything I’ve ever stood against … Don’t you understand?
We don’t have to understand, Tufan. You don’t have to understand me, and I don’t have to understand you. Or the world, or anything else. We don’t have to understand. We’re children. All of us. His children. We don’t have to understand. It’s over now.
The old man threw his arm over Tufan’s shoulder. The latter let it all out, leaning against the old man, weeping loudly. Teoman. Beatings. Fear. Escape. Police. Drugs. Yeliz. How can I tell her? I’m screwed! I’m fed up with this shit!
“Ohh, look at that view.”
Both of them swung around.
It was a short, energetic-looking young man, standing about two meters behind them, his hands at his waist. He had curly blond hair and his eyes sparkled with joy. He was wearing a black T-shirt with Annihilator written across the chest.
Tufan instinctively leapt to his feet; he didn’t know who this guy was, but he knew his type. His hand went for the switchblade in his back pocket. At the very same moment, Ekber Bey grabbed Tufan