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pressed on top of his head.
 Good evening Sinan Bey. Peace.
 Peace to you, Sinan said, feeling tired and unwilling to talk.
But Kemal took his arm and they walked toward the rows of tents,
through the rank-smelling clouds of propane stove smoke and the
groups of children playing in the street.
 I m sorry about your daughter, my friend.
 Why are you sorry? Sinan said. How did this man know, after
only half a day, that his daughter was gone?
 You re a good man, Sinan, Kemal said.  It s not your fault. Our
women are going bad. It follows that our daughters would, too.
246 Al an Dr e w
 My daughter is just sad. This earthquake has made her act
strange.
 Yes, yes, of course, Kemal said.  It s been hard on all of us, but
people forget the cause, Sinan, and only see the effect. They re afraid
if you let loose of your daughter, theirs will try to follow. And when
our women go bad, the men will be next. Believe me, I hear this every
day from people.
The men drinking tea and smoking at the card table watched
them come, only to turn and resume their conversation as they
passed, as if they hadn t been watching them at all.
 I ve been thinking that this earthquake is punishment from God,
Kemal said.  We ve forgotten the straight path.
He stopped and lit a cigarette before taking Sinan s arm again.
 I ve been an immoral man, he continued.  I ve cheated people,
as you know. I ve been tempted and succumbed to it. He turned his
lips up as though disgusted with himself. Sinan noticed that the scab
was gone and only a faint pink mark remained.  There s something
evil in us all, and God is reminding us that he sees it.
They passed a group of women who were beating rugs with sticks.
One woman shook her head and clicked her tongue as though some-
thing horrible had happened right in front of her.
Kemal waved his hand at her.  Bite your tongue, woman.
She turned away and slapped the rug. A cloud of dust burst from
the pile.
 People are speaking ill of you, Kemal said.  It s the first time I ve
heard such comments. Before, people respected you. A bit quiet, yes,
too quiet perhaps, but they didn t doubt your good name.
Sinan s chest tightened.
 This is important, Sinan. People say she s pregnant.
Sinan untangled his arm from Kemal s and faced him in the
street.
 What people say and what s the truth are often two different
things.
 Does it matter, Sinan? A few young men gathered to watch now
Gar de ns of Wat e r 247
that he and Kemal were face-to-face; theirs was no longer a quiet
evening stroll between acquaintances.  She s running around with
the American boy. He worships Satan, pierces his skin, carves up his
arms with symbols. Do you want to give over your daughter, your only
daughter to that?
Sinan thought about hitting him, but you didn t attack a man for
offering you the truth.
 These Americans, Kemal said, looking toward the relief workers
campfire,  they want to take everything from us. He touched Sinan
on the shoulder.  Well, you, far more than I, know what Americans
are like. He let go of Sinan s shoulder and fingered the prayer beads
in his palm.  Your daughter is forgetting about God. As soon as she
turned away from you, she turned away from God. You need to bring
her back.
 No man should suggest to a father what you re suggesting, Sinan
said.  No man outside the family.
 It s your name, Sinan. Your son s name. Your father s honor as
well as yours.
Sinan began to speak and then stopped as Kemal s words cut
through skin and muscle tissue and lodged, like a shard of broken
glass, beneath his rib cage.
 Sometimes you need to slice away the cancer to preserve the
body. Kemal rested his hand on Sinan s shoulder.
0
rem was the cancer; his own daughter was what needed to be cut
away and discarded.
 These people would understand, Sinan. We would understand.
Chapt er 46
Ù
That afternoon dylan s arm lay draped over i rem s
shoulder as they rode the belediyesi bus into 0
stanbul. It wasn t that
she didn t like it, exactly, but people stared. A neatly dressed man with
a little boy scolded the child for watching them and lifted him over
his lap so that he faced the window instead of the aisle. The boy
turned around in the seat, his brown eyes hovering above the back-
rest, until his father tapped him on the head and turned him around.
She watched the backs of their heads, the child s cantaloupe-shaped,
like his father s, each with a swirl of black hair spinning out of their
scalps. She imagined the feel of 0
smail s hair in her hands, so thick, so
coarse like the clipped hair of a horse s mane, and everything she was
leaving behind overwhelmed her and she had to look away. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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