‘Damn it,’ said Ziya, shaking his head. ‘You’ve really gone through hell.’
Kenan said nothing as he slowly lit himself a cigarette. Resting his head between his knees, he exhaled into the grass. The ants passing through paused for a moment, as if stunned by the curls of smoke, and then the line began to move again. When he noticed this, Kenan held his breath and looked anxiously into the grass, to see if any ants had died.
‘Shall we get going?’ asked Ziya.
‘Yes, let’s go,’ said Kenan.
And so they stood up, leaving behind them a little mound of cigarette ends, and headed back down the same thyme-scented path they’d struggled up earlier.
‘You’ve changed a lot,’ said Kenan, as they made their way through the juniper bushes. ‘You’re not at all like the person you once were.’
‘If you ask me, some of the differences you’re seeing are differences in yourself,’ said Ziya, giving him a sidelong look.
To himself he said: ‘It’s been thirty years since we last saw each other, for goodness sake! How could I not have changed?’ But he decided it was too trite a thing to say out loud just then. And anyway, he could see the view again, through the gaps in the juniper bushes, and that took all his attention. There were poplars in this view, and sheep pens, and barns, and part of the village, and a sort of pure silence that seemed to promise peace.
And that was why, when they stood before the barn again, he said, ‘I’m sure now. I’m sure that I’ll spend the rest of my life here, in peace.’
‘May God grant your wish,’ said Kenan.
‘If you ask me, it couldn’t be any other way,’ said Ziya, and he drew an arc in the air. ‘Look at this greenery, this tranquillity, this purity. Everything is exactly as I wanted. I was so tired of dealing with life’s chaos. I wanted to live a simple life, where one plus one equals two; and this is a place where such a life is possible. Yes, it really is. A place where a person can live in peace.’
Not knowing what to say, Kenan smiled faintly.
4. Yazıköy
The next day began in happy anticipation at the house Kenan shared with his family. Cevriye Hanım, already in her white headscarf, was pacing back and forth, pausing from time to time to issue brief instructions to Besim, and sometimes she crouched down next to Nefise to knead the dough and see if it was aerated enough, and whenever she stood up again, she told her to hurry up, but also to make sure she had enough dough for the gözlemes. Kenan was there, too: having brought in a few armfuls of oak logs to set down next to the pot-bellied stove, he was now standing by the wall like a dark and weedy ghost. In the corner of the courtyard, in front of the ash cans, the sun was shining brightly, and so, too, were the chickens strutting back and forth. And birds were twittering in the mulberry trees, and beyond the wall, the city shimmered green to the left and blue to the right, while sounds of all colours flowed between them.
‘Time to light the fire, my son,’ said Cevriye Hanım. ‘The house needs heating up.’
Kenan knelt down, a cigarette hanging from his lips. Placing a few pine cones amongst the logs, he promptly applied his lighter, and once he was sure the fire had caught, he stood up again.
Cevriye Hanım stood next to him, watching his every move, as if she were afraid he might do something wrong.
‘With the weather we’re having, our guest might not wish to stay inside,’ she said then. ‘If it were up to me, I’d set up the table in the courtyard. I’m going off to help Nefise. You and Besim can see to the table in the meantime.’
‘We’ll do that,’ said Kenan.
Before long he had moved the Formica table in the courtyard into the shade of the mulberry tree. After covering it with the blue floral tablecloth, they sprinkled the ground with a flask of water to keep down the dust.
Then Kenan went off to get Ziya; leaving the courtyard, a cigarette between his lips, he swiftly made his way to the barn.
After he had left, Cevriye Hanım settled herself in front of the stove, and now and then she turned to frown at Nefise. Every time she did so, she seemed about to say something, but she never did. Every time she swallowed instead, and turned her eyes back to the gözlemes cooking on the stove.
Only when the work was done and cleared away could she say it. They’d swept off the flour and washed their hands and now the two of them were sitting at the table.
Leaning over, she said, ‘Whatever you do, don’t dress up for our guest.’ She spoke softly, as if sharing a secret. ‘As you know, my girl, when an apple hangs high, it is asking to be stoned.’
‘But I didn’t dress up,’ said Nefise.
Cevriye Hanım sat up and then leaned back on her chair, and gave Nefise a thorough inspection.
‘What can I know?’ she asked finally, her face clouding with shame. ‘How can I know what you’ll look like to him when he arrives?’
Nefise gazed out over the white plastic chair as if it were a cloud wafting off into the distance, and said nothing.
‘Did you brew the tea?’ asked Cevriye Hanım, to change the subject.
‘I brewed the tea, Mother,’ said Nefise. ‘And I prepared a jug of ayran. Because he might just prefer to drink ayran.’
Just then the neighbour’s son came tumbling into the courtyard. Taking a few more steps, he stopped to catch his breath. Leaning forward, and placing his hands on his knees, and in a trembling voice that matched his general state of panic, he said, ‘My mother’s had more pangs. Hurry. Hurry!’