On that prayer Auntie Banu slipped out of bed, put on, her nightgown, and with soft, swift steps tiptoed to the bathroom to get ready for her morning prayer. She checked the clock on the buffet inside, seven forty-five. Had she been in bed so long, arguing with Mr. Bitter, arguing with her conscience? Hurriedly she washed her face, hands, and feet, walked back to her room wearing her gauzy prayer head scarf, spread her little rug, and stood to pray.
If Auntie Banu had been late to set the breakfast table this morning, Armanoush would be one of the last to realize it. Having remained online till late, she had overslept, and would have liked to have slept in more. She tossed, turned, pulled the blanket up and down over her chest, doing her best to sink back into sleep. She opened one droopy eye and saw Asya at her desk reading a book and listening to music with her headphones on.
"What are you listening to?" Armanoush asked loudly.
"Huh?" Asya shouted, "Johnny Cash!"
"Oh, sure! What are you reading?"
"Irrational Man: A Study in Existential Philosophy, " the same loud, steady voice replied.
"Isn't that a bit irrational too? How can you listen to music and concentrate on existential philosophy at the same time?"
"They square perfectly," Asya remarked. "Johnny Cash and existential philosophy, they both probe the human soul to see what's inside, and unhappy with their findings, they both leave it open!"
Before Armanoush could ruminate on that, someone knocked on the door calling both girls to catch the last train to breakfast.
They found the table set just for the two of them, everyone else having already finished their breakfast. Grandma and Petite-Ma had gone to visit a relative, Auntie Cevriye to school, Auntie Zeliha to the tattoo parlor, and Auntie Feride was in the bathroom dyeing her hair ginger. And the only auntie in the living room now looked strangely grumpy.
"What's the problem, have your djinn dumped you?" Asya asked.
Instead of answering, Auntie Banu headed to the kitchen.. In the following two hours, she reorganized the cereal jars lined on the shelves, mopped the floors, baked raisin-walnut cookies, washed the plastic fruits on the counter, and painstakingly sponged an ossified mustard stain at the corner of the stove. When she finally came back to the living room, she found the two girls still at the breakfast table, scoffing at every single scene in The Malediction of f the Ivy of Infatuation-the longest-running soap opera in Turkish TV history. But instead of feeling resentful for seeing them mock something she valued, Auntie Banu was only surprised-surprised to realize that she had completely forgotten about it, missing her favorite program for the first time in years. The only other time she had missed it was years ago during her period of penitence. Even then, may Allah forgive her, she had thought about The Malediction of the Ivy of Infatuation, wondering what was happening in the show while she repented. But now that there was no reason to miss it, how could she? Was her mind so preoccupied? Wouldn't she know if she were so confused?
Suddenly, Auntie Banu noticed the two girls eyeing her from their chairs, and felt uncomfortable, perhaps because she also realized that with the soap opera now over, they could be rummaging around for some new targets of ridicule.
But Asya seemed to have something else in mind. "Armanoush was wondering if you could read the tarot cards for her?"
"Why would she want that?" Auntie Banu said quietly. "Tell her she is a beautiful, intelligent young woman with a bright future. Only those who don't have a future need to learn about their future."
"Then read some roasted hazelnuts for her," Asya insisted, skipping the translation.
"I don't do that anymore," said Auntie Banu, contritely. "It didn't prove such a good method after all."
"You see, my aunt is a positivistic psychic. She scientifically measures the margin of error in each divination," Asya said to Armanoush in English but then switched back to a serious tone in Turkish. "Well then, read our coffee cups."
"Now that's another thing," Auntie Banu agreed, incapable of saying no to coffee cups. "Those I can read anytime."
Coffees were made, Armanoush's with no sugar and Asya's with plenty, although the latter did not want to have her cup read. It was caffeine that she was after, not her fate. When Armanoush finished her coffee, the saucer was placed on top of the coffee cup, held tight, and moved around in three horizontal circles; the coffee cup was then turned upside down over the saucer, letting the coffee grinds slowly descend to form patterns. When the bottom of the cup had cooled off, it was flipped over and Auntie Banu started to read the patterns left in the coffee cup, moving her gaze clockwise.
"I can see a very worried woman here."
"It must be my mother." Armanoush sighed.
"She is deeply worried. She thinks about you all the time, loves you very much, but her soul is stressed. Then- there is a city with red bridges. There is water, sea, wind, and… mist. There I see a family, many heads-look at this, lots of people, lots of love and caring, lots of food too…."
Armanoush nodded, a little embarrassed at being found out like this.
"Then.." Auntie Banu said, skipping the bad news settled at the bottom of the cup flowers soon to be scattered on a grave, far far away. She rotated the coffee cup between her plump fingers. Her next words came out louder than she intended, startling them all. "Oh, there is a young man who cares deeply for you. But why is he behind a veil?… Something like a veil."
Armanoush's heart skipped a beat.
"Can that be a computer screen?" Asya asked mischievously as Sultan the Fifth hopped onto her lap.
"I don't see computers in my coffee grounds," Auntie Banu objected. She didn't like to incorporate technology in her psychic universe.
Auntie Banu solemnly paused, turned the cup an inch, and then paused again. Her face looked troubled now. "I see a girl your age. She has curly hair, black, pure black… an ample bosom…."
"Thanks, auntie, I got the message." Asya chuckled. "But you don't have to place your relatives in every cup you read, that's called nepotism."
Auntie Banu blinked, completely deadpan.
"There is a rope here, a thick, strong rope with a noose at one end, like a lasso. You two girls are going to be attached to each other with a strong bond…. I see a spiritual bond…."
To the girls' disappointment Auntie Banu said nothing further. She stopped reading, put the coffee cup on the saucer, and filled it with cold water so that the patterns jumbled and vanished before anyone else, good or bad, had a chance to peek inside. That was the one good thing about coffee-cup reading: Unlike the fate written by Allah, that written by coffee could always be washed away.
On the way to Cafe Kundera, they took the ferry so that Armanoush could see the city in all its vastness and splendor. Like the ferry itself, its passengers too had an air of lassitude, which was quickly swept away by the sudden wind when the huge vessel veered into the azure sea. The hum of the crowd inside amplified for a full minute, and then it dwindled to a monotonous drone to accompany other sounds: the clatter of the outboard motor, the splash of the waves, the shrieks of the seagulls. Armanoush noticed with delight that the lazy seagulls on the shore were coming with them. Almost everyone on the ferry was feeding them with morsels of simit-sesame-seed ring breads being a treat these carnivorous birds found irresistible.
A classically dressed, portly woman and her teenage son sat on the bench across from them, side by side but worlds apart. From her face Armanoush could tell the woman was no big fan of public transportation, despising the masses, and if possible would have thrown all of the poorly dressed passengers into the sea. Hidden behind thick-rimmed glasses, the son looked half embarrassed by his mother's standoffish ways. They are like Flannery O'Connor characters, Armanoush thought to herself