Author's Note:
Relevant Turkish terms used in this chapter:
"Evet" means "yes"
"Anne" means "mother"
"Kuş" means "bird"
"For her own breakfast she'll project a scheme, Nor take her tea without a stratagem." -Edward Young, Love of Fame
Anne
Evlat Öfkeli
("AngryChild")
Ankara Prenses Hotel, June 1967.
Her father was hunched over the desk, the white receiver of the phone nestled on his shoulder as his pen sped over the yellow legal pad. Suna and Umay sat at the other end of the bed, sporting their blue and pink pajamas with patterns of roller skates and cherries printed on them. They were giggling, and Dina turned away, looking instead to the fuzzy black-and-white images floating on the television. An unseen announcer was talking about Israeli forces in Gaza as images of bloody Egyptian soldiers swam before her. Dina's small fingers clenched the covers and a sound like waves striking rocks filled her ears – she could felt the blood streaking down her neck –
"Dina." Her mother's voice shook her out of her dream. She looked up at the woman dressed in a pink bathrobe; her black hair was tied up, and she was glowering down at her daughter as though trying to hide her apprehension. The girl sat back on the bed, returning the glower with a much more vicious glare.
"What?"
"Your sisters and I are going to Cikrikcilar Yokusu tomorrow," she said. The other girls whispered loudly as she spoke. "You can stay here with Naseem if you want."
"Right." Dina sat up and slumped off the bed. As she headed to the other room, she heard her mother talk softly with her sisters. Those two beautiful girls who flipped through colorful American catalogues and liked to speak in fractured English. They kissed their father and laughed with their mother and occasionally made Dina wish she could smile like that.
But being so insincere made her want to rip her hair out.
In the next room, her younger brother was sitting alone on the bed, poking at a stuffed yellow bird that smelled like saffron. Dina crawled up next to him and took the bird, rubbing her fingers against its glass blue eyes.
"Have you decided what to call it?" she asked, handing the bird back.
"Kuş," he said quietly, pressing his fingers through the bird's yellow fluff.
"That's kind of dull," Dina muttered coldly. The boy shrugged and snuggled up next to the animal, and she looked up to see her father in the doorway.
"Your mother told me you were rude," he said. His tall figure was imposing to clients and employees, and indeed Naseem turned away. Dina got off the bed and stood at her full height.
"I answered her. I don't know what she means." Her father looked down at her little figure, then up to Naseem on the bed.
"You should be pleasant to your mother, Dina," he said, not looking at her.
"I haven't done anything to her," Dina countered. "I don't want to go to the market. I'll stay and watch Naseem."
"You're too young for that," her father briefly looked down at her, and up to her brother again.
"Mother didn't say that. She said I could stay if I wanted."
Her father rubbed his forehead, letting out a frustrated sigh, as she stood motionless on the floor. Her parents hadn't successfully talked her into anything since she was three years old. She'd already heard them talk of how difficult she'd be to marry and of setting aside money for her university costs.
The seven-year-old stomped past her silent father and into the other room, where her mother was sitting with the other two girls.
"Anne," she called. Her mother turned sharply, as though expecting the girl to be wielding a knife.
"I don't want to go to the stores tomorrow," Dina announced, ignoring her sisters' horrified looks. "I want to stay here with Naseem."
"Fine," her mother replied quickly. Dina suppressed a smile when she saw her father's exasperated face, and instead climbed up on the bed to watch the television again.
Pişirmek
("ToBurn")
Gaziantep, Turkey, January 1993.
His hand slipped under her top, his palm resting over her gently rounding stomach. Dina continued to slice zucchini into pieces and smiled as he kissed her cheek.
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
"Dull," she answered, pushing the zucchini pieces together with her knife and moving slowly to the stove. He walked with her, kissing her neck and she slid the zucchini into a saucepan, the sizzling sound making her shiver.
"You're becoming a distraction," she mumbled as he moved down to her exposed shoulder.
"I'm trying to make things more interesting." His right hand slipped over hers as she stirred the frying vegetables. She laughed derisively and reached over him for the olive oil. Navi reluctantly released her and stepped away, and she heard a quiet clatter as he set the table.
"Did you talk to your brother?" he asked as he folded the napkins with tight creases.
"His second son was born. They named him Ismet."
"So they must be doing well in America." Dina didn't really care that much. She knew what her husband was planning, and longed for it as badly as he did, but talking like this only helped surface a sense of isolation she'd started feeling since spending most of her time at home with her pregnant stomach. Navi seemed to notice her disinterest, and came close to her again as she turned off the stove.
"We're approaching something, Dina," he whispered, gently caressing her cheek. "This will change everything – this isn't cutting off a finger. This is complete paralyzation."
Dina's first reaction was a short spat of jealousy – resting at home with her swelling stomach was not something she particularly enjoyed. Cooking and cleaning were temporary distractions, but she seemed to take out her frustration by rubbing the counters so hard it that scratches appeared, or by making increasingly spicy dishes. She didn't really like exchanging pregnancy tips with her sister-in-law in the States or buying toys and small blankets. As much as she loved Navi, she didn't enjoy being the woman he came home to. At one time they had been partners – he'd enabled her. Now she felt diminished and trapped.
But Dina immediately pushed these thoughts out of her mind – they were irresponsible distractions, and she knew she whatever Navi was speaking of was of much more importance than her own discomfort. She let her mind clear as she served the plates, and noticed as she sat the concerned gaze he was giving her.
"I don't understand," she said quietly, allowing him to help her slowly settle into a chair. He took the chair next to her, and tore the bread she'd put on his plate.
"It's early, Dina. No one knows very much." As she reached for her glass, he put his hand over hers. She held on, and looked down at her food, not feeling hungry at all. Closing her eyes, she felt soft motion inside, and instinctively touched her stomach.
"Do you want to lie down?" he asked. Dina nodded, and he helped her move out of the chair. It was her initial instinct to push away any sign of dependence, but for a moment, she let herself be the needy one. She didn't shake him off as he walked her into the bedroom, or when he helped her up as though she were a much frailer woman. She didn't say anything as she laid back on the covers, nor when she felt him kiss her hand. And her shoulder. Their food cooled in the next room as she pulled him fiercely up to her.
Trust
Gaziantep, Turkey, September 2003.
Afterwards, she found him sitting at the kitchen table, resting his head in his arms. There was a dark spot forming above his right eye. She leaned over him, brushing up his hair. He winced slightly when she touched it, and she walked to the sink. Taking one of the blue glasses from the drain rack, she filled it, and sat down across from him, placing the glass between them.
"What did you say to him?" she asked. Behrooz looked at the water for a moment, not taking his head off the table, and then up to her.
"Ben is-"
"Speak to me in English, Behrooz." He flinched slightly at her sharp tone and buried his head deeper into his arms.
"That I don't want to go to America, and I don't care about the reasons why."
Dina folded her arms and sat back in her chair, still looking coldly at her son. But she knew that intimidation and fright would ultimately only instill distrust. She leaned forward again and pushed the glass toward him. He looked up at her, and clearly understood from her expression that everything would be better if he just drank the water.
"Do you believe that?" she asked as put the glass back down.
"What?" he replied, sitting up straight, wary of her eyes on him.
"You don't want to go to America, and you don't care why we're going."
He looked down at the glass, apparently trying to think of something to say. Dina stood and walked to him, and he kept his back straight and his eyes on the glass. She knelt down next to him, meeting his height, and gently turned his face to look at her. His eyes were moist, and he spoke slowly.
"I do care," he mumbled, sounding as though he were trying to convince himself. "I want to. I don't understand it, anne."
Dina gave him a small smile and his shoulders dropped a little.
"Do you understand what your father tells you about your grandfather?" she asked. Behrooz nodded and smiled somewhat awkwardly, and she knew he was trying to look confident. Trying to please her.
"You're too young to understand who we are," she whispered, putting a hand to his face. "But you have to understand that this means more to you than anything. You have no hope for a true life in this world – that's why we are going to help transform it. Your father understands what it is to lose something for this. He expects you to understand that doing something you don't want to is a small matter compared to what our work will accomplish."
His eyes had drifted slightly as she spoke, but as she finished, he obediently fixed them on hers.
"Do you trust me, Behrooz? Can you make this sacrifice for us?"
"Evet." He said it with enough sincerity that Dina excused that he'd spoken Turkish. She knew he could say the same in English, and took it as a sign of his conviction. She stood up again, picked the glass up off the table, and drained it in the sink, replacing it on the rack. She took a washrag from the sink and ran it under cold water, then squeezed the excess out, clumped it up, and handed it to her son.
"Hold it over your eye if it hurts," she told him. Behrooz took the cloth, but sat still, watching her uncertainly. She smiled and kissed his forehead, and motioned him out of the room.
Not Like Them
Ankara Hilton Hotel, June 2005.
Dina had requested the maid service not come to their room. She said she could keep it clean enough herself, and didn't want to be depending on Suna any more than possible. She usually tried to stay in the room, letting Behrooz go to the pool when he became restless, and visiting with her sister when it seemed necessary. It was Naseem who had talked Suna into allowing Dina to stay for the last week before she and Behrooz left for the States, and Dina knew she had to compensate her sister with cheerful visits and pleasant conversation. She wore artificial smiles while talking to her sister's superiors – visiting Europeans and Americans in colorful attire that amused themselves with Turkish fragments and complimented her good English.
She brought Behrooz with her to one such occasion, where they sat with some vacationing executive director from New York and his wife on the café terrace. Dina only cautiously entered conversation, and Behrooz remained silent until the wife asked him how old he was and how he did in school. Behrooz looked nervously to Dina before speaking, but she simply smiled and encouraged him. When the American woman bought him a cup of chocolate ice cream, Dina reminded him to thank her (the woman asked him to help her pronounce "Teşekkür ederim") while she imagined blood dripping from the woman's chest. Like the Egyptian soldiers. When they left, she knew Behrooz could tell she was angry – she walked so fast she could feel his feet dragging slightly and her nails unconsciously dug into his palm. When they made it back to the room, she slammed the door, sat him on the bed, and told him sweets and prizes were poisons offered by Westerners to distract their victims.
"Why does Suna talk to them?" he asked. Dina sat back in her chair and kept her eyes locked with his. She'd finally perfected her way of keeping her son's attention during these talks.
"My sister is distracted," she said, sighing as if she really cared. "She doesn't realize that they've already destroyed her."
Before Behrooz could respond, something clicked at the door. Dina motioned Behrooz to go to the door while she stood, straightened her blouse, and walked to the dresser, resting her hand on top. The door opened in front of Behrooz, a woman in white standing the frame.
"Afedersiniz, bay," the woman was looking at Behrooz, but quickly noticed Dina standing by the dresser. She stood in the doorway, looking confused, one hand on her cart of cleaning supplies.
There was an awkward moment in which Dina stood silently, oddly aware of the handgun wrapped in a blouse in the top drawer. She didn't know exactly why the thought had even crossed her mind – it would only accrue attention she wanted to avoid. Closing her eyes, Dina gathered her thoughts together and looked up again. Behrooz and the maid were still standing at the doorway, waiting for her to speak.
"I asked that the maid service not come here," she said, walking forward to the door.
"Ah, özür dilerim, bayan." The woman closed the door, but Behrooz was still watching her. Dina went to the bed and lied back, and heard Behrooz's footsteps trailing nervously around her.
The woman – the first person she'd killed – had been a servant – a whore to the West. They'd eventually discovered she was an American-trained spy that reported on their activities. Paid in sweets and prizes to watch over them. This was over a decade ago, before her son was born. For a moment, Dina had felt the same sensation of exhilaration she'd thrived on back then – the mounting pressure inside her chest and loud hum that took over in her head when she felt her enemy so close to her and knew she could destroy it like an insect. Those women weren't really that different – both were servants to a corrupt order that murdered and pillaged the world, claiming it was all in the name of justice and peace. Both had ignored and disavowed their own spilled blood.
Dina turned her head and saw Behrooz watching her. She put a hand on his face and didn't speak for a moment.
He'd pulled her out of her reverie. The restless anger she remembered diminished into a poisonous determination.
"You won't be like them."
He didn't say anything. After a moment, she sat up.
"Do you want to go down to the pool?"
"Evet."
"Fine. I'll come with you."
