living room lights, mixed with our images, reflected on the window panes. I looked out the window into the distance.
“And?” said my father.
“I’m going to get married,” I replied.
The plate dropped from my mother’s hands, and the green and red apples rolled across the floor. My brother jumped up, throwing down his newspaper. A look of shock spread across my father’s face.
“What are you saying?” My mother stammered. “This girl of ours is teasing us.”
“No, I’m not,” I said. “I want to get married.”
“She’s nuts. She has gone crazy!” shouted my brother.
“Wait a minute,” my father interjected, trying to calm them down. Then he turned to me, “This is nothing to joke about. I did not give the matter much consideration because I thought you weren’t interested. I asked you for the sake of custom since we have to give them an answer. So what do you say? Do you really want to marry him?”
His voice was cracked. He was at a loss as to what to say.
“Yes, I want to marry him. I’ve made my decision.”
My mother began to cry.
They knew that when I said I would do something, I always did it.
“This is all your fault,” my mother began to reproach my father.
“Are you really going to let her go to the other end of the world?” my brother exclaimed. “With a man she doesn’t even know! Say something, Mother . . .” He stopped speaking when my father motioned for him to keep silent.
“She is not going anywhere now. Let’s stop this discussion and sleep on it. We’ll talk again tomorrow. It’s late.”
I thought I should not think about the matter anymore. I had reached a decision. It was over.
If you think about something too long, you cannot do anything in the end.
My brother was angry with me. Before going to bed, he came to my room, stared at me through the door, and said, “I thought you were intelligent. What happened to ‘becoming a pilot’? Like a peasant girl, you’re going to marry the first guy who shows interest in you. Good for you!”
My mother also came to my room. She stroked my hair and talked for a long time. “You’re so young,” she said. “You have no idea about housework or managing a household. You don’t even know that young man. We won’t be around. You’ll be far away. Somewhere you don’t even know. This is no game. What if you’re unhappy or bored. What will you do then? Other people won’t put up with your moodiness or pamper you like we do. Both of you would be upset then! Oh, God! Why did I let them come? It’s all my fault. On the other hand, he looks like a nice, friendly young man, but . . .”
My mother! My dear mother! I found out much later that mothers can realize certain truths immediately. He was just like you described him, Mother: a nice and friendly man.
But what can a woman in whom storms break and tempests roar do with a nice, friendly man?
In those days, however, I did not recognize or understand this.
When Ayla heard my decision, she was speechless. She didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t believe it. “I knew you were a bit crazy, but I wasn’t aware that you were insane!” she finally exclaimed. “Why don’t you also give birth to five children so that you can all play together?” She thought that I was having a good time fooling everyone and that I would change my mind in a couple of days.
When my brother couldn’t succeed in changing my mind by mockery, he tried a different method. “They should at least meet each other a few times, go out for dinner, and see if they can get along or not,” he nagged my mother. “I can’t believe it! You’re saying nothing, as if that fellow is a rarity. He’s just an employee of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. What’s the hurry? My sister is certainly out of her senses, but what about you?”
In the end, Turgut, my brother, and I went out for dinner.
Turgut told us stories. He described how our life in the States would be. He talked about great men and great events. The world was being reconstructed there, and we would take our place in that new world. It would be an excellent opportunity for me. I would be able to improve my English, read, and meet new people. This would be beneficial for our future. He spoke about everything in great detail. I didn’t say much. At first, my brother was rather distant, but then he joined in the conversation. Eventually, the two of them seemed to like and understand each other.
I don’t know if my brother’s opinion was changed by that dinner, but at least he stopped objecting.
For days, many people visited us. My mother and my aunts welcomed the guests, and while appearing to be happy about the “favorable event,” they kept whispering and murmuring to each other when alone and didn’t cease complaining.
I remember the evening I accepted the marriage offer. I had told myself that I wasn’t a girl who would spend time in silly romances, watch a man’s changing moods and try to attribute meanings to them, worry if he would call or not, wonder if he still loved me, brood over something he said, or carry a handkerchief wet with tears. I convinced myself that it was better not to marry someone I loved passionately but someone who loved and admired me.
How strange! I must have gotten those ideas from the novels I used to read back then.
Oh, those pitiful people who consider themselves intelligent and think that they will be able to create their own fate, which, in fact, they do not even believe in.
As I lay wide awake on my bed in the dark, I thought that I was about to go to a distant land where I would be able to do everything I wanted and that I would be very happy. Hadn’t my brother always said, “You do not suit this place. You’re very young now, but when you grow older, people will not smile and chuckle at the things you do and the way you behave. Beware.”
I wonder why I decided to say “yes”—an answer that even surprised my suitor—when my peers were patiently waiting for their “prince on a white horse,” like in the novels they read.
Who wouldn’t be amazed to see such an intractable, rebellious, frivolous girl get married to her first suitor, without even holding his hand, and accept accompanying him to the other side of the world?
Even I can’t believe it when I look back and think.
Everything happened in a hurry.
Not even a special wedding gown was sewn for me. A tailor called Hatice cut up an old wedding gown belonging to one of my aunts and sewed the pieces into a dress fitting my measurements. We prepared a tiara of flowers for my head. My mother placed the flowers one by one. As she looked at me in the mirror while stringing the fresh flowers, she kept crying. Ayla tried to act strong, restraining her tears, but as I said good-bye, she hugged me and began sobbing. What I had done began to sink in at that moment. Perhaps I wouldn’t see them for a long time. I wouldn’t be near my best friend, my brother, my mother—and my father, who tried hard to look strong, doing his best to conceal his teary eyes, unable
