confess that I clenched my jaw, and fists too. With a plastic smile on my face, I kept talking nonsense, telling people things like “we’ll see each other soon” or “I’ll see you in no time.”
Everyone was saying I looked like a beautiful doll. Funny, since my mother had bought a giant doll dressed in a wedding gown and given it to me as a present to take along. Ayla was carrying the doll around, not letting go of it even for an instant. (That doll, with her fixed smile and bead-like eyes, followed me everywhere I went. She has stayed with me all this time. There she is now, sitting in the corner. Her wedding gown is a bit dirty after so many years.)
After the wedding ceremony, attended by only a few guests, we went directly to my in-laws’ home. Upon entering their house, I was overcome by a sudden discomfort and gloom. “What have I done?” I thought, and my eyes filled with tears. I was on the verge of crying. Had it been possible I would have run back home. All I wanted at that moment was to be in my own room, in my own bed, cuddled under my own quilt and to wake up in the morning to my old life.
I got up from the armchair I had collapsed into and went to the bathroom to wash my face. With great difficulty, I resisted fleeing.
Soon we were shown to our bedroom. My mother-in-law brought a few towels, pajamas, and a pair of slippers. Then she closed the door and walked away.
We—a timid young couple—were all alone in front of the big double bed.
That confident, lighthearted young man with a European air was no longer beside me; a helpless, tongue-tied young lad stood next to me, unsure of what to say or do. I couldn’t believe my situation. We sat there without uttering a word for at least half an hour. He perched on the foot of the bed, and I sat on an armchair. He continually poured water into a glass from the pitcher on the night table, gulped it down, and asked every now and then if I wanted some too. The pitcher was soon empty. Eventually, he said, “Okay. Why don’t you take off your wedding gown and let’s go to bed. We have to leave early tomorrow.”
Blood rushed to my face.
What an odd tradition! I had never undressed next to anyone. Not even my brother had seen me in my nightgown. How could I go to bed with a total stranger? I was furious and broke out in a sweat. “Mr. Turgut,” I said sternly. “Go out and smoke a cigarette. I’ll change and get into bed. Then you can come in. Understood?”
Although taken aback by my authoritarian tone, he laughed. “Yes, ma’am,” he said and left the room.
I quickly took off my wedding gown and put on that foolish-looking ruffled nightgown. I jumped into the bed and pulled up the heavy hand-embroidered quilt.
I had thought I would stay awake out of excitement, but in fact, I dozed off before he returned to the room. He did not have the heart to wake me up. So, we both went to bed and fell asleep without doing anything else. Thankfully, we were to set off at dawn.
First, we traveled to London. For the first time in my life, I was in a foreign country. Eveything was brand new. I felt both free and caged at the same time. It is hard to describe. I enjoyed seeing new things and places, strolling around like a grown-up woman; yet, at the same time, I missed the people I had left behind and felt depressed because I realized that this was not a holiday but the beginning of a long new life.
We went sightseeing and shopping. Turgut enjoyed choosing clothes for me. This gave him the chance to buy me what he wanted me to wear. A proper little lady. A young, European woman. Neither feminine nor childish. For him, everything in life had to comply with norms. Everything had to be according to the rules. Nothing could be extreme.
We visited museums and castles. We took walks along the river. Turgut kept telling me romantic things. He spoke about films and novels and even recited poetry, acting as if we were two sweethearts desperately in love. His voice was impressive and very soft. Even when one did not pay attention to the content of his words, listening to his voice was enjoyable. One evening, we went out to dinner. Just the two of us. Candles were lit. Wine was served. I had put on makeup and my prettiest blue dress.
“Look,” he said, “everyone’s watching us.”
Turgut was truly happy about that.
Everyone really did look at us—wherever we went. Maybe they thought I was too young. Whatever I wore, I looked like a young girl. As soon as people learned we were newlyweds, they took interest in us. In shops, they gave us presents; in restaurants, they offered us drinks; and in cafés, they wanted to chat with us.
But I was not in love with Turgut. In fact, he was not in love with me either. Why would someone fall in love with a kid whom he had seen from a distance?
The stories of love and romance did not last long. He was not convincing, and I did not enjoy hearing them.
Turgut had dreams of his own. He wanted to develop strong connections in America. He would prove his worth and capability and be promoted. He would learn another language. We would wait for a few years to have a child.
Before we had left Turkey, Turgut and my father had had a talk. My father had asked him to make sure that I continued my education. Now Turgut told me I could at least attend a language school.
He was a good soul. He wanted me to be happy. He believed that by conforming to the rules and through mutual respect, a couple could look forward to the future and be happy. He believed that a life could be constructed in this way. In reality, he had so few expectations that there was no reason he could not be happy with any woman.
One evening before we went for abroad, my mother had struggled to tell me something. When she couldn’t do it, she had told my aunt to tell me. My aunt, in a rather indirect way, said that one did not always find what she wished for in marriage and that if that happened in my case, I would eventually get used to it.
At that time, I hadn’t understood what she meant.
Our home in the united States was in a suburban town full of beautiful two-storey houses surrounded by greenery.
The neighborhood was so green that in the first few days I was amazed that there could be so many trees in a city. One could even see squirrels scampering about.
For some incomprehensible reason, everyone is fond of America. I’m not. I wonder if this dislike has something to do with the fact that I spent the first years of my marriage there and that I had suddenly found myself all alone in an entirely different world.
Turgut always came up with new things to try to make me happy. He invited Turkish people to our home, organized the kind of weekend picnics Americans are crazy about, or took me to different places and events, from drive-ins to boat races.
Bored to death, I played all sorts of sports: bowling, tennis, anything. I went to a language school. I mowed the lawn at home. I drove around town in a convertible. Everyone thought I was American. I dressed like an American, and I acted like an American. In a short time, I even began talking like an American. I made friends with everyone, from neighbors to blond girls with bobs.
Everyone envied us. All those women, who tried hard to be attractive for their husbands and gave birth to one child after another, kept saying how they admired us and what an exemplary couple we were.
They were surprised that a girl—from somewhere like ancient Egypt, they thought—was like them. They kept on making me tell them about Turkey and listened in awe as if I were talking about a land that had long disappeared.
What
