At first it frightened them to hear that I was a writer, and they doubted me, but when they found my books they came to the conclusion that I was naïve, like all other writers.
My books saved me from a freak accident; they kept me alive in this town; books no one else had ever read had kept me alive.
Looking at their faces from the base of the granite staircase, I could see just how dangerous it was for me to be speaking about the treasure, and I changed the subject. ‘Do you ever swim in the sea?’ I asked, and their faces softened, and they were children again.
‘Only the kids do,’ they said. ‘Older folk find it indecent.’
Olive Oil King Seyit Bey, who had dyed his hair but left streaks of white around his temples, said, ‘Sometimes we sneak in at night. Someone says it’s indecent to swim in the sea and like idiots we believe them. And we never challenge them. But I swear one day I’m going to strip down bollock-naked and plunge into the sea in broad daylight.’
Seyit Bey weighed at least a hundred and fifty kilos. Someone quipped, ‘There would be a tsunami. Anyone else could have a try but it’s off-limits for you.’
And they cracked up laughing.
For them the most mundane jokes were the funniest, the ones they used over and over again. They knew them all by heart. They had no interest in new and subtle jokes, and if you tried one they would hang their faces and then shoot you an angry look, no doubt thinking that you were making fun of them. But aggressive or personal jabs were fair game. The women had sat down at the head of the table and were talking and laughing. I knew that I shouldn’t sit with them. And although no one came over to speak with me, occasionally someone would look over in my direction. It really did take a long time for the lamb to roast.
But it was delicious.
I found Mustafa after we had finished and said goodbye. He walked me to the door.
‘Be careful on the roads,’ he called out to me as I left.
I had never imagined that such well-intentioned words could be so terribly frightening.
XI
‘gülten? she fell in love with haldun when they were at university and then got married. they had a big wedding. he’s a dentist. his dad’s an olive man. they’re loaded. had two kids. but haldun started hitting the drink. why … i don’t know. and i think he started beating gülten. then they split. now she has a lover in the city. he’s married. what does he do? he’s a dentist. strange. they say that kamile’s a lesbian. she’s got a sharp tongue. that’s why everyone stays away from her.’
When Zuhal was chatting with me online she had this way of answering her own questions, and that day she told me a lot about the people she knew in town.
‘but it was like she was flirting with me,’ I wrote.
‘they say that when she goes to the city she calls a gigolo. i don’t know. anything’s possible with kamile. i’m afraid of the woman. and her husband raci bey. but it’s like he’s blind to it all. or he has no choice but to turn a blind eye. there’s nothing he could do anyway. they say that raci is close to the refugees. he’s probably the most powerful man after mustafa. some people say he has the deed to the treasure. but then again everyone says someone else has it.’
‘does the deed really exist?’
‘i have no idea. that’s what everyone thinks. if not for that church the town would fall apart. talk about that treasure keeps everyone together. or at least it seems like that to me. strange. mustafa is convinced there’s treasure there. why … i don’t know. babies know about the treasure before they’re born. take serhan abi. who? the pharmacist. with the quiet wife. she never says a word, always knitting. he’s a sweet man. he says nothing’s there, it’s all just talk. how does he know? i don’t know. but everyone’s looking for the deed. you’d be amazed to see how much money people spend trying to find it. they are all watching each other like hawks. sometimes i wonder what will happen if they really dig up the place … if there’s nothing there. the next day everyone would be dead … strange.’
‘when did all this talk of the treasure start?’
‘i don’t know. nobody really knows. people hear the story from their fathers, grandfathers, their great-grandfathers.’
Then she changed the subject.
‘i saw mustafa in a dream last night. he was driving in some kind of roman chariot. but he was wearing a black suit. he said he was going to war. then he disappeared through a hole and popped out in the olive groves. god, if only I could forget this guy. i can’t get him out of my mind. he sent me a message last night. asking where i was. i told him i was in the city. and then he said he would come and see me. i was about to tell him to come but then i knew he would just make me cry. i told him not to come. why, he asked. i said i had work. what work, he asked. meetings, i said. i’ll come later, he said. but i won’t meet him. i hate it when he gets drunk and calls me. he only wants me when he’s drunk. and when he sobers up he’s the same mustafa.’
‘maybe when he’s sober he can’t bear the pain of losing you.’
‘i’m the one in pain. he suffered in the past. now i’m suffering. he got over it. have you ever been in love?
‘of course.’
‘have you ever been heartbroken?’
‘no.’
‘i woke up in tears this morning. i was crying because i didn’t ask him to come. but i’d cry if he came. sometimes he can be so cruel. such hurtful and poisonous words. then i attack him with my own words. and we always hurt each other. it was so wonderful before. we had such a good time together. are you angry with me for loving him?’
‘no.’
‘i will never be able to love you the way i love him. you know that, don’t you?’
‘i do. that’s fine.’
‘why fine?’
‘what do you want me to say?’
‘don’t know, just not that.’
‘all right.’
We were both surprised by our own indifference. I wasn’t jealous.
And I didn’t really know why.
I knew that Zuhal loved another man so passionately that she would never be able to let him go. She belonged to him, loved him with all her heart. So perhaps it was the thought that I would never lose her – because she never was mine – that kept me from being jealous.
Maybe I was satisfied: she was betraying her great love with me, and this stroked my ego.
Jealousy was a damaged soul, a painful crack in the wall around our sense of self. But Zuhal wasn’t a part of my life, she wasn’t a part of who I was and so I didn’t feel jealous at all. Though I felt strongly connected to her, in a strange way she wasn’t a part of me.
As much as I tried I just couldn’t understand
