For her eighteenth birthday, Derdâ received a dossier of official documents. Realizing what it was, she began to cry. As she signed the adoption papers her tears smeared the ink. With this signature, she effectively divorced herself from Saniye and began a new life with a new mother. The court decision came back three months later. Derdâ celebrated her eighteenth birthday one more time. But this time there were two candles on the cake. For Anne, Derdâ was born in the rehabilitation center. Saniye’s daughter may have been eighteen, but Anne’s daughter was only two. And soon, two-year-old Derdâ, the most successful of all the top five students that year, would step up to the platform to speak. Anne sat beside her, adjusting her long black hair.
“I’m so proud of you,” she said.
“I wonder if you’ll still be so proud when I tell you the subject of my graduate thesis,” Derdâ said, smiling.
“How bad could it be?” Anne asked.
“Donatien Alphonse François’s influence on English literature.”
“Who’s that?”
“The Marquis de Sade!”
DERDA
“Derda?” said Isa.
“My dad had this friend. It was his name.”
“So? What’s it mean?”
“How should I know?”
“So ask your dad.”
“He’s in jail,” said Derda, getting to his feet.
He brushed off the dust. Isa’s excitement got the better of him.
“What’d he do?” he asked.
“He killed that friend.”
But Isa didn’t get it. He was staring blankly at Derda when they heard the sound of a car. They turned toward the sound. Then they looked at each other. Isa jumped to his feet and took off running. Derda followed right behind him. But Isa didn’t know the cemetery so well and was soon lost. He sprinted randomly down the cemetery paths. Derda made it to the fountain in the square first, winning the race, and there wasn’t anything Isa could do about it. He was new. And he was embarrassed he’d lost. Isa had to sit and watch while Derda filled up his plastic tanks and approached the parked car.
Derda had never seen these people before, but he knew the tomb they’d stopped in front of very well. It was where he got his best tips. Practically every day, someone would come and read the Koran at that tombstone. And afterward, they’d be sure to give him something. And sure enough here was someone else reciting the Koran in front of the tomb. An old man. With a long robe, just like all the others. But this time there was also a girl at the tombstone. A girl his age. Has she been here before? Derda thought. He didn’t recognize her. He went up to the old man and held up his tanks.
“Should I pour water over the grave, uncle?”
He was so used to it, it must have been the thousandth time he’d heard a voice like this. The anguish in the reader’s lilting voice was palpable. Derda spoke the language. He also knew that he had to persevere. Perseverance was an absolute. It was the first condition for getting money from these types. He waited patiently, not moving an eyelash, and with an ever so slight change in his voice reciting the Koran, the old man gave him the answer he was waiting for. Derda dashed to the head of the tomb and began pouring water over the earth, following the girl, who was pulling out weeds. They moved around the tomb and then, as he was filling up the birdbath, the girl stretched out her muddy hands. Derda watched the water stream out of his tank and over the girl’s hands.
“Thank you,” she said.
It was practically a whisper. Derda was going to say something too, but as soon as he opened his mouth, his feet were cut off from the ground and he landed in a heap on the path near the tomb.
When the dust settled, he saw a man the size of a giant looming over him. “What did I do?” he wanted to yell, but he didn’t. He pulled his knife out of his pocket, thinking he could drive it into the giant’s knee, but he let that thought go, too. Then the old man growled some kind of command and the giant reached into his pocket and Derda watched him pull out some change. The money meant nothing to the giant. But Derda really needed it. He hadn’t had a thing to eat all day. But he wasn’t going to get a thing from that giant with the beard. Especially because of the girl. He saw the girl’s face as he turned to leave. It was like she wanted to say something to him. Almost as if she wanted him to save her. But maybe Derda’s hunger was making him see things.
Isa had watched everything from a distance. He ran over to Derda. He had lost both the race and the customers and he wanted to rub it in.
“You did it wrong.”
“What?”
“You shouldn’t have gotten so close to the girl. Those guys don’t like that kind of thing.”
“Fuck them!” said Derda.
He walked past fast. Faster. Deeper into the cemetery. Straight into the darkness of the thickening shade of more and more trees. Isa was following him.
He shouted, “Where are you going?”
Derda stopped and looked over his shoulder.
“Home,” he said. “You go, too. No one comes later than this. No point waiting around for nothing.”
Isa watched Derda’s back disappear for a few seconds. Then he stuffed one hand in his pocket, grabbed the empty tank with his other, and walked down to the cemetery gates, the tank bumping against his knee the whole way. As for Derda, he slipped through the shadows and
