Derda took one of the tea glasses lined up by the sink and went back to Süleyman’s dinner spread. He watched the man hold the bottle upside down as high as his mouth and he watched the vodka pour out.
“Come on, let’s see now,” said Süleyman. He raised his glass and clinked it against Derda’s tea glass. Derda’s face and throat winced at his first swallow. But his mind winced, too.
“Then what happened?”
“What could happen? The guy wrote more of this type of thing but no one cared. Then he was dead and gone. When was that now?” he said, looking at the ceiling, and when Derda answered he stayed like that, staring up at nothing.
“’77. 1977.”
“You see?” said Süleyman. “Look how the time’s passed. How old was I then? Twenty-three, twenty-four? Something like that, anyway. Anyway, then we were on the inside. In prison. And there I discovered him again. Then I read him, as a man. I read and I understood. Like I said, this guy understood, he knew. Look, I still don’t really know, but I do know that this guy had something like a vocation, he had something to say, that much I know, you understand? Just once, there was this man like a genius. He was going to write something else … that’s what they said, anyway. What was that, anyway?”
Derda knew. What Oğuz Atay would have written if he hadn’t died. Anyone who’d read his Journal would know.
“The Soul of Turkey.”
“Hah,” said Süleyman. “That’s it. The Soul of Turkey. The name itself is nice. But look at what happened then. Does Turkey still have its soul? Turkey’s soul has been sold. Years ago they sold it. They sold it like a pimp. You’ll see, the soul of this country went to the coffers of sons of bitches. Son, bottoms up!”
Derda winced all over all over again. The vodka sparked the fire, and his fatigue extinguished it.
“Brother, is it okay if I go to sleep?”
Süleyman nudged his chin in the direction of Derda’s resting spot.
“Pull out those there. Lie there.”
The things to pull out were collapsed empty boxes, the spot where he could lay out to sleep was on top of them. Derda did what he was told and lay down. As soon as he closed his eyes, he saw Oğuz Atay’s photographs. They laid that man to waste: the words echoed between his two ears.
He opened his eyes and asked, “Brother Süleyman, if you saw them, would you recognize them?”
“Hmm?”
“Well, the men who laid him to waste, like you said. Whoever they were, if you saw them, would you recognize them?”
“Lie down, man, go to sleep,” said Süleyman, and he laughed. “Why man, what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to cut them down, all of them,” said Derda. It was like he was talking about cutting a loaf of bread. Maybe that’s why Süleyman didn’t know what to say.
“The kid’s going to sleep here?” asked Israfil. Then he turned to Derda.
“You’re going to sleep here?”
“If it’s okay, just a few days,” said Derda.
“Fine,” said Israfil. “Stay. That way you two can keep an eye on each other.” Then he added, gesturing to Süleyman, “Don’t let this one have too much to drink.” He looked at Süleyman.
“Süleyman, for God’s sake. Look, you’re the one heading up these operations. Don’t do anything to yourself you won’t be able to reverse. One day you’re going to doze off drunk, and you’re going to burn the place down with those cigarettes, sucking on them like they’re some sort of teat.”
“Okay, okay. Just mind your own business,” said Süleyman. He wandered off toward the machines. Israfil threw a hand onto Derda’s shoulder and smiled.
“You know how to use a gun?”
“No, brother,” said Derda.
“Well, seeing as you’re going to stay here, you’re going to watch the place at night. Süleyman doesn’t know his ass from his face. So we’re going to trust in you to take care of any nonsense, should it arise. Anyway, hang on, we’ll arrange everything. Abdullah isn’t here yet?”
“He hasn’t come yet, brother,” was what he was going to say, but then he heard two raps on the depot door so he ran over and asked, “Who is it?”
“Remzi, Remzi.”
Derda threw the bolt and pulled open the iron door. Remzi was laughing.
“Derda, man, you really turned Uncle Celal’s head a ripe shade of red! Boy, how many years you haven’t seen the man and you throw yourself on him as soon as you see him?”
“Your dad’s out?” asked Israfil.
Derda was forced to admit it. He hadn’t wanted to mention anything about his father being out. Or his beating him up.
“I was going to wish him all the best, but it won’t help much now, I think.”
“We had a little fight,” said Derda, practically in a whisper. He was embarrassed. But Israfil didn’t react at all like he’d expected.
“Good on you!” he said. “Before you become a real man, you have to fight with your father.” His thoughts on the matter were clear and he added, “Derda, man, you’re one crazy kid.” Then he turned to Remzi, “Come on, don’t hang around like that. Go help Süleyman.”
Derda was going to follow Remzi, but Israfil caught him by the arm.
“You have any money?”
He didn’t, but he said “yes.” Israfil pulled a pistol out of his pocket and handed it to Derda.
“Anyway, take this, keep it at your side.”
“Thank you, brother,” said Derda. And he held the door open for Israfil. Abdullah was parking the van near the top of the stairs. When he came to the top of the stairs, Israfil laughed and called out to Abdullah.
“Apo, watch out for this kid! Check it out, the bastard practically destroyed his own dad!”
Abdullah responded with a feigned smile, pushing it as wide as it would go. Then, as Israfil walked away, he dove right in with his usual “Derda, hurry up, we’re
