There were only four words he knew how to write: His name, his last name, and Oğuz Atay. But he had drawn the letter O too big so there wasn’t any space left to put the rest of it. No room for either Oğuz or Atay. So much for writing the whole name, now he was forced to content himself with just the initials. But he hadn’t even left enough room next to the O to stick one measly A. Derda had let his excitement get the better of him. He had been too hasty.
But he had no time to waste standing around, making a decision. There was only one empty space near the O to put the A, and that was inside the O. He spray painted an A inside the O and took two steps back to admire his work. A letter A inside a letter O. Bright red. It was a symbol that perhaps for others would signify something entirely different, but for Derda it was the signature of Oğuz Atay.
An A inside an O looked so nice to him that it was some time before he could tear his eyes off the sight of it. But then noticing oncoming blue and red lights flashing from the end of the street, he took off running in the opposite direction. He couldn’t get caught by the police. Not yet, at least.
He’d chosen to mark a bookstore of all places with Oğuz Atay’s signature because he was under the impression that all the names of the men he wanted to take revenge on for Oğuz Atay could somehow be found there. True, perhaps, that he didn’t know where any of them lived, if they lived at all, but all of them must appear somewhere in the books in the bookstore. Resting on the shelves of that bookstore. Lined up side by side.
A twisted smile flashed across his face. Streets passed, stairs changed. His smile turned into laughter. And as he laughed he ran faster. The streets rang out with the sound of him as he passed. Finally, finally! he was able to really do something for Oğuz Atay. He couldn’t clean his tomb anymore, but at least he could plaster the bookstores with his signature. He started to pay attention to the shops he was running by. By chance he passed two more bookstores and started the can in his hand shaking again. He hardly needed to—as it was, it was well shaken from his run. He drew two more A’s inside of two more O’s, and left them to mix with the night.
“Where were you, boy?” Süleyman asked.
Derda smiled.
“It took me two hours to find a shop open to buy your cigarettes.”
Abdullah, relieved to see there was no book in Derda’s hand, barked “Light this” at him. There’s something different about the kid, he thought. He was smiling and looking out the window. Despite the weather being cold the window was open, and he was rubbing his arm against the van’s hood and swinging his hand holding the cigarette.
When they arrived at the overpass he saw three people gathered in front of the bookshop’s door. One was the woman he’d taken Oğuz Atay’s biography from. The van had drawn near the opposite side of the overpass so there was no way they could see Derda. They were looking at the symbol on the door and talking to each other, their hands at their waists. They must be deciding who’s going to wash it off, thought Derda. Maybe they’re talking about how they can wash it off. Laughing, he started up the overpass’s steps, with two boxes in his hands.
“What’s up?” said Saruhan. “I see you’re in a good mood.”
“I’m good, I’m good,” said Derda. He even tossed a hello to the clock seller when he passed him on his way back down. Usually he couldn’t even look at him because of all those alarms going off. But that morning, nothing was as usual. He wished it were that night again. He wanted to be running down the streets, seeking out all the bookstores, and spraying Oğuz Atay’s signature on them all over again. On all the bookstores’ windows, on all of them, and maybe on all the walls of every street.
He was leaping down the stairs two by two thinking all this, when for a second he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. He stopped, staring at the symbol, willing himself to believe. There, on the building across the street, on the wall, was a symbol spray-painted in pitch-black. It was the letter A inside the letter O. Barely different from Derda’s symbol, only that the legs of the A slipped out a bit from inside the O. He didn’t know what to think. But who? was the only thing he could say. Who did that?
He heard Abdullah’s voice loud and clear, but as much as Abdullah spoke, he stayed motionless. He eyes fixed on the symbol.
“Hey, ding-dong, get over here, why’d you stop there? Come on, get down here, we got more work to do.”
“I knew it,” Derda said. He was smiling. Squeezing his fists tight, jumping down the stairs.
“I knew it! I knew it!”
“Boy, what did you know?” said Abdullah, crossing in front of the van to the driver’s side.
“Nothing,” said Derda. He got into the van and shut the door. This time it was he who held out a cigarette.
“Light this.”
“Well, all right then!” said Abdullah.
After his first drag, Derda leaned his head back against his seat and thought. For the first time in his life he wasn’t alone. Yes, he said to himself. There’s someone else out there. Maybe a whole slew of people. People just like me. People out on the streets taking revenge for Oğuz Atay. Maybe they’re on every corner. He sighed. If
