Arabesk

'Yes.' Tepe frowned. 'Why?'

'Oh, no reason,' Ikmen said as he reached out to knock on the door of the medical examination room. 'Just a detail for the organic computer,' he whispered as he tapped the side of his head with his finger.

'Oh.'

'Goodbye, Tepe,' Ikmen said as the examination room door opened to reveal the dark figure of Dr Irfan Akkale.

It is better this way, Erol thought as he folded the last of Merih's little dresses into the bag. Were he to give Tansu time to argue she would become hurt and then he would do what he knew he shouldn't. Stay. Not that he wanted to go. To wake up every morning to the sound of one's name on a woman's lips, to then have one's sexual desires fulfilled without even having to say what they are to that woman – mat is seductive. And had he been a different man, there would have been nothing wrong with that But there was also honour to consider and Tansu, for all her wild rages and bizarre behaviour, deserved respect Besides, if he gave in now it would only make things worse later when, inevitably, he would leave the city for his village for a time or forever or for whatever may come to pass.

What is written cannot be unwritten.

As he passed the dining table, he looked at the book that lay on top of one of the place mats. The woman on the cover was very beautiful, she had short blonde hair and thick red lips. Had her eyes not been downcast, one hand held painfully up to her head, it would have been an image of some sexual power. But this woman appeared devastated, as if she had just looked upon the face of death. He made to slowly, as was his custom, spell out the words on the front cover but then found that he couldn't The letters were different, not greatly but enough to make him realise that this was a foreign book.

'It's about Marilyn Monroe,' Latife said as she walked over to him and gently took the tome from his hands. She smiled. 'It's in English.'

'Oh.' Until he had registered a heavy footfall Erol had, for a moment, thought it was Tansu. Now, although his heart was still beating very loudly, he felt waves of relief break across him. 'I didn't know…'

'Oh, I don't speak it very well,' Latife said with a laugh behind her voice. 'I've never had lessons. I learned only from the radio.' Then looking up sharply she said, 'Do you know of Marilyn Monroe, Erol?'

He shrugged. 'No. She's very beautiful, if that is her on the cover.'

'Yes, she was,' Latife said. 'But that was taken many years ago. She's dead now.'

'Oh.' Quite why Latife hadn't yet said anything about the large bag at Eroi's feet or the sleeping form of Merih, dressed for the street and already in her car seat, he didn't know. But he felt, knowing Latife, that she soon would.

Looking, Erol imagined, into a past of which he could not even conceive, Latife said, 'Marilyn was an American film star. She was beautiful, successful, every man wanted her, but all she ever wanted was to be taken seriously.' Latife placed the book back down upon the table. 'She was, you know, a very intelligent woman, hungry for knowledge. It was her passion. Are you planning on leaving my sister, Erol?'

It came suddenly, but as no surprise. Latife was, if nothing else, 'observant'.

'Yes,' he said, his head now slightly bowed. 'I have to. It's not right that I stay with my child at the house of a single woman. It is disrespectful to Ruya and not good for Merih.'

'Tansu is going to be very hurt.'

'I know. And I want her to understand that I do still care for her. It's just that, at the moment, we cannot be together.'

Latife sat down on one of the dining chairs and looked across at the sleeping baby. 'So perhaps when you've taken Ruya home…'

'I will visit, as always,' he said as he stooped down to pick up his bag. 'But as for anything else, I don't know. If you would tell Tansu I'll telephone her tonight'

'Of course.'

He heaved the bag up onto his shoulder and then picked up the car seat Merih was still soundly asleep and as Erol looked down at her he couldn't help smiling. Despite everything, if he had her he still had hope.

Latife walked with Erol out to his car and helped him load the luggage onto the back seat They kissed each other lightly on the cheek and then Latife, with a wave, walked back into the house. Erol turned the ignition and then began punching a number into his mobile telephone. Latife watched him with a smile on her face.

'The trouble, you know, with doctors,' Ikmen said as he placed his now empty tea glass down on Suleyman's desk, 'is that they never know anything for certain. Oh, they have ideas, theories and thoughts and when one is either almost or completely dead, they can tell you what the problem might be. But as for actually making a judgement on a living being…' He paused in order to rap his knuckles on the desk. 'Are you with me, Mehmet?'

'Oh.' Suleyman looked up from the paper he had been reading so intently and smiled. 'What were you saying?'

'I asked Dr Akkale about the possibility of Merih Urfa having an allergy to chicken and beans. If you remember, her father was very forceful on this point in his television broadcast. I mean the child is very young and I wondered how or even if this might be known.'

'And?'

'And Akkale could neither confirm nor deny it The child possessed no obvious rashes or wheals but then if she hadn't had any chicken or beans she wouldn't have any. But Akkale also said that given the child's age she would in all likelihood be on a milk-only diet anyway. I mean, I take his point that a person may be allergic to almost anything, but in one so young…'

Suleyman rubbed the sides of his face with his hands and frowned. 'Um, I know I may be a little slow here,' he said, 'but why are you taking such an interest in this?'

'Oh, it's just something old Kostas Katsoulis happened to say when we were at Madame Kleopatra's, about the dietary mores of one of the eastern sects.'

'Oh?'

'The Yezidis forbid the eating of chicken. I don't know why. I know nothing about them beyond the chicken thing and the fact that they revere Shaitan.'

'You think that Urfa might be one of them?'

Ikmen shrugged. 'I don't know.'

Suleyman turned to his computer and spent a few seconds typing in what Ikmen imagined was some relevant data. As various pieces of information flashed up onto the screen, Suleyman leaned back and lit a cigarette. Then after some moments' scanning, he sighed and said, 'Well, his identity card quite plainly gives his religion as Muslim.'

'It was just a thought,' Ikmen said.

'Mmm.'

They sat in silence for a few moments as Ikmen lit up yet again and Suleyman attempted to tear his eyes away from Dr Halman's report which was lying right in front of him on the desk. As far as he could tell; she had not so far been complimentary about his treatment of Cengiz Temiz. But then he had not expected her to be.

'Before I go’ Ikmen said, 'and not wishing to interfere with your investigation, may I just ask a question about Tansu Hanim?'

Although Suleyman replied in the affirmative, his brow was wrinkled with doubt. 'You may, though I don't know whether I will be able to answer or even if I should.'

'Can she read?'

'I should imagine so, yes.'

Ikmen shook his head as if trying to loosen a more cogent question from his brain. 'No, I mean really read, Turkish that is. With understanding or even enjoyment?'

'I honestly don't know’ Suleyman said. 'When I went to the house, there were no books around the place as far as I could see. Why?'

'Well, I've been listening to her music' At this point Ikmen and Suleyman exchanged a look.

'Just out of academic interest, you understand,' Ikmen continued and then warming to his subject he said, 'And, guided by my dear wife, I have discovered that Tansu specialises in two types of song – the depressed, morbid variety and the venomous, bitter sort.'