my brain but came up empty.
“Good morning…” said a sleepy but tense voice.
Okan Sar?dogan was standing in front of me. He was taller and stockier than I’d expected, and not nearly as dark and shifty as his photo had indicated. But he was obviously nothing like his older brother, the brother so highly recommended by one and all as a “once in a lifetime, must-try” experience. It wasn’t just that he wasn’t handsome; he couldn’t even be considered “charismatic,” the term in popular use these days to describe ugly men. He had thick, unruly hair and a sulky expression, just like in the somewhat blurry photo. Even so, the doleful look in his eyes aroused one’s protective instinct.
“Good morning,” I responded.
“Refik said some things, but I didn’t really understand what he was talking about. I must have overslept. I’m still a bit woozy.”
He glanced over, as Refik spoke.
“I’ll make you some coffee. That’ll help.”
So, the period of mourning was officially over. The new romance was in full bloom.
“Would you like some?”
“Yes.” I smiled. “Black. No milk, no sugar.”
When Refik disappeared to prepare the coffee, I sat opposite Okan and we studied each other. Conflict or concord, which was it to be? I, myself, opted for the latter.
I related the breaking news, and told him he was wanted by the police. I also added that no one would think to look for him here, at Refik’s place-at least for the moment.
“But how could they accuse me? I didn’t even go to that house yesterday. There must be a mistake.”
The coffee arrived. Refik served him first. Welcome or not, I was a guest. Because they were sharing a bed, Okan was in fact an honorary member of the household, not a guest. I should have been served first. He must have considered Okan to be the man of his life, and the two of us to be no more than concubines or slave girls. Ha! I said to myself. What good are all those pronouncements on homosexual rights and feminism if this is the way you act at home? So much for all your politically correct articles, your egalitarian ideas. Of course, all of this was irrelevant to the task at hand. I’d allowed my mind to become hung up on detail and exercised by other things.
Okan pulled a small foil-wrapped disk of dope out of the pocket of his designer sweatpants and began rolling a joint intended to serve as breakfast. Whether it’s hash or heroin, I have the same opinion concerning drugs: I loathe them. And I loathe those who love them.
“We’ve got some serious talking to do,” I said. “Must you do that first thing in the morning?”
Raising his eyes from the joint he was rolling, he gave me a surprised and questioning look.
“You’ve been accused of murder! Do you want to be taken in for drugs, too?”
“This is just dope,” he said.
In his book, dope was not a drug apparently.
Refik, who was perched on the other end of the sofa we were sharing, tensed at the tone and direction of my little exchange with Okan. Although sitting on a thorn, his silly smile as he looked at Okan was that of a man who has reached nirvana.
“Well,
Okan had revealed his true colors. Our boy with the hangdog look was a real rebel! He’d modeled himself on James Dean, most likely without even having a clue who that was. A misunderstood and undiscovered treasure, at least in his own mind, he was playing the rebellious and sulky Eternal Boy.
There was no point in antagonizing him right from the start. I still had so much to learn.
“You know best,” I said. “It’s your body and your brain. Destroy them however you like.”
He gave me a hard stare, then a smile spread across his face as he got back to his rolling. His hands were quick and practiced.
“How did you meet Faruk Hanoglu?” I asked.
“Who hasn’t met him?” he said, without raising his head.
“Look, sweetie,” I said, in my famous warning tone, “don’t talk back to me! I came here to help you. And I don’t think he killed your brother. Someone’s trying to pin it on you. They’ll put it down to revenge, case closed and completely forgotten about while you rot in prison. Do you understand me?”
He took a deep drag on his joint, the tip of which gave me a fiery wink. An acrid sweetness reached my nostrils. I kept my eyes on his face, waiting for an answer, a response of some kind. He held the smoke in his lungs for a moment, speaking as he exhaled.
“I’m not stupid. I get it.”
“Good,” I said. “Then tell me all you know. Right from the beginning.”
Staring into space with an expression only he found meaningful, he was silent for as long as it took to take two more drags on his joint.
“I was staying with Volkan, my big brother…” he said. “Before he died.”
That was the cue for Refik to produce a shrill shriek, followed by a fit of hiccups.
“He lives on, for all time, in the hearts of those who loved him,” Refik whimpered. “He lives on… right here…”
Naturally, he closed his eyes and clasped his hands “right here.”
Okan and I looked on, both equally nonplussed. The only difference between us being that his eyes had begun fogging over.
“We were real tight,” he continued. “He always looked after me, like a good big brother. He’s the one who brought me to Istanbul from the village, taught me how to dress, how to act.”
Face soppy, eyes watery, Refik nodded and nodded. I had to look away to keep from bursting out laughing, but I couldn’t exactly plug my ears to keep out the low keening.
“There’s so much to learn… especially from someone like him.”
None of this had anything to do with the matter at hand, nor was I interested in the slightest, but the “boy” had opened his mouth at last. I would have to hold my tongue and be civil. A few well-timed questions would get him back on track, if necessary.
The prelude lasted even longer than I’d feared. Refik even had to make another round of coffee. The Volkan being described to me now was nothing like the one in the other testimonials. He was a Henry Higgins, a Svengali, an angel, even. A good-natured, thoughtful, sensible, responsible, and tender older brother. He’d been generous to a fault with his little brother, showering him daily with tokens of affection, handing him pocket money, and even presenting him with a brand-new minibus.
“What’s more,” added Okan, waving the joint in the direction of my face, “he never fussed about this. He’d even ring me up, ask about my stash so he could keep me supplied.”
Okan talked and talked, occasionally falling silent, spaced-out, head tilted back and eyes on the ceiling. Then he’d come to and keep talking. So far there had been no mention of the source of Volkan’s money, his reputation as a gigolo, or his relationship to Faruk Hanoglu. I waited patiently. He’d finished his first joint and was sprawled out on the sofa, shoulders slumped, eyes glazed and faraway.
“So, what’s the story with Faruk Hanoglu?” I finally asked, keeping my voice as soft and reassuring as possible.
“Oh yeah, that. It’s kind of complicated.”
“Do tell…”
“As you know, my brother helped them out now and again.”
Actually, I knew no such thing. In fact, I’d planned to confess that I’d never even met Volkan. But I said nothing as I sat there, gazing benignly at him. Refik looked on, as curious as can be, forcing a smile as he listened to Okan. The expression on his face was that of a mother braced for the worst but ever hopeful as she consulted a teacher about her good-for-nothing child. His eyes were trained on Okan’s lips; it was obvious that they hadn’t discussed any of this before. Depending on what Okan said, Refik would have to seriously revise his personal history with Volkan.
“How exactly did he help them?” Refik asked.
Okan looked over at Refik as though trying to place him.
“He’d arrange girls and stuff when asked. For customers…”
Yet another dark chapter in the life of Volkan was unfolding: his role as a pimp. It was anyone’s guess who had been peddled to whom. When I considered Faruk Hanoglu’s client portfolio, the names just kept on coming.
“Sometimes he’d go over himself… to loaded broads and all that…”
I was watching Refik out of the corner of my eye. He was growing tenser by the minute. Was his new lover about to confirm that the brother, his former lover, had been a gigolo?
“You mean he was a gigolo?” I asked, eyes still on Refik.
“I suppose so,” said Okan.
Refik’s face ran like a watercolor. I savored the sight.
“My brother wasn’t into it, but the money was good. But lately, when work came in, he’d try to get out of it. He had plenty of money. Said it wasn’t worth putting up with those rich bitches’ bad breath.”
Refik sat up straight, eyes wide, biting his lower lip.
“Did you ever visit any of those ladies?”
Refik’s eyes blazed at Okan, and he was no doubt furious with me, too, for having dared ask such a thing.
“Nope,” Okan said. “I got no time for that stuff… I’m a boy lover. Through and through.”
Lowering his eyes bashfully, he proudly smiled at Refik.
What a family, I thought to myself.
“What about your brother-in-law?” I asked. “Ziya…”
“He’s all talk!” he said, grinning unpleasantly. “All talk and no action.”
“What if he killed your brother? They’d had a falling out. He tried to stab him once…”
“No way!” he said. “He hasn’t got the balls.”
