Tablet & Pen by Reza Aslan

Author:Reza Aslan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: W. W. Norton & Company
Published: 2011-03-10T16:00:00+00:00

Pakize, who smelled like fur, cats, like fine muslin and handkerchiefs…he would never be able to put his head on her knees.

Hey! Who had put this spike in his pocket? Wasn’t it that bastard Abdullah? That nice guy, that freckled, dark, duck-nosed center-halfback soccer player with the Black Tiger Club, Abdullah. He must have placed the spike. Why the hell would that bastard, who left half a movie ticket, half a stadium ticket, toothbrush, monkey wrench, broken Yale lock, spermaceti candle, chewing gum, wormy cherries, soap, melon seeds, onions, and garlic, also place a spike? A big boat spike, shiny bright too, and thin as an awl. A story ready for Panço.

“What are you doing around here at midnight, friend?”

“Went to visit a friend, returning, stayed late.”

“Where do you live?”

“In ili.”

They searched me. I had sixty-seven lira, thirty kuru in addition to my pen, a story typescript, picture of Panço, and another pen.

“Don’t you have your ID card on you?”

“No!”

“What do you do?”

“I write.”

“What kind of writing, are you a clerk?”

“I’m a clerk.”

“For whom?”

“Kocaeli, at the kbal Warehouse.”

How come I suddenly thought of that and abruptly said Kocaeli kbal Warehouse?

“Come on, on your feet. Don’t walk at night, you’re an old man.”

I’m walking along the border of Fatih Park, Panço. A man sits on the wet ground, his legs stretched out, his head leaning against the iron border fence of the park.

He was yelling, “Long live democracy, long live the nation, long live the republic!”

“Long live my friend,” I said.

“Sit down beside me,” he said.

I sat. Oh man! It really was comfortable. Nice and wet, cool.

“I have a wife, friend. If you saw her face, you’d run away as far as you could. I have a daughter. Allah grant her to someone like you. Are you married? If you’re married, get a divorce and marry my daughter. She’s blind in one eye, the other looks askew at God. She has a nose that wears out any snuff kerchief. Her mucus smells, her handkerchief smells, she smells herself. You can’t stand her. Her monthly smells terrible. I have a son, nineteen years old, smells of piss. As for the house—may it not happen to you—it smells like a toilet. O great Allah! Look at these stones. Shiny clean. Look at this iron fence painted green! Hard, yes hard, but with the sweet smell of paint and rain. These lawns. These clouds, look at these passing black, yellow, red, blond, brunette clouds. Look at those lamps, which grow, open up like stars, and fill my eyes with arrows with sharp tips! Look at this apartment, washed from one end to the other! It’s cold, it’s rainy. Clean and odorless, I lie in light and water, among clouds, under the universe.”

I leaned my head against the bars. So what if my bottom was in water? The cosmos was playing unimaginable games above my head. Vapor becomes water. Water cleans the mud and filth, makes the grass green, the trees grow. What business did I have at home? “Stay here.

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