On the Back of the Tiger by Zülfü Livaneli

Author:Zülfü Livaneli [Livaneli, Zülfü]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Other Press
Published: 2024-06-04T00:00:00+00:00

A dark sky—A dead man’s hands

AFTER THAT SINISTER OWL of a doctor had given him the news about Halley’s comet, the sultan convinced himself that such a thing could never happen, and he found peace by reading the Quran into the night. But the newspapers the doctor showed him the next day were enough to resurrect his apprehensions. In the evening, after eating some zucchini stew and yogurt, he retired to his room, took out his amber prayer beads, and began reciting the name of God, but he was unable to concentrate, he had terrifying visions of the fires of hell engulfing the mansion. At one point he lay on his bed, pulled the quilt over himself, and tried to find peace. In the darkness, his imagination began to run wild; when he couldn’t stand this he got out of bed and went over to the window. He looked out at the night sky and smoked one cigarette after another. His pulse was racing. He searched for any sign that the disaster would occur that night. Perhaps there would be a bright light, perhaps some kind of aurora. That enormous comet would have to give off some kind of light. But the sky was completely dark. There was nothing visible but a few stars. He suddenly realized he was perspiring; his undershirt, his hair, and his neck were completely wet. This was one of the things that frightened him most. God forbid, but if his sweat got cold he would get ill, so ill that he would be confined to bed. He’d seen many men die from colds. At times like this he would have his butler rub the willow-and-yogurt mixture on his body. For a moment he thought of summoning his servant. Then he changed his mind because he couldn’t tear himself away from watching the sky. Was he going to worry about catching cold on judgment day? Who could catch a cold while fire was raining from the sky? He thought about the tens of thousands of hands that would cling to him on judgment day, denouncing him and beseeching God for justice. He began to feel these hands closing around his neck. These severed hands began to move around the room. Like the thousands of hands that had been sent to the King of Belgium to reassure him that a rebellion had been put down.

He was barely able to breathe. He rubbed his congested chest and tried to mutter a prayer but found himself unable to speak. He could sense the hands moving around in the dark. The room was completely filled with these hands. White hands, black hands, children’s hands, peasants’ hands, clerks’ hands, viziers’ hands, innocent hands, pashas’ hands, pashas’ hands, pashas’ hands, elegant hands with slender fingers, long fingers wearing a grand vizier’s ring. Suddenly the rustling of the hands he sensed moving in the dark stopped. There was a deep and unsettling silence. The sultan tried to calm himself and slow his breathing. He tried to slow his pulse by thinking of happier times.

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