In the middle of the steppe, the pitch-black asphalt road twisted and turned, illuminated by the headlights of passing cars. A bus, moving confidently among smaller vehicles, its wheels turning steadily towards its destination, carried passengers, some of whom were sleeping and others watching the passing steppe. A young guy, totally ignoring both the steppe and sleep, was busy with his phone.
"Have you arrived?"
"No, still a few hours to go."
"How’s Buğra?"
"He's leaning his head against the window, sleeping."
"Sweetie, I don’t want to meddle, but how are you going to manage with such a little kid?"
"He's my brother, Figen. Should I have left him alone?"
"I’m not saying leave him alone, but you could have left him with social services."
"Never! I can't leave my brother with some strangers!"
"They’re not strangers; let's get that straight. They're appointed by the government to protect children."
"If I don’t know them, they're strangers to me."
"Tarık! How are you going to manage both university and him?"
"How I manage is my concern, no one asked for your help."
"Is that what I'm saying, Tarık? Is that what you took from what I said? Wow, just wow."
"Let's drop this topic, Figen, we'll talk later."
"Talk later, Tarık."
He angrily put his phone back in his pocket. As the bus continued on its way, passengers' faint grumbles could be heard. He looked at his brother. His head was leaning against the window, his chest rising and falling with slow breaths. He looked at his brother’s face lovingly. His blonde hair had fallen over his forehead. "His hair’s grown long, I should get it cut before school starts," he thought. He gently took his head from the window and placed it under his arm. Buğra must have felt the soft lap between sleep, as he snuggled up in his brother’s lap, murmured a few words, and continued his sleep. Tarık sighed deeply. While his hand was stroking his brother’s hair, his dark green eyes were fixed on the road streaming by. "Was I too harsh with Figen?" He wondered, while the possibility of having upset her nagged at his conscience, "I've told her so many times, but she insists on not understanding. Why doesn’t she want to understand me? I can’t leave my brother, I won’t," his mind raced, and as usual, he justified himself.
Throughout their three-year relationship, Figen’s only complaint had been this. "You always find a way to justify yourself," she would say. Tarık smiled at this thought. He loved Figen, but not at the expense of his brother. "She'll accept it eventually." Comforted by this thought, he checked the time. It was 02:12. To blend in with the sleeping passengers, he leaned his head on Buğra’s and closed his eyes. He would wake up to a new order in the morning.
The long journey ended with the morning call to prayer as the bus entered the seventh platform at the bus station. Tarık, holding tightly to the little fingers, noticed his brother observing the city for the first time. Tarık was surprised by how crowded it was at the early hour while dragging one suitcase with one hand and slinging the other over his shoulder, occasionally glancing at Buğra. Whenever his mother would take Buğra out, she would say, "Don’t let go of your brother’s hand!" as if she sensed this day would come.
As they moved from the platform section towards the exit, the call of simit sellers echoed,
"Fresh simit, crispy, crunchy simiiittt,"
Buğra, watching the kids carrying trays of simit on their heads, wondered, "How do they carry them without dropping them?"
"Shall we get some simit, big bro?"
Lifting his head to see his brother’s face, his thin long neck became visible. The newly rising sun was shining on his fair skin.
"Let's get some," he smiled, his eyes narrowing. His missing front teeth appeared with his smile.
They bought the simit from a child trying to sell them on the road. Buğra quietly and curiously watched the dark-faced simit seller boy. Taking a bite of the simit handed to him in a napkin, the flavor of sesame spread in his mouth overwhelmed his curiosity as he continued walking without looking where his brother was leading.
As they entered the taxi area, the most alert taxi drivers, like panthers waiting for their prey, noticed Tarık and Buğra before they could decide which taxi to take, and one of them reached out for the suitcase in Tarık's hand.
"Let me take that, sir."
Before Tarık could open his mouth, the suitcase was taken.
The taxi driver, in his forties, didn’t mind calling the clearly younger man 'sir.' It was a habit formed by his profession, a way to create familiarity with passengers. Tarık smiled involuntarily. He had gotten used to this city and its people during his second year here.
"Where to, sir?"
As the driver placed the suitcases in the trunk and took his seat, Tarık, returning his gaze from outside, answered through the rearview mirror.
"There are apartments near the university; we are going there."
The driver turned the key in the ignition, shifting his gaze from Tarık's dark face to the road ahead. The yellow taxi slowly started moving as the driver broke the unusual silence.
"Didn’t you get a dorm?"
Tarık turned his gaze from outside to the driver, "I did, I stayed in the dorm last year, but this year I moved to an apartment because my brother is also with me," then returned his gaze outside. The driver, intrigued by the word 'brother,' continued with more questions.
"Why is your brother with you, don’t you have parents?"
"No, we don’t have parents, they died," Tarık replied with a voice filled with anger, not wanting to discuss or remember the family he had lost two months ago. He didn’t want anyone to see the tears welling up in his eyes or hear Buğra trying to suppress his sobs.
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that, young man, I didn't mean to upset you."
He nodded slightly as if to say it’s okay, eager for the conversation to end and to reach the address quickly.
"Where are you from? Didn’t you have anyone else to look after the kid?"
He sighed wearily, what an inquisitive driver.
"No, uncle, it’s just us, we’re from Adıyaman."
"Well, it's quite close, God help you, if you need anything, we're here to help, God willing."
"Thanks, uncle, we don’t need anything, thankfully."
Tarık's manner of speaking finally silenced the driver. They continued in silence until the taxi slowed down and pulled over.
"We've arrived, sir."
"Let’s get out, buddy," Tarık said as Buğra seemed to wake up, "Uh, okay," he said as he moved towards the door on his side. When his feet touched the asphalt, Tarık remembered the oppressive heat of the city. Even though it was nearing the end of September, autumn had not yet made its presence felt in this city. When the driver unloaded the suitcases, Tarık paid the fare.
"Good luck," the driver said as he got back into his taxi to continue his day. The warmth of the people was as intense as the city's heat. Tarık watched the taxi leave for a while, then slung one suitcase over his shoulder, opened the handle of the other, and they stepped onto the sidewalk. Buğra’s hand in his was beginning to sweat. As the suitcase clattered on the pavement, they reached the door of the apartment they had reserved in advance. The fourteen-story building's heavy, double-winged iron door bore a large sign with 'NERGIZ APART' written on it. Tarık glanced indifferently at the building's façade as they entered, while Buğra gazed at the topmost floor. Pulled along by his brother, they entered through the open door, the air inside was even hotter than outside. "Thank goodness it's almost winter," he thought internally, but his thought was interrupted by a man’s voice, "What can I do for you?"
The man in his fifties, his temples touched with gray though his hair was still thick, his deep-set brown eyes looking out from sunken sockets, asked.
"We had reserved a place."
"What's the name?"
"Tarık Çukurköprü."
He tried to fit his not-so-small belly behind the desk at the entrance, reaching for the large guestbook that seemed to have been in use for years, judging by its worn, stained cover.
"Ah, here it is! We've reserved a double room, I assume you don’t want a roommate?"
"Yes, double room, and no roommate."
As Tarık sat down in one of the six chairs arranged around the desk, he pulled Buğra by the hand to sit next to him.
"We’ve reserved a room on the first floor. Your friend didn't want the upper floors."
"I specifically asked for that. Buğra's small, if I'm not around, he might open the window, and an accident could happen; the first floor is good."
The man twirled his thick mustache and frowned, slightly worried. A small child could cause trouble.
"Is he your son?"
Better to understand exactly who the young man was before making any decisions.
"No, my brother."
"Your brother, huh? Why is he staying with you?"
Tarık
's dark green eyes clouded, each question dredging up painful memories he wished to forget. To drive away the memories, he looked around the building. Two staircases, starting from the lobby and curling upwards, led to each floor with a thin corridor extending along, doors to rooms opening along the corridor. The point where the two staircases began was flanked by two couches, awkwardly placed as if to say there were seats but not really meant for sitting.
"I lost my parents. We don’t have anyone else to look after him, so I took him in. I’ll study and look after him. Plus, he's starting first grade this year. It won't be a problem for you."
"I see, young man, but how will you manage? After all, I need to make a living too. Let’s not have a situation where you can’t pay me tomorrow."
The landlord seemed either trying to intimidate him or genuinely concerned about his dues, Tarık couldn’t tell, but he didn’t like this man.
"No, uncle, thankfully, we don’t have financial issues, my mother left a pension, we’ll manage just fine."
"That’s good then, no problem, sign the contract, give a two hundred lira deposit, and it’s five hundred lira a month."
"Okay,"
Tarık leaned forward to sign the contract placed in front of him. He took out seven hundred lira in cash from his black leather wallet and laid it on the table.
"Room twenty-five on the first floor." The landlord got up, picked one of the many keys hanging from the mounted key cabinet, and handed it over. Tarık looked at the cold key in his hand with a shiver. It was the key to his shelter for the next two years. "Will it be like home, a home without my mom and dad, as much as a home can be, I guess." He smiled at Buğra, clutching the key tightly, the fear of a young orphan afraid to lose his newfound home. He grabbed the handle of the suitcase and they clicked and clacked up the stairs.
"Mom, I can't sleep, this crib creaks too much."
"What can we do, son, you'll get used to it, your brother isn't complaining."
"Did I sleep in the crib like Buğra, mom?"
"Of course, son, the same crib, it was yours."
He tried to wipe a tear from his cheek with his shoulder. The suitcase creaked.
"The baby's crib creaks,
Mom's sleep is deep.
Sleep baby sleep,
Your mom has no peace in this world."
Tears no longer dripped but flowed. When he found room twenty-five, his wet eyes blurred his vision. He struggled to fit the key into the lock. He used to listen to his mother's lullaby without understanding it, falling asleep to her melodious voice just like Buğra. Now he understood, they hadn't given his mother peace in this world. As the door swung open, the stale air mixed with a disgusting smell and the hot air licking his face brought him back to reality. He entered with Buğra and the suitcases, shutting the door behind them. Two doors faced each other in the short hallway. Directly ahead, five steps away, was what could be called a kitchen and living area. He left the suitcases in the living room and looked around. A three-seater couch was pushed against the wall, another door next to the one on the left, and across from the entrance, a door obviously leading to the balcony. He first opened the balcony door. Clean but hot air filled his lungs. The balcony was small enough to walk six steps around. A small table and two chairs had been squeezed into this tiny space. He went back inside and noticed the kitchen counter, above which hung a three-cupboard kitchen cabinet that looked dirty despite its brown color, a two-burner stove squeezed into the corner, and an old refrigerator across from the couch...
He opened the door next to the couch; it took him seconds to survey the kitchen. The room had a bed, a small closet fixed next to the door, and a desk and chair placed at the head of the bed. Across from the bed, the window covered with a curtain, he pulled the curtain aside and opened it. The room, facing south, was flooded with daylight.
"This can be your room, big bro, " "You won’t be cold in the winter." he thought.
"Sure, bro, but there’s no pillow, no sheets, no quilt, are we going to sleep like this?"
Tarık chuckled softly, running his hand through his brother's hair while looking into his curious eyes.
"Who sleeps like that, silly? Your Uncle Ayhan was supposed to bring us a bed. It's still early, by the time we clean up, he’ll be here."
"Uncle Ayhan is coming? Yay!"
Buğ
ra had taken an instant liking to Ayhan from the moment they met. Ayhan didn't distinguish him from his own brother, considering him the brother of his best friend. When they had lost their parents, Ayhan had traveled from Nevşehir to Adıyaman to stand by his friend during his darkest times. Consoling Tarık had been harder than calming Buğra.
"Yes, Ayhan will come, maybe Figen too."
A strange light sparked in Tarık's face, which didn't escape Buğra's notice. "I'm going to fall in love just like my big bro when I grow up," he giggled; "I hope Figen comes too, I like her but," he paused, locking his eyes with his brother's green ones, shyly bowing his head. "don’t love her more than me, okay?"
Tarık's newly dried eyes moistened again. "I could never love anyone more than you, little bro." He tousled Buğra’s hair and moved to the other room. He had been too emotional lately. I need to get it together; I’m the head of the family now. Even though the thought didn't fully reassure him, it helped to calm him. The other room was a mirror image of the first. Buğra, like a freshly hatched chick, followed him. He opened the closed window of this room too. Instead of the outside, it opened to a hallway that showed the apartments above. The door of an apartment on the third floor opened, and a skinny, tall, bearded young man stepped out, unaware of Tarık's watching eyes, hurried down the stairs. "He’s my neighbor." Knowing this made him feel more quickly adapted. His father always used to say, "Look at the full side of the glass, son, if you look at the empty part, your life and heart will be empty too." "Oh, my dear big-hearted dad, how could you leave so suddenly? Now, my life and heart are empty, dead."
"Isn’t this your room, bro?"
Buğra's voice pulled him from the depths of despair. The young man descending the stairs had already disappeared. "Yes, this is my room too. The only difference between yours and mine is that my window doesn’t face outside." Just then, the door knocker sounded. "Uncle Ayhan is here!" Buğra exclaimed and ran to the door, opening it without asking who it was. "Uncle Ayhan!"
When Buğra, facing the towering man, stretched his arms up to his neck, he suddenly found himself lifted into the air. "Hey there, my lion, how you've grown, little one, oh my, my arms hurt." Buğra giggled while Tarık, following behind, reached out his hand to his friend.
"Welcome, my man."
"Found you, my man."
"Little guy, get down from my lap so I can hug your brother."
Buğra wriggled down as Ayhan opened his arms wide. Tarık, ending up at shoulder height in Ayhan's embrace, joked, "You’ve put on a belly, man."
"My mom took good care of me on vacation, son."
"Yeah, it shows, turned into a well-fed steer."
Both burst into laughter while Buğra also smiled. Ayhan and Tarık's ways of greeting were always like this. To an outsider, they might seem more like enemies than friends.
"Come on in, don’t stand at the door."
Ayhan, looking gigantic inside the small apartment, entered carrying two large bags he had left at the door. He dropped them by the entrance and plopped his massive body onto the couch, looking around and remarking, "You haven’t cleaned yet."
Tarık sat down next to Ayhan, throwing his arm over his friend's shoulder in a friendly gesture. "No rush, man, it’s still early."
Ayhan threw him a strange look. "You've lost track of time, buddy, it's eleven o'clock already."
"No way!" Tarık, surprised, checked his watch. The hands showing 10:48, he checked it twice as if it were broken.
"Yeah, you sleep standing up," Ayhan laughed heartily.
"Get up, man, get up!" panicked Tarık. "We still need to buy cleaning supplies. Is there a store or market nearby?"
Ayhan was both laughing inside and out. Tarık's anxious, hurried nature was one reason he loved him. He had always liked quick-tempered, lively people, perhaps because they were so different from himself. If asked, Ayhan would say, "I prefer lively people to sluggish ones." Unlike Tarık, Ayhan was incredibly laid back.
"Chill, don’t worry. The supplies will be here in a few minutes."
Tarık looked at his friend again, bewildered. "How?" he pondered the possibilities
while Ayhan, with a mischievous grin spreading across his face, hinted, "Guess?"
"You arranged it with Figen, didn’t you?"
Just then, the door knocker sounded again, and Buğra, jumping in, opened it. A mountain of supplies appeared at the door. The pile lumbered in slowly. Tarık, Ayhan, and Buğra watched silently.
"You guys could be a bit gentlemanly and help, you know."
When a voice emerged from the pile, the three men burst into laughter. They laughed so hard that none thought to help until the pile crashed noisily to the floor. The small girl, like a squirrel, hands on hips, glared at the men. The trio, trying to suppress their laughter, composed themselves and approached Figen.
"Welcome, darling," Tarık said with a half-frightened voice. When Figen was mad, her petite stature could transform into that of a tiger, which she did indeed.
"Every time I forget I’m dating an ox," Tarık opened his mouth to apologize when she continued, "and of course I forget his buffalo friend too, there’s something really wrong with me," she finished.
"But that’s not fair, sis," Ayhan protested when Buğra asked, "What animal do I look like, Aunt Figen?"
Figen shifted her stern gaze from Tarık and Ayhan to Buğra, her stern look replaced by a mischievous smile. "You're a perfect little imp," she said, quickly moving to Buğra and scooping him up. She pinched his chubby cheeks and back as Buğra threw his head back laughing. Figen's wheatish face turned pink when she laughed, her almond-shaped eyes crinkling at the edges. Her brown eyes sparkled like beads, and her short, blunt-cut hair fell around her face as she played with Buğra.
At times, especially when they had messaged during her journey, the possibility that she didn’t love Buğra had crept into his mind like a fox, but now he realized he had been mistaken. Figen was an objective woman, not one-sided.
She considered the good of both sides. In her view, Buğra would grow up better under the supervision of adults, while Tarık could get a better education without the responsibility of a child. Of course, there was no way to explain this to Tarık, and even if she could, he wouldn’t accept it. Tarık was, as she put it, a stubborn goat from Adıyaman, and when she had told him this, he had replied, "Isn’t it an Ankara goat?"
Figen, out of breath from playing with Buğra, threw herself onto the couch while Ayhan and Tarık had piled the supplies between the kitchen and the couch.
"How did you manage to bring all this stuff, you little squirrel?"
Ayhan directed his usual term at Figen with a voice that threatened to burst into laughter at any moment.
"When you have oxen around, you learn to carry burdens out of necessity."
"My love, if I had known, I would have helped you," Tarık tried to win Figen over while signaling to Ayhan with his eyes. "You’re itching, man." Figen couldn’t hear him warn Ayhan, who naively replied, "No, dude, I’m not itchy," causing Tarık to mutter, "God, give me patience!" Although Ayhan was very smart, he carried the innocence of a child in his heart. He had a habit of speaking his mind directly without hints, which is why he didn’t make friends easily. People sometimes thought he was foolish because they didn’t understand the subtleties, not realizing that innocence and foolishness were not the same thing.
Time had passed, and the lights of the setting sun heading west were falling on the triple sofa through the balcony window. The mortals, exhausted from weariness, had collapsed onto the sofa, leaning on each other. "Looks like the landlord never thought of cleaning the place, I'm totally wiped out."
"Tell me about it, sis." Ayhan had spread himself at the very end of the sofa closest to the balcony, resting his head on the backrest, trying to relax his bulky body. Tarik, feeling like an old worn-out doormat in the middle, had occupied it.
"I'm starving." His eyes closed, he had leaned his head back just like Ayhan, his rumbling stomach proving his words. Figen had also closed her eyes, resting her head on Tarik’s shoulder.
Purring like a kitten, she said, "I'm hungry too." Tarik turned his head slightly towards Ayhan.
"I guess we don't need to ask you, right buddy?"
Without even opening his eyes, Ayhan lifted his chin. "Nope bro, what's there to ask, I'm always hungry."
Tarik smiled wearily. "Let's wake up Buğra and go get some food. It's almost evening."
"Hmm," said Figen. She had no energy left to talk. She had wiped the kitchen cabinets, fridge, counters, stove, wardrobe, and had scrubbed the bathroom with bleach until the yellowish toilet turned white, nearly using up a whole bottle of bleach. Every time she scrubbed, she cursed at the people who had created the layers of grime, "Disgusting creatures!" Ayhan tried to lighten her mood, "You’re too polite, sis, you could have sworn at their ancestors and it would be justified." Tarik, who had never sworn in his life and was not fond of swearing, reacted sharply with a stern, "Ayhan!" Despite his father being foul-mouthed, he had never taken after him. He believed that a foul mouth was a sign of a foul heart. His father was a good man who had managed to keep his heart and words separate, "He’s one of the rare ones who managed that," he would say. They had met in their senior year of high school—she was at Figen Science High School, and he was at the Social Sciences High School.
When they started dating, she had sworn in front of him, and he had laid it on the line: "It's either swearing or me!" Tarik saw life in black and white. To him, a person had to be either black or white. Figen had chosen white, driven by her love for Tarik. She had dropped her habit of swearing, picked up from other girls at the boarding school she stayed at during her high school years. The only swear words she had used in the last three years were the names of animals.
When Tarik walked out of the room with Buğra in his lap, Figen was almost asleep. "Come on, get up, let's go. We still need to buy some food."
Ayhan groaned as he got up, stretching his arms wide. Despite his portly body, he had no hair on his head or face. His chubby cheeks were smooth. A friend from university used to affectionately call him "baby face." Although Ayhan wasn't particularly fond of the nickname, he couldn’t stay mad at Şinasi, who loved him as much as Tarik. Şinasi had suffered an illness in infancy that left his left leg shorter than his right. He was a short young man, barely over five feet tall, but his intelligence far exceeded his stature. He was studying in the medical department with the sole aim of becoming a pediatrician. Ayhan had complete faith in his success.
Figen, seeing Tarik with Buğra, got up. They all put on their shoes and left the house. The house they left behind seemed as if it was left to ghosts, completely empty.
After a packed journey on the local minibuses, they had managed to reach the town center. They entered a kebab place favored especially by students, located behind the town hall building. Buğra looked around curiously at this new environment, unaware of his presence. He had never eaten in a restaurant or similar place until he was seven. They lived in a remote area, commonly described as a place where "even birds don't fly." His father would pick up household needs while coming from the train station where he worked. Tarik, like Buğra, hadn't come to the city until he started school. They would run after goats and sheep in their village and work in the vineyards and gardens during the summer. There, even a working hand was valuable. His mother would say, "Just give us water, my son, that’s enough." Despite the bronzed locals of Adıyaman, Buğra was blonde. Tarik, on the other hand
, had darkened considerably under the summer sun. As Tarik, Ayhan, and Figen talked about school, the waiter brought their doner kebabs. Ayhan took a bite from the pickle placed in the center of the table, "It's not spicy, Buğra, you can eat it, bro," he said, even though Ayhan liked spicy food.
Buğra was taking bites from his doner while curiously looking at everything in front of him. He was trying to figure out what to do with the tiny copper pitcher brought with the sauce. Watching his brother from the corner of his eye, he was trying to understand how to behave. When Tarik poured the sauce over his doner, he also reached for the tiny pitcher. Figen said, "Let me do it for you," and took the pitcher from his hand. She wasn't very fond of the taste of the sauce on the lavash-wrapped doner. It wasn’t to her taste, but she kept eating without complaint. She also took sips of ayran occasionally and tasted the cucumber pickle that Ayhan had said he could eat.
Buğra didn't notice, but Tarik was watching him. His excitement and unsure gestures made him smile. The others had finished their meals, but they were waiting for Buğra to finish his last bite. When he did, Tarik handed him a napkin.
"Are you full, little brother? You can eat something else if you want."
Buğra wiped his mouth with the napkin he received, "I’m full, thanks bro, bless your wallet," he said, bringing a smile to everyone’s face. Tarik asked the waiter for the bill and took out his wallet as the news on the TV in the venue stopped him in his tracks.
"Ozan, who disappeared last evening, still hasn't been found. Search teams are continuing their extensive search, but so far, no trace has been found, which does not stop people from thinking the worst."
"Hopefully, they find him," Figen said.
"Hopefully, nothing bad has happened to him," Ayhan added.
"There’s no going anywhere without me, Buğra," Tarik said. Buğra was scared. He thought about getting lost. How would he find his way in this huge city, among skyscrapers reaching for the skies?
"Never going out!" he declared. As the waiter brought the bill, Figen and Ayhan insisted, but Tarik ended up paying. When they left the venue, their bellies were full, and lethargy had settled into their tired bodies.
They got back on the local minibus. Buğra sat on Figen’s lap, burying his face in her neck, dozing off. There was no room on the minibus, so Ayhan and Tarik stood. A nameless fear had taken hold inside Tarik. How had that child disappeared? What if the same happened to his brother, who was unfamiliar with the city? Horrible scenarios paraded through his mind as they arrived in their neighborhood. They got off the minibus and entered the nearby A-101 store a few meters from the stop to shop. Their bodies, overheated from the warmth, relaxed in the cool air of the market. All three grabbed baskets and wandered through the aisles, picking up breakfast items, personal care products, rice, bulgur, vermicelli, pasta, tomato paste, oil, tea, sugar, coffee, glasses exclusive to the store, pans, colanders, discounted Teflon pots, toilet paper, napkins... They threw whatever they needed into their baskets. When they reached the cashier, Figen said, "We didn't get fruits and vegetables," handed her basket to Ayhan, and quickly grabbed an empty basket and headed to the fruits and vegetables section. Potatoes, onions, garlic, spinach, lettuce, tomatoes, eggplants, green beans, hot and sweet peppers, parsley, apples, grapes, peaches, and the last melons and watermelons of the season—she filled the basket to the brim. When she brought the heavy basket to the cashier, Ayhan rushed to help. As Tarik bagged the items, he wondered how much all these items would cost. Ayhan and Figen also started to help bag the items; otherwise, it would have taken much longer. The total came to nearly five hundred lira.
"How do people get by? If we spend this much just for the two of us, God help large families."
"We’re five siblings, you should ask how my parents manage to take care of us."
Ayhan scratched his head thoughtfully. Every member of his family worked in the vineyards and gardens during the summer, and his three older brothers also worked part-time jobs. The youngest was his sister Elif, who had just turned fifteen. If she went to university soon, it would be even harder for his family.
"I’m the luckiest as
an only child," said Figen, a smug smile on her face. "You’ve landed on your feet, sis."
Even as he walked with the bags, Ayhan was eager to get in the last word. If the apartment wasn’t close, walking with all that stuff would have been torture, especially in this heat. Buğra also took two light bags, trying to help in his own way.
When they reached the apartment’s door, the gentlemen let Figen go first, which they regretted a second later. As Figen entered the open door, she found herself on the ground. The person she bumped into had hair mixed with his beard that looked like goat hair, and under his mustache, yellowed from smoking, were his grinning yellow teeth.
"Watch where you’re going, man!"
As Tarik helped Figen up from the ground, Ayhan advanced towards the man, but remembering that Buğra might be scared, he stopped with just a warning. When the man saw the men entering behind the woman he bumped into, the grin disappeared from his face. Now he was nervous. "I-I'm sorry," he stammered. Figen, having seen his grin just before, was intimidated. "Is he crazy or what? Let’s not bother, kids, let’s go upstairs."
The cleaner moved aside to let them through. Buğra, walking between his brother and Ayhan, looked at the man with fearful eyes. He thought the man’s eyes looked like the scary creature he saw in a cartoon. He tried to remember the creature's name for a moment, then decided to ask his brother. He knew everything. When they opened the door to their small apartment, the sun had left the house, reaching the darkness that required light. Tarik, like Figen, who was dropping off her stuff, put the bags on the small table that they moved from the balcony to the kitchen.
"It’s evening already."
Tarik, dropping his stuff alongside Figen, frowned with fatigue. "Yeah, it’s evening and I still need to go and settle into the dorm."
Ayhan, having no space left on the table, put his stuff on the floor and started looking for the light switch. "Did you drop off your stuff at the dorm?"
"I did, but I haven’t settled in yet. Let’s see who my roommate will be this year. Last year’s girl was a total nightmare." Figen opened the fridge. She looked at each bag on the table and began arranging the things that would go into the fridge. Ayhan, having hidden behind the door, lit up the room, excited to have found the button. Tarik was sorting the other bags into categories: those going into the food cabinet, those going into the fridge. When Ayhan turned on the light, he threw his bulky body onto the couch.
"It’s quite fun watching others work."
Tarik, putting a pan into the drawer, gave Ayhan a sharp look. "Stop scratching and take the bathroom stuff and put it away."
Ayhan raised both hands. He had regretted speaking already. "Can’t keep my mouth shut," he muttered as he took the bags destined for the small bathroom. While the three were busy, Buğra went into his brother’s room and took out the tablet from the unopened suitcase. His uncle Süleyman, whom he had never known before, had given it to him after his parents died. Without his knowledge, his brother had discussed something secretive with him, "After the hassle," he had heard them say, and he had never seen Uncle Süleyman again.
The tablet’s battery was low because he had played on it during the bus ride here. He plugged it into the socket next to the bed where the wall leaned. As the charging bar went up and down, he opened his favorite game.
"Are you hungry?" he asked the cute cat on the screen. "What will you eat, chubby?" The cat placed its hand to its ear and repeated what he said. "What will you eat, chubby?" He giggled, pressing on various foods to feed his cute virtual pet. He took it to the toilet and then put the sleepy virtual pet to bed. The effect of looking at the tablet without the light on had strained his eyes. Rubbing his eyes as he stood up from where he was sitting, he thought he saw a small child by the door. His heart thrashed with fear, but seeing that there was nothing there, it calmed down. He must have imagined it because he rubbed his eyes. He headed to the living room with quick steps, where the trio was sitting at the table drinking coffee. He quietly joined them, taking the empty fourth chair. Figen was stirring her coffee.
"This year, we have more classes, and I’ll start my internship."
Ayhan took a big sip of his very frothy coffee. "We’ll definitely be busier this year, sometimes I envy those in two-year programs."
Tar
ik, taking a cookie from the single plate on the table, said, "They probably envy you too, be sure of that."
"When will I start school?"
Tarik shook off sleep as if awakened by Buğra's question. There was that too. He needed to go to the local school tomorrow to register, but first, he needed to transfer his residence address here. "We’ll handle it tomorrow, little brother, if we can get you registered, you’ll start on Tuesday."
Buğra put his hands on the table and intertwined his fingers.
He rested his chin on his intertwined fingers. "I’m really curious about what school is like. How will I get there and back? What if I get lost like that kid?"
"God forbid," blurted Tarik. Losing Buğra was his worst nightmare. He put the cookie he was holding back on the plate. He was worried, how would he arrange the class hours? "I will take you to school, and one of the three of us will pick you up, I won’t let you go alone, little brother." Buğra smiled. He trusted his brother. Without him, he’d be like a fish out of water. Figen, having finished her coffee, stood up. "I love hanging out with you guys, but I better go," she said, looking at her watch. It was 21:17, reminding her that another day of life had passed. "The dorm closes at eleven, and it takes me half an hour to get there." Tarik, "Let us drop you off then," he said, standing up. Ayhan also stood up. "I’ll drop you off as I pass by, don’t leave Buğra alone. He’s sleepy anyway," he said. Buğra’s eyes were already fluttering shut.
Figen picked up her bag and headed to the door, Ayhan following closely behind. Before opening the door, Ayhan shook hands with Tarik, then stepped aside for Figen. The two lovers hugged and parted. Ayhan opened the door and stepped out as Figen walked out too. They began descending the stairs. Figen followed him. Tarik waved from the door and continued walking. After they left the apartment building, Tarik closed the door he had kept open and went back inside.
Buğra was asleep. Tarik quietly approached and said, "Wake up, little brother, let’s get you to bed," lifting him by the shoulders. Buğra grumbled half-asleep as he stood up, his brother still supporting him. Holding his brother's arm with one hand, he turned on the room light. Just as he turned on the light, he thought he saw a shadow but didn’t pay it any mind. No one was in the room. He undressed Buğra, changed him into shorts and a T-shirt for sleeping, and helped him under the covers. The weather was neither hot nor cold, but he worried the night air might chill and make his brother uncomfortable. When they had arrived, he had opened the window, and now he closed it, reassured by the iron bars outside the window. It was unlikely for burglars to enter apartments, but it was comforting to know that someone had thought about security.
Before leaving the room, he kissed Buğra’s blond head, now embraced by the arms of sleep, turned off the room light, and left the door ajar before heading to the kitchen. When he faced the fridge opposite the door, he felt a pair of eyes on him. He quickly turned around, seeing nothing but the darkness visible through the open door. "I’m really becoming paranoid," he muttered, putting the cookie back in the fridge. He washed the three cups. When his task was done, a sense of loneliness settled over him, making him crave a sound. He grabbed the remote control lying on the couch to turn on the TV. "What’s even on at this hour?" he wondered, tossing the remote back where he had found it. He picked up his phone instead, thinking some music might be good. His eyes, unreasonably teary, felt on the verge of crying. The last song he listened to filled the house, and he turned down the volume. Buğra shouldn’t wake up.
"Enough pain, every look a farewell. Love is tired, from performative applause. Leave this path before it gets worse. Burn me, release my strings."
He sang along with Buray as he entered his room. He picked up his shorts and T-shirt and headed to the bathroom. He quickly stripped and set the water heater to one. When he stepped under the lukewarm water, he screamed as loud as he could.
"You came for a reason, settled in my heart, I never placed anyone, won’t place anyone in your stead. Let this love end in the eyes of God, don’t hurt anyone anymore!"
He cried, his tears mixing with the water. "Let this
pain pass, God!" He had never experienced heartbreak, but he would have preferred it to the pain of losing his family. He knelt down, water pouring over his head. He buried his head in his knees and cried some more. When the weight inside him gave way to emptiness, he stood up. He turned off the water and the heater and dried off, dressed. The music had changed; Buray had given way to Sertab Erener.
"God may have forgotten, but keep hitting, my heart, hit."
"Does God forget, Sertab Abla?" he muttered, turning off the kitchen light. He peeked into Buğra’s room from the door and then headed to his own room. He turned off the music and climbed into bed. He hadn’t checked his social media accounts in a long time. There wasn’t much new. His classmates had written asking when he was coming. He had instructed Ayhan and Figen not to announce his parents' death; he didn’t think he could handle the condolences. As he was replying to his friends, a message from Figen popped up, "Are you asleep, my love?"
He quickly replied on WhatsApp.
"No, my love, just got out of the shower and into bed."
"Is Buğra asleep?"
"Long ago, what about you, are you settled in?"
"I settled in, thank God, met a new girl and we chatted."
"What’s she like, hopefully not annoying like Aylin."
"Don’t even mention Aylin to me, I get angry just thinking about her."
Tarik chuckled lightly. Lying down, he switched from sitting to lying position, his one arm under his head.
"Okay, okay, won’t mention her, my love. But tell me, do you miss me?"
Figen didn’t write anything for a while. Tarik knew she was probably blushing. He didn’t want to push too hard. "I miss you," he wrote.
"Should I come over?" she replied with a laughing emoji. Tarik also put a laughing emoji and then wrote, "Come, but I won’t behave, just so you know," and sent it. Tarik was giggling.
"Tarıııııııııkkkkkk!" When this message came, he was already laughing. "I love you, my love." he wrote and sent.
"I love you too, crazy." she replied.
"Good night, my love." came her message when Tarik was also feeling sleepy. "Good night, my dearest," he wrote back and turned off the phone, plugging it in to charge. Figen’s face was still smiling in his mind as he closed his eyes. His eyes shut with the day’s tiredness, his mind slowly buried in darkness. As sleep tried to take over his body, his ears caught one last sound.
"Tap... Tap... Tap..." He thought the sound, heard at intervals, resembled the sound of shoes. Someone wearing leather shoes must have been walking down the stairs. "Tap... Tap... Tap..." As his mind got used to the sound and ran back to the darkness, a whispering voice saying, "Turn off the lights!" made him jump up. His eyes snapped open, his mind completely alert. Who was this whisperer? A shiver took over his whole body. One hand was pressed to his bed, the other clutching his quilt. He was breathing deeply, his chest rising and falling. The sound echoed in his ears. "Tap... Tap... Tap..."
"Shoe sound," he repeated to himself. Waiting to hear the whisper again, he listened. No, there was no sound. The air flowing through the open window made the curtain flutter, and he felt the room’s temperature drop suddenly. Deciding quickly, he got out of bed to turn on the light when a shadow standing in front of him elicited a short, sharp scream.
He reached out to push the shadow, and finding nothing there, the force of the push sent him stumbling forward. Just managing to catch his balance, he groped for the switch and managed to rip through the darkness with the light he turned on. There was no one in the room. His heart pounded, sweat poured from his body despite the room’s chill, and the heat of his breath scorched his lips. "Buğra," he whispered. He pulled away from the wall he was leaning against in a panic and hurried to his brother’s room, turning on the light. The light flickered on, and Buğra’s eyes moved, he turned in his bed. Tarik let out his breath; there was no one there. "What was that?" he muttered to himself, checking the balcony door and the front door. The sound of shoes was still audible. He turned off the lights and went into his room, looking out the open window at the apartment corridors and stairs. The cleaner he had seen that day, who had bumped
into Figen, was mopping the stairs. His fear subsided, and he went back to bed. He read Surah Al-Falaq, Surah An-Nas, and Surah Al-Ikhlas and pulled the blanket over his head. The curtain still fluttered, and the sound of shoes was still heard. Tap, tap, tap...