“Cheers,” said Sinan Saraçoğlu. He seemed to be saying, “You see I’ve known everything since the beginning, I’ve been watching. I saw everything, how she came down the street and went in to see you. I gave you a grace period of an hour or two so you could take care of your initial longings. Then I assumed you had to be hungry. I know which kebabs you like. You always drink rakı but this time you can have vodka. So you won’t have bad breath. And don’t think I’d overlook the almonds and apples sprinkled with coffee grounds. Cheers … ”

By the time I had closed the curtain and walked into the kitchen, I had already understood that I could only really come to know this creature we call a human being in the best of towns, and that the experiences I would have living in such a place would leave deep marks in my soul …

25 The Lie

25

The Lie

The first days of summer. I finished my work at the policlinic. Tired and worn-out, I’m on my way to the examination room. Serkan has tidied the place up and now he is standing outside the front door. I administer a shot to an editor-in-chief, who will only let me do it, and I send him on his way. Then the manager at Ziraat Bank swings by with çiğ köfte. He explains with great appetite how you have to eat them with just one hand. He’s always in a good mood. Suddenly a tractor pulls up outside the examination room.

“Doctor, Hurry!” I see nine or ten people struggling to hold down a man on the trailer. The harder they hold him down the harder the man struggles. I climb up straightaway. I have to do something.

“Stop, leave him alone,” I say. In that instant they all stop. I make eye contact with the man lying there. He is in his thirties. A thin man with brown hair. In a casual tone of voice, as if we’ve known each other for years, I say:

“Get up and come inside.” The people stooped over him let him up. But they still look ready to jump. Pausing for a moment, the man pats down his clothes, comes over and sits down across from me:

“What’s up? What’s wrong?”

“Aw,” he says, flashing a sarcastic smile. “I simply couldn’t explain it. I’ve got this seed stuck in my throat but they won’t believe me.”

“How’s that?”

“A good old apricot seed. One of them got stuck in there a month ago while I was eating in the garden. And it’s still there.”

“Could I have a look?”

“Come and look. You’ll see it.” I look. There’s nothing. This is psychological.

Meanwhile the man keeps speaking to me with his mouth wide open: