Silent House Read Online Free PDF Page B

where they are, motionless, but I know you; you’re there, my furniture, you’re there, next to me, as though you know I’m here. Once in a while, one of them creaks, I know the sound, it’s no stranger, I want to make a noise, too, and I think: This thing we’re in called emptiness is so strange! The clock ticks and divides it. Sharp and decisive. One thought, then another. Then it’s morning, and they’ve come. Hello, hello! I slept, I woke up, it’s time and I’ve had a good sleep. They’re here, Madam, they’re here! While I’m waiting, another train whistle. Where to? Good-bye! Where to, Fatma, where? We’re going, Mother, we’re banned from Istanbul. Did you take your rings? I have them! Your sewing machine? That too. Your diamonds, your pearls? You’ll need them all your life, Fatma. Come back soon, though! Don’t cry, Mother. They put the trunks and things on the train. I haven’t even had a child yet, and we’re taking a trip. My husband and I, we’re exiled to who knows what distant lands, we’re getting on the train, you’re looking at us, I’m waving; Good-bye, Father; good-bye, Mother; look, I’m going, I’m going far, far away.

3

    Hasan and Friends Take Up a Collection

    Y es?” said the grocer. “What do you want?”
    “The nationalist youth are sponsoring a night,” said Mustafa. “We’re giving out invitations.”
    I took the invitations out of my bag.
    “I don’t go to things like that,” said the grocer. “I don’t have time.”
    “You know, couldn’t you just take one or two to help out the nationalist youth?” said Mustafa.
    “I just got some last week,” said the merchant.
    “Did you get them from us?” said Mustafa. “We weren’t even here last week.”
    “But if you helped the Communists that’s different,” said Serdar.
    “No,” said the grocer. “They don’t come here.”
    “Why not?” said Serdar. “Because they don’t feel like it, I guess?”
    “I don’t know,” said the grocer. “Leave me alone. I don’t have anything to do with this kind of stuff.”
    “I’ll tell you why they don’t come, uncle,” said Serdar. “They can’tcome because they’re afraid of us. If it wasn’t for us the Communists would have this place shaken down for protection money like Tuzla.”
    “God forbid!”
    “Yeah, you know what they did to the people in Tuzla, don’t you? First they take out their windows really nice …”
    I turned and looked at the window: clean, wide, sparkling glass. “Then, if you still don’t pay should I say what they do next?” said Serdar.
    I was thinking of graves. If all Communists act like this, the graveyards in Russia must be full to overflowing. The grocer must have got it in the end: he put his hand on his waist and glared red faced at us.
    “So, uncle,” said Mustafa. “We don’t have a lot of time. How many do you want?”
    I took out the tickets so he could see them.
    “He’ll take ten,” said Serdar.
    “I just got some last week,” said the grocer.
    “Okay, fine,” said Serdar. “Let’s not waste our time, guys. I guess this is the only shop in the whole market, the only one who’s not afraid to have his window taken out. Hasan, what’s the number …”
    I went outside, looked at the number over the door, and went back in. The vegetable man’s face reddened even more.
    “Look, uncle,” said Mustafa. “We don’t mean any disrespect. You’re as old as my grandfather, we’re not Communists.” He turned to me. “Give him five, that’s enough this time.”
    When I held out five tickets, the grocer took them by the edge, as if picking up something disgusting. Then, with great concentration, he began to read what was on the tickets.
    “We can give you a receipt, you want one?”
    I laughed.
    “Don’t be disrespectful,” said Mustafa.
    “I already have five of these tickets,” said the merchant. He dug around frantically in the dusty darkness of a drawer, then triumphantly pulled