ROSETTA_MAGAZINE_201303

122
I kneeled.
I remember only this and that I bit myself
in order not to cry. Since that day, you are a
sore tooth mark on my left arm, since that
day you are a wound I inflicted on my body.
Father, what’s worse is that this is only a
sentence, too. After a few days not even
the owner of the scar can remember its
location.
That morning I stayed naked for a
considerable amount of time. I didn’t feel
ashamed that I cried bare-ass after a dead
person; what’s more you were that dead
person and even though I wasn’t sure
in that moment but I knew there was no
reason why anyone would lie to me.
I wasn’t scared that God Almighty would
see and condemn me. I didn’t worry that
my list of sins would lengthen. Father, that
morning I cursed at everything they taught
me as God in your voice.
You remember you once said that sounds
are not forgotten? I thought you made
that up, you know fine well I didn’t trust
in your sombre life experiences – I wrote
only experiences instead of human
experimentation so you could explain more
comfortably. In any case, I am not sure how
much of what I wrote belongs to me and
how much of it belongs to you. Due to this
mistrust I questioned every word you said
forty times. I didn’t trust what you said but
also what you didn’t say.
But now, what a completely different point
I am at... I am now an echo waiting to be
heard at the chasm brought forward by the
path which I believed I could continue on by
puking out what is left to me from you, by
rejecting and not trusting you.
I know you didn’t really want it but you
had a funeral service that was familiar in
every single way. Actually I am sure you
didn’t want it but perhaps you made me
believe you didn’t want it while you secretly
fantasised about it. There, you see: I still
don’t trust you. You know how you talked
about cursed friendships, you know how
you slammed those friends of yours who
no longer called you and you know how
you said they were hollow hearted sons
of bitches as you spurted lava from your
mouth... None of those sons of bitches
came to your funeral. Though both that
out-of-tune muezzin whom you argued
with as you yelled “Turn that speaker down,
you twerp!” all hours of your waking day
seven days of the week, and that imam
whom you swore a blue streak to when
you found out he was going door to door
at election time to beg for votes for the
government; they were there. The imam
couldn’t adjust the volume of the speaker
no matter how much he tried; scratching
noises and whimpers mixed with the crying
of a few true friends. When he said, “Let
us open our begging hands and pray”
after turning off the booming amplifier
labouredly, I said “Cut the long story short
you twerps, fuck off.” I obviously said it
to myself. In fact I perhaps didn’t say it to
myself in silence; I am now making this
up because I feel a sense of courage. I
wish you hadn’t taught me to sign social
contracts with a permanent marker. But
don’t fear, I will also become a warrior
living a quarter of an hour from death!
I will not tell you who attended your funeral
and who didn’t at length. I will not tell
you who cried from the heart and who
took pictures of those crying with their
mobile phones; who donated to mutual
aid societies for appearance’s sake; who
examined the stone work of the mosque;
who – between a rock and a hard place –
whispered in my ear asking to be excused
from coming to the graveyard; who thought
to pray over and over again for a house
from their Almighty God while in his
presence and in a spiritual mood; who saw
their own demise in your death and who
searched for you in me… You remember
we, father and son, never liked weddings
and funerals… Well, it is enough if you
know that this was a farewell worthy of our
lack of affection for funerals.
Everyone shouted out, “We knew him to
be a good man”… I am telling you this just
in case you obsess about it and cannot
rest in peace. They all gave their blessing.
Actually, I wasn’t going to tell you but I am
burning with a desire to tell you the truth
once again… I am certain that that greasynosed
forest dwarf whom you got elected
as mukhtar three terms in a row because
you enjoyed playing backgammon with
him didn’t join in the blessing. You might
ask, “Were you counting who shouted and
who didn’t when you should have been
mourning for me?” and I will reply, “Yes!”
First of all, the idea that I would one day
have to report back to you wouldn’t leave
my mind during the entire ceremony. So,
I surely had a look around me and paid
attention. Secondly, the thought of you
being in that coffin – no, no that wasn’t a
thought, it was an embodiment of reality –
was pounding such big nails into my brain
that I was every so often trying to put my
mind in someone else’s voice to send it to
the skies. Pardon me… I know you don’t
like such waxed and gummy expressions.
Let me tell you in a way you’d understand,
I was in a great deal of pain father, I was
almost about to lose my mind.
123
Speaking of waxed and gummy
expressions, father, I would have wanted
you to tell me something impressive. You’d
tell something swanky and I’d immediately
take out my notebook and jot it down.
Then one day, if it turned out that I became
someone who wrote books, I’d start one of
my stories as follows: “My father had an
expression I never forgot…”
This sentence would be followed by your
sentence that separates one’s body from
one’s soul and the story would flow,
pulsing. But, you never told me. When my
hope of hearing a poetic expression from
you vanished completely, I had come to
accept a life lesson you’d provide. Nothing
mattered as long as I could record an
expression of yours into my notebook. Even
if you said things like, “If you are going
to make a hole in a concrete wall use the
drill on low power” or “Urfa’s lahmajoun
is tastier than Antep’s” I would have felt
better now, but you didn’t. Yet, I still didn’t
give up… Since I was a continuation of
you I could say the expression that never
left your lips with your voice. So I decided
and wrote a fake line for the fake scene in
which you took me before you and caressed
my hair: “Look son, you will watch out for
every step you take as you walk in this long
path of life. You will walk through rough
roads but you will pay attention not to get
mud on your trousers, because my son, you
will not even bend over to clean the mud