kapak OK - Dedeman

zamanki gibi pistte gözlerim kapal› (ve her zamanki gibi,
okul ve köy arkadafllar›m›n sadece bir y›l sonunda kabul
edece¤i gibi alkolün hiçbir etkisi olmadan) müzikle
kendimden geçmiflken, Kuzey Avrupal› (köyde bu
güzel insanlardan çok vard›, san›r›m ‹sveç’dendi) uzun
sar› saçl› bir k›z gelip beni uyand›rd›, dürtmesiyle
gözlerimi açt›m ve hala sallanarak, müzi¤in etkisinde,
bana bir not uzatt›¤›n› gördüm. Çocuksu bir el yaz›s›yla,
“Upuzun, simsiyah saçl› güzel k›za, en derin sayg›lar›mla”,
yaz›yordu. Ben notu okurken k›z kaflla göz aras›nda
kayboldu. Ve ben, t›pk› kendimi alamad›¤›m beyazperde
ürünlerinin sanki bu sefer bir kahraman› gibi, gözlerimi
kald›rd›¤›mda k›z› de¤il, onu gördüm. A¤›r çekim, siyah
ve uzun saçlar› (hep toplard›), üstünden pek ç›karmad›¤›
siyah deri montu ile birkaç kiflinin önünden geçip bar›n
arka k›sm›na ilerledi. Bana bakmad› bile ama notun
sahibinin o oldu¤unu o an biliyordum.
O, fl›mar›klar okulundayd›. Parayla girilen, parayla
mezun olunan, keyif verici maddelerin g›rla gitti¤i, Arap
fleyhlerinin, Avrupa’n›n en zenginlerinin, Türki
Cumhuriyetlerin sürülmüfl ya da kaçm›fl baflkanlar›n›n,
Rus mafyas›n›n o¤ullar›n›n-k›zlar›n›n, haydi öyle
söyleyelim, “okudu¤u” okuldand›. Bizim okulumuz da
sudan ucuz hiç de¤ildi ama biz sabah›n köründe, gerçekten
köründe, mesela saat 5’te aflç› önlüklerimizi giyip
dizlerimize kadar kara bata ç›ka ama hemencecik
yürüdü¤ümüz mutfakta göreve bafllard›k, devaml›
projeler üretip sunup bir yandan muhasebe ve dil
dersleri, bir yandan Frans›z sommelier’den tad›m dersleri
al›rd›k, iflte bu sefer kelimenin gerçek anlam›yla
söyleyeyim, okulumuzda “okumaktan” mutluyduk çünkü
buraya fl›mar›klar okulundakilerin tersine baflka gidecek
bir yerimiz olmad›¤› için de¤il, öyle ya da böyle kendimiz
seçti¤imiz için gelmifltik. Üstünden hiç ç›karmad›¤› ve
ayn› olup olmad›klar›n› bile anlamad›¤›m siyah k›yafetleri
yüzünden Fas’›n en zengin ailelerinden birinin o¤lu
oldu¤unu onunla geçirdi¤im yar›m y›l›n sonunda
ö¤rendim. Di¤er arkadafllar› gibi her hafta sonu Cenevre
partilerine gitmeyiflinin, gidemeyiflinin ise babas›n›n onu
ö¤renci gibi okutmak arzusuyla, harçl›kla besledi¤inden
oldu¤unu anlatt› bana sonralar›. Ama her akflam bir viski
fliflesi açt›rabilirdi o harçl›kla, oras› baflka.
Kulaatu, çok inceydi. ‹ncecikti. Uzundu, 1.80’nin
üstünde. Dünyan›n en flekilli parmaklar›na, en yumuflac›k
ellerine sahipti. Muhteflem bir sesi vard›. Nefis bir ses.
Hep k›s›k sesle konuflurdu, gülerken bile yükselmezdi
sesi. Önceleri etraf›n› etkilemek için yap›yor zannettim
ama öyleydi iflte, tarz› buydu, bu oydu. Annesinin Hint
köklerinden gelen bir sükunet... belki. Sesi ve gözleriydi
en çok, bana kendine verdi¤i sözü fark›nda olmadan
yerine getirmesine katk›da bulunduran. Yeni y›lda, güzel
köyümüzün bilmem kaç›nc› kar›nda onun o incecik
kollar›nda, tüm köy alt›m›zda uyand›¤›mda, bu adama
kulüpteki ilk geceden beri afl›k oldu¤umu ancak anlad›m.
floor with my eyes closed as always (and not under the
influence of even one drop of liqueur as always, which is
a fact that my friends from school and the village only
accepted after one year) when a North European, long, blond
haired girl (these beautiful people were abundant in the
village, I think she was Swedish) came and woke me up. I
opened my eyes with her nudge and I saw her holding out a
letter to me, still swinging to the music. A childish
handwriting was saying “My deepest regards to the beautiful
girl with the long, dark black hair.” The girl disappeared in
a flash while I was reading the letter. And just like in the
silver screen productions of which I wasn’t able to desist
myself from, this time as if I was the main character, when I
looked up I saw him, not her. In slow motion, with his long,
black hair (always tied up) and the black leather jacket he
rarely took of, he passed a group of a few people towards the
back of the bar. He didn’t even look at me but
I new that moment that he was the owner of the letter.
He was going to the ‘sassy’ school. One of those, one pays to
enroll and graduate, abundant with drugs, where the sons and
daughters of Arab sheiks, the richest men of Europe, exiled or
runaway ministers of Turkic Republics or Russian mafia, so to
say ‘studied’. Our school was not cheap either. Yet we had to
start our duty at the kitchen where we immediately put our
aprons on in the crack of dawn, like at 5 a.m., after a wallop
in the knee high snow. Working on projects and making
presentations one after another, we were at the same time
taking accounting and language classes and degustation
courses from a French sommelier. And this time let me say in
the real sense of the word, we were happy to ‘study’ in our
school. On the contrary to the ‘sassy’ school, we were there not
because we had no where else to go but because we chose to be
there. Owing to his black clothes he never took of and I
couldn’t realize if he always wore the same thing, it took me
half a year with him before I learned that he was the descendant
of one of the wealthiest families in Morocco. And he told
me later that the reason for not going, not being able to go to
the Geneva parties every weekend unlike his other friends was
that his father put him on an allowance to have him study
like a proper student. Yet he could order a bottle of whiskey
every night on that allowance, which is quite another story.
Kulaatu was very thin. Fine spun. He was tall. Over 5.9
feet. He had got the most elegantly shaped fingers and
smoothest hands. He had a slashing voice. A delicate voice.
He always talked quite; even when he was laughing he kept
quite. First I thought he did that on purpose to impress
people but he was just like that. That was his style. That was
him. A tranquility coming from his mothers’ Indian roots,
maybe. It was mostly his voice and his eyes that made me
contribute him to unconsciously keep the promise he made to
himself. I could only realize on the first day of the new year,
when I woke up in his paper thin arms to the who knows how
manieth snow of our beautiful village lying under, that I was
in love with this man since the first night at the bar.
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