The Wagon Magazine July 2017 Web (1)

101go to the bathroom to brush his teeth as always. Cemal was one ofthose who wouldn’t feel comfortable if he didn’t brush his teeth aftermeals. For this reason a spare toothbrush was ready in the sisters’bathroom to be used at dinner invitations... Sometimes the sisters haderotic dreams with Cemal’s toothbrush in their mouths, trying notto get caught by each other. Cemal’s going into the bathroom was anopportunity for Jale not to be missed. At that instant she could slowlydraw him to the kitchen and whisper to eat the forbidden fruit. Shewas terribly excited. She hardly put the water, coffee and sugar in thepot. On the one hand she couldn’t believe what she was going to do,and on the other she couldn’t help herself doing it. Her heart leaped toher mouth when she heard Cemal’s footsteps. There was an adrenalinconquest to all her veins. Her ears started withering, her knees trem-bling. She whispered, ‘Come here a bit,’ as Cemal was passing by thekitchen, by trying to avoid Jülide from hearing it. Jülide noticed the situation yet she tried to ignore. She already gotsuspicious when Jale ran to the kitchen to make the coffee. There wassomething strange with Jale all day long anyway. She should have beendefinitely hanging on Cemal in the kitchen at this instant. She elimi-nated Jülide. Nervously she started to bend her fork, meshing her teeth.She have missed it again... Cemal was startled like a compass that lostit’s north while he left the kitchen and headed for the bathroom. As ifhe was walking on the water. He put his hands on the sink. He wasafraid of meeting of the expression on his face if he put his head up. Hedidn’t know what to find there. Trying to avoid eye contact with himself,he brushed his teeth. While Jülide started lighting her cigarette withnervous movements, Jale brought the coffees. Right afterwards Cemalentered the living room and sat down. There was a little Bermuda Tri-angle established at the table. Only the noise of coffee sips were heard.A sneaky silence was wandering around the table like a flock of vultures.After the coffee, Cemal asked for permission and left for home. The Sisters’ home turned into an empty coffin again... Cemal had already digested his dinner since a long time, anddrank half of the wine bottle. He had turned over the picture of thered headed girl at the table. He put a jazz album on the stereo. He The Wagon Magazine JULY 2017

102 knew pretty well that jazz was the best to call out to the night. His head and heart were mixed like half used woollen balls that were for- gotten in the corner of the drawer. Cemal was afraid of untying himself. He was a leaf now, which was being dragged in the wild waters of his libido babbling like the Çoruh River. He was waiting for Jale like a seed that was ready to burst out. Outside night was being performed like a cheap vaudeville on the stage that was called the city. Jale pulled the door of their flat slowly not to wake her sister up. She started going downstairs, caresing the stairs with her fingertips. Her heart was a self-performing drum with a lopsided rhythm, and her lungs was an old accordion that was trying to accompany a rock group. Her hips would have cracked the thermometers at this moment. She was tasting her skin in the form of lust. She was a bullet that had left the barell. When she reached Cemal’s door, she came face to face with the lust that was hidden and chained in a corner. First she gulped, and then took a deep breath. As her meaty hand was pressing on the door bell, waving like a flag, she anxiously controlled her left hand to see if she had taken the vaseline that she was already holding tightly. Jale rang the door of courage... The clouds in their black uniform were positioned in the sky like the execution team. They were pouring out rain bullets on the city with their automatic rifles. The city was looking for a place to run away. Cemal’s car was moving on the asphalt sheltering just against the rain flood. The capacity of the wiper was insufficient to wipe away the drops covering the windscreen. The car had over flooded outside the city. It exceeded the worry limits of the vacant corners. This was the blue boy of isolation. A little further a police team came into sight, in a place near the edge of the road. The eyes were directed at him when he reached them and parked the car. Cemal got off the car in slow motion and headed towards a new knot with iron steps. There was a beheaded body between the Research team and Ümit’s group. The prosecutor was not there yet. ‘Hello chief ’ ‘Hello.’ ‘When was it found?’The Wagon Magazine JULY 2017

103 ‘Around eight o’clock in the morning... One of the inhabitants inthe collective housing had seen him when he was morning jogging.’ ‘What do we have in our hands?’ ‘No clue yet. The team is continuing the research.’ It was a shortand brunette male body lying. ‘He was badly beheaded, had bruises and lots of cigarette burns.An inscription has been carved from his sacrum to his neck: ‘A horse-drawn carriage like a suicidal black rising to the sky withit’s horses’ In the middle of his chest cage, there was a slightly bigger‘E’ ‘This is getting complicated’ he thought. His cigarette’s smoke was blending with the smoky air of Cemal’smind. He was stuck in the folders in front of him. He reluctantly liftedhis face up when he heard Ümit calling. ‘Chief, we identified the newly beheaded corpse. He also had crimi-nal record. His name is Adnan Çeltik. One of the old hitmen known asKotik Adnan. He is a legend among the triggermen. He was caught andimprisoned after his last job. He was discharged after the last pardon.’ ‘Did you say pardon?’ ‘Yes chief interesting, ain’t it?’ ‘Whatever,carry on!’ ‘According to the legal medicine’s report, it had become certainthat the murder was not an imitation. The beheading saw, the bonebraking hammer and the knife that has been used were the same withthe first corpse.’ ‘A DNA sample that belongs to the killer?’ ‘Unfortunately no trace... With your permission I will start tomake a detailed research on Kotik Adnan.’ ‘Ok. Learn specifically if there’s any relation between Broken Ziyaand him.’ ‘As you command...With your permission.’ The small match flames in Cemal’s mind were beginng to organ-ise towards a torch... The city was boiling inside, grumbling. Unemployment andhopelessness became greasy ropes around people’s throats. Untyingthe losers of their hearts from life’s piers, most parents desired to sailon the open seas of death. It wasn’t easy to return home empty handed The Wagon Magazine JULY 2017

104 and with their heads down... To see oneself like a hunchback on the ridge of life... In brief, as if there was not enough trouble, this beheading night- mare had started. Everyone was looking at each other with suspicion. Maybe the murderer was the person sitting next to you on the bus. Maybe you were buying bread from the same bakery, or working in the same place. Suspicion was wandering around like a dirty whisper in the heart of dark corridors of the city. Ümit was wandering in his car, splitting the suspicion that was spread on the city like fog. Another busy day was over. He was feeling dejected for not find- ing any significant clue of Kotik Adnan’s murder, despite his efforts for days. Kotik Adnan had lived alone. Never married. Never got in touch with her mother at his birthplace. He had few friends and a lot of en- emies... But Ümit never found a tie between the enemies and murder. He too had dissappeared suddenly like Ziya. His acquaintances in the coffee-shop that he frequently visited got suspicious of his absence. Despite of all his efforts, Ümit never man- aged to find a relation ship between broken Ziya and Kotik Adnan. He didn’t want to think of anything tonight. He only wanted to go to a ‘gay bar’, drink and get high. Of course, not forgetting to chew a mint gum to suppress the smell of alcohol and avoid being noticed at home. He parked his car on a street that was close to the avenue. The pavers immediately showed up for their tribute which was disguised as parking fee. But they disappeared as soon as they saw Ümit. Because most of them had criminal records and knew who Ümit was. Ümit rushed into the bar where he spent time before. As soon as he stepped inside, he felt himself as light as a spar- row escaped from it’s cage. These places were like oxygen tents for people like him. These were places that he got rid of the ‘painted bird’ syndrome and experienced the partial freedom of being with people like him. When coming in and out he never was never afraid of get- ting caught by his acquaintances. He would get away with it by using his profession - saying that he was here on duty. He silently sat at the bar. It was just getting crowded. At the same hour, Cemal had already brewed his tea after his dinner, and was getting lazy in frontThe Wagon Magazine JULY 2017

of the television. He wasn’t into what was on TV at all. How could hebe anyway: A bunch of robbers, black money man and the like, wereshowing up on every channel. He got bored and turned off the televi-sion. Lighting a cigarette he walked around the house. He was feelingdepressed. He opened the wine bottle, sat down at the table, made eyecontact with the young girl in the photo for a while. Their love lastedfor such a short time - like a haiku, yet so dense. Or Cemal thoughtso, or wanted it to be. This redheaded girl was the secret subject of hislife. Now Cemal never knew, how he would add the possessive suffix tolove? ‘Girl you just threw away my heart like a cigarette butt!...’ To Be Continued Socialist Laz-Turk poet and author Serkan Engin was born in 1975 in Izmit, Turkey. His poems and articles on poetry theory have appeared in more than fifty literary journals in Turkey. In 2004, he published a poem manifesto, entitled Imagist Socialist Poetry. He has been trying to launch a new movement in Turkish poetry and to this end has published numerous articles about literary theory FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION ONLY Published by Vel.Kathiravan, K G E TEAM, Chennai, India - 600024Printed by Print Process, Chennai- 600014 / Phone: +949176991885