Halfway down; my strength gave out and I sat on a step。 I was on the verge of
tears again when I heard a noise that made me assume that Hayriye and the
children had returned。 I grabbed my father by the ankles; and pressing them
into my armpits; I continued to descend; faster this time。 My dear father’s
head had been so crushed and was so soaked in blood that it made the sound
of a wrung…out mop as it struck each step。 At the base of the stairs; I turned
his body; which now seemed to have grown lighter; and with one great effort;
dragging him across the stone floor; I took him into the summer painting
room。 In order to see within the pitch…black room; I hastened back out to the
stove in the kitchen。 When I returned with a candle I saw how thoroughly the
room where I’d dragged my father had been pillaged。 I was dumbstruck。
Who is it; my God; which one of them?
My mind was churning。 Closing the door tightly; I left my father in the
demolished room。 I grabbed a bucket from the kitchen; and filled it with water
from the well。 I climbed the stairs; and by the light of an oil lamp; I quickly
wiped away the blood in the hallway; on the staircase and everywhere else。 I
went back upstairs to my room; removed my bloodied clothes and put on
clean clothes。 Carrying the bucket and rag; I was about to enter the room with
the blue door when I heard the courtyard gate swing open。 The evening call to
prayer had begun。 I mustered all my strength; and holding the oil lamp in my
hand; I waited for them at the top of the stairs。
“Mother; we’re back;” Orhan said。
“Hayriye! Where have you been!” I said forcefully; but as if I were
whispering; not shouting。
“But Mother; we didn’t stay out past the evening call to prayer…” Shevket
had begun to say。
197
“Quiet! Your grandfather is ill; he’s sleeping。”
“Ill?” said Hayriye from below。 She could tell from my silence that I was
angry: “Shekure; we waited for Kosta。 After the gray mullet arrived; without
tarrying; we picked bay leaves; then I bought the dried figs and cherries for the
children。”
I had the urge to go down and admonish Hayriye in a whisper; but I was
afraid that as I was going downstairs; the oil lamp I carried would illuminate
the wet steps and the drops of blood I’d missed in my haste。 The children
noisily climbed the stairs and then removed their shoes。
“Ah…ah…ah;” I said。 Guiding them toward our bedroom; “Not that way; your
grandfather’s sleeping; don’t go in there。”
“I’m going into the room with the blue door; to be by the brazier;” Shevket
said; “not to Grandfather’s room。”