The Flea Palace (21 page)

Why she giggled like this was no mystery to me. I am actually used to Ethel’s ascription of an erotic connotation to the word ‘brain.’ She was not much different back in our college years, harbouring a layered hatred of other women and a boundless passion for intelligent men… Now that I think about it, the large number of male students outnumbering the females and the ‘brains’ surrounding her must have played a
considerable role in her decision to major, though she never intended to practice, in such a difficult field like civil engineering. In those days at Ethel’s house, there was the pick of dozens – if calculated over the years perhaps more than a hundred – of exceptionally intelligent male students from different departments. One could even argue that the Cunt made a substantial contribution to Turkish education if one considers the fact that this place operated like a kind of soup kitchen where these male students could feed themselves, or a kind of club where the members could utilize the library as they wished. Even though we may, as regular customers of this alms house, have appeared at first glance to be rather different from each other, we were very much alike concerning one matter: the way in which we invested in our intelligence. In those days, no matter which department or class they belonged to at Bosphorus University, all the male students who, in order to escape the complexes induced by the unjust distribution of life, successfully pushed their brains to the limits; would have definitely heard of Ethel’s name and most probably touched her body. The overwhelming majority were those who had devoted themselves to read, study and research, having put their demands from life away into the deepfreeze of their expectations, not to be thawed out until the arrival of ‘that big day.’ Some of Ethel’s aphorisms addressed this point: ‘Just as the blind man perfects his other senses, so too the ugly male who goes unnoticed develops his brain.’

Among Ethel’s favourites, in so far as they succeeded in developing their brains, were those male students who were either unable to establish relationships with women or were rejected by all the women they were interested in, subsequently giving up on love, practicing love and even making love. After those who were broke in terms of looks, came the chronically shy whose relationships with the fair sex had soured for one reason or another and others… These others included: asexuals who composed panegyrics, praises and poems to a life without contact; avant-garde marginals; overt
or closet homosexuals; highly dignified critics; asocials who hated exams but whose greatest thrill in that period of their lives consisted of taking exams; those who came from the provinces and lost their way in Istanbul; those who could not leave their shells let alone Istanbul; valedictorians who managed to get an education despite coming from the wrong families, as well as those ‘hidden talents’ getting an education in the wrong departments because of their families; the rare geniuses of the natural sciences; the passionate orators of the social sciences…all the hopeless, unhappy, maladjusted, extremely intelligent young men who struggled to cope with society for various physical, financial, psychological or incomprehensible reasons were within Ethel’s field of interest. If she had her way, she would not let any female brain enter her house…although somehow, sometimes, upon realizing that a male she cherished happened to have a girlfriend, she would not let on and invited them both. In spite of all this, for some reason, exempted from her notorious hatred for her sex were a few girlfriends left over from private school. One among these frequently stopped by the temple-house. She was so attractive that a comparison with Ethel could not even be considered: with long shapely legs, flawless milky skin, pearly teeth and breasts kneaded in accordance with the laws of dialectic: vibrant within the context of her large body yet tiny enough to fit into the palm… Yet she had one flaw. Like all women who lose their naturalness as soon as they become conscious of the admiration they arouse in others, she too assumed a forced toughness and made the common mistake of thinking that keeping a guy waiting in purgatory, neither too much at a distance nor needlessly close, would render permanent the attention she received. Even when telling people her name she sounded as if she thought she was doing a favour: ‘Ay-shin!’

Oddly enough the other men in the house fell in love not with this arrogant fairy but instead with the hideously ugly Ethel. Actually many among them obviously liked Ayshin, yet
‘like’ is a flimsy verb. As expressed by a contestant in a highly-contrived contest, while listing his hobbies: ‘I like to read books, listen to music, take walks and also long-legged, tight-hipped Ayshin.’Yet when the name of Ethel, the ugliest one of all time, came up, they would go full throttle beyond the liking phase and, burning up with desire, fall in love headfirst: either with her or her house – or both.

The temple-house belonged, not to Ethel’s mother and father or any other Jewish family member, but to her personally. Whereas the band of students around her stayed at either their parents’ insipid-looking homes, worn-out bachelor pads or in overcrowded dormitories where one could only be by oneself inside the wardrobes, the Cunt was the owner of a villa in which she lived all by herself. Though this alone sufficed to make the situation rather surreal, in addition her house was a dream world and just as dreams flirt shamelessly with the art of exaggeration, Ethel too was susceptible to overkill. With its garden overlooking the Bosphorus (every square of which was totally covered up with jonquils and jasmines, that in warm winds released delicately sweet smells at night overflowing with the scent of pleasure); its small but cute pool in which Ethel floated lanterns of all colours at night; its high quality drinks, tasty food and furnishings each more interesting than the next; its vast collection of records and rich library; not forgetting the premium quality cigars constantly being passed around; this place was almost like a miniature version of the world during the Tulip Period of the Ottoman Empire – the excess of which the contemporary historians had attacked with clubs and defaced with extravagant praise.

However, if you ask my opinion, it was not only the wealth that stunned the guests who came here; not the ostentation or the luxury either. What was even more striking was the ‘endlessness’ of it all. The dwindling cigarette boxes were immediately replenished, the collection of records was so vast you could not count them all, the library did not lose its splendour even though the borrowed books were never
returned, and in spite of our eating in hoards, the kitchen cupboards never emptied out, the stock of delicatessen never diminished. We liked to joke among us that when the ground was broken for the villa, the venerated Saint Hizir happened to be one of the workers and had blessed this place: ‘Let it multiply but never lessen, let it overflow but never spill.’ Even the magical cave of the forty thieves, with its jars of gold, chests brimming with jewellery, bolts of satin and barrels of honey and butter could not rival Ethel’s temple-house.

As much as the house was prosperous, so was our host generous. Ethel watched closely the things her cherished guests enjoyed. Her offers increased in accordance with how much she valued someone. For instance, was there someone among us who liked whisky? As soon as she learned about it, Ethel would fill up the drink chest with the highest quality whiskies. If another person liked puzzles, Ethel would order an acquaintance going abroad to bring puzzles each more challenging. Most of our time, however, we dedicated ourselves not to such games but to wearing ourselves out with various gatherings or ‘get-togethers’. We would burrow ourselves in the comfortable sofas in the living room, eat, drink, smoke and ‘sass’ about this or that person, but mostly about each other. We would quickly free ourselves of our past, focus on who we were now, reveal our dreams and constantly debate with each other. Our host did not at all care about the content of our conversations. In fact, as individuals, I don’t think she cared much about us at all. She liked the environment she provided for us…and she also liked fireworks. For each guest plunged into this place was like a firework speeding through the night’s darkness. He would first glide with shaky, staggering steps and, when convinced he had risen high enough and adjusted to the environment, would burst with a magnificent bang and light the place up by scattering the colourful rays he had hitherto hidden. As we found our voices, became encouraged and burst out with explosions of our own, Ethel provided every comfort by constantly serving
us. The genie in the lamp, the
houris
of heaven, even Peter Pan’s fairy…none would have served their masters with as much devotion. Ultimately, sooner or later, all these guest-masters ended up falling in love with their host. Yet this also brought their downfall. Those who had the freedom to swim as they pleased in this vast sea, often moved so far away from land as to suddenly realize, upon looking back, that they had lost sight of the land. Ethel was no longer at their side; she had lost interest in them just when they had miserably fallen for her. The only drawback of being a guest at this house was the ease with which one overlooked the fact that both the guest status and also the visit were temporary. Hence each departing guest, just like the infinite replenishment of the materials of the temple-house, was quickly replaced with another. Saint Hizir’s prayer for abundance was valid for Ethel’s ‘brains’ as well: they constantly multiplied and never lessened.

As for me, I was the exception. From the beginning till the end, I was the only constant visitor of the temple-house; a type of honorary member. I was ambitious, more than was necessary according to some. My report card was filled with ‘As’ for a couple of solid reasons. For one thing, I was tall (three stars), then wide-shouldered (three stars). I will not be as modest as to say I was ‘considered handsome’ for I was always the most handsome in the places I frequented (four stars) and I was extremely impatient and ‘difficult’ (five stars). Unlike the others, I had choices. I certainly enjoyed being here but could have left at any moment. I could have gone and not returned. Ethel was too well aware of this. That is why I was so dear to her. The seed of discord in the middle of heaven. My presence enchanted Ethel and disquieted her guests. Little did I care. Being considered a threat by other males was old news to me. If I had cared about these types of looks, I would have done so much earlier: back when walking the distressed corridor of an eleven year old. With a plate filled with wedding cake in one hand and only underwear on my wiry body, I had almost collided by the kitchen door with my stepfather, I was so
relaxed and hungry with the warmth of the wedding night. Until that moment, the poor man had always seen me as the older son of the woman he was going to marry, a boy who had problems but was in essence hungry for love and needy of compassion. I should not do him wrong, he wanted to be a father to me: a talented sonny bestowed by God to a childless, fifty year old man. Yet on the morning of his wedding night when we unexpectedly met in the hall, with my facial features inherited from my father, my half-nakedness that revealed I was about to leave childhood and my tremendous appetite revealed by my filling up my plate (signalling also that I would be getting bigger very quickly), I must have seemed far from being the ‘sonny’ he envisioned. An apprehensive gleam flickered and faded in his pupils. The bad thing was that my mother also realized this, and did so without losing any time. It was as if she had found the remnants of that look when she swept the floors the following day. This did not bode well for anyone because my mother was one of those women who took the tensions that ricocheted among the men in her family, established fickle and knotty alliances and always turned them to her advantage until the last drop; one of those whom, without knowing his name, made Bismarck’s soul rejoice… She turned her older son against her younger one, the younger one against her late husband, her late husband against her new husband and her new husband against her two sons…

Hence I was rather used to unvoiced maliciousness. I did not care about the looks of others. I was Ethel’s favourite and Ayshin’s lover. I was fond of hanging around the temple-house but that was all. I had other alternatives and more important things to do. As I said, I was ambitious, very ambitious. Not wasting a moment after graduation, I started the doctorate in England and finished it here in Istanbul, in a field that signified nothing to my family: political philosophy. Ayshin too had passed, on her second try, the sociology assistantship examination. We looked good together. Ethel barely caught up with us. When she finally managed to graduate, she made
brazen oaths about never entering through the gates of the university ever again and then burnt her diploma with a ceremony at a party she threw in her temple-house. Then, while Ayshin and I gradually built a decent life for ourselves, Ethel destroyed hers with startling speed. First she stopped living as a clan. Then she left that villa and moved into a penthouse that, when compared to its predecessor, was very spacious and cute but was undistinguished. She no longer gathered everyone in her house, spent most of her time not by drawing attention in large crowds but instead by putting up with the whims of her lovers in crowds of two, and though she devoted all her money, love and energy to them, was still not loved the way she wanted. We heard that her congregation was not happy with her behavior, but Ethel was not happy with them either. She grumbled behind their backs at every opportunity even though she knew it would eventually reach their ears.

‘Since you have read more books than I did and chose to become social scientists, could you please solve this little puzzle for me? If you observe a wide range of countries all around the world, from the most democratic to the most oppressive, you’ll find in all of them quite a number of writers, painters and the like among the Jews. It’s as if whatever the circumstances, they somehow find a way to develop their brains. With the exception of one country! In Africa, the Middle East, the United States, Europe, Russia…just keep on counting…in all these countries… Only in Turkey something went wrong with the Jews. For whatever reason, in Turkey they didn’t feel the need to use their brains as much.’