Waiting inspires me to total inaction. When forced to wait, I tend to do nothing, and if I do act in any way, it always comes to naught. But I had to find a way to keep busy until Selçuk got back to me.
I called Ponpon. There was no answer. Either she was still asleep or she wasn’t taking calls. I insistently left two messages, one after another. Perhaps the blinking light of my answering machine meant she’d done the same. I went and listened.
Addressing me, in order, were Ali, Pamir, Hüseyin, Pamir, and Kemal Barutçu (alias Cihad2000), intermingled with the annoying electronic signals of those who had hung up without leaving a message. Pamir said she had spent two days at home waiting for me to get back to her. In the first message, she wondered if I was alright. In the second one she said she was sick of sitting at home and asked me to give her immediate instructions for whatever it was I wanted her to do. In light of Cihad2000’s quite understandable panic attack, I had thought it best to postpone a session with Pamir. Naturally, I’d then forgotten to inform her.
Cihad2000’s message was short and snappy: “Call me.” The authoritative tone in his assured voice indicated that he’d overcome his feelings of paranoia.
The phone rang. It was Selçuk.
Sounding worried and dispensing with the formalities, he got straight to the point. “You’re in deep shit this time.”
“What do you mean?”
“You paid a little house call on that loan shark Faruk last night…”
So, our police actually were hard at work on the case.
“So what?” I said. I then coughed a few times, to account for my strangled voice. The sudden lump in my throat could be put down to all that stale cake, I reassured mysef. Surely there was no cause for alarm?
“I’d suggest you lay low for a while. That is, you’d better not pursue this any further… Just a bit of friendly advice.”
“So what if I did go to Faruk Hanoğlu’s house?” I protested, my voice cracking this time. “He has dozens of visitors every day.”
“Look,” said Selçuk, “the circumstances of his death are somewhat complicated. That’s all I’ve been able to find out. Best not go digging for now. Keep your nose clean for a while. Let things die down a bit.”
“Well, now you’ve made me even more curious. At least tell me how he died.”
“You know what our guys are like. We talk about everything, especially in a routine case like this one. But this time it’s different. They’re all as tight-lipped as can be. Something’s going on, and I haven’t been able to get to the bottom of it.”
“How’d you find out I’d visited Faruk? Who told you?”
“Stop pestering me! They were watching footage from the security camera in the garden. Just as I walked into the room you appeared on-screen. That’s how!”
“Are you suggesting that just because the camera picked me up I should consider myself to be a suspect? Even though we don’t even know how the guy died?”
“Listen up, friend,” he said. “Just after I entered the room they switched off the tape. Or, maybe the camera had been disengaged at that point. All I know is that two high-ranking commissioners and three policemen wouldn’t be involved if this were a routine death. I mean, the guy wasn’t even a minister or anything! They’re onto something. It’s not normal! Now do you get it?”
“I’m trying, but failing to manage it, I’m afraid…” I said.
“You’re quite the manager. So manage this, too. If anything turns up I’ll call you. Alright?”
I managed a halfhearted “alright” before hanging up.
The murder of a third-rate gigolo was now connected to a high-profile homicide, and I was being sucked in deeper and deeper. Faruk Hanoğlu, the number-one suspect, had been killed in an “accident” the cause of which the police were hiding. As someone who had visited the late Faruk just before his untimely death, I found myself a suspect. I had no idea why I was under suspicion, but Selçuk had strongly implied that I was in trouble.
As I pondered various courses of action, I found myself resorting to the vulgar format so beloved of TV game shows. I really must shake off this obsession with presenting alternatives in multiple-choice form. I thought I was over it, but here I go again:
(a) I could drop everything and let the dice fall where they may. Whatever happens, happens. If the situation is as serious as Selçuk suggests, the police might even pay me a visit sometime soon.
(b) I could stubbornly persist in my sleuthing and risk finding myself in even bigger trouble. “Trouble comes in threes,” or so they say. Was I prepared for a real disaster?
(c) Considering I was likely to be accused of murder in any case, what was the harm in bringing down a few people with me? Nothing had made any sense so far. Perhaps I could rub out a few of my enemies without anyone noticing. If nothing else, the world would be a better place, and I’d have considerably more elbow room.
(d) I could take a long holiday, all on my own. A place far away; a place no one would ever think of. Months later, when everything had blown over, I’d resurface. That is, a slightly more relaxed, tanned, healthier, and happier version of me would fly back to Istanbul and resume my life.
I weighed up my choices, juggling their order and carefully considering each alternative. It did no good.
I became sidetracked by choice C, and spent quite some time mentally composing a list of the people I’d like to eliminate. Once I got started, names started mushrooming out of control. Acquaintances and complete strangers, people I knew only from TV, newspapers, and magazines, some famous, some not, dozens of names without faces, and faces without names. The list grew and grew, and when I realized that I had no intention of removing a single victim from the lengthening list, that I was incapable of finding a single redeeming quality in any of my condemned souls, I frightened myself. There were so many!
The holiday fantasy was more pleasant. A hot, sunny spot far from the streets of Istanbul… No need for layers of clothing, just shorts and a T-shirt. Somewhere I could live on tropical fruit, frolic in the surf, stretch out on the sand, book in hand, sighing at the half-naked men parading past…
Visions of a dream holiday relaxed me. I’m only human, after all! I felt myself winding down and loosening up. It was almost as good as being there on the beach. The tension in my muscles, the middle of my forehead, and my temples was easing. I only realized I’d been grinding my teeth when I stopped clenching my jaw. The perfect holiday: sea, sun, shopping, and men. Men marching in front of me, dressed in a kaleidoscope of brightly colored bathing suits, swim trunks, and Speedos-even a few G-strings displaying bronzed apple cheeks… Haluk Pekerdem, suddenly materializing in knee-length board shorts. Hey, what was he doing here in my fantasy? I began thinking about Haluk and the spell was over, my holiday finished. “One’s real life is so often the life that one does not lead,” someone once said.
I began murmuring an old dance favorite: “Back to life, back to reality…”