"FEAST OF THE DEAD"

By:Cevdet Kudret

January changed the color of the air. Under the ash color sky, the world seemed

grimmer. People went out only for work.

The streets, especially the back streets, often stretched bare and empty. There was nobody

under the oak trees, in the courtyards of the mosques, at the fountains- the spots of coolness

and gathering places for the children of the deserted. Almost everyday there would be

someone to go to fetch the days water.

A boy who had been to the fountain for water that noon ran back to his street panting,

and told the first man he saw:

"Dursun Agha is dead!"

Dursun Agha was a familiar figure of the street. He was about fifty; a sturdy man with a

round black beard.

He was the water carrier, who barely made both ends meet, with a wife and two children in a

small, two-storey house. His entire capital consisted of two water cans and a pole in his

shoulder every morning, hooking the cans by their handles to the chains; he set out with his

first call, in his own street:

"Water, anybody need water?"

His low resonant voice could carry as far as the lat house in the street. Those he needed

water would call back, "Dursun Agha, one trip," or two trips," or "three trips". "One

trip" meant two cans of water. Then Dursun Agha would climb up to the fountain on

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 the hill, fill up his cans, and thus go to and fro, between the fountain and the houses,

all day long. He got three kurush for each trip; this way of earnings, it would have

been impossible to feed four mouths, but thank God, for his wife Gulnaz was called

upon, three or four times a week, as a charwoman. Within the limited opportunities of

her work, she tried to help her husband earn just a little bit more, cheating in small

ways that were pathetic, harmless and even innocent-using up a little etra water, just

a can or two, so that her husband could earn a few more three Kurush.

Now all this had ended suddenly. The cause of dursun Agha's death was soon discovered. After

ha had hooked the brimful cans to the pole, he had slipped while trying to stand up on the ice

that had hardened during the night before, ice polished slippery as glass with water

continuously dripping over it. He could not get his balance away because of the heavy load of

full water cans, and he had hit his head on the stone bowl under the tap. Who could ever have

expected him to die so suddenly? Looking at Dursun Agha, one could sooner imagine a stone

being fragile and getting hurt. But he? Who would have thought that he could smash his skull?

However, even if a man looked tough and durable, he could die, just like that all of the sudden.

When Gulnaz heard the news, she froze. Could this be the punishment of her little tricks, for

her cheating? No, oh no, God could not be that cruel. This could not be but an accident. There

were witnesses; he slipped, fell down, and died. Anybody could fall that way and die.

Perhaps they could, but at least they would have left something behind them to support

their family. All the state that Dursun Agha had left was two cans and a pole.

What was Gulnaz going to do now? She thought and thought but could make no decision.

It was not easy to be left all alone with two children, one nine years old and the other

six. How could she feed these two mouths by washing clothes only twice or three

times a week? She remembered all the water she had used up so freely.

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She might just as well not think of the water anymore. In an instant all had changed. Now there

was no difference between using much water and using little. If she could only find a way out

and suddenly become a thing to hate- there was treachery in its glitter, enmity in its flow.

She no more wanted to see or hear it.

When the death occurs in a house, no one thinks of cooking. The first thing the household forget

is food. This goes on for thirty six, or maybe forty-eight hours at the most but as soon as a

gnawing is felt in the stomachs, or a listlessness in the limbs, someone in the house says,

"Come, we must have food," and thus, with eating, starts the return to the usual course of

living.

It is a modern tradition for the neighbors to send food, for a day or two, to the

bereaved household. The first meal came to Gulnaz and her children from the white

house at the corner. Raif Efendi, the businessman, lived there.

One could see from a mile off that this was the home of a wealthy man. At noon on the

day after Dursun died, the maid from the white house appeared with a large tray in

her hands at gulnaz house and rang the bell. On the tray were dishes of noodles

cooked in chicken broth, some meat with a good sauce, cheeses rolls, and sweets.

To tell the truth, no one had thought of eating that day; but as soon as the cover was

lifted from the tray there was a giving, a relaxation of feelings. Silently they all

gathered around the table.

Maybe it was because they had never had such good before. Or maybe because pain had

sharpened their senses, but they all found the food exceptionally delicious. Having

eaten once, they found it natural to sit around the table at suppertime and satisfy

their hunger with the leftovers of their lunch.

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Another neighbor took care of the food for the next day. This went on for three or four days.

Of course, none of the later meals was as tasty or as generous as the trayful from the white

house, but they were all great deal better than any that was ever cooked in Gulnaz pot. If this

had only continued, Gulnaz and her children could easily have borne their sorrow at the end of

their lives, but when the trays stopped coming in and coal which they were buying, pound by

pound, from the store on the main street could not be bought any more, they began to realize

that their sorrow was unbearable.

The first day food stopped coming in, they kept their hopes up till noontime, running to the door

with the sound of each footstep in the street outside, hoping to see a big tray with a white

cloth cover it but instead they saw people simply going about their daily lives, merely passing

by, their empty hands hanging at the ends of their arms.

They were not really hungry for about three or four days, until their staples were all used up.

They ran out of butter, flour and potatoes. For the next few days they ate whatever they

found here and there in the house: two onions, one clove of garlic, a handful of dry lima beans

found in the corner or the cupboard.

Finally, there came a day when all the pots, baskets, bottles, and boxes in the house

were empty. That day, for the first time, they went to bed on empty stomachs.

The next day was the same. In the late afternoon, the little boy started crying,

"Mother, it hurts inside!" His mother said "Be patient children, be patient just a little,

something must happen!" They all felt that their stomach had shrunk to the size of a

baby's fist. They all felt dizzy when standing up-it was a best to lie flat on the back;

then you felt as if dreaming. They all saw green-and-red forms fluttering in front of

their eyes; there was also a hallow, echoing sound in their ears. They noticed their

voices were gradually getting softer.

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The day after, Gulnaz had a dream: maybe there was someone in the street who needed

a charwoman. You could never tell. Maybe she would receive a message one morning:

"tell Gulnaz to come for laundry today" yes, Gulnaz, who had vowed never to look at a

pail of water again, now was longing for this call. But the people of the street thought

it would be inconsiderate to call her for wok. "Poor woman," they all said, sorrow must

be gnawing at hear heart now.

She is no shape to do the laundry, poor thing."That morning no one in the household thought of

getting up. They all had visions of food. The little boy talked occasionally. "I can see bread.

Look, look, Mother (putting out his hands as if to grab it), bread-how fluffy it is so-soft-so

nicely baked..."The older boy saw sweets instead. How stupid he had been, how very stupid not

to have savored them when they came on the trays- how stupid to have eaten his entire share

at once, when they were given to him. If only he had them once more he knew what he would

do: he would eat them very slowly, savoring each mouthful, one by one.

Gulnaz lay in her bed, listening to the murmurs of her children, biting her lips in order

not to cry out, tears flowing down her temples from under her close lids.

Life outside went on as before. She could follow all that happened by just listening-all of

the life of this street where she had lived for many years.

A door closed. The little boy next door, Cevat, is going to school; he always bangs the door. If it

had been the older boy, Suleyman, he would close the door gently; the two brothers are so

different in nature.now a rheumatic old lady shuffling her feet slowly. That is the mother of

Salih, who works on a ship as a cabin boy. She is going out for shopping. More footstep. This

time it is Tahsin Efendi, the barber, who lives in the red house at the end of the street.

He always walk by at this time of the morning to open up his shop on the main street. The next

one is Hasan Bey, the grandson of Idris Agha, the jobber; he is a clerk in the electric

company. He will move away from this street as soon as he finds an educated girl and marries

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 her. This one is the schoolteacher, nureya Hanim then there is Feysullah Efendi, who makes

slippers. Then Cemil Be, the tax collector. And there is the bread man, who always stops at

Rifky bey's house. He comes everyday, at exactly the same hour. The big baskets tied to both

sides of the horse are full of bread. The creaking of the baskets can be heard from far away.

It was the older boy who first heard the creaking of the baskets and looked toward his

brother. The younger boy heard it next. He, too, turned his head to his brother; their

eyes met. The younger one murmured, "Bread!"

The sound was coming closer. Gulnaz got up slowly in the chill room and put a wrap around

her to go out. She had decided to asked for two loaves of bread on credit. She could

pay when she got money from laundering. Her hand on the latch; she paused inside the

door. Her whole attention was concentrated on listening. The approaching sounds of

hoofs crushed her courage-crushed and crushed; finally, when the sounds were only

few steps away, the forced her to throw open the door.

It was the older boy who first heard the creaking of the baskets and looked toward his

brother. The younger boy heard it next. He, too, turned his head to his brother; their

eyes met. The younger one murmured, "Bread!"

The sound was coming closer. Gulnaz got up slowly in the chill room and put a wrap around

her to go out. She had decided to asked for two loaves of bread on credit. She could

pay when she got money from laundering. Her hand on the latch; she paused inside the

door. Her whole attention was concentrated on listening. The approaching sounds of

hoofs crushed her courage-crushed and crushed; finally, when the sounds were only

few steps away, the forced her to throw open the door.

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Gulnaz, with eyes growing larger, stared at this food, this grace, passing by. The square baskets

on the white horse were so wide that they covered the entire side of the animal, and so deep

that they almost touched the ground. Both baskets were full to the brim. The bread was made

of pure white flour. the loaves all seemed so fresh and spongy; it must be such a joy to touch

them; why one's finger would simply sink into their soft texture. A beautiful one's nose, down

the throat. Gulnaz swallowed. Just as she was about to open her mouth and say something to

the bread man, he shouted in a high pitched voice, "Giddy-yap." She lost all her courage, could

not say a word, and just stood there frozen, staring at the baskets brushing against the

woodwork of the house, but she could not stretch out her hand and take it. The horse walked

slowly on, waving his long white tail like handkerchief. "Goodbye, Gulnaz! Goodbye! Goodbye!"

Banging the door, she returned to the room, she dared not to look into the fevered eyes of the

boys, who had been waiting hopefully. She could not find a place to hide her empty hands.

Suddenly, it was as if she were ashamed of having hands after all. Not a word was said in the

room; the boys simply turned the other way; the older boy closed hid eyes in order not to see

his mother's empty hands, his brother did the same. The atmosphere inside the room becomes

tenser; silence increased. No one made the slightest movement one half hours or more. Finally,

it was again the younger boy who broke the silence. He called out from his bed:

"Mother! Mother!"

"Yes, son?"

"I can't stand it any more. Something is happening in my insides."

"oh my sweet boy, my little boy.

"Here, in my tummy something is moving""

"it's from hunger. I feel it too. Don't worry its nothing. Your intestines are moving."

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"I'm dying, I'm dying"

The older boy opened his eyes and looked at his brother. Gulnaz looked at the both of

them. The little boy was silent. His eyes look darker, his lips dry and white, his cheeks

hollow;

his bloodless skin faded and sallow. Finally, Gulnaz beckoned to the older boy. He got up

and both left the room. In the halfway between the two rooms, she whispered as if

afraid of being overhead. "we must go to Bodos, the grocer, we must ask for some

rice, flour and potatoes " tell him we'll pay him in a few days.

The older boy reached the store on the hill of Cerrahpasha and went through the door

into the warmth of the store, heated by a large fire pot. He let the others take his

turn, hoping to talk to the grocer in privacy and enjoy the warmth a little longer.

After everyone had gone, he left his place by the fireside, ordered a pound of rice, a

pound of potatoes and a pound of flour, put his hands in the pocket and as if reaching

for his money, and then pretending to have left it at home, looking annoyed, he said,

"oh I left the money home. How do you like that!! I'd hate to have to go to all the way

home in this cold and come back it when I come tomorrow".

Bodos knew the trick of the game only too well. Looking over his glasses, he said "you've

become so thin. Someone who has money at home doesn't get so thin".

He put the boys order to one side. "First bring the money and then you take this," He

said, "all right", the boy said, embarrassed to see his lie found out. "I'll bring it" he

hurried out.

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After the boy had left, Bodos Agha turned to his wife, who helped him in the store.

"Poor souls", he said. "I feel sorry for them". What on earth they will live on from now

on, I wonder?

His wife nodded. "Yes. I feel so sorry for them too. Poor souls" The boy was finding the

iciness of the street more unbearable than he had before he entered the store.

At the corner smoke was coming out of the chimney of the white house. How happy

where the people who love in it! It did not even occur to him to be jealous; he had only

admiration for these people who had fed him the best meal of his life.

The boy walked toward his own house as quickly as he could, his teeth were chattering.

Entering the room, he said nothing to his mother and brother. His empty hands spoke

for him. Before their questioning eyes, he took off his clothes and went to his bed,

which had not yet lost with all its warmth; but when he spoke, he said, "I am cold, I am

cold" the blanket rose and fell of his trembling body. Gulnaz piled on him with

whatever she could find and looked with fearful eyes at the bundle rising and falling

at the boys trembling body. The trembling lasted for an hour and a half or more. Then

came the fever and exhaustion. The boy lay flat on his back, stretched out,

motionless, his eyes staring vacantly. Gulnaz lifted the covers and tried to cool his

burning head with his cold hands.The woman paced through the house till evening,

desperate. She did not know what to do. She couldn't think. She kept on going into the

room and out again, looking with empty, glazed eyes at the walls, the ceilings, the

furniture. Suddenly, she noticed that she was no longer hungry. It was like the

numbness from excessive heat or cold. The edges and tips of the nerves must be

blunted by hunger. The sun had just gone down. The covers, taken off the fevered

boy's bed and piled on the floor, were a bundle of darkness.

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Looking at the small pile, she had a sudden rational thought; wouldn't there be anybody to give

some money for all that? She remembered the neighbors' having talked of the junk store in

the Grand Bazaar where they bought used things-but it must be closed. Now she had to wait

till the morning. With the peace of mind she had from having found a solution, she gave up her

walking from room to room and sat by the bed of her son. The boy's fever went up. The woman

sat motionless, staring. The younger boy could not sleep, from hunger. He, too, was watching,

his eyes open. The sick boy moaned slowly, tossed and turned in his fever, finding no comfort.

His cheeks were burning. He talked in delirium, his eyes fixed on a spot on the ceiling, looking,

looking, not seeing. Large, fixed, glassy eyes. The younger boy was watching him closely from

his bed. When the sick boy started talking again with the fever, the younger boy sat up in his

bed and said, in a low, soft audible only to his mother, "Mother, will my brother die?"The

woman shivered as if touched by a cold wind on her skin. She looked at her son with

frightened eyes. "Why do you ask that?" The boy paused for a minute under his mother's

gaze; then he leaned close to her ear and said softly, trying hard to hide his voice from his

brother

“Because, then food will come from the white house.”

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