LOVE

I remember you whenever the raindrops that the breeze spreads towards me kiss my face. I remember you whenever the sun smiles and embraces me with the mildest sun rays I have ever felt. I remember you whenever the shining crystals of snow land over my nose. I remember you whenever the lightning paves a golden lane that will bring you towards me. I remember you day and night and at every occasion.”

He sighed and rubbed his wet eyes with his trembling fingers. He did not even notice that he dropped the pencil that he had been writing with. Still a tear drop fell down on the white paper. By chance, it fell down in the proper place as if it was his signature. A signature of love, despair and grief.

It is true that he is one of the literature teachers in the college. On the other hand, he is not a poet or a writer. He likes to read books, to investigate on literature and especially on the romantic age. He likes to teach and share his knowledge with others. Bu he never has an intention to be on the other side of literature-creating side.

So, what was happening to him? He fell in love. He fell in a hopeless love. It was like falling down from life to an abysm with the hope of a sudden death but with the reality of a breathless long journey. A journey toward the centre of a sensitive hearth. A journey that broke away and tattered the once made of flesh heart that turned into glazing. Also, now he is eagerly standing on the bitter edge of the forbidden zone. More specifically the forbidden love zone. In the center of the zone there stands the unexplainable, non touchable image of his student. She can only be described as the beauty of a fairy tale, who escaped from the pages of the book, so that she can better daze the poor literature teacher. So that she can better paralyze him.

Yes, on the sharp age of the forbidden zone stands the literature teacher at the age of 60, married and has two children. What is more, he will have a grand son in the near future. This kind of illusion or we may say deepest reality of falling into love is something that he was not an acquaintance of. Even, when he married his wife and thinking that he loved her deeply, he did not have such feelings. By the way, he himself is trying to explain his feelings but I can not guarantee that he understands them. How can you grasp something that nobody has ever explained to you in such a detail and you never had felt this deep?

He looked out of the window and saw that the shadows were becoming longer and the sun was in a hurry to give light to the other side of the earth. He though “I wish I had the chance to bring the sun into deepest and darkest miseries of my mind, so that it would burn any trace of my being desperate. I would even prefer if it would burn me as a whole.”

He had been sitting on the chair in front of his working table located against the window since noon. Out of the window, in a good mood, he can see and like the view of green trees, birds and a small river that run about across the trees like a lazy person who enjoys the sweet shadows of a spring night. But he had been sitting there for hours, thinking and at last he wrote a short paragraph to pour his feelings on the white paper.

In fact, he lived a conservative life and if anybody had said that one day he would deeply wish to fell in such an affair, he would not believe it and would make fun out of it. But, the plain truth is laid out in front of his eyes, burning his mind and breaking his hearth.

The girl did not have any idea about his feelings. It was the first day of the new school term. He was attracted, fascinated, frozen, quailed. This was love at the first sight and his feelings were intense, complicated even worse conflicted with each other. The girl was unaware of him, other than as a personality of being her teacher. Unfortunately, I can not say that she likes literature much. Literature lesson was a compulsory obstacle that she had to overcome. I bet, she would prefer a handsome and young teacher in the class, instead of this old and retiring man.

Now comes the week end. All the week long, he had difficulties in getting the thoughts flying in his mind together. One minute he is absent minded, other minute joyful and then desperate. Today afternoon he decided to write a letter to the girl. “What a shame!” he thought before he started to write “I am acting like a teenager, this is very ridiculous.”

Still, the power of love was stronger than the power of shame and he started to scribble down his feelings. It was a short letter. He did not believe how he could write these lines. Still he did not write his name or signed the letter.

He gazed far away horizons out of the window for a long time in an attempt to stop the fight going on at the battle fields of his mind. No way. He was hopeless. The time was sliding like an unseen subterranean water falling to the sea of eternity. He looked at his wrist watch. The time for bed had come. He recognized that his wife had not been around or had not say anything to him since he sat at this chair.

He looked at the lines that he wrote for the last time before going to his bed. Bu he did not read them again. Then he stood up and walked towards his bed, hoping to find his relief inside it. Hoping to grasp his temporary relief in his sleep.

Probably the dream girl would not leave him even in his dreams.

 

ORHAN TUNCAY

AT THE EDGE OF THE TUNNEL

I am the first one on the row, I will be the one who will go out first. I feel the cold wall, I fell the ones behind me. The air is heavy. It is unpleasant not to know the departure time from the tunnel. A deep silence embraces the tunnel. I can not decide on the length. I can only say that it is narrow. I hear voices from outside. I can not understand, but men are talking as I can expect.

Wait, wait, I hear a curse and a harsh   laughter. Someone shouted “Come on!”

We are still waiting. I hear some gun shots. I can smell the bitter gunpowder. The exit of the tunnel must be far away.  Something pushed me towards the exit. This is a mechanism, rather then the ones behind me. I think I know what it is. I must concentrate towards forward. Now I am a little bit far away from the ones behind me. I see the exit. But I can not see the outside. I can only guess. I can breathe the fresh air. It is hot outside and the sun rays enter to the location that I am waiting  now. Hey the sunshine blocks my eyes, I can not see anything! I do not feel well. A  sound echoes in my ears: “Fire”

Now I am out of the tunnel. I can feel that two more are following me.

The man tied on a pool is standing 5 meters away from me. He is unable to see us because of the tatter around his eyes. I quickly look to the right, there are three more like this man.

When I looked to my man again, he is so close now. I hit the chest of the man to be executed. My mission as a bullet is completed.  Everywhere is  deep dark.

ORHAN TUNCAY

ALICE IN MY WONDERS

While I was reading the book I was wondering at the same time. So, while I looked at the lines in  the book, the ideas flew over my mind. In deed I was trying to avoid from the daily distresses and to dive into the mysteries of a childhood book: Alice in the Wonderland. My aim was to throw my distress into the dim corners of my mind.  But my thoughts were flowing between  my wonders and possible facts.

“Alice saw the rabbit that was passing by at a speed and complaining that he has been already late.” “A business project is waiting in front of you to be completed. And yet you are trying to read a child story that you knew well.” “But you always tell me that it would be wonderful, if I had had been able to be  and to act as a child all my life long.” “You have responsibilities. You cannot act like a child now.”

“Alice was surprised when she saw that the rabbit pulled out of his inner pocket a watch linked by a chain.” “You will also be surprised if you will not be able to deliver the project in time and see that your promotion hope will disappear.” “But, on the other hand a successful project must possess a creative attitude. These kinds of books contribute to creative thinking.” ” Do not fool yourself. Such books are for children. Do not make rationalizations to avoid yourself from your responsibility.”

“Alice immediately started to follow that rabbit that is walking and talking at a speed. When she was hoping to catch him, the rabbit went down a hole in front of him.” “As a result of living in a such dream life you will fall into a trouble hole.” “It is a pleasant thing to dream and to forget daily stresses. Otherwise you may not find the solution way.” “Reality hits hard. There is no place for dreams in real life. Your reality is your project waiting in front of you to be completed.”

The more I tried to concentrate what I was reading the more confusion occupied my mind.

When I was gazing on the next line something strange had happened. The letters started to move. First slowly, then quickly. Then they fell down from the book on to the floor. While I was astonishingly looking at the letters on the floor, I saw her.

Alice was asking me questions  about the hole and her position. She was saying “Where is the hole, where am I?”

I rubbed my eyes with my hands and looked at the book again. The page I was reading was  empty. Alice was on the floor, on a pile of letters scattered over. Her hands on the waist, in her beautiful dress, with angry eyes. And she was holding me responsible for all the things that had taken place  just in seconds.

“This rude attitude did not accord with  your character” I said. “When you behaved like this, your face became uglier. On the other hand what did I do?”

She screamed: “Put me into my book, immediately!” You have no right to do such things. I may be known as a good and decent girl, but I also know how to defend my rights.

“Do not shout” I whispered, “someone might hear.”

“That   will be better” she said “perhaps they will release me from your torture.”

Then she struck her one feet to the ground with anger, the letters under her feet scattered around. The letter “a” flied on the air and rested on my lap. Alice was crying “Immediately! Immediately obey my wishes, otherwise I will miss the rabbit!”

I looked again to the other page. Letters were staying where they had to be. Lines were legible and correct. The rabbit was out of vision in the hole. But there was no narration  in the book about Alice’s pursuit of the rabbit. But, as far as I could remember Alice had to pursue the rabbit through the hole.

Then I looked at the ground, the little girl who was not taller than half of my knee was continuously stamping her feet  to the ground.

“Well!” I said, “I do not know how to put you over there.”

“Stupid man” said Alice in a scorning manner “You do know nothing.” Then she stepped aside leaving the letters alone. “Collect this letters and put them to the page. Put them to the correct page where they had fallen from before. You must put all the letters. Do not miss any. And do not forget the letter on your lap. Otherwise everybody will call me as “Lice”, which I would not like.”

While I was looking her confused, Alice was waiting for my action hands on her  waist. I shaked off the letter on my lap, it fell among the other letters and then I started to collect all the letters with care.

I asked if I had to arrange the letters in a line.  She said: “Put all of them into the empty page. They will find their correct places.”

I collected all the letters on the floor after three trials. The letters started to move again and found their places. I looked at the floor, there was no Alice over there. While I was saying to myself “At last…” the letters on the next page started to move. While the letters of the next page were falling down on the floor, a hole was opened below the book and a rabbit  fell down.

I turned the book and looked at the hole. The hole was like a well.

 

ORHAN TUNCAY

 

MY MIGRATIONS

How would I know that my life will start through a migration! My comfort was well. I was living a life of ease. I wasn’t affected by the seasons. I did not need money to live on. There was someone to feed me free on charge.  And she was very kind for me. Naturally I never thought that there will be an end to this. Life was not very entertaining, the adrenaline level was low, but at the same time the risk level was low.

Of course on the other hand I must admit of my loneliness. But I did not have the concept of loneliness at that time. I did not know anyone else, but me. To know loneliness, one must know togetherness. All things can be perceived through their opposites. Like loneliness/togetherness, comfort/anxiety. That is, I was living at a one dimensional world that was non-dialectic. That is, I wasn’t aware of opposite sides of the life conditions.

I had no notion of time. I was almost flowing in a dark timeless eternity. Is this a bit poetic description, what do you think? At that time poetry was an impossible for me. I could not write and read. I was illiterate. I was illiterate about life. But I must repeat that I had no complaints.

My initial complaint was communicated by a cry. I was crying because I felt a discomfort. I was forced for an immigration. I felt a feeling of burn through my lungs,  a light of dazzling brilliancy fell on my eyes. This new  situation was worse than the condition while I was going outside from inside. This was an unknown place for me and I was crying. No, no I was yelling. At that time I felt that I am not in a secure place.  My first immigration, my birth made me to feel insecure. I did not feel myself this much insecure in other immigrations that I would go through in the coming years of my life.

In my new life I was like a blind man trying to walk in the dark, because of my existentialist feeling of insecurity. I could fall into a concrete or abstract unexpected object at any time. As many others I found a powerful walking stick to control these unexpected objects of life. We all know what this stick is. I am sure that you understand what it is.

The consequences of this migration progressed throughout my new conception of time. I was aware of the change (time concept) and the dialectic perception. I learned about the cause and effect relation, but still the phenomenon that I was aware of their causes were less than the ones I was not aware of.

I learned about the religion, science, philosophy, art. I learned that Adam, in fact did not only  eat the apple of knowledge but  fell into trouble because of this knowledge. I learned that I learned nothing. Also I learned that  an unavoidable new migration will occur.

The anxiety of this new migration forced me to grasp my walking stick hardly. I wrote many stories in my mind about this new land. No one’s story was the same as others. All stories include anxiety. No one knows if this  immigration will be  to a place to be wished for or to be frightened of?  Will it be a place as the poet says: “Many of them are glad of the land, cause no one returned back from the expedition”?

Now I am thinking about these in my death bed and wishing that this will be my last migration. I am sick of migration traumas.  I hope I will have  the chance to communicate my migration experiences at the new land. Who knows?

ORHAN TUNCAY