Else

Translated from the Turkish by Aron Aji

Already, the past is like a drowsy elephant. Elephants are nice but they make heavy metaphors. How far can you get with one chained to your ankle? Luckily, there aren’t any on the island. Süheylâ says they won’t let elephants ride the ferries. All the better. There isn’t a soul around. Winter, firewood, two pension checks, a house left from a father . . . What else. Süheylâ says, “The snow has already blanketed our footsteps. And two is a good number.” Compare her to a summer’s day? No chance! She is lovelier, far gentler and more sweet. The earth has grown cold, the daylight pale, the shutters are drawn. Though not before Süheylâ managed to gather all the summer’s remains she could find and tuck them away in a hollow carved into winter. Like any mourner, she hoards well. She juggles oranges, tossing them up into the air, even laughing. It’s good for the brain, she says. As she laughs, cardamom milk drips from her teeth, wild summer blossoms, tender leaves, plump berries come pouring out of her mouth—they seem impervious to death. She is the priestess of oranges, a cheerful mourner, old jongleur, tart eggplant, beloved. “But soon I’ll be dying,” she says. “My knees are creaking. And will you just look at the kitchen.” The kitchen is a mess, the pipes are wheezing, the faucet drips, and the ceramic tiles are cracked. “But who can live life only when it’s beautiful. . . .” Death can’t taunt Süheylâ’s eternal summer any more. As a matter of fact, she adds, “Death can’t taunt certain acorns either.” She read in some book that squirrels forget about at least one stashed acorn out of four or five. “It’s true.” What’s more, she came up with this one: being forgotten trumps forgetting. “You can’t find that in a book. It’s how some oaks survive. In forgotten pairs. That’s good. An alliance of two, just think about it!” So what are two rickety women supposed to do all alone? Plenty. We even picked up smoking. Oh, the way Süheylâ takes a drag, then blows out rings, one after another. . . Oh my, oh my. When she was young, she wore her hair short and a jacket and she had a downy lip. Now she’s the perfect Island Auntie—hair in a bun, pearl earrings, camelhair coat, and all that. On the phone, she calls the greengrocer’s porter “my son.”