Şipşak Hayri
Engin Akyürek’s story for the 30th edition (January - February 2020) of Kafasına Göre Magazine.
Translated by Engin Akyürek For Ever Puerto Rico
When his grandfather whispered his name in his ear, he cried and cried, dropping all his drool. Even though he was a baby in diapers, he felt that the whole story of his life would blow into his soul with his grandfather's breath.
"May your name be Hayri ... May your name be Hayri ... May your name be Hayri."
How could he have felt more dissatisfied, when he looked up at the ceiling and cried with his naked eyes... Even though he was a newborn, his mind and senses were still intact. He would later realize that what was called ‘the name’, happened to everyone, that when you are a baby, other whisper in your ear and you will take it as a sign for lifetime... His personality, his free will, didn't matter at this time. Whatever you give him, he would settle for that... Hayri's misfortune was to feel and store them in his brain with a cause-and-effect relationship.
It was too early to question them. You know, when you're a teenager, you feel like you have a brain in your head, and then you start making noises later, right? Hayri thought about it a lot. There was a lot of time. There was no other bodily action than to eat, drink, and fill his diapers. Although his necessary and unnecessary parents and relatives expected him to laugh and enjoy the joy, he did none of these things. As far as we know, the baby knew all incarnators like him. You were no different than the flower in the pot, much less than the other babies. And when their bellies were hungry and their butts full, they had an habit of making sounds.
Hayri felt when his grandfather whispered his name in his ear... He felt something when he came out of his mother's womb, but not only did he feel it, but he also understood it. He didn't like crying as soon as he came into the world. Would you ever come into this world to cry? He had dried his runny nose and made a decision. The matter of this creature called man was profound. It was impossible to understand, to come up with a solution. There was pain and crying in the end. As the with his mother's milk passed through his immature esophagus, he made a final decision: it was good to surrender, to let go with the wind.
Hayri decided to make the elderly happy and live in the direction of their words and desires. So he wouldn't cry, he wouldn't be sad, he'd laugh in this world. He was circumcised at the time and place his grandfather wanted. He went to the school his father wanted. He played ball with the teammates his mother pointed out to him, and although his heart seemed to change to another football team, he had to wear the team's T-shirt that he never liked with his older brother's grip. When his brother's slaps filled his eyes, he remembered his crying and began to laugh immediately. He tried to help all creatures, even though he sometimes didn't believe in loving all living beings. As he grew up, his favorite promise was at the center of his life, “there's something good in all things.” How deep promise it was. Hayri would think silently about that promise. And the more he thought about it, the closer he felt to the hidden meaning behind the phrase.
He finished elementary and high school with enthusiasm and gratitude, and although his mind seemed as flawless as the day he was born, he progressed badly during the high school years. When his grandfather died, the family fought for inheritance. His father was upset with his brothers because he didn't get his rights. Everything he taught Hayri was buried in the past in exchange for deed. The kinship and the relationship with the neighbors was left behind, moved to another neighborhood. And his brother's debts and misdeeds swept the peace of the home.
What Hayri learned from his family to be happy, he had begun to pollute his immaculate mind by clouding his phrases. The dimples on his face did not help his smile as before, adding a sad shadow to his face.
A father who invested the remaining shares of the property title in the feelings of other women, an unhappy mother, a brother who did not como home, Hayri lost his smile... When he had to work, he gave up his college dreams forever. He began taking passport photos in the store of the photographer Şevket Amca, his uncle’s friend. He was doing his job well, creating aesthetic concerns and trying to be happy with himself. He sought the leaves that hoped to bloom in the polluted world, the people who had not lost their smile; he compared the streets, sidewalks, mountains and hillsides with the images he had kept in his mind. Although photographer Şevket was satisfied with this, he could not fire Hayri, for the sake of his uncle.
"Take it quickly. Are you so worried about the picture?"
No, Hayri cared about waiting and trying. As long as the client walks out the door and puts a smile between his greetings. Didn't the world become a big garbage can to take care of everyone? A little attention, a smile stamped on a photograph was enough to make people feel happy.
One day Şevket Amca arrived late to the store, Hayri was photographing the cats on the street, framing them according to their names and meaning. A tabby cat had posed so beautifully in front of Bahri's shop, the bakery, so he pressed the shutter five times in a row. The moment he said, “Let's take one more,” a beautiful girl sat at the heart of her lens. His mind, his heart, his eyes, the lens got smaller and his eye started beating on the lens. Hayri thought too much about love. He would never know the difference between thinking and living without Ayşe, and the formula he found with his mind, would not become information until his heart fell into the palm of his hand... He felt that the indiscreet complaints of his heart could not be found in his mind. The fact that the girl lived two streets down and came every day to buy the bread from Bahri’s, was enough for the first step. Hayri, who had taken photographs from afar, stood in front of the girl's hands carrying hot bread.
"Hello I am Hayri..."
"Hello I am Ayşe..."
When Ayşe looked at my photos, she wondered if she was so beautiful. That's because she had the heart in her eyes... Hayri immediately told her mother how she felt. Isn't love a little far? The idea of walking away a step from everything raised the shadow that had fallen on Hayri's dimples.
His brother was in the back, his father was at a bar table, his mother was going to ask for the girl's hand. As he walked with a flower in his hand, for the first time, he realized he wanted something for himself. The coffees were served, they went to the girl's hand request. The girl's father growled, her mother began to complain, and before Ayşe could become a bride, she dropped her tears like a stone on the tray she was holding. The girl's father added phrases to her growl:
"You've had the annoyance of coming, but this marriage won’t be done."
Hayri had tried to understand this situation, but there was’nt also a purpose to understanding it in this life either. He thought, “who would want to give his daughter to someone who makes three cents?”, and the more he thought about it, he splashed drops of water into his frightened heart, but his inside didn't cool.
A bag and a camera go along with Hayri on the way. First Germany, then Belgium, then Holland, it’s the way he left. Wasn't love a little far?...
Where he went he tried to find another Hayri, looked inside, in his heart, handled his mind, but could not find it.
He started working for a family of photographers in a Turkish neighborhood in Holland. The interest in his work, his smiling face, which like the statue of David attracted people who didn't even look at him, had led him to earn money and to be loved very much. In his spare time, he had travelled all over Europe by train. As the chief allowed the photographs he had taken to be display in the shop window, he began to call Hayri, who was hiding inside.: "Hayri!”
When he began to understand that there was not a single way to be happy, he began to want more for himself and to place what he could want in the photos.
He started his own business, became his own boss. The photographs he exhibited in his stained-glass window waved in a Turkish neighbourhood in Holland, as a sign of his freedom. If we asked him what freedom was, he could say it was as simple and easy as a photograph taken in the window.
The time was good for Hayri, who, although he was not in love, found someone to share his smile with. He had a son. He thought long before he whispered his name in his son's ear. The boy almost stood up, but had not been named. Hayri argued with his wife every day, but he wanted his son to grow up and choose his own name. 'My son, my son', was enough for now, and more to make the baby not feel unhappy. Hayri knew his son as well as himself...
A group of people swooped into his store, while he was happily taking pictures. Before the halay (1), the wedding guests were lined up in front of the backdrop with a view of their hometown. Hayri had taken guests’s pictures in party suits. Then the groom had come from shaving and the bride from get fixed her hair... In front of the green backdrop, Hayri told me how to take a picture... He framed their bodies and their eyes and gave them the instant formula to be happy. Hayri was in charge of the camera. He looked through the lens of his camera... He didn't want to believe in the image he had to see through his lens glass. When he looked up, he saw Ayşe, the beautiful girl who was going to buy bread, in her wedding dress. A partially cloudy air sat in Hayri's eyes. He wanted to cry, drool, drop everything. The cold inside mixed with a familiar feeling years later. He was frozen behind where he was, and everything he'd been hiding for years fell into his hands. The groom's voice touched her heart, not his ear:
"Brother, are you ok?"
Hayri turned his head and made eye contact with Ayşe... Ayse also recognized him. By making contact, they chose silence out of respect for the occasion. Within few seconds, they thought about what they could have done together and the chance to be happy. It was as if they felt stronger than what they missed. Hayri, with tears in her eyes, had a smile on his face. Like Hayri in diapers...
Endnotes:
(1) Halay - traditional Turkish wedding dance.
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