I don’t know if my brother’s opinion was changed by that dinner, but at least he stopped objecting.
For days, many people visited us. My mother and my aunts welcomed the guests, and while appearing to be happy about the “favorable event,” they kept whispering and murmuring to each other when alone and didn’t cease complaining.
I remember the evening I accepted the marriage offer. I had told myself that I wasn’t a girl who would spend time in silly romances, watch a man’s changing moods and try to attribute meanings to them, worry if he would call or not, wonder if he still loved me, brood over something he said, or carry a handkerchief wet with tears. I convinced myself that it was better not to marry someone I loved passionately but someone who loved and admired me.
How strange! I must have gotten those ideas from the novels I used to read back then.
Oh, those pitiful people who consider themselves intelligent and think that they will be able to create their own fate, which, in fact, they do not even believe in.
As I lay wide awake on my bed in the dark, I thought that I was about to go to a distant land where I would be able to do everything I wanted and that I would be very happy. Hadn’t my brother always said, “You do not suit this place. You’re very young now, but when you grow older, people will not smile and chuckle at the things you do and the way you behave. Beware.”
I wonder why I decided to say “yes”—an answer that even surprised my suitor—when my peers were patiently waiting for their “prince on a white horse,” like in the novels they read.
Who wouldn’t be amazed to see such an intractable, rebellious, frivolous girl get married to her first suitor, without even holding his hand, and accept accompanying him to the other side of the world?
Even I can’t believe it when I look back and think.
Everything happened in a hurry.
Not even a special wedding gown was sewn for me. A tailor called Hatice cut up an old wedding gown belonging to one of my aunts and sewed the pieces into a dress fitting my measurements. We prepared a tiara of flowers for my head. My mother placed the flowers one by one. As she looked at me in the mirror while stringing the fresh flowers, she kept crying. Ayla tried to act strong, restraining her tears, but as I said good-bye, she hugged me and began sobbing. What I had done began to sink in at that moment. Perhaps I wouldn’t see them for a long time. I wouldn’t be near my best friend, my brother, my mother—and my father, who tried hard to look strong, doing his best to conceal his teary eyes, unable to believe that his daughter was about to fly away.
I confess that I clenched my jaw, and fists too. With a plastic smile on my face, I kept talking nonsense, telling people things like “we’ll see each other soon” or “I’ll see you in no time.”
Everyone was saying I looked like a beautiful doll. Funny, since my mother had bought a giant doll dressed in a wedding gown and given it to me as a present to take along. Ayla was carrying the doll around, not letting go of it even for an instant. (That doll, with her fixed smile and bead-like eyes, followed me everywhere I went. She has stayed with me all this time. There she is now, sitting in the corner. Her wedding gown is a bit dirty after so many years.)
After the wedding ceremony, attended by only a few guests, we went directly to my in-laws’ home. Upon entering their house, I was overcome by a sudden discomfort and gloom. “What have I done?” I thought, and my eyes filled with tears. I was on the verge of crying. Had it been possible I would have run back home. All I wanted at that moment was to be in my own room, in my own bed, cuddled under my own quilt and to wake up in the morning to my old life.
I got up from the armchair I had collapsed into and went to the bathroom to wash my face. With great difficulty, I resisted fleeing.
Soon we were shown to our bedroom. My mother-in-law brought a few towels, pajamas, and a pair of slippers. Then she closed the door and walked away.
We—a timid young couple—were all alone in front of the big double bed.
That confident, lighthearted young man with a European air was no longer beside me; a helpless, tongue-tied young lad stood next to me, unsure of what to say or do. I couldn’t believe my situation. We sat there without uttering a word for at least half an hour. He perched on the foot of the bed, and I sat on an armchair. He continually poured water into a glass from the pitcher on the night table, gulped it down, and asked every now and then if I wanted some too. The pitcher was soon empty. Eventually, he said, “Okay. Why don’t you take off your wedding gown and let’s go to bed. We have to leave early tomorrow.”
Blood rushed to my face.
What an odd tradition! I had never undressed next to anyone. Not even my brother had seen me in my nightgown. How could I go to bed with a total stranger? I was furious and broke out in a sweat. “Mr. Turgut,” I said sternly. “Go out and smoke a cigarette. I’ll change and get into bed. Then you can come in. Understood?”
Although taken aback by my authoritarian tone, he laughed. “Yes, ma’am,” he said and left the room.
I quickly took off my wedding gown and put on that foolish-looking ruffled nightgown. I jumped into the bed and pulled up the heavy hand-embroidered quilt.
I had thought I would stay awake out of excitement, but in fact, I dozed off before he returned to the room. He did not have the heart to wake me up. So, we both went to bed and fell asleep without doing anything else. Thankfully, we were to set off at dawn.
First, we traveled to London. For the first time in my life, I was in a foreign country. Eveything was brand new. I felt both free and caged at the same time. It is hard to describe. I enjoyed seeing new things and places, strolling around like a grown-up woman; yet, at the same time, I missed the people I had left behind and felt depressed because I realized that this was not a holiday but the beginning of a long new life.
We went sightseeing and shopping. Turgut enjoyed choosing clothes for me. This gave him the chance to buy me what he wanted me to wear. A proper little lady. A young, European woman. Neither feminine nor childish. For him, everything in life had to comply with norms. Everything had to be according to the rules. Nothing could be extreme.
We visited museums and castles. We took walks along the river. Turgut kept telling me romantic things. He spoke about films and novels and even recited poetry, acting as if we were two sweethearts desperately in love. His voice was impressive and very soft. Even when one did not pay attention to the content of his words, listening to his voice was enjoyable. One evening, we went out to dinner. Just the two of us. Candles were lit. Wine was served. I had put on makeup and my prettiest blue dress.
“Look,” he said, “everyone’s watching us.”
Turgut was truly happy about that.
Everyone really did look at us—wherever we went. Maybe they thought I was too young. Whatever I wore, I looked like a young girl. As soon as people learned we were newlyweds, they took interest in us. In shops, they gave us presents; in restaurants, they offered us drinks; and in cafés, they wanted to chat with us.
But I was not in love with Turgut. In fact, he was not in love with me either. Why would someone fall in love with a kid whom he had seen from a distance?
The stories of love and romance did not last long. He was not convincing, and I did not enjoy hearing them.
Turgut had dreams of his own. He wanted to develop strong connections in America. He would prove his worth and capability and be promoted. He would learn another language. We would wait for a few years to have a