The Power of Thought
The Power of Thought (published on the anniversary edition of the NY arts website Ken Again http://kenagain.freeservers.com/PROSE.HTML
Orkun came to the shores of the river and laid his hand cart down. All the long day he had hauled his produce over the difficult terrain. Pale green melons, yellow and striped, dark green and white. Now he squatted above the muddy banks, gazing at the broken bridge, contemplating his fate.
"I am an unlucky star-crossed man," sighed he. "The footbridge has collapsed. And not a boat to be seen."
Among the trees on the hilltop behind him a movement caught his eye. It was a goatherd and his flock, silhouetted by the glow of the setting sun. Those dark shapes wriggled and melted into the land. Orkun discerned the lean figure of the goatherd, with white beard and long staff, like Musa, leading his flock down the slopes to the water.
He rose to his feet and greeted the elder with a reverential bow. "Good evening, Uncle."
"Good evening, Young Pup," returned the other. "Why the long face? Has your boat sunk in the sea?"
Orkun dipped his head again. "I have neither boat nor any means of crossing the river. These melons are ripe and ready for market."
The old man perused the cargo, then raised his eyes to the sad features of the youth before him.
"These are fine melons. You are a young man. Your problem is easily surmounted."
"There is no way, Uncle." Orkun shook his head hopelessly.
"Such despondency from one so young!" The goatherd stroked his beard and studied him more closely.
Orkun slumped onto his haunches again. "With the proceeds from this crop, I hoped to buy a horse. Now I cannot reach the market to sell it. This path has become as all others. Last summer I sought a bride. But the harvest was poor and my family could not raise the dowry. Now she is betrothed to another. Everything conspires against me."
The elder stood beside him and stared at the fertile lands beyond the muddy river. "Courage, Young Kite. Suleyman Pasha traversed the Dardanelles; Fatih Mehmet the Golden Horn. But not without overcoming the greatest of difficulties. Your task is trivial by comparison.''
"I am neither a builder of boats nor a mender of bridges. How am I to cross this river with my cart full of melons?"
''By believing that you can. First you must want to get there. You must want this enough to take the necessary steps to prevail over the obstacles. One cannot simply say 'I want this' and it shall be so. The mind is as a limb. It needs to be trained and exercised. If you truly wanted to build a boat, you would. If you truly wanted to mend that bridge, you would. If you truly wanted to swim the river with the melons tied to your sides, you would.''
Orkun frowned with scepticism. "Belief does not make one a magician, Uncle. Some things are possible and others are not. Or life would be without meaning."
"There is no magic and no great surprise or disappointment in life that does not come within the realms of your expectations. Bad things happen to you because you believe that they will. Your expectations have determined this. The life you speak of is no more than the reality you perceive. But it is not the same as mine. And it is only a very small part of you, who are infinite. We may never grasp the infinite, but we can enlarge the boundaries of our conscious existence by learning to expand our minds."
The young man chuckled wryly. ''And if I believed this cart could fly, with I and the melons upon it, would it also come to pass ?''
"If you truly believed it, it would come to pass, one way or another. However, your mind has been conditioned far beyond the point where you would be prepared to believe in such a thing with absolute conviction. Given time, this too could change. But for now your mind must focus on a simpler task - a more plausible method of crossing this river.''
Orkun thought deeply. The river at this point was some hundred and fifty metres wide. He could barely swim that distance, let alone go back and forth with sacks full of melons. Besides which, how could he transport his cart across? He turned his gaze toward the bridge. The near side was submerged about thirty metres from the shore, and the far side a little further. The distance between was perhaps no more than half the river's span. If he slept the night he could, during the course of the following morning, transfer the melons from this side of the broken bridge to the other. There remained the question of the cart. Nonetheless, his spirits were invigorated; his optimism revived.
Detecting a change in his expression, the old man enquired as to its cause. His lips formed a smile of approval as the youth explained.
Then Orkun came suddenly to his feet. ''As for the cart, I will turn it over and float it across. The whole thing is solved! By this time tomorrow I will be in the market place.''
''So let us make camp together,'' said the goatherd. "I have some meat and cheese, and with one of your fine melons we can prepare a feast that will give you strength for the morrow's labour.''
While they ate, the darkness descended. The two men sat talking in the warmth of the fire, their faces cast in a flickering orange hue. The elder produced half a bottle of grayish-white raki, already mixed with water, and this they shared. They heard the song of the river and the occasional be-e-e-eh of a goat. They smelt the earth and the roasting ashes. The stars were out, the new moon had begun to shine.
"Tomorrow is going to be a clear day," observed the goatherd. "With Allah's will and The Prophet's blessing, you shall cross this river."
"You invoke the will of Allah, Uncle. Do you not believe that it is He who controls our destiny?"
"Allah is within us. He is our collective spirit. Allah, the universe, our collective subconsciousness; this is one and the same, and we have the power to control it. We have always had some inkling of this but cannot fully comprehend it. So we attribute the mysterious workings of the subconscious mind to a greater power."
Orkun stopped chewing. "Are you denying the omnipotence of The Creator?" he gasped.
"My conception of The All-Merciful merely differs from yours. What one man believes is as real for him as what another believes is for him. Our thoughts, dreams and emotions are all part of an ever-changing universe. Only our conscious awareness is confined by the limits of reason."
The elder imparted one last piece of wisdom before they lay down to sleep. "Before you close your eyes this night repeat to yourself nine times aloud: 'I will cross the river.' This thought will accompany you into the land of dreams and strengthen your resolve."
The youth did as he was told, and indeed he dreamed a vivid dream of reaching the far banks of the river. All trace of doubt was removed from his mind when he arose with the dawn's first light.
He reinacted the steps he had taken in his dream, tying the sack about his waist, filling it with melons, and swimming the distance between the collapsed ends of the bridge. It sapped his strength and he was required to rest longer after each crossing. But the task was completed before the sun had reached its zenith.
It remained only to transport the cart to the opposite shore. He took it to the end of the bridge, turned it over, and pushed it into the water. The cart floated out into the middle of the river, where in the grip of the strong current it began to submerge. In a fit of panic Orkun plunged into the depths after it. The cart overturned and resurfaced of its own accord. But the current continued to carry it, and it was too heavy for him to haul back.
The youth cried out in desperation as the torrent swept him away: "Uncle, I am lost! I have not the strength left to make it to shore."
The goatherd shuffled along the water's edge as fast as his withered legs would permit him. "Courage, Young Kite! You cannot perish unless you expect to. Now tell yourself nine times that you will gain the safety of the bank. Nine times aloud and it shall be so."
The youth complied without hesitation and with each repetition his resolution grew. An interminable struggle lay ahead nonetheless. His shoulders ached and spasms shot through the muscles of his back and flanks. But his faith remained unshaken and served to drive him on. The old man waded in and extended his staff to help him ashore.
"Uncle, how did you know I would not perish in the river?" Orkun wheezed as he lay panting in the grass. "It required a superhuman effort to overcome my exhaustion. I was forced to draw upon resources I never knew I had."
The old man squatted down and smiled at the other. "I have said it already; you cannot die unless you fully expect to. In my stratum of consciousness I may have seen you die. But in your stratum you will go on living so long as you believe you will. There are infinite strata of awareness, and even though we repose here face to face, ours may already have forked away in separate directions."
The youth stared up at him in wonder. Was this some manner of jinn whose guidance had saved his life? It seemed a great truth lay behind his words. For he, Orkun, had known without question that he was going to survive, even when his arms had burned and the last gulp of air had escaped from his lungs. The nine repetitions had removed all doubt from his mind. A latent force had awoken within him.
When he had rested a while longer he stood up and stared downriver. "Uncle, look. The cart has floated almost to the other side. With your length of hemp rope it might yet be salvaged."
The elder was delighted at this change in the young man. He who had given up so easily the previous day, was now preparing to rescue his cart so soon after almost drowning in such an attempt.
Orkun took the rope and once more traversed the distance between the two ends of the bridge. He trotted down the far bank to a point from which his cart was bobbing about no more than thirty metres away. Swimming out to the cart, he tied the end of the rope to its axle, the other around his waist, and returned to the shore. His endurance was again nearing its limit, the rope the end of its length, by the time he got there. But he had made it. And now he found himself able to haul the cart, slowly but surely, out of the river.
By dusk the young man had reached his destination and was hawking his wares in the market place. His prophesy of the evening before had been fulfilled.
Back in his village some days later Orkun added these proceeds to his savings and bought the bay mare he had long coveted. With this acquisition he strutted about the village, testing out his new-found sense of power.
"Together we can clear that fence!" he would say, and repeat it to himself nine times aloud. "Together we can catch a brown fox! Together we can outpace Strong Ali on his red Circassian."
All these things came to pass, and others less probable, so that Orkun began to wonder at the extent of his capacity. What were its limits? He grew in stature day by day, and the villagers marvelled at the change in his bearing.
"How Young Orkun has come of age!" they would say. "Such an unassuming lad before the summer. Now he goes with the swagger of a sultan!"
Indeed, he began to conceive of a higher station; muhtar, aga, maybe some day even the pasha. Inshallah! More than once he dreamed a hazy dream of himself as master in the sovereign's harem. But the old man's words served to sober him. These things would not simply become so. He needed to train his mind and take the necessary steps to attain his goals.
In these days of exultant self-discovery there remained one matter which gnawed away at Orkun's spirit: his love was betrothed to another. Each time he saw her seared his heart like fire.
"Elif, who is it you love?" he asked when they met at the well one morning.
She mocked him with her large brown eyes. "Orkun, you know it is not my decision. Mother has accepted the offer of Birgul Hanim, mother of Murat. Now don't be foolish."
He began to brood deeply, venturing into the village less and less, devoting his attention instead to the tending of his family's fields. It had been a fair crop that summer, but too late for him.
When the robin disturbed his sleep one night he was seized by a fit of rage and slew it with his sling.
"I am an unlucky star-crossed man," he told himself. "What do I profit by this recent good fortune when my heart stays broken? The goatherd's words are of no use to me now. Elif is betrothed to Murat. The nine repetitions cannot reverse a vow. It is a predicament alterable only by some chance misfortune, and these matters lie in the hands of Allah."
But had not the old man said Allah lay within us; that The Creator, the universe and our collective subconsciousness were one and the same? Thus, if Orkun willed it, a part of Allah willed it also, while only He, The Magnificent, The Giver of All, could bring it to pass. And had not the old man spoken of strata of existence? If some misfortune were to overcome Murat and his marriage to Elif unable to go ahead, would this only be so in the stratum of Orkun?
He asked himself how much he wanted this. His soul yearned for nothing more. Then he must train his mind to accept this possibility. He must be prepared to take the necessary steps to make it a reality. Nine times each night he pledged to attain that which his heart craved most, and indeed he dreamed most vivid dreams of its eventuality.
It was news of the aga's imminent arrival that provided his opportunity. He and some other young men of the village were wetting their mouths in Hasan's cafe one evening, Murat among them.
"The aga's share is too great," Dark Kemal was saying. "We must stand up to him, sooner or later."
"We can barely feed our families," said another, "while he basks in the luxury of Selim!"
Orkun knew these words to be hollow; youths made lions by the spell of the raki. The same fine speeches were spoken before the aga's every visit. But when he came they would all turn over their share, as always, without question.
As the night progressed the talk grew bolder, and it was Murat himself who cried, "Curse the aga! He will take nothing from my family this time!"
Orkun swallowed his raki and smiled back at him, a serpentine flicker in his eyes that was not lost on his prey. Next morning he visited the bath house and conveyed this news to the washer-man. It was enough. What the washer-man knew the village knew, and the villagers were most apt to believe what they wanted to believe. Before long the news was on everyone's lips. Murat was going to deny the aga.
"What have you done to me?" Murat confronted Orkun. "This thing was said in a moment of anger, under the influence of the raki. Many words are spoken in Hasan's cafe which are not meant to be taken seriously. How would it be if you reported them all throughout the village?"
The latter stepped back, intimidated by the fury in the other's eye. But Murat was not a man of violence, and this perhaps was worse. Orkun would never forget the look he gave him before he turned away.
Some days later Murat was gone. To stay would have been to lose face in front of the entire village, for no man could afford to incur the aga's wrath. The path was thus made clear for Orkun's family to approach the family of Elif. It had been a fair crop that summer. The dowry was no longer a problem.
The offer was accepted. The young man had what he wanted. Elif was his betrothed and all was well. But now he found himself unable to hold her gaze. It seemed to him that she was different, and that perhaps she no longer wanted to marry him. His mind reeled like a drunkard's.
In his dreams he saw the robin, become giant, refusing to die. The stones struck it, disappearing into its plume, yet it merely continued to sing. Cik cik. T-r-r-r-r. Cik cik. T-r-r-r-r. No matter how he tried, Orkun could not kill it.
Then one night he dreamed a gruesome dream of Murat lying dead in the field. He, Orkun, stood above him with his sling, for it was he who had slain him. He awoke in a sweat, as one gripped by fever. What was it the old man had said? Our dreams too were part of an ever-changing universe. Was not Murat's death real, therefore, in another stratum? But in Murat's own stratum of existence he could not be dead. So why this sense of anguish?
Unable to sleep, he wandered outside into the frosty dawn. Was the sun beginning to rise only because he expected it? What did it all mean when everything and nothing was real? Ah, but Orkun knew it was wrong. This was a feeling that came from his bones. It was not Elif who was different, but him. It was not she who no longer wanted to marry, but him. It was not Murat he had slain in his dream, but a vital part of himself. He must now consign himself to the same fate as his rival.
end
Orkun came to the shores of the river and laid his hand cart down. All the long day he had hauled his produce over the difficult terrain. Pale green melons, yellow and striped, dark green and white. Now he squatted above the muddy banks, gazing at the broken bridge, contemplating his fate.
"I am an unlucky star-crossed man," sighed he. "The footbridge has collapsed. And not a boat to be seen."
Among the trees on the hilltop behind him a movement caught his eye. It was a goatherd and his flock, silhouetted by the glow of the setting sun. Those dark shapes wriggled and melted into the land. Orkun discerned the lean figure of the goatherd, with white beard and long staff, like Musa, leading his flock down the slopes to the water.
He rose to his feet and greeted the elder with a reverential bow. "Good evening, Uncle."
"Good evening, Young Pup," returned the other. "Why the long face? Has your boat sunk in the sea?"
Orkun dipped his head again. "I have neither boat nor any means of crossing the river. These melons are ripe and ready for market."
The old man perused the cargo, then raised his eyes to the sad features of the youth before him.
"These are fine melons. You are a young man. Your problem is easily surmounted."
"There is no way, Uncle." Orkun shook his head hopelessly.
"Such despondency from one so young!" The goatherd stroked his beard and studied him more closely.
Orkun slumped onto his haunches again. "With the proceeds from this crop, I hoped to buy a horse. Now I cannot reach the market to sell it. This path has become as all others. Last summer I sought a bride. But the harvest was poor and my family could not raise the dowry. Now she is betrothed to another. Everything conspires against me."
The elder stood beside him and stared at the fertile lands beyond the muddy river. "Courage, Young Kite. Suleyman Pasha traversed the Dardanelles; Fatih Mehmet the Golden Horn. But not without overcoming the greatest of difficulties. Your task is trivial by comparison.''
"I am neither a builder of boats nor a mender of bridges. How am I to cross this river with my cart full of melons?"
''By believing that you can. First you must want to get there. You must want this enough to take the necessary steps to prevail over the obstacles. One cannot simply say 'I want this' and it shall be so. The mind is as a limb. It needs to be trained and exercised. If you truly wanted to build a boat, you would. If you truly wanted to mend that bridge, you would. If you truly wanted to swim the river with the melons tied to your sides, you would.''
Orkun frowned with scepticism. "Belief does not make one a magician, Uncle. Some things are possible and others are not. Or life would be without meaning."
"There is no magic and no great surprise or disappointment in life that does not come within the realms of your expectations. Bad things happen to you because you believe that they will. Your expectations have determined this. The life you speak of is no more than the reality you perceive. But it is not the same as mine. And it is only a very small part of you, who are infinite. We may never grasp the infinite, but we can enlarge the boundaries of our conscious existence by learning to expand our minds."
The young man chuckled wryly. ''And if I believed this cart could fly, with I and the melons upon it, would it also come to pass ?''
"If you truly believed it, it would come to pass, one way or another. However, your mind has been conditioned far beyond the point where you would be prepared to believe in such a thing with absolute conviction. Given time, this too could change. But for now your mind must focus on a simpler task - a more plausible method of crossing this river.''
Orkun thought deeply. The river at this point was some hundred and fifty metres wide. He could barely swim that distance, let alone go back and forth with sacks full of melons. Besides which, how could he transport his cart across? He turned his gaze toward the bridge. The near side was submerged about thirty metres from the shore, and the far side a little further. The distance between was perhaps no more than half the river's span. If he slept the night he could, during the course of the following morning, transfer the melons from this side of the broken bridge to the other. There remained the question of the cart. Nonetheless, his spirits were invigorated; his optimism revived.
Detecting a change in his expression, the old man enquired as to its cause. His lips formed a smile of approval as the youth explained.
Then Orkun came suddenly to his feet. ''As for the cart, I will turn it over and float it across. The whole thing is solved! By this time tomorrow I will be in the market place.''
''So let us make camp together,'' said the goatherd. "I have some meat and cheese, and with one of your fine melons we can prepare a feast that will give you strength for the morrow's labour.''
While they ate, the darkness descended. The two men sat talking in the warmth of the fire, their faces cast in a flickering orange hue. The elder produced half a bottle of grayish-white raki, already mixed with water, and this they shared. They heard the song of the river and the occasional be-e-e-eh of a goat. They smelt the earth and the roasting ashes. The stars were out, the new moon had begun to shine.
"Tomorrow is going to be a clear day," observed the goatherd. "With Allah's will and The Prophet's blessing, you shall cross this river."
"You invoke the will of Allah, Uncle. Do you not believe that it is He who controls our destiny?"
"Allah is within us. He is our collective spirit. Allah, the universe, our collective subconsciousness; this is one and the same, and we have the power to control it. We have always had some inkling of this but cannot fully comprehend it. So we attribute the mysterious workings of the subconscious mind to a greater power."
Orkun stopped chewing. "Are you denying the omnipotence of The Creator?" he gasped.
"My conception of The All-Merciful merely differs from yours. What one man believes is as real for him as what another believes is for him. Our thoughts, dreams and emotions are all part of an ever-changing universe. Only our conscious awareness is confined by the limits of reason."
The elder imparted one last piece of wisdom before they lay down to sleep. "Before you close your eyes this night repeat to yourself nine times aloud: 'I will cross the river.' This thought will accompany you into the land of dreams and strengthen your resolve."
The youth did as he was told, and indeed he dreamed a vivid dream of reaching the far banks of the river. All trace of doubt was removed from his mind when he arose with the dawn's first light.
He reinacted the steps he had taken in his dream, tying the sack about his waist, filling it with melons, and swimming the distance between the collapsed ends of the bridge. It sapped his strength and he was required to rest longer after each crossing. But the task was completed before the sun had reached its zenith.
It remained only to transport the cart to the opposite shore. He took it to the end of the bridge, turned it over, and pushed it into the water. The cart floated out into the middle of the river, where in the grip of the strong current it began to submerge. In a fit of panic Orkun plunged into the depths after it. The cart overturned and resurfaced of its own accord. But the current continued to carry it, and it was too heavy for him to haul back.
The youth cried out in desperation as the torrent swept him away: "Uncle, I am lost! I have not the strength left to make it to shore."
The goatherd shuffled along the water's edge as fast as his withered legs would permit him. "Courage, Young Kite! You cannot perish unless you expect to. Now tell yourself nine times that you will gain the safety of the bank. Nine times aloud and it shall be so."
The youth complied without hesitation and with each repetition his resolution grew. An interminable struggle lay ahead nonetheless. His shoulders ached and spasms shot through the muscles of his back and flanks. But his faith remained unshaken and served to drive him on. The old man waded in and extended his staff to help him ashore.
"Uncle, how did you know I would not perish in the river?" Orkun wheezed as he lay panting in the grass. "It required a superhuman effort to overcome my exhaustion. I was forced to draw upon resources I never knew I had."
The old man squatted down and smiled at the other. "I have said it already; you cannot die unless you fully expect to. In my stratum of consciousness I may have seen you die. But in your stratum you will go on living so long as you believe you will. There are infinite strata of awareness, and even though we repose here face to face, ours may already have forked away in separate directions."
The youth stared up at him in wonder. Was this some manner of jinn whose guidance had saved his life? It seemed a great truth lay behind his words. For he, Orkun, had known without question that he was going to survive, even when his arms had burned and the last gulp of air had escaped from his lungs. The nine repetitions had removed all doubt from his mind. A latent force had awoken within him.
When he had rested a while longer he stood up and stared downriver. "Uncle, look. The cart has floated almost to the other side. With your length of hemp rope it might yet be salvaged."
The elder was delighted at this change in the young man. He who had given up so easily the previous day, was now preparing to rescue his cart so soon after almost drowning in such an attempt.
Orkun took the rope and once more traversed the distance between the two ends of the bridge. He trotted down the far bank to a point from which his cart was bobbing about no more than thirty metres away. Swimming out to the cart, he tied the end of the rope to its axle, the other around his waist, and returned to the shore. His endurance was again nearing its limit, the rope the end of its length, by the time he got there. But he had made it. And now he found himself able to haul the cart, slowly but surely, out of the river.
By dusk the young man had reached his destination and was hawking his wares in the market place. His prophesy of the evening before had been fulfilled.
Back in his village some days later Orkun added these proceeds to his savings and bought the bay mare he had long coveted. With this acquisition he strutted about the village, testing out his new-found sense of power.
"Together we can clear that fence!" he would say, and repeat it to himself nine times aloud. "Together we can catch a brown fox! Together we can outpace Strong Ali on his red Circassian."
All these things came to pass, and others less probable, so that Orkun began to wonder at the extent of his capacity. What were its limits? He grew in stature day by day, and the villagers marvelled at the change in his bearing.
"How Young Orkun has come of age!" they would say. "Such an unassuming lad before the summer. Now he goes with the swagger of a sultan!"
Indeed, he began to conceive of a higher station; muhtar, aga, maybe some day even the pasha. Inshallah! More than once he dreamed a hazy dream of himself as master in the sovereign's harem. But the old man's words served to sober him. These things would not simply become so. He needed to train his mind and take the necessary steps to attain his goals.
In these days of exultant self-discovery there remained one matter which gnawed away at Orkun's spirit: his love was betrothed to another. Each time he saw her seared his heart like fire.
"Elif, who is it you love?" he asked when they met at the well one morning.
She mocked him with her large brown eyes. "Orkun, you know it is not my decision. Mother has accepted the offer of Birgul Hanim, mother of Murat. Now don't be foolish."
He began to brood deeply, venturing into the village less and less, devoting his attention instead to the tending of his family's fields. It had been a fair crop that summer, but too late for him.
When the robin disturbed his sleep one night he was seized by a fit of rage and slew it with his sling.
"I am an unlucky star-crossed man," he told himself. "What do I profit by this recent good fortune when my heart stays broken? The goatherd's words are of no use to me now. Elif is betrothed to Murat. The nine repetitions cannot reverse a vow. It is a predicament alterable only by some chance misfortune, and these matters lie in the hands of Allah."
But had not the old man said Allah lay within us; that The Creator, the universe and our collective subconsciousness were one and the same? Thus, if Orkun willed it, a part of Allah willed it also, while only He, The Magnificent, The Giver of All, could bring it to pass. And had not the old man spoken of strata of existence? If some misfortune were to overcome Murat and his marriage to Elif unable to go ahead, would this only be so in the stratum of Orkun?
He asked himself how much he wanted this. His soul yearned for nothing more. Then he must train his mind to accept this possibility. He must be prepared to take the necessary steps to make it a reality. Nine times each night he pledged to attain that which his heart craved most, and indeed he dreamed most vivid dreams of its eventuality.
It was news of the aga's imminent arrival that provided his opportunity. He and some other young men of the village were wetting their mouths in Hasan's cafe one evening, Murat among them.
"The aga's share is too great," Dark Kemal was saying. "We must stand up to him, sooner or later."
"We can barely feed our families," said another, "while he basks in the luxury of Selim!"
Orkun knew these words to be hollow; youths made lions by the spell of the raki. The same fine speeches were spoken before the aga's every visit. But when he came they would all turn over their share, as always, without question.
As the night progressed the talk grew bolder, and it was Murat himself who cried, "Curse the aga! He will take nothing from my family this time!"
Orkun swallowed his raki and smiled back at him, a serpentine flicker in his eyes that was not lost on his prey. Next morning he visited the bath house and conveyed this news to the washer-man. It was enough. What the washer-man knew the village knew, and the villagers were most apt to believe what they wanted to believe. Before long the news was on everyone's lips. Murat was going to deny the aga.
"What have you done to me?" Murat confronted Orkun. "This thing was said in a moment of anger, under the influence of the raki. Many words are spoken in Hasan's cafe which are not meant to be taken seriously. How would it be if you reported them all throughout the village?"
The latter stepped back, intimidated by the fury in the other's eye. But Murat was not a man of violence, and this perhaps was worse. Orkun would never forget the look he gave him before he turned away.
Some days later Murat was gone. To stay would have been to lose face in front of the entire village, for no man could afford to incur the aga's wrath. The path was thus made clear for Orkun's family to approach the family of Elif. It had been a fair crop that summer. The dowry was no longer a problem.
The offer was accepted. The young man had what he wanted. Elif was his betrothed and all was well. But now he found himself unable to hold her gaze. It seemed to him that she was different, and that perhaps she no longer wanted to marry him. His mind reeled like a drunkard's.
In his dreams he saw the robin, become giant, refusing to die. The stones struck it, disappearing into its plume, yet it merely continued to sing. Cik cik. T-r-r-r-r. Cik cik. T-r-r-r-r. No matter how he tried, Orkun could not kill it.
Then one night he dreamed a gruesome dream of Murat lying dead in the field. He, Orkun, stood above him with his sling, for it was he who had slain him. He awoke in a sweat, as one gripped by fever. What was it the old man had said? Our dreams too were part of an ever-changing universe. Was not Murat's death real, therefore, in another stratum? But in Murat's own stratum of existence he could not be dead. So why this sense of anguish?
Unable to sleep, he wandered outside into the frosty dawn. Was the sun beginning to rise only because he expected it? What did it all mean when everything and nothing was real? Ah, but Orkun knew it was wrong. This was a feeling that came from his bones. It was not Elif who was different, but him. It was not she who no longer wanted to marry, but him. It was not Murat he had slain in his dream, but a vital part of himself. He must now consign himself to the same fate as his rival.
end
posted by Quentin Poulsen at 12:12 PM
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