When it was becoming evening, everybody’s father
was establishing the evening with his children, my father was being often far
away. Sometimes, we could not know even where he had gone to; we were waiting
for a phone call, news from him. When the time period became long, my big
brother was going out to look for my father. He was finding him and getting
back to home, we could not query where had been, why he had not come, why he
had not sent any news; and he was fitting into the daily life of the home as if
he has gone yesterday and he has turned back today.
As soon as he came, he was cleaning around the
house; he was collecting the all faggots with harrow, he was burning the all
things which were not seen pretty. We were getting our acts together, he didn’t
want us to take bread in our hand and eat when we came home from the school
eventide, and he was telling us that we had to wait for the dinner. Also we
could not turn back home late; we had to break off our games, my father meant
discipline a bit.
Demre was tight for my father’s soul, but of course
it was impossible for us to understand this in childhood. As being a child, we
didn’t want him stay at home in the evening, we didn’t want to hear his speech
arising from his being a contrarian and rebel human. At the countryside, that
kind of behaviors are not welcomed, these were providing possibility to be
punished by everyone including the immediate family, to be taken of the things
what you had.
A rumor has remained on my mind from my childhood. Has
it really been said or has it been created by my imagination, sometimes it
comes to my mind. It was a rumor like my father would plough with cats, who
knows, how much it had affected my child heart.
There are some occupations which continue from
father to son. My father had wanted to get education, he had made effort for
this as well, but my grandfather had prevented him, as my father had told. When
the situation had been so, my father had taken over the farming and the trade
occupations from his father like his father had done. My father was sending
vegetables and fruits from Demre to Istanbul.
The tomato which he had bought at daytime is
weighed on the bascule, and the payment was being done to the producers
according to it. Peppers, eggplants were being arranged carefully by the
workers on the plush papers located in the wooden boxes till the evening, there
was a big care, and it was called as “tomato process” at those days. At late
afternoon the trucks were approaching to the houses, this time, the boxes which
had been processed with care, which of top is wrapped by the bobbing thread,
were being arranged into the trucks. As I remember, consignment notes were
being submitted, how many boxes had been sent was calculated and at night the
trucks were departing towards Istanbul. Somehow, I remember mostly that he was
working with Istanbul.
In those years, there was Lady Nermin who was
controlling the insurance of the performed works. Sometimes Lady Nermin was
staying at our home. I remember how carefully my mother was treating to her.
Then my father was going to Istanbul to take the
money of the apples he had sent. My Uncle Mehmet Caliskan was living in
Istanbul in those years, as my father said, my uncle could take the money from
the place which my father was working with, and there was no problem.
In the later years, in Avsar, my father made apples
planted in my mother’s fields, he had grown two big apple gardens. This time,
in 80’s, he made apple farming in Avsa. The apple was not bought per kilogram
generally, the trader was visiting an apple garden, and he was evaluating the
product and was buying wholesale the apples of the garden. My father had
generally lost money because of buying wholesale the apple gardens when the
winter came; mostly our labor had been wasted. Now, there are neither those
apple gardens nor our highland relations. My father loved the highland; he was
addicted to Akcay and Gombe more than Avsar. My father loved Akcay because in
those years Akcay was a more tolerant place. It was a place in which my father
was comfortable with its cinema, cafes, and human relations. Maybe he wanted to
be close to his aunt, Emine Aunt. He loved her, maybe more than my grand
mother.
I remember, when my father went to the gardens, he
turned back with a little piece of mud in his hand. This mud was never absent
in his hand. As he told, he was making camels from mud; probably he had ability
to sculpture. Is it possible not to be inclined to sculpture when a person is
living in Lycia. His father had beaten him because of making camel sculptures
from mud; he hadn’t wanted him to do. My father was feeling regret not to be
able to labor with mud. In fact, sculpturing would fit to his beautiful
fingers.
Another memory of my father which was burning him
out was one of his childhood memories which he had lived with his aunt. My
grand father Haci Ahmet was living in Yavu Village, in a two-layered frame
house. The upside was the house and the downside was the grocery store. In
those the sole grocery store was belonging to my grand father. Of course, the
poorness was knee-deep, there is not money at the humans. My father had been
giving Turkish delight between biscuits to the poor people without taking
money; my aunt who was watching my father from a hole upside had been witness
to my father had been giving without money and she had complained my father to
my grand mother. My grand father had beaten him very hard, he had hurt him.
When my father had seen poorness at any place, he was never thinking himself
and was giving everything he had in his hands to that poor human.
He was inclined to lose the heritage he had taken
because of the thought that he had not deserved – he was thinking that my grand
father had obtained his earnings without deserving-. He was saying that he
won’t live even a hand span land to his children, and he did so.
My father is always reminding me a Dostoyevski
novel character with his passions and frailties. The cigarette and gamble were
his biggest passions; therefore, when somebody says bad words about a gambler,
I become unable to stand. I think that there is forbidden creativity at the
base that kind of passions and frailties. If my father was able to live his
life as he wanted instead of living the life which my grand father had
predicted for him, who knows, what kind of hidden talents could come to light?
Imren
Tuzun
Antalya,
10 May 2015
Translated
by Serkan Engin
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