button at the shoulder clashed with the simplicity of the design, giving the impression that it had just then been wrapped hastily around her body in as best a fashion as circumstances allowed.
“Oh, Mümtaz, you’re happily met, how fortunate to run into you.”
“Where have you been, for heaven’s sake? You’ve been out of sight and out of touch.”
Both were pleased by this chance encounter.
“Have I got some news for you,” said Muazzez.
Nuran’s cousin İclâl wanted to change the subject, but no pressure could prevent Muazzez from confessing everything she knew to Mümtaz.
Muazzez, however, didn’t know where to begin. Mümtaz still found the sweet thing likable despite her inability to keep anything to herself; she’d be injecting venom of this sort for the first time in her short life, both describing what she knew and also taking years of revenge on him. She wanted to savor the moment, but there was yet a third matter; she had to convey the news such that Mümtaz, despite all of his buffoonery – Allah, how dense he was, how had she fallen for such an idiot? – understood that she still cherished him and was immediately available to console him. But no ideas, nothing came to her mind. All she could do was stare at Mümtaz and grin, revealing the tips of her incisors.
“Go on and say it already, what’s happened?” Mümtaz laughed as he asked.
She actually had an attractive aspect. She was curt, spoiled, selfish, and senseless, yet beautiful. As sweet and appealing as a piece of fruit. He needed no convincing to like her, desire her, or love her. All it would take was to draw her face toward him from the ever-changing, ever-wavy framework of sandy brown hair and to extinguish the glint of her teeth by kissing her and biting her lips. A bright and delicious moment deep as a well. To expect anything else, to seek a further horizon was meaningless. Muazzez began and ended with herself. To the degree that one could forgo the possibilities that she openly and impulsively conjured, and continue on one’s way. At least, that’s how it is for me ...
She would soon strike. She would tell him that Nuran was to be married.
İclâl could stand it no longer; the charade had gone on too long; evidently the young lady didn’t want a matter having to do with her relative and their family to be exposed in this way. Nuran had reconciled with her ex-husband; what need was there for hesitation and evocative glances due to such a commonplace, everyday occurrence? As if surrendering herself to a void, she explained: “Maybe you’ve already gotten word, sweetheart. It isn’t breaking news or anything that Fâhir and Nuran have made up. They’re traveling to İzmir tomorrow. The marriage ceremony will take place there.” She stopped as if to gaze at the route she’d just taken and blushed immediately.
Was there any need to speak to Mümtaz in such a clipped way? What else could she have done to defend Nuran against Muazzez? She softened her voice and added: “If you could only see how happy Fatma is ... She’s running around wildly shouting, ‘Papa’s coming back! Papa’s coming and he won’t be going away again!’”
No vengeance remained to be had. She took a deep breath as if she’d been relieved of a huge burden. She waited for Mümtaz to respond so that she could relax fully.
With difficulty, Mümtaz said, “May God bless them.” How had he groped for these four words and strung them together? How had he uttered the syllables from his dry throat? He didn’t know. But he was heartened by the fact that his voice wasn’t too hoarse. When he saw İclâl looking at him as if to say, “Say more, something more ... Save me from this snake,” he commented that Fatma had a great love for her father. Then he passed on to another topic. He was gradually gaining momentum. If he exerted a little more effort, he’d be able to act naturally. As he spoke, İclâl’s usual smile came to her lips. Her
“Oh, Mümtaz, you’re happily met, how fortunate to run into you.”
“Where have you been, for heaven’s sake? You’ve been out of sight and out of touch.”
Both were pleased by this chance encounter.
“Have I got some news for you,” said Muazzez.
Nuran’s cousin İclâl wanted to change the subject, but no pressure could prevent Muazzez from confessing everything she knew to Mümtaz.
Muazzez, however, didn’t know where to begin. Mümtaz still found the sweet thing likable despite her inability to keep anything to herself; she’d be injecting venom of this sort for the first time in her short life, both describing what she knew and also taking years of revenge on him. She wanted to savor the moment, but there was yet a third matter; she had to convey the news such that Mümtaz, despite all of his buffoonery – Allah, how dense he was, how had she fallen for such an idiot? – understood that she still cherished him and was immediately available to console him. But no ideas, nothing came to her mind. All she could do was stare at Mümtaz and grin, revealing the tips of her incisors.
“Go on and say it already, what’s happened?” Mümtaz laughed as he asked.
She actually had an attractive aspect. She was curt, spoiled, selfish, and senseless, yet beautiful. As sweet and appealing as a piece of fruit. He needed no convincing to like her, desire her, or love her. All it would take was to draw her face toward him from the ever-changing, ever-wavy framework of sandy brown hair and to extinguish the glint of her teeth by kissing her and biting her lips. A bright and delicious moment deep as a well. To expect anything else, to seek a further horizon was meaningless. Muazzez began and ended with herself. To the degree that one could forgo the possibilities that she openly and impulsively conjured, and continue on one’s way. At least, that’s how it is for me ...
She would soon strike. She would tell him that Nuran was to be married.
İclâl could stand it no longer; the charade had gone on too long; evidently the young lady didn’t want a matter having to do with her relative and their family to be exposed in this way. Nuran had reconciled with her ex-husband; what need was there for hesitation and evocative glances due to such a commonplace, everyday occurrence? As if surrendering herself to a void, she explained: “Maybe you’ve already gotten word, sweetheart. It isn’t breaking news or anything that Fâhir and Nuran have made up. They’re traveling to İzmir tomorrow. The marriage ceremony will take place there.” She stopped as if to gaze at the route she’d just taken and blushed immediately.
Was there any need to speak to Mümtaz in such a clipped way? What else could she have done to defend Nuran against Muazzez? She softened her voice and added: “If you could only see how happy Fatma is ... She’s running around wildly shouting, ‘Papa’s coming back! Papa’s coming and he won’t be going away again!’”
No vengeance remained to be had. She took a deep breath as if she’d been relieved of a huge burden. She waited for Mümtaz to respond so that she could relax fully.
With difficulty, Mümtaz said, “May God bless them.” How had he groped for these four words and strung them together? How had he uttered the syllables from his dry throat? He didn’t know. But he was heartened by the fact that his voice wasn’t too hoarse. When he saw İclâl looking at him as if to say, “Say more, something more ... Save me from this snake,” he commented that Fatma had a great love for her father. Then he passed on to another topic. He was gradually gaining momentum. If he exerted a little more effort, he’d be able to act naturally. As he spoke, İclâl’s usual smile came to her lips. Her
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