Baksheesh by Esmahan Aykol Page B

about the scam of scratching cars and breaking off side mirrors to force people into using car parks.

    â€œWhat do you do apart from running car parks?”
    â€œAll kinds of things,” he repeated, clearly not wanting to elaborate further.
    â€œDid Osman have a café?” I asked.
    He looked at the floor and replied, “It was after the café that he went into the car park business. The first car park he bought was in Tarlabaşı and things gradually grew from there.”
    â€œAnd what’s your job?”
    â€œI go round the car parks. It’s hard work getting people to do their job. You have to watch them twenty-four hours a day, otherwise things get out of hand. Musa looks after the one in Kuledibi, and I take care of the others. I’m on the go day and night.”
    â€œWho was the first person to find Osman?”
    â€œMiss, you sound like the police with all your questions,” he said, taking some black worry beads out of his jacket pocket and fiddling with them nervously.
    â€œI’ll go and make some coffee,” said Ä°nci.
    â€œDon’t bother,” Özcan said, rising from his chair when Ä°nci got up. “We’re just talking, there’s no need for coffee.” He sat down again as Ä°nci went into the kitchen.
    â€œSee, she’s left carrying my brother’s child in her belly,” he said, and he put out his tongue to make a noise, as if spitting into the middle of the room. “Bastard! Excuse me miss, but it makes me mad just thinking about it. I can’t help it. I grew up without a father. Osman was like a father for me. Now, God willing, I’ll be the same for his child. My brother’s woman won’t want for anything.”
    I stroked the end of my nose with a finger, thinking that Özcan’s fantasies might not fit in with Ä°nci’s plans.
    â€œWhere does your family come from, Özcan?”
    â€œWe’re Vanlı , miss.”
    â€œLake Van,” I murmured to myself. The only thing I knew about Van was that Turkey’s largest lake was there. “Are you Kurdish?”

    â€œYes, miss, we’re Kurds.”
    â€œDo you speak Kurdish?”
    â€œNo, miss. I was born and brought up in Istanbul. I understand when I hear it, but I can’t speak it properly. My brother Osman could. My mother picked up Turkish from watching TV and I swear her Turkish is as good as mine. She’s a clever woman. I always say if she’d been educated, she could have been Prime Minister. She’d have done a better job than the present lot.”
    â€œYou know they’re allowing Kurdish courses to start up now, don’t you?” I said. That summer, parliament had passed a reform package to comply with EU Legal Harmonization, which meant it was now legal to run Kurdish language courses.
    â€œYes, I heard that. But I want to learn English, miss. Knowing English would really open up the world for me.”
    â€œWhat would you do if the world opened up?” Was that an odd question, I wondered?
    â€œEver yone needs English, miss. If you go on the Internet, it’s all in English. These days, you’re only half a man if you don’t know English. Kurdish is our mother tongue and I’m all for it… But it’s like Turkish. Useless, the moment you leave Turkey.”
    â€œDo you want to live abroad?”
    â€œNo, miss. I’m happy here. What would I do abroad? Of course, it would be different if I was going off travelling. We have lots of folk in Germany – two of my uncles are there. They keep telling me to go out, but I won’t go to Germany. Why go somewhere full of Kurds and Turks? We have them here in Istanbul, don’t we, miss? Germans too,” he said, pointing at me. “Why should I go to Germany?”
    â€œI agree with you. So where would you like to go?”
    â€œI want to go to America. To see what it’s like. They rule the