Divorce Turkish Style by Esmahan Aykol Page B

room with fresh air and sunshine.
    Everything will sort itself out, I thought. My left eye was aching as if it had been punched. A migraine.

5
    â€œWhere’s Fofo disappeared to this time?” I asked Pelin as I entered the shop.
    It was almost five o’clock. After Naz had left to go to the forensic pathologist, I’d watched a bit of daytime television until I could bear it no longer and then sought refuge in a novel I’d left half-read for days.
    â€œHe was meeting a friend and going out for dinner. He said he’d see you at home tonight,” said Pelin.
    â€œBut we were going to a gig this evening,” I said.
    â€œWho’s playing?”
    â€œA group called Sniff. Have you heard of them?”
    â€œYes, they’re good. Where’s the gig?”
    â€œAt Kara Bar.”
    â€œThat’s an awful place. If Sniff are playing there, it’ll be horribly crowded. Unbearable, in fact.”
    Unbearable or not, I was going. I called Fofo and arranged to meet him later.
    â€œI’m exhausted. While you’re running around all over the place, I get landed with all the work,” complained Pelin.
    â€œIn that case, why don’t you go home now?”
    â€œThe thing is, it’s Friday and I’m meeting friends in Beyoğlu this evening, so what would I do if I left now? It takes two hours to go home and get back,” said Pelin, obviously hoping I’d suggest she went to my apartment.
    â€œWhy don’t you go to my place? You can relax there for a bit before going out this evening,” I said.
    â€œYou’re a star!” said Pelin, springing to her feet, snatching up my keys and disappearing.
    I began going over the weekly accounts, but couldn’t concentrate at all. I kept glancing at the door and at people in the street. Waiting around for Batuhan wasn’t easy. Deciding to leave the accounts for another day, I started looking at the online press, but it was the same old boring news about who’d said what to whom. Then, unexpectedly, I had three customers and, without any effort on my part, sold five books within thirty seconds.
    I went back to my desk and started drawing spirals, obsessively making sure they were all exactly the same size. When I ran out of space, I took another piece of paper and started drawing daisies with Pelin’s pink mother-of-pearl biro, but that wasn’t as much fun as spirals. An elderly shoeshine man who occupies the doorway of a derelict apartment building overlooking the square knocked on the window to say goodnight as he passed the shop at the end of his shift. I found myself looking at the clock every seven minutes or so. The new tea boy, Muslum, looked in, obviously having had a scolding from his father, and asked, “Miss Kati, do you want anything before I close up?”
    â€œNo thanks, Muslum. Say hello to your dad,” I said.
    I started a game of patience on the computer but, not having the patience to play it, I soon stopped. At one point, Dursun, one of my most valued customers, popped in. Dursun used to sell pirate DVDs from a tiny shop in Galip Dede Street, but he was hounded by the police and set himself up in the basement of the chandelier shop opposite the synagogue. After his goods were confiscated there, he started selling DVDs from the doorwayof an apartment building in Çeşmeli Passage. He copied all his films on to disk, so I just had to email him if I wanted anything and it was delivered to me the next day.
    â€œThings aren’t going well, Miss Kati. The police never leave me alone. Bastards! They just won’t give me a break,” said Dursun, adding that the previous week they’d seized over two hundred films and taken him into custody for a night.
    â€œI need large orders if I’m to keep up a home delivery service,” he continued. “It’s no good having the odd DVD order here and there. If things don’t get any better, I’m