cashmere scarves,” interjected Auntie Cevriye, the most maudlin of all.
Auntie Banu swallowed uneasily, uncomfortable in her clothes, uncomfortable in her body.
“Dervishes used to sleep on hay, not on queen-size feather mattresses, ” Auntie Feride joined in, the most moonstruck of all.
Auntie Banu stood silent, gazing across the room to avoid eye contact with her interrogators. What could she do, her back pain went through the roof if she didn’t sleep on a special bed.
“Besides, the dervishes had no nefs . Look at you!” It was Auntie Zeliha, the most offbeat of all.
Eager to defend herself, Auntie Banu launched a counterattack. “Neither do I. Not any longer. Those days are over.” Then she added in her new mystical voice, “I will go into battle with my nefs and I shall prevail!!!”
In the Kazancı family whenever someone had the nerve to do something unusual, the others always reacted in the same way, following the old course of action, which could be summarized as: “Go ahead. See if we care.” Accordingly, no one took Auntie Banu seriously. Upon noticing the general skepticism, she headed to her room and slammed the door, never to open it again for the next forty days except for quick visits to the kitchen and toilet. Other than that the only time she left the door ajar was to attach a cardboard sign that said: ALL SELF ABANDON YE WHO ENTER HERE!
Initially, Banu attempted to take with her Pasha the Third, who at the time was going through his last days on earth. She must have thought he could keep her company in her lonesome penitence, not that the dervishes kept pets. But no matter how antisocial he could be at times, the life of a hermit was too much for Pasha the Third, he having too many stakes in worldly vanities, starting with feta cheese and electrical cords. After no more than an hour inside Auntie Banu’s cell, Pasha the Third launched a series of high-pitched meows and scratched the door so forcefully he was immediately let out. After losing her only company, Auntie Banu sunk into her lonesomeness and stopped talking, mute and deaf to everyone. She also stopped taking showers, combing her hair, and even watching her favorite soap opera, The Malediction of the Ivy of Infatuation —a Brazilian drama in which a kindhearted supermodel suffered all sorts of betrayals by those she loved most.
But the true shock came when Auntie Banu, always a woman of immense appetite, stopped eating anything but bread and water. She had been notoriously fond of carbohydrates, especially bread, but no one ever thought that she could survive on bread. To tempt her into indulgence, her three sisters did their best, cooking many dishes, filling the house with the scents of sweet desserts, deep-fried fish, and roasted meat, often heavily buttered to enhance the smell.
Auntie Banu did not waver. If anything, she more resolutely clung to her devotion, as well as to her dry bread. For forty days and nights she remained unreachable under the same roof. Washing the dishes, doing the laundry, watching TV, gossiping with neighbors—everyday life routines became profanities she wanted to have nothing to do with. During the days that followed, every time the sisters checked to see how she was doing, they found her reciting the Holy Qur’an. So intense was her blissful abyss, she became alien to those who had known her all her life. Then on the morning of day forty-one, while everyone else was eating grilled sucuk and fried eggs at the breakfast table, Banu shuffled out of her room, beaming a radiant smile, with an uncanny sparkle in her eyes and a cherry red scarf on her head.
“What’s that sorry thing on your head?” was the first reaction of Grandma Gülsüm, who having not softened a wee bit after all these years still maintained her Ivan the Terrible resemblance.
“From this moment on I am going to cover my head as my faith requires.”
“What kind of nonsense is that?” Grandma Gülsüm frowned.
Auntie Banu swallowed uneasily, uncomfortable in her clothes, uncomfortable in her body.
“Dervishes used to sleep on hay, not on queen-size feather mattresses, ” Auntie Feride joined in, the most moonstruck of all.
Auntie Banu stood silent, gazing across the room to avoid eye contact with her interrogators. What could she do, her back pain went through the roof if she didn’t sleep on a special bed.
“Besides, the dervishes had no nefs . Look at you!” It was Auntie Zeliha, the most offbeat of all.
Eager to defend herself, Auntie Banu launched a counterattack. “Neither do I. Not any longer. Those days are over.” Then she added in her new mystical voice, “I will go into battle with my nefs and I shall prevail!!!”
In the Kazancı family whenever someone had the nerve to do something unusual, the others always reacted in the same way, following the old course of action, which could be summarized as: “Go ahead. See if we care.” Accordingly, no one took Auntie Banu seriously. Upon noticing the general skepticism, she headed to her room and slammed the door, never to open it again for the next forty days except for quick visits to the kitchen and toilet. Other than that the only time she left the door ajar was to attach a cardboard sign that said: ALL SELF ABANDON YE WHO ENTER HERE!
Initially, Banu attempted to take with her Pasha the Third, who at the time was going through his last days on earth. She must have thought he could keep her company in her lonesome penitence, not that the dervishes kept pets. But no matter how antisocial he could be at times, the life of a hermit was too much for Pasha the Third, he having too many stakes in worldly vanities, starting with feta cheese and electrical cords. After no more than an hour inside Auntie Banu’s cell, Pasha the Third launched a series of high-pitched meows and scratched the door so forcefully he was immediately let out. After losing her only company, Auntie Banu sunk into her lonesomeness and stopped talking, mute and deaf to everyone. She also stopped taking showers, combing her hair, and even watching her favorite soap opera, The Malediction of the Ivy of Infatuation —a Brazilian drama in which a kindhearted supermodel suffered all sorts of betrayals by those she loved most.
But the true shock came when Auntie Banu, always a woman of immense appetite, stopped eating anything but bread and water. She had been notoriously fond of carbohydrates, especially bread, but no one ever thought that she could survive on bread. To tempt her into indulgence, her three sisters did their best, cooking many dishes, filling the house with the scents of sweet desserts, deep-fried fish, and roasted meat, often heavily buttered to enhance the smell.
Auntie Banu did not waver. If anything, she more resolutely clung to her devotion, as well as to her dry bread. For forty days and nights she remained unreachable under the same roof. Washing the dishes, doing the laundry, watching TV, gossiping with neighbors—everyday life routines became profanities she wanted to have nothing to do with. During the days that followed, every time the sisters checked to see how she was doing, they found her reciting the Holy Qur’an. So intense was her blissful abyss, she became alien to those who had known her all her life. Then on the morning of day forty-one, while everyone else was eating grilled sucuk and fried eggs at the breakfast table, Banu shuffled out of her room, beaming a radiant smile, with an uncanny sparkle in her eyes and a cherry red scarf on her head.
“What’s that sorry thing on your head?” was the first reaction of Grandma Gülsüm, who having not softened a wee bit after all these years still maintained her Ivan the Terrible resemblance.
“From this moment on I am going to cover my head as my faith requires.”
“What kind of nonsense is that?” Grandma Gülsüm frowned.
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