winced.
She made her way into the kitchen, where she scooped grounds into the cone filter of the coffeemaker, added water, and stood watching as it made its waking noises. The machine was in the corner of the kitchen, near the sink, and Yvonne could smell a strong odor. Garbage? She looked—almost nothing in the trash can. She checked the sink itself. A piece of sausage that had come off her pizza when she’d rinsed her plate, but that was all.
She removed a coffee mug from the cabinet, saw that it said TURKEY IS FOR LOVERS , put it back, and took out a smaller mug that was bare save for a turquoise rim. She walked to the dining room table, all the while feeling as if someone was watching her. She turned and something caught her eye. Inthe top corner of the kitchen, above the coffeemaker, there was something brown, feathered, oval. An owl.
Yvonne almost gagged. The smell—that meaty, musty odor—must have come from the bird. Was it dead? No, it was asleep. A brown owl, its feathers pulled around its torso like a cloak. She could call Mr. Çelik but she felt funny about him now, knowing what she knew. If she opened the window would the owl leave? Should she chase him out with a broom? How did it get in? She recalled opening the sliding door of the room on the top floor the night before.
She rose slowly, all the while keeping her eye on the owl, which appeared to be sleeping. She walked backward to the staircase and then quickly went upstairs, where she changed into her yellow swimsuit, pulled a sundress over her head, and gathered what she would need for the day. She would leave the house to the owl and hope it would depart on its own. When she returned cautiously downstairs, the owl was still small, sleeping. She left the front door propped open, enough so the owl could see the sky and find its way out, and locked the gate at the base of the stairs.
She had almost forgotten about the car, about the tar and the Power Creme. From the gate the car looked good, back to normal. But as she approached the Renault, she saw that in patches, the paint had been ruined. Here and there, the car now had the pale yellow and thin texture of a daisy petal held up to the light.
She thought of the cost. She didn’t have the vaguest idea of how much it would be to repair the damage. Maybe, shedecided, she could return the car in the evening, when its flaws were less likely to show.
She carefully draped the beach towel over the hot driver’s seat and drove into town. She parked near a small corner store, where she bought two large wreaths of bread from behind an outdoor display counter, a carton of orange juice, and the largest bottle of water she could find.
She drove with the bottle of water sweating between her thighs and with both hands on the wheel as she navigated the road to Knidos, which seemed both longer and curvier today. She noticed every bump beneath her. The hills looked as though they had been scorched since the day before.
When she came to Yakaköy she spotted a hotel on her right, a colorful chateau on a hill, with sun umbrellas that promised a pool. She was tempted to check in there for the rest of the week. She could leave behind the owl and the sex swing, the book about anal sex, the twin bed. But then there was Özlem. And the deposit. She couldn’t abandon it. It was unlike her to entertain such a frivolous thought.
As she passed through the town she watched the old women sitting along the road, in front of their small wooden tables, hammering and pounding the nuts. Yvonne recalled her promise to buy something from a different vendor each day, but she had already forgotten what yesterday’s woman looked like.
She slowed the car and bought a bag of almonds from a woman she couldn’t be sure wasn’t the same one she had bought from before, and, as though to compensate for herown confusion, for the possibility of breaking her own oath to herself, she stopped the car a few hundred feet down the road and
She made her way into the kitchen, where she scooped grounds into the cone filter of the coffeemaker, added water, and stood watching as it made its waking noises. The machine was in the corner of the kitchen, near the sink, and Yvonne could smell a strong odor. Garbage? She looked—almost nothing in the trash can. She checked the sink itself. A piece of sausage that had come off her pizza when she’d rinsed her plate, but that was all.
She removed a coffee mug from the cabinet, saw that it said TURKEY IS FOR LOVERS , put it back, and took out a smaller mug that was bare save for a turquoise rim. She walked to the dining room table, all the while feeling as if someone was watching her. She turned and something caught her eye. Inthe top corner of the kitchen, above the coffeemaker, there was something brown, feathered, oval. An owl.
Yvonne almost gagged. The smell—that meaty, musty odor—must have come from the bird. Was it dead? No, it was asleep. A brown owl, its feathers pulled around its torso like a cloak. She could call Mr. Çelik but she felt funny about him now, knowing what she knew. If she opened the window would the owl leave? Should she chase him out with a broom? How did it get in? She recalled opening the sliding door of the room on the top floor the night before.
She rose slowly, all the while keeping her eye on the owl, which appeared to be sleeping. She walked backward to the staircase and then quickly went upstairs, where she changed into her yellow swimsuit, pulled a sundress over her head, and gathered what she would need for the day. She would leave the house to the owl and hope it would depart on its own. When she returned cautiously downstairs, the owl was still small, sleeping. She left the front door propped open, enough so the owl could see the sky and find its way out, and locked the gate at the base of the stairs.
She had almost forgotten about the car, about the tar and the Power Creme. From the gate the car looked good, back to normal. But as she approached the Renault, she saw that in patches, the paint had been ruined. Here and there, the car now had the pale yellow and thin texture of a daisy petal held up to the light.
She thought of the cost. She didn’t have the vaguest idea of how much it would be to repair the damage. Maybe, shedecided, she could return the car in the evening, when its flaws were less likely to show.
She carefully draped the beach towel over the hot driver’s seat and drove into town. She parked near a small corner store, where she bought two large wreaths of bread from behind an outdoor display counter, a carton of orange juice, and the largest bottle of water she could find.
She drove with the bottle of water sweating between her thighs and with both hands on the wheel as she navigated the road to Knidos, which seemed both longer and curvier today. She noticed every bump beneath her. The hills looked as though they had been scorched since the day before.
When she came to Yakaköy she spotted a hotel on her right, a colorful chateau on a hill, with sun umbrellas that promised a pool. She was tempted to check in there for the rest of the week. She could leave behind the owl and the sex swing, the book about anal sex, the twin bed. But then there was Özlem. And the deposit. She couldn’t abandon it. It was unlike her to entertain such a frivolous thought.
As she passed through the town she watched the old women sitting along the road, in front of their small wooden tables, hammering and pounding the nuts. Yvonne recalled her promise to buy something from a different vendor each day, but she had already forgotten what yesterday’s woman looked like.
She slowed the car and bought a bag of almonds from a woman she couldn’t be sure wasn’t the same one she had bought from before, and, as though to compensate for herown confusion, for the possibility of breaking her own oath to herself, she stopped the car a few hundred feet down the road and
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