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  Finally father hung up and, fixing his customary unseeing gaze on my face, asked: “What is it?”

  “The shed,” I said.

  “What about the shed?”

  “I made a list. Take a look …”

  He picked up the paper I placed in front of him and read only the first item before he asked:

  “What is this?”

  I had to stay calm. If he saw my eagerness, he would figure it all out. He always did. He figured out even the nonexistent. He was like a primitive animal with the ability to sense an impending earthquake. Right behind those dead blue eyes was a radar tuned to my inner world. My father was a weapon created for the sole purpose of ruining me. A technological wonder! An unmanned aircraft of sorts! Or whatever, just anything without a person inside. Yet still I was prepared! I myself had a few tricks up my sleeve …

  “You know how you mentioned that there’ll be more people coming in this year and we should enlarge the reservoir? I think that instead we might install all this. Now, the real issue isn’t the numbers. Because some way or another, they can squeeze in. That’s not the problem. Plus until now the most we got was, what, a hundred people at the same time. And the reservoir handles that, easy. The actual problem is: when the numbers go up, it’s out of the question to do daily errands. Especially when there’s a baby or an old person or whatever, I can’t get anything else done. And you know how they sometimes get into fights with one another …”

  I was doing perfectly well up until this point. In fact, just a few months ago, I had been two strides away when a Lebanese man attempted to suffocate another Lebanese man with a plastic bag over his head. It was later revealed that they had both come from Beirut. One was a Shiite and the other Sunni. Sunnis had blown up the marketplace in the neighborhood of the Shiite, while Shiites had blown up the mosque on the Sunni’s street. Two madmen at least as unfit to be near each other as an Ulster Volunteer Force militant and an IRA militant, and somehow they’d escaped notice and were put in the same group. Of course we’d only been able to find all this out through Aruz’s translation over the phone. It was decided after impromptu tele-trial that both were to have their hands tied until they reached their final destination. They were more than welcome to strangle each other once they got to wherever it was they were going. Besides, even if they didn’t, their children would keep on strangling one another. Sectarian wars were like fashion trends. They repeated themselves every twenty years. In the Middle East, at least.

  Since people in the West had long known to dress for their shape, they only spilled blood for the sake of the acidic colors of things like fossil fuels. But since it was especially difficult to get bloodstains out of the carpets of the European Parliament and the White House, they didn’t let the fighting inside their homes. Still, they were also only human, and like all humans were itching to war with their peers. And so they whispered to each other, “Meet me outside after class!” and as soon as they set foot outside the Western civilization, saw no harm in grappling inside other people’s houses.

  Though of course it was different with Israel who, believing itself to be the Greenwich of politics, wanted not only clocks but even the seasons to be tuned to its liking and expected everyone to wear the clothes suited to the ensuing climates. For Israel was a neurotic, black-robed desert ninja that emerged from its own mist and flung Stars of David this way and that.

  And finally there was Turkey, a bulimic, depressed girl that saw herself as fat in her mirror to the East and emaciated in her mirror to the West. For two decades she ate without pausing for breath, got fat, and, stricken with guilt, made herself vomit for another two decades until her throat bled so she could start eating again.

  I was aware that generalizations were a pathological inclination, but then a people generalized itself the day it founded its state. We were living in too organized a world to avoid generalizations. It was too late! We preferred to be bought and sold in bulk. If you liked a handful of the fabric, you had to buy the whole thing. Just like in the textile industry. Or, to be more accurate, the spiderweb industry … As it came to show, everything had to do with fabrics. From the blindfold of Justitia, goddess of justice, to the flag, everything was a matter of fabrics. The few native Amazonians who had managed to stay naked owed the tranquility in their expressions to their lack of fabrics. The lack of tranquility in mine as I spoke to my father, on the other hand, I owed to being cut from the same fabric as him …

  “But if we had a camera … I could just put the monitor in the shed and keep track of things there. If something were to come up, I could go take care of it or, I don’t know, come tell you. Of course when you have the camera, you’d also need a light. Three fluorescent lights would be enough. See, I wrote down all the prices. Also I was thinking we can maybe put in a little partition. You know, instead of that curtain we make them put up. Plaster would do the trick. They get into a lot of fights over the toilet too. Some guy was staring at this one, staring at that one, that sort of stuff … I took the measurements and looked into the costs of that as well. Matter of fact I say we make a partition for the toilet, then this other partition. Say we put a ring on the wall of that one. You know how sometimes one of them freaks out, we stick him in there and chain him to the wall … We don’t need to hire anyone, either. I can take care of it all. And a fan. Because it stinks to high heaven in there. Which wouldn’t be a problem, but then someone passes out and you have to deal with that, it’s a waste of time! I think the less we have to do with the drugstore, the better. Look, here’s the cost for the fan. You can get floor fans. Three is enough. The trick is to avoid getting them sick … If I could just figure out a solution to the toilet issue too! I mean some sort of sewage link … but that’s too much work. No matter, we can keep doing that the old way … Now look, we’d need just about this much money to enlarge the reservoir. But see, all this adds up to just this. I say we don’t need to stick out our necks that much at all. It’d be enough to get these … What do you say?”

  He wasn’t saying anything. Yes, I had prepared well for my presentation, but there was never any knowing what Ahad would do. He was even apt to say, “Is this what you’ve been wasting time on when you could’ve been studying!” and land one right in my face, even though he didn’t care a bit about my school situation. But for the moment, he was content to just stare at me. It was as if he were seeing my face for the first time in his life. Maybe he was. He was seeing me for the first time. He stared … stared … and spoke:

  “Well done, kid!”

  I expelled my breath in part from each nostril so he couldn’t tell how much I’d been holding in. And of course, my heart started beating again. And it was then that a miracle happened and he placed his hand on my shoulder.

  “Are you sure you’ll be able to handle it all?”

  “I will! Don’t you worry. When’s the next shipment coming in?”

  “In two weeks.”

  I was reduced to a gibbering fool by his easy assent to my proposal. And this was proof:

  “In two weeks I’ll turn that reservoir into a paradise, I will!”

  He laughed. I laughed too. That his fourteen-year-old son was so enthusiastic, or even passionate it could be said, about the family business, must have moved some cells somewhere inside him. Perhaps for the first time since I was born, he was proud of me. He didn’t say that, naturally, but it was exactly that kind of moment. I would be happy to be proud of myself even if he wasn’t. After all, Ahad had already begun peeling bills from the sheaf he’d brought out of his pocket. Then all of a sudden he stopped and asked:

  “How’s school?”

  I was so taken aback that I babbled.

  “It’s holidays, Dad.”

  “I know that, kid! I want to know how it’s going—did you pass?”

  “I got the letter of commendation, Dad.”

  A few more bills were peeled away from the sheaf. It appeared that I was about to get an award. The world had really turned up
side down! In my elation I’d forgotten to mention that I was top of the class. I’d forgotten to mention that, as a matter of fact, I’d even been handed a stupid book called Robinson Crusoe as a prize for having the highest average in the entire eighth grade. On a very insidious whim, I’d even considered mentioning that Ender, son of the Heroic Sergeant Yadigar, had gotten such bad grades that he was nearly expelled, but been unable to do even that and was left only thinking it.

  “Well done!” said Ahad. For the second time! As though he was sparing my life. “What grade are you in now?”

  How was it possible to hate someone this much but still want his approval just as much? How was it possible to house these two urges inside the same body? Who could know the suffering that was taking place inside me just then? The fight that was being fought? How violently they were laying into each other? What kind of a war was it? It was gruesome, surely. That must be why I was feeling nauseated. Yet the moment I opened my mouth, it was clear who the winner was:

  “Ninth … first year of high school.”

  Unable to gain dominion over the tongue, vanquished in a blind battle of denial, the hatred of the losing side withdrew into the barricades to multiply even more. I could hear its footsteps. It was going to search for a way out. And out it would go, at first chance. It would either become an act unleashed in a weak moment or a thousand curses to spew from my mouth. It would either land on Ahad or whomever else it would be that I happened upon … all hatred ended up at the same place in the end: tomorrow. It could wait. It would wait. I would wait with it. I was a true coward after all. And hatred was the coward’s vengeance. I was an expert! One blacked out, sank into his chair, and hated himself to death. But he would be the first to die. From a brain tumor! A vengeful tumor! A tumor the size of a marble! From too many fantasies of vengeance. Unfulfilled vengeances. Unfulfilled, vaporized vengeances. We breathed it all in! We’d absorb it through our pores if we could! The air of vengeances comprised of curses hurled behind backs … and a bit of oxygen. Not enough to kill. Enough that you’d still be good for something … Of course human life was sacred but only as long as it was good for something. Consequently life was only as valuable as the value of the thing it was good for. So if someone were to up and cover that cost, the life in question would thereby become redundant and expendable. It was all mathematics. Only subtraction, actually. If I could subtract my hate from this life and behold what was left, the whole story would be over. Because the only thing from then on would be daily life … and maybe some morphine sulfate.

  “You’re old enough to be going to high school, already?”

  “I dunno …”

  “You’re old enough to hoist yourself on that girl, aren’t you, though!”

  What had he just said? I hadn’t heard that!

  “Come now, come now, don’t blush! I don’t mean anything by it, but you should be careful. You could catch a disease or something …”

  I still couldn’t hear!

  “Take it easy, kid! I said I don’t mean anything by it! But if you have to do shit like that, at least lock the door of the shed!”

  That I’d heard. And only because there was a command in his words. It was habitual.

  “I will …”

  He laughed … How much had he seen? Had he watched until the end? I couldn’t think about this now. Later! I should be laughing. I should be doing whatever he was doing. I laughed. Or something close to it …

  “You’re not mad at me that I didn’t let you take that exam?”

  Presumably he was talking about the exam that would have won me a bursary to study at one of the finest high schools in the country. I had taken it without his knowledge. I myself didn’t know what I would do when the results were disclosed. Was it possible to leave Ahad? Was he leavable?

  “No, Dad, how could I be?”

  “What’d that son of Yadigar’s do, did he pass? Ender, was it?”

  And then, this question. This question that made me forget it all. It was that easy, then! That he’d seen me have sex with the world’s beautiful girl, nor anything else, was exempt. It was all gone. I couldn’t believe it. It was as if he’d asked because he’d heard me. I recounted Ender’s ineptitude with such ardor that my drool wilted the piece of paper I’d written my list on. Truly, I was no different from Ahad. I was just as indifferent to everything as he was. It was just taking a while for me to face the facts, that was all. One needed time not only to adapt to the world he was born into, but to himself as well.

  Then I took the money and left … It was enough to flee anywhere on the first bus. But I returned with the equipment. My hands were full, my mind empty. Then it was the opposite, and I got to work in the reservoir like a veteran electrician. I did my best and still didn’t receive an electric shock. I knew then that I was electric. If I had a dog, I would have named it Tesla. Or vice versa …

  I was in the reservoir day and night for two weeks, and finally the gates opened on hunting season with all their glory. My ant farm was ready. And it was erected on just the place, the ants’ route: the Silk Road … a matter of fabrics!

  Right on the morning of the day I was planning to promote myself to deity of a reservoir full of people, Yadigar crossed my path. I’d been shopping in town and was on my way home with bags of groceries. He didn’t cross my path, exactly. He pulled up next to me his blue car with GENDARMERIE inscribed on the side and rolled down his window. Looking perfectly healthy from where I stood, since his burned cheek was facing the other way, Yadigar glanced at the bags I was carrying as he spoke.

  “What’s all this? Got visitors?”

  Among the many things I was able to do effortlessly and while standing on one foot was, of course, lying.

  “There’s this family in need, in one of the villages. It’s for them. My father said go buy some things … so I got this. We’ll be taking it over now.”

  “Good of you to think,” said Yadigar.

  Then he was silent. But Yadigar had a peculiar habit. He’d say something, then stop and stare you in the face. As a man of few words and much staring, he was like some kind of champion unnerver. Or it seemed that way to me. I was the one with the kind of life to hide, after all. What did he mean to say? It was good of us to lie? What was good of us to think? Would that be all? Were we done talking? Could I resume walking? In truth the only thing that gave me hope at that moment was that his engine was still running. It’s possible no engine sound since has given me such strength.

  I was just about to say, “Give Ender my regards,” and take the first step when he asked, “What village?”

  “I don’t know, Uncle Yadigar,” I said. “My father said, but I forget now.”

  My only hope dried up the instant I had thought my reply would suffice. Yadigar turned off the ignition and killed the engine. It appeared that we would keep talking.

  “We should let the prefecture know. Maybe they’ll put you on an allowance or something.”

  “Sure,” I said. “I’ll get the details and let you know.”

  After all, poverty was within an arm’s reach for us all. An elbow’s reach, in fact. As soon as we began groping for a family in need, we’d bump into one before we even finished reaching out our hand. If there was the need, we could easily find one and stick it under Yadigar’s nose. But right now the only thing bumping was my heart. It was like a wild animal trapped inside my rib cage. The bags were heavy, but I didn’t want to put them down. After being abandoned by the sound of the engine, it was the only move I had left, however puny. Putting down the bags would be a sign that I was willing to continue chatting. At least that’s what I thought. This juvenile, private precaution prevented me from wiping the sweat off my brow, as both my hands were full. And now Yadigar was staring at the sweat. He was watching a particular drop of sweat. The one trickling between my eyebrows and heading for my nose. It had reached the tip of my nose and begun quivering there when Yadigar finally spoke.

  “It’s hot!”


  “I should go, Uncle Yadigar, my father’s waiting.”

  “Come, let me drop you off.”

  “Thanks, I’m already almost there.”

  He opened the door and got out. I had nowhere to run.

  “Give it here,” he said, taking the bags off my hands and opening the door to put them in the backseat. I was frozen, at a loss for what to do. It was my turn to talk little and stare much. Yadigar took his seat, shut the door, and turned to me. “Come on.”

  There was to be no zeppelin to swing down a ladder and lift me into the sky, nor a horse that would materialize out of nowhere and come running the second I whistled. All those adventure novels I had read were a bunch of crap! I was the only thing that was real! Even an earthquake would have been enough! An earthquake just strong enough to flatten a few villages, kill a bunch of people! But that didn’t happen either, and I was the only one who shook. And that only because I slammed the door a bit too hard when I crossed in front of the car and got in next to Yadigar …

  This time the only thing I could see was his nonexistent cheek. How fast can a person think? What’s the speed of thought? I had no idea, but I was trying to calculate everything at once. We’d make a little way, turn into Dust Street, and arrive at the house. Perhaps I should jump out of the car as it slowed to a stop and yell, “Dad! Dad! We’re home!” Perhaps I should pretend to faint. Perhaps I should rat out Ender for having started smoking! All this was racing through my head when I saw Yadigar give the steering wheel a full turn. We spun in our spot until the nose of the car was pointing at the town. The opposite direction of my house. I turned to him, but he was no longer interested in me.

  “Uncle Yadigar, my house …” I began, and he said, “There’s something I have to do. Let’s take care of that first.”