Subject me

Ayshe Hatice sat just so in her improbable world. She settled comfortably and did nothing for a long time. When the world came in they would never find out about her disasters and disgrace. She was a private person and disliked intrusions. She told stories and did it by the fires in Cyprus.

Kept her private life private and did not discuss herself with anyone. Sheer joy filled her early stories and that mattered to the audience. Then she relapsed into melancholy and that made her curious about what had changed. Zek was a woman who loved to interrogate.

No one knew the real situation.

But the persons concerned.

Hatice Ayshe no one asked her name she was just the man's wife who told stories at night. She was bewitched as she sat in front of the fire and told her story. The fire went through her face showing sparks of brilliance and sparks of intrusion. She was meant for the life of a whore. Thought her brother and half-brother. But the husband did not seem to sense anything wrong with the attitude of the men and women who gathered to hear her out.

When a man ceases to care what happens to the wife?

She did nothing but tell stories and she was getting exhausted. She was honest back then. She did not have the passion. There was not much to say about her life she pretended her dad was her master and the husband accepted the food on the table.

"Been like that fifteen years and seems not to mind it?"

"Poor man he appalls me."

"Creepy."

"Yes, a couple of creeps."

"But this is the story."

"We love coming here and artists are odd." And they went back to the surreal world of stories. The neighbors said that sometimes there were irregularities of conduct. For example, people went with the wrong partners. I did not see any of that. They went home with the right ones.

Then one night she came looking exhausted and told her story and left so hurriedly as if the spark had gone out of her.

She had just been in some total annexation a relationship like she had never had. She was bruised and battered. She did not want to think about it.

She had just found sex.

Did it turn out to be her half-brother with the wrong sex? It was like she had hit a door. A huge barn door and she was trapped on the wrong side and the door was banging into her. She had not been banged to such an extent before. Why did no one warn her why did nothing like that happen to her before?

She needed money. She decided and when her dad gave her leave to go to Mecca. She became a smuggler. She met a woman there who introduced her to the gold fields of smuggling.

She went from behaving abnormally to behaving abominably. There is no choice she always said destiny catches up with one. That her destiny was to behave in a fashion that settled a psychopath and mould his way of life. She could not ever have known. The killing was her and she did not ask for it. She did not want it.

The funds would settle her and make her a woman of consequence. She then could move to a house in upper town instead of being with him her husband.

Her husband had discovered jealousy.

She had a pretend affair with her dad and then her brother came and knocked her off her pedestal.

She did not know why she felt so bad.

She had to serve her new master.

The drinking went on for hours and then they took it in turns to go to their women and the head came to her. She did not mind it at first. What had happened to her?

Sometimes if something good happened she was shared around. The crying never stopped.

She disliked the way she was now but for a number of years, she had been honest in a dishonest manner to fit in. The fitting in was that most of the wives were creepy. They all behaved inappropriately and that meant she had to be odd too.

She felt so odd for being like them. She fell to her knees and prayed and preyed on an idea to explain her situation.

When a crook has unmasked the person who depends on that crook is left to fend for herself or himself.

The Mecca idea came to her and stayed.

She did not want a scandal her father's post would go. She had to be strong and able in order to save him.

Okay, the master crooks gain and make a lot of money but for the little crooks when caught out? There is nothing but pathetic squalor and vulgarity. Me dears stop meddling here and stop minding my business there.

Crooks?

Depend on it.

And the stories of desperation where the desertions happen. We knew you when a child and left you to fend for yourself. We thought you would come out on top.

Life for her was behaving in a proper manner like everybody else. Be like them and then she was like them. She seemed to have gained a bad name.

From being like everyone else she was now someone who was unclean and dirty and condemned. She had been raped by her half-brother. Sheer nonsense she said to herself she had a passion for that man who was a gay lad.

Her brother was as cruel to her as she deserved.

The nightly drinking sessions did not stop she had to serve all the men.

He got it in for me. She said she was upset now she did not find words to fit the statements. The drunken lewd men if one can call them men.

Even animals behaved better.

Ayshe Hatice was a smuggler living in the early 1960s. She did a great deal of good bringing the treasures from around Mecca and did come with stories too. She did it her way.

Most of the stolen goods were found in the homes of the rich. She delivered leaflets. In doing that she delivered the best deals that she had stolen to the homes of the rich. She then spent half the year in Mecca.

So she had her wits about her. She did well she was my mother. She was my own mother.