I am the ceaseless wanderer wandering why has life done this to me? Like most people I do not admit that it was my fault. It never is. However in my case it is the truth. I had the Mafia after me and after the mafia had set me on false trail I had to be mad to survive for they wanted me to do a bit of whoring and I was not going to do that so I opted for madness. In order to survive I had to be really mad. So the pills and the endless rounds to the hospital and the tit for tat had stopped. What was easy this self murder? It was as easy as pie. It was ruining one’s life to no purpose without purpose there cannot be life.
But in my own way there is purpose I had to evade the mafia and the mafia was watching my every move. Someone was informing without realising they had people watching for first signs of recovery so that I could do a bit of whoring. I refused to get better my being a hypochondriac made it easy to stimulate illness which was mine by virtue of necessity.
This endless talk with the lovely man in the chair my only friend in this world who can disappear the moment the money runs out. I refused to have any dealings with the woman psychiatrist for she made it obvious I had to get married and without love that would have been a bit of whoring. Anyway pleasant years were whiled away with me studying all the mad people and gathering information about my illness or was it truth that I sought? Do I still seek the truth or am I complacently wandering from the point? Anyway it was simple to do without any guile on my behalf but to survive. I had to believe in my own madness. I had to survive somehow survival was the most important thing I had to do.
Every time I got better I dropped something of me so I had to surface and then go back to the depths in order to gather my courage to come out and then go back again. In order to be believable, in order to survive, in order to be I had to be mad. Pretending to be mad one becomes that creature of the night as I travelled in my mind going from place to place and seeming not to disembark. I did not meet anyone with a similar tale although there were some very close.
Women do these sorts of things they do you know they have to have guile to survive these torments: fields the sea all came and went my withered self became old. My face as white as a sheet my nails clipped my talons out. No longer did I see a face I knew. Did not recognise me did not know me. Where did I meet this woman this pathetic lonely woman? What had happened to her? What has made her so wretched? Why is she staring at me and me staring at her? What a kindness to let her starve to stave off men that only she knew were there after her. She is now the hunted turned hunter. She the woman had turned the tables all she needed to do was to heed her own advice men did not like old woman. She was growing older and soon they would leave her to be. She was wretched although she wanted to be alone loneliness was killing her. Her youth drained out of her like blood wasted. Her blood was on the ground and she was flowing very nicely. Someone had to be sacrificed and she knew it had been her.
He could breathe again no need to kill the harmless old thing. Maybe he would do it next year when the scandal would not harm his status? He made money like a fiend and he grew powerful while she grew abysmally poor. Not in spirit but in the consequence that she had to sponge off from society in order to survive, remorse. Felt like a hooker hooking all the trifles from the punters. The gangs were as a form after her. She a mannish walk did give and they laughed at her and left her.
They were with cradles or wheelchairs coming towards her. Cradles or wheels they seem to be saying. There’s no in between surviving that is hard work. Surviving peoples’ opinions is the hardest thing one can do. To give back to society what society got from you is the hard struggle that Karl Marx was on about. But Karl Marx thought of these in the safety of the British Museum what did Emine have but the reality of the streets?
He fed me when I was hungry now he wants my guts? He wants to get what he fed. He wants an image of himself outside in the courts playing table tennis forever. I don’t want to give myself to him let alone have a part of him being a criminal, can any would be mum have a criminal son or daughter for the asking? Look I don’t want to have a baby in the arms of such a man.
“Can’t or won’t?”
Cradles following me cradles everywhere I won’t add to the mess in the world by producing Hitler.
“Gifted and unwise your hair will have to go.”
“I don’t care. Let my hair go hair today gone tomorrow.”
“A family heirloom this ring and this cot and these are all my children.”
“Nice to have met them I want to bonk Tom.”
“Who is he when he is at home?”
“He is never at home. He has a terrible quench for living a living image of the image in my mind that is we can talk or he listens.”
“He must be a good listener otherwise he would have been bored to death by now.”
“The psychiatrist is at the door he listens too.”
“What reason you don’t want a princely child?”
“I have an image of Hitler every time I see the mite.”
“Cradles will follow everywhere the image of you without you. Women and men they should have babies?”
“Not if they will be bad.”
“This is especially bad.”
“I don’t want to give birth to a monster. Don’t you understand he is unloved a monster I don’t have anything to give let me give to the world peace!”
“He would have been a grand prince a man so brilliant but wise?”
“Unwise he would have been unwise and bad and awful he would have been everything the world wants rid of. Why should I be a party to such a monstrosity?”
“Women begot worse.”
“That is not my lot I want to write masterpieces and paint masterpieces not create the worst man since Hitler.”
“Your dreams and mind don’t commingle.”
“God rot those dreams of yours you terrible scum.”
“That’s why you are going to have my child. No one swears at me and gets away with it.”
“Get out of me. Out of my life into someone else’s bed into someone else’s
Life into someone else anything but mine my own. Please get gone to the party in hell you become a bore and now let there be no more of this it is all’s well that is mended and I am going to go and get into Tom’s bed.”
“Over my dead body will I let you go?”
“So be it.”
If she found something he disliked and she liked she would expose him to such an ordeal but he would not have the possibility of objecting. He would not know what to say. Like political correctness she would watch Turkish TV and he would not like it? Maybe he would she began to watch all the Turkish prostitute films. Then the romantic comedies and then revisited the soaps and more soaps and then she would double over and watch Turkish music till one o’clock at night. She would watch TV for more than it was sane to watch. She would watch and re-watch and waste her days looking at the Turkish box but it is polite not to say it is bad TV. The repeats were the best things on Turkish TV. She did this for 13 years.
He wanted to fuck but she watched TV Turkish TV to make matters worse endless soaps and even watched the commercials. He was going mad. He could not stand it anymore.
“What is it?” She asked as if she had no idea.
“It is nothing.”
“Oh well it is my favourite now the Turkish Yasemin the movie I’ve seen it 20 times. “
“Yes I KNOW.”
“What is it you sound not at all cheerful?”
“It is nothing I have been over worked.”
“Really have a biscuit?”
“No thank you I have something else on my mind?”
“What is on your mind?”
“I need to go some place.”
“Are you ok?”
“Why do you watch these programmes?”
“They are for research I’m researching my culture!”
“Why are you researching your culture?”
“Well I need to know what I am writing about don’t I?”
“But that dreadful music that dreaded drums on my head”
“Pop as if a shot it is like a shot in my head it goes on and on.”
“Oh that is for relaxation I get tired after all that research so put that on to relax.”
“Haven’t you anything better to do?”
“I am losing my patience!”
“What on earth do you mean?”
“Why do you need to watch all that nonsense?”
“I don’t interfere with you so why do you need to interfere with my hobbies is a wonder that I am unwell.”
“You seem ok to me?”
“Oh no I have a dreadful illness.”
“Nothing, but a bite of something wouldn’t it cure everything”
“Why should I have sex when I am saving myself for a rainy day?”
“Who and who is the rainy day?”
“Ours you know when we can meet so that I can do research and farther the cultural aspect and become famous and important so that we can be together.”
“I can’t stand it.”
“What are you unwell too?”
“Without feelings one isn’t human.”
“Without humanity I can’t live.”
“Take the keys and throw it away I shan’t mind. It is the way of life that someone holds the keys and then mislays them. That is what being woman is. It is not slavery as I thought it is being part of the human condition. I shan’t hold it against you if you throw me aside cast me away on the island that men populate with their sex. It is this part of me that I cast aside every time I love or think I love. I am not as young as I was to hold anyone to their deeds or words. It is a sad fact that I am not good but when I am I am very good. This is it these are the keys to my temple hold them for keep sakes. These are the memories which I will hold in my bag these are the keepsakes of tomorrows and today’s. These are the keys do you see them they are on the wall they look like any other things of mine they purge me they are the key to me. This is me this is my life this is my soul hold me. Discard me or take me over and over again it is no more my life but ours today has seen me naked as I am a child no longer a child no more but this withered and old woman without a mark on her that is not earned. Do I earn anything? No I am nothing without these marks these are my battles these are my medals these are mine and yours to find. Don’t discard the keys to me this is no good this is lust this is love but time waits for nothing.
She has to stay put in order to be good. She stays put in order to be human. She stays put in order not to lose herself. She stays put in order to survive she is put as she puts no foot wrong for one foot wrong and she is in the abyss. Her abscess is her life it is her poison and she survives for some reason waiting for the right trigger to set her free. She has this image that to survive is to see to things in order to survive she will set things right. Emine is the link in some chain Emine is the link to what she is and what they see as her. She faces herself squarely she is the one without the hole. But why is she grown so stout and ugly?
“I must scream in order not to tear down the walls.”