Feel free to comment on anything:
The plane was about to land and I could not stand it anymore. I’d spent four hours sitting in a tiny seat stuck between two men twice my size with no way to move. The lights were cut, and the noise of the heavy machines was emphasized by the silence of the passengers, as if at any time we were expecting the pilot to miss the landing and crash.
Finally, the wheels touched the ground and a group of people started to applaud, which I’ve always found stupid. The stewardess asked us to keep our seatbelts fastened, but it was too late. Half of the passengers were getting ready to take their bags down while the plane was still in motion, on its way to park. When it eventually stopped, it took them no time to jam the corridor so that nobody could move. Unfortunately, the fat man on my side did not want to go before everybody was out. I soon understood why. Once they left, he stood up with difficulty and slowly walked by the door. He was actually too corpulent for the corridor. My frustration was building, as I really wanted to be out. It took me some time, but I finally reached the exit where the stewardess smiled at me.
“Hos geldiniz!” She understood by the way I looked that I had no clue what she had just said to me. “Have nice journey!” she corrected with a lovely accent.
“Thanks,” I said, thinking that I should learn some words in Turkish. I remembered a quote from Mandela: If you talk to a man in a language he understands, that goes to his head. If you talk to him in his language, that goes to his heart.”
It was my first time in Turkey and I wondered if I would have difficulty finding my way through the airport, but all I had to do was follow the crowd. It brought me directly to passport control where, of course, there was a very long queue. I checked again to see if I had everything with me. I took my passport and my wallet out of my pocket and I was relieved to find the note with Göker’s address. I had to go to a place called Kadikoy.
Before leaving, I had read a bit about Istanbul so I’d know more about where I was going. My main purpose for coming here wasn’t to visit the city, but I knew I would have some time to enjoy this unique place. As I was switching on my phone and deleting all the network messages about how to top up in another country, it came to my turn.
“Buyrun!” the customs officer said. Without understanding him, I walked forward and gave him my passport.
“Astyan,” he read with his Turkish accent. He looked at me a couple of times, comparing my facial features with the photograph, and gave it back to me.
“Thank you,” I said, but I did not get any answer and I headed to collect my bag. Black and sporty, it was the first one to come out. I caught it and made my way toward the exit. Two automatic doors opened and I faced another crowd welcoming their families and friends. My next task was to find a taxi. I walked outside and it looked like New York City, with an army of yellow cabs.
“Buyur abi!” the nearest driver told me.
I sat inside. “Hi! I would like to go there,” I said, giving him the note with the address. I had no idea how to read it.
“OK!” he answered and started up.
“Where are you from?” the driver asked.
“England,” I answered.
“Are you here for holidays?”
“Yes.”
“I went to London four years ago,” he said, obviously wanting to talk. “I went with my wife to visit a cousin. London is nice, but Istanbul is more beautiful.”
Why was he trying to sell me Istanbul? I was already there!
“It is the first time you come?” he asked in his broken English.
“First time, yes.”
“You will see! There is something here that you will find nowhere else,” he said.
I usually try not to be judgmental, but I had strong doubts that a taxi driver made enough money to visit the whole world, so how would he know this?
“Really?” I pretended to be interested.
“This city is… magical,” he finished.
I was tired and really did not feel like talking. I wanted to lock myself into my thoughts.
Sitting in the taxi, I could reflect on the situation. I was finally going to meet Göker. I did not know him from Adam, but strangely enough, he was the only one I had shared what was happening with. The first time I dreamt about the dark hole, I had no idea where it would lead me. I actually didn’t think that it would lead me anywhere. Every night I had the same dream, and every night I went a little bit further until I woke up one morning and something felt strange on my back. That was three weeks ago. Long were my nights sitting in front of my laptop, rediscovering legends that I vaguely knew and discovering new ones: the Erinyes in the Greek mythology, Ala in the Balkans, Garuda in India, Yuki-Onna in Japan, Zdudac in Serbia, Huitzilopochtli in South America, and Adze in Togo. They were all able to fly, but they all belonged to myths and legends. I was desperate to find someone in my situation, so I typed “growing wings” into Google. I read a couple of funny posts, people asking how to do it and others explaining. There were spells, formulas, and recipes, all available on the Internet. Whether in two weeks or two years, it was possible. At the beginning I was curious and read about them, thinking it would lead me somewhere, but I was quickly disillusioned. Then, without real hopes, I started my own topic on a forum: I’ve grown wings. I briefly explained: -I had dreams where I met with my inner self. I unlocked a door. Since then, I’ve grown wings. Not like angels, more like bats. They are without feathers; it is just my skin and what looks like bones. They are still small, but I feel them growing. I had to wait less than one hour for the first answer:
-The same happened to me and now I’ve grown vampire’s teeth!
It didn’t take long before others followed:
-I have dreams, too…
-I also want to grow wings! How did you do it?
-It’s easy! F… a duck!
-Stop being a sinner, wait a couple of years and follow the light when it comes.
Two days after I received my first disappointing, but expected, answers, a guy whose pseudonym was Göker wrote me:
-I might be in the same situation. Write me in private: Göker_88@hotmail.com
At first I thought this was another stupid joke, but quickly his words obsessed me: I might be in the same situation. It didn’t sound fake. And why would he give me his email address? I was a bit scared, as he gave me hope, and if he really knew what was happening to me, I would have to face something big, something unknown.
I wandered around my dorm room, wondering what to do. It took a beer and Nirvana’s “Come As You Are” to get me to sit in front of my laptop again and answer him. I made it simple and to the point:
-I was serious. If it is a joke, no need to waste your time.
Astyan
Sent!
Less than five minutes later, my mailbox showed one unread message:
-Do you know how to use them?
During the long hours I’d spent observing them, I had assumed that one day they would just start moving, like my arms. Another message from him interrupted my thoughts.
-Where do you live?
This time he didn’t sign as he was rushing for my answer. Where do I live? If the situation had been different, I would have thought this guy was a pervert wanting to know if I would enter his disgusting game. But as I read his question, I found myself wondering the same thing. I wanted to talk to him, to see his wings. I wanted to know if he had already made use of them, if he was able to fly. How long would it take before I could?
-I live in London. How about you?
As I sent it, I noticed that my beer was empty. I was glad to have some spares in my fridge, leftover from an improvised night with a couple of friends. I opened one and greedily drank my first sip. When I came back he had already answered.
-I am in Istanbul. I fly as often as I can. We have to meet. When can you come here?
It really sounded like a trap for a teenager, but I wasn’t being rational anymore. Why would I be? I had wings on my back! He wanted me to come to Istanbul… I wondered if he had read what I had said about living in London. What was he thinking? Me taking a cab and going there? Even if I was on holiday now, done with my exams, I still had to work to pay my rent. The summer was coming, but I didn’t have the luxury of enjoying it abroad. Flight, hotel, food—it would cost a lot.
Curious, I checked the price of flights on the Internet. What I found broke my hope: four hundred fifty pounds for a return ticket if I left the next week. It was at least four hundred more than what I could afford at the moment as I waited for my salary. The summer was definitely not the best time to book a flight. I moved the globe on my desk until I had Turkey in front of my eyes, and I sighed as I pointed at it. I drank a bit more and wrote:
-I can’t make it. I am a student. No money.
Then I waited, five, ten, twenty minutes. Nothing. I checked the time; it was 1:20 a.m., two hours later in Turkey. Göker might have gone to bed. It was late and I would have been sleeping if it wasn’t for all this excitement. My eyes were burning in front of the screen.
2:50 a.m. He wouldn’t write anymore tonight, so I decided to leave it until tomorrow. I went to bed, keeping my laptop near me, just in case. Lying on my back, I knew Morpheus wouldn’t take me easily.
I wasn’t alone; I had finally found somebody who I could share with. He flew! It sounded amazing. I would also be able to! The thought was like a catalyst. I imagined how I would use them. I could see myself taking off, going higher and higher in the dark sky. I was flying, I was alone and free. The air caressing my face was fresh and addictive. I was drinking the darkness of the night guided by the light of the stars. I was fast, so fast, already crossing the Channel. I could see the light of the boats and soon I was approaching a harbour. I assumed it was Belgium or Holland. I carried on and headed South East. I was free, I was unstoppable. Icarus could have learnt from me. I was a God. The higher I went, the freer and the stronger I felt. The landscapes scrolled by so quickly underneath, but I then started to lose altitude. I tried to hit the air with more force so that I could go back up but there was nothing to do. I was going down. It wasn’t nighttime anymore and I could see the crowd beneath me. They had not noticed me yet. I started to feel scared; what if somebody did? What if somebody recorded me? The fear spread through my body. I had nowhere to hide in the sky. I couldn’t move anymore. I was suspended up there, in front of all of these people that would soon raise their eyes. It was the end. They were going to discover my secret. I was anxious, desperate. I couldn’t breathe anymore.
When I opened my eyes, I realized that I had fallen asleep and all of it had been a nightmare, but I couldn’t shake the feeling. It was 4:00 am. Damn! It was still early. I reached for my laptop, but there were no new messages. Lying back on my bed, I wondered if he had stopped writing because I had told him I had no money.
All day I waited, but nothing came. Göker’s post disappeared from the forum. Had he deleted it? It was weird. I was really curious now whether this guy was a pervert or not. The next day I went through my emails again, hoping to have a message from him, but except for a lot of advertisements (one message saying I had won 250 000 pounds) and one from my mum, there was nothing. I deleted most of the ads and read the one from Mum.
-How are you, my son? I haven’t heard from you for ages now and I’ve started to worry! How were your exams? When will you have the results? Do you have any plans for the summer? We will probably go to Mexico for a month. I love you,
Mum.
Ouch! I had forgotten to answer her last email. I didn’t really feel like writing, as I didn’t have much to tell. I had never really shared much with her, but I had shared even less since she had left my dad and gone to the States to start a new life, far from her memories. She had been lucky enough to fall in love with a wealthy man, Gil. When he was younger, he created his own company offering medical services. He was now, at 58, the main stockholder, and he enjoyed a wealthy life with my mum. He made her happy and I couldn’t ask for more. She had never had enough money to travel, but now she kept on moving.
-Hi Mom,
Sorry, I was busy with the exams. I think it went all right. I’ll tell you the results as soon as I know. Glad to hear you’ll go to Mexico. Practise your Spanish before you go. This summer I still have to work, so I’ll stay here. Send me a postcard! Love u,
Astyan.
I was being obsessive, checking my mailbox again and again. I grabbed my guitar to try and put some distance between me and the screen and started to play some random riffs. It was relaxing, as it kept my mind busy, but suddenly, I fell to my knees, bending over with pain. I stayed there, face on the floor, expecting it to hurt again, but it had left as quickly as it came. I stretched my arms back, but I felt nothing wrong, so I stood up again, suspicious that the pain would come back, but it didn’t. Since my wings had started to grow, I’d felt some discomfort, but it never ached that much. Walking to the bathroom, I took my t-shirt off and stood in front of the mirror. I turned to the side to see my profile. They were there, naked, matching the lines of my back. I touched them; they were so thin, so soft, and so fragile. Would I really be able to fly with them? It seemed like they would easily tear. Maybe they would get thicker in time.
While I was staring at them, I was surprised by the ring of my phone. I hoped it would be Göker, but he had no way of knowing my number. I left the bathroom and looked for my phone. It took me at least five minutes to find it under a pillow. I always left everything everywhere.
- Come to The Royal Oak we’r hvin’ some booz with the guys!
It was Dan, my flatmate from last year. A great guy, but terrible when it came to cleaning. That was partly why I had decided to live on my own this year. One year older than me, he was studying media. He was the only person I could really talk to. Well, except about my wings. Whenever I had an issue, I knew he would be around to help. He was one of those compassionate people, spreading good all around them. I didn’t really feel like hanging out, though, and after checking my wallet, I realized I had only twelve pounds left and only fifty pounds on my account that had to last until I received my salary. Working twenty hours weekly in a bar wasn’t the best way to get rid of the worries in a consumerist society. What would I do if I stayed home? Göker was obviously not going to write me, and I didn’t feel like sleeping. Being with the guys would be relaxing.
- I’ll be there in 15 mins.
I found a thick polo from my wardrobe, just to make sure nothing would be visible from behind. Wallet, phone, keys—I was ready to go.
The night was fresh; it was perfect to be out. The sky was clear and it reminded me of my dream from the last night. I distracted myself from those thoughts by focusing on two girls walking in my direction. By the way they walked; I could tell they were dead drunk. One of them was walking barefoot, carrying only one of her shoes. I wondered if she had lost the other one. The other one had extremely high heels; I was surprised she could rock that much and still stand on her feet. Both girls were good looking; it was a shame their drunkenness made them look disgusting. But who was I to judge? So many nights I came back with more alcohol than blood in my body.
The pub was within walking distance from where I lived and it only took me ten minutes to get there. From outside I could hear the humming of the crowd confined behind the walls. I took a big breath before opening the door, then dove head first into the pub, breathing in deeply the smell of beer. It was terribly noisy, between the music and the voices. I couldn’t distinguish any of them separately. I made my way to the back corner of the room, where they were waiting for me.
“Astyan!” Dan shouted.
I could see by the expression on his face that he had already had some drinks.
“Hey, buddy!” I answered, shaking his hand warmly. I went around the table to greet everybody. “Good to see you, Paulo,” I said.
“Where have you been? We were waiting for you,” he said.
I smiled at him and took Ahmed’s hand.
“How are you my friend?” Ahmed asked, holding a glass of cranberry juice. He always came with us to the pub, but never drank alcohol. It never prevented him from enjoying the night. I then reached Anne and kissed her cheek.
“Bonjour,” I said.
“Bonsoir,” she replied. “It’s not daytime anymore.”
I did my best with bonjour; I wouldn’t risk trying a new word. Seeing the four of them sitting here already made me feel better.
“Hoy! Astyan!” Ed called me. “Your Guinness is waiting for you here.” He showed me the dark drink on the table. I expected no less from him. They were all sitting on the corner couch, so I took a chair and faced them.
“Salud!” Paulo said raising his pint.
“Santé!” Ed added. This made Anne smile.
“Cheers,” I said, “and thanks for the beer, Ed.”
The fresh brew made me feel good. Anne and Ahmed went back to their talk, and Paulo seemed to be arguing with Ed. I was staring at them, thinking how lucky I was to have them there. They made my student life magical. Paulo was Spanish and he had come over here to study politics. I was always fascinated by the way he gave the rhetoric so much meaning when his eyes ignited. It was impossible to win a debate against him. Even if he wouldn’t tell us, I was sure he had political ambitions back in Spain.
Ahmed was from Syria; he was in England to study economics. He wanted to become a rich entrepreneur. He was a really nice person with good human qualities, but when it came to his ambition, he was more like a shark. He wanted to have the monopoly on a market, faking out the competition by owning different companies. Whenever he talked about it, I had no doubt he would be successful.
Anne was a lovely little French girl. She broke all the prejudices I had of French people. She didn’t smell of garlic, she wasn’t hairy, and she used to have a shower twice a day. Studying law, this tiny girl wanted to help people through Non-Governmental Organisations and make a difference by defending the rights of oppressed people.
We were all young, we all had dreams, and mine were about to become real.
“Astyan!” Paulo shouted, drilling through the noise of the crowd, “We were talking about this Turkish boat that has been attacked by the Israelite army.”
Turkey…Göker…Suddenly the thought came back to me. Maybe he wrote me.
“Dan is a bit naïve; he thinks Israel will be judged for this action,” Paulo added.
“Of course, they will have to be,” Dan answered. “And I’m not naïve, look at the media coverage. Israel won’t be able to get out of this one.”
I had to check my mailbox, but I had an old phone that would only text or call.
“Come on Ed, be serious,” Paulo told him. “What is coming very soon? What is the major event which is going to focus the attention of all the media?” he asked.
“The World Cup,” Anne said.
“Exactly, Anne! In a couple of weeks everybody will have forgotten about this crime and the world would be looking at football.”
“Anne,” I interrupted, “could I use your phone to check my emails?”
“Sure,” she said and handed me her android phone. I quickly navigated my way through, logged on to my mailbox, and saw one unread message. Göker, I hoped. I clicked and … Mum. I quickly read it before logging off.
“Are you all right?” Anne asked as I was handing her phone back. She probably saw the disappointment on my face.
“Yes,” I reassured her, smiling to be more convincing.
“In the end, we will all be blinded by this game they’ll give us.” Paulo concluded.
I missed his argument, but what he said reminded me of Caesar, giving satisfaction to his people with bread and games.
Ahmed seemed to be amused by Paulo’s excitement. He was about to tell me something, but suddenly the cutting ache started again. I bowed over, hitting my forehead on the table, then straightened my back. My eyes were shut, but I knew my friends were now looking at me. Again the pain left as soon as it came. When I looked again, I saw them all staring at me. Anne and Dan came by my side and asked in one voice:
“Are you all right?”
“Yes, it’s nothing,” I said, hoping that would be enough for them.
“What happened?” Anne asked.
“Nothing, it’s just my stomach,” I lied. “I’m all right.” I stood up, heading to the bathroom. “I’m coming back.”
“I’ll walk with you,” Dan said
“No!” I told him, “I’m all right! Trust me. I’ll be back in a minute.”
As I left them I could guess they would be talking about me, trying to understand what was wrong with my stomach. The toilets were empty, which was unusual as the pub was crowded. I stood in front of the mirror, turned to my side and looked at my back. Nothing was visible. They were still well hidden under my polo. This pain was quite new for me, but I wasn’t surprised. It reminded me of the pain of wisdom teeth drilling through the gums. I will probably feel this pain again, but I have been lucky it didn’t start earlier. I didn’t feel like staying any longer that night, but I knew my friends would worry and question me if I left. For this reason, I went back to them and tried to get into their conversation. They pretended not to pay attention, but I could feel their curiosity despite their best acting. As I took my pint Dan stopped me:
“Maybe you should avoid it if you have a stomach issue.”
“Don’t worry,” I told him, “beer is all I need,” and I took a long and freshening sip.
The night went along from interesting topics to useless ones, and the table was loaded with empty pints. At some point I turned to Ahmed and asked him if he had ever been to Istanbul, as Syria was a Turkish neighbour.
“I went to Turkey when I was small,” he said, “and I remember going through Istanbul. Are you planning to go there?” he asked.
“Well, I would love to go this summer, but I am still not sure.”
“Look, if you do go there, you can also visit Syria. My family will welcome you as my brother.”
As usual I was amazed by the honesty of his words mixed with the innocence of his childlike eyes. They seemed to enjoy everything as if it were a Christmas present being unwrapped.
“Thank you, Ahmed,” I said, “but I am still not sure if I will be able to leave England this summer.” As I pronounced these last words, the owner of the pub rang a loud bell. It was time to go home.
Three days had passed since I received Göker’s first message. I had started to believe he would not write anymore, but I was wrong. I was looking for classic tabs on the Internet when he contacted me again:
-Are you available to come now?
Now? Didn’t he read my last message?
-I can’t afford it
When I received his next message, I couldn’t believe it. He wrote nothing, but included the reference number for a return to Istanbul with my name on it. He had bought me a ticket! I couldn’t believe it. The flight was planned for the 6th of August. Today was the 4th. In two days… Should I go? Part of me really wanted to, but on the other hand, I was also suspicious about it. Why would he pay for my flight? Was there anything behind it? I remembered a talk I’d had with Anne once. She told me about a young man in France who had been seduced by a girl on the Internet. She arranged to meet the victim and the cyber flirt turned into a crime. It appeared that a couple of men were hiding behind the figure of the girl. They kidnapped and killed him. The media called them “Le gang des Barbares.” Going there would be very irresponsible. While I was thinking about it, a new message came with his address.
-Get a cab from the airport and meet me there.
Meet him there… This was becoming insane and if I had a bit of reason, I would forget about him. But the growing wings on my back had taken away my ability to think reasonably weeks ago. I went back to the flight ticket in my mailbox. It was an open one. I could stay as long as I wanted. Well, as long as my purse would allow me. I quickly went through my bank account. I didn’t have much money left, but after checking some travelling websites, I learned that I could eat for less than twenty liras a day, approximately seven pounds. At least I wouldn’t die of hunger. I wasn’t worried about finding a place to sleep as I had some good experience with this in the past. I remembered cycling with two friends to Spain, sleeping wherever we could pitch our tent or lay our sleeping bags. Forests, fields, parks, cemeteries and car parks were fine for us. My sleeping bag would be enough for me in Istanbul.
#
“We are here!” said the taxi driver, taking me away from my thoughts. I hadn’t seen the road or the scenery, as I had been lost in my mind. How long did it take to reach here? I had no idea.
“Fifty-five liras please!” he added, pointing at the red numbers on the rear-view mirror.
Fifty-five liras… something like twenty pounds. From my wallet I picked a hundred lira note and gave it him. It had been a good idea to change my money at the airport before leaving. As he gave me the change back, he showed me where I was supposed to go.
“It is there,” he said, pointing at a nice building.
At the entrance was a security guard. When I got closer to the entrance of the apartment, he came toward me.
“Hi!” I said.
“Kime bakar mısınız?”
Argh. “I don’t understand, I go there!” I said showing the address.
“Buyrun!” he said smiling, and he went back to his post.
Obviously I had the right to go, so I stepped forward. I checked the interphone to call Göker, as it was a secured door. Apartment 17.
“Merhaba!”
I didn’t expect to hear a female voice.
“Er…Hi! I came to see Göker.”
“Who did you come to see?” she asked with a high tone.
“Göker! I’m Astyan. I arrived today from London.”
“It must be a mistake, there is no Göker living here,” she said.
“Oh! Maybe I have the wrong address then.”
“Hold on, I am coming down,” she said.
Two minutes later she was there, behind the reinforced glass of the door. The first thing I noticed was her style; she was wearing blue jeans with a loose shirt and roughly tied hair, really dark, intense. The contrast with her skin hit me. She was so white. Not European white, it was more exotic. It sounds strange, but it was a tanned white. She came smiling at me.
“Hi!” She opened the door.
“Hi!” I said. “Sorry for bothering you”
“Don’t worry,” she said. “So what is the address you have?”
She took a look at the note.
“Well this is my address, but I am sure my parents never called me Göker. Come with me!” she added and she walked toward the security guy.
She spoke to him in Turkish while I watched her. She was fascinating to me because I wasn’t used to seeing such a girl. Of course I was used to seeing foreigners around London, and I had met Turkish people, but her…she looked… different. She had something Latin to her appearance. When she turned back to me, she smiled again, but it was a sorry smile.
“He said he knows no one called Göker around here. Do you have his phone number?” She asked.
“I only have this address.”
I started to panic. Did I get the address wrong? Was it a joke? No, it couldn’t be, otherwise why would he pay for the flight?
I got the address wrong, it was the only possibility.
“Do you know where I could find an Internet Café, so that I could check the information I have?” I asked.
“There is one not too far from here, but I guess you don’t know the area.”
“Not really,” I answered.
She looked at me from top to bottom. “Are you a serial killer?”
“For now I still have a clean record.”
She smiled. “You can use my Internet,” she said, “but don’t get me wrong,” she added. “My only intention is to help you.” She sounded firm.
“Oh no,” I said, feeling ashamed and hoping she didn’t read anything wrong in me, “I wouldn’t think of it that way.”
“Let’s go!” she said, giving me her welcoming smile again.
I followed her and as she was typing the security code, I couldn’t stop myself and watched the four digits she entered: 1923
She opened the door for me and called the elevator.
“So what are you doing here? Are you on holidays?” She asked.
“Er, kind of,” I said. “I came to visit a friend.”
“Göker,” she said. “How did you guys meet?”
`We met on the Internet didn’t sound right, so I resorted to a small lie.
“I met him in London, he was studying history like me,” I added.
“Are you still a student?” she asked
“Yes, well, I am done with my Master’s degree, but now I have to finish writing my dissertation.”
“How about you? What do you—” Her phone rang before I finished my question.
She answered and spoke Turkish again. The rolling of her tongue and the intonation of her voice was seductive. She was so sweet, but at one point she seemed to get angry, arguing with the person on the phone. I had no idea what she was saying, but I was happy not to be the one her words were addressed to. When the door of the elevator opened, she went out without looking at me. She put the phone down and finally turned back to me. Her face bore no trace of her anger and she shared this significant smile again.
“Well, it seems that you came to the right place,” she said.
“I don’t get it,” I said, and I really didn’t. Did this have something to do with the phone call?
“Gokër...” She insisted on the name. “He just called me. He told me to put you in a cab to get to your hotel. He will meet you there,” she said.
“My hotel?” I asked confused. “I thought you didn’t know any Göker.” Had she lied?
“I truly don’t know any Göker, but my friend Ed told me that he was expecting you and would meet you at your hotel.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Me, neither.”
“I actually don’t have any hotel.”
“Well!” She answered, “He probably booked it for you, he gave me the name. I’ll call a cab and make some tea. Would you like some?”
My thoughts started to speed up. I was about to meet Göker, though that wasn’t his real name. This nice girl offered me some tea. They just argued together. Did she know about his wings? Maybe she was the same.
“So?” She woke me up. “Tea? Or I could make a coffee.”
“Yes. No. Em… Yes, tea is perfect.” I was a bit lost.
Her flat was nice and plain. It didn’t seem like a place where a couple would live. Except for the sofa, the living room was quite empty. She came back with our drinks.
“By the way, I am Hayal,” she said.
“Oh, how rude of me…nice to meet you Hayal,” I said, taking her hand. Her smile was warm and friendly.
Before I picked up my cup, her phone rang, announcing the arrival of the cab.
“Sorry that you don’t have the time to drink it,” she said.
“Don’t worry.”
“Come, I’ll walk you out! It might take you some time to reach the hotel. The traffic is quite bad at this time of the day and you are going to the other side of Istanbul.”
“I am used to the traffic,” I said. “I live in London”
She smiled. After talking to the taxi driver, she turned to me and said, “He’ll drive you there. It was nice to meet you, Astyan.”
After thanking her for her kindness, we left and I was left on the road with my taxi driver. Hayal’s company was more enjoyable. A couple of minutes passed and I started to think of this hotel. I didn’t want to spend too much money there, so I thought I would meet Göker there, then look for something else if it was too expensive. Göker … it wasn’t his real name…
At some point we reached the famous bridge that linked two continents - almost 5,000 feet of road between Europe and Asia. It shouldn’t take too long to get to the other side, but what Hayal told me before I left now made sense. The road was congested with heavy traffic. It was terrible, but was clearly the consequence of having thirteen million people living in the same city. I had read somewhere that a lot of people chose the Asian side to live while working on the European side. How much would I have to pay the taxi driver? We couldn’t go at a regular pace; the car was stopping after every metre. It was too hot, and the driver seemed to have decided not to use the air conditioning. As if that wasn’t enough, the electric system wasn’t working anymore in the back of the cab so I couldn’t open the window. Great! The heat sapped all my energy. The light was too bright for my exhausted eyes, so I closed them and listened to the noise of the traffic. I tried to remain awake…
The fat man from the plane appeared to me. I was lost in the crowd at the airport, and the taxi driver selling me Istanbul was there with Hayal offering me a tea…
“Sorry!”
The fat man pushed me as he passed by me.
“Sorry!”
Hayal smiled and left with the crowd.
“Mister!”
I opened my eyes.
“We are here!”
I was swimming in my own sweat and my head was extremely heavy. I looked outside. We had stopped in front of a Hilton. I had no chance; I couldn’t afford staying there, not even for a night.
“This is your hotel, sir,” said the taxi driver leaving the car.
“How much do I owe you?” I asked.
“You don’t pay me. They pay me,” he said, showing me the entrance of the hotel.
The hotel would pay him? He was already walking toward the reception, so I followed him. I was very relieved because of the time spent in the cab; it would have cost me a fortune. The driver spoke in Turkish with the receptionist and received an envelope from him.
“Have a nice holiday,” said the driver, leaving.
“Welcome, sir. You must be Astyan,” said the receptionist, smiling at me.
He actually looked like he meant what he was saying; it was different from French hotels where they manage to make you feel that you disturb them.
“Yes, that’s me.” Would it be appropriate to say to him, “I am sorry, but I haven’t got enough money to take a room here, so you can cancel the reservation”? Would they charge me cancelation fees?
Before I could say anything, he carried on.
“Mister Sezer asked us to inform you that your stay here has been arranged already. He will be coming later today. If you would like to wait in your room, we shall give you a call to inform you of his arrival.”
He paid for my room?
“Only one thing, I will need to take some information from your passport, please.”
“Sure! Here you are.”
So, my room charge was already paid. For how long? I would have to wait a bit longer before meeting Göker and getting some answers.
The receptionist finally gave me my passport back and talked to one of the caddies in Turkish. Then turned to me and said, “He will walk you to your room.”
Once there, I gave the guy a 10-lira note, since I didn’t have to pay for the cab or the hotel. He had been very polite and insisted on carrying my bag to the room; I couldn’t let him down. The room was simply perfect with a beautiful view of the Bosphorus. It must be expensive. I was more and more curious about my mysterious host. There was a computer, which was on, so I checked my emails. There was a message from mum:
-Mexico is fantastic. You should come here one day. I will send you some pictures soon. How is the summer in England? I would like to come to see you soon. When is it better for you?
Mum
When? I had no idea, because I didn’t know when I was going back.
Hi mum,
I’m glad you are enjoying Mexico. Can’t wait to see the pictures. Right now I am in Turkey, in Istanbul. I’m staying with a friend from Uni. I will come back at the start of September.
Astyan.
That was safe, I thought. One whole month. If I came back earlier, I would tell her I didn’t enjoy it anymore.
The next message was from Dan:
“You’re such a d..k! We are stuck in England and you are in Turkey! Enjoy, mate, and don’t forget to bring me some lokum (double pistachio).
Dan
That was it. The rest were advertisements from different companies. I had no idea how they got my email address.
Log out and done.
It was half past four. The bed was tempting as I had had a tiring journey, and I couldn’t resist jumping on, back first. It was very comfortable.
I closed my eyes and remembered the dark hole I had dreamt of so many times. I was almost asleep when the phone rang.
“Yes?” I asked
“Mister Serez is waiting for you at the bar.” It was a different voice than the receptionist I had talked to when I arrived.
“All right, I’m coming.” Göker was there, finally! I would soon get some answers. I’d be able to share what was happening, to talk about it freely. I put my shoes on and left the room, heading to the elevator.
The bar was on the terrace; I had no clue what he looked like, so how was I going to find him? Was he old? Young? By the time I questioned it, the elevator’s doors had opened and I walked out. The bar was really nice, and also had a panoramic view on the Bosphorus. By one of the windows, where I thought was the best place for a private talk, a man stood up and made a sign for me to come. Göker was probably just a bit older than me. What hit me first was his impressive V-shaped body. He must spend a lot of time working out, I thought.
“Astyan!” he said when I reached him. “Welcome!” He kissed my cheek. Anne had told me that only old men or family would do that and not everywhere.
“How are you?” he asked. “Is the room fine for you? If not, we can change with another or go to another hotel.”
“No, no, everything is perfect. Thank you. It’s too much, actually”
“This is the minimum I could do for a guest,” he said. “How was your journey?”
“Fine.” He was too polite; I wanted to go directly to the facts. “So you are Göker?”
“I am sorry for that, I haven’t introduced myself yet. I am Ediz, but call me Ed. Take a seat please”
I sat and he followed me.
“Let’s get straight to the topic!” I told him. It was good to be polite, but familiarities could be kept for later.
“You are right,” he answered. “Let’s go to the room.”
Ouch! It sounded quite freaky. I knew he wanted to see my wings, but I couldn’t prevent myself thinking it was weird. After all, what could be weirder than two men, privately showing each other their secret thing...?
Ed - I had to get used to this name because until now he had been Göker to me - told the barman to keep our table and we walked toward the elevator.
I was really excited, but also stressed about the situation. It was the first time I would show them to anybody. Neither of us said a word, but he looked much calmer than I was. We finally arrived at my room, went in, and locked the door.
“Let me see them” he said while closing the curtains.
“I want to see yours, too!” I told him. He smiled and we both started to undress. Strangely, it was really exciting. Not the fact that we were getting undressed, but the fact that I was about to see somebody like me. I was about to see his wings, which he had already, as he had said, flown with.
There he was, standing in front of me; he turned a bit to show me his profile. They were beautiful. They were skin colour, perfectly symmetric, from his traps to his lower back. He surprised me when he opened them. They did not look much different from mine. They were so impressive! The room became smaller. Then he looked at mine.
“Nice,” he said, “Remind me when they started to grow?”
“It has been one month now,” I answered.
“It must have been pretty painful,” he said getting dressed again. “Such a short time.”
“Most of the time it was all right.”
“Let’s go back to the bar and talk,” he said. I assumed that the situation didn’t make him feel comfortable either.
We stopped talking when the doors of the elevator opened, as a tall man wearing a navy blue suit and sun glasses was waiting to enter. There was something disturbing about him. Once we were back at our table, he ordered a whisky and I had a local beer. He looked around so as to make sure nobody would be able to hear us. The bar was empty for now. The tourists were probably still visiting one of the many places to see in Istanbul, and the businessmen were still working.
“Have you told anybody about it?” was the first question he asked me.
“Nobody,” I answered. “I wasn’t sure who I could talk to.”
Well, I did spread the word on the Internet.
“This is a good thing. You need to keep it as secret as you can,” he said with a serious expression. “Did you ever try to fly?”
“I was in London; there is no place I could have gotten them out without being seen. Besides, I don’t think they are ready for that,” I answered.
“Not ready? Of course they are! They are big enough to carry you; you just need to control them.”
“You must be kidding me!” But maybe not; his were actually as thin as mine. Was I really ready to fly?
“So how should I do it? How can I fly? They don’t even flap!” The words came faster than I wanted.
“Of course they don’t flap, they are not meant to, at least not on their own,” he explained.
“So how?”
“Your arms,” he answered. “Your wings need a motor, they need muscles. Your arms are their power.”
I looked at him as to say, “I don’t understand you.” Obviously he understood because he called the waiter and asked for a pen and a paper. He then started to draw a man’s shape with wings. “Here, there is a space where you lodge your hand. The skin is flexible enough and you basically hold the bone which is thicker here. Once you have it, you flap to take off.”
Flapping with my arms. My wings lost a bit of their glory.
“As soon as I can, I will take you for a flying session,” he said, taking a mobile phone from his bag and handing it to me. “This is for you. I will have to go for now, but keep the phone with you, and I will call you tomorrow night.”
I was a bit surprised that he had to go like that. I thought we would spend more time talking.
“My number is saved in the contact list. Use it as if it was yours; don’t worry about calling abroad, either.”
“So when will we meet again?” I asked.
“I have some stuff to do, but I will call to let you know. Tomorrow Hayal will take you for a tour. She will pick you up from here.”
This time he was done and stood up. I told him I couldn’t accept the phone but he answered by saying that it was more practical for him to contact me. He cheek-kissed me again; I guess I had to get used to it. I thanked him again and he left.
I was sitting there alone. I looked around as a group of loud British tourists came in, all retired I assumed, and obviously used to a diet rich in calories.
It was a good time to stop sharing secrets. The phone was on the table, and what a phone. I needed some privacy to think it all over, so I went back to my room. There I discovered that the door was half-opened. I panicked a bit, but my belongings were still there. I remembered that Göker was the one who hadn’t closed it properly. I took my shirt off to have a look at what he had told me about. I fiddled a bit and found it, the small space where I could put my hand, covering it with the skin. The sensation was weird. I wanted to try so I started to flap slowly, then a bit more strongly. A vase and some papers were blown around so I had to stop. Outside would be better. Anyway, I was really excited to know how to use them now. It meant that I could fly… well, in theory.
Lying on the bed to think had become a habit for me. Facing the roof, I went over my talk with Göker…Ed. I still had so many questions. Who was he? His name was the only thing I knew, which wasn’t much. He obviously was wealthy, if I considered the flight, the cabs, the hotel, and the phone. I had to admit that it was a good start for my improvised holidays. Tomorrow I would have a tour, but for now, it was still early and I had no intention of being an old man tonight. I put my shoes on and headed out for a walk. I went to the reception to ask if there were nice places to see around and they recommended Istikal Avenue, which, according to them, was a neuralgic centre of Taksim, the area the hotel was located in. He then gave me an envelope.
“Mr. Serez left this for your attention.”
“Oh! Thank you,” I said. I passed the door, opened it, and stopped straight after. It was money, a lot of money, two thousand liras. A post-it inside said:
-This money is yours to make your stay comfortable.
Ed
What the hell was this? Who on earth would pay for your holidays, and give you a phone and money? Who was Ed? I took the phone, found his number, the only one in the contacts, and called him. I tried many times but he didn’t answer. Anyway, it was too much and I couldn’t use his money, so I put it in an inner pocket of my trousers, thinking that I would give it back as soon as I saw him again.
Out there I had no problem finding my way. I just had to follow the flow and it would lead me to my destination. It was amazing, this street was so crowded. Three kilometres of energy. The Champs Elysées, which I had visited in the past, was not even half as alive as this street. There were sounds everywhere. On the left, coming from a shop, a famous pop song, and on the right, an old man playing the kemenche. A bit further, a kid playing the recorder and a young girl on the goblet drum, both covered by the cacophony of the street. I was getting drunk on the life that was being spread in this massive artery. It was an amazing moment of awareness, and my senses were taking in everything.
Walking became a dangerous exercise. I had to watch my way, to change my trajectory, to evaluate others. The crowd was everywhere and advanced in a messy cohesion; all of this was ordered chaos. Further ahead, a path opened and I thought of Moses and the Red Sea. Coming in from the fleeting emptiness was a blind girl with a stick, which seemed to be her only link with the empiric world. Her walk through the river of humans was smooth and calm. She looked like she had nothing to worry about, and her face offered a smile to whoever looked at her. As soon as she passed, the people came back together, like the waves breaking on the Roman soldiers. The emptiness was submerged again and there was no trace of the smiling angel. She was contagious, for I found myself smiling too. Further along an old woman sold me some tissues for almost nothing; a man wearing a suit with a tie was selling boiled corn, and further still, another dark-suited man made grilled chestnuts his business, despite the season. I carried on and my ears were called by a guy dressed in Ottoman style hitting a bell. He was selling ice cream with surprising skills, stretching and playing around with his product. He was tricking a tourist by taking it away and pretending to drop it. Where else in the world would selling an ice cream turn out to be a show?
I kept on walking and behind me came the Tramway, honking to dig his way through. As I moved to the side, I had a better view of the different shops. There were plenty of big brands everywhere, book shops and jewelry. It was endless, a haven for shoppers. Between all of these were restaurants displaying their best specialities to our eyes.
I was sucked in by the street; I went downstream, I went with the flow. The journey down the street and up again probably took me two hours. When I got back to the hotel, I was exhausted despite the excitedness of my mind. After a fresh shower, I turned the air conditioning on and went to bed with my head full of what I have experienced out there.