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Fiction

The Map

By Nazli Eray
Translated from Turkish by Robert P. Finn
Nazli Eray finds the complete guide to life in a Turkish bookshop.

In one of Ankara’s forgotten streets, there is a narrow, dark bookstore. I stop by there every now and then to look at the dusty old books. The moldy old books interest me; the smell of dust gets into the back of my throat there, I chat a little with the old bespectacled bookseller, who sits in a corner at a worm-eaten desk , then I go out into the sunny streets again and walk away.

Late one afternoon I went into the bookstore, where the sun rarely penetrates and which has a kind of rich scent all of its own, and was absently looking through the shelves.

The old bookseller, coughing lightly from where he sat, pointed out a bunch of rolled-up papers lying in a corner.

“These just came in,” he said.

I went over.

“What are they?”

“Old maps . . .”

I leaned down, picked up one of them and unrolled it. It was a very old map. It showed the long-erased borders of the Ottoman Empire. There was Old Turkish written on it.

“Interesting,” I said.

I unrolled another map and looked at it with interest. Some very unusual islands . . . I couldn’t quite make out where it was.

The bookseller said:

“These are some old colonies . . .”

“God, what ocean are these colonies in? I’ve never heard their names before!”

The bookseller said:

“These maps are special, they’re interpretative.”

Now I was looking at another map; it was like something from another planet . . . There was Latin America, and Africa, and so forth, but there were several pieces of land I didn’t know. And the writing was very unusual.

“What’s this?”

“This,” said the bookseller, “it’s the world we live in, of course. But interpreted . . . You understand.”

“That they’re interpreted?”

“Yes, they’re specially annotated maps.”

“Really very interesting,” I said. “I’ve never heard of interpretative maps like these before. I wasn’t a great student of geography in school, but I’ve traveled around the world. And I’ve really never seen anything that looked like these pieces of land. I mean look, isn’t that America? But what is that over there, for God’s sake?”

The bookseller said:

“Well, that’s the way the mapmaker interpreted it.”

“So, Canada isn’t on top of the United States . . . is something else there?”

“There’s a different interpretation. What can I tell you . . . Look at that map of the Middle East. It’s very unusual,” he said.

I looked at the map that he held out to me. The Middle Eastern countries were all there, but all in a completely different way . . .

“Believe me, this ‘interpretation’ business really interests me,” I said. “I’d really like to meet the person who interpreted the maps and drew them like this . . . I wonder, is this a political interpretation?”

“I think it’s a personal interpretation,” said the bookseller.

“Well then this person must have an extraordinarily strong imagination.”

“I don’t know,” said the bookseller, “but they’re not fantasies, they’re interpretative and realistic. That’s what he says himself.”

I was paying close attention.

“So you know the person who drew these maps?” I asked with curiosity.

The bookseller nodded.

“I know him,” he said. “He stops by now and then.”

I had another map in my hand now and I was looking at it.

“Well, this, for example, I can’t understand at all,” I said. “What is this? Where? I wonder, what kind of interpretation is this? All these places I don’t recognize . . . it’s astonishing.”

“Oh, that,” said the bookseller. “That’s the Map of Man. I mean it has nothing to do with the world, with pieces of land . . . You’re holding it upside down. Do you see, it’s a Map of Man?”

I was amazed.

“A Map of Man?”

“Yes, a Map of Man.”

“Interpretative.”

“Yes, interpretative.”

“And is this a particular man’s map, or a general one?” I asked.

“The one in your hand is a general map,” the bookseller said. “Let me put it this way: It’s a General Map of Man with a special interpretation.”

“A General Map of Man with a special interpretation . . .”

“Yes. General . . . the map of the man in the street. But the author’s interpretation, of course.”

I was turning the map around in my hands. Unusual, a very unusual thing . . .

“Where is this?”

“Let me see . . . oh, that’s the way leading to the man’s heart.”

“And those . . .”

The bookseller leaned over and looked closely.

“Fears, anxieties . . . here are the paths of marriage, look; he gave a lot of room to that section. There’s the entrance, you know, the beginning . . . that part clearly shows the choices that will be made in a relationship and yes, yes, this extended bit is the past. Psychological states and things. You know men . . .”

“I do,” I said. “How much is this map?”

“I’ll give you a good price,” said the bookseller,

“I wonder if it can be used for anything.”

“Like what?” said the bookseller.

“Well, to tell you the truth, there’s somebody who’s upsetting me at the moment. I mean, a very difficult person. Hard to figure out. I wonder if this map could help me.”

“Please, what you are trying to say? said the old bookseller. “This is a guide . . . So you started out on this road without a map?”

“Yes,” I said. “I started out without a map. “And really, you know, I wasn’t aware that people used a map in these things. I’ve been trying to develop a relationship in the normal way.”

“Please,” said the bookseller. “How can you set off without a map? First you study it, then you set out. You’ll get lost the way you’re doing it. You’ve got yourself involved in something very dangerous.”

“I guess so,” I said. “Actually I was thinking of giving up on the whole thing. I’m fed up.”

“Take this map,” said the bookseller. “Find the roads. Mark them in red pen. You’ll be sure to find your way.”

“Fine,” I said. “But am I going to be able to read this map? I look and look, yet I don’t understand a thing.”

“There’s a manual,” said the bookseller. He opened up a drawer and took out a little thing like a brochure.

“Here you are. The two together are ten thousand liras.”

He wrapped the map and the brochure in thin yellow paper and gave them to me.

I paid him and left the shop.

I came home, spread the map out on the table with the manual in my hand; I put on my glasses and tried to find my way with a red pen.

. . . The sections for childhood, adolescence . . . Why does he call, why doesn’t he? What does he want, what doesn’t he want? Which of what he says is true, and how much is actually the opposite of what he wants . . . What does he think, what does he say? What does he show, what does he conceal?

Now I found all of these from their numbered places in the manual and marked them on the map.

Why does he run away, why does he come? What are his ideas? The women in his life . . . What does he say, what does he want? And so forth . . .

A shape gradually began to reveal itself.

I made myself a coffee and lit a cigarette; I was looking through the brochure again.

. . . The section for a divorced man. Different ways according to the financial situation . . . What his goal in life is, I don’t know what else . . .

The roads I drew intersected, I read the guidebook over again.

. . . Here’s how if he’s timid . . . Here’s how if he’s bold . . . I can’t figure it out. I’m stuck. I guess I wasted my money . . . Ten thousand down the drain . . . whatever. If he has a neurotic personality, draw straight upward from the dotted line . . . Sections on sadism . . . My God!

There was a knock at the door. I went and opened it. A close girlfriend had stopped by . . .

“Come in,” I said. “Come look, I found this map. A Map of Man; that’s the guide . . . I’m marking out roads in red. So, this one’s for my guy . . .”

She was astonished. “Wait, let me see,” she said. “Where did you find this? Do you think it would work for Uzeyir?”

“Yes, it’s a General Map of Man. It might work. But it has a special interpretation . . .”

“What do you mean, ‘special interpretation’?”

“The bookseller told me. That’s what it is . . . A General Map of Man with a special Interpretation . . .”

We both went over to the table with colored pens in our hands and tried to find a road on the map . . .

“You draw with the green pen,” I said. “Take it, look, there . . . Because these two men are different.”

“Yes, they really are very different from one another.”

We stood there talking.

“Now, see, Uzeyir is still a bit under his wife’s influence, isn’t he? He went through a lot when he was getting divorced; mark it there, then go straight up . . .Why doesn’t he want to get married? Go down from that corner. Now I’m taking the outside roads; my guy has taken the initiative upon himself but isn’t doing a single thing. So there you go, another dead end . . . If you call him he acts strange, and if you don’t call, he acts strange in another way. Oh, there’s the road for his sensitivity. So, see how I’m marking it, follow me . . .”

“OK, OK,” she said. “I’m going down from the section on ‘Relationship with Mother’; you go past the ‘Wants to Stay Alone’ section and let’s see . . . There’s a telephone at the end of that road; let’s look at the manual for a minute. . .There’s a ‘Deviating from His Goals’ section. . . Wow, this is a little confusing here. . .”

“Stop,” I said. “Give that to me a minute . . . Let that go for now . . . ‘Fears’ . . . Look, this section is incredible!”

“Wait, wait, there’s an interesting section there . . . ‘Illnesses Described’ . . . I’m marking that. I’m in the ‘Old Relationships’ part. . .”

“Don’t go too fast,” I said.

“What time is it?”

“Nine-thirty.”

“Should I call?”

“What if something goes wrong?”

“But we’re following the map . . .”

“Well, you know best . . .”

“Look, there’s a ‘Show Interest’ section . . . but then over there is a ‘Man Who Shies Away from Interest’ section.”

“What a confused map . . .”

“Wait, I’m putting a check on that ‘Call Him’ section.”

“Look where I am; there’s an area called ‘You Can Visit Him at Home at Night.’”

“But there are other things before you get there—look at the section ‘Giving a Dinner’ closely . . . Oh, wait, I found a different way! ‘Action According to How He Acts on the Phone’ . . . there’s a section called ‘Balancing the Control Mechanism,’ I’m going over there. There’s a section called ‘What Will You Say to Him?’; that would be useful on the phone . . .”

I lit another cigarette.

“I think I’ll give him a call.”

“It’s up to you.”

I gathered my courage and dialed the number.

“Hello?”

“Hello . . .”

“How are you, what’s new?”

“Nothing much.”

“How are things?”

“Well, nothing new.”

“I just thought I’d ask.”

“Thanks.”

“Well. Good night.”

“Bye.”

I sat down at the table, crushed.

“How did he sound?”

“Tense. He was afraid.”

“Why would he be afraid?”

“How do I know? Goddamn it!”

“He wasn’t pleased?”

“He didn’t seem pleased. He was being reserved . . . Now, let’s put the ‘Action According to How He Behaves on the Phone’ section into play. . .”

“You moved too fast. I wish we hadn’t called him . . .”

“God, I’m getting fed up . . . Start and stop.”

“Really, the sections on Uzeyir are getting to me. There’s one part called ‘Is He Testing You?’”

“Boy, this stuff is really hard,” I said.

“Listen,” she said. “Look at this part! ‘What Does This Woman See in Me? Who Am I? This  Woman’s Interest Can’t Be Real, She Must Be Teasing Me . . .’ It’s a completely different path.”

“Oh, being insecure about himself?”

“Maybe that.”

“Look, there, that section, ‘Get Out of the Woman’s Sphere of Influence, Save Yourself; You Won’t Experience Any Harm.’”

“Oh God! You know what kind of guy I want? Someone who loves me. Somebody who’s not afraid to love, who wants to be happy together. I’m sick of just sitting at home like I’m some kind of turkey.”

“Let’s move down the line that says ‘He Runs Away When You Think of Him,’ then.”

“Wow, the map is really mixed up now. I bet we won’t even be able to find a road.”

“Yes . . . We’re lost.”

“This is terrible!”

“Well, we’re lost.”

“I wish he weren’t so good-looking. I’d punch him!”

“You wouldn’t . . . We’re lost. What are we going to do?”

The two of us there on the Map of Man, hopeless and horrified.

“I’m afraid. There’s no way we’re going to find the road.”

“Yes. We went the wrong way. Now there’s no way out.”

“We’re stuck. Now what do we do?”

“We can’t do anything. We’re lost.”

I thought for a moment.

“Let’s just rip up this map. Forget about both of these guys!”

“Can we?”

“Why not?”

“Wait, wait. Let’s think a little.”

“You know, if these guys were normal people, we could just telephone them and ask them. We’d say: ‘We’ve got this map in our hands, but we got lost before we got to you. We’re afraid, we’re in a bad way . . . We don’t know what to do. Help us.’”

“But this is how they are. . .”

“I know. Goddamn it.”

“He used to be completely devoted, didn’t he?”

“Of course, I never even had to give him a second thought.”

“Mine was exactly the same . . .”

“I appreciated him only after he left.”

“I’ve been going crazy ever since he turned to stone on me. I don’t know what I’m going to do!”

“Wait a minute . . . We have to find the way back.”

“It’s impossible . . . I can’t find it!”

“I can’t find it either.”

“If he were an American, he’d get over it, you know!”

“Sweetie, these guys are different!”

“I’m going crazy. I wish we’d each just found an American!”

“Well, we didn’t . . .”

“Listen, this map is going to kill us. Let’s try to escape. I’m glad you’re here with me, I’d lose my mind if I were by myself.”

“Wait, calm down. We’ll just slowly go back exactly the way we came.”

“Is it that easy?”

“No . . . no, it’s not but we can’t stay like this in the middle of the map.”

“Fine, I’m going down from the ‘Call Him’ area. I’ve come to ‘Leave the Initiative to Him.’ From there a little to the left . . .”

“I’m slipping down under the ‘Withdrawal Syndrome’; I’ve come to the dotted line in the ‘Sexual Fears’ section . . . Yes, now there’s the ‘Purpose of My Life’ section.”

“Down, go down from there . . . Stop, there should be something called ‘Skip a Date,’ we just must have missed it.”

“But we still haven’t gotten anywhere.”

“I’m exhausted! But what can we do?”

“Nothing at all.”

“I’m getting hungry.”

“And I’m bored.”

“There’s no way out.”

“It looks like it.”

“You know, we could die in the middle of all this confusion.”

“Yes. Like we were lost in the desert.”

“If only there were some water . . .”

“A bite to eat . . .”

“There are no more cigarettes . . .”

“The phone’s out, I think . . .”

“I know.”

“Oh God! The lights went out.”

“Wait, I have a lighter. We’re sliding quickly down from the ‘Ego’ section.”

“I can’t see very well.”

“There’s a terrible wind now. The lighter keeps going out.”

“If we had a signal flare we could send it up. They’d find us. They’d get us out of here.”

“Hold on to me. Let’s slowly follow that road.”

“Fine.”

“Do you have anything for a headache?”

“I think so. Here.”

“There’s no water. Well, I’ll just swallow it.”

“It’ll be a blessing if we can get out of this map without completely losing our minds.”

“Oh, my foot’s stuck in a hole. I can’t walk anymore. Leave me here. You stay on the road.”

“I won’t leave you here, you’ll die.”

“Go, go. Otherwise we’ll both die.”

“What is this wind . . . My mouth and nose are full of sand.”

“Leave me. I can’t walk anymore.”

“Come . . . lean on me. We’ll get out . . . just keep trying!”

“No, no, you save yourself. Leave me here. My ankle is swelling up. I can’t walk because of the pain.”

“We won’t leave one another. I’m moving forward, little by little. Lean on my shoulder.”

“What’s that sound?”

“It’s an owl hooting. Don’t pay it any attention.”

“The lighter went out.”

“It won’t light in this wind.”

“We’re in the pitch dark.”

“Can we find our way by looking at the stars?”

“But there aren’t any stars!”

“I’ve given up hope. We won’t be saved. We’re going to just die here in the middle of this terrible map.”

“Take this, I had a chocolate in my pocket. Eat it. It’ll give you strength.”

“My feet are wet.”

“We’re crossing a creek bed. Slow. Don’t put any weight on the foot that hurts.”

“It’s started to rain.”

“So what, we’ll just keep on walking down.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, look, there’s a light. They’re looking for us. Uzeyir! Uzeyir! We’re here!”

“There’s no such thing. You’re seeing things. We’re all by ourselves!”

“Uzeyir! Uzeyir! He doesn’t hear, he doesn’t hear us!”

At that point I shouted with all my strength. My guy’s name burst out of my chest!

“Hidayet! We’re dying! Hidayet! Help us!”

My voice echoed back from the invisible mountains in front of us.

“There’s nobody at all . . . nobody can hear us.”

“I never thought I would die like this.”

“We’ll be rescued.”

“I have no hope. We’ll never get out of here. They don’t believe in our love.”

“Listen, were you ever happy with him?”

“I was. I could never forget . . .”

“Hey, the road is closed. There’s something like a tree stump in front of us!”

“It must be a tree uprooted by the storm.”

“What should we do?”

“Wait, let’s slide by it. Slowly, now.”

“I’ve used up all my strength. Leave me here. You keep going on the road.”

“Come, come over here. We’re past the stump now.”

“I can’t breathe with this rain. I can’t stand it anymore.”

“Try a little harder.”

After struggling for two hours we managed to get out of the Map of Man in a state of exhaustion. When we got to the edge of the table we couldn’t believe that we had escaped. Our hair was a mess, our faces and legs were covered with cuts and bruises.

We washed up, we drank all the water in the fridge. Then we collapsed, exhausted, on the carpet.

We fell asleep there.

The sunlight falling on us in the morning woke us, and the sound of a vacuum cleaner noisily at work in a corner of the room. We almost got swept up by it.

We held on to the leg of the table.

“What a night . . .”

“A complete nightmare . . .”

“My foot feels terrible. I can’t believe we made it out.”

“Let’s get rid of that map.”

“Yes.”

“Or we’ll try to get into it again . . .”

“True. When we get better, we’ll try it all over again.”

“Let’s rip it up.”

“I haven’t the strength. It feels like my arms were cut off.”

“I’m ripping it up. Hold on to that end.”

We started to tear the map.

The room was suddenly filled with shouts of pain.

“That’s Hidayet’s voice!”

“And that’s Uzeyir! Oh my God!”

“Tear! Tear!”

“I can’t. Listen to them . . . It’s unbearable!”

“Close your ears.”

“They must be in pain.”

“Strange, they never let on.”

“Yes, terrible!”

“I can’t tear anymore.”

“Come on. Let’s get out of the house. Give me your hand. Let’s get away from here.”

We barely managed to make it out.

The streets were just waking up. Moving like a sleepwalker I found the bookseller’s shop.

We went inside.

When he saw our shredded clothes, our shoes with their torn laces, and our arms and legs covered with cuts and bruises, the bookseller got up from his chair and stared at us.

“The map,” I said. “It was terrible. We nearly died.”

I hit the bookseller’s desk with my muddy hand with its broken nails.

“I want to find the person who drew this map. It’s a matter of personal safety! We almost died! He’s going to pay for this!”

The bookseller said:

“Calm down. Please calm down.”

“How can we be calm? We nearly died.”

The bookseller said:

“The person who drew the map didn’t do anything wrong! He just drew what was there. You got yourselves lost in it . . . Please. Calm down.”

“That map is alive. It’s living . . . it’s a terrible thing!” I said.

“Forget about that,” said the bookseller. “Let me show you some other maps.”

“The Map of Man can be a dangerous thing. Don’t think about what you went through. I have other maps here. Look, this is a completely different India.”

I took a look at the map he was showing me.

“But this doesn’t look anything like India!”

“It’s a special interpretation. As I told you . . . what do you say? Forget everything. That’s Calcutta, here’s the Taj Mahal.”

“We don’t want a map of India.”

“It’s up to you. I just said it to distract you.”

I seemed to be getting a bit of a grip on myself. My stomach was grumbling from hunger, my left kidney hurt like somebody had punched me. And I’d caught a cold during the night, of course.

“Look here,” I said to the bookseller. “Do you have a map for comfortable middle-aged men? Forget about cities, we’re going after men again. But we want something different . . . somebody who’s worked everything out, who knows about women, a certain age, mature, with money—you know, classy, maybe a widower, kind of a sugar daddy? I know it’s hard, but do you have anything like that?”

The bookseller was listening closely to me.

“Why not?” he said. “I have everything. But they won’t put you through the mill like that one. I mean, they won’t wear you out so quickly. I’m sure the darkness and the storm were quite an adventure, weren’t they?”

“Forget that!” I said. “We were about ready to give up the ghost. Look at us!”

“Well then, here you are; just what you wanted. Calm, settled-down, storm over, not quite so hot, but still burning; maps of comfortable middle-aged men. Special interpretation.”

“These ones too.”

“Yes.”

“But, please, I don’t want any problems like last night.”

“No, there won’t be. We give these maps of well-off men to the university. For the economics and statistics classes.”

“Well, fine then. Wrap up two. And two manuals. Be well. OK, good-bye!”

© Nazli Eray. By arrangement with the author. Translation © 2011 by Robert P. Finn. All rights reserved.

English Turkish (Original)

In one of Ankara’s forgotten streets, there is a narrow, dark bookstore. I stop by there every now and then to look at the dusty old books. The moldy old books interest me; the smell of dust gets into the back of my throat there, I chat a little with the old bespectacled bookseller, who sits in a corner at a worm-eaten desk , then I go out into the sunny streets again and walk away.

Late one afternoon I went into the bookstore, where the sun rarely penetrates and which has a kind of rich scent all of its own, and was absently looking through the shelves.

The old bookseller, coughing lightly from where he sat, pointed out a bunch of rolled-up papers lying in a corner.

“These just came in,” he said.

I went over.

“What are they?”

“Old maps . . .”

I leaned down, picked up one of them and unrolled it. It was a very old map. It showed the long-erased borders of the Ottoman Empire. There was Old Turkish written on it.

“Interesting,” I said.

I unrolled another map and looked at it with interest. Some very unusual islands . . . I couldn’t quite make out where it was.

The bookseller said:

“These are some old colonies . . .”

“God, what ocean are these colonies in? I’ve never heard their names before!”

The bookseller said:

“These maps are special, they’re interpretative.”

Now I was looking at another map; it was like something from another planet . . . There was Latin America, and Africa, and so forth, but there were several pieces of land I didn’t know. And the writing was very unusual.

“What’s this?”

“This,” said the bookseller, “it’s the world we live in, of course. But interpreted . . . You understand.”

“That they’re interpreted?”

“Yes, they’re specially annotated maps.”

“Really very interesting,” I said. “I’ve never heard of interpretative maps like these before. I wasn’t a great student of geography in school, but I’ve traveled around the world. And I’ve really never seen anything that looked like these pieces of land. I mean look, isn’t that America? But what is that over there, for God’s sake?”

The bookseller said:

“Well, that’s the way the mapmaker interpreted it.”

“So, Canada isn’t on top of the United States . . . is something else there?”

“There’s a different interpretation. What can I tell you . . . Look at that map of the Middle East. It’s very unusual,” he said.

I looked at the map that he held out to me. The Middle Eastern countries were all there, but all in a completely different way . . .

“Believe me, this ‘interpretation’ business really interests me,” I said. “I’d really like to meet the person who interpreted the maps and drew them like this . . . I wonder, is this a political interpretation?”

“I think it’s a personal interpretation,” said the bookseller.

“Well then this person must have an extraordinarily strong imagination.”

“I don’t know,” said the bookseller, “but they’re not fantasies, they’re interpretative and realistic. That’s what he says himself.”

I was paying close attention.

“So you know the person who drew these maps?” I asked with curiosity.

The bookseller nodded.

“I know him,” he said. “He stops by now and then.”

I had another map in my hand now and I was looking at it.

“Well, this, for example, I can’t understand at all,” I said. “What is this? Where? I wonder, what kind of interpretation is this? All these places I don’t recognize . . . it’s astonishing.”

“Oh, that,” said the bookseller. “That’s the Map of Man. I mean it has nothing to do with the world, with pieces of land . . . You’re holding it upside down. Do you see, it’s a Map of Man?”

I was amazed.

“A Map of Man?”

“Yes, a Map of Man.”

“Interpretative.”

“Yes, interpretative.”

“And is this a particular man’s map, or a general one?” I asked.

“The one in your hand is a general map,” the bookseller said. “Let me put it this way: It’s a General Map of Man with a special interpretation.”

“A General Map of Man with a special interpretation . . .”

“Yes. General . . . the map of the man in the street. But the author’s interpretation, of course.”

I was turning the map around in my hands. Unusual, a very unusual thing . . .

“Where is this?”

“Let me see . . . oh, that’s the way leading to the man’s heart.”

“And those . . .”

The bookseller leaned over and looked closely.

“Fears, anxieties . . . here are the paths of marriage, look; he gave a lot of room to that section. There’s the entrance, you know, the beginning . . . that part clearly shows the choices that will be made in a relationship and yes, yes, this extended bit is the past. Psychological states and things. You know men . . .”

“I do,” I said. “How much is this map?”

“I’ll give you a good price,” said the bookseller,

“I wonder if it can be used for anything.”

“Like what?” said the bookseller.

“Well, to tell you the truth, there’s somebody who’s upsetting me at the moment. I mean, a very difficult person. Hard to figure out. I wonder if this map could help me.”

“Please, what you are trying to say? said the old bookseller. “This is a guide . . . So you started out on this road without a map?”

“Yes,” I said. “I started out without a map. “And really, you know, I wasn’t aware that people used a map in these things. I’ve been trying to develop a relationship in the normal way.”

“Please,” said the bookseller. “How can you set off without a map? First you study it, then you set out. You’ll get lost the way you’re doing it. You’ve got yourself involved in something very dangerous.”

“I guess so,” I said. “Actually I was thinking of giving up on the whole thing. I’m fed up.”

“Take this map,” said the bookseller. “Find the roads. Mark them in red pen. You’ll be sure to find your way.”

“Fine,” I said. “But am I going to be able to read this map? I look and look, yet I don’t understand a thing.”

“There’s a manual,” said the bookseller. He opened up a drawer and took out a little thing like a brochure.

“Here you are. The two together are ten thousand liras.”

He wrapped the map and the brochure in thin yellow paper and gave them to me.

I paid him and left the shop.

I came home, spread the map out on the table with the manual in my hand; I put on my glasses and tried to find my way with a red pen.

. . . The sections for childhood, adolescence . . . Why does he call, why doesn’t he? What does he want, what doesn’t he want? Which of what he says is true, and how much is actually the opposite of what he wants . . . What does he think, what does he say? What does he show, what does he conceal?

Now I found all of these from their numbered places in the manual and marked them on the map.

Why does he run away, why does he come? What are his ideas? The women in his life . . . What does he say, what does he want? And so forth . . .

A shape gradually began to reveal itself.

I made myself a coffee and lit a cigarette; I was looking through the brochure again.

. . . The section for a divorced man. Different ways according to the financial situation . . . What his goal in life is, I don’t know what else . . .

The roads I drew intersected, I read the guidebook over again.

. . . Here’s how if he’s timid . . . Here’s how if he’s bold . . . I can’t figure it out. I’m stuck. I guess I wasted my money . . . Ten thousand down the drain . . . whatever. If he has a neurotic personality, draw straight upward from the dotted line . . . Sections on sadism . . . My God!

There was a knock at the door. I went and opened it. A close girlfriend had stopped by . . .

“Come in,” I said. “Come look, I found this map. A Map of Man; that’s the guide . . . I’m marking out roads in red. So, this one’s for my guy . . .”

She was astonished. “Wait, let me see,” she said. “Where did you find this? Do you think it would work for Uzeyir?”

“Yes, it’s a General Map of Man. It might work. But it has a special interpretation . . .”

“What do you mean, ‘special interpretation’?”

“The bookseller told me. That’s what it is . . . A General Map of Man with a special Interpretation . . .”

We both went over to the table with colored pens in our hands and tried to find a road on the map . . .

“You draw with the green pen,” I said. “Take it, look, there . . . Because these two men are different.”

“Yes, they really are very different from one another.”

We stood there talking.

“Now, see, Uzeyir is still a bit under his wife’s influence, isn’t he? He went through a lot when he was getting divorced; mark it there, then go straight up . . .Why doesn’t he want to get married? Go down from that corner. Now I’m taking the outside roads; my guy has taken the initiative upon himself but isn’t doing a single thing. So there you go, another dead end . . . If you call him he acts strange, and if you don’t call, he acts strange in another way. Oh, there’s the road for his sensitivity. So, see how I’m marking it, follow me . . .”

“OK, OK,” she said. “I’m going down from the section on ‘Relationship with Mother’; you go past the ‘Wants to Stay Alone’ section and let’s see . . . There’s a telephone at the end of that road; let’s look at the manual for a minute. . .There’s a ‘Deviating from His Goals’ section. . . Wow, this is a little confusing here. . .”

“Stop,” I said. “Give that to me a minute . . . Let that go for now . . . ‘Fears’ . . . Look, this section is incredible!”

“Wait, wait, there’s an interesting section there . . . ‘Illnesses Described’ . . . I’m marking that. I’m in the ‘Old Relationships’ part. . .”

“Don’t go too fast,” I said.

“What time is it?”

“Nine-thirty.”

“Should I call?”

“What if something goes wrong?”

“But we’re following the map . . .”

“Well, you know best . . .”

“Look, there’s a ‘Show Interest’ section . . . but then over there is a ‘Man Who Shies Away from Interest’ section.”

“What a confused map . . .”

“Wait, I’m putting a check on that ‘Call Him’ section.”

“Look where I am; there’s an area called ‘You Can Visit Him at Home at Night.’”

“But there are other things before you get there—look at the section ‘Giving a Dinner’ closely . . . Oh, wait, I found a different way! ‘Action According to How He Acts on the Phone’ . . . there’s a section called ‘Balancing the Control Mechanism,’ I’m going over there. There’s a section called ‘What Will You Say to Him?’; that would be useful on the phone . . .”

I lit another cigarette.

“I think I’ll give him a call.”

“It’s up to you.”

I gathered my courage and dialed the number.

“Hello?”

“Hello . . .”

“How are you, what’s new?”

“Nothing much.”

“How are things?”

“Well, nothing new.”

“I just thought I’d ask.”

“Thanks.”

“Well. Good night.”

“Bye.”

I sat down at the table, crushed.

“How did he sound?”

“Tense. He was afraid.”

“Why would he be afraid?”

“How do I know? Goddamn it!”

“He wasn’t pleased?”

“He didn’t seem pleased. He was being reserved . . . Now, let’s put the ‘Action According to How He Behaves on the Phone’ section into play. . .”

“You moved too fast. I wish we hadn’t called him . . .”

“God, I’m getting fed up . . . Start and stop.”

“Really, the sections on Uzeyir are getting to me. There’s one part called ‘Is He Testing You?’”

“Boy, this stuff is really hard,” I said.

“Listen,” she said. “Look at this part! ‘What Does This Woman See in Me? Who Am I? This  Woman’s Interest Can’t Be Real, She Must Be Teasing Me . . .’ It’s a completely different path.”

“Oh, being insecure about himself?”

“Maybe that.”

“Look, there, that section, ‘Get Out of the Woman’s Sphere of Influence, Save Yourself; You Won’t Experience Any Harm.’”

“Oh God! You know what kind of guy I want? Someone who loves me. Somebody who’s not afraid to love, who wants to be happy together. I’m sick of just sitting at home like I’m some kind of turkey.”

“Let’s move down the line that says ‘He Runs Away When You Think of Him,’ then.”

“Wow, the map is really mixed up now. I bet we won’t even be able to find a road.”

“Yes . . . We’re lost.”

“This is terrible!”

“Well, we’re lost.”

“I wish he weren’t so good-looking. I’d punch him!”

“You wouldn’t . . . We’re lost. What are we going to do?”

The two of us there on the Map of Man, hopeless and horrified.

“I’m afraid. There’s no way we’re going to find the road.”

“Yes. We went the wrong way. Now there’s no way out.”

“We’re stuck. Now what do we do?”

“We can’t do anything. We’re lost.”

I thought for a moment.

“Let’s just rip up this map. Forget about both of these guys!”

“Can we?”

“Why not?”

“Wait, wait. Let’s think a little.”

“You know, if these guys were normal people, we could just telephone them and ask them. We’d say: ‘We’ve got this map in our hands, but we got lost before we got to you. We’re afraid, we’re in a bad way . . . We don’t know what to do. Help us.’”

“But this is how they are. . .”

“I know. Goddamn it.”

“He used to be completely devoted, didn’t he?”

“Of course, I never even had to give him a second thought.”

“Mine was exactly the same . . .”

“I appreciated him only after he left.”

“I’ve been going crazy ever since he turned to stone on me. I don’t know what I’m going to do!”

“Wait a minute . . . We have to find the way back.”

“It’s impossible . . . I can’t find it!”

“I can’t find it either.”

“If he were an American, he’d get over it, you know!”

“Sweetie, these guys are different!”

“I’m going crazy. I wish we’d each just found an American!”

“Well, we didn’t . . .”

“Listen, this map is going to kill us. Let’s try to escape. I’m glad you’re here with me, I’d lose my mind if I were by myself.”

“Wait, calm down. We’ll just slowly go back exactly the way we came.”

“Is it that easy?”

“No . . . no, it’s not but we can’t stay like this in the middle of the map.”

“Fine, I’m going down from the ‘Call Him’ area. I’ve come to ‘Leave the Initiative to Him.’ From there a little to the left . . .”

“I’m slipping down under the ‘Withdrawal Syndrome’; I’ve come to the dotted line in the ‘Sexual Fears’ section . . . Yes, now there’s the ‘Purpose of My Life’ section.”

“Down, go down from there . . . Stop, there should be something called ‘Skip a Date,’ we just must have missed it.”

“But we still haven’t gotten anywhere.”

“I’m exhausted! But what can we do?”

“Nothing at all.”

“I’m getting hungry.”

“And I’m bored.”

“There’s no way out.”

“It looks like it.”

“You know, we could die in the middle of all this confusion.”

“Yes. Like we were lost in the desert.”

“If only there were some water . . .”

“A bite to eat . . .”

“There are no more cigarettes . . .”

“The phone’s out, I think . . .”

“I know.”

“Oh God! The lights went out.”

“Wait, I have a lighter. We’re sliding quickly down from the ‘Ego’ section.”

“I can’t see very well.”

“There’s a terrible wind now. The lighter keeps going out.”

“If we had a signal flare we could send it up. They’d find us. They’d get us out of here.”

“Hold on to me. Let’s slowly follow that road.”

“Fine.”

“Do you have anything for a headache?”

“I think so. Here.”

“There’s no water. Well, I’ll just swallow it.”

“It’ll be a blessing if we can get out of this map without completely losing our minds.”

“Oh, my foot’s stuck in a hole. I can’t walk anymore. Leave me here. You stay on the road.”

“I won’t leave you here, you’ll die.”

“Go, go. Otherwise we’ll both die.”

“What is this wind . . . My mouth and nose are full of sand.”

“Leave me. I can’t walk anymore.”

“Come . . . lean on me. We’ll get out . . . just keep trying!”

“No, no, you save yourself. Leave me here. My ankle is swelling up. I can’t walk because of the pain.”

“We won’t leave one another. I’m moving forward, little by little. Lean on my shoulder.”

“What’s that sound?”

“It’s an owl hooting. Don’t pay it any attention.”

“The lighter went out.”

“It won’t light in this wind.”

“We’re in the pitch dark.”

“Can we find our way by looking at the stars?”

“But there aren’t any stars!”

“I’ve given up hope. We won’t be saved. We’re going to just die here in the middle of this terrible map.”

“Take this, I had a chocolate in my pocket. Eat it. It’ll give you strength.”

“My feet are wet.”

“We’re crossing a creek bed. Slow. Don’t put any weight on the foot that hurts.”

“It’s started to rain.”

“So what, we’ll just keep on walking down.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, look, there’s a light. They’re looking for us. Uzeyir! Uzeyir! We’re here!”

“There’s no such thing. You’re seeing things. We’re all by ourselves!”

“Uzeyir! Uzeyir! He doesn’t hear, he doesn’t hear us!”

At that point I shouted with all my strength. My guy’s name burst out of my chest!

“Hidayet! We’re dying! Hidayet! Help us!”

My voice echoed back from the invisible mountains in front of us.

“There’s nobody at all . . . nobody can hear us.”

“I never thought I would die like this.”

“We’ll be rescued.”

“I have no hope. We’ll never get out of here. They don’t believe in our love.”

“Listen, were you ever happy with him?”

“I was. I could never forget . . .”

“Hey, the road is closed. There’s something like a tree stump in front of us!”

“It must be a tree uprooted by the storm.”

“What should we do?”

“Wait, let’s slide by it. Slowly, now.”

“I’ve used up all my strength. Leave me here. You keep going on the road.”

“Come, come over here. We’re past the stump now.”

“I can’t breathe with this rain. I can’t stand it anymore.”

“Try a little harder.”

After struggling for two hours we managed to get out of the Map of Man in a state of exhaustion. When we got to the edge of the table we couldn’t believe that we had escaped. Our hair was a mess, our faces and legs were covered with cuts and bruises.

We washed up, we drank all the water in the fridge. Then we collapsed, exhausted, on the carpet.

We fell asleep there.

The sunlight falling on us in the morning woke us, and the sound of a vacuum cleaner noisily at work in a corner of the room. We almost got swept up by it.

We held on to the leg of the table.

“What a night . . .”

“A complete nightmare . . .”

“My foot feels terrible. I can’t believe we made it out.”

“Let’s get rid of that map.”

“Yes.”

“Or we’ll try to get into it again . . .”

“True. When we get better, we’ll try it all over again.”

“Let’s rip it up.”

“I haven’t the strength. It feels like my arms were cut off.”

“I’m ripping it up. Hold on to that end.”

We started to tear the map.

The room was suddenly filled with shouts of pain.

“That’s Hidayet’s voice!”

“And that’s Uzeyir! Oh my God!”

“Tear! Tear!”

“I can’t. Listen to them . . . It’s unbearable!”

“Close your ears.”

“They must be in pain.”

“Strange, they never let on.”

“Yes, terrible!”

“I can’t tear anymore.”

“Come on. Let’s get out of the house. Give me your hand. Let’s get away from here.”

We barely managed to make it out.

The streets were just waking up. Moving like a sleepwalker I found the bookseller’s shop.

We went inside.

When he saw our shredded clothes, our shoes with their torn laces, and our arms and legs covered with cuts and bruises, the bookseller got up from his chair and stared at us.

“The map,” I said. “It was terrible. We nearly died.”

I hit the bookseller’s desk with my muddy hand with its broken nails.

“I want to find the person who drew this map. It’s a matter of personal safety! We almost died! He’s going to pay for this!”

The bookseller said:

“Calm down. Please calm down.”

“How can we be calm? We nearly died.”

The bookseller said:

“The person who drew the map didn’t do anything wrong! He just drew what was there. You got yourselves lost in it . . . Please. Calm down.”

“That map is alive. It’s living . . . it’s a terrible thing!” I said.

“Forget about that,” said the bookseller. “Let me show you some other maps.”

“The Map of Man can be a dangerous thing. Don’t think about what you went through. I have other maps here. Look, this is a completely different India.”

I took a look at the map he was showing me.

“But this doesn’t look anything like India!”

“It’s a special interpretation. As I told you . . . what do you say? Forget everything. That’s Calcutta, here’s the Taj Mahal.”

“We don’t want a map of India.”

“It’s up to you. I just said it to distract you.”

I seemed to be getting a bit of a grip on myself. My stomach was grumbling from hunger, my left kidney hurt like somebody had punched me. And I’d caught a cold during the night, of course.

“Look here,” I said to the bookseller. “Do you have a map for comfortable middle-aged men? Forget about cities, we’re going after men again. But we want something different . . . somebody who’s worked everything out, who knows about women, a certain age, mature, with money—you know, classy, maybe a widower, kind of a sugar daddy? I know it’s hard, but do you have anything like that?”

The bookseller was listening closely to me.

“Why not?” he said. “I have everything. But they won’t put you through the mill like that one. I mean, they won’t wear you out so quickly. I’m sure the darkness and the storm were quite an adventure, weren’t they?”

“Forget that!” I said. “We were about ready to give up the ghost. Look at us!”

“Well then, here you are; just what you wanted. Calm, settled-down, storm over, not quite so hot, but still burning; maps of comfortable middle-aged men. Special interpretation.”

“These ones too.”

“Yes.”

“But, please, I don’t want any problems like last night.”

“No, there won’t be. We give these maps of well-off men to the university. For the economics and statistics classes.”

“Well, fine then. Wrap up two. And two manuals. Be well. OK, good-bye!”

the map

Ankara’nın unutulmuş bir sokağında; daracık, karanlık bir sahaf dükkanı vardır. Arada sırada uğrarım oraya, tozlanmış eski kitaplara göz atarım. Küflü ciltleri dikkatimi çeker, orada genzime bir toz kokusu dolar, bir köşede, kurt delikli bir masada oturan gözlüklü yaşlı sahafla biraz hoşbeş ederim; sonra tekrar güneşli sokaklara çıkar, yürür giderim.

Bir akşamüstü gene bu içine gün ışığı pek girmeyen, kendine özgü hafif kekremsi bir kokusu olan sahaf dükkanına girmiş, dalgın

gözlerle raflara bakıyordum.

Yaşlı sahaf oturduğu yerden hafifçe öksürerek bana bir köşedeki kıvrılmış duran birtakım kağıtları gösterdi.

“Bunlar yeni geldi,” dedi.

O yana döndüm.

“Nedir onlar?”

“Eski haritalar…”

Eğilip bir tanesini elime aldım, açıp baktım. Çok eski bir haritaydı bu. Osmanlı İmparatorluğu’nun artık var olmayan sınırlarını gösteriyordu. Üstündeki yazıları eski Türkçe’ydi.

“İlginç bu,” dedim.

Bir başka haritayı açtım; ilgiyle göz atıyorum. Değişik birtakım adalar… Tam neresi anlayamadım.

Sahaf:

“Eski birtakım sömürgeler bunlar…” dedi.

“Allah Allah, hangi okyanusta bu sömürgeler? Daha önce hiç duymadım bu adaların adını?”

Sahaf:

“Bu haritalar özel, yorumlu haritalar,” diye yanıtladı.

Bir başka haritaya göz atıyorum şimdi; bambaşka bir dünya sanki… Latin Amerika var, Afrika var filan ama, bilmediğim birtakım kara parçaları da var. Yazıları da bir değişik.

“Bu nedir?”

“İşte,” dedi sahaf. “Bu da yaşadığımız dünya tabii. Ama yorumlu… Anlarsınız ya!”

“Yorumlu demek?”

“Evet, özel yorumlu haritalar bunlar.”

“Vallahi çok ilginç,” dedim. “Ben daha önce hiç böyle yorumlu haritalar olduğunu duymamıştım. Coğrafyası güçlü bir öğrenci değildim ama okulda, sonradan dünyayı çok gezdim. Hiç bunlara benzer kara parçaları görmedim doğrusu. Yani bakın, sanki şu Amerika değil mi? Ama şurası neresi, Allah Allah?”

Sahaf:

“İşte, haritayı çizen öyle yorumlamış…” dedi.

“Yani Amerika Birleşik Devletleri’nin üstünde Kanada yok, başka bir yer mi var?”

“Başka bir yorum var. Ne diyorum size… Şu Ortadoğu haritasına bir bakın. Ne değişik,” dedi o.

Bana uzattığı haritaya bakıyorum. Ortadoğu ülkeleri var ya üstünde, hepsi bir başka türlü…

“İnanın bu ‘yorum’ işi çok ilgilendirdi beni,” dedim. “Bu haritaları yorumlayarak çizen kişiyi tanımak istedim doğrusu… Acaba siyasi bir yorum mu bu?”

“Bence kişisel bir yorum,” dedi sahaf.

“O zaman düş gücü olağanüstü birisi olmalı bu kişi.”

“Bilmem ki,” dedi sahaf. “Ama fantezi değil bunlar. Yorumlu ve gerçekçi. Kendisi öyle diyor.”

Dikkat kesilmiştim.

“Demek tanıyorsunuz bu haritaları çizeni?” diye merakla sordum.

Sahaf başını salladı.

“Tanırım,” dedi. “O da arada uğrar buraya.”

Elimdeki bir başka haritaya bakıyordum şimdi.

“Bunu işte hiç anlayamadım,” dedim. “Nedir bu? Neresi? Nasıl bir yorum acaba? Hiç tanımadığım birtakım yerler… Şaşırtıcı.”

“Ha, o mu?” dedi sahaf. “O, Erkek Haritası. Dünya ile, kara parçaları ile ilgisi yok yani… Ters tutuyorsunuz, şöyle bakın. Gördünüz mü, bir

Erkek Haritası işte!”

Şaşırmıştım.

“Erkek Haritası mı?”

“Evet. Erkek Haritası.”

“Yorumlu mu?”

“Evet, yorumlu.”

“Acaba özel bir erkeğin haritası mı, yoksa genel mi?” diye sordum.

“Genel bir harita elinizdeki,” dedi sahaf. “Yani şöyle söyleyeyim: Özel yorumlu bir Genel Erkek Haritası.”

“Özel yorumlu bir Genel Erkek Haritası demek…”

“Evet. Genel… Sokaktaki adamın haritası. Ama çizenin yorumu var tabii.”

Haritayı elimde evirip çeviriyorum. Değişik, çok değişik bir şey…

“Şurası nerede?”

“Bakayım… Ha, orası adamın yüreğine giden yol.”

“Ya şunlar…”

Sahaf eğilip iyice baktı.

“Korkular, endişeler… Şu kısım evlilik yolları, bakın; geniş vermiş o kısmı. Şurası giriş, yani başlangıç bölümü… Şu bölüm ilişkide seçilecek yolları açık seçik gösteriyor ve evet, evet, bu uzunlamasına parça da geçmişindeki bölümler. Ruh hali filan. Erkekleri bilirsiniz…”

“Bilirim,” dedim. “Kaça bu harita?”

“Size uygun bir şeyler yaparız,” dedi sahaf.

“Acaba işe yarar mı?”

“Ne gibi?” diye sordu sahaf.

“Yani, açık söyleyeyim. Şu ara beni uğraştıran biri var. Yani çok zor bir kişi… Çözmesi zor. Acaba diyorum, bu harita bana yardımcı olabilir mi?”

“Aman siz ne diyorsunuz?” dedi yaşlı sahaf. “Kılavuz bu… Yani siz haritasız mı yola çıktınız?”

“Evet,” dedim. “Haritasız çıktım yola. Aslında biliyor musunuz, ben böyle işlerde harita kullanıldığını bilmiyordum. İşte, normal yollardan ilişkiyi kurmaya uğraşıyorum.”

“Aman,” dedi sahaf. “Hiç haritasız yola çıkılır mı? Önce inceleyeceksiniz, sonra yola çıkacaksınız. Kaybolursunuz sonra. Ne tehlikeli bir işe girişmişsiniz siz.”

“Galiba öyle oldu,” dedim. “Aslında tüm olayı bırakmayı bile düşünüyorum. Sıkıntılıyım…”

“Alın siz bu haritayı,” dedi sahaf. “Yolları bulun. Çizin kırmızı bir kalemle. Mutlaka hedefe ulaşırsınız.”

“Pekala,” dedim. “Ama ben bu haritayı okumayı becerebilecek miyim? Bakıyorum bakıyorum, hiçbir şey anlamıyorum.”

“Yardımcı kitap var,” dedi Sahaf… Bir çekmeceyi açıp ufak, broşür gibi bir şey çıkarttı.

“Buyrun. İkisi on bin lira.”

İnce sarı bir kağıda haritayı ve broşürü sarıp verdi bana.

Parayı ödeyip çıktım dükkandan.

Eve geldim; haritayı yaydım masanın üstüne, elimde broşür; gözlüğümü taktım, kırmızı kalemle bir yol bulmaya uğraşıyorum.

…Çocukluk, ilkgençlik bölümleri… Neden telefon eder, niçin aramaz? Ne ister, ne istemez? Hangi söylediği doğrudur, hangisinin tersinin yapılmasını ister aslında… Ne düşünür, ne söyler? Neyi gösterir, neyi saklar…

Şimdi tüm bunları broşürden bulup numaralanmış yerlerden haritanın üstüne yavaş yavaş çiziyorum.

…Neden kaçar, niçin gelir? Fikirleri nelerdir? Hayatındaki kadınlar… Ne söyler, ne ister? Falan filan…

Yavaş yavaş bir şekil çıkmaya başlıyordu.

Kendime bir kahve yaptım, bir sigara yaktım; gene kılavuzu inceliyorum.

…Boşanmış adam bölümü. Para durumuna göre yollar… Amacı nedir yaşamda, bilmem ne…

Çizdiğim yollar karıştı, yeniden okuyorum kılavuzu.

…Ürkekse şöyle… Cesursa böyle… İşin içinden çıkamıyorum. Takıldım. Canım sıkıldı. Boşuna para verdim galiba… Gitti on bin. Her neyse.

…Kişiliği nevrotikse, noktalı yerlerden yukarıya doğru çiziniz… Sadizm bölümleri… Allah Allah!

Kapı çalındı.

Gidip açtım. Yakın bir kız arkadaşım uğramış…

“Gel,” dedim. “Gel bak, bir harita buldum. Erkek Haritası; şu da kılavuz… Birtakım yolları kırmızı ile çiziyorum. Hani, şu benimki için…”

Şaşırmıştı. “Dur, bakayım,” dedi. “Nereden buldun bunu? Acaba Üzeyir’e de uyar mı?”

“Evet, Genel Erkek Haritasi’ymış. Uyabilir. Ama özel yorumlu…”

“Ne demek özel yorumlu?”

“Sahaf dedi. Öyle işte… Özel Yorumlu Genel Erkek Haritası…”

İkimiz geçtik masanın başına, elimizde renkli kalemler, haritada bir yol bulmaya uğraşıyoruz…

“Sen yeşil kalemle çiz,” dedim. “Al bak, şurada… Bu iki adam değişik çünkü.”

“Evet, gerçekten ikisi birbirinden çok değişik adamlar…”

Konuşup duruyoruz.

“Şimdi bak; Üzeyir ilk karısının etkisi altında biraz, değil mi? Acı çekmiş boşanırken; şuraları işaretle, yukarı doğru çık… Neden evlenmeye yanaşmaz? Şu köşeden aşağıya in. Bak ben şimdi şu dış yolları çiziyorum; inisiyatifi eline aldı benimki ve hiçbir şey yapamıyor. Al sana, burada bir açmaz var… Telefonla arasan başka türlü, aramasan başka türlü. Ha, şurası duygu damarıymış. İşte, şöyle çiziyorum ben, sen takip et…”

“Tamam, tamam,” dedi. “‘Annesi ile ilişkisi’ bölümlerinden aşağıya iniyorum; sen şu ‘yalnız kalmak isteği’ bölümünü bir aş bakalım… İşte şu yolun ucunda telefon; bir dakika kılavuza bakalım… ‘Amacını saptama bölümü’ var… Yahu burası karışık işte…”

“Dur,” dedim. “Ver bana bakayım… Orayı şimdilik geç. ‘Korkular’… Bak bu kısım müthiş!”

“Dur, dur, şurada ilginç bir bölüm var… ‘Anlattığı hastalıkları’… Çiziyorum şuraları. ‘Eski ilişkileri’ kısmındayım…”

“Hızlı gitme,” dedim.

“Ben, ‘telefon et’ bölümüne geldim.”

“Saat kaç?”

“Dokuz buçuk.”

“Arasam mı?”

“Aman ters bir şey olmasın?”

“Ama haritaya göre gidiyoruz işte…”

“Sen bilirsin…”

“Bak, ‘ilgilenin’ kısmı var… Ama şurası da, ‘ilgiden ürken erkek bölümü’.”

“Amma karışık haritaymış…”

“Dur, şu ‘telefon et’ bölümüne bir çarpı koyuyorum.”

“Bak ben nereye geldim; ‘gece evine ziyarete gidebilirsiniz’ diye bir bölge var.”

“Ama daha oraya varmadan başka şeyler görünüyor, ‘yemek yedirmek’ kısmını iyi oku… Ah, ben değişik bir kanal buldum! ‘Telefondaki tutuma göre hareket’… ‘Kontrol mekanizmasının dengelenmesi’ diye bir bölüm var, orayı geçiyorum. ‘Ona neler anlatacaksın?’ bölümü var; bu, telefonda da işe yarar…”

Bir sigara daha yaktım.

“Bir arayayım, diyorum.”

“Sen bilirsin…”

Cesaretimi toplayıp numarasını çevirdim.

“Alo?”

“Merhaba…”

“Nasılsın, ne var ne yok?”

“İşte bildiğin gibi.”

“Her şey nasıl gidiyor?”

“Bildiğin gibi…”

“Bir sorayım demiştim.”

“Sağ ol…”

“Hadi, iyi geceler.”

“Güle güle.”

Yüzüm bozuk oturdum masaya.

“Nasıldı sesi?”

“Tedirgin. Ürküyor yahu.”

“Neden ürküyor acaba?”

“Ne bileyim ben. Allah kahretsin!”

“Sevinmedi mi?”

“Sevinmedi sanki. Kontrollü… Şimdi, ‘telefondaki tutuma göre hareket’ bölümünü işleyelim…”

“Acele ettin, keşke aramasaydın onu.”

“Aman, canım sıkılıyor… Uğraş dur.”

“Vallahi Üzeyir bölümleri de beni sıkmaya başladı. ‘Sizi deniyor mu?’ diye bir kısım var…”

“Aman, ne zormuş bu iş,” dedim.

“Dinle,” dedi. “Şu bölüme bak! ‘Bu kadın bende ne buluyor? Ben neyim ki? Kadının ilgisi gerçek olamaz, benimle galiba dalga geçiyor…’ diye apayrı bir kanal.”

“Ah, kendine güvenememe mi?”

“Belki de.”

“Bak, şurada da, ‘kadının etki alanından kaç, kendini kurtar; hiçbir zarar görmezsin…’ kısmı.”

“Of be! Nasıl bir adam istiyorum, biliyor musunuz? Sevsin beni. Ürkmesin sevmekten. Birlikte mutlu olalım. Böyle evde oturup hindi gibi düşünmekten bıktım.”

“Şu, ‘üstüne düştükçe kaçar’ çizgisinde bir ilerleyelim hele.”

“Yahu, harita karmakarışık oldu. Biz yolu bulamayacağız galiba.”

“Evet… Kaybolduk.”

“Korkunç bir şey bu!”

“Kaybolduk işte.”

“Keşke o kadar yakışıklı olmasaydı. Atardım tekmeyi.”

“Atamıyorsun… Kaybolduk. Ne yapacağız?”

İkimiz de Erkek Haritası’nın başında çaresiz ve dehşet içinde kalmıştık.

“Korkuyorum. Yolumuzu bulmamıza olanak yok.”

“Evet. Kötü saplandık. Çıkış yolu yok.”

“Yandık, ne yapacağız şimdi?”

“Hiçbir şey yapamayız. Kaybolduk.”

Bir an düşündüm.

“Gel yırtalım şu haritayı. Bu iki adamı da boş verelim!”

“Yapabilir miyiz?”

“Neden olmasın…”

“Dur, dur. Biraz düşünelim.”

“Yahu bunlar insan olsa, açar telefonu sorardık. Elimizde harita var, size ulaşamadan kaybolduk. Korkuyoruz, kötü durumdayız… Ne yapacağımızı bilmiyoruz. Bize yardımcı olun, derdik.”

“Ama bunlar işte böyle…”

“Biliyorum, Allah kahretsin.”

“Eskiden çok üstüne düştüydü, değil mi?”

“Tabii, yüzüne bile bakmazdım.”

“Al benden de öyle…”

“Kendini çekince kıymetli oldu.”

“Herif duvar olalı, çıldıracağım. Ne yapacağımı bilemiyorum!”

“Dur şimdi… Dönüş yolunu bulmalıyız.”

“Çıkış yolunu… İmkansız… Bulamıyorum.”

“Ben de bulamıyorum.”

“Amerikalı erkek olsa atlardı be!”

“Kardeşim bunlar değişik.”

“Of çıldıracağım. Keşke birer Amerikalı bulsaydık!”

“Bulamadık işte…”

“Dinle; bu harita bizi boğacak. Kurtulmaya bakalım. İyi ki sen varsın yanımda, yalnız olsam aklımı kaçırırdım.”

“Dur, sakin ol. ilerlediğimiz yoldan yavaş yavaş geri döneceğiz.”

“Kolay mı?”

“Değil… Değil ama, haritanın ortasında bu durumda kalamayız.”

“Tamam, ‘telefon et’ bölümünden aşağı iniyorum. ‘İnisiyatifi ona bırak’a geldim. Şuradan biraz sola…”

“Ben, ‘içine kapanıklık sendromu’nun altına doğru kayıyorum; ‘cinsel korkular’ bölümündeki noktaları geçtim… Evet şimdi, ‘yaşamdaki amacı’ bölümü var.”

“İn, in aşağıya… Dur, şurada ‘bir randevuyu atlatın’ diye bir şey varmış uyuduk demin.”

“Ama gene bir yere varamadık.”

“Perişanım yahu! Ne yapabiliriz?”

“Hiçbir şey”

“Ben yavaş yavaş acıkıyorum.”

“Ben de sıkıldım.”

“Çıkış yok…”

“Evet, öyle görünüyor.”

“Biliyor musun, bu karmaşanın orta yerinde ölebiliriz.”

“Evet. Çölde kaybolmuş gibiyiz.”

“Biraz su olsa…”

“Bir lokma da yiyecek…”

“Sigara da bitmiş…”

“Telefon kesik galiba…”

“Farkındayım.”

“Eyvah! Işıklar söndü.”

“Dur, çakmak var. ‘Ego’ bölümünden hızla aşağıya kayıyoruz.”

“Ben iyi göremiyorum.”

“Korkunç bir rüzgar çıktı. Çakmak sönüp duru¬yor.”

“Bir işaret fişeğimiz olsa atardık. Bizi bulurlardı. Çıkartırlardı buradan.”

“Bana tutun. Usul usul şu yolu takip edelim.”

“Tamam.”

“Yanımda baş ağrısı ilacı var mı?”

“Olacak, al işte.”

“Su yok. Neyse, öyle yutarım.”

“Oynatmadan kurtulursak bu haritanın içinden iyidir.”

“Of, ayağım bir çukura girdi. Yürüyemeyeceğim artık. Beni burada bırak. Sen yoluna devam et.”

“Bırakamam, ölürsün.”

“Git sen, git. Yoksa ikimiz de öleceğiz.”

“Bu ne biçim rüzgar… Ağzıma burnuma kum doldu.”

“Bırak beni. Yürüyemiyorum artık.”

“Gel, dayan bana. Çıkacağız… Gayret et!”

“Hayır, hayır. Sen kendini kurtar kardeşim. Bırak beni burada. Bileğim gittikçe şişiyor. Yürüyemi¬yorum acıdan.”

“Birbirimizi bırakmayacağız. Yavaş yavaş ilerli¬yorum. Dayan omzuma.”

“O ses ne?”

“Baykuş ötüyor. Boş ver.”

“Çakmak da söndü…”

“Bu rüzgarda yanmaz.”

“Zifiri karanlıktayız.”

“Yıldızlara bakarak yolumuzu bulabilir miyiz?”

“Ama hiç yıldız görünmüyor ki!”

“Umudumu yitirdim. Kurtulamayacağız. Bu korkunç haritanın ortasında ölüp gideceğiz.”

“Al, cebimde bir çikolata varmış. Ye. Güç verir.”

“Ayaklarım ıslandı.”

“Bir dere yatağını geçiyoruz. Yavaş ol. Acıyan ayağının üstüne basma.”

“Yağmur başladı.”

“Boş ver, aşağıya doğru inmeye devam ediyoruz.”

“Emin misin?”

“Evet.”

“Ah, bak şurada bir ışık parladı! Bizi arıyorlar. Üzeyir! Üzeyir! Buradayız!”

“Işık filan yok. Düş görüyorsun. Yapayalnızız!”

“Üzeyir! Üzeyir! Duymuyor… Duymuyor bizi!”

O an var gücümle bağırdım. Benimkinin adı bağrımdan koptu!

“Hidayet! Ölüyoruz! Hidayet! İmdat!”

Sesim görünmeyen karşı dağlarda yankılandı.

“Kimsecikler yok… Bizi duyan yok.”

“Hiç böyle ölebileceğim aklıma gelmezdi.”

“Kurtulacağız.”

“Umudum yok. Çıkamıyoruz buradan. Sevgimize inanmıyorlar.”

“Dinle, hiç mutlu oldun mu onunla?”

“Oldum. Unutamıyorum…”

“Hey, yol kapalı! Önümüzde kütük gibi bir şey var.”

“Fırtınadan bir ağaç devrilmiş olmalı.”

“Ne yapacağız?”

“Dur, yana kayalım. Yavaş, yavaş ol.”

“Artık tüm gücümü yitirdim. Beni burada bırak. Sen yoluna devam et.”

“Gel, gel bu tarafa. Kütüğü geçtik.”

“Yağmur soluğumu kesiyor. Dayanamayacağım artık.”

“Biraz gayret et.”

İki saat uğraştıktan sonra Erkek Haritası’nın içinden perişan bir halde çıkabilmiştik. Masanın kenarına ulaştığımızda kurtulduğumuza inanamıyorduk. Saçlarımız karışmış; yüzümüz, bacaklarımız yara bere içinde kalmıştı.

Gidip elimizi yüzümüzü yıkadık. Frijderden kana kana su içtik. Sonra gelip bitkin bir biçimde halının üstüne yığıldık.

Öylece uyuyakalmışız…

Sabah, güneş üstümüze vurunca uyandık, salonda bir yerde bir elektrikli süpürge gürültüyle çalışıyordu. Az kalsın süprüntülerin içine çekilip yok olup gidecektik.

Masanın kenarlarına tutunduk.

“Ne geceydi…”

“Karabasan.”

“Ayağım berbat. Kurtulduğumuza inanamıyorum.”

“Şu haritayı yok edelim.”

“Evet.”

“Çünkü gene içine girmeye çalışacağız…”

“Doğru. Biraz iyileşince. Gene deneyeceğiz.”

“Yırtalım şunu.”

“Hal kalmamış bende. Kollarım kesilmiş gibi…”

“Yırtıyorum, tut şu uçundan.”

Haritayı yırtmaya başladık.

Salonu birden acı çığlıklar kapladı.

“Hidayet’in sesi bu!”

“Üzeyir bağırıyor! Aman Tanrım!”

“Yırt, yırt.”

“Yapamıyorum. Nasıl haykırıyorlar… Can dayanmaz buna!”

“Tıka kulaklarını.”

“Demek acı çekiyorlarmış.”

“Tuhaf, hiç belli etmezlerdi.”

“Evet, korkunç!”

“Yırtamayacağım artık.”

“Gel, çıkalım evden. Ver elini. Buradan kaçalım.”

Kendimizi zar zor dışarıya attık.

Yollar yeni uyanıyordu. Uyurgezer gibi yaşlı sahafın dükkanını buldum.

Girdik içeriye.

Parçalanmış elbiselerimizi, bağları kopmuş pabuçlarımızı, yara bere içindeki kollarımızı ve bacaklarımızı görünce, sahaf yerinden doğrulup dikkatle baktı bize.

“Harita,” dedim. “Korkunçtu. Ölüyorduk.”

Tırnakları kırılmış, çamurlu elimi sahafın masasının üstüne vurdum.

“Bu haritayı çizeni bulmak istiyorum. Can güvenliğine karşı bir olay bu! Ölüyorduk. Hesap soracağım!”

Sahaf:

“Sakin olun,” dedi. “Lütfen sakin olun.”

“Nasıl sakin olabiliriz? Ölümden döndük.”

Sahaf:

“Haritayı çizenin bir suçu yok ki!” dedi. “O yalnızca olanı çizdi. Siz içinde kayboldunuz… Rica ederim. Sakin olun.”

“O harita canlı. Yaşıyor… Korkunç bir şey o!” dedim.

“Unutun onu,” dedi sahaf. “Size başka haritalar göstereyim. Erkek Haritası bazen tehlikeli olabiliyor. Düşünmeyin o yaşadıklarınızı. Elimde daha değişik haritalar var. Bakın, bu bambaşka bir Hindistan.”

Gösterdiği haritaya bir göz attım.

“Ama bu hiç Hindistan’a benzemiyor ki!”

“Özel yorumlu. Size anlattıydım ya… Ne dersiniz? Unutursunuz her şeyi. Şurası Kalküta, burası Tac Mahal…”

“İstemiyoruz Hindistan haritasını.”

“Siz bilirsiniz. Ben, sizi oyalar diye söyledim.”

Biraz toparlanır gibi olmuştum. Açlıktan karnım gurulduyordu, sol böbreğim tekme yemiş gibiydi. Gece üşüttüm tabii. Az şey mi yaşadık!

“Bak buraya, kardeşim,” dedim sahafa. “Şöyle, oturmuş bir  kalantor haritası var mı? Kentleri boş ver. Biz gene erkekten gidiyoruz. Ama istediğimiz değişik… Her olayını çözmüş, kadından anlayan. Yaşlıca, olgun, paralı, pullu, dul filan? Yani zor, ama mümkün mü böyle bir şey?”

Sahaf beni dikkatle dinliyordu.

“Olmaz olur mu,” dedi. “Var, hepsi var. Ama onlar sizi böyle uğraştırmaz ki. Yani çabucak bıkmayasınız. Eh, karanlık ve fırtına da başlı başına bir serüven, değil mi?”

“Boş ver,” dedim. “Canımızdan oluyorduk. Şu halimize bak.”

“Öyleyse buyrun; işte tam istediğiniz. Durmuş, oturmuş, fırtınası dinmiş, biraz ateşi sönmüş, ama tam değil; varlıklı kalantor haritaları. Özel yorumlu.”

“Bunlar da mı?”

“Evet.”

“Aman bir problem çıkmasın; dün geceki gibi.”

“Yok, çıkmaz. Bu kalantor haritalarını üniversitelere veriyoruz. Ekonomi ve istatistik dersleri için.”

“Tamam öyleyse. Sar iki tane. İki de kılavuz. Sağ olasın. Hadi, eyvallah.”

Ankara’da doğdu. İstanbul Üniversitesi Hukuk Fakültesi’nin son sınıfından ayrıldı. Ortaokuldayken öyküleri Varlık dergisinde yayınlanan Eray’ın ilk kitabı Ah Bayım Ah 1975’te yayınlandı. Öyküleri İngilizce, Fransızca, Almanca, İtalyanca, Japonca, Çekçe, Urduca ve Hintçe’ye çevrildi. Nazlı Eray’ın on üç roman, sekiz öykü ve bir deneme kitabı bulunuyor.
 

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