Dinçer Güçyeter’s autobiographical novel Unser Deutschlandmärchen (Our German Fairy Tale) depicts the experiences of a Turkish guest-worker family near Cologne from the perspective of alternate characters, mostly the young son and his mother.

It’s 1984, and my first day at kindergarten. I don’t say a single word to the other children, I just sit in the corner like a sculpture. They speak a different language. Though we live in Germany, I still find it strange that they speak German here. The ghetto kid is having a hard time with this new culture. It’s midsummer, and the playroom is unbearably hot. At some point, I can’t handle it anymore. I walk slowly over to the kindergarten teacher and point to the bottle. Can I a water? She first grins at me and then corrects me without throwing the broken sentence back into my face. Yes, you can have some water. Even nowadays, I sometimes mix up German articles. I often get my friend Wolfgang to read my texts before they’re published. I’ve managed to bring the ghetto with me all the way to the present.

At lunchtime, all of the children have to sit at a big table. They give us lukewarm tea and rusks. I hadn’t expected sucuk sausage, but a fried egg and a little flatbread would’ve been nice. We nibble on this hard bread like rodents.

For the next few days, I’m stuck in my role as alien. There are two or three boys in the group who think I’m deaf and can’t talk.

One day, the kindergarten teacher tells me I should come and play with the others in the sandbox. I’m not brave enough to say no, so I sit on the edge of the box. Those same two or three boys come over with buckets and pour sand over me, again and again, filling up my ears and nostrils. Papa picks me up and doesn’t even notice. When we get home, you look at me, shocked, and say, Into the bathtub immediately! You sound annoyed. And only take off your clothes once you’re in the tub! Then you come in and pull down my underpants. You wash me, scolding because I didn’t stand up for myself.

The next day I sit on the edge of the sandbox, and the three boys come up to me again. I pick up the plastic crane and use it to whack the one in front on the head. His forehead starts to bleed. A doctor and all the parents are called. First comes the doctor, then Papa, and later, the boy’s mother. Papa is told to take me home. The next day I have to stay at home, and you and Papa are called in for a meeting with the teacher.

When you both come back from kindergarten, Papa is grinning. You look stressed and scold me. That woman said a thousand words and I didn’t understand even half of them. If you cause me any trouble again, I’ll break your legs, d’you hear? Huh, what for? Two days ago, you told me off for not standing up for myself, and now this? I said stand up for yourself, not slice their heads like watermelons! You and Papa go into the kitchen, and I hear you complaining. Two days ago, the children made a fool of Dinçer, they treated him badly. Were the parents of those children called in for a meeting? Of course not, but when my child stands up for himself, he’s treated like a criminal. Do they think I’m so naïve that I don’t notice?

Papa is silent during your tirade. I feel better again. Even though you didn’t say it to my face, I now know you’re on my side.

Slowly I start saying proper sentences. Start speaking German at home, too, and everyone is thrilled. You call your brother and tell him how fluent I am, and your voice bursts with such pride that a stranger listening might think your son had graduated from Oxford!

The situation becomes more extreme. Among the clan, I’m practically declared a certified interpreter. No matter who has to go to the doctor’s, the attorney, or the bank, they drag me with them like an Aldi carrier bag. The women in the neighborhood need my services most of all—they have at least two doctor’s appointments a week. Funny moments happen during these visits: for example, when my Grandma, a very strict hacı who’s been on a pilgrimage to Mecca and doesn’t leave a wisp of hair uncovered, does a striptease in the doctor’s room. Before the doctor has even opened his drawer to fetch a syringe, she drops all her clothes. Stop, stop, I only need a tiny bit of buttock (here Dr. Hadjan tries to show how tiny using his thumb and forefinger). But Grandma has her own way of doing things, isn’t put off, and stands before him as naked as Holy Eve before Adam. And she doesn’t stop there. She then shows him nearly every part of her body and asks him to examine her; then he’ll see how swollen she is and how frail her bones are. Once Dr. Hadjan has felt her body all over, he asks her to put her clothes back on and begins making his notes. When she’s dressed, she takes three or four packets of pills out of her coat pocket and places them on the doctor’s desk. Other women in the clan have recommended them to her, they’re supposed to be very good for the pain, and he should write her a prescription. Shaking his head, the doctor throws the packets in the bin. Why should he prescribe drugs for migraines when she’s never been diagnosed with them? On the way home, I ask Grandma why she takes off all her clothes just for an injection. You just mind your own business! I know what kind of vile man that bastard is. That’s how he likes it! And woe betide you if you tell anyone at home such nonsense. I’ll smash you to smithereens with the frying pan, d’you hear? I’m over eighty years old and have kept my honor every single day of my life. To accuse me of such things! Enough! You’re just like your father, nothing but the Devil’s work in your head!

***

You came home from the office and had to go back out to work in the fields. It was the most humid time of the year. Cucumber season. Still wearing your work overalls, you wanted to clean up the kitchen in the half hour you had to spare. Papa was sitting at the table and trying, clumsily, to change the battery of his watch. I was sitting on the windowsill that opened out onto the roof of the pub. In most photos of my childhood, I’m posing on this roof. That afternoon I’d filled your cooking bowls with water and had been sailing paper boats in them. Then we had done that thousand-piece puzzle of a white, whinnying horse.

Yilmaz, you can cook and peel potatoes and eggs, that’ll be enough for the children. I have nothing for tomorrow. Can you do some shopping today?

Papa didn’t make a sound, still trying to get his watch to work.

Yilmaz, will you at least answer me? Willi’s not going to pay us until Monday. Is the cash register already empty?

I heard the watch shattering against the wall. Shocked, I jumped onto the roof and hid behind the chimney stack. The world went very quiet, and I stood, as if made of lead, for long minutes behind the chimney. I only dared come out of my hiding place when my heart was beating normally again, and I slowly crossed to the kitchen window. You were now sitting at the kitchen table, your arms folded, your head lying on your arms. I heard you crying quietly, saw all the bits of the watch on the floor, and a dark groove in the white wall over the worktop. Quickly I fetched my puzzle and sat down next to you, starting to fit the pieces together all over again so that I could show it to you. Before I finished the horse’s eyes, you lifted your head and wiped your tears with your headscarf, kissed my hair, and trod heavily back down the stairs, leaving behind an even, crackling silence.

That was the moment when I thought that, as the eldest son, I could perhaps find a job and support my parents. After all, I was nearly seven and could take on some responsibility.

I took the apron that was hanging on the door, tied the strings around my waist, and started washing the dirty dishes. Then I swept up the thousand pieces of shattered watch with a broom—into the garbage. Fetched potatoes from the cellar, eggs from the fridge, and set a big pot of water on the stove to boil. Once it had bubbled properly for a while, I turned off the stove and tipped the boiled potatoes and eggs into the sink. Let the water run until everything had gone cold, peeled each potato and each egg, and put everything in a bowl. Then I took a fruit knife from the drawer and started removing the deeper cuts left by the prongs of the harvester. About half of the original pile was left by the end. I was disappointed by my work—I could have done it more carefully. Waited for you on the steps in the evening to show you all the things I could do, and worked out the best way to tell you that I was going to leave school and look for a job. But at some point, it got too late, and Papa sent me to bed. I was very tired by then and fell asleep straight away.

The next day, I wasn’t brave enough to tell you about my big plan, so I thought up new plans instead. On Saturday morning, when I had no school, you would see. Yes, I knew you drove to the fields at 6 a.m. on Saturdays. I spent the night only half sleeping, got up at 5 a.m., took the keys to the VW van, opened the sliding door, and ran back upstairs, putting the key back on the sideboard next to the telephone. Then back down again. I rolled myself up like a hedgehog under the back seat. I wanted to make myself invisible because I couldn’t tell how you’d react to my idea. I know your angry side too when you don’t like something. The waiting went on for about a year and I nodded off. Then you opened the door. You set down the thermos flask and your sandwiches for lunch, always two slices of bread, a tomato, and a pepper, on the passenger seat. My nerves were making my heart beat like a marching band and I forgot to breathe. You put on your seat belt and stuck the key in the ignition, and when the engine started up, I broke out in a sweat. The mixture of fear and excitement I was feeling made my chest heave. I heard a long, drawn-out bismillahhirrahmannirrahim.

You set off. After a few minutes, we arrived at Auntie Fadime’s house. It annoyed you that she wasn’t standing outside the door, and you honked the horn loudly. She slid open the van door.

Where have you been, sister? We have to pick up five other women. Willi wants us there at 7.

I waited up all night for my husband again. He didn’t come home until dawn, completely drunk, of course, Auntie Fadime answered, sighing.

And how much did the taxi driver want this time?

Eighty marks. All the money for this week’s shopping. That son of a bitch had to get a ride back from Cologne. He was probably in the casino again.

Did he hit you?

Auntie Fadime couldn’t answer, she was crying. You carried on driving to the next bus stop where another two women were waiting. It wasn’t until you stopped for the fourth time that Auntie Elmas discovered me.

Fatma, what’s your boy doing here under the seat?

What boy?

Auntie Fadime bent down, her big eyes gawping at me like an owl.

Dinçer, here under the seat.

The moment of truth had arrived. You pulled over, opened the sliding door, and pow—our eyes met. I knew that look. Before your claws had a chance to come out, I came out of my hidey-hole, stood in front of you, and falteringly tried to explain.

I’m going to come and work in the fields with you from now on and earn money so that you don’t cry anymore. And if you send me home, I’ll come back on my bike. I know how to get there—the field comes after the swimming pool. I don’t care if you hit me, I’m going to do it anyway.

Sit down on the seat properly.

That’s all you said. Did a U-turn and drove back the whole way. None of the women breathed a word. They knew when Fatma was angry, it was better not to get involved. When we ended up back at our house, Auntie Fadime opened the sliding door and told me I should be sensible and go back inside.

He can stay. I’m just going in to tell Yilmaz.

I couldn’t believe my ears. Yeah! I’d managed to persuade her, she was going to let me come. Auntie Elmas gave me a big kiss on the cheek—Our men lie around in bed like animals and the children work with us in the fields. What kind of life is this, what kind of fucking fate?—dramatizing the whole scene in her plaintive voice.

It didn’t matter. Nothing in the world could have curbed my happiness. You came back and the van shot off at full speed. Your favorite cassette by Yüksel Özkasap was playing, the one you called the Nightingale of Cologne.

I walked by the river

Drank the cold water

How I gave in to this worry

How should I know, how should I know . . .

In Grefrath, you parked the van on the forecourt. Get out, you told me. I got out and followed you. You called out for Willi and your voice sounded like a pneumatic drill, but I didn’t care, I could take it. The large gate to the cow stables opened and Willi came over to us in his knee-high rubber boots.

He wants to work. I’m going to drive the women to the fields, and I’ll leave it up to you what you do with him.

And that’s how a new chapter started. A chapter whose traces are still visible years later. Do you know what happened to the jigsaw puzzle? I never touched it again.