Kategori: Edebi

Just then Nakata thought he heard a small laugh behind him. He turned and saw, seated on a low concrete wall next to a house, a lovely, slim Siamese looking at him with narrowed eyes.

“Excuse me, but would you by chance be Mr. Nakata?” the Siamese purred.
“Yes, that’s correct. My name’s Nakata. It’s very nice to meet you.”
“Likewise, I’m sure,” the Siamese replied.
“It’s been cloudy since this morning, but I don’t expect we’ll be seeing any rain soon,” Nakata said.
“I do hope the rain holds off.”

The Siamese was a female, just approaching middle age. She proudly held her tail up straight, and had a collar with a name tag. She had pleasent features and was slim, with not an ounce of extra fat.

“Please call me Mimi. The Mimi for La Bohéme. There’s a song about it, too: ‘Si, Mi Chiamano Mimi.'”
“I see,” Nakata said, not really following.
“An opera by Puccini, you know. My owner happens to be a great fan of opera,” Mimi said, and smiled amiably. “I’d sing it for you, but unfortunately I’m not much of a singer.”
“Nakata’s very happy to meet you Mimi-san.”
“Same for me Mr. Nakata.”

Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

[…]He came at last to his house, porch light on, windows dark. He crossed the lawn and went around to the back. He turned the knob, and the door opened quietly and the house was quiet. There was the tall stool beside the draining board. There was the table where they had sat. He had gotten up from the couch, come into the kitchen, sat down. What more had he done? He had done nothing more. He looked at the clock over the stove. He could see into the dining room, the table with the lace cloth, the heavy glass centerpiece of red flamingos, their wings opened, the draperies beyond the table open. Had she stood at that window watching for him? He stepped onto the living-room carpet. Her coat was thrown over the couch, and in the pale light he could make out a large ashtray full of her cork cigarette ends. He noticed the phone directory open on the coffee table as he went by. He stopped at the partially open door to their bedroom. Everything seemed to him open. For an instant he resisted the wish to look in at her, and then with his finger he pushed the door open a little bit more. She was sleeping, her head off the pillow, turned toward the wall, her hair black against the sheet, the covers bunched around her shoulders, coven pulled up from the foot of the bed. She was on her side, her secret body angled at the hips. He stared. What, after all, should he do? Take his things and leave? Go to a hotel? Make certain arrangements? How should a man act, given these circumstances? He understood things had been done. He did not understand what things now were to be done. The house was very quiet.

In the kitchen he let his head down onto his arms as he sat at the table. He did not know what to do. Not just now, he thought, not just in this, not just about this, today and tomorrow, but every day on earth. Then he heard the children stirring. He sat up and tried to smile as they came into the kitchen.

“Daddy, Daddy,” they said, running to him with their little bodies.
“Tell us a story. Daddy,” his son said, getting onto his lap.
“He can’t tell us a story,” his daughter said. “It’s too early for a story. Isn’t it. Daddy?”
“What’s that on your face, Daddy?” his son said, pointing.
“Let me see!” his daughter said. “Let me see, Daddy.”
“Poor Daddy,” his son said.
“What did you do to your face, Daddy?” his daughter said.
“Its nothing,” Ralph said. “Its all right, sweetheart. Now get down now, Robert, I hear your mother.”

Ralph stepped quickly into the bathroom and locked the door.

“Is your father here?” he heard Marian calling. -Where is he, in the bath¬room? Ralph?”
“Mama, Mama!” his daughter cried. “Daddy’s face is hurt!” “Ralph!” She turned the knob. “Ralph, let me in, please, darling. Ralph? Please let me in, darling. I want to see you. Ralph? Please!”
He said, “Go away, Marian.”
She said, “‘I can’t go away. Please, Ralph, open the door for a minute, darling. I just want to see you. Ralph. Ralph? The children said you were hurt. What’s wrong, darling? Ralph?”
He said, “Go away”
She said, “Ralph, open up, please.”
He said, “Will you please be quiet, please?”

He heard her waiting at the door, he saw the knob turn again, and then be could hear her moving around the kitchen, getting the children break¬fast, trying to answer their questions. He looked at himself in the mirror a long time. He made faces at himself. He tried many expressions. Then he gave it up. He turned away from the mirror and sat down on the edge of the bathtub, began unlacing his shoes. He sat there with a shoe in his hand and looked at the clipper ships making their way across the wide blue sea of the plastic shower curtain. He thought of the litde black roaches in the tablecloth and almost cried out Stop!. He unbuttoned his shirt, leaned over the bathtub with a sigh, and pressed the plug into the drain. He ran hot water, and presently steam rose.

He stood naked on the tiles before getting into the water. He gathered in his fingers the slack flesh over his ribs. He studied his face again m the clouded mirror. He started in fear when Marian called his name.

“Ralph. The children are in their room playing. I called Von Williams and said you wouldn’t be in today, and I’m going to stay home.” Then she said, “I have a nice breakfast on the stove for you, darling, when you’re through with your bath. Ralph?”

“Just be quiet, please,” he said.

He stayed in the bathroom until he heard her in the children’s room. She was dressing them, asking didn’t they want to play with Warren and Roy? He went through the house and into the bedroom, where he shut the door. He looked at the bed before he crawled in. He lay on his back and stared at the ceiling. He had gotten up from the couch, had come into the kitchen, had … sat… down. He snapped shut his eyes and turned onto his side as Marian came into the room. She took off her robe and sat down on the bed. She put her hand under the covers and began stroking the lower part of his back.

“Ralph,” she said.

He tensed at her fingers, and then he let go a little. It was easier to le go a little. Her hand moved over his hip and over his stomach and she was pressing her body over his now and moving over him and back and forth over him. He held himself, he later considered, as long as he could. And then he turned to her. He turned and turned in what might have been a stupendous sleep, and he was still turning, marveling at the impossible changes he felt moving over him.

Raymond Carver, “Will You Please Be Quiet, Please?”
Harvill Press 1999, London.

KAR

Kardır yağan üstümüze geceden,
Yağmurlu, karanlık bir düşünceden,
Ormanın uğultusuyla birlikte
Ve dörtnala, dümdüz bir mavilikte
Kar yağıyor üstümüze inceden

Sesin nerde kaldı, her günkü sesin,
Unutulmuş güzel şarkılar için
Bu kar gecesinde uzaktan, yoldan
Rüzgâr gibi tâ eski Anadolu’dan
Sesin nerde kaldı? Kar içindesin!

Ne sabahtır bu mavilik, ne akşam!
Uyandırmayın beni uyanamam.
Kaybolmuş sevdiklerimiz aşkına,
Allah aşkına, gök, deniz aşkına
Yağsın kar üstümüze buram buram

Buğulandıkça yüzü her aynanın
Beyaz dokusunda bu saf rüyanın
Göğe uzanır -tek, tenha- bir kamış
Sırf unutmak için, unutmak ey kış!
Büyük yalnızlığını dünyanın.

Ahmet Muhip Dıranas, Kar