Gardens of Water (48 page)

Her mother’s eyes bounced back and forth, her teeth bit off the words. It scared
rem and she looked away.

“Look at me,” Nilüfer said. “Do you think my life is nothing?”

rem wanted to say yes, if for no other reason than to hurt her, but she couldn’t do it.

Nilüfer let go of her arm.

“Wash,” she said. “Wash, wash, wash!” She pushed
rem out of the way. “Like this,” she said, taking the shirt out of her hands and pressing it to the metal washer. “Can’t even wash a shirt!”

On the third day there was nothing left to clean and that was worse, because her mother wouldn’t let her leave the tent at all. They sat together all morning in the tent,
smail coming and going as he pleased. When he was there, her mother smiled and touched his hair and played games with him, but when he was gone, she was silent, morose, and occasionally let into her.

“Stupid girl. You think men love loose women? They leave such women in the streets and come home to the ones that cook their meals.”

Clouds pressed low to the ground and the tent was dark and
rem was beginning to think her mother would never stop. She was beginning to think she would never see Dylan again, never see sunlight again except to hang laundry and buy vegetables.

“Such women end up in the whorehouses in Beyo
lu, or worse.”

Dilek came by the tent and Nilüfer wouldn’t let
rem see her.

“She’s sleeping,” she heard her mother say, and
rem almost yelled out to her friend but she knew that would make it worse and she didn’t know if she could handle worse in this tiny space. When her mother came back in she complained about atheists and
rem’s secular friends that made her act this way.

After three days her mother’s words were sinking in. She was nothing. Her father didn’t love her. Her mother hated her now. She was stained with rumors because of a kiss. But it wasn’t a stupid kiss; it was everything; it was what she wanted most, the only thing that made her happy. And the walls of the tent were crowding in and her mother wouldn’t shut up and she thought she would explode.

“I need to go to the W.C.,” she said.

And her mother, just as she had for three days, walked with her to the toilets and stood outside and waited. But this time
rem didn’t need to go. This time, she pulled the triangle of glass she kept hidden in her skirt pocket. She pulled her blouse sleeves up so that her wrists were exposed. She grasped the glass with her right fist and ran it across her left wrist. She slashed enough to bleed, but not enough to cut the veins there, just enough to feel the pain, to see her blood rise to the surface; just enough to keep her mind from spilling over the edge.

“
rem,” her mother said. “What’s taking so long?”

She slashed again and she felt the sting and her head started to clear and she felt strong again.

“
rem? Are you okay?” Her mother tapped on the door, but
rem had engaged the latch and she couldn’t get in.