Gardens of Water (73 page)

Sinan saw Kemal light a cigarette and spit a leaf of tobacco on the ground. Kemal had not spoken to him since
rem’s death. He hadn’t even offered condolences. Sinan wasn’t sure if it was because he was ashamed of himself for making the suggestion or ashamed of Sinan for being so weak as to allow his daughter to take her own life. It didn’t matter. Sinan didn’t want to speak to the man anyway.

“You just want our votes in the fall,” Malik said. He had been hidden in the crowd, but he stepped forward when he spoke. “You have a summer home in Yalova.”

“I do.”

“And a mistress.”

The mayor’s face grew red and he played with his tie.

“Is that where you’ve been these two months?”

“I was in Ankara—”

“Ankara!” Malik threw his cigarette to the ground.

“Winter is coming,” the mayor said. “Do you know what they have planned for you? Square cubicles made of particle board and aluminum.”

“Shut up and do something,” Malik said. “Get these people out of here.”

“It’s not that easy,” the mayor said. “They’re guests of the government.”

Malik laughed, the bitter laugh Sinan remembered from the men in the village, the laugh that was like releasing steam from a boiling pot.

Finishing the loop on his laces, Sinan stood to go.

“You’re just another stupid politician,” Malik said. “Using God to get votes.” Malik caught Sinan’s eyes as he walked past the crowd. “My brother’s lost his daughter.”

A sharp pain stabbed Sinan’s gut and his heart began to thump in his ear and he stopped to listen.

“I’ve lost my son, and you’re just standing here talking. You’d be more useful if you were selling oranges.”

“The Fazilat party will be here soon to help you, my friends. We’ll kick the Americans out and
we’ll
feed you.”

mam Ali came out of the mosque and the men quieted. He embraced the mayor and kissed him on both cheeks. The mayor accepted the greeting but his face was red and there was sweat on his brow. He pulled a scarf from his back pocket and wiped the beads of water away.

“Don’t worry about the Americans,” the
mam said. “They cannot change you unless you want to be changed.”

“But
Efendi,
” Malik said. “Already little U
ur has let them splash water over his head. He wears a cross around his neck now.”

“Since when have you cared about Gypsy children,”
mam Ali said, in a voice filled more with the deflated hiss of disappointment than the bite of condemnation. “The Qur’an is the truth,” the
mam said. “The truth will win, because it is the truth and people will recognize it as such. Do you make these Americans out to be stronger than the truth?”

Some of the men looked at the ground in embarrassment, but Malik clicked his tongue in disgust.

“They take advantage of us,” he said.

“Ignore them, Malik,” the
mam said. “Your struggle is inside yourself. If these people scare you, then it’s your own doubt that makes you weak.”

But Sinan knew that wasn’t true. A daughter cannot fight for herself, a son cannot defend himself against his innocence.
mam Ali looked small and fragile, his voice was strong but his words were weak. He dressed as an old cleric, his robes yellowed from years of use, his skullcap frayed at the edges. He seemed ancient and out of date, a man too lost in thought to understand action.

The men argued with one another until the mayor spoke again.

“Please,” the mayor said. “Brothers, please.” The men quieted. “
mam Ali is wise. He understands God better than I. But I understand men. When men make our own struggle more difficult, then those men interfere with our path to God. The straight path is difficult enough to follow.”

The men erupted with anger and Sinan turned to leave.
mam Ali tried to quiet them, but even as Sinan turned the corner to his tent row he could hear the rumble of their voices.

FOR THE NEXT FEW
days, rumors raced through the camp. The Christians had baptized four orphans, brainwashed them so badly that the children even forgot their names. They were given new names, Western names, and had been sent to America to be adopted by people in Texas. The Christians put pork in the soup-kitchen meals without telling anyone, a sabotage meant to soil the souls of the faithful. At one of their evening bonfires, three children had seen the Christians burn pages from the Qur’an, sending God’s words rising into the night sky with the sparks.