Code of Disjointed Letters: ( Doomsday Will Arise From the Past (4 page)

The astrologer was speaking now with a thrill in her voice. “The ones who are mentally ready will ride on the wings of this energy to the next level, while the others will desend into the bottomless well. It is the same as heaven and hell—”

“
The end of days is a secret,” Hıdır, the cleric, loudly interrupted, “only signs have been given. Don’t occupy people’s minds and hearts with such nonsense.”

The journalist tried to regain control of the deteriorating debate. “Okay, let’s discuss the subject like civilized people.”

The cleric didn’t have any intentions of keeping quiet. “If it was the end of the world tomorrow, and they put a countdown clock in Taksim Square,” he went on, “how could one identify good and evil, faith and faithlessness—what would happen to this earthly life?”

While everyone else was engaged in the discussion, I was so far merely a spectator. The hot spotlights of the studio dazzled me and sweat dripped down my neck. When the camera showed me, I could hear members of the audience mumbling, “Who is this miserable person, unable to talk?”

The spiritualist, Fatin, had now found a way to be involved in the discussion. “In regards to the information that I received from the spiritual world, I can tell you that the end of our world is near and that mankind must pull itself together.”

I didn’t know if the camera had caught it, but while Fatih was talking, I could see small ticks on his face and involuntary twitching in his arms. I wondered if it might increase as he got nervous.

Before Fatin could continue and test my conjecture, the cleric, Hıdır, jumped in. “The Lord of all the worlds is also the Lord of demons, and his rules are also valid for them. They do not know when the end of the world will be, so they cannot tell you.”

Hıdır went on to scold Mr. Tahsin. “I regretfully condemn you for leading such a circus-like, anxiety-provoking program by inviting such people!”

Tahsin responded to this new criticism by announcing an ad break. Several of the guests stood up and the assistant reminded everyone that they would resume broadcasting in eight minutes.

When I returned after having some coffee, the cleric Hıdır and the spiritualist Fatin were still having a row.

“I’m a well-known dignitary,” Fatin grumbled loudly, “and you’d be surprised by the number of scientists, politicians, and businessmen who ask my advice”

“A person doesn’t talk about the talents he has; he talks about the ones he would like to have,” Dr. Özel interrupted on behalf of Hıdır.

Fatin, took exception to this, “And you, too, now,” he said to her. “As if it wasn’t enough coming from Mr. Zaman.”

“Don’t take it personally,” she said, “but your attitude is not nice at all. You have been abusing people’s feelings, juggling six topics at the same time with a lot of quackery, and, as if that wasn’t enough, you seek to exclude us from the conversation.”

Turning back to Mr. Tahsin, the scientist continued, “Mr. Zaman is right. You invite such people to the program because of ratings anxiety, but in doing so, you not only lower the tone of the program, you also fail to fulfill what you promised us. You told me this would be a program in which the rules of academic debate were applied. If you don’t pull the program together, I might have to leave. I have to protect the prestige of the institutes I represent.” The professor delivered this ultimatum as if she were speaking to her students in her lecture hall.

“Okay, okay,” Tahsin said. “I hear and agree with your concerns, top to bottom. I promise that, from now on, we will not allow such shenanigans on the program. However, please be calm and considerate. As you may know, viewers also have some questions and expectations. Let’s direct the program toward answering them.”

Tahsin turned to Fatin. “And you, Mr. Fatin, please don’t sabotage this multidisciplinary program, which is already very tense. I want to give you the opportunity to speak and communicate with the public.”

“OK, fair enough,” Fatin said, despite the red sparks flashing in his eyes.

By the time the assistant declared that we would be on the air in thirty seconds, all of the panelists had taken their places and were busy sorting the notes in front of them.

“On air!”

“Dear viewers, it seems these exciting and intriguing topics have affected our panel greatly. We will continue our provocative discussion by consulting our cleric about apocalyptic signs. We will ask for Dr. Özel’s thoughts on the creation and functioning of the universe and to make it clear whether what Ms. Gizem has said about the presence of various energy clusters at the center of the Milky Way is possible. But first, provided that he is calm, I’d like to turn back to Mr. Fatin. What are the sensations and statements you have received from the jinns? And please observe decorum while speaking.”

The so-called journalist was fanning the flames like a lunatic.

Fatin took a deep breath; he was clearly angry. “When talking about the respectability level of the program,” Fatin began, “you should consider the person whose name you bear. Hasan Tahsin went down in history as a journalist, firing the first bullet toward the enemy in Izmir. You, however, have been struggling merely to sell a few more ads for the program.”

Fatin grabbed Tahsin’s hand and, as he continued, his eyes turned up until only the whites were visible, “By the word ‘level,’ you mean I should accommodate the public? The public that buys weapons only to increase the suffering of the hungry? The public that tolerates murder? Thanks to you, now I am a murderer. The public that uses votes and opportunities and opens concentration camps filled up with untried prisoners? Thanks to you, I am now an oppressor. The public that is proud of having built the biggest prison in Europe, not the biggest library? Thanks to you, I’m now illiterate. However, I don’t think we should put the blame on the people who did it. The guilt belongs to the ministers. Are you asking about the end of the world? Here it is!”

He withdrew his hand from the journalist’s, leaving some bloody scratches, and his irises appeared once more. He was now murmuring to himself, “I’m even sick of it all. What’s next?”

Tahsin’s face was pale as he stammered. Such unexpected situations during a live-broadcast generally require a compulsory break, and indeed, the assistant hoarsely announced that we would return to air in seven-minutes. Although I had come here to present my book and talk about the code, at this point, I didn’t even know where I was.

The time passed quickly, and soon, the on-air warning arrived. I hoped the journalist would bring the discussion back to Earth.

“Okay,” he said when the break ended. “We will turn back to this hot topic and our guests’ projections soon, but first, I’d like to give some time to a brand-new writer, who has put forward an amazing first book containing some incredible arguments.” As he spoke, he stared helplessly at me.

Just then the door of the studio opened, and someone came inside. I turned and saw that it was Elif. Looking tired, she slipped inside with a briefcase. She glanced at the set, the scene, the people sitting at the table, and then turned to the camera and the hot spotlights. She was angry and I realized it hadn’t been a very good idea to do something like this behind her back. I must have forgotten to turn off the computer and now I’d been caught. Elif’s shrill voice rang in my ears.

“Your book has just come out. We haven’t even laid the groundwork for its promotion, nor even talked about it. But you have already thrown yourself into the most difficult situation: a live broadcast. A little bit of logic would have been good, but no, you lead with your chin!”

People in the studio stared at her; the assistant made a muting sign and showed her an empty seat. Then, everyone turned back to the panel and waited for my response.

I turned to the cameras. “First, good evening everyone,” I said. I had found the most ridiculous cliché to begin with. “Actually, everything I could tell you is stated in my book,” I continued now in a mumble.

“You’re a doctor, aren’t you?” Mr. Tahsin said to me with a facile grin. “Doctors of medicine must have a special interest in the finding of a code in our holy book.” He was trying to make the audience forget his earlier defeat by drawing attention to me, his new victim.

Hiding my displeasure, I answered with a slight sigh. “My profession aside, I am a human being. A human being that thinks. I feel an urge to share my thoughts with other people. Moreover, the only advantage of my profession in this case is that it brings me a scientific perspective and the ability to perform a systematic analysis.”

I had gotten a grip on the topic now. Since I held the cards, I didn’t want to miss the opportunity to explain my findings. “It all began with a question.” I began reciting the lines that I had memorized on the way to the studio.

When I began to talk about the transparent sheets—which I had used while discovering the code—I began to gain the audience’s attention. My passion for the subject propelled me as I pointed at the book in my hands and showed its pages to the camera. Everything was going fine, and the atmosphere was calmer now, but I could see Elif losing her patience. Before I could finish, Elif stood up, and, because it was a live broadcast, suddenly the producers and crew had panicky looks on their faces. However, they were too late to stop her.

Elif stepped into the shot, put her hand on the table and, in a calm but frustrated tone, said, “Oktay, my dear, can we go now?” It was not a question.

I looked at her, considered the cameras, and wondered if I could still do something to pull it all together. I continued to talk.

“Here is Elif, who is the light of my life. She is the only one who has supported me throughout my writing process…” My hand was raised in the air toward Elif, who, along with the confused looks of the audience, the helpless and frustrated looks of the assistants and other personnel, was on full display in a live broadcast.

Elif spoke louder now, “You’re not ready yet. You’ve still got time. You came here without informing me. You will make a fool of yourself and of me.” I supposed she was right. I was a doctor and writer who was being scolded live on television—no matter what she said now, my reputation had already been ruined.

The host attempted to save the situation. “Ma’am, we’re live at the moment and discussing very important issues,” he said.

Elif raised her voice and began to yell.

The cleric, sitting beside me with all his courtesy and dignity, spoke to Elif as well. “Young lady, please sit down and calm yourself. The things happening here—”

As he was trying to put his hand on Elif’s shoulder, I also tried to hold her, and, in the midst of the struggle, the cleric inadvertently struck Elif’s face.

There was a moment of complete silence. Then, a thin line of blood appeared between Elif’s nose and mouth.

She ignored all of the forthcoming apologies and excuses. I was sure the camera was zooming in on all our faces, especially Elif’s. Time had stopped, and I really didn’t know what to do. I was paralyzed. Elif tried to wipe the blood away with the back of her hand. Then she took my hand and growled, “The show is over!”

I’d never seen Elif that angry before. As for me, I felt like a kid who had dropped his candy. I had almost finished my lecture; I had almost fulfilled my duty by telling them everything. But, the sandcastle got destroyed before I could finish.

Neither she nor I uttered a word until we got home. Elif used a tissue to wipe away the blood and her tears. I thought of stopping at a gas station and proposing she wash her face, but I kept my silence. At home, having still not uttered a word, I surrendered myself to the darkness and slept in our room alone.

I was relieved when I woke up from my deep sleep. What had happened during the program no longer loomed as large; I had done my best and made an effort. I had already made significant progress on my first day of publicity: I had appeared on a live TV program and promoted my book. But I couldn’t wrong Elif. I couldn’t take the risk of losing her for any reason, especially for a book or fame. I decided that she was jealous of me; I even felt my manly pride flattered by her fear regarding my possible fame. There was no need to make a fuss out of this; she had been hurt, albeit accidentally, and she deserved a big kiss, my forgiveness, and my sympathy.

As the raw light of the morning slipped into the room through the curtains, the door opened and Elif, in all her simple beauty, entered the room. She spoke, first hesitantly, then more quickly. She told me that I had been right and had done the right thing and that she had acted wrongly because of jealousy on her part. When she finished, I relieved the tension in the air by saying, “Let’s just forget about it!”

Later that day, the station manager called the house and told Elif that the previous night’s show had garnered incredible ratings. The channel, having seen the show’s market share, had now decided on a new format in which everyone would display his or her talent in a show called the Big Brother Mystery show or BBM.

They believed such a program would garner a lot of buzz and everyone would benefit. I would even be given a portion of the ad revenue as a reward. The publishing company had already agreed to come on as one of the sponsors, thus increasing our earning potential. Elif joined me in my excitement as she explained that this program, which could last for weeks, would make me famous and give me more opportunity and time to promote my ideas.

The more she talked, the more enthusiastic I became. I knew that my first instinct to join the show had been the right one. She left the room happily, saying that she was going to pack my suitcase. I sat opposite my half-opened window inhaling the brisk air of the morning and drinking my coffee. I sank into meditation, and then came dreams…