Free Songs My Mother Never Taught Me by Selcuk Altun Page B

Department at King’s College, and my stepfather offered to support me financially.
    â€˜The following week your father phoned to wish me a happy birthday and I thought my heart would stop. I was always in his mind, he told me, but he hadn’t called, imagining I’d be busy preparing for the university entrance exam. Once it was certain that I’d be leaving for London to become a student, we began to meet again. I was waiting for him in a desolate house in the next street when he was shot down before a mosque wall. I left for London five days later, and after the first shock I tried to reflect on what had happened. From what your mother said to the police, which was reflected in the press, it seems your father was being threatened by some fundamentalists. But that was a complete sham. I’d never heard a single word from Mürsel about any such threat, and he never hid anything from me. What about the name of this group who supposedly assassinated him? They had never been involved in any operation before. As for your father, who thought there was no problem in the world he couldn’t solve, except women, he had slipped up somewhere or other and aroused your mother’s suspicions. He kept on saying, “If this woman doesn’t kill me with her baleful looks, she’ll have it done by someone else.” The last couple of times we met he had the feeling we were being followed.
    â€˜You can’t deny that your mother was cruel and vindictive. I think that when Mürsel had his last chance and blew it, she had him killed.
    â€˜I can see you’re shaken, but I thought I’d no right to hide what I knew from you.’
    Happy to be relieved of the load she’d been carrying so long, she grabbed another bottle from the minibar and making two attempts to light her cigarette, tried to gauge my reaction. I’d been shocked to hear of my father’s forbidden passion for my childhood love, but I was even more appalled at the possibility that my mother had had my father murdered. (Was I going to be buried under another wave of depression?) Then Dalga started on her farewell speech: ‘It took me two years to recover from a series of depressions; they all began with my guilty conscience. I went into intensive therapy and graduated from school a year late. Professor Tom Bayley, vice-dean of the department, had supported me during the crisis, and when Tom and his American wife eventually divorced, we married as soon as I graduated. My husband is 18 years older than I am, and reminds me a little of your dad; I have a son named Adrian who is now five years old. (I couldn’t find an English name closer to Arda.) How fond I was of you, Arda. In my dreams I would fly with you and Mürsel and descend on an island where we lived happily ever after. I knew you had mixed feelings about me. I knew you were peeping when I was taking a shower after sun-bathing, and to tantalize you even more I’d especially pose for you.
    â€˜I wanted to see you after your mother’s death but I never felt strong enough. Only Serap knew my address and what had happened to me. I had warned her not to give away my secret, so she got rid of you. Then I began to believe in fate, perhaps to console myself after all that had happened. If you hadn’t called I’m sure we would never have met like this, or might have met at a less significant time.
    â€˜By pouring out my heart I’ve darkened yours. How about joining us at eight o’clock tomorrow night for Christmas dinner, so we can share some cheerful stories for a change? You can meet my husband, my step-daughter Ethel and my son who thinks you’re his uncle. I’d understand if you decided we shouldn’t meet again, but you must know that I cherish your friendship, Arda ...’
    I sat motionless when Dalga left the room. Eyes closed, I was wondering what my father’s killer was doing at that very moment. Instead of