I. WHEN DOLLY MEETS SOLE
She was, at full length, lying on that floor as cold as stone-cold when I happened to find her. Was she dead? How on earth nobody has seen this little creature here! So crinkled up just round the corner of this rest-room, oh no! Shit house… Yes this god damn bloody shit house, this cesspool! Oh so bloody place, “Tangoneon” “Caminito! So Buenos Aires! Anyways. Oh, no! That cleft forehead! Her forehead, left side, was drenched in blood; she was unconscious, I guess…and through that terrible bobbery I could still hear Caminito playing onstage:
Little path that time has erased,
That one day saw us pass by together,
I have come for the last time,
I have come to tell you my woes.
Little path, you were then,
embroidered in clover and flowering reeds,
a shadow you will soon be,
a shadow the same as myself.
I could still hear the crusty touch of high heels on waxed floor…Ladies and so called gentlemen…Not the right time to think about gentlemen, definitely! It is the time for just grabbing a bunch of used toilet roll and compressing her forehead. And throwing some drop of water to her face. Yes, water droplets, help us please! Oh, how severe! Running blood is all I could see now, so more toilet roll! All used and scarlet. Aha! Yes! And a bit of cologne—which I sometimes keep for myself in my purple bag— Yes! Now I could see the greenish eyes of her half-opening and chapped mouth hardly whispering “take me out of here!”
So, half alive she just leaned on me and my arms, free flowing, wrapped around her slim mignon body. I thought I should just sneak off, the back door opening to bus stops, a few yards to the Theatre. But no! No bus stop, for sure, look at us! There must be enough money somewhere in my bag, just for the cab. After all I’ll do some fancy lady’s hair tomorrow morning and I already have a hard tip from tonight’s cigarette selling; one good damn thing for tonight! Oh! I kept hearing jumble words of her now “if I could only…just...oh, don’t... don’t do that! ! Don’t! I say! where, is she, where now...”
When we were about to fade away in dusk, chilly breeze turned up to be more and more harsh and the fabric lined streets of my beloved Buenos Aires became more and more shady. Far behind I could still hear the laughing high heels running into each other, now with Fui Mos playing:
We were the traveler who doesn't beg, who doesn't pray
who doesn't cry, who lay down to die.
Go...!
Don't you understand that you are killing you..?
Don't you understand that I am calling you..?
That was how I found my Sole, my mignon, the dearest!
About twenty minutes later, we were safe, now at my place on north Paso Street, a little apartment facing towards a kosher food nexus and 19th Century Art Noveau Building, now in restoration. I prepared the small spring couch for her, changed one-week bed sheets and brought her a thick blanket. She lay down, hardly trying to speak. Her forehead was not bleeding anymore, but I rushed to the bedroom to grab a piece of clean cloth with a bit of tenture d’iyote. When I came back to her side, her eyes were wide open. I could see an amazing deep marbling green; too bright but still… Ah yes, the look of Edith Piaf.. somehow…Yes! She seems to poke out of somewhere, calling “Non, je ne regrette rien”. Now I realized I was just staring at her. Too much of staring, I guess. I decided to bring her some tea, to calm her down, whatever happened to her, tonight! I wanted to learn, I wanted to ask.. But.. How… When I was just about to pull myself together to bend towards the kitchen, she spoke. Yes, her words were barely heard. Or did I just get her wrong, Oh!
“I killed him, I guess”
“You, what??”
“I killed him…My husband…. and Ezra… my daughter...”
“What!! Oh, what! You killed your daughter too?”
“Oh no! She’s… She’s….don’t know…”
I could definitely feel the wind chill from my back ajar window, creeping inside. I have to make some tea, for sure. And now she couldn’t hold her deep green eyes open any longer; all of a sudden her head just dropped aside. Oh what a night! I sighed to myself. Who was she! Was she meant to die here!! In this cramped lonely cold apartment. What I needed is just this, in my blank blink life? I felt myself unceasingly rolling down and down, through a swirling hole tonight, as if I’m Alice in Wonderland… or Alice in Rednowland cause tonight I had enough blood, for sure.
Yes, I must make some tea. And put some music on, as well. Damn it! I love Tango, anyways, so Soledad. Playing now.
In my loneliness day by day,
my life was in agony.
The hurting gave me the courage,
to continue, to continue...
A few minutes later I sat beside her, holding a cup of tea in one hand, in case she wakes up. I wanted to touch her tight face somehow. She is a plain beauty, I say. Oh, I could see that deep green eyes and dry mouth opening again. Her voice sounds somehow dry as well.
“Please help me… I killed my husband, just stabbed him…cause… cause…”
Soledad.. is still playing…
“Ok, first take a sip here, it’ll calm you down, then tell me everything far from the start, please!” Without saying a single word, she, in a rather brisk way just bent down and grabbed the cup from my coldish hand and it all started since then. Now the mouth of her has turned into a breath of fresh air, a breath of fresh soul breaking through her bruised body, now telling everything just like a flash…
“My name is Sole…hmm…oh it hurts! My head! That bastard stole money when I was just coming from…it hurts…I remember him; but slight images revolving around my mind. Thank God, I still have my bag, identity cards and etc…Why did I come to that bar… I hate Tango you know, you love it, I guess. It is so cliche, passion and love and the wit, they say. Love does not exist! All imaginary relations everywhere. Oh my Ezra… where is she now? You know I killed him…”
She took a deep breath inside; as if she inhaled the every bit of bitter world surrounding her; she was in a way in her uncanny womb now; ready to rush out…ready to pour out…
“I was home early today, we had a boycott in the cafeteria, about food prices, and you know I work at that big clothing store a “Peuque” just a few meters to the Subway. I work as a “saleswoman”, they say so. I guess, I was home early today… and oh dear Ezra...and He!! He was pushing Ezra towards the wall; the only hanging picture- Klimt falling down, breaking into pieces. And he was swooping down on my Ezra, making those familiar groaning, eyes seeing red, the familiar beast self once more; clumsy but breezy hands all over my little Ezra’s body. Like Leda and the Swann, all I can say;
A sudden blow: the great wings beating still
above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,
He holds her helpless breast upon his breast….
“Ezra could not scream or shout. I know she was frozen deep inside, somewhere; motionless, without any kind of reaction; locked!
“So I knew the silence, I knew it, believe me but eventually I heard her body bursting out; screaming all over again. Zeev didn’t notice me at all; he was far too occupied. And my mind…and my body. I felt totally paralyzed. I felt I was at the edge of an abyss, dark waves mounting up; up to my neck, taking my life all at once. I could not breathe for a while; it ached far too much and when I started to breathe heavily all I took inside was just smoke; tasted completely dark and cruel. And my mind kept saying the word on and on. I, on my tiptoe, went to the kitchen. I remembered the very first day that I embraced my little Ezra into my arms…
“So a few minutes later…three stabs on the back… and the greenish carpet was already full of blood just creeping away, creating a thin path. All I can say is, now…all I can know is.. All I figure out is …but Ezra!”
Soledad…has stopped playing… I must change the record, now… But as I sat and listened to this mignon woman, called Sole, my whole body seemed to be buried under white muddy avalanche. I was totally shaken by deadly snowpack and my heart was sunk into deep blue waters. Cold. It is damn cold. I can’t laugh anymore. I can’t do my usual giggles anymore. What have you done to me, Sole?
Adios Nonino…
Playing now….
Dream of the past that accuses me,
hands that don't want to forgive.
Friendly pain of existing with your shadow,
regret of knowing you are good.
Distant pain of hearing the dead voices
that name you again and again.
“Where is Ezra now?”
“Don’t know…I really don’t know…I was deep frozen, as cold as marble; could not speak, move or feel anything for a while. Just following the thin bloody path rolling around me; could not feel anything but nausea; could not touch anything, but my head just fell into my murderous sweaty hands, I guess. And when I opened my eyes and moved my body I realized she was not there… she was not there…The door was half open. I could hear people laughing downstairs in the second floor. I could hear people walking in high heels, in quicksteps. But I could not hear my Ezra’s… could not feel that she was there. She was gone. Gone! I was totally frantic and went out to look for her… Each corner, street, cafes, restaurants, bars…and I ended up at Caminito…and then you…Oh! Don’t know where she is now…I’m going frantic. It hurts a lot…”
This should be the utmost destination where words don’t really get along well with us, because I don’t have anything to say now, to this mignon woman. She was already overdone; her eyes were about to fall asleep once more. I just stooped down and whispered: “Try to sleep now. Let us see the morning then. We’ll figure it out, I guess.”…
Oh what a night! I once more had the deepest sigh in the world, maybe. In the small hours of the morning I should have some sleep too. The music… Stopped…Hard times.
II. WHEN MORNING HAS BROKEN
I got up dazed and confused. Little people, something like Lilliput people, were in my hell head, hammering me all through that couple of hours of the remaining night. I put on my purple flowered blouse and tight jeans and went to living room. It was a damp –usual-- morning; I could feel the tapping water from –once more-the broken pipes and feel wet fog definitely creeping inside. Sole was still sleeping. I thought to myself once more; she is a plain beauty; from a to z. Her name Sole and her soul…what a matching couple, dear! I should turn on the heater, make some tea and prepare a French toast for her.
“Heey, is that you?”
“Oh dear, are you awake or have I disturbed you, Sole?”
“No, no I’ve just woken up.. It seems it’s been ages since I’ve been sleeping on this sofa.”
“How do you feel today, do you have any pain, your forehead?” I guess I was trying to show that she must not be afraid of me and of this small apartment.
“No, it hurts a little, but I’m allright. Thank you. Thanks. What’s your name, by the way?”
“Hmm, Dolly. I’m Dolly.”
“Is that all? Dolly! It sounds much like a nickname or…”
“No, my name is Dolly and I have a good plan, I tell you.” I smiled at her. And she, in return, smiled at me; she has that crooked smile, oh dear!
While we had a long-breakfast, she seemed much better; but kept telling me about Ezra. I couldn’t read a single mark on her tight face, telling me that she regrets of her murder. No! Not even the slightest clue. She seemed far too confident and somehow bright; but kept wondering only one word: Ezra. So I told her my humble plan. She, once more returned a crooked smile at me; this time a smile of gratitude and trust, I guess.
About half an hour later, we swept into a trampede of commuting pedestrians, swirling around ourselves, on all sides. We fled to the nearest side street to escape the onslaught of people and extended range of shops, kiosks and also heavy traffic. So once more welcome to our Jewish district of beloved Buenos Aires, the garment district “Balvenera” with fabrics with all kinds and bright colors, bazaars, markets; somehow resembling lower East Side of New York. It was 15.00 in the afternoon. So where to look first? It was for sure she wouldn’t go back to the home. Actually neither of them would go! So where would Ezra go first? Or if she felt like hiding where should we go ahead? I looked at Sole, her tight face one more. The bandage on forehead just told me everything, in fact: somehow I got the green lights of where to head for.
“Does she like or hate Tango, like you?”
“Oh, are you asking me this? No, she loves it. She is now 14 and she’s been dancing Tango for 2 years. I’ve already checked out some places, just after… you know…But why do you ask?”
“Maybe we should start looking…at some other bars or cafés; rather than hospitals or somewhere like that. You told me that she longs for taking her liberties; a waywardly girl!
“That’s right, you know I’ve always told her that she is somehow too young to get engaged in… but dear, she never listens to me! And I know that she has some friends, all of them just gather together at that bohemian place; they call it “Garage del Tango”, I guess. It should be down; a few meters walk from the Folks Theatre…at the far end of Rivadavia Street. I’ve not been there just after…you know…and I don’t know why I couldn’t think of that…why…”
While we were walking down along the Corrientes Avenue 348, stone red and creamish art noveau buildings seemed dwindling away and we were branching out each corner, shop, traffic light, large and small food nexus, tobacco package store, cars, pedestrians just to see a familiar face; maybe a friend of Ezra’s. Sole was far too nervous than last night but at the same time seemed far self-assured. She is a woman of contradictories I guess. Now far from the corner, Florida, I heard slight twilight tunes of Buenos Aires playing
My beloved Buenos Aires,
the day I see you again,
there will be no more sorrow or forgetfulness
The lamp of the street where I was born
was witness to my promises of love,
It was under its dim light that I saw her
I saw my pebeta as bright as a sun.
Today luck wants me to see you again,
you my beloved city porteña,
and I hear the lament
of a bandoneón,
asking for his heart to be set free.
Oh! I must call the big boss, to let him know… I’m here all day long and night. It is already 17:00 pm. During our hectic walk, we happened to find ourselves in an awkward silence for a while; continuing to the end of the Avenue. But when she saw the red bricked building with an iron-forged door… It was just behind the rather old post-office at the narrow twilight corner she grabbed my hand and led me towards that bohemian look building. I could hear the damn good old music Carlos Gardel; “Por Una Cabeza”… Once you hear this marvelous and somehow shivery tune you never think of the lyrics! Yes! Ironically it is about a man and horse-racing.
Losing by a head of a noble horse
who slackens just down the stretch
and when it comes back it seems to say:
don't forget brother,
You know, you shouldn't bet.
Anyways…she… Ezra was not there. They haven’t seen her since yesterday; and nobody knows where she was all day long but….I held Sole’s hand tight on the way back. Now she was trembling like leaf, fell in dead-end street. I closely embraced her and she let her feet take our way. At least we got a clue or a slight possibility of Ezra being at somewhere: thanks to her friend. It was Alex who told us the addressse: Café de Los Angelitos; where there would be the big tango dance tonight! With foreign dancers from all over the world. Oh! where the hell is it? I guess we should take the bus…
III. WHEN SOLE EASES HER SOUL
DESTINATION
She was with me all the time; who is she, really? I know her only by her fanciful name, Dolly. She has that unique affectionate look hidden behind her weird giggles. But somehow she is like the silence after a devouring tornado. I would have been half-dead without her, I guess. I would have stepped on Nowehereland. I like the way how she combs her long reddish hair, how she talks in a rather scampish manner. She reminds me my Ezra in her daisy spirit. She is somehow interestingly cheerful but at the same time one can read her “blues” deep inside. And I don’t believe that Dolly is her real name. Just oscillating between here and there; like me, my youth self. She told me that she works as a hairdresser in her district; north Paso Street; doing some fancy hair all of her morning time or fancy nails. And she told me about those tango bars where she sells a mixed bag of cigarettes; as her nightshift. She was Greek in origin; immigrated to Buenos Aires when she was just 5 years old, I guess. Whenever I asked about her parents, she did her usual giggles and used to change the subject right away.
Now, we headed towards the Avenue once more. It was dark already. I could feel the tall art novae facades put their olden- wretched eyes on all over me, wherever I turn myself over. The red tarpaulin restaurants with joyous people inside, still like-heck of people carrying large and small bags, walking back and forth, shining grocery stores about to take down the shutters, still the heavy traffic with annoying horners or range of parked cars at both sides of the Avenue, the great Synagogues hidden back sides, my beloved Japanese Gardens far from the traffic or my favorite shop with blue-red paints “Museo De Cera”… We just passed all of them and it was far beyond nightfall time now. My heat was sunk in nightfall as well. I was far too nervous… anxious… but somehow all right. I killed him! I knew it was coming; sooner or later. What if… What now… What if the policemen.. I don’t want to think about at all. I only long for finding Ezra now… and maybe start up all over again. Just like that…Like this.. And who is Dolly actually? I have that stiff feeling inside which I can’t know why; but I trust her. I must trust her. Now we took the bus 401 A to San Luis Street and then…
We found ourselves on a street lined with kosher bakeries at Lavalle Street. There was the Plaza del Congereso just on the right corner. At the behind –sight there was one of the great Synagogues; a wrought iron gate stood proudly in front of a beautiful white staircase leading up to the magnificent white arches which make up the entrance of this domed piece. I used to visit the Synogogue with my little Ezra, when she was just a baby. For God’s sake I must, we must, find her! Just then, Sole pointed at the flashing marble signboard with two angels on the left side, with its stained-glass shining door. This is not a café I thought; just another world, another phase of life you know…full of bohemian charm but people are not like us, very different from us here, for sure. And they wouldn’t let us in, as sure as eggs is eggs. What and how could Ezra find here? I was hesitant to look inside. It was a vast ambitious architectural piece displaying luxury and distinction, even in the most insignificant details. It was for poets and musicians, I guess. We headed towards the door, two men waiting for us. I could definitely hear Astor Piazzola’s LiberTango— maybe the last piece for today—
Strange, I’ve seen that face before,
Seen that face hanging round my door
Like a hawk stealing for the prey,
Like the night waiting for the day….
playing in the dance hall. After a ten minute talk we learnt that she was gone…She came for the Tango show with some of her friends; she was dead-beat, crying all the time and was delirious…wandering nothing else but one single word “Mommy, Sole…” but she insisted on watching the show. Well, of course she couldn’t get in. She was just too young! Two of her friends accompanying tried to calm her down; wanted to take her to her mom, to wherever she was. But Ezra was flying in the face of everything telling that she can’t go back…just can’t go…No matter how vengeaously she kept on saying “I love…Sole…my mom” She told that she just can’t go back…Ever! No matter what has happened…
The very moment, in the middle of the conversation with the two men just infront of the door way, Dolly rushed into the saloon just like a lightning. Of course, the two bulky men were far steamed up but I eventually placated them and I was dying to know what Dolly was doing in that widely glittering saloon. Luckily, just after a while she came back panting; as if she has swallowed the whole world all at once. She bent over my right side and whispered in my ears: “Trying to head towards Istanbul! With a help of some friends. What the hell your daughter planning got any idea?”
As soon as I heard the word “Istanbul”, I felt haunted by a heart-pounding spirit; ripping of myself out. I thought about my dear mother at the ripe of an old age; living in Istanbul now; in Galata where she embraces the joyous spirits of our Sepharad Jewish ancestors; where she would tranquilly pass away; where she had drawn her first breath, childhood and youth. So one cold December morning, long time ago, she had packed her bags and belongings so to leave Buenos Aires; to head for Turkey, Istanbul; to her dear heritage and roots. And it was long time ago. I say. Now the whole world seemed jammed into my-let’s say-murderous but somehow free hands. Nostalgia and longing together burst out a crusty breeze far from Turkey to the heart of Buenos Aires; at this very moment; here and now. I thought nothing else but my far belated decision which I should have taken before the forthcoming tempest, I guess.
“Well, I know what she tries to do, Dolly. She has always asked for this since I told her about the dear grandmother and Turkey. And now this is her chance; she will go for it; I know her. But how on earth could she dare to get engaged in such a… even without anything or money? Or how could she think of going so far away at such a time; you know I killed him and the rest is not silence…”
“I know my dear…I guess she has this big trauma now. But listen to me first….she is in safe hands, try to simmer down, please…” As she continued telling me what she has learnt from that waitress in the Café –Maya, who actually turned to be a distant friend of Ezra’s- I was once more puzzled with my own daughter. But I guess we have many similarities; all three of us; mirroring each of our depths, hearts and minds more or less the same way. We all have something repressed deep inside, we were somehow “out casts” and you see, it was all in the saddle now and then, just to go rounds. I bet Dolly is her nickname….
Now two and half more hours to my Ezra’s flight… I was far beyond anxiety and longing. As we hit the road for the Airport,”Ezeiza Ministro” I strangely felt lion-hearted; after all I must think of yesterday and today. And we, once more, fell into an awkward silence and somehow confusion while trying to get a cab, in less than no time.
What if Dolly just goes back to her home just after we catch the flight-we should catch it, hopefully! What if she just gives up, saying this is far too much for her simple young life as opposed to mine; probably she only wanted to help someone who was in a big trouble. Or what if… These were the open-ended questions ragging my mind…
In the cab, I pulled myself together and dared to ask if she’s ever been to Istanbul or not…
“Well, no! And you know what, I’d love to! I’ve been stuck in my beloved district since ages, let’s say, you know; just an immigrant working girl; called as “Dolly”; damn! I hate it, you know!”
“So?
“Oh yes! My-real- name is Dasha; It was also my grand-grand mother’s name from Thesellia-Greece; meaning “a gift”, “sometimes a gift from God”, if you believe it, of course. Well, I don’t believe in it at all, I mean, God!”
It was already after midnight now. Dolly, I mean Dasha, asked the pretty slug driver to go a little bit faster. Now, I could see the slight raindrops falling on window glass. Somehow, I narrowed my eyes until I could perfectly absorb the mottled patterns of bright city lights, running along each corner of Buenos Aires.
Yazan: Deniz Gündoğan/Bir deneme....
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