A Story ‘hand’ by Recep NAS
The hour was near. Her ears were on the sound that would soon pierce the darkness. Several times a week, almost at the same time. In the dead of night. As those in the room sent murmuring sounds from the deep well of sleep. She could now predict the moment when the time of its arrival would strike the gong on her body’s clock. The coal-black hand in cooperation with the hands of the treacherous darkness; the hand which is an extension of the vulgar, rude, hairy and black body. The hand that benignantly giving confidence with its being, but gradually turned into a wild beast; the hand which is an extension of the body that pollutes every place it touches with the dirty feet of lust…
Here it pressed the doorknob again. The echo of the door creak shattering the dark rang through her body. While she was on the edge of the dream of sleeping through, she suddenly fell into a bottomless abyss. She shuddered with fear. While expecting to enter the door of her blue dreams, she jolted to a stop of the night pauses that turned into a nightmare. She was startled again by the endless tingling that had caused deep wounds in her young body and had been tucking up her brain for a while. The hand which was an extension of a body whose the fact that she is also a part of deeply engraved in her consciousness as soon as she was born, crept up in from the edge of the quilt. Let the blunt knives amputate it, she cursed by herself. The coal-black hand that her God, whom she prayed all night long, looked at without paying attention to what was going on… It wandered on body’s daisy garden with the agility of a sly snake. Nestling her head in her pillow she stifled her scream. A blood-related hand had stained her chastity, leaving her with her own shame.
She remained motionless for a while. By bending the knees, she pulled her slender legs to her breasts, In the still silence of the night, amid the sleepy voices humming, she heard her mother’s grousings that she suppressed in anger. Her eyes were open. Her breathing became more frequent. She still dreamed of drowning helplessly in that sea of sweat. She snuggled under the quilt. She would never get out of there.
A changer hand came and settled in her dream last night. Did she dream or was what she experienced real? The door was shut down… A wuthering silence… At that moment, every time they stepped on the floor, she could only hear the sound of the feet leaving blemishes on the carpet and taking away her fear.
Recep Nas , a translator, and a writer, was born in Ereğli (Konya) Turkey, on June 21, 1963. Along with many poems and stories of American and English writers and poets he translated into Turkish, we can also mention the following books translated by him: Collected Short Stories by Virginia Woolf, the novel by James Joyce named Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, Essays on the Art of Painting by D. H. Lawrence, Collected Stories by Stephen Crane, William Shakespeare’s tragedies including Hamlet, Macbeth, Othello and King Lear. He also writes his own short stories and publishes them in various literary journals in Turkey.
©All Rights Reserved by Torkito Tarjoni