Wingmen (Dec 2008 re-write)

All those bars along the Istiklal strip, down the side streets, along the alleyways, we searched for girls. We drank. We danced. We got high. We stayed out til near daylight, then staggered home in the predawn gloom, invariably with girls, back down Istiklal, which would almost be empty, except for the cops in their booths, automatic rifles at hand.
In a crowded little bar called the Angora we met two girls. Sevgi and Meltem. Brad was the ice-breaker, so he got the pick of the pair, sliding in alongside the former. But I was not disappointed to find myself seated beside the other. She was dark-haired and attractive, as they invariably were.
We danced, she was in my arms. Too easy! I took her home that night.Next morning we went for coffee. From there she made her own way home. Later that day she texted me, and that was just the start of it. Day after day she kept texting me. But I didn´t want her to be my girlfriend.
"Don´t reply," Brad advised me. "She´ll soon give up."She didn´t though. I couldn´t get rid of her.
I decided to take her out for dinner and break the news.We met at Taksim Square and walked down Istiklal, battling our way through the mass of humanity. It grew denser as we entered the Nevizade, an entire block of seafood restaurants and terrace bars. We could barely move. And everywhere the smell of fish; raw, frying and otherwise. The filleters and the chefs were evidently hard at work.
We found a place with large tables and reasonable prices. The moment we were seated she became as chatty as she had been that first night, at the Angora, as though nothing had changed; as though I hadn´t been putting her off all week. She wanted to travel to Spain but was having difficulty getting a visa. It was never easy for them, the Turks. I told her about the nightlife. I´d spent a few years teaching in Barcelona and knew all the best clubs and bars.
I had to tell her. I wasn´t looking for a girlfriend. She acted as though I hadn´t said anything at all. Afterward I walked her to the metro. I tried to kiss her before parting, the way they did it, on both cheeks. But she drew away, a strange look in her eyes, then hurried off down the steps.
No text came the following night as I sat drinking with Brad in the Cadde Bar.

X

It was at the Cadde that I met Elif, friend of Yasemin, one of Nate´s girls. She was dark and attractive, a typical Turkish girl, though exotic to me as they always were. We sat drinking together, a cosy foursome, then headed out to the clubs for some dancing.
We made the journey back shortly before dawn, all the way down Istiklal, and Elif came home with me.
Next morning we went to Heybeliada. I didn´t especially want to go. I just wanted to sleep. But she insisted it was something I had to see.
It was a two lira ferry ride, an hour and a half from the city, and it took us to an entirely new world out there in the sea of Marmara. No crowds, no cars, no pulliton; it´s tranquility blemished only by the squabbling gulls. Horses pulled buggies and rickety carts. The acidic reek of horseshit was everywhere. And the dogs were countless; tawny, lumbering beasts from the east. There were cats as many, gathered around the fishermen beside the promenade, waiting for an unwanted morsel to be thrown their way. Elif pointed out a Van cat, white as snow with one eye blue and one eye green.
We hiked around the island, past the naval academy and the Byzantine monastery, to a secluded cove on the other side. Far to the south, beyond the pale blue sea, lay the Anatolian plateu, clearly visible on this clear spring day. I lifted Elif in my arms and she kissed me on the lips.
Her English was not much better than my Turkish, but we got by to an extent. She was some kind of secretary. She worked ten or eleven hours a day, and she got paid about half what I did. She was twenty-seven and lived with her family. And she smoked a lot, about a pack and a half a day.Back at the port we had lunch in an outdoor restaurant. We ordered doner kebabs and drank salty milk mixed with yoghurt. The high rises of the Asian side glinted in the sun. I gazed at the distant mosques and their minarets, like elephant skulls with long, vertical tusks.
The ferry was even more overcrowded for the return sailing than it had been for the journey in. We managed to find a spot close to the windows. Outside gulls swooped for chunks of bread tossed by the passengers on deck. Near the mouth of the Bosphorus, where Europe meets Asia, we caught sight of a school of porpoise skipping along among the shipping traffic. They were sleek and brown, shimmering in the afternoon sun.
When we parted at Eminonu, Elif kissed me again. Her mouth tasted of tobacco.That week I had to make my visa run. I got a few days off work, flew down to Izmir, and took the ferry across to Khios. I had emails from Elif when I arrived. Anybody would have thought it had been months, not just a couple of days. I emailed her back and called it off."
Man, she was hot for you," Brad chided me back at the Cadde."Yeh, well, I´m not in the market for a girlfriend."ç
"Ease up, dude. It wouldn´t hurt to go beyond the first night with one a them."
"I did. I went to Heybeliada with her."
Brad chuckled at me. "Guess that was your idea of a long-term relationship!"
I had to laugh with him. But he wasn´t any different himself.
Next evening he texted me around ten.
"U at Cadde?"
"Yep.""C u in 5."
Half an hour later he walked into the bar, a rangy, crewcut figure in a leather jacket, jeans and boots. His face was taught as he sat down. I waited for him to speak.
"Man, the bitch flipped right out! It was her birthday. Wanted me to take her somewhere."
"Yasemin?"
"No, dude, Esra." He seemed slightly vexed I didn´t know which girl he was talking about. "Yasemin´s cool. Only comes out when I call her. She knows how it works."
"So, Esra? What did she do?"
"Crazy bitch thew a bottle at my head! She got issues from her past, man, her ol´man an´all."
I listened in silence as he ranted on about her. There was nothing I could say he would want to hear. We sat there for about an hour, by which time he was drunk on beer and raki. He pleaded with me to stay longer. I had classes in the morning but gave him another half hour.

x

Then we lost Ray. It was the end of Ramadan Bayram and I´d just returned from a visa run to Bulgaria. His stag night began at the Cadde, naturally. Ray´s brother flew in from Belfast for the occasion; a stocky redhead, the image of Ray himself. He wore a mock 'Superman' T-shirt with the words 'Truth, Justice & the American way!' emblazoned across it. He was holding court when I entered the bar.
"It´s not a question o' whether he´s dead or not, but o' whether he ever existed, per se. Maybe he was just some kid plucked out o' modelling school, taught to lip-sync for the TV cameras, an' given a good American stage-name."
Brad laughed. "He gave live performances til the end of his career, dude."
"Go to any yourself, did ya?"
Corbin puffed on his cigarette and talked out of the side of his mouth. "Aw, come on, pal. So whose voice was it then?"
"I dunnoh. Maybe the Big Bopper. Same voice."
"The Bopper died in fifty-nine," Brad scoffed. "Man, you know nothin'!"
"See his dead body yourself, did ya?"
"They were on tour; the Bopper, Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens. The plane went down and they all died."
"Maybe. Or maybe they spent the next couple a decades producing music for the chosen face of American rock 'n' roll."
"That crash was widely covered by the media," said Corbin.
"Believe everytin' ya read in the papers, do ya?"
"Listen, pal, I work for the papers."
Ray lifted his beer and knocked glasses with them. "Ah, well, who knows, lads? Anytin´s possible."
The Gynaecologist stumbled in. He swiped up my beer, downed it in one go, and slammed the empty mug back down on the table, belching contentedly as he did so.
We had befriended this raucous, raspberry-blowing leviathan some time ago, just for amusement. According to Brad, that actually was his job, and we could never remember his real name anyway.
Next he swiped up Ray´s beer and downed that. Then he began hurling coasters about the place, spinning them as though they were shuriken. It soon escalated into all-out warfare.
Ray drew me aside. "We´re goin´ to a club. But first we need to ditch his guy."
We quietly settled the bill at the bar, then moved out quickly, before the oversized Turk had time to call for his.
Halfway up Istiklal we heard him behind us, yelling and singing like a lunatic. We took off down Galatasaray, away from the hordes, laughing as we went. A veritable labrynth of dark little streets brought us by some miracle to the doors of the James Dean.
You needed women to enter the joint but Brad played there sometimes and managed to get us in.
Corbin grinned up at me as we entered. "Hey, you couldn´t buy me a beer, could ya? I´m flat broke."
He always pulled this stunt where prices were steep. Still it was only a beer and I wouldn´t want to seem like a miser.
At one of the tables we found Andy, middleaged colleague of Ray´s, and sat down with him."Gotta girl yet, son?" he asked me.
"No." I had to shout, practically, to be heard above the music.
His forehead dissolved into lines. "It´s easy 'ere. They don´t like these local Magandas. Prefer foreigners. Tell you wot; they're nuts for Englishmen. I got several on the go."
I gazed at this bald, tattooed, talking beer barrel in wonder. He further aroused my curiosity by opening his billfold to reveal a photo of an attractive blonde, no more than thirty. "Met her on the net. There´s loads of 'em. Turks, Russians, Ukranians. This one wants to marry me. He! he! 'Ere I´ll write down the address of the site for ya."
I slapped him on the shoulder. "My huntín´ ground´s clubs like this one, man."
Right on cue Brad came over. "You up for wingman?""Sure." I picked up my beer and followed him.
Detecting a presence at my shoulder, I glanced around to find Corbin. He had obviously overheard. Still, he was in his forties and greying at the temples. She wouldn´t be interested in him.We came to a table occupied by two young women, early twenties at most. Brad introduced me to his ex-pupil, and even as he was doing so Corbin slipped around and seated himself beside the other. Right off he began telling her about his work with the American newspapers, making out like he was a big shot correspondent, rather than just a freelancer. And that was it. I remained at the table for another ten or fifteen minutes without receiving any opportunity to talk to the girl. His back partly turned on the rest of us, Corbin had drawn her into a conversation from which, by dint of not being able to hear it, we were naturally excluded.
Andy laughed when I told him what had happened. "That´s Corbin, for ya, son. Complete arse'ole when it comes to women. Who were the girls?"
"Old student a Brad´s and a friend who I didn´t get to meet."
He gulped his beer and winked mischievously. "Tell you wot; there´s some foxy little wenches where I work."
"You teach at a high-school."
"Yeah, I know. One o´ the little wenches put 'er 'and on my knee the other day as I was marking 'er test. He! he! I gave 'er an 'A'!"
I thumped him on the back. "You dirty ol' scoundrel!"
At the end of the night Ray said his farewells. He assured us he was doing the right thing. It was the only way he could be with the woman he loved. He wasn´t worried by the death threats. And we'd be seeing him around the 'good ol' Cadde' just as always.

That was the last we saw of him.

X

"We´re goin' a Transdinistria, dude!" Brad's first words when he arrived at the Cadde.
"Where?"
Corbin walked in behind him, crewcut, dressed the same - black jacket, jeans, leather boots, only his boots were platforms. "Transdinistria. Breakaway region of Moldavia and last bastion of communism in Europe."
"We're doin' a story for the Times," said Brad. "Corbin set it up. I´ll be doin´ the photos."
"Really? And when is all this taking place?"
Brad turned to Corbin, who, speaking out of the corner of his mouth while holding a cigarette in the other, squinted pensively. "Waitin' for 'em to get back to me with the dates. When I know, you'll know."
Two attractive young women entered the bar, dark skin, bleached blond. We ogled them as they passed by our table."Check it out!" said Brad.
Corbin leaned forward to stare after them. "Shoot, they're sittin' down with some guys."
"Best ones are always taken," I groaned.Brad turned his gaze on me.
"No, they´re out there, dude."
"Look, no offense," said Corbin. "But those girls are a bit out of your league."
"What?"
"You´re lookin' for perfection," Brad came at me from the other side. "Dude, perfection does not exist. Life ain't a story book."
"Gotta take what you can get," Corbin added.
Brad called for another round but Corbin opted out. "Guys, I gotta get home and eat. Maybe meet up with you later."
Brad got busy texting. "Dude, you up for wingman tonight?"
"Silly question. What's the deal?"
"Zuhal's at the Den and she's with a friend."
"Well, Corbin went home. I might get to speak to this one!"
Brad put away his phone. "Finish these and head up there."
Sure enough, we arrived at the Sultan's Den to find Zuhal and another chick. I could barely take my eyes off her. She was a stunner.
Corbin called Brad while we were talking and was duly informed we were at the Den with two girls. I cringed as I listened, but at least I´d had my chance, and it would take him twenty minutes to walk here from his apartment anyway.
He appeared in about five minutes. Black jacket, jeans, the platform boots that raised him to almost average height; he reminded me of Henry Winkler playing 'The Phonse' when he'd grown too old for the part. There was a check in his stride when he spotted Zeynep, and his eyes bulged like a cat's. I noted, with no small degree of smugness, that there was no way he could cut in. She was between me and the wall, and Zuhal and Brad were opposite. The only available seat was at the end of the table. I watched his grin give way to a frown.
"Hey, man, think you could buy me a beer?"
I glanced at the hand he had placed on the back of my chair. "Sorry, I´m a bit low on cash right now."
"What?" he winced. "You can't buy me a beer?"
"Don't look at me," said Brad. "End of the month, dude."
Corbin wasn't looking at him. He slumped down at the end of the table, turning his back on us, and proceeded to moan bitterly about the fact no one was going to buy him a beer and he might as well go home. I hoped he would go home. Naturally, he didn't.
The TV screen above the bar brought up news of a terrorist attack near Izmir. An Irish tourist had been killed.
"That's terrible!" said Zeynep.
"It's a symptom of a wider problem," Brad told her.
She blinked back at him. "Oh, like the Twin Towers?"
A quiver of anger crossed Brad's face. "There's no comparison. That was completely unprovoked."
Zeynep shook her head. "Americans are stupid!"
Even before Corbin had revolved completely around in his seat, I knew what was coming. "Hey!" He leaned over me, his face aggrieved, seizing his opportunity. "We are not stupid."
"You think it was unprovoked. What about Palestine? What about Iraq?"
"What about them? What would you know?"
"What do you know about my country?"
"I been here six years. I know plenny."
Zeynep paused and looked at me. "What do you think?"
Corbin leaned across me again. "He teaches English to kids. Talk to me. I'm an international journalist. I covered the war in Iraq."
I gazed at the carnage on the big screen. Carnage in the Middle East. Dead children, women and men."I teach English to kids, do I?" I rounded on Corbin. "An international journalist ought a get his facts straight. I teach business English to adults."
He got slowly to his feet, striking a tragic pose, a far-away look in his eyes, the mortally wounded. A trembling finger rose in the air, but then, as though deciding it was all too much for him, he turned and swept out of the bar.
Brad laughed so hard he almost fell out of his chair.
Zeynep suddenly looked worried. "Did he go because of me?"
"No," I assured her. "He left because of me. But he had it comin'."
"He's an international journalist?"
"He's no expert. He thinks the world's a TV show."
Even as I spoke, Corbin himself stalked back into the bar, shoulders hunched, a menacing glare directed at me. "Just don't ever do that again, pal!"
I extended my hand with a grin. Zeynep was still beside me, and I was willing to leave it there. He refused to shake, however, just stormed out again.
"Don't worry," said Brad. "He'll be back."
Sure enough, Corbin did return, and it was he who extended his hand this time. The hostility was over. Though by that time Zeynep had gone, the note I'd given her with my phone number on it left behind on the table.

x

Next morning I took the ferry out to Heybeliada. I needed to get away from the city, if only for a day. I tried to read but found myself going over the same passages again and again without absorbing a thing.

The boat was half empty, in contrast to those crammed conditions of a few months before, when Elif had brought me here. The window beside my table presented a battle scene of grey waves. It was a chilly day, with light rain falling intermittently.

The island was deserted but for a few tawny dogs and a pair of chestnut horses tied up with feed-bags. Stern-faced young guards watched me through the barbed-wire fence of the naval academy, automatic rifles at hand.

I hiked up the slope, past them and the Byzantine monastery, to the top of the hill. There was no view of the Anatolian plateu. The Marmara Sea was engulfed in cloud. Even the neighbouring islands, Buyukada and Burgazada, were not fully visible.

Down in the stony cove I picked my way through broken bottles and bits of debris. A foul stench caught my nostrils, and my attention was drawn to some large thing floating in the surf, back and forth with the waves. It was the carcass of a dead horse; its tan hide scrubbed bare, its belly bloated with seawater, its head twisted back in an odious grin, like a vision from a nightmare. It filled me with an unsettling premonition.

Brad was tapping away at his mobile phone when I arrived at the Cadde that evening. "Deleting numbers!" He chuckled.

"Too many chicks to keep track of?"

"Dude, they all want me to be their boyfriend. You know, I had to ditch one the other day. Now she's sending me abusive messages. Hell, that kind a thing's why I don't wanna relationship!"He finished his beer and ordered another. "Think I´ll lose Seda."

"The medical student? Real looker!"

"Too serious. Here, Bone Structure can stay. Doesn't ask questions. Doesn't hang round the mornin' after. Doesn't care who else I'm shaggin." He took a swig of beer. "Hell, this is my seventh or eighth. You got some catchin' up to do."

x

Brad found a bass guitarist to replace Ray and set up a gig at the James Dean, Saturday nights, nine til eleven before the disco opened. The discos were popular and ensured a good crowd; at least, toward the end of the gigs.

Meanwhile I made a visa run to Egypt. Many hours I spent sitting in an outdoor tea garden in Cairo, contemplating my good fortune. I had a cushy job and made a good salary. My friends were musicians and there were always girls. We had a lot of fun. Egypt was warm, vibrant and friendly. But my thoughts remained in Istanbul.I returned on a rainy Saturday. The airport bus took almost two hours to work its way through the traffic to Taksim. I strolled down Istiklal with good feelings inside me. The smells from the kebab stores, the music wafting out of the DVD stores, the Green Mosque, Galatasaray, the cops with their rifles, the cripples peddling tissues, and the Kurdish shoe-shine boys who grinned when they saw me. It had all become as familiar as home.

In the evening I went to watch the band play. As always the bar filled up toward the end. Brad got talking with a couple of chicks afterward. I shot a glance at Corbin, who was occupied at the bar, and hastened over to join them.

They were sisters from Izmir, in town for just a few days. Hayat, the elder, was a professional belly-dancer. I was then introduced to the other, Pinar. She, however, stared back at me with such a ghastly expression I backed off as hastily as I had come.I put it down to the age factor. She looked at least a decade younger than me. It had to have been the age.

Even as I consoled myself with that thought, Corbin made a B-line from the bar to Brad and the girls and promptly attached himself to Pinar. I waited for him to receive the brush-off, as I had. I did so in vain. They were together til closing time, then the four of them, Brad, Corbin and the sisters, departed together.

Neither Brad nor Corbin showed up at the Cadde the following night. Monday they both came, and the sisters were with them. It was their last night in town.

Corbin rolled his eyes at me when the girls were in the bathroom. "Man, you wanna set Pinar with her clothes off!"

Brad was making short work of his first beer. "Can't have 'em over at my place again, dude. Yasemin's comin' over."

"What?" Corbin winced.

"I can't take 'em both back to my place. My room-mate won't have it. We already got somebody stayin' on the couch."

"She'll have to book a hotel then.""It's alright," I said. She can crash on my couch. It's only one night."

Brad knocked his glass against mine. "Cheers, dude. I owe ya one. I'll tell her my ex is comin' over and she's a bit psycho."

Hayat looked a little put out when this information was relayed to her, but accepted my offer nonetheless."You know something, she told me as we walked back that night. "I've got a friend you should meet. She's from Izmir but she lives here."

It all sounded too good to be true. I called her up next day, invited her out, and she accepted. Of course, we had to describe ourselves in oder to be able to recognise each other when we met. I told her I was tall and blond - reasonably distinctive in these parts. She replied that she was short and fat, and my spirits plummeted.

I almost didn't go. But something told me to. I went to meet her and looked for a short, fat chick. I could barely believe my eyes when an attractive, dark-haired girl in a pink jacket and tight jeans stepped up and introduced herself at Fatma. Her eyes were black marbles; her smile a row of small white teeth. She had a delightful figure.

We drank coffee and talked. She lived with her parents, worked all day in an office, and was learning English for her career. She wanted to know how long I'd been in the city and if I had a house. I told her a couple of years and, no, I didn't.

She knew a place in Sariyer. It was twenty minutes in the taxi and a twenty lira fare. The place was on the Bosphorus, with a view of the Asian side. We were attended by a swarm of tuxedo-clad waiters, who brought us our food dish by dish, along with the bottle of white wine we ordered. I braced myself when the bill came, and it was worse than I feared. I didn't even have enough cash with me to cover it. Fortunately I had my credit card. We took a taxi home, and before it dropped her off, Fatma agreed to see me again.

I took her to watch the band play. I was proud to have her beside me. The guys all told me how envious they were. I was even disappointed Corbin was absent - on 'confidential assignment in the east,' apparently.

She couldn't stay for the disco, so I walked her to the taxi stand. I realised it was not going to be easy. Yet somehow I would have been disappointed if it had been. Was it possible, then, that I was falling for her, and that this gorgeous young woman from Izmir was actually interested in me?

I played it cool, contacting her only when she contacted me first, which she did often enough, sending text messages and emails almost daily.

The following weekend Corbin was back at the James Dean, full of stories of his assignment in the east. When the band were doing sound-check I told him about Fatma.

"Who? Oh, that girl you were set up with?"

"Man, I totally lucked out. She's beautiful!"

Corbin drew on his cigarette, squinting. "Wait a minute. I gotta get a second opinion on that."

He proceeded to ask a few of the guys, and with each reply another line seemed to form on his brow. He was still frowning when Brad's guitar squealed to life and the show began.As the bar filled up, Corbin began doing the rounds. But not me. I couldn't do that with Fatma on my mind. All those texts and emails. The embraces when she said goodbye. She was mine, surely. And none of the girls in the Dean came close to her that night.

X

I never slept in! Even on weekends when I'd been out all night, I'd be up by ten at the latest. So how was it possible that I'd slept in til one?! I remembered the raki, the vodka, the tequila... How many rounds had I bought? I must have spent a fortune! I couldn't even remember coming home.I stared at my watch. Sunday, one o'clock. My lunch date with Fatma was for one o'clock!Scrambling around my bedroom, I realized I was still partly drunk. It was a disaster.

No sooner had I switched on my phone than Fatma called."Where are you?"

"Just woke up. I'll get a taxi and be there in half an hour."

"Okay. I am waiting for you."

It was raining out. Normally there would have been taxis queued up at the tramway terminal, but this afternoon there were none. I ran about frantically, cursing my ill-fortune. How could I have screwed this up?!

Finally I got a taxi. I texted Fatma to tell her I was fifteen minutes away. Fifteen minutes later we were still in traffic, however, less than halfway there. I texted her again and she replied: 'Don't hurry. I am waiting.'

It was past two when we got to Ortakoy. I dodged across the busy main street and ran through the market place, past the mosque and out onto the pier. As I spun around to look for her, she emerged from the market behind me, holding a red umbrella. I rushed over and embraced her, and she smiled up at me with those small white teeth.

We went to a cafe with a view of the bridge. It was enormous at close range, looming high above the town and out into the distance of the Asian side.

Fatma was smartly dressed. I had thrown on the same grey hooded-sweater and faded jeans I'd been wearing the previous night. They reeked of cigarette smoke and I felt a twinge of embarrassment. But surely she would not judge me by my clothes.

When the rain eased we took a walk around the crowded market, then out onto the main street where Fatma pointed out her favorite department store. Further down the street was a synagogue, an old church, and a Turkish bath house.

Later we went for coffee and pastries. Fatma got out her digital camera and proceeded to show me her parents. I looked at the happy, weathered faces. Her father was swarthy and bore a thick, black moustache. Her mother had the same black marble eyes as Fatma and wore a headscarf. I found myself doubting I could ever be part of such a family.

The waiter took our photo and I put my arm around her. She did not object, though neither did she put her arm around me. After the photo I tried to kiss her. She drew away.

"Don't you like me?"

Her brow furrowed. "Yes, but only as a friend."

I was unable to respond for a moment. "That's all?"

She lowered her eyes. "Yes. I want to marry. But other man."

For fully fifteen minutes I sat there saying nothing. Many emotions passed through me; many dark thoughts and realisations; and at last I understood what it all meant. I had been used.

I took the mini-bus from Ortakoy to Taksim, then headed straight for the Cadde, texting Brad along the way.He showed up a few hours later, together with Bone Structure.

"Hey, man," I chuckled at him. "The Times confirm your Transdinistria dates yet?"

He blinked down at me wearily. "Hell, how long you been here?"

"Long enough to have made a decision. I'm moving on come July. Thailand maybe."

Brad called for a round of drinks and the two of them sat down. "You've given up, dude. That's the way it looks to me."

"I was nuts about Fatma."

"You made it too easy."

"No, she was lookin' for a sugar daddy. I was only English practise to her."

"So forget her. You're disillusioned right now. But hang in there, dude."

"Gonna be a while before I can trust anybody again."

Brad called the waitress back; the same one he'd shagged about a year ago. "Uch tan-e raki."

Probably I ended up drinking as much that night as I had the one before. All the while, Bone Structure sat there in her baggy 'Giants' sweater, chirping away in Turkish. I understood little of what she said.

"She wants me to get a tat!" Brad translated at one point. "What a ya think?"

"I think you'll end up like Andy!" I laughed.

Closing time arrived suddenly, catching me in a drunken daze. Getting unsteadily to my feet, I immediately realised I could hardly walk. Yet somehow I found myself at the bottom of Istiklal, parting ways with Brad and Bone Structure. Next I was staggering down the dark alleyway to my apartment.

Entering the building I fumbled around for the light switch in the dark. I thought I hit it but no light came. A woman in a headscarf emerged from the ground floor apartment and began shouting at me. From the light of the doorway I could see the switch I had pressed was her doorbell. She was practically shrieking at me.

"Alright! Alright!" I yelled back. "Don't have a heart attack!"

As I turned to make my way upstairs I glimpsed out of the corner of my eye a shadowy figure charging out of the doorway. A blow to my back sent me reeling toward the concrete steps.

The director of the academy was standing over me when I awoke. Overweight, immaculately attired, Ahmet Bey had the drooping eyelids of an Ottoman sultan, and there were streaks of grey in his wavy black hair. His boyish smile was a permanent fixture.

I had a splitting headache and there was a painful throbbing beneath my right shoulder blade."Where am I?" I gazed around at the lime-green walls."

You are at the medical center. Do you remember what happened?"

"The guy on the ground floor jumped me. That's about all."

"You have a knife wound in your back and a small fracture in your skull."

"Knife wound?!"

"Don't worry. The doctor says it is not serious. You were lucky. It was also fortunate your landlady called me first. She says you forced your way into the ground floor apartment and threatened the occupants. They mistook you for an intruder."

It took me a moment to figure it out. "She's lying. She doesn't want the police involved."

"Neither do we. If it went to court, it would be your word against hers, and you were drunk."

On my way out of the medical center I was presented with a bill for eight hundred lira. They had taken x-rays and put stitches in my back. Ahmet Bey told me he knew the people and would get it reduced. There was one other problem, however. The landlady wanted me out by the end of the week.

I was excused from work that evening and put in an early appearance at the Cadde. I still had the headache and the pain in my back, but I wanted to see Brad, to talk it all out.

He did not reply to my text, however. Probably he was with a girl. So I sat alone by the window, watching the rain fall outside, reflecting on all that had occurred. Just a few weeks earlier I had sat in an outdoor tea garden in Cairo, warm, content, anxious to get back to Istanbul. Had I brought some kind of curse back with me? Rejected by Fatma, stabbed by my neighbour, evicted by my landlady. It all seemed so unfair.Perhaps, then, Brad was right about me. My expections were not realistic. I was looking for perfection. I wanted a story-book life, with truth, justice and a happy ending.

My mind's eye recalled the dead horse at Heybeliada, floating in and out with the waves, head twisted back, teeth locked in an eternal grimace. Such a beautiful island. Such a grotesque thing to find.End