Page 42 of The Book of Heartbreak

No calamity surpasses the wrath of those who have been wronged.

Excerpt from The Book of Revenge, Müneccimbasi Sufi Chelebi’s Journals of Mystical Phenomena

After what feels like an hour staring at the wall covered with the beddua, I can speak again.

‘It’s almost the same thing Eudokia said to Theodora.’

I will never forgive you, even if the earth splits open to swallow you.

Outside the room, the afternoon prevails, its golden light slanting through the window and stretching long shadows across the floor. I could stay rooted to this spot all evening, and I still wouldn’t understand what might have happened between Daphne and Iris.

‘One of them said this beddua.’ Leon’s eyes narrow. ‘Like Sufi Chelebi says in The Book of Revenge , no calamity surpasses the wrath of those who have been wronged.’

‘My mother is the obvious victim,’ I assert. ‘You saw her notes. You read the letters.’

Leon sighs. ‘Let’s step outside for now. You need to rest, and tomorrow we’ll visit Arda Banguo?lu. I’m already fasting, and if I lie down to sleep, I might trigger a vision about this beddua.’ He gestures at the wall.

‘What?’ I watch his face in disbelief. ‘You can’t be serious. You’re starving yourself? Like Sufi Chelebi?’

‘It’s a common practice to wean off worldly pleasures to invite visions and dreams—’

‘How long have you not eaten?’ I snap.

‘Since yesterday afternoon,’ he confesses. ‘I do it all the time, Silverbirch. Don’t worry about me.’

I examine his face, the face I’m afraid to look at too closely, and see his hollowed eyes, his sinking cheeks, and my own selfishness.

Was I too blinded by my own misery to see how closely he follows in Sufi Chelebi’s footsteps?

The air goes colder around me. I know he won’t listen to me, even if I tell him to stay away. But before I can open my mouth, I’m interrupted.

‘What are you doing here?’ Muzaffer stands by the door, as tall as a reed, leaning on his walking stick.

For a moment, none of us move, or make a peep.

‘We were just . . . looking.’ I break the silence, holding Muzaffer’s unforgiving gaze.

Muzaffer’s eyes escape mine to fall on the sea of scraped-off wallpaper, his fingers fumble on the head of his cane.

I nudge Leon. ‘You have to go.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Please, go,’ I choke out. ‘I’ll be fine.’

He rushes out, mumbling an apology to Muzaffer, and only then do I realise that the card with the address remains in his pocket. I curse my own stupidity for forgetting the most crucial detail.

‘I asked you a question,’ Muzaffer says once Leon’s footsteps diminish down the rattling staircase. ‘Why are you here?’

‘You know why.’ I defend myself. ‘I wanted to see Mum’s room.’

Muzaffer advances towards me and I back away. The gap that stretches between us seems to play its own game, where one must always yield ground, as if to maintain a safe distance. Reminding us that we will never be a normal grandfather and granddaughter.

‘What do you want, Sare?’ Muzaffer glances at me warily. His face is pale. ‘Why did you break into this room? Why do you vandalise it?’

‘I didn’t vandalise it. I didn’t write this,’ I retort. ‘But you know that. Is that why you keep it locked?’

‘Go to your room,’ he says.

‘Did Iris write this?’ I point at the wall. I’m aware I sound unhinged, but I can’t stop myself. Not any more. ‘She hated Daphne, didn’t she? She made her life a living hell.’

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he snaps again. ‘I don’t know how to deal with all this. I don’t know how to protect you,’ he mumbles. ‘Perhaps bringing you here was a mistake.’

‘No,’ I protest. I’m not a mistake. Not any more.

‘Enough,’ Muzaffer says, lifting his cane. ‘Get out.’

I shake my head. I’m not afraid of his anger. I’m afraid of myself, my own rage, of finally releasing the pain I’ve held in all these months – my grief which sleeps like a dragon with fire entombed in its core.

‘Fine. I’ll ask Gokhan or Azmi to remove you, then.’ Muzaffer’s voice dwindles as he prepares to depart.

‘Do you have any idea what it feels like not having a clue why things are the way they are? Living with questions like, “Why is Mum so sad?” or “Why doesn’t she love me any more?”’

He halts on the threshold, and turns to face me, agonisingly slowly.

‘I always wondered what I might have done wrong.’ My voice trembles. ‘What I did to make her stop loving me.’

Rule number one. No tears shall fall, I tell myself. I will not cry.

‘Every single day, I asked myself why Daphne wouldn’t look at me. She wasn’t always like that, you know – she adored me when I was little. We slept in the same bed, she’d hug me, brush my hair, put my socks on. She loved me.’

‘Stop,’ Muzaffer grunts.

‘No,’ I snarl. ‘You will listen to me. You will hear me. I’m not a piece of furniture left by Daphne that you can lock away and ignore.’

‘I—’ He quivers. ‘I didn’t—’

‘You can’t avoid me like Mum did.’ I stomp over to the drawer and pick up the letters and photos, thrusting them at him. ‘Just because I look like Iris!’

The echo of my scream withers between us. My rage remains.

‘You do look like her,’ Muzaffer says at last, eyelids twitching as if he’s holding back tears. ‘Some nights, I can convince myself that you are Iris. It’s not easy, looking at you. It wouldn’t have been easy for her either.’

‘Just tell me what happened,’ I demand, furious. ‘You were angry with Daphne, weren’t you? Because she was pregnant and unmarried?’

Muzaffer grumbles inaudibly, fuelling my suspicions.

‘I read her letters,’ I insist. ‘I know she hid the b-baby. I know she had a lover, and you didn’t approve of him.’

Muzaffer shakes his head, his mouth tightening in dismay.

‘He’s here in Istanbul, isn’t he? My f-f—’ The word balls up in my mouth, like food I keep chewing but can’t swallow. ‘My father.’

The word father momentarily petrifies him, a fleeting cloud of panic crossing his face.

‘You have no father. Do you understand?’ His voice bellows between the walls. ‘I had made it clear, Sare – I told you my rules, and yet you’re defying every single one of them.’

A flush of shame washes over me. A part of me knows that he’s right: it’s his house, his rules, his past.

His Defne.

And then I feel the fluttering. A persistent melody of drums playing inside my ribs. Faint and entombed. Did it start just now, or since he walked in? I have no idea. But I’m not going to let it possess me.

Twenty, nineteen, I breathe. Eighteen, seventeen, breathe. Sixteen, fifteen, breathe.

Breathe, Sare , breathe so everything you have been burying inside, everything you ignored won’t kill you as you dig it all up.

‘What are you waiting for?’ Muzaffer’s face is blank. ‘Out.’

But how can I? All I want right now is to curl up on the floor and cry. I wish there was a way to tell him how I’m only trying to save myself from the curse, but there’s none. My nails dig into my palm.

Fourteen, thirteen, breathe . Twelve, eleven, breathe. Ten, nine, breathe.

‘Arda Banguo?lu,’ I whisper. ‘Is he my father?’

Eight, seven, breathe. I command myself. Six, five, breathe. Distract yourself. Do something. Be angry. You can’t give up. Not when you’re so close to the truth, so close to breaking the curse.

Four, three, breathe.

Two, one. I reach zero.

My heart is silent.

‘She could have told you, if you had a father.’ Muzaffer’s breath is ragged. ‘Respect her decision.’

‘Don’t worry,’ I scream. ‘I’m leaving. I’m going to find Arda. He might tell me your secrets.’

‘You’re not going anywhere.’ He grasps my arm. ‘Azmi!’ he yells, his clutch on my wrist stronger than I anticipated. ‘Azmi!’

I must be an idiot, for I’m too afraid to pull back to free myself, too frightened to hurt him.

Outside, I hear footsteps, groaning floorboards, and then Azmi’s head appears around the door.

‘Escort Sare to her room,’ Muzaffer tells him.

‘What happened here?’ Azmi scans the room.

‘I’m . . . not feeling well,’ Muzaffer says. ‘Take Sare, keep her in her room.’

‘Azmi.’ I am breathless. My eyes drift to Muzaffer, to his pale face. ‘Please let me go.’

‘You must go to your room,’ Azmi says slowly, staring at me as though I might crumble.

‘Bathroom,’ I plead. ‘I need to go to the bathroom first, please.’

To my relief, he nods and gestures to the door.

In the bathroom, I stare at myself in the mirror as the tap runs.

I need to distract myself, wake up from the shock, but I’m too stressed that something will happen to Muzaffer.

What if he dies? I grimace in panic. It will be because of me, my questions, my unyielding desperation to find the truth.

What if I die?

I’ve experienced more fluttering in one week than I have in a whole year. I worry that my heart is getting weaker.

You’re doing well, I reassure myself, as I finally splash water on my face. You survived losing Daphne. And then Munu. You can survive anything.

‘Canim,’ says Munu’s voice in my mind. Why do I keep hearing her? As if everything isn’t difficult enough already.

‘Canim,’ the voice says again. It sounds so close that I lift my head and am startled to see her reflection in the mirror.

‘You—’ I gasp. ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’

‘I’m frightened, Sare,’ she says from inside the mirror.

‘Oh, please.’ I back away. ‘Just leave me alone, will you?’

The impact of seeing Munu again is harder than I imagined. Where has all my love for her gone? Only rage remains.

There’s no way we could go back to being Munu and Sare again.

Because she’s not Munu, is she? She’s Eudokia. She’s the reason I’m cursed.

‘I always thought I’d be pleased if you were cruel, cold, heartless. How wrong I was,’ Munu whispers. ‘You must stop digging. You’re heading into darkness.’

‘Why would I listen to your advice?’ I snap. ‘Wait and see. I’ll find out what happened to Mum.’

‘Sometimes it’s better not to know. It’s a wicked thing, knowledge,’ Munu says. ‘Without it, you’re blind. But with it, you may become a part of the shadows you sought to chase away. Haven’t you suffered enough already, canim? Haven’t we all?’