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“I need to tell you something.”
Eleni looked on, her eyes wide with an innocent curiosity. Esme didn't want to break her heart again, but this had to be shared. So much has been left unsaid in her life, Esme did not want any more secrets. Not between them.
She held Eleni’s hand, regretfully, “Lets sit down,” she said, pulling out a chair in Kochari’s kitchen. They were enveloped by the watchful gaze of Adil and his little sister, Fadime. Both feisty as hell, it would be a miracle if one of them didn't interrupt her. Esme wished she could be alone with Eline for this conversation. Who knows what Adeel would do, that man was crazy enough to rip the skies for this girl. She may just be the only one who truly understands the extent of his affection for her.
Eleni: whose hugs were so carefree, whose soft curls shined as though glazed with stardust, whose smile could light up the world… her daughter, in every way that counts. DNA tests be damned, Esme no longer cared. Their hearts had spoken so loudly, even the raging karadeniz fell quiet. They belonged to each other. It was the only thing Esme was certain of.
So as she looked into eyes that, for all the world, reminded her of another green-hued pair she once loved, Esme took a leap of faith. “Canım, it might be difficult. But let's start this way. You know a song… a particular folk song.”
“Oh, Esme, I thought this was about something serious. I know so many!” Eleni beamed, “My dad used to teach me sometimes.”
“Thats all well and good, but I meant a particular one.” Esme sighed, “I saw that video of yours on Oruj’s phone. Before this yangaz Kochari blew up the place.”
As expected, Adil offered a profuse interjection. The man couldn't help himself, “Girl, weren't you done with that Oruj Furtuna? I swear I will beat him up.”
Esme rolled her eyes, “As if you’re any better, Kochari. Need I remind you of the cassette you stole?”
“There’s a cassette story?” Eleni’s sheepish eyes became eager once more.
Fadime added with a wink, “I’ll tell you about it later.”
“Irrelevant!” Adil declared, daring Esme to go on. The room felt too hot all of a sudden.
“Well, I have a bone to pick with Oruj about it myself. But anyways that's not the point. The point is the song in that video.”
“What about it?” Eleni asked. “It's just something that calms me when I feel anxious. Everyone has that one childhood melody, right? No big deal.”
“Just as I thought…” Esme felt tears sprung unbeckoned. Her heart was overwhelmed, drowning in grief, but at the same time she felt like she could fly, so profound was her joy.
“Will somebody explain what song this is before I go crazy?” Adil was readily made uneasy by Esme’s unexpected sorrow.
“You are deli enough already, Kochari, shut up,” Esme wiped her eyes, reached over to cup Eleni’s cheek. “It was my Türkü.”
“No, no, Esme. My dad used to sing it to me since I was a baby, whenever I couldn’t sleep and things like that. He grew up in Istanbul, so he probably learned it from there you understand. Oh, don’t cry Esme!”
The idea that her süt kızı left her arms to struggle to sleep, that it was Esme’s words that comforted the babe as well as the adult sitting beside her, was devastating to say the least. She hugged Eleni so tightly, as if to erase any pain this girl had ever felt. Esme resolved that she would accept another battering against her ravaged heart if it meant her daughter never suffered another day. But she couldn’t fight wretched fate.
So instead she did the only thing she could ever do in the face of this particular torment. She sang. The melody that settled the starving baby they brought to her in that miserable hospital room, the tune that soothed her bleeding heart if not her aching postpartum body, the music that calmed her grief during the twenty years that she passed laying on the soil of her own child’s grave. Embracing Eline, she sang through the tears that dripped down her face. And even though her sight blurred no matter how many times she blinked, Esme smiled.
Esti bir deli rüzgar yakti beni efkari
Yarum senin huyların niye böyle uçari
Sen barutsun ben ateş
Bir kibrit mi çakalum
İki deli yan yana dünyayi mi yakalum
Efkarum kara bulut karşu daği aşacak
Söylesem sevdiğimi habu deniz taşacak
A crazy wind blew, burning me with sorrow
Why are your moods so fickle, my love?
You are gunpowder, I am fire
Shall we strike a match?
Shall two madmen side by side set the world on fire?
My sorrow is a dark cloud, it will cross the opposite mountain
If I tell you I love you, this sea will overflow
She smiled because she was finally able to sing these words without it feeling like her heart was being stabbed with a thousand sickening needles.
Eleni was taken aback. A familiar unease spread around her stomach like a groan rising. She felt exactly like she did reading the letter her dad addressed to her two years ago, like all that she knows about her life is going sideways, like a tsunami was about to crash on her shoulders again.
“Esme?” she asked with uncharacteristic weariness, and looked up at Adil. She saw he had placed his hand on Fadime's shoulder, a pained expression on his face, as though it was the only thing grounding him. There was no affirmation to be found there. “How do you know that?”
“The real question is how do you know it,” Esme's voice was as gentle as a mothers touch. "I wrote that folk song some 25 years ago. Your Greek version must be a translation. But I have only ever sung it for two people.”
“No, there must be a mistake. You must have confused it with something else.”
“There is no confusion in my heart, kuzum. The lyrics you grew up with? This Black Sea witnessed me pen them. Adil heard me voice them before you even came into this world.”
“But.. but..,” Eleni still resisted the truth. Who could blame her? Accepting this meant allowing everything she thought she knew about herself to shatter into a thousand shards.
Fadime took a seat across from them, and held Eleni’s hand in silent support. “Your türkü ends up across the Mediterranean, that's one hell of a coincidence.”
“Oh it's more than a coincidence,” Esme replied. She noticed Adil himself hanging on to a chair, his knuckles white, but her attention was entirely devoted to the girl who was breaking once again. “It's a confirmation. Because the only other I sang it to was the orphaned baby girl they put in my arms twenty years ago.”
Eleni quickly got up and backed to the door. She had to get away, this was all too much. Adil gently broke her run. “Stop,” she said, and she couldn’t keep the pleading from creeping into her voice.
But Esme was desperate. “You were born in Erturan Private Hospital in Istanbul, tell me I’m wrong.”
Eleni was quicker to dismiss, “Adil could have told you that.”
“I didn’t,” his whisper felt like a betrayal to Eline.
“I took care of that baby girl for three months before she was adopted. I sang to her whenever she fed. She cried whenever I put her down,” Esme took a step closer to Eleni with every revelation. “I wasn’t allowed to keep her, you see.”
Eleni’s legs felt weak, hot streams of tears running down her cheeks. “Why?” she asked, angrily, but she never was able to hold on to anger.
“They told me your mom had died in childbirth, but her relatives wanted you back. I was in too much pain to question it.” And with that the boundary between the past and present dissolved. Eleni became the same babe who cried for her mother all those years ago, and Esme became the same grieving mother who took the girl in her arms.
Esme embraced her daughter and didn’t bother to hush the sobs. Sometimes a storm must pass for the sea to be tranquil once more. She wasn’t ready to let go anyway.
“You know what this means?” Adil said. Esme didn’t have to look to be aware of the shadow that passed over his face.
“What?” Eleni sniffed. “That it turns out my mother died?”
“Kiz, look at me,” Esme said, sternly, “I am your mother. I am. Come on, use your medical knowledge, do I look or sound like a cadaver to you?”
Eleni laughed. “No.”
“No. So let this be the one thing you never doubt. No matter what we are told, and in every life, you will always be my daughter. Got it?”
Fresh tears rolled down Eleni’s face, and she nodded. Adil placed a supporting hand on her back, and smiled tightly. “It was the Furtuna who told you she was an orphan.”
Esme nodded, knowing where this was going. “Zarife and that Sharif. They didn't even share the family's name.”
“No, they wouldn't," Adil said grimly.
Eleni wiped her bloodshot eyes, “How is this relevant?”
“These same people claimed Hijran is your mother,” Esme caressed the girl's wet cheeks. “Which means you can be sure that they lied.”
When Eleni found herself by the Black Sea, she had not expected that her search for her biological mother would be lost in the haze of two feuding families. She had not expected herself to be caught in a web of lies, nor finding snakes who would feast on her pain. She had not thought to consider there may be people who would dance in the face of the childhood she lost. Clearly, no expectation of truth can be had from these people.
But Esme and Adil had always been her comfort. Their presence felt like a dream she had forgotten after waking up. Eline wanted to hold on to them. She found a mother in Esme, and she wanted that to be enough.
But clearly, the lies hadn't melted away. And Oruj knew it all, damn him. Eleni felt like a stone had caught in her throat and pressed on her chest. She sighed, “I’m so tired.”
That night, the mother and daughter slept together. The small bed seemed to expand with their open hearts. Adil stole a second glance at them, and allowed himself to imagine another life. One where he was able to protect his loved ones, rather than wreck war in pursuit of justice for them. A simple life, where his wife and daughter grew safe with him. The image was so vivid, Adil became overcome with emotions and took refuge under the open sky outside.
It was no use to dwell on what could have been. Perhaps the ancient wisdom could be relied upon now. That night, the full moon witnessed Adil’s resolve steel. Tomorrow, the Furtuna family, whose list of wrongdoings grew taller by the day, would be made accountable for this. And he would not let them go unpunished, even if it's the last thing he does.