Nezihe Meriç, Hope is Bread of the Poor

8/9/2019 Nezihe Meri, Hope is Bread of the Poor

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HOPE IS THE BREAD OF THE POOR

By Nezihe Meri, 1950

(From Bozbulanik, Third Edition, pp.44-54)

That tired and frail woman had been walking by the side of the road

hopelessly. The print scarf covering her head was discolored and the hem of

her faded black coat frayed. 'Scorching August sunlight hit her right on

top of her head and her feet in sneakers were numb from perspiration and

tiredness. She had nothing to hope for. On her right side a field covered with

yellowed and dried weeds, piles of trash and cinders of burnt coal stretched

all the way to the cemetery; in the middle of the field there were only two

emaciated horses trying to graze. In the dazzling August light the cypresstrees in the cemetery seemed like a huge black mass. And the road was

endless, stretching all the way in both directions.Suddenly the woman felt she was going to faint. She wet her dry lips

with her swollen tongue, looked around and seeing the lemonade seller under

the lone tree across the road, walked in that direction. Then she thought aboutsomething and paused for a moment, but changing her mind walked over and

squatted in the corner, resting her back against the earthen wall and in a low

voice said, "Oh, mother!"

The lemonade cart painted in green, cool and shiny pitchers of

lemonade and the shaded place sprinkled with water were quite refreshing tosee. The lemonade seller, an elderly man, his head covered with a handkerchief,sat on a low stool with his back against the tree and dozed. He didn't seem to

notice the woman. The two of them sat facing each other, one by the wall, the

other by the tree. The woman loosened her head scarf and started to fan herself

with one corner of it. She was around thirty, thirty-five years old, dark and thin

with deep set gray eyes.

The air was warm and laden with a heavy silence. A couple of flies

buzzed around the lemonade pitchers and the cars, driven at high speed,

passed in the road.

The woman blinked her eyes for some time. Everything around her, thedrowsy lemonade seller, the shiny-white road, the field across the road seemed

as though were moving away from her in that oppressive heat. She put her

head against the wall and felt drowsy.

A little later when she half opened her eyes she saw the eyes of the lemonadeseller looking at her. She must have slept for ten, or fifteen minutes. The

lemonade seller, after wiping his bald head with his handkerchief, looked at herand snorted:

You must be quite tired."

"Yes!"

"Do you live around here?"


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Over there in Kskl."

"I guess you're from Istanbul."

"From skdar."

"Is that so? I am from skdar, too."

"It's been a long time since I left. I lived in the provinces."

"What does your husband do?"

"I wasn't with my husband."

There 'was a moment of silence, then the woman,: sighing, said,- "To tell

the truth I was a servant."

They were silent again, then the woman continued as thou gh shewas talking to herself: "They were good people. Yes ... yes ... thanks to

them I traveled all over. We went to Kars too."

"Really! They say those places are like wilderness."

The woman made a vague sign with her hand and dried her

perspiration with the corner of her headscarf. She looked deeply

preoccupied and was gently swaying from one side to the other. Thelemonade seller turned his head, spat on the ground and wiped his head

with a handkerchief. He looked after a taxicab passing by and snorted

again. I wish we had a little breeze ...

The woman didn't answer, their eyes met and they looked at each other.

The lemonade seller said: "You look like .somebody I know, but I can't say

who."

The woman answered indifferently, "Who knows? Human beings look

alike."

"Are you married?"

Yes, Ive been married for fourteen years.

"I think you have some trouble, yes?"The woman's gray eyes were filled with tears as though she was waiting to

hear these words. She immediately started crying. A little later, her cheeks

flushing, covering her face with a handkerchief off and on, swaying from oneside to the other and crying she told everything to the lemonade seller.

On one extremity of the road, stretching in front of them, stood the

Government Hospital; faraway at the other end, there was a dilapidated

mansion. At the Government Hospital a man lay, in a weakened state, after a

gall-bladder operation. This man was Hasan, the housepainter, the husband of

the woman. Hasan was a blond man with blue eyes, curly hair and a big body


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but he was good and simple-hearted as a child. He was from Geyve. Before he

got sick they were managing beautifully. Although they couldnt buy newclothes they were able to eat well and send their daughter to school. The girl

was a darling. The best child. Quiet, demure and a good student. She was only

in the third grade and always on top of her class. But, for the past two daysshe's been shedding tears for a pair of white sneakers. They lived in one of the

two livable rooms of the dilapidated mansion over there; the other room was

occupied by an elderly couple who guarded the mansion. The woman had not

been able to pay the room's rent for the past two months. The old couple were

good people, knowing their plight, they didnt press for the rent. Today, the

woman had visited her husband. Now she had only fifty piasters left. On the

way she was going to buy bread and a red pencil for her daughter. Ah, whatpictures she would draw, what pictures, God bless her, something to behold.

They had sent many letters to Hasans folks, but to no avail. Hasan, in his sick

bed, was so worried and emaciated. Thank God, there were some washing andcleaning jobs, but she had no strength left.

The woman dried her eyes, stopped talking and sighed, "Ah, Ah!"

They were silent again. The din of the city could be heard in the

distance and the two flies buzzed constantly. The lemonade seller was

looking down absorbed in his thoughts. He seemed to have a warm-

hearted and good-natured disposition. Finally he said, "Allah" and stood

up. After chasing the flies by waving his handkerchief, he pouredlemonade in a glass. The glasses, impervious to the heat, clinked gaily.The man wiped offthe lemonade spilled on the zinc counter in his

habitual manner and brought the lemonade to the woman. The woman,suddenly startled, lifted her arms as though she wanted to protect herself

from something. The lemonade seller said: Come on, drink it, you'll feel

refreshed. We don't always save to sell. This one is on the house."

The woman drank, closing her eyes as though she was dying of thirst and

returned the glass. "Ah! God bless you. May God give happiness and long life to

your children.

So it came upon the lemonade seller to tell the story ofhis family. The

eldest girl had been married to a sergeant. The son of a bitch was good-for-nothing. The girl returned to her parents' home, pregnant. The middle girl was

working for a dressmaker. The youngest one, was still in the elementary school.His wife was such a fine and decent woman. So, they were managing all right.

The lemonade seller, in a fatherly manner, said:

"What can you do, daughter? You're a human being, you've got tosuffer a little, eh! God willing, I hope your husband gets well. I have a

nephew, the son-in-law of Rasim from skdar. He, too, had a gall-bladder

operation, he's fine now. There are worse diseases. Thank heavens, this isn't so

bad.

"Thank God!"


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"Couldn't you find something like a cleaning job in a school?

"Where? I don't know anybody."

The lemonade seller thought for a while and said: "There's a lawyer

who lives next door to us. I wonder if he can do something?"

The woman leaned forward, without much hope but with a strange

sparkle in her gray eyes, "Really, is it possible," she said.

"Eh ... one never knows! What are the human beings are for, if not to

help each other ... Ill go and ask him this evening."

The woman visibly moved said:" Ah, please, you too have a family,

please brother, go and ask him. Oh, God is it possible?"

She started crying again. The lemonade seller got up and washed theglass he was holding in his hand and put it in its place. After lighting a

cigarette, "Don't cry, don't cry" he said, "God is great. Come back here

tomorrow, maybe we'll figure out something. If not, you too can learn howto make shoulder pads, like my daughter. Or ... "

The woman sat in front of the window watching the moonlight and

deserted roads of the cemetery. She was both crying and praying. She had

left the lemonade seller in a happy mood on the way home, spent the 2.50liras she kept in her bosom for a rainy day, to buy charcoal, rice, salad

greens and oil for her blue-eyed daughter, little Semahat, who had not eaten

properly for many days. She came home in a hurry and washed the rotted-out wood floors squeaking clean, polished the cracked mirror of the old

dresser, swept the big dusty entrance hall washing it with many pails of

water and watered the garden.

Semahat, too, was inspired as the water for the rice was boiling on

the brazier and the sound of her mother's clogs was coming from the cool

entrance hall. She soaped her hands, her face and her thin legs and rinsed

them with the well water; she stepped on a chair and combed her hair

looking in the mirror of the dresser. Her mother had told her so many

things. Her papa was getting well and soon would come home. Next week,

God willing, they would have some money, they would take the trolley and

visit the papa together. Mamma would always cook pilav for Semahat. Oneday they would make lamb chops. Mamma would buy white sneakers and

white socks for her. She, in her childish mind, was saying to herself,

"Maybe, for the holidays we would buy taffeta ribbons."

The woman started crying again as she watched her little daughtersleeping on the mattress she had put on the cool wooden-floor. Her chin

trembled, the tears flowing from her eyes shined in the moonlight, she swayed

from one side to the other as she prayed. "You ought to know my God, it is in

your hands, My God, I believed you, I trusted you, you're great my God." She

thought: "Asm Bey, the lawyer, would definitely find a job for her. A big


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lawyer! If not, she too, would make shoulder pads. Or Then, crying, she

raised her thin arms and looked at the starry sky seen from the window andsaid:" My God, it is in your hands, in your hands, my God."

Nezihe Meriç, Hope is Bread of the Poor

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