by Onur Selamet
I
Is red mullet the most delicious fish in the world? I don’t know. I’ve never tasted it. But you should have seen it with butterfly wings. It couldn’t fly. Couldn’t swim. Probably died on the second stitch. If you’d seen it, you’d understand.
The momentary spark at the top of the lighthouse attracted the attention of the distracted boats at sea. When the commotion was over, the old man put the fish back in the bucket. He was hopeless. I hoped for the first time that day. He cracked his neck and bought another fish from the counter. But God knows, even if the fish doesn’t know.
He tried again. His finger, repeatedly caught in the Singer sewing machine, bloodied the butterfly’s wet wings. The red mullet squirmed a few times. When the wings were sewn to the fins, the fish died with a flick of its tail. This time there was no spark.
Dead fish with wings in a bucket is the menu of the day. Even cats won’t eat them. But I’d give it a try.
* * *
I don’t remember when our frequencies matched, I’m too old to remember much. I was sleeping in the void until the day I felt I was being watched. He woke me up with his curious eyes. He was young then. He had a home, a family, friends. The cheap spyglass he pressed over his blue eyes to stare at me somehow interrupted my dreams. I jumped out of my cosmic sleep as if my tail had been stepped on. I don’t know how he sees me, perhaps as an overly bright star. I don’t mind if that’s what he wants to believe. All day in the same spot, waiting for the future to materialise.
If he’d stopped watching me every night, some things could have been prevented … At least the dates would be off. Apocalypses might have been delayed. But no, he didn’t. He persevered. He looked and looked. He used all kinds of telescopes. He lost his home, his family, his friends. His bushy hair fell out. He had dark circles under his eyes. His teeth rotted. He became lonely. I didn’t try anything special to increase the attraction between us. I couldn’t. There are laws. But laws can be bent. I couldn’t figure out in which book he read them, who he learned them from. My vision was blurry back then. He started acting like he knew what he was doing. Things got interesting.
He moved to a small island and started working as a lighthouse keeper. He had no friends left to say, “What’s a doctor doing as a lighthouse keeper?” There was no one else on the island. He worked until he retired. He took care of the lighthouse on that barren island where no one visited. He lit the light on starless nights and did nothing but watch me. When he retired from his post as keeper, nobody new was sent to the island. The lighthouse was closed and forgotten over time.
Just like me.
That’s when the doctor really started working. As he watched the sky, he compared his notes with those in his books. One day he carried a hand-me-down sewing machine to the top of the lighthouse. He set up a low-production laboratory. The laws were no longer so impenetrable. I guided him through the stars, and as he practiced my teachings, he was a match for my thousand-year-old disciples.
II
I was in a cold sweat as the motorboat pulled up to the shore. They remembered about me. They would take me away and put me in jail for squatting on state property. Then I would waste all the years I spent here. I couldn’t fall into this simple trap. I couldn’t let them take me. They had a pack of dogs with them. Where would I run to, on this tiny rock? Or would they take me to the arena and feed me to those beasts? Was I a man who should be wasted like this?
In my makeshift room at the lighthouse, I was trying to understand what was going on without making a sound. When three men in police uniforms jumped out of the motorboat and lowered the cages onto the shore, I realized they didn’t intend to stay long. They removed the locks with one pull. I could sense their hesitation to open the cage doors. I counted nine dogs in six cages.
The animals must have been seasick. Although they could hardly stand, they glued their heads to the cage wires and growled. One of the officers tried to open the lid. Big mistake. The dog lunged at his hand with unexpected agility. When it became clear that it was not wise to release the animals, the officer waiting at the engine restarted the vehicle. They lowered the cages on the shoreline swept by the waves and set sail without looking back.
The smell of gasoline carried by the wind sobered me up. At high tide, the waters would wash the cages away. My first emotion, towards these men who couldn’t even do a decent job of leaving me to die in peace, was anger. Then came gratitude. For the first time in years, I pointed my telescope not at the sky but at the land. So close were the slobbering teeth. I thought they were going to snap my hand through the lens. But it wasn’t just drool. There was foam, too. Those crazy eyes with split capillaries dimmed my gratitude.
I could have used the animals, but not now. I didn’t need to leave the lighthouse. My purified water and salted fish would last me at least two weeks. I looked at my sewing machine. I didn’t want to stop at that moment. I heard a violent tipping sound outside. I could feel the dog growling on the gravel, pointing its compass directly at me. For a moment I imagined that I might have left the lighthouse door open.
I hadn’t. I had closed it. But how long could that old wooden door withstand a rabid dog frantically charging at it? My lungs did not stop wheezing as I took a breath three floors below. I made a big pile of tools behind the door. I could not help but empathise with the animal digging furiously in the dirt outside. Which one of us was the prisoner, which one the crazy one?
* * *
All but one of the dogs managed to escape from their cages. That last one was already dying when he was brought to the island. He didn’t have the strength to take a step. The tide is not very strong on this side of the Mediterranean. Nevertheless, it took two hours for the waves to pull the cage out to sea. When the cage lid was finally opened, the animal had already lost consciousness. Before it could taste its brief freedom, its heart stopped.
The rest howled all night long, adding colour to my experience. After years of watching the sky in absolute silence, the change felt good. It was cloudy. But a small clearing was enough for me. We were both thinking the same thing. A blessing had come. We could finally speed up the program. The books I’d spent years trying to understand weren’t just quackery. She was there. Our love would transcend the stars.
I went to my desk and lit the kerosene lamp. Since the lighthouse had been shut down, I lacked the fuel to replenish the generators. I had gotten used to living with no electricity. Candles and lamps were enough for me. I drew another fish from the bucket. So far, I had only worked on sea creatures, a few seagulls, some insects, and two hedgehogs, which I had been hand-feeding since I’d found them in my first days on the island, when I’d started the experiments. Sometimes I would work on living bodies, sometimes on dead ones. But always in search of the perfect harmony. A gull with spines or a caterpillar with gills. A combination that would upset all balances and confound the laws of nature.
I didn’t just perform vivisection. I also had a primitive laboratory where I studied gene mutation. Most of my pension went into the equipment. And by some divine intervention, I found a way to get thousands of dollars’ worth of equipment on the cheap. Playing with genes was more complicated than dissecting animals. The old books and the stars provided the answers.
As I pulled the perch’s eye out of its socket with tweezers, I looked at the spider in the jar, its legs twitching. It was the size of the palm of my hand. I had the cure for his eyes, tired from spinning webs. It would only have to obey me.
Whistling through my broken teeth, I accompanied the dogs as they howled and fought with each other. I was in a good mood. The spark won’t ignite tonight either. But I’m so close, there’s no way those animals won’t start a fire; sooner or later I will reach my goal.
* * *
It was painful, even for me, to witness the desecration. I had hoped they would die of rabies before resolving to eat their own kind. There were only three dogs left whose bodies were intact. It took four more days for them to die on my doorstep. I thought the last one would never die. At one point I had to grab my shovel and drive it through his head. His squeal froze my heart. Despite the distance between us, I felt the animal’s last breath on my lips. As I ran to the sea and rinsed my mouth, I tried to understand the reason for my recklessness.
It was ironic that I came face to face with my prize as I sprayed the sea water from my mouth. The cage which had been washed away was back ashore. Here was another specimen. I was on the right track.
The stork whose nest I had kept for a rainy day rattled its beak at that very moment. The omens were showing one after another. The combination in my mind began to take shape. I had enough canine teeth to fill that long beak, not to mention wings and stubby legs. I was drunk with excitement.
My burning nostrils and stomach couldn’t discourage me. I covered my nose with a rag. I put rubber gloves on my hands, discoloured with dirt. I carried the dogs inside and leaned the ladder against the roof.
* * *
On the day it all started, I never thought I would find myself putting my hand in the slobbery mouth of a dog that had died of rabies. My girlfriend and I were on the roof of the university, watching the stars in the sky. One of them was shining so beautifully that I didn’t realize I had stopped listening to my girlfriend. She was talking about making a joint wish. But my mind was focused on the shimmering lights. It was as if the truth of the universe were being exposed in front of me. I made another wish. First my lover’s wish came true. We tried to build an ordinary life together. Then my other wish began to blossom.
I watched my star almost every night. I was proud to find it as if I’d put my hand on it. I didn’t show it to anyone. I told those who asked that it was nothing more than an ordinary hobby. I didn’t know if it shone as brightly to everyone as it did to me. Sometimes, when I slept, it would enter my dreams and speak to me. When I woke up, even though I couldn’t remember what it said, I felt like there was someone waiting for me in a galaxy far, far away.
Now I’m in the middle of a bloody experiment that will bring those galaxies closer. I’m stuffing sharp teeth into the dead stork’s beak.
III
I didn’t send the dogs. I used all my energy to delay the stork’s migration schedule. But it seems I’m not alone. Others too await my return. I feel more naked now, more than a bright star. There are people I want to illuminate with my light. To wrap them tightly in my arms. People I want to become one with.
The old man makes me think of the days of Olympus. The tiny world bowing down to the big mountain. Those who believed in me then knew that one day I would leave. They told about me not for themselves, not for their children, but so that their great-grandchildren would not give up on me. I don’t remember much of what they told about me. I’ll have to study that book hard when I get back. If only I could remember what I looked like. Maybe then I can do more than just shimmer and shine.
The light catches my eye too.
Besides, I feel there was a time before. Before Olympus. And before people. I remember things crawling. Under the ground.
* * *
Putting dog teeth in a stork’s beak is a bad idea. Still, I don’t want to stifle his creativity. Whatever he saw in his telescope that night, he felt validated. I admire the nonverbal communication between us. I just shine and he knows where to tie the next knot. His work with the dogs has strengthened our bond. Not only did he become a dentist, but he also made some genes change. Now it’s his own kin’s turn. Animals alone are not enough to break the law. But when animal and human breathe in the same body, things change.
I’m not talking about a human with a pig’s heart; I want them all to walk around with pig heads.
IV
The sunset shows all the imperfections on the child’s face. Scabs, snot, boogers, burrs, pimples that won’t heal. The habitat in the bushy black hair is cheerful. I don’t know his age. I don’t want to make a connection. He must have just entered puberty. He’s sitting across from me on the boat, dozing. One of those people who don’t care where they sleep. I picked him like fruit from the garden.
Since the lighthouse went out of use, I only visit the mainland a couple of times a year. I buy what I need on a seasonal basis and don’t show up much. I don’t want to remind anyone of my existence straight after a visit from the police.
It didn’t take me half an hour to convince the boy to come with me. He was sitting on a bench on the beach, eating doner kebab. I asked him where he got the doner and he said some guy gave it to him. Enjoy your meal boy. Was he looking for a job? What kind of job? As an apprentice at the lighthouse on that offshore island. What’s an apprentice? Think of it like an assistant. Does it pay? Yes. Transportation? He’ll stay there, he’ll have a room. Eyes that light up when they hear about the room. Will his parents let him? He had no one. For sure? Sort of. Every now and then, someone leaves food and drink. He should have asked what in return. He didn’t. I’d have liked to know why he limped when he walked. I didn’t ask. He was just right for my sewing machine. I didn’t think about the rest.
As the oars dipped in and out of the water, my mind was focused on this new experience. I still hadn’t decided on the other component. Before leaving the island, I had set an old-fashioned trap in the ground with the dogs’ blood which I had collected in a pan. Whatever animal had been attracted by the smell of blood, I would use it. There were not many living creatures left on that rock where I had drained all natural life.
The boy didn’t wake up until I pulled the boat ashore. I wish he would always sleep and not ask questions. I didn’t have more than a few doses of tranquilizer in my medicine cabinet. But for an operation like this, I’d probably need litres of sedatives. For the rest, I’d have to resort to violence.
Upon leaving the island, I had normalized the surroundings as much as possible. The view wasn’t bad at all. The old lighthouse towered before us, a ten-meter stone structure. I had buried the twisted bodies of the dogs I had worked on and put the pickaxe and shovel in the storage room on the ground floor. The rocks, the lighthouse, and my small barren garden were a peaceful picture at first glance. If it weren’t for the north wind that never tires of reminding me of the past. The smell of rotten meat wafted in and out at irregular intervals.
Except for the sounds of struggle coming from the trap pit, all was quiet. I smiled as the boy curiously approached the pit, ignoring the smell. Then he asked me why a lighthouse keeper needed an assistant.
For stormy days, I said.
* * *
He helped me neutralize the snake in the pit. He was more skilful than I expected. He didn’t ask too many questions and followed my commands without hesitation. Despite looking skinny, he was strong. As I locked the animal in the wire-mesh cage with sticks, my attention inevitably turned to the sky. I no longer needed the telescope, my star winked at me.
The snake boy was the final blow to lift the veil.
V
The operation hasn’t started yet. But I can see the lightning flashes, the dawn will break in a storm. The veil will not only be torn open, it will be riddled with holes. Those who remember the old laws will return to the earth.
My brain is filled with hisses that feel familiar from antic times. There is more than the excitement of a snake trapped in a pit of blood. It’s as if I’m listening to my whole life story told in the language of snakes. When the seemingly endless symphony ends, I stick out my forked tongue for the first time in centuries. The emptiness has no taste. I hiss, the sound is still only in my mind.
* * *
On the stall where many fish, dogs and birds have passed by, now lies an adolescent boy. Next to him, a dark green snake the same size as the boy.
The sewing machine is shelved. No more barbaric cutting and slicing. At least to a certain extent. Perhaps we can reserve the right to sew for cosmetic touch-ups. Now the genes will do what they are supposed to do. My teachings will shed light on how to fuse the genes of two different species into one. Despite the poor conditions at the lighthouse, it is possible to create the mutation. It’s not like stringing canine teeth on a stork’s beak. It’s not appearances, it’s code distortion. That’s what’s driving the legislators crazy.
I don’t know how long the child will live. A few minutes will be enough for me to cross the threshold.
* * *
Day three of the operation. He’s feeding the boy intravenously. I can hear his heartbeat slowing down. The snake is already dead.
I hear other things too. The crackle of the storm is no longer the sole ruler of the night. The island’s new guests are already on their way.
The orphaned street urchin wasn’t so orphaned after all. The secret love of a tycoon … He couldn’t take the boy in for fear of his wife, but the asshole took it upon himself to watch over him. He didn’t know what was going on until his lust was aroused again. When he found out that the old madman had taken the boy away, he reported the case to the authorities.
He thinks the boy’s body belongs only to him. He is determined not to share his love with strangers. But the boy is not the same teenager anymore. If he knew what was happening, he would never ask for his toy back. The boy’s forked tongue would destroy his appetite.
I place the image of the tycoon in my mind’s eye. I will cut off his appetite once and for all. Now I must warn my old man, who is oblivious to the world. He has been very distracted lately.
VI
I was trying to silence the bells in my mind. This was not the time. Just a few more little touches. He’d live. He’d hiss at me with his sharp tongue and call me Papa. The first fruit of our love that blossomed across galaxies. It won’t be the last. First a nursery, then a whole forest.
My dreams were interrupted by the child’s urinary catheter popping out. The probe slipped between my trembling hands. The intense smell of ammonia hit me in the face and had a sobering effect. This was no time for daydreaming. I ignored the urine on the ground. Although the storm hadn’t hit yet, it had already started to rain. Looking at the waves through the narrow window of the lighthouse, I caught an unusual sight: boats approaching fast. And they didn’t look like the small vehicles of the police.
Did they realize I kidnapped the boy? I thought he had no one. To start such an operation with a storm coming, it must be something very serious … The alarm bells in my mind made sense. My wife was warning me.
I needed time. I wished for the storm to start before the boats arrived. Something inside my head informed me that it would. One must be careful with wishes made at odd times. First the oil lamp light flickered. Then lightning began to split the sky. It was as if someone, inspired by my butchering of the animals, were putting scalpel strokes on the clouds. The waves surged in seconds and all sea voyages were cancelled.
Three of the boats rose out of the water and clung to the rocks, while two were thrown directly onto the shore. The impact was so violent that the lighthouse shook from its foundation. The oil lamps on the table fell to the ground and shattered into a thousand pieces. The window opened wide, and the wind blew out the candles, celebrating an early birthday. I took crooked steps backwards until I got used to the darkness. Two yellow eyes split the pitch of the night. When the moonlight brightened, I noticed him. He hissed. Then the whole night lit up.
* * *
The security forces that had survived the accident were regrouping downstairs, their chief trying to speak through a megaphone. The wind was determined not to leave the man alone. The sky had split so deep that it was impossible not to be blinded by the flashbulbs going off every second.
The boy stood up from the operating table and looked at me. His pupils were elliptical, the yellow irises hiding his thoughts behind them. The next flash revealed scaly skin and a forked tongue dangling between his lips.
He was born. He was alive.
There he is, officer, the outlaw.
When my eyes got used to the dark, I looked out the window. One of the soldiers noticed me and gestured to the floor I was on. The other one said something over the radio. The rest of them were on the beach, helping their wounded friends. Fortune, that had laughed beside me when I kept the rabid dogs out, would wish to forget my name if they stormed the gate.
All I hoped was that the Lady in the Sky would interfere again. The boy was still in the same position, trying to understand what had happened to him. I didn’t care. He ran his tongue over his lips and looked at his scaly hands. He was startled to see the dead snake next to him. He tried to get up. He failed and fell over. He needed a mother.
A mother who wasn’t there yet, who might never come.
The soldiers started banging on the door. That’s when the apocalyptic scenario unfolded in front of me. What if I had made it all up? What if what I had seen in the sky was just schizophrenic visions? But the kid? That monster piece? Who am I to fuse a brat with a snake? Alone, in the dark rooms of a fucking lighthouse?
When they came through the door, they looked at the boy and at me. They would take me and shoot him. The whole sky would laugh at me, my name would be in the news for two weeks and then I would be gone. Forgotten.
The downpour continued but the storm had calmed down. I heard the lighthouse door break. The boy was in the corner with his head between his knees, staring at the floor. My body stopped listening to my commands. I was frozen, shivering.
When they reached the door of the room, I heard whispers. They counted to three. It shouldn’t be this easy to take doors off their hinges. When the dust settled, torchlights shone in. Gun barrels and sharp eyes scanned the room. I was told to raise my hands. But my body wouldn’t listen to commands. It was the last warning, they said. They would shoot. Let them shoot, if there is no Lady to come.
When one of the torches shone on the boy, their confident attitude quickly vanished. Now they were all inside, blocking us completely. My hands remembered the order they had been given a few seconds ago. As the shadow of my surrender fell over the boy, the snake child turned his head towards me.
“Papaaaasssssss …”
The curtain tore.
* * *
The next moment, no one was left standing. As the situation was balancing out, gunshots were fired. There was a shooting. I threw myself next to the boy. While I was trying to understand what had happened, dust began to fall between the stones of the lighthouse. Some pieces fell inside. A huge figure passed in front of the window. Something was moving outside the walls. Then the roof above us flew away. First I saw the eyes, then the forked tongue. My Lady had come.
The soldiers who managed to come out of the debris collapsed on the stairs in terror. Then they gathered themselves and tried to climb down, crushing their comrades in arms. I fell to my knees. The boy got up from the corner. His face was calm for the first time since the operation. The raindrops burned my skin, sobering me up. I wiped the saliva from the corner of my mouth, but it came out again. My fever was high, and my vision blurred.
My Lady’s appreciative gaze flickered between the boy and me.
I expected thanks and declarations of love. A very clear voice echoed in my brain.
“Ah … Why did you do this to yourself?”
What had I done?
As my skin got wet, I lost my peace. Above me stood my beloved distant galaxies, next to me stood a crossbred snake-child who called me father. But these drops of water were driving me crazy.
I kept collecting saliva in my mouth. I wiped the saliva from my chin with the back of my hand. I tried to focus. Now I could find a new snake and make myself one with it. The boy would help me with the experiments.
The brightness of the flash of lightning caught my eye. I realized how close I was to losing my mind. I tried to be strong. Rational. However, I had to stand up in front of my lady. The day of our meeting would go down in history. I thought of the epic scenes the books would present as they described me.
The admiration in my mistress’s eyes had already faded. The lighthouse swayed again. The walls groaned as she shifted. She dipped her huge tail inside. With a rattle, she enveloped the child. I waited for my turn as she picked and pulled him up. I was as full of anticipation as a baby who is used to being held every time he cries. It was time to go. Our child waved at me as he was taken up into the sky. He was hissing something. I couldn’t hear him. Getting wet was straining all my circuits.
My Lady came back. She swayed from side to side, looking at me.
“The dogs have corrupted you.”
I didn’t understand. How could the dogs have corrupted me? Without them, it would have taken me years to find my way. It’s just as well you’re here. Take me with you and let’s go. Let’s get out of here before anyone else comes.
The fear in me grew and grew. She was only sad. The lighthouse shook for the last time as I retreated. Only a rainy sky remained above me. I had no place in her story. My Lady would rule the world with our son, and here I would stay, to accompany the ghosts of the dogs abandoned by the municipality.
My breath caught. My heart began to strain my rib cage. Despite the wind biting my skin, I was sweating. I would have given anything to escape this rain. I thought of jumping over the corpses and taking shelter in the storage room downstairs. I could hide forever among the forgotten things. Then I saw the gun in the dead soldier’s fingers.
I wiped my chin and placed the cold barrel in my saliva-filled mouth. My tongue touched the tip of the gun. It was real.
I surrendered in the name of the law.
VII
The ground broke. I was reunited with my children.
Onur Selamet was born in Istanbul. He graduated from Marmara University, from the Faculty of Arts – Cinema and Television Department. He worked on various short and medium-length films. In 2017, he received an award for his movie Mayk, which he wrote and directed, and was screened at various festivals. His stories have been published in magazines and fanzines. He works as editor-in-chief for the culture and art website Kayıp Rıhtım.