Read Online Divorce Turkish Style by Esmahan Aykol - Free Book Online

Istanbul. We’d been thinking of launching a project with Sani Hanım against the pollution at Ergene and, since we were in the area today, decided to call on you.”
    Sometimes I amaze even myself at the ease with which I’m able to tell lies.
    â€œOh yes,” said the poor man.
    â€œMy condolences,” I said, shaking his hand.
    â€œThank you. May she rest in peace. It’s true that there’s no pain like that of losing a child. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.”
    â€œThey say it was an accident,” I said.
    â€œThey do indeed say it was an accident,” repeated the poor man. “Yes, just an accident.”
    I studied his face as carefully as I could, which wasn’t easy because he kept his head bowed over his clasped hands even while talking to me. Did he suspect something, I wondered?
    â€œThe police are looking into it,” I said.
    He nodded, without altering his expression or stance. Rıfat had no interest in either the police or their investigation. He was just a father overwhelmed by grief, and in no state to have suspicions about anything.
    At that point, a few people sitting at nearby tables pulled up their chairs to join us. All men, of course. There wasn’t a woman to be seen.
    â€œWelcome. It’s a pleasure to have you here,” said a plump, blond man. “I hope there’s nothing wrong.”
    He had a way of swallowing his h’s and spoke with a Thrace accent, which I found rather attractive.
    â€œWe’re doing some research into the pollution at Ergene,” I said.
    Fofo had fallen silent again, as was his way when he was with people unlike those in his immediate circle.
    â€œAre you a journalist?” asked the blond man. “We’ve given countless statements to journalists, but nothing’s been done. I wish them well, but they don’t do anything.”
    â€œWe’re not journalists, we’re environmentalists,” I said.
    â€œA lot of environmentalists have been here too. But nobody seems to have enough clout,” said another man.
    â€œSani, God rest her soul, did everything she could to find a solution to this problem,” said the blond man.
    â€œHow many years have we put up with this terrible smell?” said Rıfat, his eyes welling up.
    â€œI’m affected more than anyone,” said the café owner, coming over to our table. “I open up at five in the morning, when the smell is at its worst. The factories let their dirty water out into the stream at night when there are no patrols about.”
    â€œCan you smell it now?” asked the blond man.
    â€œCan’t smell a thing, thank God,” said the other.
    â€œWe’re so used to the stench we don’t smell it any more,” said the blond man.
    â€œWhich is why the report says ‘the smell is at an acceptable level’. It’s just that the people who live here have got used to it,” said a man, seating himself at a table just near enough for him to be able to hear everything that was being said.
    â€œNever mind the smell. It’s the land. The land’s completely ruined,” said the blond man.
    â€œWe saw fields of sunflowers on our way here,” I said.
    â€œSunflowers, wheat, barley, corn. Yes, we grow those because the land’s arid. We grow anything that doesn’t need water.”
    â€œThis land used to be very fertile. Perfect for rice. In the past, we used to grow sugar beet, beans, cabbages and leeks. But the soil’s ruined now and those crops won’t grow any more.”
    â€œThe water even burns our feet when we’re working on the land.”
    â€œIs that because the River Ergene is polluted by factory effluents?” I asked.
    â€œThrace has exactly 1,406 factories, of which over a thousand are unlicensed and operating illegally. They draw water from underground wells, pollute it and then release it into the river. Not only are