Read Online The Bastard of Istanbul by Elif Shafak - Free Book Online
Authors: Elif Shafak
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interpreted as a sign of shyness.
She smiled to show the young man that she pardoned him and then looked at his face without so much as a blink, making him even more nervous. Besides the suave-bunny expression that she now wore, Rose had three other animal-like looks inspired by Mother Nature, which she interchangeably employed for all her dealings with the opposite sex: her staunch-canine expression, one that she chose when she wanted to convey complete dedication; her impish-feline expression, which she used when she wanted to seduce; and her pugnacious-coyote expression, which she wore whenever she was criticized.
“Oh, I know you!” All of a sudden Rose beamed an ear-to-ear grin, satisfied with her memory. “I was racking my brain wondering where I’d seen you before. Now I know! You’re from the U of A, right? I’ll bet you like chicken quesadillas!”
The young man glanced up the aisle, as if he were considering running away at any moment but couldn’t figure out toward which direction.
“I work part-time at the Cactus Grill”—Rose tried her best to help him comprehend—“the big restaurant on the second floor inside the Student Union, remember? I am usually behind the counter where the hot food is served—you know, omelettes and quesadillas. It’s a part-time job, of course; it doesn’t pay much but what are you gonna do? This is just for the time being. What I really want is to become a primary schoolteacher.”
The young man was now quizzically studying Rose’s face as if to memorize every detail for future reference.
“Anyway, that is where I must have seen you before,” Rose concluded. She narrowed her eyes and moistened her bottom lip, switching to her feline expression. “I dropped out when I had a baby last year, but now I’m trying to go back to college. . . .”
“Oh, really?” the guy said, but then instantly shut his mouth. If Rose had had any previous experience with foreigners she would have detected the foreigner’s introduction reflex —the fear of engaging in a conversation and not expressing the right words at the right time or with the correct pronunciation.
However, ever since she was a teenager Rose harbored a propensity to assume everything around her was either for or about or against her. Accordingly, she interpreted the silence as a sign of her own inability to make a decent introduction. To compensate for the error, she reached out her hand.
“Oh, I am sorry. I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Rose.”
“Mustafa . . .” The young man swallowed, his Adam’s apple moving up and down.
“Where are you from?” Rose asked.
“Istanbul,” he answered curtly.
Rose raised her eyebrows and a trace of panic crossed her face. If Mustafa had any previous experience with provincials, he could detect the provincial’s information reflex —the fear of not having enough knowledge of geography or world history. Rose was trying to recall where on earth Istanbul was. Was it the capital of Egypt or perhaps somewhere in India . . . ? She frowned in confusion.
However, ever since he was a teenager Mustafa harbored a fright of losing his grip on time and his appeal for women. So he interpreted the gesture as a sign of having bored Rose by failing to come up with anything interesting to say, and to compensate for the lack, he hastened to cut off the conversation.
“Nice meeting you, Rose,” he said, drawling his vowels with a mellow but obvious accent. “I have to go now. . . .”
Very quickly he put back both cans of garbanzo beans, stared at his watch, grabbed his basket, and walked off. Before he disappeared, Rose heard him mumble “bye-bye” and then, as if echoing himself, another “bye-bye.” Then he was gone.
Having thus lost this mysterious companion, Rose suddenly realized how much time she had squandered in the supermarket. She grabbed a few cans of garbanzo beans, including the ones Mustafa had left behind, and hurried to the checkout. She passed
She smiled to show the young man that she pardoned him and then looked at his face without so much as a blink, making him even more nervous. Besides the suave-bunny expression that she now wore, Rose had three other animal-like looks inspired by Mother Nature, which she interchangeably employed for all her dealings with the opposite sex: her staunch-canine expression, one that she chose when she wanted to convey complete dedication; her impish-feline expression, which she used when she wanted to seduce; and her pugnacious-coyote expression, which she wore whenever she was criticized.
“Oh, I know you!” All of a sudden Rose beamed an ear-to-ear grin, satisfied with her memory. “I was racking my brain wondering where I’d seen you before. Now I know! You’re from the U of A, right? I’ll bet you like chicken quesadillas!”
The young man glanced up the aisle, as if he were considering running away at any moment but couldn’t figure out toward which direction.
“I work part-time at the Cactus Grill”—Rose tried her best to help him comprehend—“the big restaurant on the second floor inside the Student Union, remember? I am usually behind the counter where the hot food is served—you know, omelettes and quesadillas. It’s a part-time job, of course; it doesn’t pay much but what are you gonna do? This is just for the time being. What I really want is to become a primary schoolteacher.”
The young man was now quizzically studying Rose’s face as if to memorize every detail for future reference.
“Anyway, that is where I must have seen you before,” Rose concluded. She narrowed her eyes and moistened her bottom lip, switching to her feline expression. “I dropped out when I had a baby last year, but now I’m trying to go back to college. . . .”
“Oh, really?” the guy said, but then instantly shut his mouth. If Rose had had any previous experience with foreigners she would have detected the foreigner’s introduction reflex —the fear of engaging in a conversation and not expressing the right words at the right time or with the correct pronunciation.
However, ever since she was a teenager Rose harbored a propensity to assume everything around her was either for or about or against her. Accordingly, she interpreted the silence as a sign of her own inability to make a decent introduction. To compensate for the error, she reached out her hand.
“Oh, I am sorry. I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Rose.”
“Mustafa . . .” The young man swallowed, his Adam’s apple moving up and down.
“Where are you from?” Rose asked.
“Istanbul,” he answered curtly.
Rose raised her eyebrows and a trace of panic crossed her face. If Mustafa had any previous experience with provincials, he could detect the provincial’s information reflex —the fear of not having enough knowledge of geography or world history. Rose was trying to recall where on earth Istanbul was. Was it the capital of Egypt or perhaps somewhere in India . . . ? She frowned in confusion.
However, ever since he was a teenager Mustafa harbored a fright of losing his grip on time and his appeal for women. So he interpreted the gesture as a sign of having bored Rose by failing to come up with anything interesting to say, and to compensate for the lack, he hastened to cut off the conversation.
“Nice meeting you, Rose,” he said, drawling his vowels with a mellow but obvious accent. “I have to go now. . . .”
Very quickly he put back both cans of garbanzo beans, stared at his watch, grabbed his basket, and walked off. Before he disappeared, Rose heard him mumble “bye-bye” and then, as if echoing himself, another “bye-bye.” Then he was gone.
Having thus lost this mysterious companion, Rose suddenly realized how much time she had squandered in the supermarket. She grabbed a few cans of garbanzo beans, including the ones Mustafa had left behind, and hurried to the checkout. She passed
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