Music by My Bedside. Kürsat Basar

In a university, scientists had invented a machine that translated brain waves. Soon, it might even be possible to watch our own dreams like a movie.

      We talked about such things. Sometimes the subject of men and women came up. We talked about marriage and relationships, comparing the situation in Turkey with those in other countries, as if this topic had nothing to do with us.

      In the end, it didn’t matter what we spoke about. What mattered was that he came and sat with me.

      As time went by, an unexpected friendship and sympathy grew between us. We were able to discuss many things that we couldn’t talk about with others.

      It didn’t take long for the gossip to start.

      The strange thing was that it wasn’t my husband, who was under my very nose, but my mother, who rarely left home, who said one day, “I’ve been hearing about some inappropriate behavior. What’s going on?”

      For the first time, I realized what I had been doing and the direction I had taken.

      I could not confess the truth, even to myself.

      “Come on, Mom,” I answered. “People need to gossip. He’s old enough to be my father. He jokes with everyone. He just considers me a kid and spends more time talking with me than with others. That’s all.”

      Was that not all?

      Is it just me who thinks like this, or is it true that we often show more interest in the lives of others than in our own?

      Who knows, maybe it’s because we think our lives lack vivacity and color.

      In those days, I came to realize that people were talking about us in their small worlds. They had found a brand new subject, something different to talk about. If you think this disturbed me, you’re wrong. To the contrary, I enjoyed it.

      Because nothing was happening as they imagined.

      I liked the fact that they were talking about a film in which I was playing the main role, while their lives began with humdrum mornings and ended in humdrum evenings.

      They were my audience. No matter what they said about me, I was the star, whose role they would give anything to have for themselves.

      It was indeed childish, but I enjoyed it all the same. I was amused by the way conversations were interrupted and everyone turned to look at me when I entered a room, the way some people ignored me, pretending not to notice that I was there, and how others tried to engage me in small talk, as if making an effort to act normal.

      I continued to play my game, and new people joined in constantly.

      What child wouldn’t enjoy having others take for real the game he had been playing by himself in his dark room and joining him in playing it?

      Besides, just as an American author had once said, “Old maids sweeten their tea with scandal.”

      I sometimes felt like telling Fuat about the gossip, but even though I tried, I couldn’t bring myself to talk about it to him.

      I was aware that he was playing his own game.

      At first I didn’t understand but later I was sure.

      He used to get carried away for a moment while looking into my eyes, and then acquire the airs of a man who was chatting with his best friend.

      I was aware but not sure yet.

      That is why I wanted to tell him.

      One day, as we were talking about this and that, I suddenly wanted to ask at the most unexpected moment: “Do you know that everyone is talking about us? Haven’t you realized that?” Or, I wanted to say: “It would be better if you did not come here alone from now on. People are attributing different meanings to your visits.”

      But just as I was about to tell him, I changed my mind.

      Perhaps I was scared that if I did, I would spoil the game.

      I disappeared for a few days. I visited my mother, went shopping, and met with Ayla. I also sat in my room and did something I had long neglected: I wrote postcards and letters to my friends in America.

      Actually, I didn’t care much about putting an end to the gossip. All I wanted was to provoke him.

      But when we met again like foolish high school kids, we continued from where we had stopped, as if it was normal that I had disappeared from sight for so many days.

      One afternoon we were sitting face to face and sipping our tea as usual. All of a sudden, he said, “I’m going into politics.”

      “I know,” I responded.

      He waited for me to continue, but I didn’t.

      “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

      “Are you asking for my opinion? If so, I don’t think politics suit you.”

      He seemed taken aback. He must have thought I wouldn’t be that direct.

      “So you think politics is not my thing. But there’s so much to be done. If we don’t do it, who will?”

      He probably thought I would support his view enthusiastically.

      “Besides,” he added, “aren’t you the one who is always criticizing what’s going on. How can someone change his country just by sitting and complaining?”

      He looked annoyed. He stood up, poured a glass of water and sat down again. He was lost in thought. “We all have our own destiny as well as our duty,” he said.

      “I wish you luck,” I said.

      While everyone congratulated and encouraged him, my opposition was a little out of place. Later that evening, I asked myself why I always said whatever came to my mind.

      Maybe I was afraid that if he entered politics, I would be able to see him less often.

      Naturally, he didn’t listen to me.

      An outsider to the world of politics, he was appointed to a top position on the Prime Minister’s order. Everyone talked about it.

      Already, some supported him and others criticized him behind his back.

      In a way he resembled me: someone who talked and acted on impulse, who wanted things to happen immediately, who didn’t listen to others when he decided to do something, and who could offend even those closest to him . . .

      Such people make enemies quickly. People who are not used to taking orders, people who do not swallow their words, and the ones who do not like being an ordinary man in the street will always have to cope with hostility.

      For me, politics was not for people who wanted to do something for the benefit of the country but for those who were interested in their own benefits, who played games, and who were ready to risk all to achieve their personal agendas. I have never believed that politicians can do anything good.

      Besides, just a little farther from here, people had already begun to discuss different things in their homes. The brilliant days of the government were slowly fading. The dreams everyone had about a new time, a growing country, and a happy future were wearing out. Now, in a state of fatigue, people no longer appreciated the new people who came to power, realizing that nothing had changed the way they had expected.

      By degrees, he became one of the people at the top and watched the view self-confidently from high above, enjoying what he saw.

      He no longer took pains to discover what was going on below his level.

      But when I went a few streets away from our hotel to visit my mother, talk with my brother, or read the papers, I could see that things were not going well.

      Later, when we were able to talk