Mad Bad, Good to Know
by David R. Mellor
Mesut lived at the bottom of the road at the top floor a two-storey apartment, with a clear view of the comings and goings of the street below, thronged with tourists in the season. He was not mad or bad, maybe life had just thrown too many obstacles for him to come through unscathed and the alcohol that built up in his system during the day was his only escape from it all.
He spent his time sitting on the balcony watching his TV through the mosquito mesh of his door frame. Smoking copious amounts of cigarettes, stroking his thick glowing white moustache matching his hair, there was no way of mistaking him. And not his life but he himself was well known to the locals.
He started the day well with a lush Turkish breakfast of the finest olives of the region, some feta and fresh bread and would then sit himself on the balcony, where he would spend the rest of the day. Opening his first beer around mid-day, flicking through the endless gossip channels before settling for the news ones of which there were about 10 (is there really that much news in the world!).
He would quickly get irritated at what he saw standing up and shouting obscenities at each and every politician.
“You lying bastard!”
“Hypocrite!”
“Thief!“
“Jail them all!”
“You Nazi!”
“God, you’re pathetic.“
“You nasty shit.”
“You bloody devil!”
And…
“You ox!”
(Why such a rather nice animal is such a bad word in Turkey I have no idea. I mean it’s like calling someone a zebra for an insult.)
These words more and more quickly became the vocabulary that the children who passed by learned first, way before they could count to a hundred or describe where they live.
“Grandma.”
“Yes, dear?”
“You’re pathetic.“
“Erkan, would you like some chips?”
“No mother, you nasty shit.”
Residents pleaded with him to stop, as did the school. With teachers complaining that they could not teach above the chants of “You ox, you ox!” throughout lessons. But nothing changing.
Tourists were often taken unawares. Super slick, high-flying young couples from İstanbul, each decked in the latest fashion and hairstyles, would think the comments were aimed at them.
“Idiots!” Mesut would scream.
“What did you say?”
“Idiots, fuckin idiots!”
Sniggering to himself, half realising the effect he was having. In disbelief they would eventually walk away in despair and if they told the police, they would shrug their shoulders and say “It’s just Mesut.”
As day turned to night Mesut remained on the balcony, cracked open the rakı and nibbles and started to watch old classical Turkish films from the 70s. The format was always the same. A famous beautiful singer or actress played the lead female role. She falls for a young dashing man with a thick layer of black carpet for hair and matching moustache, but spurns him because she feels he will not accept her for the evil things she has done, like, wearing a skirt, working in a circus or God forbid she has been kissed before. In a fit of self-loathing, she pledges herself to some rich banker older than her grandfather. But in the last minute we find that the dashing prince is really not that fussed about what she has done as long as he can get his hands on her, urm, I mean he loves her for who she is, and they all live happily ever after.
Mesut knows all these films by heart but this doesn’t stop him from falling into drunken melancholy and melodrama treating them as if they were true. One such evening he was more boisterous than normal, crying and screaming uncontrollably.
“Go back to him!”
“Say you love her!”
“In the name of god, what is to come of you?”
The locals put their earplugs in, the tourists turned to the police. A neighbouring town’s police station was on night duty, so a police car from there was dispatched to investigate the commotion.
The unsuspecting young officer called up. “What is happening?”
“Come quickly!” Mesut shouted. “You must stop this.”
The officer quickly climbed the chair and burst onto the balcony, truncheon in hand.
“Now sit down and watch,” said Mesut, he was pleased that the police were here to intervene and save the poor wretched girl.
After the initial shock, the officer sat down, watching the evidence unfold he became more and more engrossed in the story. “This is outrageous.” Mesut pointed to the officer’s notebook signaling he should take notes, he also passed him some rakı and the officer took it without thinking. Before long they were both in floods of tears.
“She’s so beautiful.”
“She is,” replied Mesut putting his arms around him. Tourists were still calling the police even more incensed because they could now hear two wailing voices. All calls were diverted to the officer on the scene, who replied each time.
“It’s a terrible situation!” he said, kicking the empty rakı bottle in despair. “Hopeless, girl, him, he loves her, she loves him. Please tune into Channel 10 now, that’s an order, this can’t be allowed to happen.” He was then pleased that he at least had done something to save her.
A faint hum could slowly be heard across the village getting louder and louder turning from anger and sadness to joy as the young couple found each other and married, a joyous hurray ringing out.
The police officer and Mesut embraced tears in their eyes collapsing and falling asleep till morning. The officer left with a gentle nod after that.
From then on things were different...
When the tourists heard him shouting “Fuck you!” at the screen, they would reply with a beaming smile, “Fuck you too, Mesut,” forming a smile on his face.
Even now at night, if you listen carefully above the barks of wild dogs and screams of cats, you can hear the faint cries of the people sobbing gently and then finally a great HURRAY.
Born 1964, (Liverpool, England) to a difficult birth, David didn't find his voice until his youth. Years of thinking he was nobody and treated as such, including a period of homelessness in the desperate Thatcher Years.
However, he hit the paper papering over the scars. Found understanding and belief through words. He has been published and performed widely from the BBC, The Tate, galleries and pubs and everything in between. Now resident in Turkey he has continued his literary career with his work appearing in journals including a weekly column in Canakkale Gündem about his observations of Turkish life.
His poems and writings are autobiographical, others topical and several his take on life. Hope you enjoy.
Check out MellorDR Youtube for recordings.
And “So This is It", a selection of his poetry recently published and available on all platforms.