The Dead Man
The Dead Man
Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock...
It must be around 7:30 PM. Judging by the sounds outside, the shift change is approaching. Here, the shift change happens at eight in the evening. That means I have about half an hour. Should I sleep a bit? I don’t think so. I have a world of work to do. Then again, it’s nearly impossible to focus on my work amidst all this noise. Footsteps and hurried conversations echo down the corridor. There must be an emergency. I hope it’s urgent enough to make them forget about me. Because these days, being forgotten is what I need most.
Clack clack, clack clack, clack clack...
There it is—they haven’t forgotten. That’s the sound of high heels approaching my room. It must be around 8:05 PM. The new shift has started. The handover is complete, and she’s coming. The moment I dread most in the day is about to begin. With the creak of the wooden door opening, the air in the room becomes even more unbearable.
It’s been exactly two months since I arrived here. I overheard the doctor mentioning it to the nurse during the morning rounds. They’re not sure how much progress they’ve made with my condition. To be honest, I wasn’t sure either when I let myself fall from my apartment balcony onto the concrete below.
I hadn’t spoken to anyone for three months. Truthfully, I didn’t want to speak. I only wanted to write. I earned a little money from my writing, and it was enough for me. It was around that time I decided to write *The Dead Man*. It could have been the best novel I’d conceived in a long time. The words lined up in my mind like a parade of torches—bright, colorful, dazzling. It was immensely satisfying. Until those relentless headaches began. The overwhelming urge to sleep, the fatigue, the apathy, the inexplicable abandonment of words—they all took over my body like a row of dominoes falling one after another. *The Dead Man* became an illusion at the tip of my pen, and I succumbed to the desire to become a dead man myself. Then I let go of the ledge and fell.
Now, I don’t judge how I ended up like this in just a month. I only know why I didn’t die. This man didn’t die; *The Dead Man* came back. Now I can write him. I could have written him—if only I weren’t paralyzed from the neck down.
Due to a spinal cord injury from the fall, all my limbs are non-functional. I can see, I can hear. I can’t speak, I can’t move. But I will write. My mind is still mine. If only there were some silence.
Knock knock knock...
It’s Nurse Begüm at the door. Those footsteps must have been hers. I’m disappointed. I wish it were Nurse Ayşe.
Nurse Begüm is in her twenties, slim, cheerful, with a soft voice. Very idealistic. She checks on us every hour until morning. There are four of us in this room, including me. It takes her about ten minutes to tend to each of us. Just when I gather my thoughts, she comes back fifty minutes later and disrupts my focus. But Nurse Ayşe? She spends the entire night on the phone with her fiancé. She’s older—mid-forties, maybe fifty. Slightly plump, short, stern, with a perpetually grim expression. She doesn’t like me much; I’m a burden to her. Even so, I wish she were here. They had a nasty fight the other night with her fiancé. Just as I was getting into the zone, she yelled at him so loudly that if I were him, I’d never look at her again. It ruined my night, but I still wonder—did they make up?
Nurse Begüm did her usual checks. She chatted for a bit with the uncle in the third bed from the right. I waited for them to stop talking. I’m by the window, the only paralyzed one among the four beds lined up side by side. Finally, when she left the room, the door creaked shut, and the sound of Begüm’s heels faded down the corridor. Clack clack, clack clack, clack clack...
Now my mind was entirely my own. Silence. I could continue *The Dead Man* from where I left off. But I couldn’t. The patient in the bed next to mine, about my age, with slightly graying hair, started screaming and groaning. He must be in pain. Nurses, the on-call doctor—everyone rushed into the room. Noise, noise... so much noise. It’s been like this for days. The brief moments of silence aren’t enough for me to concentrate. Ah, Lethe... You were supposed to cleanse *The Dead Man* and free him from his pain. Now let me drink from your waters. I have sorrows that need forgetting. Make me forget and let me die.
During the day, the ward and corridors are even more crowded and noisy. Sleeping or writing is impossible. I haven’t slept properly in days anyway. Dreams and reality are blending together now. Even in my dreams, I’m in this bed. Unable to move...
Tonight, it’s Nurse Ayşe’s shift. She’s made up with her fiancé. She left the damned door wide open in case of an emergency. All the noise is flooding into the room. Even the buzz of a fly drives me mad. Sounds... the ticking of the clock, footsteps, the door creaking. All the sounds explode in my head. My ears are ringing like crazy. I hear *The Dead Man* screaming. Lethe is calling me; I taste her bitter waters. Ayşe is giggling. I’m so cold, my whole body feels like it’s trembling. Ayşe, stop. Ayşe, I feel sick. I want to open my eyes, but I can’t. My heart is about to burst. *The Dead Man* is walking toward me. My veins ache. “Nurse,” someone shouts from one of the other beds. Ayşe runs over, no longer giggling. The room is pitch black. Then there’s nothing. Just darkness. Where are you, *The Dead Man*?
Now, I slowly open my eyes to a profound silence. This silence must be a miracle. An incredible calm—everyone has gone quiet. Even the clock is silent; has its battery died? Wait: there are people in the room, but no footsteps. Their lips are moving, but there’s no sound. There are no other beds around me. Everything is here, yet there’s no sound. I look, I see, but I can’t hear. Did I have a seizure? Is this the intensive care unit? My God! What an extraordinary gift—I’m losing my mind. I see *The Dead Man*, his icy eyes staring at me. He extends his hand, waiting for me. I close my eyes and become the dead man. Together, we ascend to the terrace of my mind, watching everything unfold. Everything is serene and clear. Wait for us, Lethe; we’re coming to drink from your waters. Wait. Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock...
deri
