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Margaret H. L.

Lim
Am Eichenwall 26
26789 Leer
Germany 2474 Words

Dorothy’s Song

A shaft of light pierced the gap in the curtains and struck the mirror which threw it
straight as a lance into the face of the sleeping girl. Melike stirred uneasily, opened her
eyes, was dazzled, and quickly shut them again, but the bright light turned an irritating
crimson behind her closed lids. She sat up, stretched, tumbled out of bed and drew the
curtains aside. The room was immediately awash with light. It must be well past eight on
a sunny Spring morning. Her sister’s bed was neatly made. She must have left early.
Melike had not heard Meret returning or leaving, but then, a dozen fire trucks
could have gone roaring by, all bells clanging, and she would have slept through the
pandemonium. She was annoyed with herself for having overslept and with Meret for
not waking her up before she left.
She changed hurriedly, stepped out of her room, and stopped short. An eerie
stillness engulfed her. Normally the radio would be blaring away and there would be
sounds from the tiny kitchen of her mother moving heavily about, and voices of her
father and brother raised in argument. But Hamit had been warned to keep away and
was staying with a relative. In this silence which hung like a shroud, she heard the
distinctive sounds of the city of her birth wonderingly, like a stranger on his first visit –
trains coming into or pulling out of Koeln-Deutz Hauptbahnhof, creaking and rattling
along the tracks on the Hohenzollern Bridge that spanned the River Rhine; pleasure
cruisers taking sightseers to the Lorelei casting loose, chains clanking; warning toots,
low and mournful, of barges laden with sand or coal; the deep clear tones of the bells of
the Koelner Dom; vehicles thundering over exposed ancient cobble stones in the maze
of streets left in a state of disrepair by the cash-strapped city of Cologne and making as
much noise as long haul trucks.

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Her mother was alone in the kitchen. She was sitting slumped against the tiny
table staring unseeingly into the middle distance.
“Mother, I am late for school,” said Melike timidly, eyeing her parent
apprehensively. “Meret didn’t wake me up.”
“Mother!” repeated Melike with emphasis.
Zuebeyde’s eyes finally focused on her daughter. They were dull, dead eyes.
Today they looked even deader thought Melike.
“You are not going to school,” said Zuebeyde in a tired voice. “Today or
tomorrow.”
“Meret . . .”
“Meret has left us,” said her mother abruptly, her voice as dull and empty as her
eyes. “She will not be coming back. Eat your breakfast.”
“Where is father?”
“Eat!”
The buzzer sounded. Zuebeyde stiffened. Melike who was nearest pressed the
button to unlock the main door to the apartment building. They were three floors up,
there was no lift, and sounds of feet tramping heavily rose up the stairwell.
The door bell to their apartment chimed. Zuebeyde lunged out of her chair and
pushed Melike out of the way.
“Go to your room!”
Melike went obediently to her room. Once the door to Melike’s room closed,
Zuebeyde let in a horde of relatives who brought with them an air of suppressed
excitement such as vultures must feel as they circle over a dying prey. She put her ear
against the door but only murmurs and rumbles seeped through.
In the security of that narrow cell of a room that she shared with her sister, where
the men-folk never put a foot in, and where her mother hardly ever did, except to check
for orderliness, Melike took stock of the situation after absorbing the shock of the
bombshell.
So Meret had gone! She had always said she would leave. Meret had dared to
do what she did. Dared to do the unimaginable. Meret had finally done what she had set
out to do – live her own life. Melike hugged herself to contain the confusion of feelings
that threatened to erupt like a geyser.
Meret had finally broken free!
Melike’s heart lifted with happiness for Meret. She mouthed the words and heard
the tune in her head of the song that Meret had called Dorothy’s Song which Meret
always sang softly to herself when she was deeply troubled:

Somewhere over the rainbow skies are blue


There the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true

Could it be that Meret’s dream had come true? Had she found that she could,
and had flown over the rainbow, like the little birds in Dorothy’s song. Melike exulted in
her sister’s successful bid for freedom for it meant her salvation as well.
She came down to earth with a bump. There was a chill in her heart as she
realized that she was now left without an ally. She was afraid of the disruption that
Meret had left behind. Meret had always drawn the fire. Now the heat was on her. She
was aware that now she would be closely watched and denied even that little freedom
Meret was allowed to have.
And she was hurt that Meret had gone without leaving a word. Or had she? She
went to the closet and pulled out the bottom drawer and scrabbled at the back for the

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loose panel behind which they kept things that were not for the eyes of their parents and
their brother who had appointed himself the guardian of their morals.
She retrieved the envelope which held Meret’s treasured collection of postcard-
sized images of Justin Timberlake, Jon Bon Jovi, The Back Street Boys, Tokio Hotel, of
Antonio Banderas, Brad Pitt, George Clooney – teenaged girls’ dreams that other girls
of their age displayed as life-sized posters, thumb-tacked onto the walls of their rooms,
not tucked away in a hidey-hole at the back of a closet drawer.
There was no message from Meret for her. There were several photographs of
Meret, each showing her with a different hair style, and a photograph of her with her
newly-acquired boy friend, Justin, whom Meret claimed, bore a likeness to his
namesake, Justin Timberlake. Justin Zimmermann, slightly pimply, lank-haired, smiled
apologetically into the camera. Not Melike’s idea of a knight in shining armour, but a
drowning man or woman would clutch at any straw. He was Meret’s last straw.
The door to her room opened. With a swift, unhurried movement, Melike shoved
the envelope and photographs under a pile of clothes in the drawer. With the guile born
of long practice, she calmly re-folded a blouse, patted it into place on top of the others in
the drawer before turning to face her mother. The rumbling voices in the sitting room
had given way to sibilant whispers.
“I am going out. Do not leave your room. Your aunt Sevim will stay here until I
come back,” said her mother. She closed the door firmly, and Melike heard her leave
the apartment with the horde of relatives, thumping heavily down three flights of stairs.
Melike stood irresolutely. Something was definitely going on and she was being
kept in the dark. She opened the door and walked hesitantly into the sitting room. Aunt
Sevim sprang up like a jack-in-the-box from the sofa where she had ensconced herself
and stood quivering like a cornered mouse.
“Your mother said you are to stay in your room.”
“Please, Aunt Sevim, is it about Meret? She didn’t come home last night.”
“I cannot say.”
“Is it about Hamit, then? Is he in prison? Is that why my father is not here? Is that
where my mother has gone? To see him?”
“Best ask your mother.” Aunt Sevim looked desperate. She did not order, she
pleaded. “Go back to your room.”
Melike went, as she was bidden, to her room that was her fortress against hurts.
But there was no solace in that, even less with Meret gone. She stared at Meret’s bed. It
made a definite statement. Meret had left. Gone.

Somewhere over the rainbow


Where you wake up with the clouds far behind you
Where troubles melt like lemon drops

Dorothy’s song kept playing in her head. It spoke of all Meret’s yearning.
Melike could still see the defiant light in Meret’s eyes burning through the
puffiness of her bruised face. Her own was just as bruised. How could she ever forget
that day! She could still taste the blood where her lips had split.

Melike was sitting on a bench in the park with Meret, waiting for Meret’s friends
from the trade school where Meret was learning to be a beautician and hair stylist. Out
of the confines of their house, Meret had removed her headscarf and the black ankle-
length coat that hid the fashionably tight jeans that she wore. Both items of clothing
were now in a plastic shopping bag bearing the name of a well-known clothing store.

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Her dark luxuriant hair gleamed with a coppery tint and there was just a hint of blusher
on her high-boned cheeks. Her doe eyes, fringed by long naturally-curling lashes, were
highlighted by bronze shadows. Her lip gloss was a delicious pink. She was as lovely as
Penelope Cruz thought Melike with sisterly indulgence.
Melike was almost dozing off in the wash of afternoon light, lulled by the hum of
voices and distant traffic, when she was awakened by Meret’s startled gasp. A shadow
closed in on them and Hamit’s face loomed over them, white with rage, nostrils flaring,
dark eyes snapping.
“Whore! To sit thus and flaunt yourself!” hissed Hamit. His hand clamped on
Meret’s wrist like a vice. He hauled her roughly to her feet. Melike, clutching her sister’s
arm in alarm, rose with her.
“You’re hurting me, Hamit,” protested Meret, wincing.
Hamit squeezed her wrist all the tighter. Meret cried out at the pain. Melike, limp
with terror, hung on to Meret. Hamit dragged them both through the streets, ignoring the
speculative stares. Curious eyes slid away when they met Hamit’s knife-edged look. He
hustled them into the Underground Station, onto the train, and out, and back into their
apartment.
No sooner had the door closed on them than he lashed out at Meret, striking her
full in the face and sending her sprawling at his feet. Melike, cowering and shrinking
before him, was next. He hit her with the back of his hand, his ring grazing her cheek
and splitting her lips open. She did not know if the salt she tasted was her tears or her
blood.
Hamit then seized Meret by her hair and hoisted her up like a puppet on strings
and shook her till her teeth jangled. Dragging her head back, he brought his face close
to hers, spewing obscenities. Meret gagged at the foulness of his breath.
“Slut!” he screamed, pummeling her with his fist. “You dishonour our family! You
shame me! You’re a whore like the white sluts you call your friends!”
Their father added his voice to Hamit’s crazed shouting, drowning out Meret’s
choked cries. He did not lay hands on his daughters. He left that to his son. Melike’s
head throbbed with the thunder of their voices. She withdrew into a cocoon of her own
making, and the raging voices passed over her and retreated into the distance until she
heard them no more. In that safe far-away place, where she hardly felt pain, she saw
her mother standing in the doorway of the kitchen, blank-eyed, face closed.
Afterwards in their room, Melike sat as in a trance, hugging and rocking herself.
Meret’s nose which had stopped bleeding was swollen. Her face was puffy and red. It
would be a rich purple and blue by tomorrow. She was rubbing the wrist that Hamit had
crunched. She had not wept one tear. Her eyes were bright and hard and she was
smiling bitterly.
“I’ll have Hamit in prison yet,” she croaked. “I’m going to report him for battery
and assault. I’ll see him in hell if that’s the last thing I do.”
She laughed mirthlessly. Then she sang Dorothy’s song in a whisper that only
Melike could hear. The tune filled Melike’s head, rising to a crescendo where Dorothy
sang that if little birds could fly beyond the rainbow, why couldn’t she.
“I’m going, far, faraway from here. Justin and I will hunt around for a place of our
own. I want you to come and live with us, dear Melike. I’ll send for you when we’re
settled,” said Meret. She gripped Melike’s hand. “I promise.”

Aunt Sevim knocked at her door. There was still no sign of Zuebeyde.
“I’ll run out and get Pita Gyros for us. Stay in your room,” said Sevim.
Melike did not hear her mother come in. She slept a dreamless sleep and woke

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with a heavy head and a heart as leaden.
“I’m sending you to your sister Nadya,” Zubeyde announced at breakfast.
“Mother! But Nadya is faraway in Turkey!”
“You’re going to stay with her.”
“What about school? It’s not yet summer holidays.”
“You can start packing.”
“Meret . . .”
“Go!”
Melike went docilely. Once in her room, she let out a wail of despair. She took
out an exercise book, tore out a page and wrote agitatedly through her tears:

Dear Meret,
Mother is sending me to stay with sister Nadya in Turkey. You will have to find out where
she lives because I don’t know. You do remember Nadya, don’t you, she called you bad and
tried to scratch out your eyes. I don’t want to go to her, I want to stay with you. Don’t forget your
promise. I keep hearing you sing Dorothy’s song and then I am not afraid.
Melike
PS I am so happy for you.

Melike folded the tear-stained note carefully and put it into the envelope that
contained Meret’s photographs of her idols and returned it to its secret hiding place.
Meret, when she came to collect her things, would most certainly look there to retrieve
her treasure, and she would know where to find her.
While Melike was fumbling with the loose board, in the apartment building across
the street, the mother of one of her classmates grabbed her husband’s arm in
consternation.
“Mein Gott! Du Himmel! Erich, read this!” She shoved the Koelner Stadt-Anzeiger
right under his nose, stabbing the column with a trembling finger.

Brutal Slaying of Girl


Cologne - A 19-year old Turk is in police custody for the alleged brutal stabbing to death of his 16-year-
old sister yesterday evening near the Cologne City Trade School where she was a student.
Four weeks ago, the victim Meret S. brought a charge of battery and assault against Hamit S., and
a second charge of causing grievous bodily harm to his other 14-year-old sister. He was to start serving
his sentence two days ago but had requested a deferment.