“Enthralling” was all I said.

“I can tell you’re a poet,” he commented, with not a hint of irony.

“But how did it all start?” I prompted. “Weren’t you afraid? Or wasn’t he?”

“I’ve always had a thing for young guys. When I first saw Volkan I just melted. Like a tall glass of cool water, he was. I took him on as my assistant. I wanted him so bad, I couldn’t look at him. I stopped hanging out with the other fellows at the coffeehouse, and would sit with him in the minibus waiting for my turn to come. Oh, he was interested, too. Interested in just about everything. His dad was dead, his mother living with another man… You get the picture? He was all mine… Finally, one day, I couldn’t stand it anymore. I drove off with him toward Kilyos, pulled over onto one of those dirt roads. I told him how I felt… the way he made me feel… then I offered him money, said I’d increase his weekly wage.”

So that’s how Volkan began his career as a gigolo. Gay for pay right from the start. Ziya took another swig from the bottle.

“And did he agree?”

“Did he ever… Knew how to drive a bargain even back then… And he deserved every penny. I’d do it again. When I think of the pleasure he gave me… I’d hand over a hundred times more and no regrets!”

He started crying. I had a lovesick villain on my hands, and it wasn’t a pretty sight. There’s something about a badly dressed ruffian in tears that gets to me. I can’t take it.

I waited for the unhappy spectacle to end. He wept silently, tears streaming, face screwed up in anguish.

“Come, let me give you a hug,” he said.

A shoulder drenched in spit and snot would have been bad enough, but there was the possibility that I’d have to deal with even worse. If he crossed a line, I could always incapacitate him with a few aikido moves, but that was hardly appropriate behavior in a house of mourning. As a man, I found him revolting; but as the abandoned partner in a tragic and marginal love story, I was sorry for him nonetheless. Fighting competing feelings of pity and disgust, and a not inconsequential but grudging sense of respect, I gently sat down next to him on the bed. He took me in his hairy arms and continued crying-on my shoulder, just as I’d feared.

“I gave him everything I had… Did everything I could for him… I closed my ears to what they said behind my back. They called me a child molester, a boy bugger, a pervert. You name it, they said it. But I just ignored them. He was worth it! He was never treated like a minibus fare collector. He was like a little prince. The sultan of my soul… And when he grew up, I kept on loving him as much as ever… even more… and when he came of age, thinking he might have needs, I took him by the hand to a brothel… nothing happened… but the whores were amazed by his tool… You know, he was something else down there… a feast for the eye and the hand.”

Actually, I didn’t know, I’d never seen it. But Dump Truck Beyza’s account had left us all drooling. I nodded, and even managed a rather convincing sigh.

“So why did you two separate?”

“I didn’t… I wouldn’t, couldn’t… He left me. There was something strange about him when he came back from his military service. He was distant. Something had come between us, something cold. I wondered what had happened to him, tried to get him to talk. I mean, he was a stunner, and just that whopping big thing of his was enough to get him more than enough attention… But no, nothing had happened, or at least he didn’t tell me anything… I offered to take him on holiday… He wanted to go to Bodrum. I’d never been. Okay, I said. I rented out the minibus to another driver… And we went… He changed completely. The way he sat, stood up, dressed… When we walked together, he’d keep a few steps ahead or hang back, pretend to be looking at the shop windows. Like he was ashamed of me. Like he didn’t want to be seen with me.”

He swilled down another mouthful of cognac, the searing liquid no doubt the perfect accompaniment to his burning emotions. He paused for a moment, eyes shut, jaw clenched. Then, as he went on with his story, he seemed lost, hesitant, his voice rising and falling. All the time, as a surrogate Volkan, I was squeezed in a most unpleasant way.

“The ones who know tell me to put it behind me, to forget all about him. How can I forget him? He’s not the kind you forget. Do you think it’s easy? Could you forget him?”

“No,” I murmured, with some feeling. “I’m sure I won’t.”

“He’s unforgettable. Just unforgettable… We’ll find you a boy, I said, if that’s what you want… or if you’d rather have a preop tranny, we’ll get you one of those… I was willing to get him whatever he wanted. We shared women and boys, but we’d always end up in each other’s arms. It was real love! If that’s not love, what is?

“When we came to Istanbul he started talking about living in separate flats. I agreed. We fixed him up with a place… All the furniture and trimmings… Like a dowry. I went up to my ears in debt to get him the best of everything. Then one day he just changed the lock. He wouldn’t let me in. Can you believe it?”

“You’re kidding,” I exclaimed.

“I couldn’t believe it. It wrecked me something terrible. I waited outside for him, just to have a word or two… he wouldn’t give me the time of day! So I sent his sister, but he kicked her out.”

“What about Okan?”

“That was later. Okan was back home with their mother. That’s where the pimp grew up. Volkan hadn’t seen his face for years. But then, for some reason, he found him and brought him to Istanbul. He said something about not letting him be raised by a stepfather. That’s where the trouble started. It was all downhill from there.”

This version of the story was different from what Dump Truck and Catamite Nazmi had suggested earlier.

“It seems Okan is… fond of a drink…”

“A drink! The boy’s a junkie! Stoned out of his mind half the time… Supposedly got hooked back in the village. Claimed his stepdad would put opium in his milk to keep him from bawling. What a load of crap! Well, I’m not buying it. Never did.”

Ziya was off on a bender. And his hands began moving across my body. I ignored them.

“So why’d you pull a knife on him? You haven’t explained that one,” I pumped him.

“It’s like I told you. He wouldn’t let me into his house, our home, the flat I bought and decked out for the two of us to live in. You can imagine how I felt about that. Like I told you…”

“I don’t recall your mentioning a knife,” I said. “I suppose I missed that bit.”

He was now openly and unashamedly caressing me.

“You don’t miss a thing, do you?” he leered. “With big bright eyes like that, not a thing…”

Seconds earlier he’d been blubbering over the love of his life, Volkan, declaring he’d never forget him. Now he was slobbering all over me.

I gave him a hard push as I rose to my feet.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I demanded. “Shame on you, ayol!”

“I could eat that ayol of yours!”

“I’m going,” I said, raising my voice a little.

“Where are you going? Stay a while for a bit of nookie.”

He grabbed me with one arm and clasped his free hand over my mouth to keep me quiet.

“Just a kiss,” he said.

His breath smelled of stale tobacco and cheap cognac. I gave him a little push.

“But I like you,” he said. “You’re a reminder of my Volkan!”

I had no wish to be anyone’s memento. Nor would I be.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” I was tempted to admit that I’d never even laid eyes on Volkan, and that I’d come here only to satisfy my curiosity about his family, but I thought better of it. He was emotionally unbalanced as it was, and I didn’t have the heart. I held my tongue.

“Try it one more time and I’m leaving,” I warned him. “Or I’ll yell. Don’t say I didn’t tell you. Everyone will know your little secret.”

“Don’t get so angry, dear. So much rage and grace squeezed into one little package…”