the gray man

taa 5 sene önce çok sevgili bir dostumun yazdığı bir öykü bu. encoy.


…I am the Gray Man. I don’t know where I come from or where to go. I have no certain answer for a simple question: “Who am I?”. Still, I am the Gray Man and this is my story.

I don’t remember my yesterdays, and I most likely will not remember my tomorrows when they become my yesterday. There is one thing I am sure of, and that is, I am the Gray Man, and I watch people walk past me from Day to Day on one of those rusty brown benches in Central Park.

I watch people as they walk past me; some in haste, some slowly; all from different histories and memories. Some short, some tall, some brown, some Black, some white… And I wonder why some glance at me, and walk even faster. I am the Gray Man, what harm could I possibly be?

That Day, I say “that Day” because I have no idea of whether it was yesterday or the Day before or any other Day of my hazy past, I was out again. To watch people, to feel them, to experience their premonitions and to ironically find myself in their own existentialisms. I had this shabby old overcoat on, a pale Gray one to match my skin colour. Beneath that 20’s style fedora of mine, my mind was surrounded by those mysterious formations that you cannot hear, and I was supposed respond to them and try to help people that moan silently but hollowly, believing that nobody would hear them.

When they had asked me the question “What do you do?”, I was quite surprised since nobody had asked me a question before or even had the courage to dare it. As I had no answer for that, I stared into their eyes blankly to uncover their secrets. One of them cheated on his wife, another was concerned with his teen pregnant daughter and the officer with funny hair and big nose thought that he urgently needed an image change. I just said that I was the Gray Man, and they laughed at me. The one with the pregnant daughter roared: “How ironic!”. And that was long ago, in another sunny Day pushed into my subconscious.

Yeah, I have a gifting. I’m endowed with this horrible ability to sense the thing, the issue, the problem that sits all the way in your mind, waiting to have enough power to rebel and revolt. Luckier people are able to push these into a never-ending hole and become numb and bloodless creatures of painless but apathetic Days. Other ones, however, feel, fear, exaggerate, love and come face to face with the awful Truth that they are to die as Human beings. They don’t have silly dreams like being a member of a popular boyband, promoting to the position of a CEO or buying a new cell phone. Those people, who are able to use all of their five senses wholly develop an interesting palate for dreams: They dream of Flowers and Flowers, not as simple as they may seem, are the things I deal with.

That Day, the Day I was talking about, I realized something different. Quite different. When I looked at a Little blonde Boy aged probably between 5 and 8, I sensed, along with the ling of curiosity (for life that is temporarily located in our spirits until we become adults), the image of a Tulip. Nothing wrong with that. Usually, Tulips can symbolise anything at all, usually “big” things coming this way into our presences, soon or later. I turned my face to the elderly women that must be the mother of the Boy. She seemed to be enjoying her high-powered career; I saw daily concerns and images of ascending the social ladder. No images of the Tulip, still nothing unusual. However, as I stared into other people’s eyes, the ones that could Dream of Flowers, I came across to the same image. It was a delicate and fragile Black Tulip with pale green leaves curving gently at its sides.

I had never seen a Black Tulip before in any mind I peered to, any mind I inspected on. I didn’t know what they signified. It wasn’t a dandelion, which meant misfortune or lily which pointed out the evil and sickness. Black Tulips were just reminiscent of the Past and hope for the future for me at first but I was sure that it had deeper meanings.

By the way, I, the Gray Man, love to get in deeper and deeper in a Human soul. I possess what I lack, I acquire what I lost and retrieve the memories of the Days I forgot. I call them “my Little trips to the world”. I feel almost like Human. I like to feel like a Human being. What harm could I possibly be?

“How ironic!”

That Day, apart from that lousy weirdness, I was going to go to the dentist’s. I did actually. There were people, wincing at my skin colour as usual, trying not to be near to me more than 5 meters. I ignored them, as usual. When I approached to the desk, the Little desk where a cute secretary had taken her place with a purple rendezvous notebook. I glanced at the scribbling: “Ms. Doctor. 1:00. Mr. Gray. 2:30. Mrs. Accountant .4:00.” How many Times did I have to say that I WAS NOT Mr. Gray?! I am the Gray Man. I had been so since the fist moment I can recall myself as me.

When the secretary looked at my face and fortunately didn’t pronounce those two words I really cannot understand, I was relived. After she showed me the way to the dark room Mr. Dentist was waiting me, she burst into laughter. I could hear Miss Secretary giggle. I ignored her.

Mr. Dentist looked thoughtful. He didn’t even realize when I got inside the room. This happens to me often. People do not realize me when I get into the room. I must be walking very silently. I walk the twisted roads to the Human mind quite easily, too. Nobody has noticed me walking into the very heart of their souls. I must be walking very silently. They sometimes notice me when my perfume twitches their noses and make their eyes go watery.

That’s another thing I cannot get rid of. I have a permanent smell that haunts me and make people cry. However, I’m not affected by it since most people cannot smell their own perfumes.

It was my Smell which distracted Mr. Dentist from his thoughts. He put on his white shirt and proceeded with a small filling that needs to be done. “How are you today, Mr. Gray?” he asked. “The Gray Man,” I corrected, “I am fine and you?”. My sound was a bit wobbly because he immediately had some Little and Sharp instruments put in my mouth. The image of the Black Tulip was present in his eyes, too. Little and Sharp. Similar to those tears that have been tearing his shirt because of my smell.

“I’ve never wanted to become a dentist, you know,” he broke in abruptly, “I wanted to become a flyboy.” I knew, I had heard similar things either from them or from their muted whisperings all over the city. “I was fascinated by wars and stuff, the uniforms, the ranks… I knew, they were from another Time, another place, another world but the urge of belonging to the other world was strong has ever since remained as my truest desire. Sometimes I wish I had ripped my dentistry diploma that Day I got it because I forgot how to Dream.” Desire and destiny; both useless without the other. By the way, you didn’t.

“Now, Mr. Gray, it may hurt a bit,” he continued, “My marriage is not perfect, it can’t be but it was not one of the things I truly Desired. Not at all. I ended up crying on the Day of the Wedding. They asked me why I was crying. I said I was allergic to Strawberries. We had chosen to have Little Strawberry cheesecakes at the Wedding. Couldn’t I say “No, I’m just Allergic to pollen and nothing else and this damn Wedding makes me sick”? I could, I certainly would. I planned to but I didn’t. I became allergic to Strawberries that very Day. I miss eating Strawberries.”

“And, Mr. Gray this will be the last touch,”, he added, “I remember myself, at the age of 8, when Mommy died. I attended the Funeral; it was quite a simple one. I wore a Black tie and the tiny blue blazer she had sewn for me. There were lots of people in Black. They frightened me to “death”. They still haunt me in my Dreams. In those Dreams, birds sing to me “The Funeral March”. I swear to Chopin; because there will be no Mozart’s Requiem after it. A daft note sounds from the tail of the piano. I giggle, as a child. Did you know that I never laugh, if it isn’t for that daft note? Because I forgot how to that very Day; I’m pathetic. And, God, I hate Chopin.

His cell phone rang at that moment. “Hi, Mrs. Dentist. (…) No, I am not crying it’s just an afterwards effect of laughing gas. (…) Sure I’ll take kids from school. (…) Everything’s alright, I’ve never been tranquiller and happier in my life ever.”

Liar.

“I am the Gray Man and what harm could I possibly be?”

Liar.

Little and Sharp. Desire and Destiny. Wedding and Strawberries. Funeral and Chopin. How ironic.

“Enjoy your filling, Mr. Gray!”. It’s the Gray Man, you shit.

I must be walking very silently.

When they had asked me the question “What do you do?”, I was quite surprised since nobody had asked me a question before or even had the courage to dare it. Even myself. I tried to resist the temptation of moving my torch towards their inner shades; I sort of failed, but this Time I wasn’t going to lie to myself and convert my sense of “reality” into a “realm” of lies. “Nothing.”, a blatantly said word. They laughed at me, these three sweating police officers with huge bellies. I bet they had cranberry donuts in their glove compartments; it had been a long Time since I ate anything sweet. That might have been why the Truth was so bitter for me.

That Day, after the dentist’s, I went to the cinema to see an independent Norwegian movie called “Enough of Tiny People’s Massive Confessions”. I had heard that it had won awards from festivals from all over the world. I couldn’t understand why people gave even a little money to see how desperate people were, how lurking shadows frightened little girls at night in that dark and snowy country. After all, I did give money to see that film, too. I stopped examining the subject with no more longing for pushing this ridiculous subject farther.

I reached the entrance of the local theatre; which was decorated with the upcoming programs that seemed to be full of high-budget Hollywood movies that were actually led by not-so-young but attractive (at least for millions of females aged between 8-50) actors who had been married and divorced for several Times and ambitious actresses who had adopted children of all races to show how much they cared about the famine and poverty in poor regions of the world.

“How ironic!”

My attention was distracted from the posters by a demanding voice that announced “Enough of Tiny People’s Massive Confessions” would start in ten minutes; thus I rushed to the desk:

-“Ma’m I had booked a ticket for “Enough of Tiny People’s Massive Confessions”’s 14:27 matinee, two months ago.”

-“Are you Mr. Gray?"

-“Actually, it’s just the Gray Man, and I had talked with Ms. Booking Clerk, if I’m not mistaken, two months ago about 12:43 to book a ticket for the matinee which will start in 9 minutes 13 seconds now, and I would love to get it now, if I am not troubling you!”

-“Well, no need to be angry! It was probably me, who you talked to; but unfortunately I won’t be able to assist you in this matter since you are late to buy the ticket you have reserved. You have to be at least 24 minutes earlier to buy it according to our theatre’s rules. I have already sold them.”

She sniffed the air and noticed the funny smell of mine. Tears welled up on her eyes, bringing the shadow of an elegant Black Tulip to her green irises. “Blow it. I have seats next to the one you’ve booked, if you accept. When I was a teenager (not aware of the world around me, but believing to be the opposite), I don’t remember a “Time” I was on “Time” for the movie. Neither for the reservation limit nor the movie itself. I was always late no matter what. Now, I get to scold people for being late. I deny the “Time”. I deceive people with the lies I never bought. I Believe that I will eventually be fooled with these lies. That is a lie that I never Believed in, or at least I Believe that is; unless I’m lying at the moment.” She was lost, denying the regularity of the universe, denying the common sense, denying the concept of Time.

“I miss being late to the pictures.” she whispered to herself, grinning childishly, afraid of the possibility of me hearing her. Her tears touched her upper lip, she swallowed them like a baby, and thought she would eventually drown in the Truth, this was no lie and she did at the end. By the time she handed me the ticket, she was late for life. The shadows of the Black Tulips in her irises faded a little bit but they stood frozen at their places. Her body lost twenty one grams of memories, disappointments and perhaps confusion. You know, eye muscles of the dead do not contract. However, she was happy to be late again, at last.

I knew I had just enough time to let me buy popcorn before the ads were over. The kids, over there at the stand, glared at the face beneath the fedora. There’s nothing more bitterly than kids’ glare. As soon as I came over to the stand, they disappeared; this was what normal people would do. I turned my face to the short spotty boy behind the stand: “I want it regular. Small size.”. “I’m afraid, I’ve just run out of it, man.” he responded. “No problem.”.

Mr. Popcorn Boy (that was his name, I caught a glimpse of his theatre identity), realized how funny I smelt, too. He was just going to joke about it when my smell really hit him. “But you can have extra-buttered if you want. That’s my favourite.” he said with a miserable gesture. “Do you see the spots all over my face? That’s because that I used to eat lots of popcorn before I started working here. The real reason that drove me to have this position was that I would be able to eat more. Funny, isn’t it? Now, what I do is, I sell popcorn without gobbling up a single one of them. The only things that are the reminiscent of my previous life are these spots. And this stupid job I’ve acquired for no reasonable aim (if we ignore my gluttony). I try to make people addicted to the popcorn without realizing that I should get rid of my addiction first. I deny the “Human Nature”. I sell what I will never possess unless I get a move on. I believe that I will get the chance of eating heaps of them one Day in this theatre, but no way, that’s a lie, dude, but I still lie to myself. I’m a liar and this is my favourite lie.” He was lost, denying the regularity of the universe, denying the common sense, denying the Human Nature.

“I miss having a spotless face.” he whispered to himself. He kept not telling the Truth. The Black Tulips that had appeared the moment we started to talk in his eyes burnt with fire. He was lit by the desire to suppress his being. This was not right; this wasn’t what it was supposed to be. He quitted the place, the theatre, the city, perhaps the country, the Black Tulips in his eyes dead yet his body alive.

“How ironic!”

I quickened my steps to not to miss the beginning of the movie. My coattails brushed against the walls along the narrow corridors of the cinema. When I got inside, I got puzzled. It was dark and the film was about to start and I didn’t know where my seat was. Fortunately, Little Miss Show-You-Your-Way was there to help. I had known her before since she was the only one that showed people their way to their seats in the whole movie theatre.

“Hey, Mr. G, how do you do today?” she chuckled cheerfully. “You probably meant “the Gray Man” and yeah I’m fine, whatever, here’s my ticket.” I replied furiously. “G 8.5, eh? Perfect, it’s at the back in the middle, you’ll be comfortable there, Mr G, follow me.” There were familiar faces above the seats, at least familiar emotions. There were feelings I had sensed before, a light perfume of violet for an unspoken grief, an odour of yellow daisies for inexplicable bliss and so on… Each was very distinctive and hard to miss, I could tell them apart easily, without second thoughts. Little Miss was also accustomed to these smells, too, but the one she wasn’t used to was none other than my silly perfume.

“Oh, sorry, I got confused,” she apologised for not being able to determine the location of the seat, “This has happened to me a lot, lately. I just stand looking around to find the place of the seat but mostly I become struck by the ghostly faces of the people which have sat, here in these saloons, in the previous matinees. I cannot forget their nose-twitching fragrances and nauseating scents. I have changed a lot during these three-four months; I have become a person who is distracted and disturbed by anything and everything. I find it hard to fill the space that someone has left in me with another person; I detest forgetting a smell and sniffing thousands of new smells to furnish my greedy self as if they’re sins. Yeah, I have become a sinner, I struggle not to, but I have become one already. I’ve had a resolution to accept my sins but the weakening rigorous murmurs of the deathly transparent heads glaring at me when I have people to examine their tickets, make it impossible. I deny the “Past”. I try to penetrate the thoughts I’ve never been able to suppress and pour my being to these permanently empty seats, without any success but weariness. I feel as if this movie theatre is deserted and no one has come here since the first Day I started working here.” Suddenly the lights were put out and it was announced that film was about to start. “I’m lost, I cannot help you sir. I’m afraid of the dark, you know. I never understood why they accepted my admission although I told people here that I won’t be able to operate when the saloon gets dark.” She was lost, the regularity of the universe, denying the common sense, denying the Past.


“I forgot how to use the Past tense.” Blazing Black Tulips in her eyes lightened the whole movie theatre. “However, I still live in the darkness of the Past, which is why I never use Past tense. It’s all present tense for me,” she continued miserably, “Or maybe the Past lives in me and I can’t dare to pronounce its name, to make it wake up and leave its place. I fear that I won’t survive in Present because I also fear that nothing will be able to envelope the huge hole which Past will leave in my soul.” I sobbed silently: “No, you didn’t, you still remember it!” The Black Tulips illuminated the way I should follow to reach my seat. When I sat, the light disappeared, Little Miss disappeared and the strange smells disappeared. Past was really annoyed by her opposition and sealed her body to itself while her spirit left her body and flew into present and would soon pass onto bright bright future, in contrary to the theatre which was destitute of light.

As the film started, I got up to leave the saloon which was empty, not a single person was there to watch the same film which I have been late to receive my reserved tickets.

“Because I had an existence beyond the Time.”

I left the movie hall, as well as the deserted movie theatre which no one had gone to or worked in for 3-4 months.

“Because it was my favourite lie.”


I had bought the movie theatre myself half a year ago.

“Because I was only capable of living throughout the Past.”

I had only let them show that desperate movie I was late to.

“Because that was how I walked silently into people’s lives.”


I was just the Gray Man, not Mr. Gray.

“Because I had seen “Enough of Tiny People’s Massive Confessions” too many times before, yet never.”

When they had asked me the question “What do you do?”, I was quite surprised since nobody had asked me a question before or even had the courage to dare it. Even myself. I would love to say that his wife cheated on him with me or I screwed the other’s daughter or I was the sole reason why the third officer’s hair looks so funny and his nose enormous. That would be true, at least. I was the one who devastated their lives, apply restrictions on their imagination and ruin their dreams. I was the man who had brought those “funny mirrors” to the Earth, just after the Big Bang, making life more complex than it could have been. These “funny mirrors” have never reflected a ray correctly, thus, everyone lied, and the only definition for the Truth was in dictionaries, yet that definition was unreal unfortunately. Liars make up what doesn’t exist; so they wrote a definition for the Truth. Truth is the most talented liar you can ever come up to, because we all buy it.

“What harm could I possibly be?”

I finally returned to my usual spot in Central Park. I was still curious, guessing what would happen next. While I was busy, dreaming of the Days ahead, (which will practically be the same with that Day) and how I would forget that Day, I was once again caught aback. A young brunette aged between 20 and 25, a blue flowery tiara on her head, approached to me and asked: “Hey you, Gray Man, would you like to buy some flowers? I have some lovely violets!” I was delighted that she had saluted me correctly, trying not to see the fact that she didn’t even know me.

“I bet your name is Miss Florist, ma’m, so what do you have in your little basket?” I answered delightfully. “It’s none of your business but my name is actually Scarlett Fitzwilliam, to satisfy your curiosity and I do have exquisite and even tropic flowers if they interest you!” she replied arrogantly. “Which one of them has the most lasting odour?” I broke in abruptly with a meaningless point. “Well, sire, it’s hard to answer this question because I cannot sense any smells, my nose has been dumb for donkey’s years! But I would offer you these Tulips because people tell that they have fascinating scents…” she handed me a carefully arranged bouquet… of Black Tulips!

Before I had any time to cover my nose, I obeyed the order of the Tulip and accept her dominance helplessly. “I have seen reflections and images of Black Tulips all Day long, wondered what they really meant, now I get it! I had chosen the paths that people would walk, eventually made sure that they didn’t walk up to other paths but today they rebelled. Some were victorious whereas some failed; I pretended that my grip over them was still solid and firm. I made them deny the Human Nature, the Time, the Past, so that they will have nothing but me to hold on to because I am the irregularity, I am the disorder, I am the total of the imperfects in the universe! I am the inner conflict of the Human beings!!! I will remain as the permanent question of “being” in the minds of the people as long as I make up Truth out of lies and lies out of Truth, I am a lie and I tell lies, does this make my lies the Truth?!” She stood speechless, but grinning. Some words spilled out of her mouth: “I have defeated you, you bastard.”

A florist that cannot sense the scents of her own flowers…

A heartless man that senses every and each emotion…
"How ironic!”

This is the difference between the reality and the realm of lies. I’ve never been able to be true completely, or realise the Truth justly, I have believed to have been yet. The Black Tulip was the painful realisation of one’s being, I understood, and accepting yourself the way you are. It was what I wasn’t. It was the Truth, the Black Tulip was the only thing that I have not lied about when narrating this story.

Nothing was ironic, it was simply the truth.

I never walked silently; it was just a mere echo of my loud steps.

The police officers never had cranberry donuts in their glove compartments; they were chocolate flavoured.

“My Little trips to the world” were their one-way tickets to hell.

I was not a harmless weirdo, I was the inner Apocalypse of the Human.

Truth wasn’t the greatest liar; because I was.

…I am the Gray Man. I don’t know where I come from or where to go. I have no certain answer for a simple question: “Who am I?”. Still, I am the Gray Man and this is my story.