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Batman

‘Why do so many women commit suicide in Batman?’ they ask.

There is nothing we can add to life, other than death.

We are invisible at home and in the street. Like an old piece of rag that cleans the floors, the windows, the doors. We are put to all sorts of work. Life becomes even more unbearable once we start to blossom, once we are fragrant. Bored with our mothers, whose breasts have sagged, whose flesh has lost their firmness from giving birth a dozen times, the gazes of our fathers alight on our newly budding breasts. Suddenly our mothers go blind, our brothers deaf.

‘Why do so many women commit suicide in Batman?’ they ask.

There is nothing you can add to our life, other than death.

When we grow a little older we are married into other families. But we are found not to be virgins, for we are not. And in the morning of that very same night, we are dumped back in front of our fathers’ doors like milk that has gone sour. What a calamity! The dirty linen could not be kept secret, the true colours are revealed; the world is set ablaze. A scapegoat from among the destitute, the poorest wretch in the village is used to restore the family honour; this dog deflowered my lovely daughter on this and this date, before she could give herself to her husband, he is to be blamed! Yet words don’t suffice to clear the honour of a family. Someone must be hurt, blood must be shed. So that all should believe that the house the girl came from is immaculate.

The family elders speak: The boy who deflowered our girl on this and this date has a sister – doesn’t matter that she’s eleven or twelve, she’s a woman – we will deflower her.

One morning, as she’s out fetching water from the well, the wretch’s sister is held down and raped, with the help of the female relatives if necessary (what is there to be surprised at, after a point there’s no telling what’s right and what’s wrong) – so that everything fits into place. So that the father of the deflowered girl can brag: Mehmet, we know your son deflowered my daughter on this and this date, my honour has been avenged, we have deflowered your girl in return. We’re even.

‘Why do so many women commit suicide in Batman?’ they ask.

Instead, you should ask: Is a man’s blood sweeter than that of a woman?

Then an agreement is made to avoid a vendetta, so that guns are not fired in our peaceful, exemplary villages, so that the dear blood of the men would not spill from their precious veins on to the earth, so that no disgrace is brought upon the clan, with court appearances and newspaper coverage and all, so that they wouldn’t have to deal with the gendarmes or the journalists: the sister of such and such a youth married her rapist who raped her near the fountain, and the maid-no-more is given to the poor wretch who allegedly raped her on this and this date.

‘Why do so many women commit suicide in Batman?’ they ask.