An old aged couple trudged their way up into the ferry, limping their way on the narrow aisle. The lady had a floral mauve scarf on, which was tied around her face and was knotted under her chin. It was hiding most of the sides of her already thin face, small glasses curved tightly on the bridge of her nose. She wore a loose black skirt and a big beige blouse ending to her knees.
The old man had a ruffled fringe of grey-white hair around his balding, speckled scalp. He had round-framed glasses on his gnarled face and a back slightly hunched with a walking stick in one hand and his lady's hand in another. Dressed in a checkered blue shirt and black pants with suspenders to keep them together, he seemed to look well-built for his age. but apparently he was quite old; about eight decades.
A friendly attendant took their boarding passes and showed them their seats down the corridor in the corner.
"Can we have a seat near the door? Makes it easier for us to get going," The old man said in a croaky voice.
The attendant immediately agreed, "Sure."
She sat by the window, he took a seat beside her. The entrance was right in front of them and he looked around over the rim of his thick glasses, passengers shuffled in, filling in the array of seats from back to front in sequence. He closely looked at every man or woman who passed by him.
Once the seats were full, the door closed and the captain's adenoidal announcement came on, "Ladies and gentlemen, we the crew of ErTurk Lines welcome you on board. Our destination would take about three hours and we'll sail for twenty-mph. Hope you have a pleasant cruise. Thankyou!"
The woman started to doze off when the ferry caught speed, while the man peeked out of the window, his gaze reaching to the far off horizon. The blazing chroma of the sun melted into both the deep blue abundances. He watched the waves overlapping one another as the craft sailed forward.
Her head kept bobbing out of its balance as she napped with her mouth slightly open. He gently rested it on his shoulder, putting an arm behind her to lean comfortably back and get some rest himself.
A girl in her teens, seated two rows behind heaved a sigh of envy and thought that how could the oldies love unconditionally the same person for years?
Irony had a crazy laugh because neither were they old nor were married for long.
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Dusk was falling, the sun sank lower in the sky and the day's warmth had ebbed to a cool breeze that blew their faces through the rolled down windows. Their taxi moved among cars, people, buses and trains as it sped towards the Bosphorus Bridge. It was the pride of the nation, arching elegantly over the clear blue river, a solid structure that resisted gravity. Seen from over the hills standing in the silhouette, it was a sign of home to all that lived and loved the capital. At first glance, the river seemed serene and peaceful, but underneath the surface were somewhat rough currents that would whiz away anyone who dared touch it. This bridge also divided the two worlds; the East and the West and they headed where their roots pulled them.
Istanbul rolled past below now that they were up on the bridge, the hills filled to bursting with mankind. Historic stonework palaces and domed mosques trampled against modern skyscrapers, some rising up to seventy stories tall. Two narrow rivulets of emerald water carved the city into three parts, and a quiet sea stretched away to the south, studded with countless merchant ships under steam and sail, flaring a dozen different flags.
With turns into narrow lanes and spinning around to the old part of the city, the taxi halted in front of a small local motel that had somehow managed to elbow its way between a converted warehouse and a block of apartments.
The motel had just five floors, stacked on top of one another like a house of cards, each one with a view of the canal. The area was congested and old, but it was clean enough to be able to bear for a couple of days.
They stumbled out of the taxi, a dingy middle-aged bellhop flew down the front steps; to help the old couple make their way in with their bags.
A pair of mighty antlers adorned the mantle of the rustic lobby, with the walls covered in traditional handicraft mats and calligraphic plates of Quranic verses. It was homely, but not plain. Thick, gold bordered sofas were crowded around the stone fireplace with a big fur rug covering the old wooden floorboard. Warm smell of some delicious cooking wafted through the air. The cosy atmosphere was a welcome change from the somewhat remote, frigid island.
As they both reached the check-in desk, the short receptionist behind it asked for their passports for security verification. The old man fidgeted his pockets and pulled out two red Norwegian copies and slipped it on the desk towards him. Giving a brief look, he returned them without saying anything and placed a key on his palm.
The creaking elevator rose up and dinged on the third floor. He matched the number on the keychain and the door turning the key in the hole. When it unlocked, he gestured his wife to wait and he entered to have a look.
He checked behind the door, opened the bathroom door next to it, glimpsed in and shut it back. Then, he opened the two-doored, large closet in the narrow passageway, adjoining to the rest of the motel room.
Shaking the curtains, he opened the small balcony door to peek out over the iron railing. Next, he checked the chest of drawers, the nightstand drawers, the cabinets of the tiny kitchen island that was built "L" shaped at the corner of the room. He even opened the water tap, just to be sure!
Once fully satisfied, he went over to the entrance and called her in, "It's safe."
She rolled her eyes and dragged herself in, scrutinising the small apartment like room with a displeased look on her face. She was used to the Le Meridian or the Fairmont, a place like this was extremely unexceptional for the beautiful city of Istanbul.
He caught her facial insult and retorted, "Not a VIP suite? Sad."
A scowl formed on her tired face, she sat on the chair placed in front of the window and untied her scarf, gawking at him all the while. He was pulling in the bags along with a food parcel which the bellhop had just left near the door.
Removing her glasses and the white hair wig, she asked, "Where did the passports come from?"
"From us."
"Fake," She assumed and peeled the scaly skin mask off her hands and some patches from her forehead and cheeks.
"Duh?" He placed his bag on the footstool and removed a pair of clean sweatpants.
It was for people like him that there was so much chaos in the world, a lot of negativity and bad vibes. The need for passports and those extra security measures were taken at airports and elsewhere, all to overtake gangsters like him.
She wondered, how many people on the ship were disguised like them as someone else to hide their identity for whatever reasons. All her life, she had been travelling on planes and trains or even a ship once before, and on those, she wondered if the people travelling were real. Suddenly, she felt that every face in the world had a mask on.
It wasn't just Moutasim, it was a whole gang, an extensively built organisation, like those of multinational companies functioning worldwide. She shuddered thinking how many different groups would there be in number all around the globe, clashing against each other to compete.
The mafia is no longer buried just to the underworld, it is spread everywhere, you name it, everywhere. With the growing innovations and technology, it is the mafia which is prospering and flourishing the most, the medical industry being on the top list. Thousands of people being diagnosed with cancer each year and the aftermath of most expensive treatments to "cure" the so-called disease which is planted artificially through processed food or just plain, grown food with injections of poisonous chemicals. There, you got another one; food industry. It is all out in the open, with people like me and you, playing deaf and dumb all along.
They are all linked with one another, she thought. Just because we can see Moutasim doing the bad, doesn't make the rest of us so good. With time, the world got evil and there was no sign of reversing back any sooner.
"Why are you doing this, Moutasim?"
"What?"
"Kidnapping-" Her voice was starting to tear up as she stood and neared him.
He waved her away, "I need to sleep."
"And I need answers."
"I don't have any."
"Why am I here with you then?! Of all people in the world, why you?" She cried, hot tears spilt down her face.
Grouchiness was taking over the long sleepless hours, "Because I saved you, damn it! You were kidnapped by Panther's men."
She rubbed her red eyes, "You're one of them."
He sighed and held his palms up, giving up to her stone head, "Look, it's complicated," he sighed again, running his hand back his hair, "It's become a gang rivalry and they're on to me now."
"To hell with it! I want to go home, everyone must be so worried."
His mouth twitched.
She got irritated, "What's so funny?"
The grin got wider, "I made sure they don't get worried,"
"Why err... How?"
Tiredness, hunger, sleep and to top it all, confusion. Moutasim Ali Khan needed to know the timings for playing riddles and jokes because if that chord struck which often made her lose sanity, he'd be doomed forever and returned to his Creator.
"I told them we've gone on our honeymoon. A surprise honeymoon, for our ultra surprising wedding." He drew the curtains shut and winked at her, a smile lingered on his face.
Her face reddened, "You didn't do that,'
Uh-oh.
He shrugged, "Oh, yes I did, sweetheart. Thanks to you," and said while removing the white moustache.
"Alright, so you're going to blame me for the rest of my life?"
THAT. IS. IT? It's a lucky day. He mentally wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead.
"Actually, no. We're ending our marriage, remember?"
"My bad, I forgot."
"What do I make out of it, then?" The bald wig came off next.
"That I want to get out if it as much as you."
He was unbuttoning his shirt, "Doesn't seem, though."
"Now, I wouldn't go chanting 'End this marriage', 'End this marriage' all the time." Suspicion crept into her eyes as she saw him undo the last button on the hem.
"My goodness, something sensible came out of your mouth for the first time, ever. It's unbelievable, to be honest," He chuckled and pulled his shirt off and winced as his shoulder shot up with pain.
"What the heck are you doing?" She turned around with a jerk.
"I sleep this way,"
"You aren't alone,"
"No one's inviting you to watch,"
"Shut up!"
"Get some sleep, Riya. Give your tongue a break."
"As if you've been quiet as a mouse," she muttered and fetched some clothes for herself.
Moutasim jumped in the covers and his drooping eyelids shut as soon as he did. The old man's pants were still on and his own lay forgotten on the floor near the things he had thrown hastily. He so much needed the sleep after thirty-six hours of extreme turmoil that had disrupted their lives. Now, that he knew they were completely out of danger, he was going to have a good one.
"I'm not up for the wild cat in you, at the moment."
She thrust a cushion his way and it landed on his head. He smirked lazily with his eyes closed and tossed it away
Old age was lying in a heap at her feet while she still didn't know where tomorrow would take her.
As she turned the bathroom doorknob to get a quick shower, she heard his faint rumble, "There's some food on the kitchen counter."
Glancing back at it, she definitely felt better, because food was her life and he just knew how to keep it marvellous.