He asked what he would do with the money he would earn, whether he had debts. He was pleased with the answers Durmuş gave.
“Alright, son,” he said. “I’ll take you on but… I can’t give much money…”
Durmuş said, “I don’t want much money, sir.”
“But I give very little money.”
“How much will you give?”
“One kuruş.”
“One kuruş a day?”
“No.”
“One kuruş a week?”
“No.”
Durmuş was a bit confused. He asked again:
“One kuruş a month, sir?”
“No! One kuruş a year…”
Durmuş thought this old gentleman was making fun of him. He laughed. He looked ahead. He was ashamed. But Müstakim Efendi said again, “One kuruş a year…” “But that’s not all. I’ll also give advice.”
Durmuş raised his eyes from the ground: “What do I need advice for? I need money, sir.”
“Money is spent, it runs out, son, or it gets lost. But the advice a person receives never runs out… It’s useful until death.”
Durmuş looked ahead sadly and sadly. He couldn’t understand at all that empty words would be useful. He kissed Müstakim Efendi’s hem again. He was about to leave. The old man said, “Wait, son.” “Look at the walls… You see… All full of books… There are five thousand books here. I read all of them. My life passed with knowledge. My hair and beard turned white over books. I became convinced that there is something more valuable than money, more useful than money—wisdom. Advice means ready-made wisdom. Otherwise, I could give you five or ten liras a year. But I’m giving advice that is more valuable than money. If you have sense, stay. Serve me.”
Durmuş said, “No, sir, I need money, I don’t need advice…” He went outside. When he was alone on the street, he thought. What was this advice more valuable than money? He came to the coffeehouse. That night he couldn’t sleep from curiosity. What was this advice he would give as an accompaniment to a single kuruş? In the morning, he took the road to Edirnekapı. He went to Müstakim Efendi. He kissed his hem.
“I got curious about the advice you’ll give,” he said, “I’ll serve you for one year.”
“Very well, son, at the end of the year you’ll take your kuruş and your advice…”
Durmuş swept the book room for exactly one year. He tended the garden. He carried water. He washed the stairs. He wiped the windows. He did all of Müstakim Efendi’s services. Finally, one morning his master called him: “Son, it’s been exactly one year since you came to me. Open your ears well. Let me give you your advice: Don’t go to a place whose way and path you don’t know! Take your kuruş too…”
Durmuş took the kuruş his master extended. He suddenly became annoyed. He thought he would receive great advice. However, this was just empty words.
“I already knew this advice, sir,” he said. Müstakim Efendi laughed: “If you knew it, good… Now you’ve remembered what you knew, that’s even better…”
Durmuş stood gaping. So he had worked a whole year for these two words… He kissed his master’s hem. He got permission. He was about to leave. The old man said again: “If you want, stay another year. I’ll give another piece of advice with one kuruş.”
“No, I don’t want it, sir,” Durmuş said and left. He went to his countrymen’s coffeehouse. At night he again couldn’t sleep from curiosity. What was this advice he would give? He had endured one year, worked for the first advice. Now he would burst from curiosity. What was the second one? He couldn’t stand it. He got up. He came to Müstakim Efendi’s house. He served for exactly another year. At the end of the year, Müstakim Efendi called him again. This time he gave the kuruş in advance. Then he said, “Take your advice: Don’t betray a trust!” Durmuş was annoyed again.
“Sir, I knew this advice.”
“Well, yes… If you knew it, now you’ve remembered it. Remembering what you knew is as useful as learning something new.”
As Durmuş was leaving, his master said, just like last year, “Son, if you stay one more year, I have one more kuruş and one last piece of advice for you.” Durmuş didn’t accept. He left. He went to his countrymen’s coffeehouse. One night, two nights, three nights… He couldn’t sleep comfortably. What was this last advice of his master? Maybe it was something he knew. But what was it? He kept thinking about this. He looked for work in a daze. He couldn’t find any. “Since my two years of labor went to waste anyway, I’ll struggle one more year, learn this last advice, and not remain curious,” he said. He came back again. He entered his old door. He served Müstakim Efendi for exactly another year. At the end of the year, his master called him again. He gave the kuruş in his hand, “Take your advice too,” he said; “Don’t send your wife to stay the night in a place where you yourself haven’t been!”
Durmuş shrugged at this advice too. He said to himself, “Just a bottomless word…” He got permission. When he was leaving, his master asked where he would go.
“Back to my homeland now, sir.”
“Won’t you enter another place?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I’ve been abroad for three years. My mother is old, let me go see what’s happened.”
“Very well, son, just when you’re setting out on the road, stop by here, I’ll give you a gift. Take it to your mother from me, alright?”
“Alright, sir,” he said. He went to his countrymen’s coffeehouse. This year he told those returning to their homeland what had happened to him. They all laughed.
“Man, you must be crazy!” they said. He no longer wanted to stay in Istanbul. But how would he go to his homeland? He had nothing but three kuruş in his pocket. One could come abroad on foot, but one couldn’t return from abroad to homeland on foot. Money was needed. Everyone would hire riding horses. It wasn’t possible to join this caravan on foot. His countrymen pitied his condition. Among themselves they collected enough money to rent him a horse. The evening they were to cross to Üsküdar, Durmuş went to his master’s house.
“I’m leaving now, sir,” he said. The old man got up: “May your road be open. Take these gifts to your mother,” he said, extending two large loaves to him. Durmuş said to himself angrily, “That inappropriate man! Look at the gifts he’s sending!” But he didn’t show it. He took the loaves. He came to the coffeehouse. He put them in his saddlebag. Together with those going home, he crossed to Üsküdar. They mounted the horses waiting at the inn. At night, in the moonlight, they set out on the road. They went over hills and valleys, plains. They crossed mountains. One day, at the edge of a forest, they came across a rather swollen water. They couldn’t find a place to cross. Durmuş laughed at his countrymen’s timidity before such water. He was about to drive his horse into the water. Just then, the advice his master gave came to mind: “Don’t go to a place whose way and path you don’t know!”
He gathered the reins. His horse’s front legs were in the water. His friend beside him didn’t stop. He drove his horse. After two steps, he suddenly disappeared in the water. They waited for him to come out. He didn’t come out. Then they found a shepherd in the vicinity. They learned where the water could be crossed. Apparently that place was a whirlpool… Durmuş thanked God for not driving his horse before that poor man by remembering his master’s advice. He forgave his one year’s right. On the road, his countrymen were also giving him food. One day he was very hungry. “Let me break off one of these loaves my master sent as a gift and eat it…” he said. As he was putting his hand in his saddlebag, the advice he had heard by spending exactly one year’s labor came to mind: “Don’t betray a trust!”
He pulled his hand back. “Let me not obey Satan,” he said. They walked several more days, several more nights. Finally one day they were passing by a dark forest. From among the trees they heard a voice: “Surrender!” He stopped. With him the whole caravan stopped. Bandits had surrounded everything. The bandit chief came out.
“Whoever wants to save his life should leave whatever he has on him here. Go on your way safely…” he shouted. No one could move. No one could escape. The bandits had also blocked the back of the road. Life is sweeter than property. Everyone poured whatever they had before the chief. Money belts earned with years of labor, gold pouches, silver, diamond gifts, many more things… When it came to Durmuş’s turn, he said, “I have nothing.” The chief didn’t believe: “What do you mean, aren’t you coming from abroad?”
“I’m coming from abroad.”
“Didn’t you work?”
“I worked.”
“Didn’t you earn money?”
“I didn’t earn…”
“Lie.”
“By God, I didn’t earn. Ask my countrymen if you want…”
The chief asked his countrymen. They all told how Durmuş hadn’t earned money, had served for one kuruş a year. The chief both laughed and got angry at Durmuş’s stupidity. He told his men, “Give this fool a beating so he’ll learn not to stay abroad again without earning money.” They laid Durmuş on the ground. They beat him with rifle butts until he was half dead.
All the travelers returned home penniless like Durmuş. Durmuş’s mother had grown even older. The poor woman told of the misery she had suffered for three years. “Why didn’t you earn money, son?” she was about to get angry.
Durmuş said, “If I had earned like my countrymen, I would have returned empty-handed anyway, robbed by bandits…” He was very hungry. He asked his mother for some food. The poor woman began to cry.
“There’s nothing, son, I haven’t had a bite for two days.”
“At least there’s a loaf my master sent you as a gift in this saddlebag. Let’s break one, eat it together,” he said. They took out one loaf from the saddlebag. When they broke it, gold coins scattered everywhere with a clatter. They were astonished. They broke the other loaf too. Its inside was also full of gold. Joyfully they collected them all. Durmuş forgave his master his two years’ labor. If he hadn’t remembered the advice “Don’t go to a place whose way and path you don’t know!” that he received by serving one year, he would have drowned in the whirlpool. If he had forgotten the advice “Don’t betray a trust!” he received the second year, he would have broken the loaves on the road, the gold would have appeared, then he would have been robbed like his countrymen… Slowly, as he thought, he began to understand what a great, how intelligent man his master was. If he had given him monthly pay while in Istanbul, he probably would have eaten it here and there, couldn’t have saved. Or while returning home, he would have met with an accident because he would spend it out in the open. The more Durmuş thought, the more he believed that “wisdom” was more valuable than “money.” Without “wisdom,” “money” was useless. Look at his friends’ condition!… They saw the punishment of passing through mountain peaks, through bandits with full belts.
When Durmuş became rich, he bought fields. He bought vineyards. He established a big farm. He became the ağa of his village. But he somehow couldn’t get married, even though he was past thirty, he couldn’t find and take a girl. To the village ağas who proposed marriage he would say, “I want to too, but on one condition…”
“What condition, ağa?”
“I won’t send my wife visiting to a place where I myself haven’t been.”
“Won’t you send her to her relatives?”
“I won’t send her.”
“Won’t you send her even to her mother’s and father’s?”
“I won’t send her anywhere I myself haven’t been.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know…”
Durmuş couldn’t forget his master’s last third advice. At first he hadn’t understood the first two pieces of advice either. But later… he saw how beneficial they were. In his own village, in neighboring villages, no one would give him a girl on this condition. Everyone was saying, “We won’t enslave our child.” Finally an orphan girl was found in a village two hours away. Durmuş took her. He made a wedding worthy of his glory. He was happy. A son came into the world. Four years passed. He didn’t send his wife anywhere. “Together as husband, together as wife,” he would say. One day his wife’s relatives came. There was a wedding in their village. They asked Durmuş for permission for one night.
“No, it won’t do,” he said.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
His master’s advice wouldn’t leave his mind. They begged, pleaded. He didn’t consent. His own villagers also got involved with his wife’s villagers.
“The poor woman will get sick…” they started gossiping. They all fell upon him together. They swore oaths. Durmuş finally couldn’t resist everyone’s insistence. He sent his wife to the village to stay one night. That evening from regret he couldn’t eat. “Why didn’t I listen to my master’s advice?” he began to feel troubled. What great benefits he had seen from the two pieces of advice he had listened to. Now who knows what great harm he would see for not listening to the last advice. He couldn’t stay. He had his servants prepare his horse. At night he reached the village two hours away, went to the wedding house. Young men were leaning on fences, watching the girls and women dancing in the courtyard under torches. He also approached. He saw his wife sitting huddled in a corner with her child. At whose relative’s would she sleep tonight? A worm entered him. He turned. He looked behind. An old woman was passing. He wanted to learn this from her.
“Look here, grandmother, I’ll ask you something.”
“Ask, son.”
“There’s a young woman sitting with her child in that corner, do you see?”
The old woman looked carefully, “I see,” she said.
“Who is she?”
“Ah, son, don’t ask, a cruel man took her. He made the world a prison for the poor young woman. For four years now, she’s just coming to her village…”
“Strange…”
“Yes, all the villagers pressured her, so she could get permission this time. Her husband is such a bad, such a cruel man…”
Durmuş’s heart began to beat. He asked where his wife would sleep. The old woman answered, “I don’t know.” Durmuş thought, pondered, and suddenly said: “If you can put me to bed with this woman tonight, I’ll give you five gold coins.”
“My lad, what’s easier than that?”
“So you can put me to bed with her?”
“Of course.”
“How?”
“Her relatives are my next-door neighbors. They listen to my every word. At the end of their courtyard there’s a single room. I’ll go, trick them, put this woman to sleep there. After everyone retires, I’ll take you and secretly put you in this room.”
“Tell the truth…”
“You just give the gold coins right away, my lad.”
Durmuş took out five gold coins from his purse. He gave them to the old woman. He tied his horse in her courtyard. He was trembling with rage. Past midnight. The old woman came. She took him. She passed him through a small garden gate. She put him in the single room at the very end of a courtyard. Durmuş had wrapped his face with a shawl. His wife didn’t recognize him. She immediately began to scream. Durmuş didn’t make a sound. He locked the door. He walked toward her. The poor woman had huddled in the corner, both screaming and kicking. She didn’t let Durmuş get near her at all. Her son, who had been sleeping since evening, was on the bed. He didn’t wake to his mother’s shouting. He slept soundly. Durmuş sat by the door so as not to make his wife scream more. He didn’t make any sound. The poor woman who cried all night had become numb from fear and fatigue toward morning. Roosters crowed in the courtyard. Durmuş quietly took his sleeping child from the bed. He silently went outside. He crossed the courtyard. He mounted his horse. He galloped back to his village.
When his wife’s relatives heard that the child had been stolen at night, they didn’t know what to do. “What answer will we give the ağa?” they began to think. The old woman found an easy solution to this too: “This room is old anyway… Let’s burn it. You say ‘There was a fire at night. We couldn’t save the child’…”
They listened to her. They immediately set the room on fire. Crying and moaning, they brought Durmuş’s wife to his house. They all had cracks on their foreheads. They kept beating themselves.
Durmuş asked, “Where’s the child?”
“Ah, what’s done is done. Our room burned at night. We couldn’t save the child…” they said. Durmuş laughed. “Why are you crying, dear?” he said. “May we be well. Thank God we’re young. God will give another.”
His wife’s relatives felt somewhat relieved by Durmuş’s coolness.
Just then the door opened. Durmuş’s child came in. He threw himself into his mother’s arms. Those who said the child had burned were astonished. Then Durmuş shouted, “You see, you lying scoundrels, why I wouldn’t send my wife to a place where I myself hadn’t been…” He kicked and beat them all out.
He turned to his wife. “If you had let me touch you there at night, I would have killed you immediately. Now take a lesson and never want to go anywhere separate from your husband again…” he said. He also forgave his old master the right of his three years’ labor.
