{"id":646,"date":"2012-08-07T00:59:37","date_gmt":"2012-08-07T00:59:37","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/?p=646"},"modified":"2023-11-04T15:06:31","modified_gmt":"2023-11-04T15:06:31","slug":"the-keepers-heart","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/?p=646","title":{"rendered":"The Keeper\u2019s Heart"},"content":{"rendered":"

This is the kind of Friend
\nYou are \u2013
\nWithout making me realise
\nMy soul\u2019s anguished history,
\nYou slip into my house at night,
\nAnd while I am sleeping,
\nYou silently carry off
\nAll my suffering and sordid past
\nIn Your beautiful
\nHands<\/em><\/p>\n

– Hafiz <\/p>\n

Yusuf had the largest hands of any man in the entire Hatay province. Even bigger, rumor had it, than Munah-the-Fisherman<\/em> who had once wrestled a giant squid from out of the blue sea. Even grander some folk said than Coskun-the-Generous<\/em>, who could hold eight ice creams in both his hand without crushing a single cone.<\/p>\n

His hands had been revered since he was a small child. The Holy Man, in particular, had watched them with great interest.<\/p>\n

\u2018He has Keeper\u2019s hands,\u2019 he had gushed. \u2018Our village has not had a Keeper for over two hundred years. Yusuf is a blessing. He is a blessing to all of us.\u2019<\/p>\n

Yusuf\u2019s mama had politely nodded. Yusuf was indeed a blessing. Her ninth such blessing in as many years.<\/p>\n

As a child Yusuf was made to sleep in goatskin gloves and forbidden to play anything but Tavla and cards. It embarrassed him deeply to have such beautifully kept hands. The other boys had wild stories etched upon their skin; scars from fist fights and pide burns, brazen scratches from climbing trees. But Yusuf\u2019s hands were soft and supple. They smelt of sweet rose oil.<\/p>\n

\u2018You have Keeper\u2019s hands,\u2019 his mama said whenever he complained. \u2018They do not belong to you my child. They belong to all of us.\u2019<\/p>\n

But Yusuf did not want Keeper\u2019s hands; he wanted Skinner\u2019s hands instead. Skinners made good money he\u2019d heard, especially those with big hands like his.<\/p>\n

\n

Now when he was sixteen Yusuf was taken from his mama. Led away by the Holy Man up to Jebel Aqra<\/em>.<\/p>\n

\u2018Don\u2019t despair,\u2019 the Holy Man said as they walked the mountain\u2019s ragged slopes. \u2018Once you have become a Keeper you can come back home to us.\u2019<\/p>\n

He then left the boy on the bare limestone peak and returned back to the village.<\/p>\n

Yusuf was gone for exactly ten years \u2013 one for each digit that spanned his great hands. At first he had stubbornly resisted becoming a Keeper at all, arguing petulantly with the gods that he would make a better Skinner. But as time passed, and his temperament slowly mellowed, his dreams of such menial work gradually ebbed away too and he began studying the Keeper\u2019s Edict<\/em>, carefully learning every word. <\/p>\n

A Keeper is a chosen vessel whose hands are not his own. His only purpose is to hold the burdens he is given throughout his life. In the day he should keep them in his open hands but at night he may let them sleep in the crook of his arm. He should listen whenever they speak to him but never answer what they ask.<\/p>\n

Remember you can never break what has been truly broken!<\/em><\/p>\n

When Yusuf eventually returned to the village only the Holy Man and his mama could recognise his face. Gone was the boy with the unruly tongue and the frown of a put-upon. Instead was a man with black untamed curls who used his eyes to speak. Such beautiful eyes too; the colour of ripening almonds \u2013 with long, blinking lashes that fluttered like small wings.<\/p>\n

Yusuf\u2019s mama begged him to remain in the village but the years on Jebel Aqra<\/em> had made him humble so he lived up among the mountains nearby. A cave not far beyond the village walls where the evening sky cast lavender shadows across his rock-strewn home.
\n<\/p>\n

\n

Now as a Keeper Yusuf only had one duty which was to keep the burdens he was brought. Burdens brought just before dawn\u2019s light by way of a special courier.<\/p>\n

\u2018Merhaba Keeper,\u2019 the courier always said. His greeting never changed. \u2018I have a burden from the Holy Man that he has asked for you to keep.\u2019<\/p>\n

Yusuf would then welcome the courier in from the night sky and they would sit on hard cushions and sip apple tea. After they were finished the courier would open his silk purse and gently place the burden in Yusuf\u2019s outspread hands. They weren\u2019t really burdens though that were put in Yusuf\u2019s hands but rather broken hearts. Hearts that Yusuf would keep in his own great hands until they were whole and healed again.<\/p>\n

\n

The first few days were always the most difficult for Yusuf as he tried to rebuild trust in something that was broken. Most days he spent in silent meditation or humming Sen Bir G\u00fczel Meleksin<\/em> in his sweet, tender way. His only task during these precious days was to provide comfort to the broken heart, which nestled like a wounded animal in the curve of his great hands. <\/p>\n

Later as the heart grew a little more robust he would take it out wandering among the bouldered landscape. Or down by the stream, where the water danced like scattered diamonds and the fish blew bubbles high into the air. <\/p>\n

At night he would sleep with it in the crook of his arm or if it was afraid he would bring it to his chest where it would rise and fall like a boat out at sea. <\/p>\n

Once a week the Holy Man came to see Yusuf, bringing him kibbeh and fresh garden figs. <\/p>\n

\u2018How are you, Yusuf?\u2019 the Holy Man would ask.<\/p>\n

Yusuf\u2019s response was always the same. His life was simple with little luxury but there was a freedom in this way. His only lament, if he were honest, was that at times he was lonely and he missed the weight of a loving woman. But Yusuf knew, as he had always known, that a Keeper\u2019s hands no matter how great would never be able to keep a wife as well. So he saw no sense in vexing the Holy Man with such an unsolvable thing and instead replied that he was feeling fine if not a little weary.<\/p>\n

\u2018Weariness is to be expected,\u2019 the Holy Man replied. <\/p>\n

Now usually after some weeks had passed or sometimes many months the heart would begin to stir again. Gently sighing and then stuttering softly, trying to find its voice once more. Yusuf would hold the heart to his ear and listen to what it said. Sometimes it told him everything. Other times very little. Some wept and bled with wrecked despair; others quietly mended all on their own. Each heart healed in a different fashion just as it had broken<\/p>\n

Often as they became stronger they became more curious as well and would begin asking Yusuf questions to pass away the time. Yusuf answered most (though the Edict<\/em> forbade him to) for Yusuf had found no harm had ever come by answering simple questions.<\/p>\n

\u2018What is the secret to Adana kebabs?\u2019<\/em><\/p>\n

\u2018Ninety-nine percent hard work and one percent love. If you don\u2019t make them with love something in the flavour will be lost which is not fair on you or on the lamb for that matter.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Who do you think are the more romantic \u2013poets or mathematicians?\u2019<\/em><\/p>\n

\u2018Why mathematicians, of course. Think of how sensually curved the number 8 is when compared with a rigid t.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Why must the birds sing through all the night? Don\u2019t they wish to sleep?\u2019<\/em><\/p>\n

\u2018Birds are selfless that\u2019s why they sing. So no one feels alone.\u2019<\/p>\n

And every time Yusuf answered a troubled heart it would nestle deeper in his hand.<\/p>\n

Finally, as always, there came a night when the heart began to thump so triumphantly it would keep Yusuf from his sleep. Then he knew the heart was healed and the courier would return. He never grieved to see them go in fact it gave him peace somehow. <\/p>\n

Usually the next he would walk down to the village to visit his mama and eat pomegranates. In the evening he would meet his many brothers and enjoy a night at the local tavern. Occasionally he might enjoy a woman too, although over time he became fearful that he could break their hearts whenever he walked away. So he did this less and less. It made no sense to be a Keeper if you were a Breaker then as well.<\/p>\n

<\/a>Now Yusuf kept hearts for the next twenty years. Each one brought to him in the same careful manner, always before dawn by the same humble courier. Nothing much changed except the dark curls around Yusuf\u2019s temples, which elegantly and without argument, slowly attired themselves grey. <\/p>\n

But then one evening came a vicious storm which blew bitter winds straight through Yusuf\u2019s sleeping bones. He woke suddenly, shivering in his bed, and rose to shut his window. Peering out into the night sky his eyes became transfixed by a faint ginger glow, bobbing wildly along the mountain path. Surely it was too early for the courier now? It was only midnight or just beyond. <\/p>\n

\u2018You are early,\u2019 he shouted from the door. <\/p>\n

\u2018No,\u2019 replied the Holy Man, \u2018I fear this time I am too late.\u2019<\/p>\n

Yusuf immediately ran to the man. The Holy Man was not a young man now \u2013 his gait was far from steady.<\/p>\n

\u2018But where is the courier?\u2019<\/p>\n

The Holy Man came inside the cave, removed his hood and shook his head.<\/p>\n

\u2018This heart, my son, it could not wait and the courier was not at home.\u2019 <\/p>\n

He then handed the heart straight over to Yusuf, whose almond-washed eyes widened with surprise. This heart he could feel was barely alive and bore a wound as black as loss stretched across its skin.<\/p>\n

He took it in his hands and sat on the stool he kept by a small fire. He sat there all night while the Holy Man slept, he did not move except to breathe.<\/p>\n

The next morning the Holy Man stirred with first light and saw Yusuf sitting with the heart. <\/p>\n

\u2018You may lose this one,\u2019 he warned gravely as he readied for the journey home. <\/p>\n

Yusuf nodded but did not speak. Keepers rarely lost a heart and Yusuf had not yet. But he had always known that such a thing could occur. <\/p>\n

Some hearts when broken simply did not mend.<\/p>\n

\n

For the first days Yusuf did nothing but sit. He drank only tea and ate figs stuffed with walnuts. All of his energy he saved for his charge which lay like a limp kitten upon his skin. <\/p>\n

But then after six nights he noticed the tiniest ribbon of pink running across the heart – like an unravelling string, the tiniest of bleeds. Each day it grew bigger; it grew a little wider too. Fanning across the great wound like a slow spreading fire. <\/p>\n

Soon Yusuf started taking the heart out for walks. Light ambles near his home, pointing out desert foxes and buntings in the sky. Days were passed in soothing silence. Silent weeks as well. Just the gentle putt-putt of a broken engine trying to start again. <\/p>\n

Then one morning when the sun was low and the birds were waking from their dreams, Yusuf took the heart to collect some figs. The walk was a rugged one between narrow mountain passes and Yusuf held the heart close to his chest. <\/p>\n

After some time he took a pause in a rock crevice, and it was then that the heart finally spoke for the first time. <\/p>\n

\u2018If I were a fig I should be afraid of you.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Really?\u2019 replied Yusuf, raising both eyes.<\/p>\n

\u2018Well you eat so many of them.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018I like figs. They make me happy.\u2019<\/p>\n

The heart took a deep breath. <\/p>\n

\u2018Then when I go home, I shall eat figs too.\u2019<\/p>\n

Yusuf smiled.<\/p>\n

Later the same day as Yusuf bathed in the stream, the heart spoke again. <\/p>\n

\u2018Why do you always wash with lemon soap?\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Because I like the smell. It makes me happy.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Well then I shall wash in lemon soap when I return back home.\u2019<\/p>\n

And Yusuf smiled again.<\/p>\n

Then in the evening as Yusuf strolled amongst the rock-ribbed land, the heart questioned him once more.<\/p>\n

\u2018Why is it that you spend so long walking in nature?\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Because when I am in nature that\u2019s when I feel free.\u2019 <\/p>\n

\u2018Well then I too shall walk in nature when I return back home.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018This is good,\u2019 said Yusuf, perching himself on a flattened rock. <\/p>\n

The sun was setting now, streaking the lavender sky with rose pink ribbons just like the healing heart. <\/p>\n

\u2018What about you,\u2019 Yusuf finally said. \u2018What makes you happy?\u2019<\/p>\n

The heart stopped still for a minute.<\/p>\n

\u2018Not much right now.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018There must be something.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Rose-flavoured lokum. Soft and sweet.\u2019 <\/p>\n

\u2018Then when you are better I shall send you some from Haci Bekir in Istanbul. They make the best of all.\u2019<\/p>\n

And the heart was happy too.<\/p>\n

\n

Yusuf and the heart then began to speak every day. Hours spent in deep discussion. Poetry and music seemed to please them both but politics left them sore – to the point that they soon agreed to leave this topic alone just like an old married couple. Why bicker about such dirty things when you could sing about so much else?<\/p>\n

Goat skins and fresh dates:
\nThe colour of different olives;
\nSufi poets;
\nIndecipherable dreams;
\nThe invariants of Cahit Arf.<\/em><\/p>\n

And with each new discussion the heart would grow stronger though it still wept at times and deeply grieved. But whenever this happened – as it did less and less – Yusuf would simply draw it to his chest and teach it how to breathe once again.<\/p>\n

\u2018Listen,\u2019 he whispered. \u2018Can you hear my heart beat? Hold onto its rhythm. It\u2019s strong enough for two.\u2019<\/p>\n

Sometimes though when the heart bled too much he would try to distract it \u2013 bring it out from itself.<\/p>\n

\u2018See that cloud shaped just like a horse.\u2019<\/p>\n

Or<\/em><\/p>\n

\u2018Listen to the howl of the desert wolf?\u2019<\/p>\n

Or<\/em><\/p>\n

\u2018Look there is a bird falling from the sky!\u2019 as happened one late afternoon.<\/p>\n

And sure enough the bird did fall with a sudden thump at his feet. Yusuf knelt down beside it and to his surprise it began inching slowly towards him as if it were drunk. <\/p>\n

\u2018It\u2019s alive,\u2019 sobbed the heart though it was a cheerful sort of sob.<\/p>\n

\u2018Yes. Although I believe it may die soon.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018But it is alive right now<\/em>. Quickly, you must take it in your hands.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018I can\u2019t,\u2019 replied Yusuf. \u2018I must keep you in my hands.\u2019<\/p>\n

But the heart insisted. \u2018I can rest on both your knees. If this bird is going to die it should at least be loved.\u2019<\/p>\n

Reluctantly Yusuf sat on the ground, put the heart on his knees and cupped the bird in his enormous hands. <\/p>\n

\u2018Now what,\u2019 said Yusuf after some time had passed. <\/p>\n

The bird was not dead and yet it did not stir either. He could not stay like this forever. He must keep the heart again.<\/p>\n

\u2018Perhaps we should take it home and build a nest.\u2019<\/p>\n

Yusuf shook his head. \u2018No. Nature will know how to keep this bird; I must give it back to her.\u2019<\/p>\n

So he opened his hands and to their astonishment the bird flew away with strong, beating wings.<\/p>\n

\u2018It\u2019s a miracle,\u2019 cried the heart.<\/p>\n

But Yusuf shook his head. <\/p>\n

\u2018I believe the bird was only stunned. It wasn\u2019t dying after all.\u2019 <\/p>\n

He then took the heart back in his hands. \u2018How do you feel?\u2019 he gently whispered.<\/p>\n

\u2018I missed your hands,\u2019 replied the heart, burrowing deeply into his skin. <\/p>\n

\n

Later, as Yusuf was collecting firewood, the heart spoke again.<\/p>\n

\u2018Have you ever been in love?\u2019<\/p>\n

Yusuf paused to think. \u2018I believe that I have loved every single heart I have held upon my hands.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018But that love is a duty, an obligation, don\u2019t you think?\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Yes but it is still love, is it not?\u2019<\/p>\n

The heart fell silent. \u2018But what about the love that makes you light. That makes you free even of yourself.\u2019<\/p>\n

Yusuf was quiet. \u2018No I suppose not.\u2019<\/p>\n

The heart did not speak again until the following day. <\/p>\n

\u2018So I suppose you have not had your heart broken either.\u2019<\/p>\n

And Yusuf shook his head.<\/p>\n

\n

Eventually the time came when the heart was healed and ready to return home. On their last night together the heart slept tenderly across Yusuf\u2019s chest.<\/p>\n

But in the middle of the night Yusuf suddenly awoke.<\/p>\n

He realised he could not feel the heart beating at all. He held his breath and listened. <\/p>\n

Nothing.<\/p>\n

He called out to the birds to stop their night songs and held his breath again. <\/p>\n

Still nothing.<\/p>\n

Then slowly in the silence he became aware of a solitary rhythm. It seemed that the beat hadn\u2019t gone at all. It had simply joined his own.<\/p>\n

\n

Early the next morning the courier came and took the heart away. Yusuf did not watch it leave. Instead he fixed his too bright eyes on a flock of birds floating freely across the sky. He watched them disappear into the sepulchral sky and then lay upon his bed. <\/p>\n

After a week his old mama became worried. The pomegranates had remained uneaten on her table. She sent for the Holy Man to find her son. <\/p>\n

\u2018May I join you?\u2019 he asked when he reached Yusuf\u2019s cave.<\/p>\n

Yusuf jerked his head towards a nearby boulder and the old man sat down. <\/p>\n

Neither of them spoke. Preferring instead to watch the early evening shadows lay darkening bruises across the rocky land.<\/p>\n

\u2018Isn\u2019t it splendid how well the last heart healed,\u2019 the Holy Man finally said. \u2018Never have I seen such a hopeless case. I believe now it is stronger, even stronger than before.\u2019<\/p>\n

Yusuf raised his eyes at the news. \u2018So the heart will not return?\u2019<\/p>\n

The Holy Man nodded his head. <\/p>\n

\u2018It was never meant for you my son even though it was truly yours.\u2019<\/p>\n

Yusuf eyes began to blink steadily in the dusk light. <\/p>\n

\u2018Tell me,\u2019 the Holy Man continued, \u2018for I am curious – about this heart and you. What did you do for all that time?\u2019<\/p>\n

Yusuf sighed before he spoke. \u2018We walked a lot. We talked a lot too.\u2019<\/p>\n

The Holy Man made a quiet clicking noise with his tongue. \u2018But surely you must remember what the Edict<\/em> says about speaking with the hearts.\u2019<\/p>\n

Yusuf shrugged his shoulders. <\/p>\n

\u2018I have kept every heart until it healed. I have protected every one. And yes I have answered each and every one and they have all been cured again.\u2019 <\/p>\n

\u2018Yes but don\u2019t you see that now you have come too close?\u2019<\/p>\n

Yusuf frowned, his voice was defiant.<\/p>\n

\u2018But the heart has healed. It is even stronger now.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018Yes,\u2019 replied the Holy Man, his voice sounded weary. \u2018The heart is stronger but you are not. The Edict isn\u2019t just there for the heart\u2019s sake my son it is there for the Keeper too.\u2019<\/p>\n

And as these words fell to the ground Yusuf suddenly understood what the raw pain was he had felt all week deep inside his chest. Like a fire he knew that would never die out until it had burned everything hollow and left nothing behind.<\/p>\n

He lowered his head; his skin began to tremble. For Yusuf knew as all men did that there could be no Keeper for a Keeper\u2019s heart. Their hearts were too big for any person\u2019s hands \u2013 there was no way to stem their wounds<\/p>\n

The Holy Man reached out to stroke Yusuf\u2019s hands. How beautiful they were, so strong and comforting. The finest hands he had ever known.<\/p>\n

\u2018You should come down to the village,\u2019 he said gently. \u2018You will be more comfortable there. People will care for you. You won\u2019t be alone.\u2019<\/p>\n

Yusuf shook his head. The cave had always been where he lived. It made sense to him that he remained there now. <\/p>\n

\u2018Can you do one thing for me,\u2019 Yusuf asked the Holy Man as he prepared to leave for the village.<\/p>\n

\u2018Send rose-flavoured lokum from Haci Bekir in Istanbul. Make sure it is soft and sweet.\u2019<\/p>\n

The Holy Man smiled though it was cast like a half moon and reached for Yusuf\u2019s shoulder. \u2018You were a blessing, \u2018he said as he turned his back. \u2018You were a blessing to all of us.\u2019<\/p>\n

Joanna Galbraith was born and raised in Australia but currently makes her home in Basel, Switzerland. Her short story publishing credits include: The Fish of Al-Kawthar’s Fountain<\/em>, a short-story forming part of a book anthology entitled Clockwork Phoenix 2: More Tales of Beauty and Strangeness<\/em> and published by Norilana Books in July 2009, as well as The Moon-keeper’s Friend<\/em>, a short story forming another Clockwork Phoenix<\/em> book anthology subtitled Tales of Beauty and Strangeness<\/em> also published by Norilana Books in July 2008.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

This is the kind of Friend You are \u2013 Without making me realise My soul\u2019s anguished history, You slip into my house at night, And while I am sleeping, You silently carry off All my suffering and sordid past In Your beautiful Hands – Hafiz Yusuf had the largest hands of any man in the …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":25,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[10,23],"tags":[1340,24],"class_list":["post-646","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fantasy","category-tcl-3-spring-2012","tag-fantasy","tag-the-colored-lens-3-spring-2012","entry entry-center"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/646","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/25"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=646"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/646\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":139711,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/646\/revisions\/139711"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=646"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=646"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=646"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}