Nightfall Blues

Yalçın wanted to press the gas a little more in the newly started rain, but to do so, he would have to overtake the bus in front of him. However, he knew that at this exact moment—right when the daylight had just faded—some oncoming cars wouldn’t have their headlights on. Thinking about the risk of an accident, he sighed and gave up. Clearly, the bus was also headed for the ferry. At this hour, a queue was guaranteed. Even if it was just one bus, overtaking it would be a small victory.

He looked to the right—no sign of the sea. At a red light, he found an opportunity to pull up beside the bus. But instead of waiting at the light, he could have just stayed behind it. Ninety seconds wasted. As the light turned green, he entered the final stretch, carefully watching the arrow signs pointing toward the ferry.

Just as he was thinking he hadn’t picked up anything to take home, he found himself in the ticket queue. He looked in the rearview mirror—two more cars behind him, and behind them, the bus he’d had to follow for 15 minutes. After buying his ticket, he wasn’t directed to the back of one of the long lines of cars but instead to the front of a new one. At least the view ahead was open, and he could see the sea. Though by now, the darkness had fully settled, and he could only see the reflections of lights on the water. Still better than being stuck behind trucks.

They kept loading cars onto the current ferry, but it wasn’t his turn yet. He watched with frustration as the full ferry slowly started to move. He noticed there weren’t any hawkers around. Normally, the ferry queue was lined with people selling hazelnuts, peanuts, apples and pears from their gardens, and all sorts of fruits and snacks depending on the season. Now there was no one except the staff. He figured it must be because of the cold. It was the last days of November, but it felt as cold as the harshest days of winter. At one point, he thought he had opened the window while waiting but immediately closed it again. It had only been a few minutes ago, but it felt like something he had done unconsciously and was only now remembering.

The next ferry opened its ramp and began taking in vehicles. Would it be his turn this time? It didn’t look promising, but this kind of situation had ended well for him many times before. The cars, as if to spite him, crawled one by one onto the ferry. He checked the time—it had been 25 minutes since he arrived. Not bad, really. If he made it onto this ferry, he could be home by around 9. A bit late for dinner, maybe, but the evening wouldn’t be wasted. He checked his phone—no missed calls. The time was 18:34. The car’s clock was one minute fast, showing 18:35.

The cars in the next line started moving. But before his line completed boarding, the ferry filled up. If only he’d arrived five or six minutes earlier—he could’ve made it. If he hadn’t been stuck behind that bus, he’d have saved five minutes. A tiny delay that was just enough to be maddening. Like sprinting to catch a ferry, only to have the gate close right in your face.

Thankfully, cars from his queue started boarding the adjacent ferry. Then finally, the staff signalled to Yalçın at the front of the line. He moved forward—the ferry was barely half full. He carefully drove over the ramp and parked behind another car in the centre lane. The trucks and buses were off to the side, so from where he sat, he could see the front of the ferry. Even though it was cold, he wanted to get out, breathe some fresh air, and have a cigarette. He looked at the time—it was just past 7.

He squeezed through his not-fully-open car door due to the tight parking and stepped out, realizing the cold wasn’t as bad as he had expected. Careful of the wet, slippery surface, he walked alongside the cars toward the side. The wind made it hard to light his cigarette. He grumbled about spending five minutes fighting with a lighter for a two-minute smoke. He should’ve lit it inside the car first.

He looked out at the sea—reflections of blue lights danced on the dark water. The rain had stopped before picking up too much. There was a strange haze in the air. Not just fog, he thought—must be pollution. He decided to head back to the car before getting too cold. A young couple was getting into the car in front of him. Both looked sullen.

As he sat back down, he noticed rain tapping against his window again. If he had parked just a little farther back, that wouldn’t have happened. If only he hadn’t passed the bus at the light... He turned on the wipers—could barely see anything outside. Still no messages. The time read 19:20. The ferry began to move. Finally. By the time he reached Istanbul, the evening traffic would be gone.

He looked in the rearview mirror. The back window was dry. The middle part of the ferry was covered, and he had parked near the center of the front. There was a couple in the car behind his, too. He couldn’t tell their age, but noticed the woman was talking toward the back. There were people in the back seat—maybe their children, maybe elderly parents, or someone else.

The worst part of these day trips to Bursa to visit clients was the return. If it had been Ankara or İzmir, he’d have flown. Even if nothing else was better, at least there’d be two pleasant flight attendants. That beat truck drivers any day.

The radio! He’d turned it off near Yalova because he couldn’t find anything decent. He was surprised it hadn’t occurred to him to turn it back on during these miserable minutes. He switched it on and flipped through the stations—landed on a Bob Marley song. Wish it had been "Rain." There’s no rain song farther from the gloom of rain than that one. Rain... Rain... go away, go away... Or was it gorey? He remembered singing it as go-rey go-rey back when he didn’t know English. He marveled at how quickly time passed. He looked at the clock—19:36. It had been at least 15 years since he’d first heard that song.

He closed his eyes. Not the most comfortable position, but maybe he could doze off a little. At least rest his eyes until they got closer. He thought of the truck drivers—if they had the chance, they’d surely choose a beautiful flight attendant too. Humanist Yalçın is trying to take over. Don’t let him.

He thought about the couple in front. Where were they coming from? Certainly not a work trip. They were around his age. Were they married? Did they love each other? Had they ever cheated? Regretted it? What were they saying to each other—or not saying?

Suddenly, a terrifying thunderclap. The weather had already been strange—now it all made sense. A moment later, a heavy downpour began. I Need a Hero was playing on the radio. The rain was now strong enough to reach the rear windows. The fog seemed to intensify despite the rain, with only blurry lights piercing through.

If only Gonca were here. If they sat in silence like the couple in front, it wouldn’t matter how long the ferry took or where it went. Or would it? Gonca would definitely be sighing. Maybe it was better she wasn’t here. Was the girl in front sighing too? He’d only caught a glimpse of her getting into the car, but that was enough—very sour-faced.

Was he empathizing because the other person was male? He thought again about how he hadn’t brought anything home—he could’ve at least picked up some candied chestnuts, even as a symbolic gesture. The idea had crossed his mind earlier, but rushing back had buried it. Just a little token to show he cared—but no.

He imagined himself in the back car with Gonca, her parents in the back seat. That’s paradise—peace of mind, clear conscience. He looked at his phone: 19:40. No calls. The same song was still playing. He looked outside—lights weren’t getting any closer. Rain washed over every window; the fog was heavy.

He sighed for summer to come. When it did, he’d go somewhere nice on vacation. Meet new people. Last summer he couldn’t go—new job. But this summer was wide open. Six or seven months away, but still—that would pass in the blink of an eye. He looked at his phone: 19:41.