The Peace Machine

by Oezguer Mumcu

Genres: Visionary & Metaphysical; Steampunk

Synopsis

A thrilling historical adventure story from Turkey's most daring young voice

We'll create a machine. A peace machine that will put an end to all wars.

As the twentieth century dawns the world stands on the brink of yet another bloody war. But what if conflict were not inevitable? What if a machine could exploit the latest developments in electromagnetic science to influence people's minds? And what if such a machine could put an end to violence for ever?

The search for the answer to these questions will lead our hero Celal away from his unassuming life as an Istanbul-based writer of erotic fiction, and on a quest across a continent stumbling headlong towards disaster, from Istanbul to Paris and Belgrade, as he struggles to uncover the mystery of The Peace Machine before time runs out for humanity.

Release date: September 22, 2020

Publisher: Pushkin Press

Print pages: 224

Sample

1
The Tangles of a Tongue-Twister
"The cold cut me to the quick / There was an apple
that I picked / Plucked from a tree that was taller than
me / ‘But you’re a pygmy’ they quipped / ‘No bigger than
a pippysqueak pip.’”
Celal had no choice but to run. The only way he could
run, however, was by saying tongue-twisters. If he stumbled
over the words of a tongue-twister, he’d trip and topple to
the ground. And if he couldn’t get started with one, he’d go
as limp as a puppet whose strings had been cut.
“Sister, sister, cooking rice in a pot / A rat fell in, plop,
plop, plop…”
In fact he was still growing, he didn’t have a sister, and it
had been three months since he’d had a bowl of rice. There
was a rat in the cellar where he’d been locked up the night
before, and he smacked his lips at the thought of devouring
it. Still, the rat was anything but pygmy-sized and Celal
knew it was bent on taking a bite out of his ear. They tussled
and scuffled throughout the night so that Celal didn’t get a
wink of sleep.
Nor did he pee. By morning his bladder was on the verge
of bursting, but he wasn’t just trying to be civil. No, he knew
how to take on grown men in a fight and he had a plan.
“If you can’t win with your fists, use your wits. A trick is
only a trick if you’re already strong enough to win in a brawl.”
Süleyman had said that. And he was right. Of course he
was right. That’s why he had the best pocket knife around.
If he hadn’t deserved it, the big boys would’ve taken it away.
The owner of the shop above the cellar was a large man,
so big that not even Süleyman could’ve taken him on. But
that was beside the point because Süleyman couldn’t have
come anyway. Two weeks earlier, he’d fallen over face first
after botching a tongue-twister while running, and the blade
of his pocket knife had jabbed into his crotch. Blood had
squirted from the wound like water from a fountain, spattering
Celal’s face. Celal had been so scared that he’d dashed
off without even thinking of taking the knife.
Celal had been planning to steal three eggs and a quarter
loaf of bread that he’d tucked under his shirt. The owner
usually didn’t notice such things, so it was a carpet trader
with a pock-marked face who had caught Celal and grabbed
him by the ear. Celal hadn’t seen it coming.
Süleyman had once said, “In our holy Hadiths the Prophet
says that the poor will get into heaven five hundred years
before the rich.” But that didn’t do Celal any good. The shop
owner had grabbed his other ear and slapped him across
the face so hard that his nose bled till dawn.
The shop owner unlocked the cellar door just before
the morning call to prayer. Celal was standing at the ready,
his ragged underpants down around his ankles. He fired a
stream of urine into the shop owner’s face with such force
that the man was stunned for a moment. Celal yanked up his
underpants, dashed between the man’s legs and ran up the
stairs to the shop entrance. Luckily the door wasn’t locked,
which meant that the owner had gone out to do his ablutions
before going down to the cellar. All the better, Celal thought.
You’ll have to do them again before you can pray!
“…Rat, rat, this is what you get / We’ll throw you from
the minaret / There’s a bird up there with silvery wings /
And uncle’s pockets are full of shiny things.”
Celal snatched a chicken from the yard as he ran out. He
hadn’t planned on killing it right away, but it kept clucking
under his arm, making him forget the words to the tonguetwister,
so in order to say the tongue-twister he had to break
the chicken’s neck. It was as simple as that.
So be it, he thought. The chicken will get into heaven all the
sooner!
The fate of a chicken can be fraught with surprises.
First you go from being a hatchling to a chick and learn
about the difference between pebbles and corn kernels, and
then before you know it you find yourself stuffed under the
arm of a bloody-nosed boy with a shaved head, as he bolts
down a deserted road which is a three-week journey from
the town of Shkodra, panting tongue-twisters all the while.
And there you are, your head flopping back and forth on
your broken neck.
But since history is never written by the losers, the chicken’s
tale ends there. Celal cooked it up and gobbled up half of
it. The rest he traded for a ragged felt blanket, and that
was the last he thought of the bird. The blanket, however,
wouldn’t be forgotten so easily. Winter had swept in with
unusual ferocity that year.
That winter, and for many winters to follow, Celal had
to say tongue-twisters to save his hide.
“Work till you’re dead / For a simple piece of bread /
But the cat stole my lunch / Crunch, crunch, crunch.”
One time the head of the beggars’ guild tried to break
Celal’s arm, and Celal headbutted him so hard that the
bone of the poor Pomak’s nose was shoved into his brain.
Afterwards, Celal ran not one but two provinces away.
“My stomach is rumbling / Well, stop your grumbling /
And run to the mill / But the door is locked / And the stork’s
bill is pocked.”
Those were the words he said as he ran off at midday
from a bathhouse furnace where he’d found work with
six other boys. Celal had put up with the bullying from
Long-Legged Cafer, the head furnace keeper, but when
he tried to send Celal to work as a bath attendant on
account of his youth and comely features, he’d emptied a
shovelful of burning coals over the furnace keeper’s head
and run away.