A NEW GIFT

It had perhaps been an hour since they got up from the dinner table. Husband and wife took their after-dinner coffees as per usual, on the balcony of the seaside villa. The moon – a silver tray which had been cleared, polished, flung into the sky and suspended up there –  lit up the entire coast, casting its long and starry reflection upon the resentful sea, and with a violet and cool fog blanketed tired mountains, lightless seaside villas and coppices now forsaken by nightingalesⁱ. Sadi Bey smoked up his third cigarette. He was a skin and bone thirty year old who looked like he had already completed his sixtieth year on earth. His hair had started thinning out before he even reached middle age and now, there wasn’t even a single hair on the top of his head. His head shone like a pumpkin in the moonlight. He had set his gaze far, far away in the distance.

In spite of her husband Sadi Bey, Cevriye Hanım was robust; she was stout, pink in the flesh, young and vigorous. She must have been about twenty-five but she seemed so fresh that those who encountered her may deem “She must be just about fourteen”. To top it all, she was a poet. Rhyme and national meter poetryⁱⁱ had an effect on her like some elixir of life. She swell with emotion at new poetry;  in the intolerable heat of this particular summer she felt refreshed by it as if she had eaten “raspberry” ice cream at The Tokatlıyan.ⁱⁱⁱ The more she read of those poems the hungrier she got; up to twelve times a day!

- Oh, what a glorious view!

- ...

Sadi Bey did not respond. It was as if he had not heard her. Cevriye Hanım was writhing, she kept wringing the handrails of the balcony. She placed one hand on her heart, and began to breathe rapidly.

- Oh, I think I’m dying, she said sighing deeply.

Sadi Bey responded in a dazed and perplexed tone as if he had just woken up from a deep sleep:

- Why might that be, my dear wife?

- Of sorrow...

- What sorrow?

- Don’t you see the state of me?

- I do.

- What do you see?

- You ate too much. A bout of indigestion...

- Oh, you men! exclaimed Cevriye Hanım, as she began to sob.

Rolling on the floor, she was kicking her feet up in the air as if she was pedalling the invisible wheels of an imaginary bicycle.

-Oh, Sadi, oh! You have never really understood me!

Sadi Bey had really not understood his wife. Despite being so emotionally sensitive and so sad, Cevriye Hanım had not lost an ounce. On the contrary, she had gotten fatter by the day. Sadi Bey was quite a material man; a rather serious man. He thought about everything in a restrained manner. Despite his nonchalant nature, tightening the waistband of his longjohns by five fingers a year had appeared necessary since the start of the war.ⁱᵛ The man who once used to wear a size thirty-nine collar was now wearing size thirty-two, his slender neck had become capable of performing the most complex exercises of Swedish gymnastics.

His wife repeated her question:

- Am I in this state because I eat too much?

- I don’t know.

- If you don’t know why do you blame me?

Sadi Bey did not respond. He fell into a state of contemplation. Cevriye Hanım’s temper, however, did not wane. Looking at her husband crossly, she said:

-You don’t have half the empathy a magpie has. You always think about food. Are you a fishmarket barker or what? The price of rice, bulgur, oil and cheese... You keep on thinking about the prices... As if it will all cost less the more you think about it. Whereas, see how emotional and spiritual my constitution is... I gaze at that brilliant moon in the sky... This beaming moon is now looking at one half of the world... Who knows with what a great sense of love and care he’s watching it.

Sadi Bey shrugged his shoulders in an irate manner:

- What is it to us? He can watch whatever he likes.

Cevriye Hanım looked at her husband, and then pleading, raised her hands towards the moon.

- Oh, divine face! Do you see what kind of beasts roam beneath your gaze?

The lonely moon gazing at the starless skies seemed to be smiling wider now as if to respond, “I do see it.” A light breeze seemed to extend the moon’s long reflection across the surface of the sea. Sadi Bey said:

- I don’t have time to meddle in others’ love affairs.

- But you have time for the affairs of fishmarket barkers...

Husband and wife looked at one another. Sadi Bey asked:

- Do you know what I am thinking about?

- I do.

- What is it then? Tell me.

- Meat.

- No.

- Rice.

- No.

- Oil.

- No.

- Bulgur.

- No.

- What then, beans?

- No.

- Dried beans.

- I said no, hanım.

Not in a million years could it have crossed Cevriye Hanım’s mind that her husband could be thinking of something else.

- Surely you weren’t entranced by poetic reveries for the past hour?

- Correct, no poetic reveries.

- What were you thinking about? Just tell me...

- What could I be thinking of? A new expense...

- Like what?

- An expense that will turn our budget upside down. It’ll be the third gift we purchase this month.

Cevriye Hanım didn’t get it at first.

- What gift?

- The children of your maternal uncle have been circumcised. We are invited over to theirs tomorrow evening. What shall we gift them? This month we have already spent five lira on each of the gifts for the two newly-wed relatives.

Cevriye Hanım responded:

- Must we take a gift of material value? We can take a spiritual gift. Something that is for free but very valuable...

- Like what?

- I’ll write a poem. We’ll just take that.

- What a farce, we can’t.

- You look down on poetry, is that so?

- Dear... what I meant is...

- What?

- How can we do something like that?

- Why?

- They’d call us...

- What would they call us?

- Crazy...

The couple argued for about half an hour. Just like it is with any argument, theirs too was inconclusive. It was as if “the lightening that conceals the truth had gone out because of their opposing views.” The moon was secretly and slowly climbing higher and higher up in the sky in order to be able to see them clearly. Cevriye Hanım interrupted the silence and made it known that she was cross with her husband:

- You’re disspelling my poetic vision with your empty words!

Heaving with grief she stomped upstairs to the bedroom.

Left all by himself on the balcony, Sadi Bey took in the supremely heavy moment that grieved his wife as he thought about the gift he would have to buy the next day. He kept muttering, “What shall I buy? What shall I buy?”

Two boys due to be circumcised... If he were to buy them each a watch... For three liras a piece, that would make six liras. An inkwell and pen set for each boy. For five liras a piece, that would come to ten liras. As if in the story of Pygmalionᵛ, he took two steps back in fright like a jumping horse afraid of its own shadow when he inquired the price of an ivory letter opener. He kept on thinking and thinking. Nothing was any longer affordable in the world. It was impossible for him to pay ten liras for gifts this month. There were still eighteen days until payday. He cast his gaze down from the sky to the sea. The reflection of the moon threaded a sense of darkness through him. He paid attention and there was a torpedo.

The moon high in the sky. Its reflection upon the sea. Within that reflection, a silent, heroic torpedo advancing slowly, parting the waters with starry, silvery foam. Had a painter set his eyes on this very seascape he would have been bewildered.

As he coursed through such thoughts, Sadi Bey became as bewildered as the painter he conjured up in his mind.

- I found it! I found it! he yelled.

His wife had not fallen asleep yet. She put her messy head out of the bedroom window:

- What did you find?

- The gift we shall buy.

- What is it? Something cheap?

- Both cheap and expensive..

- Expensive then... How many kuruşᵛⁱ? A thousand?

- No, one million kuruş...

- For just one?

- Yes.

- Have you lost your mind? Where’re you going to find that kind of money?

- It is worth one million kuruş, but each one costs just one lira.

- What is it?

- Shoot, give it a guess!

- You’re making fun of me.

- No, I swear I am serious.

- Tell me, for the love of Allah, what is it?

- I won’t tell you, think about it a little, you’ll figure it out...

- I said tell me, my mind’s all over the place now.

- Darling, don’t you have an ounce of shrewdness?

- Don’t you have any shrewdness?

Sadi Bey laughed out loud on the balcony.

- Alright, I am not shrewd. But surely you are. And that said, I’m telling you. A gift worth a million kuruş! But we’ll only have to pay one lira. What is it? Work it out...

- You’re making fun of me...

- No, I’m not...

- Can you eat it?

- Nope, you can’t eat it. How could anyone eat something that is worth a million kuruş?

- Is it big or small?

- As big as your hand.

Cevriye Hanım was looking at her husband as she hung down the window all the way down to her waist – almost about to leap down to the balcony below. She kept thinking and thinking and couldn’t guess the gift her husband had on his mind.

- Is it soft or hard?

- It’s soft but not like cotton. More like paper.

- Which letter does it start with?

- D...

Cevriye Hanım proposed many things that started with the letter D: “dessert, drum, draughts, daf, donkey, desk, dresser, damson, damask, dowel, drunk dove, dust pan...”ᵛⁱⁱ Sadi Bey kept on laughing as she went on and on... He asked, “Is that worth a million kuruş?” and the more times he asked, the more upset his wife got. Cevriye Hanım couldn’t guess what the gift was. She got so flustered that in the end she gave up and shrieked:

- Tell me, what is it? Or, I’ll throw myself off the balcony.

Sadi Bey was bent over with laughter, his bald head was shining in the moonlight.

- You don’t have to throw yourself off the balcony, just admit, “I am not shrewd!” and I’ll tell you what it is.

- Alright, I am not shrewd!

Sadi Bey got out of his chair. Looking at his wife’s puzzled face, he let out a blissful laughter:

-  The draw! A ticket to the Ottoman Navy Foundation lottery draw!ᵛⁱⁱⁱ

As he walked inside he rubbed his hands together with the sincere joy that only pertains to a pauper who got away from a big expense, and that very night, he fell into the sweetest of slumbers.

Endnotes

[i] Translator’s Note: Nightingales are migratory birds; they generally leave Istanbul in September. Referring to the absence of nightingales in coppices, Ömer Seyfettin is giving the reader a clue about the season in which this story is set.

[ii] T.N: Rhyme and national meter poetry refers to Divan poetry, a collection of poems by a single author. The ghazal (gazel) was the dominant form of Divan poetry which had a few prevalent opposing symbols such as the nightingale and the rose. Considering his strong support for language reform, Ömer Seyfettin makes fun of Cevriye Hanım, to whom poetry is strictly about emotions and romance.

[iii] T.N: Founded by Meguerditch Tokatliyan, The Tokatlıyan Hotels were two prominent luxury hotels one of which was located on İstiklâl Avenue and the other in Tarabya.

[iv] T.N: World War I (1914-1918).

[v] T.N: I am assuming that Ömer Seyfettin is referring to Ovid’s Metamorphoses (Book 10), where Cypriot sculptor Pygmalion carves a woman out of ivory alabaster and falls in love with her.  

[vi] T.N: Introduced in 1688, kuruş was a currency denomination in and around the Ottoman Empire. It was initially a large silver piece approximately equal in value to the French écu.

[vii] T.N: I have strived to remain loyal to Ömer Seyfettin’s narrative, going as far to keep the same letter “D” in English translation and to come up with words that begin with the letter D in English whilst finding words with the same denotation. However, there are some exceptions where I had to replace them with invented words in order to be able to have all the words starting with the letter D. These are: “Dessert” instead of dondurma (ice cream), “desk” instead of duvar saati (wall clock), “donkey” instead of damızlık koyun (breeding ewe lamb), “dresser” for dev aynası (magnifying mirror), “damson” for darı (millet), “damask” for diba (a type of embroidered silk fabric), “dates” for demir (iron) and “dustpan” for dikiş makinesi (sewing machine).

[viii] T.N: The poor condition of the declining Ottoman fleet had become evident during the Naval Parade of 1910, and the Ottoman Navy Foundation (Donanma-yı Osmani Muavenet-I Milliye Cemiyeti) was established in order to purchase new ships through public donations. As part of this effort, a lottery draw was also considered and organised in 1917, the year this short story was written by Ömer Seyfettin and published in the Naval Review (Donanma Mecmuası), Issue 91/140. Of course, I sought to remain loyal to the letter “D” in this instance too, by putting emphasis on “draw” rather than “lottery” or “ticket.” 

Translator's Commentary

Why did I spend time and energy on translating this particular story into English? And, what is it that makes this short story from 1917 so relevant in 2026? There are several avenues to explore in relation to these two questions. 

A story of this level of literary complexity could never be reliably translated by AI because of the cultural references, the play of words, and the tradition of satire it draws on. It requires the educated mind of an actual individual with decades of personal memories, emotions, and a treasure trove of observations in relation to the source language and culture. As always, it also requires the translator to have an intimate understanding of the destination language and culture (not only present-day language and culture but also historical), in this particular case English. Translation is a very personal endeavour, and how one translates any text depends on not only their education but their personal life experience. When you read someone's translation, remember that you are also reading their personal voyage through life, albeit through the words of an author - who is also a "translator" of his or her own life experience. To me, anything that is not achievable by using AI is a challenge worth my attention. I am not going to be as banal as to ask Copilot or Google Translate for it to churn out an insufficient translation so that I can prove to you, my dear reader, that a talented human translator cannot be beaten by so-called high-tech. Especially one who is not just doing translation for an income, but for the intellectual nourishment and the sheer pleasure it gives. So, that is the general reason why I have been translating Ömer Seyfettin's stories into English. It is my mental gymnastics. Secondly, I feel that he is still owed his dues as the greatest Turkish story-teller, and his literary work - comprising sociological observations, ethics, historical analysis and documentary value - deserves greater recognition. "A New Gift" is a brilliant satirical short-story based on the day-to-day living of a middle-class couple, an unlikely match, that draws on Ömer Seyfettin's own marriage to Câlibe Hanım -  a complicated and unhappy union lasted less than three years. Cevriye Hanım is an "alafranga" woman, a woman educated in the Western tradition like Ömer Seyfettin's own wife (a trait detested by Ömer Seyfettin who, as detailed in Tahir Alangu's 1968 biography titled, Ömer Seyfettin: The Novel of an Idealist Author -  preferred larger women who took care of domestic tasks and  behaved like safe harbours) who likes poetry and gets easily swayed by emotions. Sadi Bey is a man of logic and reason. He has been weighed down by the financial aspects of life, skinny and aged before his time, whereas Cevriye Hanım looks young for her age, she's well-fed and plump. They are opposites in every way imaginable; just like Ömer Seyfettin and his wife. Perhaps, though, beyond this introspective observation there is a greater message about marital relationships in Turkish society at the turn of the 20th century. Perhaps, most marriages are products of opposites attracting, and perhaps, this still remains true. 

Another narrative that remains fresh is the age-old story of the cost of living crisis. Economists like to coin yesterday's news as "the new order of things to come" to make it seem as if the contemporary problems emanate from today's conditions. The world has been in a cost of living crisis forever. Society has always comprised of more people of fewer means. War is as old a concept as creation. Creation and destruction, war and peace, joy and sufferance, black and white, division and unity; that is the story of our world written by men and more recently by women, who like to create dichotomies to empower themselves while thousands of people - unaware of their selfish agenda - pay the price of the actions of a few that occupy the top stratum of this food chain. And this is exactly what Ömer Seyfettin's story is about, people who have to make ends meet from paycheque to paycheque while others who are more fortunate -  and, who may or may not be relatives - enjoy greater financial freedom. Whilst we yammer on and on about how far we have come as the human race, and how much our lives have changed for the better in the last century, how slow and petty our progress on earth has truly been still does not dawn on us. The human race simply marking time, we have not moved all that much. For the majority, life is truly about counting your blessings and your pennies. Yes, perhaps now it is easier to get a credit card and a mortgage (if you are lucky enough to have some financial guarantees) but the abyss is ever more profound; a sinkhole that swallows people whole. The reality is that the glass ceiling has never disappeared, we were first fooled by politicians and now by social media to believe that our limit is the sky. 

Student protests of 1968 do not differ at all from what we are witnessing today. The political rhetoric is stilll very much the same. Imprison the people, implement curfews, use police force and just make them shut up at all costs. After all, who cares about the youths? They are just a bunch of delinquents who will be a burden on the future. Us grey heads, we would never do that! Burn down municipality buildings, trash bookstores, and speak our minds. We would obediently go to work, come home, stay in and bite our tongues for the common good. 

See how far that idea of the common good has gotten us? Conformity has ruined us. Trying to find a gift that costs very little but has great potential worth, that quick-thinking attitude has brought us down to our knees. True greatness costs dear. And that, is the real message of Ömer Seyfettin's story. 

Thank you for reading.