Background for “Meltem’s Tale”
Meltem — a young female Turkish student at Atatürk University in Erzurum. She is a diver.
Ömer — a young male Turkish student, also at Atatürk University. He is a photographer.
Kemal– a male dive operator from Bodrum.
The main setting is in Bodrum, a city in southwestern Turkey.
A medieval Crusader castle dominates the rocky cliffs. Because of the numerous shipwrecks off the coast, the Turkish government has strict permitting for underwater salvage and aggressive policing of illegal recoveries. The Bodrum Underwater Archaeology Museum, situated within Bodrum Castle, is the only museum in Turkey and one of the few museums in the world dedicated to the field of underwater archaeology.
The entire spoken tale by Meltem and its aftermath takes place in Erzurum, located in the far east of Turkey, and renowned for Atatürk University and snowy and frigid winters.
Ömer and Meltem are taking part in a public speaking contest at the University. The following is the Prologue to her tale and her actual speech.
Prologue to the Tale
Meltem’s tan is fading,
scoured by winter winds.
Late, she scampers up stairs,
two big steps at a time,
despite her five-foot frame.
Behind her, Ömer gasps,
“not…even.. out of.. breath…”
“That’s what scuba diving does.”
Her short black hair glistens–
swim conditioners.
A wine-dark dress shows off
her young face, shining.
Pausing, she enters, slow.
Three judges swivel right.
Meltem’s Tale
1
Right off the shore of Bodrum,
a calm sea captures my heart.
Scavengers sail up on us.
Beauty and science be damned!
They smell the knowledge in us.
Diving for ancient cargo,
they sell art to the bidders,
coins, and history itself.
Our sponge divers plunge deep down,
our expedition’s decoys.
Binoculars scan for us,
but we hide beneath the deck
ready to salvage the wreck.
It’s my time. Kemal whistles.
He throws over a buoy.
Bubbles billow up.
Water pressure presses.
My fins finesse me down
Turtles, groupers float by,
stare at my intrusion.
My old dream of diving
began in libraries,
hunched over reports,
researching legends,
feeling the horror–
drowning men, the sunken ship
I am now approaching.
Kemal points out the wreck
and swims up for breath.
My diving partner taps his watch.
I nod and try to calm
my heart and my breaths.
Eighteen meters down
the shipwreck looms large,
a silent refuge
for fish and coral.
Encrusted coins, glass,
intact amphorae
fill my mind, I breathe,
fill the tethered bag
clipped to a ready rope.
I tug on it twice.
We ascend, leisurely.
Warm Aegean sun
caresses my face.
I hear the wavelets
slapping my face mask.
Our authorized wreck,
the Gelidonya,
open to us, full of treasures,
archaeological pleasures.
2
At the Institute
we arrive calmly,
register our find.
“ Too late! Registered.
That site has a claim.”
“That’s…Impossible!
We discovered it!
Today! It’s our wreck!”
“The papers, correct,
Signed. All in order.
For dives, only one
authorized salvage—no surfeit.
Your permit, therefore, is forfeit.”
The pirates did stalk us,
jumped our claim.
But Kemal knows a way.
His diver buddies
take care of everything.
Recovered amphorae
the pirates tried to fence–
the police recovered.
The ship they chartered–
impounded, won’t start.
It seems the engine–
sand-contaminated!
At the marina
“Nobody knows nothin’ “
Pirates– arrested,
bribed official too.
Our permit whipsaws–
Forfeit to Active;
our spirits, sportive.
Next step—lay a grid,
map the area,
catalogue the finds.
Hire some experts:
Wreck cartographers,
PADI-certified,
good photographers.
I am proud to help protect
my homeland’s patrimony.
In Bodrum, I left my heart.
That dive, my testimony.
My tale is ended,
and so is my life.”
3
Ömer and Meltem, still in Erzurum,
review her options.
Ömer perks up.
“What? Ended? Really?
Don’t do anything
impulsive, Meltem.
I’m available.
I can be in Bodrum,
I’ll see you in May,
equipment in tow.
Though my expenses..
And what is the pay?”
Her performance done,
Meltem crumples fists,
slumps her whole body.
“My father’s letter:
‘Archaeology.
What is it good for?
Bones and broken pots.
Coins no one can spend.
It’s not lucrative.
How will you survive?
And cold Erzurum,
remote from Bodrum.
You’re wasting your time
in Siberia.’ ”
Meltem sounds off to Ömer.
“I can’t even read…
the rest is worse. Here:
‘When the school year’s done,
You shall return home.
No proper calling–
I cannot support
your dilettante life.’”
Ömer tries to be helpful:
“Would it make any difference
if I talk to your father?
I would like to see Bodrum.
I could photograph the wreck—
from the safety of the deck!”
“You do not know him.
Ömer, it’s no use.
Logic is for naught.
Unmovable rock.
If only he had a heart.
How can my mother
sail against his will?
Here’s her last letter.
It’s so pathetic.
‘I never could pursue
my piano passion.
Your father saw no time
for six hours daily
practice and concert halls
caring for three children.
My fate shall not be yours.
My recitals will fund
your underwater life.’”
To Ömer, Meltem laments.
“What about me?
Pirates thwarted me.
Sponge divers saved me.
Dad dictates–that’s him.
Booming Mom interferes.
For once, I’ll be the one
swimming past seaweed
dealing with riptides.
Am I just jellyfish
washed up on some beach?
And you, Ömer, back away!
I will speak to my dad,
distance my mother’s scheme,
not disrupt their marriage.
I will weave my own fate,
resist the crushing depths,
ascend at my own pace,
and avoid the crippling bends
my family has brought upon me.
They say I’m too emotional,
in need of a clear head to think.
I can think and feel at the same time.
My diving will show them I’m smart–
To Bodrum, I’ll follow my heart.”
“Meltem, you are looking afar
resting on a shifting sandbar.
It seems you have left a door ajar
through which you can see your polestar:
Me… your friend…Is that so bizarre?”
“My polestar
is my diving.”
