Murat Tuncel, 1952 in Kars/Türkei geboren. Nach einem erfolgreichen Abschluss an der Lehrerakademie in Artvin und der İstanbul Atatürk Eğitim Fakultät für türkische Sprache, arbeitete er als Grundschullehrer und unterrichtete später das Fach Türkisch an einem Gymnasium. 1984 beendete er seine Lehrerlaufbahn und arbeitete fortan für die türkische Tageszeitung »Günaydın«. 1989 wanderte er in die Niederlande aus und arbeitete dort als freischaffender Schriftsteller. Neben seiner schriftstellerischen Tätigkeit unterrichtete er im Auftrag des niederländischen Bildungsministeriums im Rahmen des muttersprachlichen Unterrichts für Migranten Türkisch an Grundschulen, und türkische Philologie an der Fachhochschule in Rotterdam. In vielen türkischen Literaturzeitschriften wie etwa Varlık, Edebiyat Gündemi, Damar, Yaşasın Edebiyat, Kıyı, Karşı Edebiyat, Dönemeç, Türk Dili Dergisi, Güzel Yazılar, Evrensel Kültür, Cumhuriyet Kitap und Dünya Kitap wurden seine Kurzgeschichten und Rezensionen veröffentlicht. Sein erstes Buch erschien 1981, seine Kurzgeschichten wurden in türkischen, sowei holländischen Anthologien veröffentlicht. Darüber hinaus wurden mehrere seiner Werke in holländischer, russischer, arabischer und azerischer Sprache in verschiedenen Universitätszeitschriften publiziert. Seine Romane Maviydi Adalet Sarayı sowie Valse Hoop (Sahte Umut) erschienen in holländischer Sprache (3C Verlag), der Roman İnanna wurde ins arabische (Al taakwin Verlag), Koreanische (Asia Verlag) und Bulgarische (Ednorog Verlag) übersetzt. Sein Roman Üçüncü Ölüm wurde zu einem Drehbuch umgeschrieben, das Kinderbuch Süper Kurbağa ins Repertoire des türkischen Staatstheaters aufgenommen und im Stadttheater von Ankara aufgeführt. Murat Tuncel ist Mitglied der türkischen Schriftstellergewerkschaft (TYS), der niederländischen Vereniging von Schrijvers en Vertalers (VVL), der türkischen PEN, sowie des türkischen Verbands für Journalisten und der Avrasya Yazarlar Birliği.
1979 Jugendliteraturpreis des türkischen Kultusministeriums für die Kurzgeschichte Çerçi
1997 Gewinner des niederländischen NPS Radio Preises für Cennet de Bitti
1994 Şükrü Gümüş Preis für den Roman Maviydi Adalet Sarayı
1997 Halkevleri Kunst und Kultur Preis für den Roman Üçüncü Ölüm
2000 Orhan Kemal Öykü Preis für nicht veröffentlichte Werke
Dargın Değilim Yaşama (1981), Mengelez (1983 Servet Verlag), Güneşsiz Dünya (1987 Çağıltı Verlag, 2012 Altinbilek verlag), Beyoğlu Çığlıkları (1989 Gerçek Sanat, 2007 Altın Bilek Verlag), Gölge Kız (2002 Varlık, 2006 Varlık), Wilma’nın Sandığı (2010 Varlık)
Maviydi Adalet Sarayı (Pencere Verlag, 1994, Altinbilek verlag 2006), Valse Hoop (Sahte Umut) niederländisch (Verlagshaus3C, 2003-2004, Arnheim), als Hörbuch (Liscus Uitgevrij, 2007), türkisch (Altın Bilek Verlag 2007, İstanbul), Üçüncü Ölüm (Halkevleri Verlag 1997, Pencere Verlagshaus 1998, Altın Bilek Verlag 2007)
İnanna Türkisch (Varlık Verlag, 2006) arabisch (Al taakwin Verlag, Suriye, 2007), Bulgarisch (Ednorog Verlagshaus, 2010), Koreanisch (Asia Verlagshaus, Seul, 2011)
Osmanlılar 1/Trakya Güneşi (İstanbul 2011, ALFA)
Yarımağız Anılar (1996, Pencere Verlag)
Kinder- und Jugendromane:
Şakacı Masallar (2006, Morpa Verlag, 10 Bände)
Tipi (1982, Esin Verlag, 2000-2004; Ceylan Verlag, 2006) Buluta Binen Uçak (Esin Verlag, 1983)
Süper Kurbağa/Roman (1984 Esin Verlag ,1996 Ortadoğu Verlag-Deutschland, 2000 Engin Verlag, 2004 Morpa Verlag, “Işığın Gizemi”), Ressamlar Mahallesi’nin Çocukları (2013, Morpa Verlag)
Her hand was also in my palm when she stripped her gaze from the spot she had been staring at for hours. She had neither been looking at my face nor letting go of my hand for a long time. Her hand was cold but I felt something flow towards my heart from her fingertips. When that crazy feeling mixed into my blood I began to caress those fingertips. I was caressing them as I looked at her face. Her face hadn’t changed at all. The youth of her face was still there. The years passing by hadn’t taken anything away from her face; only her gaze had become a bit glassier. I neared her hand in my palm to my lips with an irresistible urge. Just as I was about to touch my lips to her skin, I thought her flesh might get stuck on my lips. I swiftly pushed back the hand that I neared to my lips but I didn’t let go of it. I knew that if I let go of her hand I wouldn’t be able to hold it again. While I was being consumed by my high and low tides, her lips which had been motionless for hours moved for the first time.
“Did you like the house?”
I looked at the sea grapes in the garden without letting go of her hand. They seemed like they were rotten but not even a single one of them had fallen from the branches. They were perhaps waiting for us to walk under them until they fell. I noticed she was closer to me when I turned around and looked at the somewhat large drawing room of the two storey house. Her hand which was cold a little while ago had begun to warm up.
For the second time she asked, “Did you like the house?”
I responded simply with, “It’s nice.”
Her lips were smiling with a smile I could make nothing of when our gaze met. For a split second, it felt as if she were about to laugh out loud. I excitedly began to wait. I thought if she laughed out loud she would become a snow-white candle again but that laughter that spread across her lips quickly disappeared between her teeth just as when it arrived. Once again her gaze became fixed on the spot on which it was before she held my hand. Just as I was thinking to myself that this would be “the end”, her fingers in my palm started to move hysterically. I felt like laughing aloud instead of feeling the burning fire in my heart after all those years. Yet, I held myself together; I didn’t laugh because I knew that as soon as she heard my voice the magic of it all would be shattered like glass pavilions. She suddenly got up as I was biting my lips in order to keep quiet. She started walking towards the staircase like she never left the house. She had only taken two steps when she turned around and said, “Come on, get up, let’s have a walk around the house,” like a corpse calling out to its soul as she started walking towards the staircase on the far side of the drawing room.
I thought that if I didn’t follow her, her arm would detach itself from her shoulder and her hand would remain my hand. Fearing this, I followed her, striding briskly. My fear swelled as I advanced into the darkness of the drawing room. She, however, was joyfully prancing around just like she did all those years ago when we met for the first time. We walked the long drawing room from end to end, between the unorganised and fusty furniture. She turned around and started to quickly descend the stairs when we were on just the third step of the one that led to the second floor of the house. As she began to go down, she also let go of my hand. I started to follow her as I thought she was playing a new game. When she noticed that I was following her she paused. She said, as she softly turned her head around and looked at me over her shoulder, “You should stay there, stay by the staircase.”
BY MURAT TUNCEL
Short Faragmend SHADOW GIRL (From the book titled, “Shadow Girl”) Translated from Turkish by Hande Eagle (August 2012)