My First Day in Heaven Was, Honestly, Less Than Ideal
By Sezen Ünlüönen

translated by Matthew Chovanec

My First Day in Heaven was, honestly, less than ideal. By the time the trumpet had been blown on the day of judgment, and all living things had been gathered together in the great summoning, and we sat there endlessly waiting for them to bring the book of deeds, I was bored out of my mind. Next to me, this guy named Vecdi Efendi (not Mr. Vecdi, Vecdi Efendi he said scolding me) was reciting verses from Surah Ibrahim, from Surah Kaf, crying out “Oh Prophet of God! intercede on my behalf,” muttering things in Arabic. God forgive me for saying this, but he was like a high school student trying to memorize formulas ten minutes before an exam. What a kiss-ass! (and would you look at me, he’s got me started with all this God forgive me crap, his groveling must be contagious.)
And besides that, seeing that the whole process from start to finish was happening just like Muslims said it would, that the Gates of Heaven were opened first and foremost to believers, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a little bummed about that.
Look, don’t be fooled by my nonchalant attitude, it was nerve wracking having to cross over the Sirat bridge, riding slowly on the back of those rams my grandma had sacrificed on holy days. I quickly recited three obligatory “Qul-hu” and one “al-Hamdu lilah” prayer that I still remember from childhood, and once I had made it over to the other side to heaven I let out a huge sigh of relief. It seemed as though our Lord who created the heaven and the earth wasn’t going to punish those of his servants who’d drank two glasses of rakı, or going to be looking into which kind of animal meat they had eaten; apparently he was instead judging people by the goodness of their hearts and the purity of their conscience; it seemed that a heaven founded on such rational principles might just have space for such militant atheists as me.
A staff member was reading names off of the list in his hand in front of the gates. When someone’s name was called they would follow a person wearing a red t-shirt to where they’d be staying. The staff member was pretty bad at it, reading the slightly unfamiliar names like Kurkaskov, Kursakov, Korsakakov however he thought they should be pronounced. We had been told to wait quietly, you know since the topic at hand was the fate of our eternal afterlives, but everyone just kept talking and yelling, once in a while someone would try to make a scene and lose it and shout out “Allah!” and then fall down fainting. After a short while this skinny little boy started dragging out a microphone with a long cable on the ground, weaving in between everyone’s legs, like he was an unenthusiastic snake charmer carrying around a dead snake, and then handed it to the staff member. As soon as the staff member had taken the microphone in his hand, a deafening screech rang out. Some hysterical people, thinking that the trumpets of heaven had blown anew, started stammering “God’s Hellfire!” and then fainted again. Seeing that the microphone wasn’t working out, the inaudible staff member began reading the list again with his bare voice. The people of heaven, worriedly thinking “what if my name is called and I miss it” kept trying to elbow, step on, and shove past each other. Then some of them, God knows where from, started eating spoonfuls of slushie. “Where did you get that from? “Why won’t you share it with others?”? “What makes you think you deserve that?” “Hey auntie, my boy’s miserable in this heat, can he get a spoonful?” “Umm I don’t know, is he clean or does he have germs? If you had deserved one on earth then you would have been given a slushie too,” they said, pushing back and forth. You know, even when they get to heaven some people just don’t have a clue how to act, it’s like they’ve never heard of manners or etiquette.
Anyways, after all the arguing and pushing was over, they set us up in some bungalow-like accommodations, the one I was staying in was decorated in a minimalist Scandinavian style, which I was happy with, when it came to interior design I had always favored simplicity, but supposedly anyone who was unhappy with their accommodations could speak with management and have the assigned furniture switched out.
I learned that from the staff member in the red t-shirt who showed up when I pressed the service button next to the door of the bungalow. Now that I was moved in, I thought I’d celebrate my first day in heaven by asking for a Mai Tai with extra rum, but it took fifteen minutes for the drink to come. I mean if this was what service was going to be like in heaven… the boy waiting on me looked Syrian, it was sad to see we were up to our ears in them here too. I had hoped it would be one of those long-legged, big breasted, bikini-clad—whoa now, bikini? This was heaven wasn’t it— nude blonde who served me. I’ll speak to management about that as soon as possible.
Speaking of blondes, when I asked Kerim (that’s the name of the boy waiting on me) he told me that Huris and Ghilman were real, but that you had to go and sign up for them on a list. With a devout look in his eyes he recited the Quranic verse “Indeed, we will perfectly create their mates, making them virgins, loving and equal in age.” It was going to be a real drag if heaven was going to be filled with all of this sappy religious talk.
When he left I thought more about the whole “equal in age” thing. As far as I was concerned, at thirty three I was in the spring of my youth, at the peak of my strength and virility, but thirty three years old for a woman, that’s a lot. Couldn’t we get someone a little more spry? I thought maybe around ten or fifteen Thai girls who are on the younger side would be a good start but hopefully they won’t give me a hard time about it. You know, like I said, my first day in heaven was, honestly, less than ideal, but it’s still just the beginning. We’ll see what tomorrow brings.
*
This morning when I woke up I decided to go on a 5k run like I always used to before. But then I wondered if you could eat whatever you wanted in heaven and be as fit as you’d like without having to do any exercise. My hand went reflexively for my phone. But then I remembered I didn’t have a phone. I could probably just ask Kerim, but this early in the morning I didn’t really want to have to look at his creepy little face, plus, instead of having to deal with Kerim I’d much prefer to just have a phone. You know, it’s better when everyone has one, you can goof off and play games once in a while, keep in touch with friends and family easily.
Speaking of friends and family, I realized I hadn’t thought about my parents, or that asshole Berk, or about my first wife or Elvin or about Özge since I had gotten here. I wondered if they had been able to get into heaven? Gülgün, that battle-axe, she would have had a hard time, Berk wasn’t of help even to himself in life, but my mom, for example, she had never wished anyone any harm. If being a dumb was an obstacle I’d think differently about Özge of course, but when I thought about the average person around here, I had no doubt that Özge would fit right in. On the other hand though, I had no desire to see Özge here without her face-lift, her hair done up, or without her laser hair removal. I doubt I’d even recognize her, hahaha.
I looked through the cupboards, I found coffee, there was a French press but no espresso machine, no way to make a latte or a cappuccino. I made coffee and went outside. In the garden of the bungalow next to me there was an aging woman doing yoga. I gave a little wave, and she gave me a slight nod. For a second I wondered about how the Galatasaray-Fenerbahçe match had gone, but then about how now that we were in heaven, did they have dream teams like with Maradona and Pele on them, and if we could watch them play. I’ll have to give that question to Kerim. Doing everything by myself like this is a joke, and against the spirit of heaven, as soon as possible I’ll ask for a secretary. That got me thinking about the whole Huri thing again, so I decided to go right away and sign up.
It took twenty five minutes to walk to the “Human Resources Office.” what kind of heaven is this, I don’t get it, what the hell was I doing walking down the road dripping in sweat, was this what I had been seen worthy of heaven for? Half joking, I said to Kerim, who had come along, “ how about you carry me on your back,” he gave me such a dirty look you’d think I was cursing out his mother, but it’s cool, it was some good cardio huffing it and then I made it to the office. The whole place was a mess, the service counter machine was broken, lines everywhere, if you asked what people were waiting for half of the morons waiting there had no idea. A staff member in a red t-shirt who saw me looking around annoyedly asked, “ are you an acquaintance of Berk Tokgöz?” Thinking about what mess he must have gotten himself into I thought about denying it, but then changed my mind and said “yes, I’m his older brother.” Then he told me “you don’t need to wait here,” and took me through the door marked “personnel only.” There, without having to wait in any line, and while even getting to sip a Turkish coffee, I got to state my request for a “blonde, 18 year old, C cup, D cup is fine, but no B cup.”
Leaving I felt super hungry, I found a Pide place and sat down. I asked for two with chopped beef along with one with Tahini but the waiter, covered in sweat, told me “Tahini is too much work, we can’t keep up, it’s just the two of us running around doing everything.” Here I am in heaven in this rancid smelling place, talking to a pimple-faced kid, not even able to enjoy one single pide, waiting in a bunch of stupid lines, having to walk twenty five minutes just for two Huris, I was pissed. Without saying anything I left and went home.
There were a couple people having a conversation in the garden. I don’t normally like to make small talk with random people, but with nothing else to do, I went up to them. Vecdi Efendi, you know the one from the day of judgment, along with the old artificially tanned woman I had seen doing yoga and a couple other people were excitedly talking to each other. The old lady turned to me and said “ you, have you ever made an artichoke balm?” As I looked at her blankly she went on “Chakra meditation? Aura cleansing? A Silent retreat?” Vecdi Efendi replied “madame, madame, what has that to do with anything? I saw this gentleman crossing the bridge of Surat on the back of a ram. It is clear to me that he, like me, did not falter in his duties to prayer, sacrifice, or worship.”
“Did you go on Hajj?”
“Isn’t Allah already aware that for extenuating circumstances I was unable to go.”
“I fed orphans on a lot of holidays mainly, that’s the main reason I think.”
Someone else mockingly said: “Well now that you’ve made it here to heaven, why are you still fussing about the reasons why, have some whisky, some cocaine, go on and live a little.”
Wait, did they really have cocaine in heaven? I pushed the button a few times to summon that idiot Kerim who was nowhere to be found. It took him an hour to get there. When he finally showed up, I was so angry I had forgotten all about the cocaine. I chewed him out “where have you been this whole time son?”
“I have three other heaven-residents that I’m responsible for, I can’t keep up,” he said groveling. This kid had an air of subtle disrespect to him, but I had no idea how I was going to discipline him. I forgot about it and sent him off saying “go find some cocaine.” Naturally, saying cocaine immediately made me think of Berk. How was it that that jackass ended up being a person with influence in heaven? It would stand to reason that in a place where he had any pull I should have ten times as much, but had he gotten here before me? Or did they not know exactly who I was? If they did know, would I be stuck here in this shitty bungalow with that dumbass Kerim? Right?! Tomorrow I’ll say something, they’ll see to putting me up in a villa on the Bosphorus, then I’ll begin to really enjoy life, or should I say enjoy heaven.

*
Dear journal, I am writing these lines from a villa on the Bosphorus. Normally I would be above this dear journal business, but boredom has driven me to take up the hobby of a high school girl. I thought about looking up Özge so that we could hook up until the Huris got here, but once they arrived it would have been hard to get rid of her. I can’t take any more of her fits of jealousy, her freakouts, her moodiness.
The villa has already lost its appeal. To get everyone a villa who wants one they’ve had to extend the Bosphorus out for kilometers and kilometers, to get from one side to the other it’s not thirty kilometers, it goes on forever. What kind of Bosphorus is that?
I called Kerim, and I had him bring me a shrimp cocktail and some appetizers. He set out an elaborate spread, and I asked him about the Huris while getting hammered. He said it could take up to six months, maybe if I called up Berk and asked things could be sped up.
When I said alright then well then where is that son of a bitch Berk he winced like I had just cursed the prophet, then, sounding all enigmatic, he said “ I am unable to know.” Here I am trying to relax, looking out over the Bosphorus and this dumbass is still standing there squirming like he’s in pain. Finally I couldn’t take it anymore so I asked him what he wanted, and after playing coy for an hour he finally spilled it, could he have a taste of the shrimp cocktail?
I was fed up, and had completely lost my appetite. I begrudgingly pushed him the plate. It’s always like this, people are always acting friendly and polite, pretending to be courteous, but then before you know it they’re badgering you to death.
I thought to myself: tomorrow I’ll find Berk and ask him where he got all this authority from, that’s what I’d like to know, and also speed up this whole Huri business, and also that I’ll also take one of those latest models of Italian sports cars thank you very much. Like nobody at the club could touch me when it came to driving, the people here, they’ll see, I’ll show them just how a car is driven.
*
I got a car but it’s second hand.