“We are told that we have to ‘learn to live with terror,’” my wife Özge said, her voice filled with exasperation. “Why should I have to learn to live with terror? What kind of shit is that?

“What kind of world do we live in where we have to learn to live with terror? Am I on the wrong planet?”

This tirade was waiting when I walked in the door from work the other night. It was her day off, so I suggested we go out for dinner. She was not in the mood.

“Are you tired?” I asked..

“I’m not tired,” she said. “Just pissed off.”

“Why, what happened?”

###

She’d been reading the news, which is always a bad idea. There was a (yet another) alert. This time a report circulating about how the German embassy was shut down, and warnings issued to German tourists because of “concrete evidence” of a possible imminent terror attack.

Plus, all over social media were shared posts about similar warnings to citizens about possible attacks during Navruz celebrations, which were set to take place on the weekend.

My wife is not German, she’s Turkish. And she doesn’t celebrate Nevruz. So why was she pissed off? Terror fatigue, warning fatigue, something like that.

Since she works at one of the national palaces, she’s no stranger to such alerts. In fact, her workplace was the target of a (thankfully) unsuccessful attack last autumn. By chance, she’d gone to a doctor’s appointment when the thwarted attack took place.

Then, two days ago, she and some friends were taking the ferryboat from Beşiktaş, on the city’s European side, across to Üsküdar on the Asian side. Now, bear in mind that terror groups have in the past indicated that the ferryboats and/or metro would make desirable targets, and citizens have been urged to “take precautions.”

“So we were on the ferry,” Özge went on, “and we saw this man. He looked like he was hypnotized or something. Very strange-looking … We thought, ‘What if he has a bomb?’ We went behind this door that has reinforced metal. But then we were like, ‘But there is fuel on this ferryboat, so if there was a bomb and it went off, the whole ferry would explode. So maybe we should just jump off …”

Her story reminded me of the other day when I took the metro over to Fatih, on the European side, to renew my residency permit. Other than when a security guard asked to scan my bag when going through the turnstyle, it never even occurred to me that I should be “taking precautions.” If I was supposed to be learning to live with terror, I sure as hell wasn’t learning very fast. But I’ve always been a somewhat slow learner, especially when it comes to higher mathematics, like knowing your statistical chances at any given moment.

Hell, I was all about making sure I got to the Emniyet in time to get a good spot in the queue.

“Maybe you should go back to America,” Özge said, later that evening when she’d had her rant. “I mean, for your sake. Before it’s too late. You could get a good job in America, right?”

“Sure, but what kind of talk is that? Come on, you’re my wife! Why would I just leave you here?”

“Oh, why did I have to be born in Turkey?” Özge said, moaning again in exasperation. “Why couldn’t I have been born somewhere like Switzerland? They never have any problems like we do here. Or even in America. What kind of problems does America have, compared to Turkey?”

“Well,” I said, “We do have school shootings.”

“Ah, so what!” She didn’t mean that, of course. She was tired, frustrated, speaking from anger.

Can you blame her? It’s not easy, you see, learning to live with terror. It’s a lovely, one could even say, a splendid piece of advice, like telling a terminal cancer patient that he or she “has a lot to live for.” Yes, we just have to learn to live with it. Beautiful advice. Try taking it, as Hemingway wrote in “The Sun Also Rises.” Just try taking it.

###

Here, on this past Friday afternoon, it was gloriously sunny. It felt like the city had finally shaken off the last desperate grip of winter. My students all strained in their desks, so I let them go early.

My wife sent a message on What’sApp: a reminder from the U.S. Embassy, warning its citizens in Turkey to be on guard against possible terror attacks over the weekend Nevruz celebrations.

We are advised to avoid political rallies or large gatherings of people in general, and for that matter large, public spaces. Also, we should take care to remember that terror groups have expressed the strong desire to strike at a transportation hub (e.g., the metro, or one of the ferry terminals, et al).

In other words, we should all just stay home.

My friend, Omer, who has been away on business the past few weeks, texted asking if I wanted to meet somewhere for a beer. Sure, why not?

Well, it looks like we won’t be going to our usual hangouts in Kadıköy. Most likely, we’ll go somewhere in my neighborhood, where it’s green and residential – presumably off the terrorists’ radar – but reinforced by a good bar or two.

(“This sure takes the sting out of being terrorized,” I can hear the ghost of Sam, the piano player in “Casablanca” saying, as we raise toasts. Boy, you said it, Sam.)

Özge has taken the morning off, so we will have breakfast together. A classic Turkish kahvaltı, prepared and eaten at home, naturally. That’s the only way to beat them, I suppose – the terrorists, those guys and gals who want to take us all out with a bang. Beat ‘em with breakfast in bed, and a few pints with a friend at your local (and make sure to buy your friend a round, but also be careful if he’s driving – he might want to drive instead of using the Metro this time). Friends don’t let friends be terrorized.

Actually, my wife is right, of course. She’s always right. We shouldn’t have to learn to live with terror. That’s complete and utter horseshit. But what can we do? Move? Our lives are here.

“I shouldn’t be spending my time thinking about whether or not I’m going to survive going to work and coming home in one piece,” she says. “I want to think about our next holiday. I want to think about us buying a new house. I want to think about these kinds of things. Why should I have to learn to live with terror? Can you answer that, please?”

Well, my wife is speaking. Can someone answer her question? Anyone? Bueller? Anyone?

###

OK, I’ll try to. I am her husband, after all.

We’ll stick to the plan: breakfast in bed, then drinks later with our good friend Omer. We’ll consider a counter-proposal to all this “Learning to Live with Terrorism” mumbo-jumbo. I’ve got a better one. Remember the old Spanish proverb? It goes something like this: Living well is the best revenge.

###

James Tressler is a former Lost Coast resident. His books, including the recently published “City Scherzos: New Stories from Istanbul,” can be found at Lulu.com. He lives in Istanbul.