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attempte (toast crumbs) under my feet. I was pretty ridiculous. "Let go." "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, excuse me..." He was

laughing. Despite his young age, he had wrinkles around his eyes like the old man when he smiled. Even though

he had returned, I feared the worst thing: to be known as a man without manners, to give the impression of a

'rude' person.

Being a teacher in this school meant setting an example with his attitudes. It was the anatomy teacher who came

to the rescue. He leaned towards me with a small smile on his lips. "Excuse me, sir, the principal is waiting for you

in her room to give her the lesson program". Could you please tell me where is her room?"

He was wearing a loose gray coat. He said sarcastically rather than seriously and anxiously: "I think it's bad for you

to have a mathematics teacher working in a science high school in a health vocational high school..." I thought I

was an unobtrusive person from the outside. I was wearing my groom's suit. I was thinking of keeping my

responsible and calm appearance in the eyes of the students. I had an impressive physique: strong shoulders and

penetrating eyes. Every minute that passed was taking me away from me, affecting the big blue eyes under the

glasses. Since I had to return to my single days in this city after my day, I thought it would be appropriate to drink

tea at the cafe on the terrace of the white high building in the center, with a view of Urfa, instead of returning to

my sister's house early.

I bought a Chair with some of the wicker fibers on the seat broken off. There was an ashtray only on the table, a

waiter approached to order. He was wearing a white apron with a turn-down collar, an old wide-rimmed glasses

that had been smashed over his right eye and had carefully combed hair. Next to the cafe, youngsters lined up for

tickets for an action movie starring Gina Manes and Jean Smith at the cinema. Casanova's flirtatiousness was

evident in his black olive eyes. And his nose, which was conflicting with his troubled eyes, was thrown forward to

seek help; it was as if he was pretending to be an animal training in the circus. What kind of mood did being a

world-renowned celebrity create in one? While I was immersed in these thoughts, I was startled with a gentle

hello. dear senior student and group of friends that caused it to spill onto the floor, I suggested to them that they

sit down if they have time and have tea together my kind invitation was accepted after about three months, this

time in the same cafe just the two of us sipping our tea to her to look at me at least once with her green eyes I

would insist.

I don't know how I did it..." "A small suicide attempt," he said. He tried to smile. "This has to happen. You

shouldn't be angry with me. There are moments when—" "More than anything and especially nothing. We could

have been together a little longer;" "I no longer have any desire to be happy."

"Who is it that tells you about happiness, Deniz?

You knew I was dating, I thought it was just going to be a date, I'm talking about being afraid of you doing such

dangerous things." "You see very well that I'm not superfluous." I'm 18 now "Of course, if one pretends to take a

box of antidepressant pills.." Don't be so harsh when you judge me..." "You're welcome!" I tucked the tie in my

pocket. Tying a tie after sex is always rude.

He was still looking at my wife's picture while we were making love... I can't make any complaints against my

wife. She was pregnant with our second child in those days and she was at her mother's house. Maybe we were

done before, the two of us. Maybe I was looking for an excuse to get angry at the sea, I used his suicide attempt

every time I got stuck yes yes, it is necessary; I need this excuse..."

He rested his face on his knees, then lifted his head. Gene began to look like someone who had been subjected to

harsh criticism. "In situations like this, you have to go far," I said. At last I had the right to feel a little pleasure on

your lips.

These were our last kisses. "Eskişehir?" "Eskisehir." "It's too far, I have to go very quickly and, as I said at the cafe,

I have to come back after completing my PhD." He went to the kitchen and brought a bottle of water and a glass."

I drank. He was looking at me friendly. "Is this new?" "What?" "He looked at my book like it was nothing." I

looked at my watch. I opened the door: he was lightly stroking his forehead as he was leaving. only a part of the

minaret was submerged under the water. When we corresponded again ten years later, he wrote that nothing

had changed in his life and added:

"Rewrite if possible!"

Over the years, one learned to bear the pain of abandonment or inevitable abandonment with different faces.

Over time, you could also discover the magic of hiding behind certain images... You could also tell your inner

person what and where you left off from time to time, in a time of loneliness or irreversibility. Even if you feel

unprotected against all defensive areas, naked despite all clothing... You had to believe in the existence of this

road in order to live in your own time, in your solitude, in those places where you know you cannot set foot, with

those people, with those people, with your facts as you wish. It was the rule of the game, in the usual,

commonplace, somewhat hollow expression. Because the 'others' were there. Others were there... As in all

'known' stories... As in other times, climates, emotional worlds, cities that could not be lived as imagined... Others

were there... Even if they moved to other places, they would always stay there even if they were invisible to you.

Even if you went to other places, explored other geographies with your own borders, they would stay there, they

would not leave you. The play was your play, and the stage was one of those scenes where everyone made

preparations in private rooms, preferred not to carry their private rooms to others, the mirrors were often

wanted to be ignored, the audience was also actors and could not escape being. Preparation was always done by

someone, for someone. For the days that are always given birth to someone, as it should be... For the nights that

are multiplied by games, or more accurately saved... For the weekends you live and share by being content with

small nature trips, small departures and small steps. A silent agreement that everyone knows, but that no one has

the courage to question out loud. What has fundamentally changed, what has changed in real terms, what could

have been? You could think of the images of triumphs, defeats, resentments, regrets, and separations that

sometimes returned to you with different deaths. But in those moments, in order to better understand the

reason for his longing and search more than anyone else, besides trying all these possibilities, it was also

necessary to know how to reach the limits of a story aimed at resisting, defending and confirming what

happened. ... with a little fear... In those long nights of solitude, I don't fully learn who is remembered and how,

with what sights, smells or sounds, as an accepted guest, an actor in those lives, only to a certain extent, parts of

the whole as necessary, That's why it wasn't easy for me to combine as many of those people as they wanted. I

wanted to go down to those corridors, too, but despite all their efforts to understand or explain, people could be

each other's obstacles and watchers there. Some images and some emotions were in another part of those lives.

Over time, I would understand the importance of this region. Me too... After I learned to make progress in those

people to some extent, despite all my squints... Back again, clues, knowing how to catch clues, living stories

hidden behind clues or details, in a new, unexpected place, or at least trying to pretend to be alive. In that case, it

was only necessary to fall by risking walking in a dream... You could go beyond a play that only wanted to be

brought before others with its scenes that could be shown, its scenes that could be shown, and its speeches that

could be announced.

I will fulfill his wish, I will not write again!

mosquito-1914

-Village coffee-

-AbdullahI pulled one of the chairs under the shade of the big mulberry tree. There was a burning sun in the area outside

the dark shade. Ökkeş was distributing tea with thin-waisted glasses arranged on a yellow tray.

"Welcome," he said, as he placed it on my desk.

While I was taking the first sip, Arogil suddenly appeared next to me with his donkey; he took the saddle and

lowered it to the ground, leaving it on the grass so that there would be no mud; he stretched out his arms for a

long time against the sun, his face was red as always, somehow drenched in sweat in this early hour of the

morning. Who knows maybe. He went to the woods before dawn, he looked for a table he would like, then he

took one of the chairs next to me and stretched his legs forward. He got up and took two more chairs from the

side table, opened his arms to both sides and placed them on the backs of the chairs; When Ökkeş and her eyes

met, he asked for tea. He took this opportunity and asked for a second tea. His outstretched arm was close

enough to touch my shoulder. There were tufts of yellow hairs on his hand, he could not help but slurp his tea, he

looked at the world with great pride, maybe because he was wealthy, he was always full of confidence, everyone

who saw him was afraid of his big structure; he was also aware of this, people were aware of it. He was flattered

to look at himself. He took a wrap from his pocket, between his lips. He squeezed it into a squeak; he began to

smoke with delight. Our blond was frozen with a matchbox in his mouth and a cigarette in his mouth; I saw him

take one foot off the chair in front of him, one arm of the jacket hung over his shoulder.

he rolled a corn-leaf cigarette with yellowed fingers; He brought it to his lips and stuck it with his saliva. Then he

reached for the knife that lay on the table, picked it up and placed it lovingly in its sheath. Cigarette in his mouth,

he hummed softly to himself: "...it rises and shines into my heart ... I steal and sing my world..." "Why don't you

ever sing in my head, APO?" "Why?... Ighmm... Wait a minute..." He lit his cigarette with a match, glancing at the

liquor bottles that lay haphazardly on the shelf, smoking. He blinked when his gaze met the kerosene lamp; for

the flame of the lamp was bouncing as if it were alive, to the tune of the song that had just ended. "I just don't

like the headline. Who rises in the song and falls into someone's heart? No way, such a thing. They enter the river

and dive into the Euphrates water without fear, they make the fish miss..." He smiled again and broke out the

familiar cry that everyone knows: "Iyeyt!" Then, quietly inhaling from his cigarette, he looked around at the faces

around him. It had been a long time since I had seen them. "There is nothing more beautiful than the stars!" she

said. Far-sighted Hasan disagreed. "Have you ever seen the sea, Alpine?" he said contemptuously, twisting the

hard ends of his chestnut red mustache. asked. "Oh, I've never seen it".

"Then how can you say that? The sea!... There is nothing more beautiful than that! God created the world with

his hands, but the sea... with his eyes ...". "Nonsense! What is the difference between the sea and the

Euphrates?" "The sea has everything that the river has, even more. It has a gray beach… waves, warm water…

The wind is warm, its breeze is never-ending. It is always like a never ending song." "There's this in the Euphrates,

too!" "Come on! He's nothing but a long glass snake! He couldn't answer. When his heartbeat stopped, the poetic

enthusiasm was gone with him. A serious anxiety permeated his words now.

"Arogil is coming," cried Abdullah. Alp laughed, pleased: "Good evening, everyone!" "Look at that bootie!" "He's

showing off as erudite. He stayed in the city for a year and learned a little bit of Istanbul; he doesn't know a word

in Armenian anymore!" "If you're going to insist on that, we still know that: ateriambu!" "Aryanna!" replied Apo.

He held out his hand to greet, mimicking his well-known cry. "Ayeyyt!"

"Now you're going to stay here in the village, walking around naked and playing diapers in the cafe at night?" "I

do not know." "What do you mean I don't know, you flat-footed you? I don't know, I don't know, I don't know!

Doesn't a man have anything smarter to say?" he laughed. He was now leaning against the counter. He took 4

glasses and poured some drinks. "Do you want it, Apo?" Be careful, don't get hit, he said and grinned.

caught the hand that had just been wrapped in the glass. "Are you crazy? If the devotees catch you selling, it's a

picture of you swallowing the pill dir!" "Zevzek! Coming from the city!"

"Besides, I'm nothing; nothing. Look at my face!" As he spoke, he set down his glass and quickly grabbed the small

lamp. The light came undulating on this face, where it wanted to show them, and became motionless; revealed it.

He squeezed his breath. Her face was still and strangely beautiful; but that wasn't what he wanted to show. His

thoughts agitated in the whirlpool of the dual character of his being: "Look, this is how I am! This is me. I'm

nothing. I'm nobody. Neither colored nor white. A man who doesn't belong anywhere. A man without sin.

Someone who can't be held responsible for what he's done. A hybrid. Neither white, nor native… Ever." He slowly

replaced the gas lamp. Their facial features faded in the dimness of the place. He grasped the glass, but now he

had no desire to bring it to his mouth, knowing that he would shut up now. Accepting his fate had poisoned his

evening. Apo broke the silence, trying to disperse the gloomy mood. "What wind threw you? You never left the

house?" reddish gums appeared, his shrewd little eyes concealed in wrinkles: "Longing, perhaps..."

Apo scraped the counter with his fingernail. "You and longing! You're not a poet! Come on, tell the truth!" "I

swear I missed it. When the river rose, I left Birecik. I went down to the Euphrates to fish. I asked my boat: 'Shall

we take a stroll?' He said, 'Yes.' And we came here together. Even angels don't row up rivers, you know, but here I

am." A few old men, skinny, flabby, yellowish-skinned, with a disfiguring, wiry-bearded beard, joined in the

conversation: "I was on the other side to cut down a tree, and at that time I heard you calling from the turn of the

river. Hey, I said to myself, really. He's coming too! Fresh news in the tavern today, you must go there! That's why

I crossed the river, scaring the fish with my beard."

"You're a shame, if you put that burly beard together you'd even feed the fish!" The fisherman scratched his chin

thoughtfully: "Don't rush! Don't rush!

"Oh, that's it, son. As you pass by, even the herons say to each other, 'Look, he's coming!' they scream! No one is

surprised. I am surprised and want to ask you. Tell me, what are you doing here?" "But you did it, huh! To make a

field. Corn, figs, olives, ..." He rubbed his hands merrily. "Wow!.. Unbelievable. Fisherman who will farm, plant

something! It means there will be something to ditch again soon, then.

"Hey, hey, there's so much more for you to be surprised about!'

He shook his head skewered "goodbye to laziness?" "Even now no one can claim that this happened. If you'd just

wrung your ass around and walked around before you came here, you would have seen the church being

repaired, the great courtyard cleared and all the weeds removed..."

You see, you won't have to go to Halfeti soon anymore... Apo and Alp were not where they were before. While

the fisherman was brewing, they had already fallen on the muddy road. This will be the last time, said Abdullah,

look, don't make me feel like it again. Don't tell me, I know, you can do it, though you have never offered us to

switch roles since we were kids. If we don't get married, the villager's mouth will not be a bag, he'll pucker up.

Even if we're both men, they ask what they're doing in the bottom of the barn, we're grown up now, don't

confuse this with the games we played when we were kids!

Alpinarian -seriously-remembered their first union, it lasted until the first light of the morning, for a while he

couldn't hold back his tears, however he had a strange feeling of happiness, maybe the first few tries just got him

"get used to it", because of the reunions at midnight and after. The wetness she felt inside made Apon easier to

enter towards the morning, she also warmed up to the role she had been playing for about three hours, as if she

had begun to receive the reward of the troubled hours. She was very happy in those days, but now she was tired

of her "man"'s constant insistence, her offers were often rejected. In his own belief, he was talking about the

people of Lot, talking about the death penalty for what they did, Abdullah; however, if there was a skin match

between two people, it wouldn't matter if their gender was the same or different. However, it was now the end

of the road, he felt used; suddenly Alpinarian stopped; "I'm returning home. If it's going to be like this, it won't be

Hang on, "Abdullah, who did not expect this reaction as the spores of falling snowflakes slowly descended on his

cap, froze, looked after him for a while, and then went to the street of three married people.

He woke up with the first lights of the day and hugged his coat to get the charred wood from the top, the

preparations were completed. Mary was going to be his woman tonight. It wasn't that important that Alpinarian

was offended; even if they wanted to soon after he got married, their meeting should have been short, this is the

responsibilities of married life. Before she could get rid of the wedding fatigue, Meryem started to pray on the

condition that she was two steps behind her. She should be happy.

On the wedding night, Abdullah was restless, as if he had cheated on his wife, he was combined with the feeling

of guilt and the sadness of losing his friend. His union with Mary was as if he was a soldier who fulfilled his duty.

would pass.

rmenians always had a privileged position in the Ottoman Empire. In the history books freely taught in

I see

them as a person who believes in Alawism, which is a sect. it was underused, the grass covered not only the

bumps in the middle of the road, but also the ruts caused by the cars. I noticed that the air was starting to cool

and a trail appeared against the gray clouds gathering in the sky. I shuddered at the thought of spending the

night.

Up from the bottom of the road came a carriage and a farmer, pulled by a gray horse with its long white tail

rubbing against its muddy heels.

-You look tired as you climbed the hill, he said, looking at me. I looked at him too. Thanks to your kindness, I

would like to rest my feet for a while.

"It's good to get one's feet off the ground," I said, quietly climbing up the hill, using the time to look around and

collect my hair and wonder why my heart was singing uncontrollably. I realized you were as rough as a cook's

hands. He was like a sausage on my lap.

Broken nails were filled with filth and her skin was burning red. She remembered for a moment that the hands of

the nobles were cleaned with milk in the Middle Ages. We used to comb our hair with Baiona, paint our lips, and

put on our milk-colored gloves and dance in the courtyard.

Alpinarian

cibin(Saylakkaya)-Taurus Mountains /1914

"After the assassination of the Sultan, according to der-saadet, we are no longer a loyal nation," said Arogil, while

rolling up his tobacco.

"Did you hear the last edict?"

He turned to the people in the coffee house. All of the people in the village cafe were Armenians, some of whom

were bubbling hookahs and others sipping their coffee while slurping.

"Every boy over the age of fourteen and every girl over the age of twelve will take an oath of allegiance to the

Islamic faith; this oath will be renewed every two years, without exception, boys have to attend prayers every

Friday, without exception. None of the Armenians will be a doctor, even if they work in obligatory conditions.

While the patient dies in the hospital, there will be no Armenian doctor with him."

A scene came to life in my head, "I had healed the little boy, I was with the dead woman. And now I got up from

the stone where I paused to rest and walked leaning on my staff. I was running away from the soldiers of the

Sultan, whose breath I felt on my neck."

This short play of the Arogil did not receive enough attention, but what he was about to tell would almost cause

indignation.

- "No one will read the Bible in their mother tongue; the Bible written in Ottoman will be read."

Everyone looked at each other, frozen in surprise. One elder spoke;

"But who is supposed to receive God's Word?" he asked.

"We will not surrender!" cried Arogil. Right there I promised myself that I would fight alongside him for the rest of

my life. I could die for him, and yes we would not give up!

For more than an hour we spent time repeating and debating the laws. These prohibitions tightened the tyranny

of oppression. We would refuse to denounce our friends, cousins, and wives.

"The devil SHOULD BE NO ONE OTHER THAN THESE ISLAMS!"

"NOW ANY PERSON CAN EASILY APPROACH THEIR LAND BY NOTING THEIR NEIGHBOR OF JOINING THE

REGULARS.

I felt a thrill of wild joy as Arogil wrapped his arm around me and hugged me. He and I could have fought together

and loved each other.

"My brothers!" said Arogil; the dashnak gangs are waiting for our support, the value of freedom will only be

understood when it is lost, I would rather fight and die like a man than stay here and be the dog of the Ottomans,

be ready in front of the cemetery half night with me, they will come and take us over, are you ready to fight for

an independent Armenia?"

The crowd had vehemently approved, having done it again with Arogil, using his persuasion to the fullest.

It took twenty days to walk to the Taurus Mountains. For the first time, Alp was so far from home, not only from

home, but also from Apoya now, in fact, their friendship ended after he married Meryem, and the friendship that

ended in time forced them to leave. While walking, he couldn't help looking at the beauty of the scenery. trees...

As he walked, he looked up to see the snow capped mountains in the distance, and the beauty struck him.

On this long walk, Arogil was telling him about the pure, especially about the legendary bishop of the pure.

This bishop was so mature that he did not even need to sleep. He had been living in a cave on the top of the

Taurus for twenty years. It was said that he did not speak during this time. It was very difficult for him to return to

daily life after this life.

Arogil told the legend that the legend was a little man with tiny and shapely hands and feet.

An invisible wave of greeting would spread. People wanted to fall at his feet. The legend had such a kind and

sincere sincerity that when you met him, one thought that he had been waiting to meet and talk to you all his life.

The presence of the other person made him so happy!

it was because of his smile and shining eyes, but everyone knew that it was his visions that set him apart from the

others. His foresight was strong. He knew a truth that he did not know. I wonder what this truth is.

It was impossible not to be affected by the view of the mountain that stretched upwards from the plain like a

finger. The giant cave, which would be their place in their next life, had a large entrance; it had two or three

separate entrance doors. One of them was wide enough for an oxcart to pass through. This was the "SAFE

MOUNTAIN", which could not be contained.

Leaving the guards below, Alp and Arogil swept along the winding path. They were pulling themselves upwards,

holding on to the undersized pines that grew everywhere.

The nostrils were filled with the smell of pine. The trees curled up from the rocks with their roots as lean as a

snake and ready to tangle at their feet. ALPINARIAN had to watch every single step as he climbed the mountain.

Now, out of breath and their chests heaving rapidly, they stood in front of a large boulder to take a look around.

Below was the town of Zeytun. The cultivated land had medicinal herbs on every stone protrusion that appeared

between wooden or stone huts.

The huts leaned against the walls of the castle like children and protruded from the height of the hill into the sky.

-Let's meet "LEGEND", said Arogil, he said.

The man leaning on his wand wore a leather jacket with copper-colored hair and blue eyes. Before he reached

the courtyard of the cave, Legend eyed the two men

later

-COME CLOSER!"

he said to Alpinarian, pulling him towards himself enough to feel his breath,

He said, "Stay away from those who have JINN in you!"

Arogil hollowed out a piece of bread and filled it with stew and handed it to me.

-"Beautiful"

"Hmm," he replied. It was almost dark. We were having dinner in the cave when the first star was shining on the

night stand.

"Are there wolves in these mountains?" I asked. After all these years, I was afraid of wolves, although I had never

seen them.

"Sometimes in the winter they come down to the villages," said Arogil. "The winter is hard when the snow is thick

and they can't find food."

He was chewing his bread slowly.

"I once heard of a monk taming a wolf. Do you want to listen? His name was Francis; birds were fed by the man's

hand. Once a wolf came to town in search of food. The townspeople wanted to kill the wolf, but the monk said

that the great God forbade us to kill." .

"We went to the mountains to kill the Turks, but"

"We kill for free Armenia, not to be a slave to Islam," said Arogil.

-"Don't interrupt, listen to the rest of the story, the monk told the townspeople that he tamed the wolf. While the

wolf was looking for food in the village, the women broke into their houses shouting and locked their children

behind the wooden window shutters. The wolf wandered slowly through the village, swinging from side to side.

They gathered together with their knives and nets when the monk came. He raised his hand and the wolf bowed

before him like a house cat, bowing his head and kneeling.

Then the holy monk took the wolf's head in his hand and told him that it was wrong to eat the children and

animals of the villagers, and that God and the townspeople would always protect him if he stopped this habit.

The wolf understood this and lived like a faithful dog in the town. The townspeople fed him.

"You wouldn't have found anyone to do that in Halfeti," I said after thinking for a minute or two.

"Feeding a wolf," said Arogil, and shook his head.

"Once upon a time there was a brave knight who was a nice, big and loyal hunting dog. This dog was famous for

his kindness to his master. He had a gray coat and strong teeth. The knight married and his wife soon gave birth

to a strong and healthy baby. One day, the knight and his wife went hunting. While the dog was on watch by the

cradle, what did he see? A WOLF!

A wolf came out of the forest and started a fight to his death. When the knight returned home, the cradle was

turned upside down, there was no baby, the dog was smiling at its owner with blood in its mouth, the knight

decapitated the dog in one go and was still trying to drag towards him to lick his master's hand, while the knight

was watching the animal that killed his baby. Tears began to flow. Then he suddenly heard a sound in the bush

under the trees. The baby was happily sucking on his finger, and next to him was a wolf carcass.

How, isn't it a sad story?"

"This is a story about acting without thinking," I said. After thinking for a while, I asked, Who leaves a baby alone

with a dog?

"It's just a story," said Arogil. It was night and the stars were winking at us; we had walked from Halfeti to the

Taurus and joined the Dashnak gang; the stars covered the sky as close and cold as grains of gold like grains of

sand.

"It's time to go to bed," said Arogil. Meanwhile, I took my knife in my hand and always kept it ready with me

when I went to bed.

Another day: it's time to hide my knife.

Arogil had taken the guns to the higher caves. First I looked all over the cave and felt the happiness of waking up

to the new day while I was standing and breathing the fresh straw scented air. At that time I thought of Satinik,

thinking of someone other than myself for the first time in days. The strangest thing is that I am preoccupied with

the future rather than being stuck in the past. I looked first at the black stones on the threshold, then at the view.

Above the clouds stretched out like running sheep or the reflection of foam on the crest of the waves. Above the

clouds lay a skimpy milky sky. On the slope of the hill was a beech tree. The roots of the tree, plunging into the

ground, were clinging to the deep. In the muddy spot between the roots. it's just a few moments for me to dig a

hole and shove my little book, protected by green rag, well into the roots knotted in this hole.

After filling the hole with mud, stones, and straw, I placed the wet grass neatly around the covered hole. When I

took a step and looked from afar, the hole was not visible.

"Where have you been?" said Arogil

"Nothing, I just wanted to take a walk"

"A walk?

"I just wanted to see the fields below from here, that's all"

Arogil studied me silently. I could tell he was thinking about the lie I was telling, and he knew I was lying too.

"If you must know, I went out to look around. Now I'm back for buckets of water. I want to take a bath if you

don't mind."

Arogil ran his tongue between his teeth in thought for a few minutes. What did he really know about Alpinarian?

He knew that there were a few purified people in the village, but he didn't know whether he was a member of

this sect or not, and there was no need for separation when there was a unit to attack the Turks. The whole

village knew that he was very good friends with Abdullah. Could Alp work for the Turks in the gang?

It was necessary to watch him carefully in his first actions.

"Alp!" said Arogil as he cleared his rifle;

-Do you have any idea why we are in the caves of the safe mountain overlooking the town of Zeytun?

ALP looked with blank EYES.

-"No," he said, with the air of wanting to cut the conversation short;

"This is where our first armed rebellion against the Ottomans took place," said Arogil.

-"When our grandfathers killed the governor of Varosha, they sieged the town for 7 months and massacred them,

and we will avenge those days on August 30th!"

2014,Eskişehir/TURKEY

NECIP

I have no hope anymore. I have to forget the past. I'm tired of playing the role of a husband alone with a 19-word

farewell letter one morning, and I'm tired of writing unanswered letters...

The strange thing is that the psychological state I'm in is the same as the mood of the hero of the book I'm

reading, maybe I've told you this is my secret talent, the talent that the spiritual entity that appeared on my sister

who was hanging down from the 4th floor in my childhood - a gift she gave me without expecting anything in

return...

It was as if this spiritual being was formed by thousands of small soap bubbles; there were perfect circles, and it

would perhaps make more sense if I said that each circle - just because it was not superficial - was filled with

bubbles.

Suppose the person you love leaves your life one day without any explanation, here is the new hero I started to

live with, Galip, someone who earned his living as a lawyer in the eighties, a lawyer who lived in the past, who did

not give up on his childhood love, and finally managed to become the second husband of this beautiful girl, what

kind of feeling does being second actually feel? This unfortunate hero, who reads until the morning, suffers from

insomnia and watches his wife while she sleeps and thanks God for being in her life, goes on a journey with his

wife leaving him. Thanks to him, I became the hero of many books, but it was difficult to be an abandoned

husband-who knows, maybe this difficulty is a result of being abandoned in my real life. The most important

feature of our book, which is ideal for getting to know the Istanbul of the eighties, in my opinion, is your feelings

and understanding when you read the same page at different moments. Changing your relationships according to

your psychological state, it's like a 500-page poetry book!

Vathek is a pocket book that will be finished in half an hour for me, for some reason, which the author states that

he always reads fondly.

The Turkish equivalent of this word is that it is a "picturesque" book, the art of painting with words, as the author

stated, which is different from the book that I found absolutely boring at the first moments when I started

reading the same sentence a few times and left it unfinished.

Of course, the same question comes to our minds. What impressed you the most in the book you read? The

moment the car fell into the water and the fish eggs that took a place and sheltered in the moss-covered seats

are beautifully depicted. If you are interested in the lying subject of our book, which is the main subject and the

false subject, you can read the first and last chapters and reach the conclusion. After all, the beautiful woman

who left does not return to her home. And our story comes to an end. Then what's the point of reading the four

hundred pages in between?

At this point, the real plot of the story begins. A man reliving his past is sometimes revealing the effect of

Yeşilçam on people between the lines of the book, in which you returned to university life and sometimes to the

Ottoman empire in the complicated days before the coup. You don't have to be rewarded!

I think everyone who browses the pages of the Black Book is curious about Saim's magazine collection, and I am

also curious about the story of Ahmet Yılmaz.

Is this story entirely a figment of the author's imagination, or is it all or part of it taken from another source? I

think this would be the first question I would ask if I had the chance to talk to the author. Some sentences in the

book impressed me a lot. I remember the moment I dripped jam on the cover; I am reliving that moment.

Another picture that comes to mind is the basement filled with mannequins by Master Bedii.

While I was writing these lines, another picture appeared in my head of plastic dolls that open and close their

eyes, sold in Aladdin's shop.

Dark-type men who suddenly buy these plastic dolls one night...

Were these dark-type men wearing long coats and carrying a huge cigar in their mouths and a fedora on their

heads, or were they unbuttoning two of the top buttons of their shirts and putting their hairy breasts in people's

eyes, pressing the back of the shoes into their egg-heel pointy-toed shoes that acted as slippers, squeezing their

smelly feet in one hand and waving a rosary lightly on your shoulder? Were they the men who made someone

succumb to gravity?

This spirit creature that gave me talent has given me a new surprise; my dear friend "grandmother" with whom I

spent my youth is back, he left this world on April 17, 1994.

I said, "Welcome, grandma!"

It was so nice to see him again after twenty years, but it was so sad that he didn't recognize me. Actually, it

wasn't wrong. My thick curly brown hair, which the comb had difficulty in advancing, disappeared with a hocuspocus. I told what happened while I was gone, sometimes I gave good news, sometimes I gave bad news, I gave

news that would interest him from afar. I stated that his physics teacher, whom he resembled to a turkey

(turkey), died, but there were still survivors despite the passing of time. On the same day, one year after Özal my

dear friend who passed away did not wish well that day, that is the day the President passed away, but he was

surprised that the shepherd of Isparta Sulo was still alive, I kept the worst news for last, as he repeatedly stated,

when I told him that his favorite child - my uncle - had cancer He stayed, his thick glasses looked as if they were

going to fall to the ground, it was obvious that he was sad. I tried to reassure him that the treatment was

successful, the disease progressed very slowly, I didn't need to mention them as he saw his first daughter and

second son "on the other side", he was already assigned to separate his second son from this world. I told him

that he left this world years later.

I used to see him alone in his dark hut as usual in my dreams. After death, the soul comes to our world for a short

time from the hereafter and we see our relatives who have passed away before in our sleep. In the first years

when I lost my nephew, I dreamed of him. As a result of the loss of a ten-year-old child, it caused me to have

post-traumatic behavioral disorder and this disorder opened the door to sleepless nights. The author, who fell

into the grip of the disease called the first light of the morning, reads and writes until the first light of the morning

and leaves himself tired in the warm arms of his beloved wife towards the morning. The best proof for me that

the author is a picturesque writer is the first page of the book. is to read It is as if the young lawyer Galip

watching his beloved childhood love is happening right next to us. Who knows, maybe I draw beautiful pictures in

my novel, which tells about my grandfather, whose real name is Andre, was brought up in a Muslim family and

changed his name, and tells about the innocents who were deported, the Armenians who formed a gang and

started a rebellion. The important issue, of course, is relocation. This issue has been written many times in its

centennial year, and both sides tried to prove its rightness. In my opinion, it is a debate without a winner, and

when I decided to write the story of my grandfather, who passed away at this late hour of the night without

knowing his family, I only had two pictures of him and an Arab I have a collection of information consisting of

official documents written with letters. Maybe my only helper in this matter is the spiritual being. The ability to

live the books I read The spiritual entity that allows me to meet with the dead, who gives me the opportunity to

use my right to "change" whenever I want, if only for once in my life.

-"You can change it, just once, remember!" said the spirit entity. His face was like unused white paper like his

body, he had no eyes, nose and lips, but looked human from afar.

"What is the moment you want to change in your life, Necip? "

You're in high school, do you remember your classmate who always looked down on you?

"Four-eyed Necip!" Secaeddin appeared in front of me saying, he had curly hair, big teeth,

He humiliated me by saying, "Necip was blowing in the classroom!" even though I didn't do it, I didn't know who

did it, does he have to say these words in front of my first love?

"He humiliated you, he deserved it," said the spiritual being.

-"Yes she deserved it, but I didn't want it to be like this!"

"You can change it, you don't want to suffer for the rest of your life, do you?"

You started a fight with him, you are right in front of the chalkboard in the middle of the class, your classmates

formed a circle around you, watching carefully, as it was a moment that should not be missed, somehow you

stayed behind for a moment, and you threw a punch you didn't know where,(Necip has returned to the class in

high school years, blackboard and Mathematics formulas written on it) even though he called you four eyes, the

left glass in his wire-rimmed, thin-glass glasses broke with your fist and bled his left eye. After the fight, he went

to Ankara for treatment, Secaeddin, long journeys, long expenses, despite everything, you caused vision loss in

your eye, the years in front of a young person -almost -you caused him to live with one eye! 'Perhaps you would

like to use this disposable right at another time,' said the spirit entity.

How would you like to use it when you live far away from the city center on the days you live in a quiet country

house?

-I didn't know that he would die that night, he was cheerful all day" said Necip (he started to cry)

--"You can change it, you don't want to suffer for the rest of your life, do you?"

The hospital was too far from your home, you lost it on the way, maybe you could have made a change in your

life, instead of living in the forest like a secluded convent nun, you could live in the city with people – close to the

hospital – so that your ten-year-old nephew would not bleed to death until he arrived at the hospital," said the

spiritual entity.

"You can change it, you don't want to suffer for the rest of your life, do you?"

The room had now turned into a room in the country house, a little girl with heavy bleeding in front of the door…

Necip continued to cry.

"Will he live then?"

"It's totally up to you, at least it will still be alive when you reach it."

-Didn't you hear the doctor, he said that there is no chance of survival in sudden bleeding a week after the

surgery; -even if it's three in a thousand-

"You can change it, you don't want to suffer for the rest of your life, do you?" said the spiritual being.

You are in the exam that determines the spouse you will live with for the rest of your life, and you have the right

to change it, think about the great gift I gave you! Instead of living as a miserable candidate for academics as you

are now, -like Sücaeddin and your other friends- you choose a comfortable life in the exam, you choose a

comfortable life, your family will be proud of you in every environment.O You can be the sole heir of the rich

family.

The room had turned into a classroom, while the teachers in charge were walking around, Necip was trying to

answer the Mathematics questions at the back, believing that if he came out with a question paper in front of

him, Dilek was smiling next to him, the only thing he had to do was to lie to his family in order not to lose this

smile. They would end it with marriage. Dileğin would keep her past a secret, and she would not tell her family

about her deceased first husband, but she failed and lost, she chose Neslihan as her spouse candidate.

- "Don't decide to get married without being sure," said Dilek

-"You can change it, you don't want to suffer for the rest of your life, right? You can change the turning points in

other people's lives if it will affect your life," said the spiritual entity. I suppose you don't want to go to prison for

a traffic accident?"

Necip remembered his prison days, his first day was troubled, he first met Arif Baba, who was mentally unstable.

He asked why he fell and how long he was going to lie down while Arif Baba was hitting the concrete pavement

with his rake. he would often repeat the same question, where is your original hometown? The driver man must

pay attention to four things, son, he said, one insomnia, two carelessness!

"Why didn't you pay the compensation?"

I said I didn't have money, I added that the numbered days go by quickly, he kept raising the rake often and

hitting the pavement hard, he was trying to remove the short grass between the paving stones, to disperse the

petrified mud puddles, when my hometown was Nizip, he suddenly shouted, Bici Bici!

Islahiye, Adana, Bici Bici! He told about his angry friend, and then he talked about his sister-in-law's brothers, who

often escaped.

-"Is it befitting at this age to be here?"

sometimes when talking rationally He started to raise the sky and shout sometimes at me and sometimes at the

prisoners who were walking in front of him.

If it will affect your life, you can change the turning points in other people's lives," said the spiritual entity.

Dear GOKSEN;

02/02/99

Lesson hours are so short that they end by watching you. There is no time to write to Virtual Gökşen, because the

truth is sitting right in front of me.

If your silence is nothing more than a sign of comfort to a large extent, manifested as a reluctance to write, I

would be extremely pleased. You are trying to teach alone in that dreary village, it touches me that there is no

one by your side, do you like the gift I sent you with my letter?

I wish you to use it in good days, I hope you will remember me every time you take it in your hands.

In our last short talk (3min.52sec), the restlessness and anxiety had completely caught up with you, I

remembered our conversation between classes in our freshman year, many years ago. After this conversation,

did we walk together or pass each other?

I don't remember; the difference between these two possibilities shouldn't be too big. Is your house nice?

You sounded like your voice was hoarse on the phone, if you look a little bit, you won't have a thing, what

wouldn't I give to be with you right now to take care of you! In this sick state, you will have to read the written

papers, if you spend even a minute of your sleep on this job, I will be hurt again like the day you broke and hurt

me in front of my friends .You ask about my engagement status, I got engaged twice—in fact, we can say three—I

got engaged once, I was on the verge of marriage, of course, this process wore me out. The first one is all in the

past, it's a pleasure to watch those letters ignite while I burn them one by one!

My last fiancee is still single, there is no possibility of marriage, he lives a detached life on behalf of his family.

Looking at this topic and other things in general, I realized that maybe men suffer more, or from another point of

view, they have less power to resist on this issue. Whereas women always suffer innocently, not "out of their

hands" but in the real sense, which in fact maybe this again comes out without their hands. Just like the

willingness to make an effort to overthrow a single cauldron in hell; even if the first one is useless and the second

one works, one will burn in the hot substance flowing out of the cauldron, but hell stays in all its glory. First of all,

lie down in your warm bed and enjoy the sickness. If you ask me, it's been two weeks. I am struggling with

insomnia and headache attacks, there were those who suggested that I seek expert help, but psychiatrists only

prescribe drugs and when I see those who use these drugs, I feel sorry for the poor!

I wrote the poem "I wish I could say" to you on the last page, every time I read it, I think of your different side.

While I was working as a teacher, I spent my nights reading poetry and novels because I had to cram into the

dormitory with the students. Gökşen, Do you know the story of Dostoyevsky's first work? At that time, he was

sitting with his literary friend. His friend saw a pile of manuscripts on the table for months, but he received the

original text only after the novel was over. The critics who came hugged and kissed him, talked about the novel

for two hours. The writer, who said that that night was the best night of his life, shed tears of happiness. Where

did my insomnia take me?

I will write again tomorrow; today I am writing only for myself, to have done something for myself, just to get rid

of the happiness effect of your letter, otherwise I will feel its weight on me day and night.

03/02/99

When I call you, it gives me courage to talk to me, even if it is very short, will we read these letters and show

them to our grandchildren years later? I have hopes that we will get married, don't you think that the feelings

that I had for you when I was in the second grade continue even on the day we started life, don't you think it's a

harbinger of this? It was the first day of summer school – albeit for a day. I felt that you were interested in me,

you asked how my holiday was and what I was doing, you welcomed me to come to you from the back row as an

ordinary event, the next day while waiting for you in the same line, I saw you waiting at the door and smiling at

me, what a beautiful day!

Consider also that maybe the best times of your life were the first days of summer school, we recorded our short

conversations with you on the phone.

I listen to your voice over and over, now whenever I want to hear your voice, it's enough to press a button, long

live technology!

I listened carefully to his voice, that is, the conversation we had on Sunday (5 min. 33 sec) I paid attention to the

changes in the tone of voice in this conversation.

In our conversation, you said that you thought I was getting married, that's why you preferred to be more

"friendly" Gökşen instead of the "distanced" Gökşen in his old school days. Even if I got married, does it make no

sense for me to call you and find your school and your number? That speech that fills two minutes of the

conversation – the same At the time, it had a pure and proud air – it is as if you have met steel, not your heart.

If you meet someone you know and ask him how much two and two are in a careful tone, the other person will

probably think that you are out of your mind, but the same question makes sense for a child who is studying in

the first grade of primary school. I couldn't find you.

You underestimate the effect of your words, darling, I love you so much, I wrote your father's name on the

envelope, I don't want your friends at school to read my name, I will also pay attention to the envelopes I use, the

envelope will be made of straw paper - as you wish - in the last conversation I put my letter in a thin envelope.

You said that you read the sentence "I love you" without extending the envelope to you. The school principal may

have wondered if a father would write a letter to his daughter containing this sentence. Of course, a father can

use sentences expressing his love and longing for his daughter who works alone away from home.

Just before I woke up this morning, I had a dream that Murat had returned from Bosnia and you would meet him,

you would laugh together at the memories that will remind you of that innocent love you had in high school, your

years in Marmaris. You told me. (fortunately, the effect of the dream is severe in the first minutes, but then it

passes quickly). Yes, I just had a bad dream. One wakes up from such a dream only when it ends, you can't get rid

of it before it, it holds you tight. You came to the meeting place first, actually you didn't seem clear, I don't know

why you Murat You were a bit white and ghostly next to . You opened your arms, but not to stretch, of course -

it's shameful to stretch while eating cake! - you were ready to hug him, it was a ceremonial gesture, right after

you came to me on the street, you looked at me with contempt. Just like you looked at it in your classroom, when

you talked to Murat on the phone and said "I love you" to him, then he threw it at me. It was one of the

humiliating glances.

I don't remember what we talked about in my dream, only the first sentences remained in my mind, "Did you

have a lot of fun, Gökşen?"

- "It's none of your business, we'll go to the beach after the cake, in Marmaris"

Those were the first two sentences, we all (you, me and Murat) arrived at the nearby station, we were standing in

front of the big train schedule, you were constantly showing me the station names, by the way, I had a chance to

look at you, I looked at you in my dream as I did in school years. Actually. Your appearance didn't matter to me,

you didn't look like yourself, you were much darker, your face was fuller, (you can't be so cruel with your full

cheeks anyway) The fabric of your outfit was the same as the fabric of my jacket, in my dream.

We sit side by side, you push me, but not angry like in real life, but friendly (in real life, when I sat next to you in

the first lesson, you would immediately change your place and leave me alone in the row) I was very unhappy,

not because you pushed me, but because you and Murat will get on the Marmaris train and swim there. Then I

walked away hopelessly.

When I woke up and inhaled the smell of feet mixed with a sharp smell of breath, I said to myself, thank God, it

was a dream, my roommates were in the sweetest place of morning sleep, snoring a little and blowing a little, the

chemistry student on the bottom bunk slept with his socks on, as always, on my pillow telling him that I had to

wake him up early. He had left a note.

I remembered the short walk I took with you, it's nice to even write it, I promised to buy you a soda on the short

walk I took with you, you bought plain soda and I had fruit juice, but I don't know how, we encountered a

production error that was left half filled. What did your best friend Anıl drink? I don't remember. When a person

is sleepless, he remembers the past more strongly than when he fell asleep. I can't bear the pain I feel when I

remember the times you hurt me. Whenever I write to you, I can't sleep before and after it.

p happens. When I'm not writing, I'm just tired and slow.

I beg you for mercy, luckily there is no law forbidding me to write to you, at least for now, but I don't want to

think about what I'll do if you get married one day. , trembling on the verge of exploding , i feel like i'm going out

of my mind with sadness but i don't know what it is, why i'm acting this way . . . it's quiet , it's dark , I snuggle up

in my top bunk bed and I can't help it. It's an explosion and it goes by, like a smoker's seizures during quitting, The

forces that created this seizure of writing are constantly shaking me, before and after; my life, my existence

consists of this threat, if it ends, I'm finished, this seizure is my way of participating in life, it's as natural as closing

my eyes. Wasn't this threat there since the day I met you?

Will I be able to get out of this business by saying, "Here it is, I will choose a suitable wife for me from now on and

I will be happy"? When you get bored slowly, you say "Yes, I will continue this disgraceful life", just like him.

If you equate what I'm doing now with what I've done before, you're right; I can always experience the same

thing. The only difference is now that I've gained experience, I can't wait for the screws to be tightened enough to

force confession, instead I start shouting as soon as they hit my temples. I can tell you all kinds of truths about

myself in a way that I can't tell anyone else. .I live because of your gaze.

10/05/2015

I was wandering around the city this Sunday, I was so bored, I sat on the bench next to a tree, watched the

people walking around, when I got bored of this job, I started writing with a pen and paper. I learned that you did

not come to your family this weekend, you chose to stay in the village, your mother answered the phone and told

that it is difficult for you to go on a trip every week, so you will come to Eskişehir every fortnight, in addition, she

said that she will spend this weekend at home eating popcorn and watching movies with your fiancee. I don't

believe what your mom said, she says she got engaged to get rid of me, a few days later I called back and asked if

she was really engaged, your mom said she wasn't kidding, I didn't believe it again, I didn't want to believe it

when my classmate told me that he saw you at the bus station and there was a young man in a lieutenant suit

next to him tall in uniform When I saw you waiting in front of a young man, I believed that what was told was

true. People sometimes want to challenge the whole world, they wish that what everyone knows right is wrong,

mine was a similar mood. Your back was turned to your fiancee, you were waiting for someone, I couldn't see his

face, At the beginning of your career, you were a young officer, you finally decided to marry a soldier like your

father. Your engagement was short, you got married, you had a daughter, years later, you were walking hand in

hand with your daughter, who was half your height, on a rainy day, you suddenly started running to avoid getting

wet, so did I. I saw you running towards me for the first and last time in my life because I was coming from the

opposite direction. You were running towards me holding your daughter's hand. It didn't matter to me that I got

wet in this spring rain, so I was walking as slowly as possible. I had a hard time getting to know you when you

came across me. I knew you worked in the east for years, but eventually the compulsory service was over and you

came back to Eskişehir. Years ago, if I found enough courage to translate foreign books for the lessons you had

difficulty in understanding during your school years, I would have succeeded in giving it to you. Some translations

would have remained with me, and this letter will remain with me just like those article translations. I wish you

happiness in your life with your wife and daughter.

who always loves you;

Necip.

-Do you remember the letters you wrote, Necip?" said the spiritual being. I have the right to change it, even if it's

only for once in my life, but I don't want to use it, it would be deceiving myself, Gökşen didn't love me in real life,

she won't love me anymore. I have a family to go back to the past. I don't want to be treated like a cheating

gambler. The spirit entity keeps doing the same thing to me.

It tells what, if an event that will affect my life is happening in someone else's life, then I would have the right to

change that person's life. Who could this person be? This is the same question that has been bothering me lately.

The spirit creature introduced me to this person, but my name is Satenik KIRKIRYAN. What can I do with an

Armenian woman?

I asked the spiritual being, how would a person who lived a hundred years ago have an impact on my life, he was

born in Satin Halfetinin Saylakkaya –then called Cibin –village, he was a beautiful girl, married to Alpinarian from

Cibin, like him, from this marriage a blue with curly blonde hair named Andre. they had a baby with eyes, they

looked like a very happy family; however, Alpinarian had a relationship with Abdullah, who had given his soul to

demons and evil jinn, Abdullah deceived him and entered into a relationship with his wife Satin. They entrusted

them to Lebanon and set off for Lebanon, but Meryem was burning with the desire for revenge, while raising

little Andre, she abused him every day after he reached puberty, little Andre could not find anyone to tell about

his sexual abuse of his own mother's intercourse with him, she closed in, Mary finally did she realized the

mistake, she caused a sinless baby to get depressed and have identity confusion. She explained that her real

name is not Abdullah, her husband Abdullah is not her real father, she is not her own mother, and apologized to

young Andre. All her youth, when they were alone with the aim of washing him, he had played with little Andre's

masculinity and made him ejaculate, poor Andre boy. At an early age, his birth mother had received practical

sexual education by a woman he knew, but the surprises did not end there for Andre, while little Abdullah

(Andre) was drinking tea with an old friend of his father's Armenian return, in the village cafe, the old man

suddenly took the floor;

"God forgive me, my son, don't be angry with me for saying this, I used to go to the village bath with your father a

lot, it's up to you how much you believe what I say, my child," he said, sweat drops accumulated on his forehead,

he continued,

"While your father Abdullah and I were bathing, I stopped washing for a very short time and watched him, I don't

know why I did this, I don't know why I came to this age, maybe God or God ordered it so, your father's feet were

looking at the basin, not me. Forgive me for telling you," he said.

This person, who came to the world as a Christian Armenian named Andre and said goodbye as a Muslim Turk

named Abdullah, is your grandfather Andre, the son of SAtenik." said the spiritual entity. It is entrusted to your

Turkish neighbors, I give you a chance to change this, if you use this right, Satin and ALp will agree to take Andre

with them and leave the village, and without being harassed by little Andre Meryem, he will grow up without the

son of Abdullah, who sold his soul to the jinn; he will live as a Christian, marry and become your father. "Of

course you will be a Christian, not the Islam you are now," said the legend.

-Taurus-1914

-AlpinarianAfter our attack on Zeytun, the siege began and we resisted as much as we could. We choked in a small cave, but

we were disciplined: the women of each freedom fighter had their own place. The soldiers had a smaller place,

everyone had a specific task, the cook, the barber, the priest and the warriors. The food was equal for all.

However, we were crowded in a narrow space. As time passed, our patience was running out and the soldiers

were starting to get nervous. At first, we waited for support forces from the eastern Anatolian side, we could

break the siege with their help, we hoped that the Dashnak gangs there would not leave us alone, we were

wearing out and waiting at night. We were starting to get cold. It was difficult to get out of the cave at night. We

were starting to crawl more and more into the fire. The Sultan's army hoped that our supplies would run out and

we would surrender of our own accord. Last night, the sleet was turning into snow with the wind. A well-formed

path was so narrow and winding that it could easily guard the road. The enemy could not climb this hill. They

were pushed back one by one before any force could form a group to attack.

We took possession of the mountain and at first we did not take the siege seriously. There were those who

carried the news by wandering the mountain and crossing the enemy lines. Sometimes I dressed like an old

shepherd and passed through the enemy soldiers. I was trying to get eggs, vegetables, bread from the town. It

took a lot of time and expense to feed four hundred people. I was the enemy. I was one of the few messengers

who made eye contact with his soldiers, albeit from a distance. At night, we all as a group helped carry the filled

baskets up the steep face of the mountain. We did so in excited silence, afraid we would be seen. Our morale was

still high.

While the Turks were waiting, they set traps for rabbits and sometimes deer.

Similarly, we were shooting wild boar, thank God the enemy did not eat pigs!

There was now a shortage of food and we were eating roots and seeds as if we were being purged. Boredom was

terrible. Being shut down caused fights among ourselves: during dice or chess it could turn into shouts or

fistfights, even going as far as drawing guns or knives. Then the others were separating those who were fighting

because We couldn't bear to fight among ourselves. After a while, we started to fight because the support did not

arrive. All our calls were inconclusive.

One day I saw a group carrying supplies up the mountain. As usual, the crowd had gathered at the entrance,

some of them halfway down to greet the visitors. Life was so boring!

I came out of the cave to welcome the visitors and watched as they struggled along the path. One of the visitors

looked familiar to me. My heart stumbled. I recognized him immediately. His head was bowed and his body was

covered with a heavy woolen coat necessary for the winter. He was carrying a package on his back. .He was

advancing slowly upwards. Perhaps he was looking upward as he paused to breathe and measure the distance to

climb. Perhaps he was raising his hand to his head to protect his eyes or to straighten his scarf. It was as if

everyone was sending a sign or hugging me in a color that was obvious to me. I recognized him right away with a

simple glance through the pine trees.

I looked back through the heads of the others in the crowd. I greeted him with a kiss and ran down the mountain

to get his package. I walked towards the back of the crowd.

-"How are you Satin, how are you not seeing each other?"

-"I'm fine"

We looked like thin-legged, cautious, thin-tailed dogs that sniffed the air, combed hair, didn't growl, and made

buffoons before petting.

"I came to see you again," said Satin.

"I tried to pretend I didn't see you when I walked by but realized I missed you"

He paused for a moment, turning his gaze in front of him.

"I realized that I love you, and I'm also curious about you."

I watched his hands tremble in his lap. His eyes were watching the heavy stormy clouds and gliding towards the

sprawling greenery below, bowing to the ground with horses roaming the green and white and brown tents, and

enemy soldiers who looked like little ants.

"I risked my life for you, but I'm with you, freedom is worth fighting for, I came to show my support, because in

the end I had to take responsibility and fight too. I'm talking about fighting for Armenia, for our way, for our way

of life. If I'm not a coward, I don't own it either. There's a lawsuit needed"

The next night, we woke up with the warning sound of the guards, we all came out of the cave in astonishment,

in the dark, under the guidance of a treacherous Armenian with the moonlight, the Turks had achieved the

unexpected, they started to cross those steep and steep rocks, they were trying to crawl on their hands. Who

would have thought that they could do this and get out of this terrible abyss?

They wouldn't have the guts to do that during the day, and the night had been of use to them because they

couldn't see the dreadful chasm below, if only a few of our vanguard were still alive!

The path leading to our cave ran through the cliff, at one point the road was too narrow for two men to walk side

by side. This meant that one of the Turkish soldiers could have blocked the road. One of our men could not hold

on to the edge of the cliff and fell. At that moment, I was thinking whether it was because of the bone fragments

that shattered his heart. Fear enveloped us all like a dark smoke, I had even forgotten satin. We were waiting

desperately in the cave. The sound of battle and the sound of rifles in the lower parts of the cliff seemed to

remind us of the last moments of our life. And then there was the sound of gunfire again. We prayed for our

soldiers waiting at the far ends. They were injured or tumbled down a cliff - who knows? Others, fearing for their

lives, had reached the cave quickly and informed us of the situation. What if God wanted us to be defeated? put

it on We were literally trapped in the cave. The times when we could roam the top of the mountain were past.

Now we were imprisoned inside, and this situation was very dangerous. Previously, to get information from the

enemy camps, we went down the steep slope under the moonlight - the secret path that belongs only to us - or

the cave below. We were able to send messages to our men in the extreme regions by passing through the tunnel

opened. The Turks had set up catapults below, we could not breathe anymore.

"I heard it was a treasure" Satin's voice was lost in the darkness of the cave. The kerosene lamp emits a thumbsized light, the extinguishing fire a reddish glow.

was giving light.

"Yeah, that's right," I said.

We were too scared to flirt or even care about who loved whom.

"The legend told me years ago that you and I found it in a cave in this region," said Satin.

"This area is full of caves, but rest assured the treasure is the safest. Tonight, Legend and I will take the treasure

out, we'll have three rangers with us."

Satin was trying to digest the news she had received.

-"Is there no support force? Will you be able to do this without the support of the Dashnaks?

"It's not too far from our current position," I said, in an attempt to convince him.

"Who knows about it?"

-"The cave? Just me and the legend."

"What's in the treasure?"

said Satin. The fever was so low that I could no longer see his face.

"The treasure was in sacks. Besides the manuscripts of the scriptures, gold and silver ingots, money bags, some

antiques, deeds, and the HOLY GRAIL, a priceless relic"

-"what's that ?

"The bowl in which Jesus drank wine at the last supper."

Satin took a deep breath, then whistled.

-"Did you see him?"

"Yes, only once so far it was a heavy tall silver bowl. The fancy handles curved like ears on either side. It had

scenes from the Bible on its base. One scene had Adam's creation, the other his expulsion from the garden. The

scene that caught my attention the most was the crucifixion of our great lord. there were three women who

suffered while stretching. I think contrary to what the Purified say, this cup must have come from modern times, I

think Jesus was not a silver chalice covered with biblical scenes including his own crucifixion, but a captain made

of earth like ordinary people, or of oxhorn or pewter. He must have drank from a cup. It was wrapped in purple

silk.

"Go on," said Satin.

It was obvious that he was curious.

-"What happened then?"

He came a little closer and revived the fire. A single tongue came out, blue and yellow, then another spark; the

fire was tasting the wood, licking and eating the dry and dead food.

The moment I had been waiting for a long time had come. There were five of us. Legend, me and three rangers

gathered at the west exit. A nice sleet was falling. We had to be careful not to wake the Turks before we left the

cave. Satin kissed me on the cheek. One of the rangers, nicknamed the priest, blessed us. Our friends were

praying, light I shuddered then put on my wool cloak. The priest said to each of us, God be with you. He touched

my ankle the way a man gives peace to a woman, and we turned and we set off, walking in single file. I took them

to my cave, where we buried the treasure.

It took longer than I thought to carry the heavy sacks into the cave. The next day we had to hide. The next night

we came through enemy lines, avoiding the tents and horses as much as possible in the dark. We were moving

carefully in the neutral zone between the enemy lines and the groves at the foot of the mountain. The shadow of

the moonlight was fading over the shadows. We went up the steep mountain. We were exhausted when we

arrived.

After that I was tired and dejected. It had been a difficult journey and I had a hard time coming back. The gunfire

was torturing me. I didn't want to talk to anyone for days.

It's human nature, if you think you can't make it to the next day, something happens that causes you to lose what

you have, and then you look back at events that seemed unbearable to you before, and in the light of your fate,

which is now getting worse, you will see that those moments that you thought were bad times in the past were

heaven. We waited. We waited. We were walking, lost in melancholy. We were paralyzed with fear and anguish.

We helped each other, spruce up each other, and sometimes we told stories to keep our spirits high. The legend

told us about the reinforcements that would come very soon. It told us that the holy spirit would also come to

help us. But the stories of the legend did not change our lives. One of the rangers fell ill. His tongue had turned

into a huge lump in his throat. The next days, the rangers heading west returned. As we were climbing the

dangerous slope behind the cave, we heard a noise and ran to meet him. Two guards were climbing the mountain

after him. We were staring at them in amazement. The Turks were gone!

After leaving the treasure in the Taurus Mountains, we set out on the way back. The Legend and other groups

would continue to stay in the cave. We started the journey together with the Armenians of Eastern Anatolia.

When I returned to the village, I wanted to get married. I realized that I could not stay apart with Satin any longer.

It is difficult and creepy for me to build a home. I don't feel safe in this land, it's mandatory from July It is said

that we will be taken to death, if we are lucky, we can be train passengers, crossing Syria on foot means that the

old people are left to die this season, however, the only way to stay at home is to accept Islam, in medieval Spain

Jews and Muslims were exiled to Africa, the only way out of exile was to become a Christian .Starting a new life in

a new country will perhaps be the best for both of us. It has become clearer day by day that we cannot shelter in

the Ottoman state. I miss the fig and pistachio trees, I miss the great plane tree in front of the village coffee

house where I sit in the cool shade and sip my coffee, some nights I think of Abdullah, I miss being with him too.

Although my desire to be with him increases, marrying Satin excites me.

Cibin-1914

SatinI always wanted to have a son named "Andre", God fulfilled my wish, this is the first time I have experienced this

feeling, neither the feeling I felt for Alpinarian nor the love of parents, child love, when I held him for the first

time, he looked at me with such innocent and defenseless eyes. !

I spend my days thinking, for the first time I feel that I am very close to happiness, but also very far away. We

have a month to prepare before we set off, the eastern Anatolian convoys have already set off, the state will also

provide armed soldiers with us, two or three poor soldiers will ensure our safety throughout the journey. ,I am

not afraid to walk all the way to Lebanon, but I am afraid of losing my son, Alpinarian talks about leaving him to

Abdullah and Meryem, their daughters grow up with Meryem and marry when the time comes! Now I

understand the meaning of this word I heard better. I don't want to leave Andre to another woman, but I want

him to live. If we choose Islam, we will be able to stay in the village, I had a nightmare last night. Because I am

Islam, Jesus said, "The place of unbelievers is hell! forgive me even thinking about it bores my soul, although they

seem to be purified Even though many people believe that the supreme Jesus is not a spiritual being, Mohammed

married with little girls, and with his sword in his hand and his long beard, it causes me to live fearful nights. This

journey, this separation, maybe five or ten years later, this tension between the peoples will come to an end. If

the war is over I can go back and get my son, Mary is his foster mother, even if they raise him in Islam, at least I

will believe he is safe. In this house I lived the first days of my marriage, the best days of my life, it was a

changeable house, ours was safe as a church at times, sometimes it seemed to shake and crack in two. The house

was held by a sloping stone roof. The windows of the house were closed with white shutters. enclosing it was

leather, a wall that a soldier could tear apart with only his hands. A small armchair with buttons covered with

worn pink brocade fabric always waited for Alpinarian to sit in the corner. Two porcelain bowls around the

writing table, chubby dragons. A mirror with a broken ornate frame, faded in places, thin long carpet.

This morning Alpinaryan started to pile the household items in front of the door one by one. He had come to visit

Baiona, wondering how long he should wait before asking Satin what to do. He had promised himself to be

cautious and prudent.

The writing desk stood in the middle of the corridor at the back of the house, facing the wall and leaning against

the wall. Alpinarian would sit here and write to his cave friends in the days of the old siege. His feather pen, blue

paint and leather-covered blotter were always in the same place. He would sit on a satin round-backed chair and

knit.

He paced the corridor up and down. He liked the sound of footsteps that measured the long silence of the

corridor. The corridor itself was not a room, but united rooms, as he liked that it had two doors at either end,

symbolizing pause and progress.

When you turn the curve of the oval staircase, you will come to a hall with gray covering and half-hidden doors.

When you open the furthest door, you will go to the bedroom. Satin would not forget this house in her new life in

Lebanon, she would remember which door would lead to where. When she returned to this house years later, a

surprised stranger Satin would return to this house as a birthright and a place she had lived in all her childhood.

While wandering around the house with these thoughts, she found herself in the middle of the kitchen. On the

wall next to the stove hung a shelf with knives. The symmetry of thick black handles with razor-thin blades. Satin

remembered the day when the Alpinarian explained that the word "evil" meant "sharp". It was that moment

when they hugged by the fire in the pale light of the cave and were together for the first time.

between the knives There was a place. Satin looked at his hands in surprise. He realized that he was digging the

tip of the blunt vegetable knife into his thumb. He lifted it up, cut the air in half with the knife. Suicide?

Would death be a better solution than letting Andre go?

Baiona had come in the brown dress she had worn for ten years, she didn't want to be recognized. Her knees

were coming out from the skirt that slipped up when she sat down. It was a sense of sloppy veiling, mixed with a

sense of being too visible. At the other end of the road was the village church, behind it the cemetery and the

mill. How many times had they heard the softly ringing church bells?

Baiona said she was calm, that she was on the right track, that she was ready for the journey to Lebanon, that her

feet knew every crevice and ledge on the road. She inhaled the grass of the wet earth and the smell of manure.

They said goodbye to the tall poplar trees that swayed like feathers as the wind shook. A coolness rose up to her

legs. Her cold nostrils made her neck and wrists tremble suddenly, she tucked her hands into the sleeves of her

cardigan. Baiona looked around, trembling. She vaguely inhaled the scent of the homeland, sacks of wheat, oats

and barley loaded into the wagons multiplied. It was lined up like this thanks to skillful hands.

She suddenly thought of Satin, fair skin, beautiful legs, why were these so important?

It had always been important to men, neat clothes, decent speech, the way to attract people, to be nice to them.

She didn't have these, you know what's deep inside a person, that is, what I don't know, what I don't know. Was

it female? A real woman like the others. can't be?

Satin felt her sister's eyes hovering over her, the beat of the clock was the loudest heartbeat in the house, it was

slow, like metal arms falling, it was as if it showed the time of Satin's childhood, they felt their last heartbeat,

their last hour as a guest. The bed stood in the far corner opposite the door; the mattress was The head and feet

were set in a curved mahogany frame with raised tips.

On the nightstand next to her stood a gas stove made of glass with white roses. The satin feather dropped into

the depths. The mattress was as soft as a duvet covered with red silk, and the pillow was big and square. Satin

stood by the kitchen, facing her room, she wanted to eat before the trip, breakfast? It could be a sedative for

him. He wanted fresh bread, salted under a crunchy crust, with a piece of butter and apricot jam with white

almonds on it. He wanted a cup of Turkish coffee, most of all he wanted the best cigarette of the day: his first

cigarette.

He was a coward who wanted to run away, the words he was afraid to say were locked in this room, he thought

he was going to lose them, the dead in the cemetery had come back, mouths opened at the same time and he

was screaming words Satin tried to believe he would never say what he tried not to hear. It must have been the

text against the undead and unburied things that came out of the grave of the war that was going on and came to

capture them all to lay claim to them.

The murdered Armenians had spent their last night in the rotten cafe with the villager, prayers were said, they

said their names and the names of the Islams who betrayed them. Satin had recorded everything in this room,

believing that one day she would come back and own this house.

Sometimes she thought that she was punished by God, she was cursed the day she caught her husband in that

condition with an Islam man in the barn, Alp and Abdullah had begged him not to tell Meryem what they had

been through, now he could put forward a condition, if Abdullah fathered Andre, this secret would go to the

grave with him. Now she understood why her husband did not do his duty as a man enough, this "game" they had

been playing since childhood was forgotten for a while when they both got married, but aalpinaryan's endless

desire for "womanhood" prevailed, they started to be together again as in the old days, Satin is now She

understood why her husband did not touch her for months, she understood why there was blood on her

underwear while washing her clothes, and why Alpinarian made the offer for a second man to join her when they

were together. Abdullah had both husband and wife in turn. she had both her mother and herself, but the

happiness was short lived, Mary felt deceived, women's intuition is strong, she couldn't think that she would take

revenge by using Andre, but there was a rule of life she should not forget, the price of every sin has.

Beirut-LEBANON,1915

-Alpinarian KirkirianNarrow streets in a street with adobe houses in a community where women in chador gossip in a corner, he had

no money. He was begging. It was in front of the mosque. It was a big mosque. Minarets, domes, arches and

barred windows and so on were all complete. Especially the courtyard: the most important place for beggars. He

was standing on one side. He also failed in begging because he showed no dexterity, or because he had no painful

awkwardness, or because he couldn't think enough to separate himself from the environment and regret his

failure. Since he did not sell corn in small containers, he could not sing and do good deeds on behalf of others

with children and birds. He did not take any interesting action other than leaning against the wall of the mosque.

She hadn't even made an attempt to open her palm yet. However, a dry woman in a headscarf and chador, who

thought she was crippled when the pigeons and corn pots and religious books lined up on a sloping wall ledge of

the mosque and those warning the public against some social evils—and doing good deeds in return for

receipts—intensified, turned the hand of this reluctant beggar and gave it a little bit of inside. put money. Maybe

because she was blinking at the sun, which was so high at the time, she didn't look at the money; maybe she

forgot to close her palm because she was obsessed with the children playing in the inner courtyard of the

mosque. All of this happened after the first benefactor of the day had walked away. As she stared into his face,

knowingly or unknowingly, she never moved her eyes. That's why his first client thought he was blind. He seemed

to come to his senses with the sound of another coin falling into his palm: When he lifted his head, he saw a man

with a torn suit and a long beard. Then, looking for the coin purse, the young girl appeared before him, frantically

rummaging through her purse made of an old carpet; a big coin weighed down his hand, he covered all the other

coins. A dark woman crouched next to him with the swaddling child in her arms. For a while they stood against

the wall, like two spots. Then, the clear blob walked into the middle of the courtyard. From the black-robed old

man's hut a walking stick reached for his legs; would almost fall. "Take me to the fountain," said the old man in a

gruff voice. "Not there," he stomped when his hut was pushed in the direction of the wheels, and went out; They

turned the wheels in the direction they wanted.

The old man greedily covered the open side of his hut; opened a small window in another wall. From there he

looked furiously into the courtyard. He overshadowed the old man; He went and leaned against the wall and

watched his money. "You're a solid man; aren't you ashamed to beg?" A fat man stood beside him: "If you were

given a job, you wouldn't work." He looked at the fat man's suitcase on the floor, grabbed it with both hands and

tried to lift it; failed. Then he saw a porter in the distance, resourceful. He did as he did: crouching with his back

to the suitcase, grasping the handle; It did not happen. Finally loaded with the help of the fat man. On the way, "I

won't pay more than two and a half pounds," said the fat man in his thin voice. They walked side by side. As he

approached the pier, he sank to the ground with the load on his back. The suitcase owner stopped and hesitated

for a while; Then he handed over the money. Maybe it hurt him a little. He could also enter the ferry for a

separate fee; However, the wall of the porters' organization did not fail. Then he begged a little on the wall of the

ferry port. It was pushed aside when the possibility of reloading appeared. He was a little battered, swaying

slightly in place. There were those who accused him of being drunk at this time of day; it did a pretty good job

though. Then again the suitcase, the chest and so on (to the pier). He went between those who thought he was

healthy and those who thought he was disabled. Maybe it would work better. But just as a well-dressed

gentleman was putting his hand in his pocket to give him money, when the child in the arms of a woman passing

by began to cry, looking at this shabby man, he walked without waiting for the money; He immediately crossed

the street.

When he came to the courtyard of the mosque, he went under an arch and counted his money at the foot of the

dim and cool wall; Then he had it integrated into the bagel shop on the opposite wall, and some coins remained.

He walked, out into a crowded street; mingled with the people again. He watched himself in a large engraved,

gilded mirror standing between two tired and sweaty porters: he had no jacket, his shirt was in pieces. He

reluctantly put the pieces of his shirt, which had been torn at a time when he was involved in the fight of two

vagrants and mediated them, looking into the mirror; He untied the cord holding his trousers and tied a tighter

knot. Then they took the mirror away; He couldn't watch his torn trousers and the rubbers on his socksless feet.

He walked slowly; passed from narrow and crowded streets to narrow and crowded streets. The noise of the

people walking was joined by the voices of the street vendors. Then the vendors began to take certain and fixed

places on the sidewalks: First, short-legged stalls appeared; The benches were raised, armed with poles and

awnings. The sun disappeared; The heat has subsided and there is no place to walk on the streets.

NS. Stuck between clothes and fabrics, where they were hung; had to stop. A white mantle swung over his face,

swayed by the wind or by passers-by. A long and bright mantle. A ghost in a flared skirt with a big button; wide

collar, cool. There was a slight breeze; burly, dark-haired, and his appearance wavered vaguely the countryman's

clothes. Only the white coat did not move; It must have been made of a heavy cloth. Watching him, the salesman

finally broke the silence: "What is it? Are you going to buy it?" He didn't respond. Smiling, the seller spat on the

ground; He had a half cunning, half disinterested expression on his face.

There was a clear sun. Even as he slowed his steps, sweat dripping from his forehead wet his beard. He leaned

against the railings on a large bridge and took refuge in the shadow of a comb salesman. With his cloak, his beard,

and his gaze passing over the passers-by, he touched the seller; some of the unemployed and unemployed

stopped to watch him; those carrying heavy loads found it appropriate to rest right there. A few combs were sold

by the way. They couldn't get close to him at first, as he just stood there motionless, expressionless. There were

those who tried a few words they knew from the most spoken foreign language on it. "This man is not a tourist,"

someone said. "He's trying to fool himself." Another slapped him with a foreign language curse. No response was

received. "No, this guy is British, maybe a spy," said a bingo man with American cigarettes in his pocket. Then

they touched him, they tugged; It turned out to be alive. He walked away from there. The bridge was long; for a

while it stood next to other vendors. One of them, a young man in a cap selling filter cigarettes, left it in his place

to pee. In that short time, five packs of cigarettes and three matches were sold. When the seller returned, they lit

a filter cigarette from their own counter; They leaned against the railing and watched the fishermen, without

speaking, he unbuttoned the top two buttons, still unable to cool off. He wiped it from his forehead. He turned

his eyes to the end of the bridge; There were dark streets there; he made a vague gesture with his hand to the

seller and left.

He stopped in front of a shop window in a narrow street. He watched himself. It was in a street where fabrics,

dresses, and vendors overflowed from the shops. Customers were cut off. After a while, he sensed that he was

being watched from behind the window. The fat shopkeeper was eyeing him with thoughtful little eyes. Then a

broad smile covered his round face; eyes narrowed, disappeared. "Look here," he called, holding the door with

his fat body. "Where did you find it?" He looked; did not respond. Another person approached him at that

moment, grabbed his arm. "Hey mister!" said. He spoke in a language he did not understand. It did not happen.

He supported his words with his hands; he also tried to explain with his arms what he wanted. It did not happen.

He opened his suitcase lying on the floor, took out shirts wrapped in transparent papers, and handed them to

him. "You're a tourist," he said, pressing his finger against one of the large buttons of the coat.

He just left it in front of the window and went to the corner of the street. The fat man was waiting for the result

at the door of his shop. A little later, a young man stood in front of him with the hair of his chest sprouting like a

black bush from among the flowers of his shirt; He looked at the shirts: "How much?" said. Just staring at the

young man's face. The real seller on the corner of the street stamped his feet in greed. "He's a junkie," he

grumbled. "He's deaf," said the young man in the red pants, approaching him so as not to miss the hairy young

customer. The real seller glared at the man in the mantle; He hesitated for a moment, then my ear pressed

against his mouth.

"I understand your language."

"Come in a little bit." He stopped, thought: "Well, he wouldn't understand." He tried the way of the Seller with a

Suitcase: "You come, the shop is here," he said, and without waiting any longer took him by the arm and pulled

him inside. He and the clerk wandered around for a while, wondering what they could do with him. "The guy

looks like a mannequin, too. I can't just sell a ball of fabric in his hand!" He turned around for a while. "Model,"

said the fat shopkeeper again, unable to find any other words. "Mannequin, mannequin," they were chanted for

a while with the shop assistant, and much later they thought of using her as a mannequin. For a while, "Live

model!" they shouted happily. Then they pushed him towards the window so that he would stand there (he could

not be made to be heard otherwise). Just as he was about to take a step towards the ledge of the window, the

clerk warned his boss, "His feet are very dirty, and so are his trousers." They stopped him. Some white cloth was

wrapped around the top of his shoes and the bottom of his pants. it was like a mummy in a museum with the

parts it couldn't cover. They grabbed it by the arms and put it on display. "Don't make it look like an idol," said the

shop assistant. "Let's give him a nice pose." They thought about it. "Let's open your arms," said the boss. "Let him

fill the window." "He gets tired, he keeps moving his arms." Finally, they decided to hang it from the ceiling with

nylon strings. They stretched out an arm, tied it up, and fastened the string to a nail on the display case. His other

arm is on the wall They placed it on a shelf that they had unloaded. A few people began to watch their work.

Then, the number of people accumulating in front of the showcase increased. There were those who said, "This is

lifeless, puppet." The clerk was shouting in front of the door: "Come to the live mannequin store! See our range

of refreshing fabrics. Here, the Mannequin, which we had brought with great sacrifices, bears this heat only by

wearing our light fabrics. Here, even the big coat does not make him sweat. We fly in the air like a bird with our

fabrics and tell you the most lively mannequin." and makes the most real advertisement.'Saran Fabrics' is only

available in our store.

Good job done until lunch break that day. "He should give her something too," the boss said as they sat down to

eat at the counter and opened their lunch boxes. "Then it will stack up." He went to the showcase, untied it,

released it. They pulled a stool under it in front of the counter. They put some hummus on the lid of their gravy;

He ate his meal using two small pieces of bread like a fork. He drank some water from the sink at the back of the

shop, reaching for the tap. He sat down on the floor; he leaned his back on the counter; they gave him a

cigarette. It must have aroused some respect because the boss lit his cigarette. Then he patted him on the

shoulder and turned to the clerk, "It worked for us, didn't it?" he laughed. "Are you tired?" said the clerk, looking

at the boss. It was difficult to talk to him as he didn't respond. He finished his cigarette and sat for a while. Then

he slowly got up and headed for the door. "Where are you going?" shouted the boss. "Too bad, you're just

making money." It didn't stop. They ran after him, stuffing some money in his pocket. He walked away, dragging

his white cloth-wrapped shoes, with pins that the boss had forgotten on his coat and strings dangling from his

arms. A small piece of cloth that remained on his shoulder fell to the ground as he turned the corner of the street.

He stopped when he came to the top of a steep slope. He sat on the edge of the curb. He wiped the sweat from

his forehead with the back of his hand. He looked around: got up, took a step or two, stopped again. The cloths

that the clerk had wrapped around his feet were starting to unravel. He took the rope off his waist and placed it

on the ground. With a stone standing on the side of the pavement, he crushed the rope in the middle, cut it in

half, tied it on the bandages, and pulled his trousers over him as he walked. A yoghurt seller passed by; It hit him

as he entered the door of an old house behind the stop. the man staggered, looked at the door; The yogurt seller

disappeared in a dark courtyard. Then a dark head, with dark glasses and slicked black hair sticking together with

oil, began to emerge from the pavement, and he saw an empty space that was descended a few steps. The

spectacled head grew, rose; became a man. An old man with a bunch of belts on his arm. The beggar stretched

out his hand on a dark belt, unbuttoned it; but he couldn't find a place to put the belt on the waist of his trousers.

He wanted to pull his trousers up a little; The wraps on the bottom, the ropes did not allow. He looked

despairingly at the beltmaker; Then they looked at the belt together. Kemerci headed for the hole he came out of

and disappeared for a while. He emerged holding a chain made of huge safety pins. These pins were attached to

the inside of the waist of his trousers. "Put your belt on now," he said, laughing, and handing over one of the

banknotes he had taken out of his pocket. The belt man looked at the money, then took it and entered the

grocery store next door. The money came out with a bottle of cheap wine, and after a few sips, she handed the

bottle to the man. Seeing that he didn't take it, he disappeared under the ground again. He came back with an

empty tin can with trimmed edges so he wouldn't cut you off while you were drinking. The tin was filled with

wine for the man. They sat on the wall of the staircase leading down to the hole, their feet dangling down, they

drank together, somewhat relieved. He looked at the smiling man with sweet eyes. He finally realized that she

was smiling without looking at him.

It was Alpinarian's first day in Beirut. The wounds on his feet were the price of his journey to Halfeti-Beirut. He

started walking out of the city with weary steps, his compatriots were in the church.

Along the way, he thought of Abdullah, the one who caused the greatest pain in his life.

-END-