He called. At the end of a long silence, he did, he called. After I met him by coincidence in the street in Greece with a young girl. After by the same chain of coincidence we returned back in the same bus, me, him and this new girl, it was a week after....
She came up.
She was sparkling.
She .. was amazed. That big smile on her face.. She couldn't eat the fajitas I so studiously prepared for her. She couldn't do much, but told me about last night.
She has liked him for years. She trusted him for months as a buddy. She worked with him in two different companies.
And then last night..
It was hot. It was August.
He was married.
He never called her and that shock of seing him with another in Greece.
Photo courtesy of i-gunler.com
So we met up in the January cold.
He was busy with the relocation and settling down after divorce. Messy as usual. This neat figure. He chose the vegetarian restaurant in the Cookie Street Zencefil where we had a nice evening, a good dinner and a sincere chat.
He was the pratogonist I told, like those ones in Hemingway novels: cool, good but unsuffiently heroic, somehow egoist, the other end of interventionist. And I was the narrator. He was just passing by my window .
He frequented many while keeping her wife's abandon secret.
He frequented many and my friend's sparkling eyes must have been among many. Just among others.
And now he was left by one.
His eyes were emptied this time, in the vast plains of not knowing what to do.
My pratogonist was crawling and trying to find the answers. He was lost.
I asked him to leave the names and the complexity of so many concurrent relationships. I asked him to answer me about what he would like to do.
The surprise of his answer reminded me it was a life and not a novel:
"A home" he said, "I wanted a home, build my own family".
My heart melted, leaving the advocacy of my pure sparkling eyes girl friend that was betrayed by his absence and his adventure in Greece.
My heart melted.
My hands that moved to hold his, froze on their way. I couldn't get that close to him,
As I was walking to the bus stop this morning, I noticed that all the snow from yesterday disappeared. I mean the trees were not white anymore. But one could say it snowed yesterday. Something in the air..
Lately my dearest cousin Toygar, Oya and Jane from Posy, lived loss of people dear. My mind was busy finding them the words. When it is gone, the loss.. "fire burns where it falls" as they say. Empathy can not give more than confort but I wanted to find this "something new" to them. I thought of the things that leave like the snow of yesterday, pure, more and bright.
I searched the original poem of the turkish song.. "Dünle beraber gitti cancağızım, ne kadar söz varsa düne ait, şimdi yeni şeyler söylemek lazım"
"At one time when life was real, your soul was one with my soul:
All we were, open or secret, was part of the same whole.
If “you” and “I” are pronouns I use, they are only terms - - In truth, there can be no separate you or I at all. ...
It is an enemy of the sun who climbs on the roof,
Covers both his eyes and shouts: “Look, the sun is dead and gone!”
How lovely to halt and rest – and then to go on your way,
Not frozen nor muddled, to stay fresh by flowing away.
Yesterday is past and gone – so are your words of yesterday:
How lovely to find for each new day something fresh to say.
I took a vow that so long as life does not fade away
From my heart, I shall stay on the straight path and never stray;
But then I looked to my right and to my left - - and I saw
My beloved right and left - - left and right - - every which way."
I lost my favorite black bag in a mall today. I tried to figure out where it could be gone, checked all the stores and thought it could be stolen but I was not upset enough.
Since childhood, I had this weird religion in me that I was the only member in which I was making a deal, a sacrifice. In Turkey when children loose a belonging they look for it singing a song that tells
"Satan took it away
Could not sell it Brought it back"
So if I was in not finding my thing, then I was negotiating with Satan and at the end I was ending up with the deal in such a way that I was totally convinced that I sacrificed and not lost the thing, for a better finding, a more beloved belonging such as my siblings.
Tonight was a hard evening, trying to get home under the snow. I had the same feeling, but I did not know what I would get back instead.
I have just hang up the phone now with someone I was searching in the internet for years, someone very dear and remarkable in my life: my highschool professor of french litterature. He was the one to tell me in private that I should not be in the sciences section, but in letters instead.
Took me looong to find him back. I haven't heard his voice for 18 years now. He was travelling the world.
I own life so much.. for all that it brings back to me.
For all the unfinished coming near.
ps: He wrote back to me saying: "Quand tu m'as connu, j'avais 32 ans J'en ai 50 maintenant.. Je t'embrasse Yves"
means "when you knew me I was 32, now I am 50". When I met him he was much younger than me now.
Life, beautiful life.. with all the lost or stolen and found.
With all the trees under the snow of winter and those in blossom in summer.
Safest, warmest, favorite place on earth at childhood: Auntie's kitchen tables. They lived in several cities, in different homes, but the kitchen tables had the same warmth as her arms and slightly fragrant coat. It always made me happy and safe, there her kitchen table.
I felt the urge to meet together from different cities at auntie's table in Ankara this weekend.
Playing 51(a family classic) as asked.. Laughing, chatting laughing.. forgetting the inevitable anxiety of not having them one day.
Hi, Welcome to my blog ! This is a blog on the concept of home, dreams, on living, leaving and coming back.
The pictures from my eyes, form my world are from my camera unless I am dancing in the picture.
Whenever I visited other blogs I was so curious about the author. Now I became one and I can say that it is hard to tell about yourself. Born in the South East of Turkey, never been there since 9 years old, 38 now, living in Istanbul ever since.
Love putting it to words, gathering people around a table, meeting new ones, my 2 and a half cats, my flat, my books, my family.
Would be nice to hear your words in the context. So please write back to me.