Someone shot themselves outside of the Constitutional Court, the ultimate act of defiance and defeat. It was on the screen for such a short period of time you’d have missed it if you sipped tea. It is the tea house which stops most. That’s why at any time day or night it teems with men all distracting themselves playing “okey,” cards, dominos and idle chat, don’t think don’t think. “It’s your move.”
The women who sow the fabric of everything in this land all gather hope and worry in equal measure sharing this load in groups, from the moment they are born.
I see him swinging a small clear bag, carrying a loaf, is that all?
I cling to the dolmuş for sanity, the endless ooohs and ahhs and obscenities aimed at the powers that be warm my frozen feet.
I drop off at the pine trees, breath in the sea air and read the sign Closed for Construction work as a tree topples down.
I put hope in a bag
And hide it under my pillow
For both of us not to come out again
***
The TV hums like a drone overhead; no one has shot themselves outside anywhere, which is good news, though how many have done in private? I chew on this slurping down tea, biting toast and writing this.
An old Turkish movie is on the screen. I turn to my wife. “If we can decorate the house 70s style and pretend we are living in those times. I could thicken and dye my hair black, look moody and you could grow her hair long and wavy.” “You’re joking, right? “Yes.” I wasn’t. I turned on TRT Türkü radio and wallowed in the pain and suffering of lovers who couldn’t see each other as they lived on opposite mountains. Couldn’t they just yell at each other? I shook my head at the woman singing about how rotten men are. And this was the good times?
***
It rains here every single day in biblical proportions. I imagine phoning mum from the bottom of sea. “Wasn’t there a Noah’s Ark?” “No mum, you can’t send large items into the country,” as I farted my last bubble to the surface.
***
“Go out,” said my long-suffering wife. “Why, it’s all hopeless. What are you doing?” “Making a complaint.” It was her 25th today, she was having a rest day. “What’s it about?” “The waste bins have become smaller.” “And…” “Well next they’ll shorten the roads and block out the sun.”
I couldn’t blame her, we were all become stressed and becoming a little loopy.
***
Mo Salah plays for Trabzon oozing class; our local council cafe now cooks up a veggie heaven. We now avidly follow the latest TV series from the 80s and 90s when they were good. She likes my thick, dyed black hair and I adore her long blond wavy hair. She wears flowery dresses and I have lapels like plane wings. Come on in it’s 1974 1984 1994, anytime but now; cheers the cocktail bar is now open.
