That old house abandoned to memories.. Full of longing
He had come a long way. There were deep lines on his hands. The veins of the lemon he peeled were as distinct and yellow as they could be. Life was integrated with his hands; He was preparing to say goodbye to her softly.
Ms. Saadet plunged into the distance with thoughtful eyes. Perhaps he had never been so alone on a holiday morning. Where was Hikmet?
The room in the right corner was extremely quiet this time.
Sound… There was no sound!
Was the loneliness at home that heavy? Maybe there was someone, whose existence was never known…
The shimmering white lime on the walls of the house has started to fall off; The sun, pouring in through the doorways of the rooms surrounding the hall, was getting darker and darker. That room never got the sun on a holiday morning. But she had always looked beautiful, with chandeliers shining like crystal.
She put the lemon and knife in her hand into the iron bowl on the coffee table next to her and got up from her seat. He walked slowly to the wooden door at the exit of the hall. Over the years, that door has been opened to countless guests. It had ancient curved arms made of brass.
He met a pair of eyes in the doorway. It was his grandson. His grandson, who saw that mansion as his best friend throughout his childhood. She was happy, Ms. Saadet. She had spent many years together in that mansion, where the sun was offended by their room, she. Time passed so quickly; everything, everyone had changed.
The only thing that did not change was that mansion that stood like a precious jewel in hearts and eyes, she.
I think Hikmet's absence left a strange hum in that hall. A hum, like a harbinger of bad days to come. A strange, distasteful tone…
How nice to see an old face; it was like a thin paper cut that appeared on the faces.
Grandma and granddaughter went out to the garden. Memories as numerous as the leaves of the apple tree in the courtyard had accumulated under that gray sky. The thin pine trees standing in the corner, the grieving sizzle of the burning stove chimney in the winter, the copper tray standing at the foot of the wall in summer and winter, the chickens in the garden, the sound of the garden gate made of white iron during the sunset on long summer days, Hikmet's brown suit, the thin summer cap on his head. , its cane made of walnut, the pink rosewood that renews itself with bigger buds every spring, as if to say I am the eldest in this garden...
Indeed, where was Mrs. Hatice? Even if he comes to make rose syrup from the roses in the garden again. Velvety, sweet pink rose petals that darken in the murmur of the water; Apple tree, poplar trees, pine cones that are bare in autumn…
Eyes turned to the north of the house, slightly squinted. They had now migrated to their real home; Mr. Wisdom, Mrs. Hatice and Mithat gentlemen…
The mansion was preparing to send the lady Saadet on a journey, uprooting her from her roots, towards those distant cities where she did not belong. In fact, Ms. Saadet was unaware that she would not be able to return to that mansion after her journey.
Years have passed since Saadet left the mansion. The phone call was a harbinger of the fire that broke out in the middle of the night. From its wide walls to the poplar trees, to its fireplace made of red tiles, which finds love in many conversations, to all its rooms that do not receive any light, there is a deep anguish and a bitter sadness everywhere. That mansion, which said hello to many lives, was falling into a quiet sleep after Mr. Wisdom, while looking at the cemetery in the north.
