The Aziz Bey Incident. Ayfer Tunc

created by this job had so hardened Aziz Bey that for the rest of his life, even in the most important moments when he should have been compliant, modest, or humble, he had always failed. If asked, he’d deny that this superior, obstinate manner ever hurt him.

      Until that tragic incident that took place in Zeki’s tavern.

      Every night for roughly six months, at a quarter to ten, he got onto a fairly high stage, sat on a wooden chair, placed his tambur between his knees and opened the night with a taqsim overture. At daybreak, he got up from his wooden chair and on his way back to the hotel he counted backwards the number of days still to go; not 99, 98, 97…, but 1, 2, 5, 56, 73, 144… He was counting an unknown number of days. He knew both the east and the west of this city that was yet to be divided either in people’s minds or on the map. He saw too that this city’s weather could become cooler, and that its cats ate from rummaging in the rubbish bins. He got used to its cooking. While looking out of the window of the disintegrating hotel, absorbed with the washing hanging from the balconies of the multi-storied apartments, he kept thinking of his own streets.