TE16 Turkish Delight

Burhan Sönmez though I’m likely to get a different result. Hoping it will make me feel sleepy. On the black squares I fantasize about being asleep, but on the white squares I realize I’m sitting at the table. I bend down and smell its wood. The smell of varnish blends into the night. Perhaps that smell really exists, or perhaps I’m conjuring it up in my mind. I smell it again. Varnish. Trees. The tree’s damp roots wrenched out of the soil. Water flowing to the roots. For some reason the water reminds me of the white clock. I look at it ticking on the mantelpiece. I glanced at it while I was having dinner, it said seven o clock. When it passed eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve and came to one, I don’t know. If a thousand years passes like one night, on a wind perfumed with incense, should I sink into despair, or should I let myself go in the stillness of time? Someone who possesses one night can possess a thousand years. Or the reverse. Someone who can’t possess one night definitely can’t possess a thousand years. The Mary and Jesus beside the clock look as though they too have yielded to time. Their mouths are shut. Theirmarble faces areas still as a lake. I wind up theclock every night and place it beside them. They wait patiently. I can’t work out for what. I look at the picture of the ant on the clock in the hope that it will help me find the answer. There is a white ant on the clock face. It carries the clock on its back, with every tick it moves its spindly legs back and forth. It goes forward and at the same time counts on the spot. Day and night it keeps going, but it doesn’t get anywhere. I believe white is the best color for time. I pick up the clock and place it beside the wine glass. The night is in no hurry, neither am I. As I sip my wine I could open up the clock and tinker with it for a while. The thought is appealing. I go


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