TE16 Turkish Delight

Letters to Shefkati and wouldn’t leave his all white bed. And, the old wife’s recipes- boiling hollyhock and lungwort- weren’t helping hima bit. (From the sameoldwife, I’d learned that common hops quenched sexual desires) That once jolly young man, my dear uncle was virtually buried alive in his white linens. He had stopped doing it in ways that we could see, but my uncle was still searching for her in his death bed, the happy end he couldn’t get to havewhilst he lived. He passed away, and hopefully found some peace. It took us days, months to get used to the idea that he was gone. From then on, his violin stood all alone in his room, became this heartbreaking symbol for all of us. I often saw it in my dreams even, the violin in my uncle’s hand, and Miss Munevver by the piano. My uncle places the violin between his shoulder and chin, the two smiles at each other, I feel thewarmth of love and comfort they find in each other’s eyes. Must have been because I never met her, the face of Miss Munevver never had any features in my dreams. I could only get a hint of a colorless smile. They start playing something I can’t figure out for sure, not even whether it’s fromaround here of from the west – whatever it was, the piece never changed – it flows like Andalusian Serenade and rises, then falls back in a melancholic tempo, as I listen with utmost focus. I’d wake up in horror after these “concerts”, in need of a logical explanation. How did I know about that particular music, or Andalusian Serenade in that matter? Although, I had read the


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