TE16 Turkish Delight

Nazli Karabiyikoglu “There was a tale that I liked,” I said. “Tell that to me. The one that goes water gets crazy, river rises up. ”

She said: “I don’t know that language.”

Men. Men sizdin emespin. Jürek ve qan. Menin armanım qayda?

It was them slant eyes that deceived me. Their Pacific color. Because such Aybikas were plenty in my ancient homeland. I got it while we kissed under the rain. And once again when I touched her lips in the dark. She was a mermaid, a total Dream… —Hüseyin Ferhad, “Akdeniz’in Sıfır Noktası V” I thought I’d love him more when I figured it out that we were speaking the same language. At first. While I nodded to every word he said, I opened my mouth and spoke and the shimmer in his eyes lit up the fading sun, I let go of love. Then. I sucked all that clamped up in his mouth, making him talk so. I drank fine coffee, didn’t say much. I was struck by his moustache getting thicker, his enormous hands beating the air, and his feet kicking my knees below the table, enthusiastically and by mistake, as he told his last couple of months. After a while, I spilled all that I hadn’t been conversing until then, and I was proud of my every word that stayed right. But he, he was beyond language. It wasn’t using our larynxes the same way that pulled me to him, and him to me obviously. I found the messier version of his erratic passion which flooded his tear troughs. And pushed right on its center.

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