"The last [bullet] struck two meters over the projection booth, hitting the face of the clock, which, having stopped working sixty years earlier, was now covered with dust and cobwebs." P 161
I read those lines from the novel and put my head back on the pillow. As the electricity power was lost, and I shut my eyes, I remembered him with his yellow umbrella.
When I marched so fast on that moving forward ground I reached Aksaray so fast in that rainy black night in Aksaray-Istanbul. I threw my heavy bag in Uzbek hotel. Took a quick tasteless snatch of a sandwich. Sat next to rain when he approached. An elderly in 80s. or might be in 90s. or even more. He got many lost teeth as evident from his giggle.His yellow childish umbrella is so specific. And he used to say things like:
The Mediterranean didn't contain me,
Nor did the Red,
In the Atlas I got a wrecked ship,
In Uzbek a bed.
My Danube joins the Caspian to the Black,
I'm Armenian in Diaspora,
My duduk is my identity.
I'm the Kurd, the Chaldean, the Amazeigh,
The Assyrian out of Nineveh.
The Yezidi, the Mandaean,
I am the rootless origin.
I had walked after Saint Augustin
From Thagast but didn't reach Rome,
I've ended in Efes,
Making a soup out of mushroom.