NATO 2014/The best seller novel of the year by Prof M.E.S Jul 19, 2014 8:19:42 GMT
Post by on Jul 19, 2014 8:19:42 GMT
HECEYLE DİRİLTEN CUMA RUBAİLERİ
İDEAL'E BİR ATIF
Bulut dağılsın, hatta kuraklık iznine çıksın
Okları kilitlesin aklı selim sahibi kın
İdeal ki bulunmadığı beyinleri büzer
Şiddet önderlik edemez, sapkın çöllerde gezer!
Hariçte en çok keçi, inatçı fakat sağımlık
Domestik kaplan: ötme, bereketi kesme artık!
İŞTE İDEALİST KUVVET
Profesyonel ordun varsa: köylünün hizmeti tarlaya
Mütevazı maaş, has eğitim, gerçek özveri buraya,
Profesyonel ordunun erleri, her tür cakadan beri
Ne kaz yürüyüşü, ne kaz göğsü, ne geri ne ileri!
Hariçte en çok keçi, inatçı fakat sağımlık
Domestik kaplan: ötme, bereketi kesme artık!
THE INFINITE NOVEL
(Dating and Regime)
By Mustafa erdoğan Sürat (MES Solzhenitsof)
I would have preferred-were I able to pull it off-entreat all gossip lords of The Constantinople to consider that it should not be impossible to take the information obtained through the wind a vain file sought by Anti Judeo Christianity as volatile and it could flow from them to another horde who would turn into another source of talking back of other people. In the unlucky Constantinople-unlucky for it is preserved by invisible forces as a land of no man to be left as an occupied capital of a well hidden empire I'm sure should be assigned as living behind somewhere- God knows where-for The Earth ought to be considered larger than the world of which too much dangling-anti formulae-dimensions had been found mathematically within solid frames of formulas: rigid, inflexible, and exaggeratedly concrete. It has been that compelled me not to respect the couple made of the Earthly Life and Mathematics is even extremely likely that it may spring from that secret existence of Byzantium!
PHILOSOPHY MAKING AND FLIRTING IN HIDDEN BYZANTIUM
Once upon a time instead of the official claims Soviet type governments would ever be left as the lover of Civilisation, Museums, Culture, Fine Arts and the like it occurred to the Turkish Soviet State to spoil the AYASOFA Museum-the masterpiece of the Byzantium's Church architectures-over conquering again and turning it into a mosque of savage ruining that climax of the human peerless heritage for the second time since Mehmet the Cononueror's time. The conflicts betwixt the red and green fascist of the Mideast making the life unpleasantly versus to love, and, in that poisonous period of the history I nearly half jokingly let me to adolescence having my head sink upon the lap of avatars used by the female in internet. What I have learned from the life spent-as that of an exile-in Constantinople is that self concealed dissatisfaction within us seldom fails to stir up any emotion in the way of organizing The Newest Crusader against those who oppose the romantic peculiarities of morality similar to that of Jesus. And, to furnish my observation I dare say with reminding of a rule which may enable my readers to ascertain the real principle remarking the identification of my ethic values gained in Russian Churches with those of The Good Samaritans overall the Britain. Now I will ask you if you make-please-an assignment to my questions in the form of answer: Could you moan under the influence or having been wrapped by the limitless nuances of the scarlet petals of The Byzantium's geraniums!! While the Constantinople Greeks lament the way in which their religious life have been treated-from the point of reopening The Orthodox Priest School, great flares are being incensed under the depths-de profundis-of the Turkish Girls' heart muscles which they used to be granted to love though I am not to send any letters to them. But still more against the maxims quoted through the very heart fibres of mine I feel myself ready to fall in love, and even to be in love with their silly smiles stolen from The Balkan Ladies. Nevertheless I shall not grant it to be barely possible that their hallucinations regarding to my approach to love to be tasted in anywhere near to the occupied coasts of The Bosporus could proceed from zeal to dating even-God forbid-to bed with them! Though not of the most enlightened kind a Russian Christian my deep thoughts, still, could turn into non-sexual ecstasy ruminated by means of the memoirs from the Sunday Services I attended one of my hand caught by my mother strictly if only I should not been lost within passages in or out of the Yekaterinburg Cathedral. Was it a real cathedral or a chapel I have been to? Just a little note from the Russian fathers can serve to enlighten me about the rumination ad hoc my childhood churches.But if they are merely ecstasy sources at our home to feel happiness, and not at the street, for the time being to gain time towards the moment to embrace the love of Jesus before going to sleep, truly, my dear readers, I shall never carry on writing to write an infinite novel that could be grossly mistaken as spending time for vain, and that my zeal would be miserably blind.
As the readers could understand easily this novel is to narrate suffering only. Suffering cannot be endure time elapsing and turns into bewilderment first, secondly to zest. Even a single minute is very long for suffering to put up with the least moment if it would be suffered by any creature having got any sort of consciousness. Suffering cannot divide time by the parts of time like seconds, minutes, months, seasons, and decades and the like. Only the life inflicted by "Suffering" can only mandate the moods of sufferings, and chronicles in their turn should be twice as shorter as they would be explored within the actual time when they would be inflicting anybody.
TOWARDS THE CHAPTER ONE
For I'm not a dandy, I should have tried to escape from living lonely in order to complete my existence and this undeclared exposition would-obligatorily from the point of logics- make me a romantic to grumble very much-nearly every moment about solitude not only because it might be my real horror, the one thing I could not bear. Inasmuch as loving of falling love could easily thrust its roots excessively deep in my brain, my heart or somewhere like them that would be open to be thought always as being linked to love. Nevertheless love, which is the law of multitude within the general frame work of the nature forever, cannot be found distinguished during any life span short or long. Catherine-a middle aged lady news speakers of the TV Stations run by the mass media exploiting rich people that should be appeared amongst their kinsfolk who had occupied and spoiled the unlucky city-Constantinople.
At the starting point of "Fall in Love", the subjective weakness of the catastrophic attitude becomes apparent to a few lovers who would take the role of being both eccentrics and non adventurers for they-as a result of general rationalism of the mankind-could never, never dare to sacrifice them in a struggle to help to or to save nobody whom they neither know nor by whom they are known. Alas at this critical point I ought to confess the mating flaw in my life. All jokes aside from the very beginning I haven't known the "know how" that could be applicable to the classification of the females' features related to feel hatred, to make sex or to love in a platonic style while smoothly turning towards the bed? As for the main problem I ask you hereby: "Why should every people making love-according my original finding-have a change in their eyes before going to bed?" Just in this moment I must give brief definition of my dandyism regarding to dating: It of whatever kind, is always dandyism in relation to my affairs with the female. as to my identification within my love affairs, insofar as I'm a created-or rather, a dressed soul as dressing would be to come to the conception of having been created in accordance with earthly conditions, can oppose myself only to The Female of present time not of the old good days. On making speculations about love I understood why I fell in love with her who has looked rather ignoring me when I tried to catch her eyes, and it's been clearly understandable that it had not been for the date-a day as twice holy and pompous as any Saturday could be then-I haven’t thought of this at the time; it only struck me when I was getting out of the mai gate of domestic flights where I have met with her for the first time. I know from the very beginning that she should had been expected having-rather her family having-a house near to the airport of which main road to be seen frequently washed out with April drizzling that it would has meant in those days-the good old days-my getting Saturdays straight off in accustomed promenades, and one couldn’t expect me not to like to be after every kind of girls whose time spent in their rooms in the evenings had been obligatorily wandered bound with surreal imagination and adoring. Instead of my irrational love affair-even far from platonic way of loving-I insist still, for one thing, it wasn’t my fault if the girl who couldn't know me and vice versa was run into that day and not seemingly having got the same aftermaths of that concoction today; and then, again, I’d have had my Saturday to be eternally enjoyed since then till now in any case. Nonetheless one naturally accept this could sustain one's ecstasy from seeing one's first love. (Remember love has need of blindness for two part-the lover and the loved-so that genuine love ought to be exist before maturing!)If living without love had been a psychological gap-say not biological-setting up an expletive narration would have been an effort only, as I’d been really exhausted by lacking of libido from the point of last ten years' experiences spent in vain till I saw the awfully indifferent face of that girl abiding somewhere near to the airport within the vicinity where my family should have abide for at least some more ten years because of my school problems. While telling my sensation about the debut of a love story after some decades of the loss of my ex, I wondered how to spend the rare hours out of the school, and decided that weekends could only do me good. And yet I should have take into account those enormous showers told as being in a way as the result of global changes of the weather could even have prevented the busses run by the municipality in coming to the stops at time that needed-on behalf of my new attacks to catch her eyes in pseudo waiting s at the bus stop to see her instead of going down to the street which was getting identified with my hallucinations linked to the prejudice that she should differ my existence from the others'.As one see and even read through here is a novel having been written. This is something to make you to breath an atmosphere quite like old times. Inasmuch as the first day I saw her in flesh so much near that I could-as a lot of young people in the past-yep I could smell the light smell of her fair hairs. Before my tentative many lovers were in the same feelings apart from trying and smelling the air coming from her mouth because amongst all beloved fairs one couldn't dare to do it, Besides they are the fragile males like me who used to be a typist or the white collar workers-no matter they were having low or high rank posts-to produce texts to be taped at offices. All in all they should be reiterate the same confession: "I was rather adoration her in those days, and I fancy she appreciated both my love for her and my future post allocated only for high rank officers too." But let me add a little trifling matter to the confession of mine to complain that she was to be-of course in a sight not enough near enabling anybody to touch her-with me so short a time that nothing could come of it. Touching her? God forbid that I should be helping her to get in the bus and let my hand caressing her breasts...
Formulating the feature peculiarities of The Female above I’m sure some man, an old chap, a sworn enemy or a ghost, is always at my side. Actually I have lot of time to observe the girl while living in empty units of -say what you may: hours, weeks, months-might not give a man the chance to fill the holes in the life span and to make a marriage as a young intellectual of Byzantium. I have thought several times since my first time I had run into her-though I could not have known which one of our meetings might had been called as the first- how should had I get the sufficient proof that she would have been accepted as obligatorily knowing me while each time we might have met I should have tried to see her face afar.
For all my semi superstition induced semi platonic assignments that were based on the belief that she has been ready to love me she grudged me rejoicing my heart even with a slightly smile. On the contrary of that sort of barren relationship between my love and her obstinate indifference towards my self-imposed love affair one day she has deigned to look at me. Methinks it was an early spring time with its non-coloured yet reflecting-according to the angle between the sun beams and badly installed rectangle stones-currant that has been able to reflect all colours the eye could see alongside the pavements when the miniature brooks has been running towards nowhere. The supernatural incident elicited when she waited the vehicles to empty the narrow street having got only a line of lawn on which one could differ the melting crystals of three months old snow after a moment she chose walking across the road from the side of a park encircling an old mosque towards the other side having got several shop windows-those of little ones build in a monotonous way historically and adjacent to each other. I observed clearly that her soft line dominated yet authority reflecting face reached to the point as its owner aimed at and after a moment-to my very surprise-she turned and looked at me. I have been very well informed through some experiments that when a girl happened to look at my face her hair had to be over her eyes to conceal her smile. Nevertheless the far faces-like those of avatars, of mannequin even of politicians in their stolid campaigns-that have got eyes seeming not to mind, so one would rather let any moment's romanticism stay nowhere. In such conditions dominated by indifference one might have the whole life full in one's eyes, all in turbidity and in gold medalled attitude color of the most turbiude...
And one could feel the tidings of her sensational tide rising and falling gently within one's heart. One also hasn't to wait a good half of one's life in a mood half asleep or utmost attentive. When the need of gaining her vague smile as a starting point of a colourful live-say a life of love-should compel one towards a too hot yet energy lacking period one would dive off into waters of an ocean and-no doubt-she wouldn't follow the poor diver. After her bus faded in the thin air I might have caught up with her without touching any part of the body of hers, and without putting my arm round her waist, and we walk side by side. Would she still smiling? No guess from my side, god knows the reply would be either yes or not. If one can be pardoned the probability might be added to the situation.
While I was dragging myself towards the home on the edge of the area occupied by the airport with its runways and other facilities I run into another feature-very important for me from the midterm schooldays of mine: Monsieur Hotter-the professor of history. He was an early matured lad not so much older than my elder brother. He, embracing me cried: “I’m not to be seen as a teacher of your class rather as an old friend not knowing much more than you about the daily affairs.” then he asked me if I’d come to the cafe to chat over coke glasses with him that very time usually spent on the home way in late afternoons. For a while I gazing around the road attracted my attention notwithstanding a bit later, for want of anything better to do, I picked up the newspaper that was yawning on his coat crinkles at the centre of the joining place called arm pit but didn't read it anyhow. There must have been an advertisement of food productions all over it calling one to cut them out and pasted in into my album in the kitchen where I keep things cut out of papers. If the reader should like to return my teacher's invitation to go to the nearest cafe for chatting I'd rather confess that seemingly he would not allow me to be to good not to let him so much free spending on brilliant students.Instead I was not completely reluctant to reject the invitation , however, all the time my old teacher and I is to spent the chat quota on the tepid subjects about the political affairs or daily life high lights I was not so much keen in carrying on with that cafe type dialogues whereunto I would be-no doubt-in a feverish state. Generally from the very beginning of my school days I might observe the same nihilism of the school friends and our teachers and it should be only hope and optimistic precaution instead of despair and negation, but, above all, the owner of invitations to chat over a cup of-say a cup of coke-should be bound with desire affable to despair and to negate. This man who so violently took the part of missing his students, who trembled at the suffering of a child while having been desirous, who wanted to observe the World's Children throttled by the Islamist butchers who might-using the wanton like babble as the dialogue and tolerance method invented by F.GULEN-make the victims-The World's Children- embrace their murderers viz. the suicide bombers! Ach! That Persian name: HUNE, meaning home; and Turkish word-HUN for consuming disease! The complex word “HUN-HUNE” does come to the meaning of “Home for helpless disease” and seemingly has been found projectile in constructing a bizarre hospital intimately special for the Heathen-namely-Christian and Jewish Children who would serve there as involuntary organ donors after having been abducted and placed in their no-exit wards which should look obligatorily like cells of those toppled down Soviet Empire’s prisons. Inasmuch as after the KEMALIST red generals of The Second Soviet-Turkey Vulture and Iranian Despots had given start to their post-modern “terror product” collaboration in their war on all the Judeo-Christians as a whole they would inaugurate several institutions of EVIL none of them could be inhumanly amoral than that center called HUN-HUNE which happened to be active before the last quarter of the year 2009, and is about to be more peril –internationally- regarding especially east and west European Children’s safety. Since early October or late September we were being told that many Turkish Children –their ages varying from 4 to 10 years old–who may be of Greek or Armenian or even Jewish stock have been abducted and send to that HUN-HUNE center alongside with the absentees from Iraq, Syria and even Iran.
We Pro-West Turkish and Kurdish Muslims are being told too today more about the ominous, officially and personally immoral, and Satanic HUN-HUNE center. If the readers glance over it through the pure coming descriptions of mine which are to be more detailed step by step as the story progresses, they’ll see not one only chain of cells in which at evenings times the children are to be imprisoned and to be left lonely till the adolescent-if not mature-lights of a morning sun rejoice everybody: guards, little victims, director of the administrative departments, nurses, doctors, and care-takers who are in charge of burying the little dead bodies after they gave their souls because of they would be no more kidneys or heart valve to donate the rich clients who provide the siblings with pocket-money to buy cheap wafers covered with chocolate but several play halls, barbed wires and high walls surrounding gardens for fresh air, cheap canteens selling lemonade and wafer like retails, rooms to watch limited television stations and to listen full-music induced frequency modulation radios-run by Turkish Red Maoist namely KEMALIST soldiers, Green Maoist i.e. Secret F GULEN Gang's terrorists and Iranian revolution guards-viz. their schizophrenic broadcastings! Nonetheless the reports say that there is no child has been absolutely exhausted to be put death with endless operations in order to steal their organs for the purpose of implantations: illegal, Godless, barbaric, and relentless. In addition to that we Pro-West Turkish and Kurdish know exactly that there are at least 80-100 children still alive there. Yet we know also that some of them went under operations, and lost their eyes, kidneys, livers-partly-and some legs’ veins!
The hospital expenditures of the little victims-fed and boarded very well for the sake of keeping them enough robust for their being able in giving or involuntarily donating their organs without any health problem within a long term of inching towards their graves-are afforded by Radical Muslim celebrities and Turkish Kemalist rich people like the relatives of R. K. or A. D. or high rank Turkish red or green(Gulenist)generals, red or green judges, and red or green fake scholars and the like!
(DAILY LIFE SLICES OF THE HUN-HUNE CHILDREN)
The readers of this “to be continued” type story-no doubt-will not enjoy reading THE DIALOGUES AND INTERACTIONAL IMPRESSIONSS” between the inhabitants of the JUDEO-CHRISTIAN CHILDREN’S DEATH ISLAND, namely, HUN HUNE HOSPITAL as an all reflection purveying photographs of that weird building which is particularly to be marked by the bitter memories of the last four months of the year 2009. The contents of aforesaid slices aren’t naturally limited in strictly pronounced hours and scene of actions and the nightmares in broad daylight of sibling heroes of my telecommunicated notes. But in the very writing of mine here, maybe I shall put my first steps in the international literature forever, and-who knows?-one day in my life of observations scrutinizing the common crimes of Iran and the Second Soviet-Turkey Vulture, my impressions will turn into a classical painting which reflects unbelievable vividness and remote-sensing the deep realities of its sibling characters. Hence purified from speculations and putting a good distance betwixt the inclination to exaggerated impression and my style. Everybody can obtain for himself more lessons to translate the more secret feelings and sensations of the little people that couldn’t find the chance to be depicted here in the tragedy of HUN-HUNE interrelations and in other inter-influences! They will be the same little victims who by the obligation of unnatural inflictions have been put to severe physical and moral tests under special and extremely conditions of the HEATHEN CHILDREN SLAUGHTER-HOUSE, and made open to free interpretation from the point of their dramatic destine. I’m well known by my own self estimation as ultimately sensitive about the protection of children and defenseless animals in my narration of HUN-HUNE there’ll be no affectation to make the reader’s concentration much more evoked about the terrible facts of the cruelty, torture, and barbaric attitudes that are obviously the result of the violation of international legality by Iran and the Second Soviet-Turkey Vulture. Now at this point in order to draw up my sermon brief let me say that the morning of 12th September 2009 came as usual. Anyway, where would you get down a good breakfast in a place like this, with the windows of the stables owned by the local tribe families where the people live with their cows and sheep opening to the HUN-HUNE Gardens’ walls and dusted all over and the gray cobwebs of dust all along them show to the passersby that the great majority of Iran and East Turkey’s children are devoid of breakfast at all!
The 7 years old male inhabitant M. of the slaughter didn’t get up yet. He lay there in his room on the second storey of the three storied hospital, his whole body including head but the eye which could see still-because the other’s cornea had been dislocated for transplantation-buried in a quilt covered with a sheaf ornamented by means of flower designs. He couldn’t see with the operated one, but the untouched eye-which regarding the medical procedure shall serve him for-relatively of course- a long time show him everything going on even in the cornered details. He heard the sound of the servants carrying the plates, flagons, pans, glasses, heap of Turkish sausages, bread, forks, spoons etc. to the breakfast tables along the passage outside bridging the kitchen’s lift to the tidy restaurant on the first floor.
Is it a lovely work? Yep? Not, if that were considered philosophically, a feeding job represented to the little human sacrifices but just to keep them healthy, and to carry the victims to the operation tables without loss of any drop out of their blood, weight briefly from their absolute health. He heard occasionally the rap-raps of the Turkish Soldiers commanded by the Red-West officers’ boots onto the floor from the first station of abduction THE GARRISON OF HEAVENLY VOYAGE as the TURCO-IRANIAN coalition of would be ANTI-IMPERIALIST BEASTS name impudently. Now it must have been that his-particularly own- playmates were preparing themselves for the breakfast after washing hands and faces, and saying “good morning” to each other! His most intimate 8 years old friend-Scarlet girl P. put on their her cardigan awkwardly long and large regarding her height without a word but he heard her beds springs creaking-while she jumps on it not only to satiate an ordinary need of play but for the sake of illegal surgery aches’ assuage she needed after the operation after which she has been bereft of her right kidney- slightly from behind the walls of adjacent room belonging to the Scarlet Girl-the name she answered. Now P. would be going off to the baby doll wearing toys storage to the children’s breakfast quarters in the daily procedure of ETIVPD: Enlivening TURCO-IRANIAN VIPS Planning Department. Had someone been told that those VIPS are in need of organ transplantation there should be no requisition for furthermore explanations about the ET-Turkish ETÖ of which one could find many good hits in ‘GOOGLE’-and IVP-Iranian venerable Personage-, and D-Department-methinks. Ah, but it is not easy to report the Heathen Children Hospital as usual to the authorities within the daily correspondence… I assure you that as to the everyday tasks regarding the fate of the European and Semitic stock citizen children of theirs in which they are in charge of defend against all sort of assaults from the Second Soviet-Turkey Vulture and Iran equal to each other in balance: they want to ignore on purpose!
The changing horizons over the evil projects of Turkish red generals and Iranian despots induce turning a hospital to a children slaughter house, the “So called Anti-Imperialist Way of Life” trade center of human organs to be torn from innocent siblings. Nowadays the building lay in open country covered with watery snow or sleet as Azerbaijan people calls , and before anything else could be done there the children would have to press their nose towards the panes of the jail style windows and watch the steps’ landscape absentmindedly. The lattices limit windows panorama power, so that they couldn’t see the world as a whole escaping from the black lines crisscrossing horizon take aside to run away. Only then would they start building an imaginative world within the boundaries of their jail-hospital. There wouldn’t be a greater imagination corner for a whole life they are to live there. Not even a king’s palace. And free actions in the open air were out of the question. There was nothing to reconcile them with. Let your imagination carry you freely to the moors, lanes, parks, circuses, and limitless play grounds that was your only salvation.
No wonder the Scarlet Girl P. looked so worried after her exercise that was her job to repeat at times. Of course without friends you could get nowhere to breakfast. The children-M.and his girl friend P.- have to share their bread, butter, cheese-adding to them eggs for two days in a week- tea, jam, honey, milk etc. There would be happiness in trying routine feeding, so why not have a meeting at the table and get a few special feelings off if you can? Instead of good board services from first class broth used in the lentil soup to the goose feather cushions, the children of the slaughter-house would feel frequently dismayed to death as though every fiber of their muscles were being dissected out of body. Then M. and P wondered which of their playmates was going under operation to donate of his organs no matter eye or kidney or a part of liver that day. It might be “Half eye one kidney” S.’s turn, they recalled. S. was a slim Syrian boy 5 years old, extremely taciturn, blue eyed, and straw haired like Russians or Baltic region German… At first sight he looked like a real child, but when you got to know him he turned out to be the oldest soul living there: he wasn’t able to put up with the operational traumas in this slaughter-house named after blood and torture as HUN HUNE which I had hauled the reader you off learning the real meaning of HEATHEN CHILDREN HOSPITAL run by The Second Soviet-Turkey Vulture, and Iranian despots. So the intimate little friends M. and P. decided they could prepare themselves to share the delicious dishes and drinks of a magnificent breakfast table lie in his bunk after a little while, at least while the old S. who was worn out by the dog’s life he has been sentenced for nothing at all was at the hall.
In the dining several colorfully designed stools, chairs, tables and even very comfortable banks began to clatter while shaken and swayed by little souls. Two of its occupants I. and A-both of them were 10 years old brunette girls- were used to get up and to haul there at the same time; they are also neighbors occupying adjacent rooms at the first floor; A.-the Kurdish girl has been mutilated after the operations on her liver and left kidney, and I. a Georgian little maiden has donated one of her eye before a week! The last victims conveyed there within some days were apparently suffering from home-sick, after leaving both their homes and friends behind, began to quarrel about which of them should sit on the childishly favorite colored chairs. They quarreled restlessly, like Iranian Despots who would be very eager to burn the World with their newly hatched Nuke-Head long range missiles.
-“Stop to make noise you little devils” A.-with a second bellicose nature in her character- started to scold them; “Sit down quietly.” She even flung a tea spoon at them. The miniature utensil thudded against a tray put vertically on a table. The quarrel stopped.
There was still some grudge induced sounds are boiling and a boy amongst them-seeming relatively a leader around 7 years old-growled quietly: “Hey chaps, none of you could cheat me again at the table, you jackals. They should have given us sufficient bright colored chairs here: why anybody ought to be going to go short?” He kept his voice down, but of course everyone in the dining hall heard him and laughed at the probability to teach the green horns which one of them would be losing a bright red chair that morning. I. and A. went on with having their breakfast as peaceful as pussy cats they should remember from past-from those good days-if only it could be possible to let-without shedding tears-such things come to mind! Meanwhile A. was murmuring her prayers and I. resumed sipping fresh fruit juices which would be served incessantly during the breakfast saying with a sort of childish glee: “Well, friends, grit your teeth. There are bright red chairs in a limited number, for sure.”At that very moment her gaiety was jerked off her because of an instant swallowing-phobia which is particular with her while laughing. She flung his good humor away from his face and sat up. Looking up at her friends, her head at a level so much high from those of theirs, was as if the top figure of The Victims.
A.-the organ donor girl, actually the organ provider child caught behind the bars to let his kidneys, parts of liver or eyes to be stolen by the murderers has been rescued by the help of a nurse of European stock, and escaped to Bulgaria over Turkey after the moment that she would reject obeying to state terror rules and tried to discover his own soil of survive
Having arrived at The Capital of Bulgaria-Sofia, she and her rescuer nurse remembered a great deal afterwards. Instead of the loneliness they were bound to meet with sometimes it seemed as though there were a number of people round them; they wanted also to take them away somewhere for there were neither an absolute silence nor a great deal of noisy around them. The good Christians of Bulgaria would not let them to be alone in the room; and they had got a desire if only they should have gone away afraid of excess sympathy, and even only now and the clean heart Bulgarian Christian from every age and gender might have opened their door with a crack to look at them!The reason of why they-after having fled Hun’s Hospital-they took refuge in Bulgaria is that on 25 October a usually reiterating event occurred in The Black Sea coasts of Turkey for that ominous day the cute-red Major General-the Chief of General Staff, a potentially dangerous, relatively powerful, and a well known or famous transgressor on the path of Turkish quasi Constitutional Structure (his name is really famous now instead it no longer figures on the high-lights of red fascist DOĞAN’S MEDIA bearing a portrait of a commander with sword, and the words: ‘I’m the guard of regime against the West’) for that morning that bloody sword woke early, and caught the smell of newly brewing liberalism irritably. Raising himself a little, he perceived the photo of a navy colonel on the first page of a tabloid who has been prosecuted by his order and would be buried as a martyr that might be said to be forced to take with suicide* (a most respectable soldier, and one especially fond of American Democracy and tending to denounce the plot in the Black Sea) to be just in the act of attracting public opinion towards the opposite direction of their newly baked plot that should be effective from new center of black fascists-Trabzon to Izmir-a pompous antic city like princes of red fascism.Backing to the reason that has forced them to look for a safe heaven in Bulgaria one could claim that he ridiculous-furthermore fake-KEMALIST Potemkin has been representing some awful symbol that might have threatened them or at least mocked at them instead of prosecuting-say nothing of punishing them-the Green Stalinist terror organizers who-obviously-had been running The HUN-HANE Children hospital in order to maintain a semi-official organ trafficking there.
In Sofia they remembered themselves often in the bed; they distinguished no person but the lady workers of the three star hotel, too, whom they seemed to know very well over Judeo-Christian culture, though they could not discern the people giving service! They who were open to be fretted easily, even to be made cry. Sometimes they fancied they had been lying there for years; at other times any the day they have lived there all seemed part of the same day. They worried and tormented themselves trying to remember the torment reigning through the corridors of HUN-HANE moaning, flying into a rage in turn or sinking into awful, intolerable horror. Then they would have been struggling to run away from the memoirs of mort, torment, tort induced time of theirs torn from them in the children organ trade hospital called HUN-HANE! But they always prevented themselves by means of the aid provided by Krill Knights' soul that had dared and conquered the Asia, and they sank back into a serenity and forgetfulness. At last they returned to complete consciousness.
My teacher happened to invite me to the café at a kind of time tending to be wasted in the afternoon. On that fine yet absurd day the sun shone into the lounge of café at that hour, injecting a streak of light on the main wall across the entrance, and on the corner near the door. The sympathy teacher of our class in the good old days of our class was sitting before me near to another person, a complete stranger, who was looking at everybody very inquisitively. He was an old man without a beard, wearing a full, long over coat, and looked like a ranger. "I am one of the ex teachers of your class at the lyceum I remember very tenderly from the old good days, from the first youth of yours, and I see that I've just hit points as I invited you to make a talk so much peculiar to this no afternoon city-Constantinople" said he, and added "Please sit down son." while having seated himself on the other side of the table in the café we went in, God forgive us, randomly. "It's a good thing you've come by the pavement on my routine route to go back my home, sir," replied I before he went on to call the past to our mind with misty eyes, and trembling hands when we hold-a la mode-the coke glasses before to drink them as taking in something tepid. "When you are attending to my lessons you have scarcely spent your time to waste any moment. Even if I had to give you a little break to breathe, and to refresh your attention you would have brought me to tell everything to you twice. You remember those intensive hours in the school?" He examined me carefully and said at once his rumination was nothing serious, rather, something seemed to have gone to his head as some nervous nonsense, "the result of bad feeding," he added that I have to get down enough beverage for getting up with his rebukes. I have tried to give details from my chattering with my ex-teacher but it should be nothing as too much, and when it would come to an end you be all right. Since my ex-teacher's field-literature could attract every romantic soul's attention intensively I dare say he is a first-rate fellow! He might be able to make quite a name. Come, I won't keep the rest of that café dialogue for me, and for the time being I should shoulder the narration over the table before the rim of shutters letting us to look at the buses, delivery trucks, people sharing the same unity in groups in beetween.During the dialogue-rather monologue-on that day, addressing to neither nor any other person me the man resumed : "Will you explain what you want in the future? You must know, my dear son, living in a family of our own life story for writing and played by one oneself-with or without a spouse- is the second stage of the life the nature ought to have sent from the first one in which one should be born and brought up!"
The time was the moment just before evening service which could had not been attended for nearly six centuries, and I venture to say, "if you please, sir, my time is up. I must go back to home for preparing my humble dinner table..." That was my ex-lyceum teacher before me having taught no new thing wither to since we have begun to change some words over coke glasses up till now and yet brought successfully to my mind the term based on the formula to solve my mood in the case of the falling love with a girl with whom we would be ignorant mutually. Of the term? Alright then: "Prince Charming!"
Here you are one of the classical meeting prototypes-covering those hold by students only or with students and teachers mixed-shared with my "ex literature teacher and me" in which none could be more intelligent than the others. "Yes, indeed, sir, it is I have started." repeated I. "All right sony; good by" whispered he benevolently!
After saying "byyy" to him I went on pondering about our unplanned yet well conducted talking matching to the similar intercommunications of mine in the past. Yes, I remember-dreamily-an elite friends' group of mine-in a very intelligible condition-used to soar as the philosophers of ancient Greek City States or the earlier phase of Renaissance! And yet-crying out loud-we couldn't obtain instant fruits during the chattering of which every moment would be hold fervently, and instead of we should appreciate every words spent intelligently over coke glasses we were not intelligent people from the point of the instant upshot of the too much claimant talking of our group of wisdom as I might qualify for the time being. All in all those are the gentlemen, ready to make non-biased speculations at the request of our group's ZEITGEIST, that have been sending over the people around the table to the world a remittance once before in the same manner through great thinkers of the world...As twice identified with the World's Intellectual as the group members did not refuse any time give instructions to the vagrants happened to visit our place especially around the midnight.
We were constructing several theories to make the life much more apt to be being lived. So-as the teacher has reminded me of one of the definitions useful in qualifying the females-the girl worth of being loved is the female that should be 'hoping for her prince coming on a milky white horse' namely the male who would be the one and only male the girl might accept as a lover. Come then, what do I say? Am I fully conscious, eh? Absolutely not! And yet the group members are and that'll be all right from the point of my view too. Yes, we-the highly most intelligent lads of that group are were living then in the city-Erzurum of which tiny lanes have been honoured by the great poet Pushkin who caught the chance having been hosted by the Russian that occupied Erzurum then. (On can read the details of his visiting and honouring the city in his famous book "LE VOYAGE A ERZURUM")
Russian Romanticism seemingly has given the prototype name-The Daughter of the Captain to me to qualify the female worth to be loved afar. And after the unexpectedmeeting with my ex literaturteache I have begun to love the daughter of captain having been living in the same quartier of Constantinople where my famly had dwelled for a long time!
Here, dear reader, sit down and take a breath. I'll give you the framework of this most paradoxical, limitlessly holy, and excessively generalized but still unknown-or rather undefined-loving style of the mankind. You can even take place before your PC to it into "Words" and save the word document for just now, dear reader, editing is sweeter to us than being deleted. The main problem is that if The Daughter of The Captain should say to me "I don't want you," what would have done reciprocally? To offer you pushing away the clavier, huh?
HERE-AFTER ALL-YOU ARE THE UNLIMITED DIALOGUES OF LOVE FOREVER:
"Not want me?"
"No I won't !"
"How the devil can you use two negative parts of speech without saying what your 'no' complete: 'won't say so' or 'won't want?"
"I don't want . . . to listen to you."
"Don't want to listen to me! Come, lady, that's nonsense for you don't know what I would tell you! Don't trouble, please, it's only that ear is not ready. to listen to me!
Since henceforth methinks that'll be pretty common with you at all times that loving The Daughter of The Captain comes to the meaning of preparing her ears to listen to my words. Then I dare say on behalf of our group that eternal love means words forever. Actually none from that group was man of judgment and none of us could carry anybody to court or put anyone behind the bars but I can make an explanation to treatment reason of our group to justify every "No" or "Yes" so we could trouble all the Girls of Captain in trying to prove that we are males they should wait for.
Even if I were are a man of judgment I wouldn't be capable-on the way of backing home-to ponder in a mood so much deep, fruitless, dreary but useful from the point of people sharing the heritage of Don Quixote. . . . "Now, SOZH-yeah I preferred before the very beginning of my rebukes to cal myself SOLZH briefly-do keep your prejudice which could lead you to bracing the 'The Captain's Daughter' of your platonic love! You see she is waiting for you, and all the work you should do is to exhibit-from a distance or face to face-your peculiarities her to be accepted as the one and only half prince half servile darling." And I tried and made ready my two sides of personality: the prince to adore her and create an invisible plus invincible obligation having forced her to adore you, and-no doubt-the servile to fuck her impudently and earnestly at the same time.
THE INFINITE NOVEL
By M. Solzhenitsof
Constantinople is that self concealed dissatisfaction within us seldom fails to stir up any emotion in the way of organizing any soul for poetry nonetheless fact that the lovely part of the city-Golden Horn was not defeated after the ominous conquer, and its natural beauty shall not obviate the fact that once the fainting beams of a late afternoon sun are exposed to the velvet green foliage of the forests around-instead of incessantly rendered ruin, pillage, fire, and beastly unjust settlements-the consequence must follow: the dance of colours could be surviving henceforth on the march toward the action of the romance to be created by gray and brilliant lanes bound to hue alternately, silver pavements under the navy orchestration in dark blue rains broken in a phenomenon made by night rainbows glittering both in pastel and bright dyes.Come on now! Hence forth the debut of descriptions I'm going to present the reader the top point The Human has gained ever, you know I'll do it alone for this time to choose the objects amongst some of the group members of ours . I insist that taking the pen to draw their features and signing my aphorism related to the matter here:
The landscapes-bound to be based on the soil, rocks, water and the like- piercing into the hearts could be reflected from the feature of The Mankind and the other living creatures only!The aid de camp MYILDRIM is the brother of the chief thinker-rather orator- mastering both our mental situation and manners as a messenger of the Socrates' School/Illumination Lyceum was able to listen to the people telling or not being able to tell something to him with a broad smile while playing with a piece silver money on the violet velvet covered rectangle table made of ash-tree in a gesture of despising its light radiations in the classical spectrum from ghostly red to vivid green mixed yellow ribbons flickering within an officially gray atmosphere there. Of The Mankind advocates there their legend of being the genuine respectable. I, finally, do distinguish the three main types of them from the other ones. MYIILDIRIM-the elder brother of ours used to think hurriedly every thought manifested through, to be able to decide to get out of the words garbage, especially when the clock struck quarter to midnight. Sometimes there would be a cautious knock by a nightly visitant at the door of our meeting chamber wrapped with the shiny light flickers in blue in the patisserie saloon run by the father and uncle of NAIL who should be-as frequently as he could do-near the group. If SGULLULU was present at the round table of the gentlemen observing the colourless but well shaped waves of dispute shared attentively by the group members he would have called "NAIL" at times-as if he was the second and yet unnamed uncle of him-“it’s quarter to 12 hours of the night" and added "fetch a kind of candy to refresh our bodies. Didn’t you want to go to the counter desk anymore?” That gentle voice of SGULLULU might be sensed as a threat too!When the nightly visitor would have awakened them from any troublesome dream, the successor of MYILDIRIM found himself transformed into his spiritual amalgam reflecting navy blue as gray should quit his horrible posture of the most relentless critic. He, even, might put out his mask throw his head a little back and could see the new friend's incessently fading blac silhouette slightly.The sardonic smiles-peculiar to MYILDIRIM and SEBO namely the celebrities of our thought or rather sense and reason based group-were hardly able to cover their upper incisive teeth and seemed ready to slide off toward sealing their thin, half brunette half colourless lips with wrath any moment. Their legs covered with the iron brink of the trousers generally fixed within brownish, excessively new-or seeming so-pitifully in equal volumes compared with the size of their busts, radiating tornados from inside of the well disciplined crinkles of their shirts neither pastel nor brilliant from the point of tincture of the high price fabrics.
THE INFINITE NOVEL
By M. Solzhenitsof
As for the fugitives of HUN-HANE namelyThe organ trafficking-pseudo-Children Hospital run by KEMALIST Turkish Soviet and Iran Islam Republic they have begun to feel extremely well in Sofia after having fled the soils of The Turkish Republic founded by ATATURK-one of the intimate friends of Vladimir I. Lenin...“What’s happened to me?” the little girl thought.She asked herself frequently if it was a dream or not. Turkish Soviet State's medics were caressing her hairs and feeding her as caring an animal on the way of slaughterhouse. Her roommates, little ladies have being shared not only a room although it is a small one but the speculations about the scars on the abdominal region of some of their same fate comrades who had been operated-for organ transplantations-and as having been the obligatorily donors lost some of their internal organs, and concealed peacefully the awful truth between them.From the point of making a good marriage nurse interested in getting rich acquaintances with the Bulgarian males from the salesman to academicians, and above the problem of eternal dream of the female there hung a peril of being attacked by any Turkish Hezbollah that he had been recently cutting the heads of Jews and Christians out of their body to show on TV programmes or in illustrated magazines to show to the Judeo-Christian World the Islamic Communities' power as that of F. GULEN Islamic Terror Gang. After fleeing HUN-HANE-The criminal hospital-run by secret Maoists and Green Fascists high rank Bureaucrats of Turkey and Iran for the evil purpose of Judeo-Christian organ trafficking-they were housed in a nice-maybe defined as gilded frame Gust Home of Sofia-the little. Everybody in the street showed the nurse of little girl rather her rescuer the lady fitted out with brilliant hair that covered the whole of her shoulders towards the viewer! The viewer is the solely hope window to get a good marriage in Bulgaria. Every now and then she was to look out the window at the dull weather pondering "Turkey is a Secret Soviet Republic where everything-from the party in power to the opposition parties have been created and owned by the steel core of that Gang State. Looking out of the window sometimes drops of rain could be heard hitting the pane, which would make the nurse and the little Jewish Girl feel quite afraid of the probability of being caught and brought back to The HUN-HANE by the greatest Islamic Terror Organisation founded by F. GULEN HODJA.OK! Down with that Islamic Fscist top cleric for the time being.
Instead the nurse, couldn't endure the thought of sleeping a little bit longer and forget all those torture she and the little Jewish Girl”, she thought, that was something she was able to do more for being used to sleep beside a handsome man from The Black Forest, and in his state being able to go in a bed with its dressing of muslin quilt outward and across the violet drapes chasing with other draperies dominated by yellow with little green cubic designs as shadowlike stamps. So as the reader see the nurse pursued the labyrinths of her hopeful thinking, frequently wrinkling her forehead, on the route of a bundle of daytime dream and twitching. it was obviously difficult for her to think of what to do immediately for her main target in the good yet dreary life in Sofia. However hard she would try to drag herself onto the imagination of her prince's coming to get married with her, she shouldn't be the I was after.
Yes! However hard the nurse in Sofia would try to drag herself onto the imagination of her prince's coming to get married with her, she shouldn't be the sweet-heart I was after. As for the non-platonic face of the psychology of my love researches I dare say I must have tried to find the angel of my heart for many times, shut my eyes so that I would have seen her legs which were to be as lovely, innocence induced, and honourable thereupon I should have begun to feel a dull pain that I had not found any chance before to lick or rather-for the sake of prudence here-kiss them.On this point what ought one to utter? "Oh, God” of course, and I understood that, “So much a strenuous career the lady ought to have got if she had hoped to be chosen by my love machine that might be made of only three main ingredients: imagination, adoration, and limitlessly a hard work to steal her heart! She would be a French female full of beauty walking as carrying another personality in the style of her unique step and sitting down as being herself in turn day in and day out. Doing two different-even antonym-works like those would take much more effort than doing her own business ad hoc one's own existence, I mean, being oneself at home, and standing for other's self in the visible or invisible connections with an invincible lover as I should represent! Strictly good and regular behaviour, escaping from eye contact with different people all the time so that she could never become friendly with them. "Unknown people could all go to out of the life!” would be her strongest approach against every stranger; and would have pushed herself abruptly to turn her back towards the people drawing near from an outer world from where so ever it may be saying not of her lifting her nice head for much better scorning the stranger. Over this trail of pondering the situation a propos stealing her heart I found where the dilemma should be looked over: obviously there was one way before the thief of love in the case of hers. And this ought to be turning one's face towards her and from her at the same time. I saw also that it was covered with some other lots of paradoxical points which I couldn’t know what to make of; and when I tried to feel the place whereof one had to make both drawing near and running away!Since her dimples, creamy cheeks, shoulders, legs couldn't be differ from each other from the point of nobleness one might not drew draw near to her quickly without having been discerned and running back from her creation as a whole would be useless to in touch with her to be appreciated by her. Then There should be only one way in catching her attention-if one would like to be appreciated as one and only peerless lover of hers-might be to make her invited to somewhere to see one, to listen to one to get more information about one's virtues because as soon as she should have touched one she would overcome by a icy hot shudder.Now slid back into the former utterance of mine. “To persuade a peerless beauty to accept going out with one would be the greatest step in dating with a girl who shouldn't be after a male but her prince on a horse as white as a foam all the time”, I had confessed you from the point of my philosophy of love, and added “ Even it makes one helplessly idiot in solving a stupid matter introduced problematically. One has to one's non-love based problems first of all. Otherwise one's attempts might drag one into a life of sophisticated affairs mixing love with detestable daily life problems. For instance, whenever I would go to bed with the files of-in scads-business activities I should always still laying back there eating my nails!" For the time being she was tearing the fibbers the skill or habit of looking around. Occasional she has been being sensed as if her magnificently rimmed-with lucidly brinks of her teeth and unexaggeratedly protruding lips vermillion in colour-mouth would be “God in Heaven!” and yet she should rather have been thought as the creator herself in no need to implore anybody for anything. For the time being she was tearing the fibbers the skill or habit of looking around. Occasional she has been being sensed as if her magnificently rimmed-with lucidly brinks of her teeth and unexaggeratedly protruding lips vermillion in colour-mouth would be “God in Heaven!” and yet she should rather have been thought as the creator herself in no need to implore anybody for anything.
While I was plunging into the pit of love plans of mine I looked at my watch. It was half past seven and the fluorescence of the evening has been quietly moving towards turning the twilight into the fibres of no light web of the evening. Had the alarm clock in my body been ringing for the dinner? I could see my half gray shadow looking for a Tsarist fiesta dressed with rich salads alongside with the meat dishes enriched with potato. Methinks by now you are almost bewildered by my style that is much more dear than the story-after accustomed in Western European novel tradition for centuries, as soon as you would have tried to encompass any groups of Greco Semitic artists, to seek find beneath my style of narration the solution to the twin phenomena of Constantinople and Datin that had been destroyed and buried by Ottoman Hordes by whom my style has been degenerated as well.But within the way of life adopted by Russian Bourgeoisie the solution of kitchen and dating problems should be shown although it had not even attempted, since the celebrities known as the most important figures and celebrities used not to be occupied with such questions instead of standing farthest from the center of their systematic in the real life, where-if not the system should be based on status quo- events turn very quickly, so that they can still observe them, describe them in world-wide famous, great literature masterpieces but no longer have any intention to get from them a majestic universal report of their existence though Dostoyevsky would be go on with having been categorized as one of the pioneers of "Existentialism". It is not true that we Russians-The east arm of the old, lousy Europe, have perceive this suddenly as a flaw in the genuine Russian Love Story, and must have feel ourselves all the more romantic then, with the coming of Lev Tolstoy's Anna Karenina! And yet the possible solutions to the dating problem in Byzantium of which visible existence used to be hiding after the Ottoman's Conquer.
( A little break for making golden heart speculations about the refugees fled their motherland namely the soils occupied The Turkish Soviet-or rather KEMALIST-Gang type State)
For the time being I could imagine that a typically discipline lover Bulgarian dormitory administrator would already be waiting (up on the second floor of the dormitory) and would insist, and even dictate that the nurse and the little girl should go in before her. So the main job of the refugees was to be waiting nothing more meaningful than visiting the matron of the facility who has dominated the secretary of the building in a way of coming with-scades?- respectful nodding. Down the corridor one could catch a glimpse of her. Immediately she boss would come up to the people whom she had run into unto with shaking her finger. Since I feel afar the nurse explains that she is to be the first to break away from the place she shares with the matron. This sample of treating the matrons with excessive respect apparently comes from the deep roots of historical pivot of Krill Knights of Germanic stock who had founded the state-even empire-basics of The Russian. At times the nurse must walk behind the matron of the dormitory, as she directs her into her room for a brief discourse. Her officially designed "lady's suit" , which on surveillance days seems having been reflecting black flashes in excellently parallel lines mad by flammable dots in scads as in digital designs (or rather not dots, but radiant in its own darkness) is be-by daylight much more brilliant instead of being spotted, especially on her shoulders and hips. In her room one must try to show one's humility, which one may not feel indeed.
Looking for a convenient place for her pinky white hands the nurse put them on the valley between her breasts called the chest like a small wooden rack covered with skin. In the very center of her chest, her hands were nearly invisible under the force of timidity, and she slid towards the left side of the table of the matron occupying nearly one third of the room. There were some papers on the table of course, with a fat memo-a booklet-showing the names to be recalled God knows for what sort of procedure related to the people dwelling in the dormitory. A small volume of annals in official rules shut to be changed is at the top the pile of red tape garbage.
"You can’t look around" roared the lady boss while the nurse kept seeking for an "exit" to flee. She failed listening to the matron's meaningless-and yet extremely aloud-words, she waited for the end of that non-unjust, non-useless, and obligatorily official discourse. Then she begin with a few loose sentences: So you are contend with the existence of the little girl and of mine? Have you-your highness-been disturbed by us?
"Hush" ordered much more aloud the lady boss, "I try always to press forward with my prepared speech not to be understood, alas I feel as if a large part of my well chosen words-maturated in many centuries-drawn to not to be heard the people like you and the little girl two times as dwarf as all children ought to be, but at the same time I have the greatest fear of you. I’m afraid of every new guest here bringing a new confusion, which would be, naturally terrible for me, seeing as my present unhappiness-as that of all Bulgarian or rather every Slavic directors-consists of confusion. Actually Germanic and Slavic nature of the confusion is same: retarded happiness, abilities consumed in vain, and any possibility of using them have always lain in a garrulous-obviously oral-literature.
Madam Nurse, as called in Sofia Dormitory in which I lived feeling ambivalent senses entirely within each sensation, but also fulfilled each sensible approach related to the life of an ordinary refugee, and in which she felt herself not only at her own fate but at the bounds of fate she shared with the little girl. Only a temporary peace which may be met frequently in the office of the lady boss could be achieved there abstracted from the horrific state availing, though not quite entirely but not in rich occasions. She eliminate all negative probabilities and currently she felt her spirit to devote myself to abovementioned pursuits, as she should go on to do for various reasons.Apart from the situation in dormitory, the nurse and the little Turkish-Hebrew stock-girl couldn’t live another place devoid of a certain salary or aid money no matter paid by any country or an international plus official organization because of the quick and succeeding evolution changing step by step in a way of being a citizen, a slave, a victim to be sacrificed, and the refuge in their life of no work of totally lack of any significant character; in addition, of no health security while their way of life prevent them from devoting themselves to a life that is uncertain if not unsatisfactory at best. So the nurse should endure with becoming-say-a regular worker open to be scalded by the lady boss at times. Now this profession could never tolerate their privilege to be saved and kept in utmost security. The good fortune of having escaped from The Heathen Hospital-HUN HUNE-run by Turks and Iranians for the special purpose of children organ trafficking through a comical paradox of first being a child overfed then directed to surrender-under anesthesia of course-to an operation based on steal the children kidneys, corneas etc.
Running into the lady boss of the sanctuary they have taken refuge in is-no doubt-a great misfortune but having not seen her for a long time-say for one week-would be, on the other hand, accepted twice as ominous as a bad thing one might toss. If the nurse have written something bad after meeting the matron, the next day missing any chance to be present in her office the nurse and the little girl should feel as if they were on fire... This sort of back-and-forth betwixt two antonym senses could be getting steadily worse if they were not on alert in the way of the "catch and hide" play. Briefly, in the office the lady boss-rather land lady-was not to fulfill any duties outwardly as the nurse or other vassals standing still before her highness, but it could not be claimed that she has not got anything involved in the red tape-so much generalized in Slavic European capitals-so the nurse too has had to have got her own viz. the unsatisfied inner duty of all males tending always to turn into an unhappiness. seeking for the male worth to be loved most!
If the subject is thinking about the lady who waits me as ı wait her I can do everything. Once I, the great master of imagining love under my roof, happened to visit the real yet imaginary earth in internet, and I understand that all villages are not my own or -in another saying-native village. So I enlightened myself about the truth of the female.That I would not look up Freud was interpreted by psychiatrists for neurotic or psychotic treatment . The lady of mine could be only a prototype female from the past. When I explore the outer world that showed the truth of the female not different from the male too much first signs of detesting "The old darling hunt", I went out to ask about a remedy which could be prescribed to any woman so that I got better immediately in suffering from the same inflictions as the refugee-The Nurse in the dormitory in Sofia-and I might find a lady from there as the nurse could do here. Bulgaria is one of the past pages of the humanly life from the point of my hungry for dating with Bulgarian female as the Nurse's past world Constantinople occupied by The Turkish Soviet might introduce her-over fancying all the time-her prince with the oldesy symbol the white horse.
THE INFINITE NOVEL
BY M. SOLZHENITSOF
(In "to be continued" form / VOLUME II, CHAPTER IV From the page 14 of the thread)
And I managed to discern The Urban World from Constantinople-the city occupied by the hordes from both Balkans and KHORASSAN of which religious symbol is currently being used by terrorists especially within the regions near to the innocent Kurdish Villagers. The KHORASAN and The Islamic State gangs on the border of Syria and Iraq would draw-maybe-the real face of radical Muslims who are throttling journalists-on live TV programs-as they sacrifice lambs in KURBAN FESTIVALS every year just 70 days after the Ramadan Festival. They are also being chosen as the alerts to inform Americans in the Autumn 2014 about the last-highly improved-terror-using homemade explosives especially in big blocks or towers like supra bloody WTC of 11th September, and in airplanes etc. Then I-the eternal student of Jesus Christ looked at me closely while merged entirely into four matters of my life, and was frightened by my memo. The first one of my present affairs would be the matter of dating, no doubt. The others should be following not successively but side by side, ye know, all of them existing together: the case of infringed rights of Byzantium the nurse and the little girl fled Turkey to Sofia, the contemporary people beheaded by the Mujahidin-the vilest prototype of all murderers- very bizarre for the third millennium. Occasionally I used to remember a queer happening not being linked to my recent affairs but stood ad hoc analyzing every kind of incident to be lived by humans. One early morning in the midst of the falling new hatched lights of the sun on the street, I in my pajamas rimmed with violet, scarlet and vinegar yellow squares as the designs of its texture with a cardigan on top, the towel-just used by me-around my neck! While I opened my eyes in deliberation a lad took my attention. At the steps of the gate of a midi-24 hours 7 days type- public library he seemed to me as if he had lost himself so deeply in thought god knows what had been. I remember now that at one point he took off his cap and rushed into the staircase. He has hardly cut fine to protect his nose flattened on the bronze like dusty yet still shining from its date of production. At last he seemed to reach the desk of service girl who has been in charge of borrowing books to the readers bound with some conditions and turned with a ballet step toward the reading room of the library where I have not lost a second to follow him until he took a certain place to sit down and began to turn the pages of the book of which back cover was towards and enough close to me from the point of the position I caught sitting somewhere near to him. As he opened the page of a victim's corpse-showing clearly the throat cut so much deep as opening the whole veins and arteries as well as the parts of adjacent organs' cartilages and bones under an ash tree in the years of the World's War I. Obviously it was a book of forensic medicine...Yes, in the reading room he saw his semi beheaded uncle of his grandfather photographed in a forensic medicine periodical , a clean-shaven man with a luminous face, facing the sky from his soil bed of death with empty eyes. I heard at that point mumbling “Finally,” while scrutinizing a lady- most probably a medic viz. a doctor medicine. and having scarcely set a point of any finger of his on the face of the sun like beautiful lady in the photo. "I’m waiting here for your great granddaughter who is a mere chip of your beautiful nose abiding at the door but the next to ours! I’m so furious with her that I can hardly keep under control. But she..." went on he, and only on speaking under his breath I noticed what he had been after: The great granddaugter of a forensic medic-maybe-the first one who reported the death of his grand father's uncle.
To my deadly surprise I chanced to catch a much more interesting book than that he was looking at as mesmerized very deeply:
TO BE CONTINUED
"Ouch", I scarcely help shouting but to hiss and stood up, directing towards the entrance. I ordered myself "Be quiet since now up till the time you should see the face for more than hundred and hundred times for she had haunted already my dreams, and would be used to use the same way-as I had mentioned at the very beginning of this novel that could not be to be read or finished forever-on backing to home of which gate is that one but the next to ours, and should be sure that she might not be another one than the great-grand daughter of the lady medic. There is no place for any arguments her: obviously the lad in the public library is after her, As to me, methinks you understood it from the very beginning, I'm in love with her. Where could the nurse and the little girl with whom she fled her motherland viz. Turkey to Bulgaria be take place I cannot say anything proper or rather certain for the time being. Meanwhile I took my chair and dragged it closer to the young gentleman. And yet here happened a gross problem: if I were out of the place-after going out of its entrance- how could I managed to draw near to my one and only rival indoors. Won’t it be impossible to put up with the human's eternal love philosophy any more, say, to kill the other lover if he might be at least twice as crazy after falling in the most arduous sexual spirit head before shoulders-as I should be then?
By the way an extra subject to be thought unto:There-in a dormitory in Bulgaria- could not be any people tasting an official laziness, wastefulness free from all duties so of the nurse in Sofia she ought to be pushing her old quality into the grave before the lady boss in charge of the administration under the roof of, say, sanctuary she and the child with her has taken refuge. Here my imagination fell silent, but moved towards the speculation asking if the lady boss were still speaking to refugees staring at their face with the same blue eyes similar strictly to the madam medic I have already seen on the page of the forensic medicine magazine.Probably the female members of her family have always been the highly most dreamy samples of the beauty, and they would be just so that they could show it on the outside-namely in a secretly watched W.C, the bath, on the pavement etc-no side, inside, off side and most inner side. I must be expected to be so much bitterly tasting only torment by their beautifulness that could rather torture my soul with or without sex induced-umpteen- points if there can be no way I might make my love a happy thing rather anything that may be related to happiness.. But just let me go much more far now within the situation I lived not before a little while but forever even before the time I have got acquaintance with their sunny faces , so that I cannot get my thoughts clearer when I should give a good definition ad hoc. my love affair. The cute readers of mine may at first paying close attention to it. What is it then? Falling in love of course if it is possible in an occupied city as Constantinople ! I understand that I had gone so far that one cannot endure it from the point of making a lot political speculations. I understand well that I sit down on the table’s edge in a public library instead of trying to stand somewhere from which spectrum would be richly open in giving me the cance to glance at the publication on the hand of my rival.
"I do believe there’s a lot of supernatural meaning in the similarity between you and your grandmother" just said the lady boss of the dormitory to her daughter-having been used to be in her mom's office every afternoon after the last lesson in the lyceum she would attend-who should be seen as a copy of the Madame Le Docteur whose photo placed in the page of the abovementioned forensic medicine looking with soft but seriously rigid feature, might prove the similarity worth to be remarked. "I’d sooner take it" she went on, "for foolishness. But in the end you’re my daughter, and you are so nice that you can make your husband-no matter he should be a rugby star or a champion wrestler-a patient of nocturnal enuresis or even a pitiful creature defecating in his boxer when he force his anal-too much strained because of being devoid of your love over your ugly caprices contrary to the beauty of yours-yes when forcing those goddamned muscles to fart! Come on now, it's the best time, we’ll have our five o'clock tea accompanied by sawyer biscuits, and you can tell me as you are used to do, any matter-because of mere opposition to me, to any professional misusing of mine for instance the red tape or barren rather dryly discipline of mine torturing the refugees then. That little pouring grievances to each other is all I need, I know that I should be thankful to my daughter's-pure, although dangerous-beauty from the bottom of my heart . But probably it isn’t plain to see in my eyes that I’m-thanks to the sense called conscience-entirely occupied with the serious matter of the nest you're naturally to make? "At the moment I don’t see anything to be worried with in this matter trying to foresee but that could also be my fault-you know, eh?-to have got a face that obviously capable of bewitching nearly all the male, and after all I’ve gotten used to looking down the male in a style of having a glance at them as if they all should be my subject to be seen only as forlorn, destitute or abominable. Meanwhile, as is my habit, I would strike regular blows against their faces as a reminder of their time of being underestimated coming" Actually perceiving her mother's reciprocal angry she added a little cadance to her recital: "Oh mom, it's all joke!"So they were to be talking on not related nor non linking to matters. And yet what matters is that they don’t have any little idea about the girl-the center of the lad's ardor and my sex potent love-whose family are the sanguine relatives of theirs any important point socially at all anymore. If anybody asks the social link's quality one might shout at them: "First the vaguely Islamic soldiers of the Ottoman Empire had committed with sexual courses with the remote loved girl then the Christian Armies-hungrily after Muslim females-has thrown the-relatively-beautiful-ones to the dark corners viz. straws rich -and flirting with orange ray light mostly-stables, beds, colorful-designed heavily green spots over blue abstract fond-carpets in deserted cottages and the like.One would be obligatorily perplexed when one should arrive at one of address of them in Constantinople one door but the next of mine-so much queer-in this case, shouldn’t one? Notwithstanding one must to do it arriving at the happy outcome from the point of searching for truth, only truth that it might improve one's life researches. As for to the lady boss of the dormitory in Sofia she may do it only for the thought of her beautiful, good daughter, who perhaps might feel no immediate sorrow over the the saliva secreted downward from the mouth of the male perplexed before her super nice face , but one is not to be on going to ruin from the effort of fending off the truth, since she should not imagine that that kind of misdeeds will occur out of the occupied beauty-Constantinople somehow.Nonetheless at the beginning of a sexual research the question focused on the oriental male's hunger for the female and vice versa in the occidental world- viz. taking a no small different position contrary to this-is something the lady boss already know quite well instead of her daughter's ignorance regarding to the matter. And for the sake of things experienced both on my backing to home and in the public library alone somebody would have reminded readers of it if this novel hadn’t provoked them with infinite promises.Scarcely had this words and mutual watch exchange-or rather chatting enriched with symbol induced gesture-changed its route when the daughter cried: "but mom!" and adding a bit of unhappiness to the cry "I wouldn’t have expected going too far about my face that might be impressing for everybody but me because I have got it and couldn't thing it as an impressive thing. Now let's ponder err courageously: If had been the surface of the lake of which Lamartine a miraculous mirror, say nothing of appreciating his relevant poet, could have the least idea, let’s say an idea about my beauty?" Obviously her speculations concerning directly her peculiarities have been being concealed some years in the depths of her heart and having been carried, highly probable, DE PROFUNDIS that just as happened in Constantinople the deepness of appreciation problems-those innocent self imposed turbidity enough vague to intimidate-and to allure at the same time-would have come out in a talk with mom for pouring their sensitivities to each other.
Hearing a timid knock the mom and her daughter took their guard to introduce their feature meaninglessly happy, insolently tepid, soft but earnest. That is-ye know-an reflective attitude of well civilized Nordic people and of those ruling their social colonies as Australia, The USA and the like, to be seen as clean, earnest and meaningless-as if having been-behind a plain mask. Within the procedure of the unimportant debut, say, non- venerable sound the visitor has sent before the door of the lady administrator's office in the dormitory, one ought to listen to the order spoken as an accusation, Inasmuch as after a little while both the mom and her daughter replied that tiny voice at the door: "Come in!" Then the Nurse and the little girl from Turkey entered in the office obviously with the idea of waiting for harshly scolding. They should think that they would have been simply blown away and before having had to march off with some excuse. But now the nurse has been escorted with a male medic from the dormitory!Lady boss-immerged into a specific prejudice against the refugees welcome the Turkish nurse that has been being accompanied by the girl whose protection were to be expected on her shoulder-welcomed her in an intimidating voice tone "Everything you say me but helps my idea about the suspicious people like you, and my suspicion won’t cease, they get stronger filling my head. No doubt I’ll listen to you, because only in red tape rules can I build my response to you." The man-whom madam la director would prefer to call as knave-escorting nurse gulped at his breath in the cool office.He-as a Christian-used without hesitating his free thought and replied the lady director: "it could be a dirty idée fixe that you have in your head", and threw a dagger with wide open eyes added, "now I believe it has got hold of you." Lady director felt at this point to sooth the revolt of his soul: "I wish if something capable gets into you to correct your prejudice I'm sure you have got about me." He shook his head as if his neck were bit by an alligator : "let us to open our hearts to you as not only a director but a Bulgarian authority used to listen to the sobbing of Turks fled east Thrace and Anatolia. It’s most necessary how you should be drilling into this poor Turkish woman. The mere possibility that you might find in the depths of her gender trained traditionally not be able to show her natural affinity towards the Turkish male so make them unconsciously paralyzed in predicting the feelings of the female. Now I wove upon my future that I really shouldn’t tempt any citizen to disturb my careful deliberations concerning her life as a woman. Perhaps our past as Christian Bulgarians gives her the right not to trust me thoroughly, but I shouldn’t make this problem aggrandized!Lady boss interrupted his affinity to parley for a long time: "Why this-pointing the nurse-woman fled Turkey?" "You ought to see best how great her and the little Jewish girl she had helped would have been insecurity should be if they hadn't fled. (The reader must be reminded of the state terror and interstate horror at this point:
The lady boss gnarled furiously again: "If the hard times they lived on the border of Turkey and Iran forces you to speak against me like this, I'm afraid you should be thought..."
Nurse the refugee uttered with a hoarse voice simultaneously "Nothing forced me but the humanitarian instinct to rescue at least one Jewish girl whose kidneys are to be gouged out and sold in the bazaar of children organ trafficking run by Stalinist Turkish Generals and Iranian Mullahs", and sobbed. She even stepped much closer to the magnificent table of Madam La Director. Thereupon one could no longer tell to whom she belonged: to the queen like boss of the dormitory or to the Bulgarian gentleman. "What you did, you did in awe, and even neither from love for-pointing to the man with her bluish white, very attracting evoking a mixture of respectful, sexual adoration perfume spraying finger- this guy nor from any sort of humanist mission. You, as you’ll see later by means of living in civilization cradle-Europe after Turkey-joking or playing with words to laugh-to be fried! Seemingly all the greatest part of decisions comes out of being devoid of any considerations for you, the mankind and even for animals." Turning to the Bulgarian man she added "then I should have to thank to you," said lady boss, "since it’s highly unlikely that your Turkish sweat-heart and you may be able to do what you do wish at any appropriate moment from the point of regularities."Thank you madam la director", he replied with an exaggerated bowing, "let the future life be solely a tepid deal for me to cope with the inferiority complexion of a Turkish female, as it deserves after marriage. By the way we are going to make the wedding ceremony within the absurd details of Turkic tradition regarding to make a nest which the little girl shall be under protection till the end of a good education and an auspicious-by God pleasure-marriage. If you would wake early tomorrow we wish if only you should start the procedure fitting those life planning of ours as I have exposed to the attention of your highness!",
The lady boss of the dormitory-having been in charge of the refugees' security-has hesitated uttering some vague words: "But that your identification should have been told us first! Though it’s not even meant that that I wanted to your profession, but someone ought only to announce the nationality of yours. And that at least, as you have to admit, I’ve got a beautiful girl who-trying to draw those present in the office to any non-matching laughter in the atmosphere there-might have been fall in love with you not saying of the same probability for me as I'm a lovely widow full of beauty, ardor, and need of being kissed from the hair to the thumb of mine." "Now only one thing is available-hah hah-here still that could be amazing me" said the man: "why I haven’t often come to visit you before sharing some nice things as today’s." The lady director burst suddenly then asking "who are you gentleman? Tell me if it fits your present mood well. Don't laugh I, in fact, am serious."
"Alas" said the man, "my answer would have struck you milady instead of making you to listen to me. I work here as an engineering inspector for several years not to open my feature to your inspection or some joy as the refugees, ye know, a regime stricken Turkish Nurse and the poor Jewish girl whose verdict had been written as an awe fate before she has been born to go under the operation within the official network of the COT-children organ trafficking. But I can’t give away anything much more than this to you until my wedding is completely finished. Try hard as you would to berate my talk of good you shouldn't reach your weird intentions demanding explanations from me that might hinder the accomplishment of my new life." The man and two others with him went out.
Outdoors the nurse asked him who could her native language in Turkish "quiet I don’t help but wishing to know a thing. But you must answer me very quickly: What did you meant while showing my alliance finger? I should be informed about what you meant since you and the other people were in a sinister guffaw ? "Drawing back to the gate of the orchard beyond the gloomy walls of the building he caught on the meaning of her panic when she pushed forward the innuendo linked to the marriage matter of theirs and obviously have had something very disturbing in mind that he couldn't have calmed a piece of artistry, and he replied her speedily: " I only remarked something inevitable in all family lives, ye know, the female capricious and frustrations following them in a querulous way.
In this orchard surrounding the sullen cheek building some straws-in remote corners-hissing under the currant d'air introduce mild warmth enough for kissing a darling as the soil as the champagne rich in yellow bubbles at the brinks of a greenish goblet as would gnaw their withered, hair like body of theirs.
After hearing the confession of her future spouse she as a Native Turkish female fall into sobbing, weeping, complaining etc... All the sadder for me than everything is your making such remarks about my poor existence" she said, "If you put up with my little joke longer I can even fold my hands to excuse you..." relied he. Altogether the Turkish nurse was feeling herself at least abased say nothing of negative psychology based self speculations over the relentless her fate and that of the girl she ought to protect from all sort of danger. "Now" she hurled "let it be enough with me." and added "The little girl entrusted to me by the cruelty from which we fled Turkey and came to Bulgaria are to back our dangerous and wild homeland downright!"
While backing to the Room of Administration she was mumbling: " That certainly isn’t the who’s speaking this way..." In the office she has faced the horrible questions, and reiterate similar replies:
-"What will you and the little girl in Turkey?
-"They, namely the butchers of The Turkish Secret Soviet State, who had already drawn our fate, will lay their pounces on our necks to throttle us on the spot as Islamic State should do around Syrian Kurdish town viz. KOBANE or to put me in prison and send the little Jewish girl to the quasi hospital built on the Turkey-Iran border in order to make operations for the sake of Judeo-Christian Children.
And after some red tape procedures have been completed The Nurse and the little girl has regained some official-passport like-papers to enter the customs gate to return Constantinople!
After the Turkish refugees went back to Constantinople something has come over Alex-yes, Bulgarian gentleman answers to this name-since the afternoon he has met with the daughter of the lady boss of the dormitory wherein he has been giving his service as an engineer already. "I’m now understanding for the first time in that room" he mumbled "that I have fallen in love with Sonya before one big year when she was eighteen years old, and attending two a special course called SEFB namely Spoken English For Bulgarians. My real darling...Gosh...May God be with me...what an adventure for an engineer feeling himself getting older as every young engineers...yeah just so as all over the Europe..." Then Alex was silent a moment, with his half open mouth. He would surely have embraced the clouds lingering in their routine Journeys over the gardens of every Bulgarian big towns like Sofia full of apple trees rich in a color spectrum: yellowish red and scarlet yellows green spots on them that he would have called them the wool mixtures of fibers of his mother of which she could provide his cold feet with warm, handmade stocks. Afterwards he carried on with his pastel tone rebukes: "What has happened to me, tell me please the father my God and the God's son-Jesus, my teacher?"
At that time-simultaneously-I have thought that I’d better understand and accept the truth: The girl living with her extremely new fashion linked yet conservative way of life in her family's home some fifty meters far from ours could be the one and only sweet heart in the near future for ever. Seemingly Alex and I’ll reach soon to the point of dating. According to my last analyses "I can’t stay away much longer from the cousin of Alex's self imposed darling. And my 'Blondie' might be feeling insulted over loved by me, and his must be finding everything insufficient to date with him. And Alex the comrade, whom I’m calling so now should not share the same style of suffering from love besides tasting the same bitterness. All of the us would better push our shoulders against the nature's easily moved door nevertheless all two doors of dating-both in Constantinople and in Sofia-are apt to be broken down for nothing at all.
Having arrived at his apartment, at the coming of evening Alex bowed to everybody-including the janitor-with the same words: "I-the Engineer is go to dinner table to have his violet onion soup then to the bed sleeping Maybe my exaggeratedly detailed of my salutation means nothing, and yet if you see later that it is with no further regard for the women, who are moving uselessly back and forth in deciding on the path going to an innocent dating you shall open your brace to my extraordinary 'Hi!', and my sublimated mood which make me baselessly trembling, flying with joy as if angels touched my heart delicately But he couldn’t sustain his outdoors happiness in the room for the happiness should have to be fed over a little walk-in the street or at one's home. So quickly and with pleasure, went out the engineer after the dinner his mom has dressed with toasts made of thick Sofia loaf slices, bacon, mayonnaise and lettuce!From the door of his bedroom then that of drawing, but thoroughly within absent mindedness as he was not to heed through which he passed much more speedily, going for a walk after dinner, rigging his fancies with self imposed advice, and probably-even-missed some of it Alex has pursued the same behaviors having had a one minute interval in the overjoyed reflect compared with that of mine. Above all, musing no little dating, life and love projects must have occupied both his and my minds. Let nobody should forget it that life is not the most important in our fancies...Both Alex and I-one of us in Sofia and the other somewhere near to HAGIA SOPHIA- were in similar positions crying: "Helpless Disease needs helpless remedies". And yet he lad I've run into the public library should do what you had done before because he was-seemingly-enough avaricious in all dating affairs having been able utter big words like the well-known platitude: " Would you do me favor immediately for the sake of my heart more conspicuous than 'MOUNT ARARAT' getting up to eat The Female of our old earth, "No arguments. Please make my lust grabbed not as a scorpion but a newbie... He was not weak boy, and I wouldn't describe him so superciliously. Although he couldn't have got any virtue needed for being an intellectual gentleman. From the other point he has the virtue to be appreciated as a gentleman by The Female.
(Am I raving, now? NOP! With all my respect to The Female of the world I am only claiming that they tend to take vagabonds who are able to give a good photo always as gentlemen without deigning to rub at their eyes with their nice fingers on which they could play with The Male to discern the gentlemen from the others-overacting haggard feature looking handsome-say The Idiot using a stale prototype that might reflect brilliant portraits over a synthetic identification .)
In the history-I don't know-had the love hunting people ever had to live different love stories linked to each other organically as ours. Had the people fallen in love with any puzzle type females written down their stories before torn the papers-no matter made of paper or not-and preferred that not to be shared with other humans out of the eternal triangle one or many human on each corner. We should confess that that narrated here couldn't be compared to any triangle-eternal or not-from the very beginning of this novel. Could one say that If girls and lads-even elder men-were concerned in any event regarding the other sex? Then "who is the other sex?" should not be speculated if there would be girls and The Male. As for the three-from the point of self speculation ad hoc les affair de 'Coeur'- dating hunters--one of them I is-Alex whispered " I'm expected inevitably to be in right place and right time," and said I with a twisted face, "get a initiative for having good post and a plenty of money-if theft should be necessary stealing it from The State's Treasure officially just now." And yet the other one was not some idiot who’s woken his lust no reason. "Just as I don’t sleep devoid of that girl warmth for no reason I ought to be on alert" is his dirty but powerful parole.
The library occupying boy Mr. Lob had the dusky air attempt last night throwing a two times fried nut to the panes of Mademoiselle Neighbor-Mss N., so I’ve just jumped in my midday sleep. I don't and cannot know how he dare to go so far... Oh, nonetheless how it irritated me, and plunged my whole existence to the eternal question regarding to impute behaviors: "How little consideration the vagabonds such as Mr. Lob take for manners. It hasn’t the first time I witnessed amoral people and their inexplicable misdemeanor-if not guilt- yet I have been feeling dizziness, ataxia, nausea etc . Naturally the readers are free in believing the rate of fragility we good students may exhibit above the sensibilities whatever great you like to make an assignment with.He was the son of a provincial -or rather-one of The Bosphorus periphery governor and everyone is not so lucky behave arbitrarily while stoning the window of a girl's bed room midnight. Answer the people for the God’s sake is it not true that he apparently have not had to be considerate.Of course he is my not any friend of mine, but he hasn’t taken in the consideration never the sleep of the neighbors I was to salute every morning nor that of mine because of his spoilt personality. Methinks he supposed to intimidate me by shaking the midnight serenity feeding my sleep. But mustn’t I have believed, from how he was challenging then? Maybe he warned me and my neighbors that we’ve slept more than enough. After musing in a pacifist but furious way I prayed if only Jesus Christ should shield me from his danger till I would have attain the social power over a good career and big salary as that of an ordinary Turkish PM, and went to sleep again...
Meanwhile Alex has been looking at the manual of engineers as if he had no more time to do it at AM 01 hour in a mute tingeing till the night turn into blue. So what did he actually do so much different from what I used to do in Constantinople? Or better I would ask, why should anyone wake me even in the little hours of a day to be lived through a well concentrated job? Here you are the answer: Alex-the engineer, has tasting the advantages of Bulgaria namely a European Union member country.
When I have woke up I found myself musing as yesterday night. What did I want from my dear mademoiselle N. inquired silently analyzing my mind, and introduced an exact reply fitting to my question.Not a little, nor average, I began to hope the greatest according to the mob occupying Constantinople: post, power, prestige, already I had been here from the streets within which dressings might vary from those kind of apparels-including veil and thin, black burkas of Jihadists to no mini shorts-no underwear inside-of their quasi modern alga stinkarm pits muffled with perfumes for you may get dressed in accordance to both Islamists-Green Stalinists- or Red Stalinists-Kemalists . If I want to suggest by this, dear readers, that even the newest absurdity while they were designing the future of Constantinople one could not find any little reason, then some Russians completely right when trespassing occasionally the regularities of the non regular hordes occupying the capital city of The Hidden Byzantium. That’s just main truth that could affect my dating program, then it will set my brainless and impudent rival on fire he had inflamed already to tease innocent people around the girl-my sweet heart Mademoiselle N.-on his own account, even without our citizenship rights getting involved.
Briefly The Reader of this novel (The Infinite Novel by SOLZHENITSOF) could offer a succinct information about the episode of its. Obviously it would be becoming clearer and clear: The regime of any country should be identifying with the unseen power of the regime would be bound with giving the absolute "Definition of Dating", and we all might need to understand it clear information the novel should give the reader. And yet the reader ought to keep in mind that the ultimate output in reading it must have been reading instead to see the paint painted not with colors or shapes but of words, words, words as The Old Testament had done before. If some readers were perhaps looking for only meaning and teaching or traditional narration, they might be lying there on their armchair and might wait only to fall in sleep.
"Thanks", I should say the unknown Bulgarian engineer down right here and begin to loosen his collar and tie my writing would depend on the relax over playing on them as playing on The David's Harp the novel had made everybody having got acquaintance with.
I looked out of the window of my bed room. One of the passenger barges was nearing to any place belonging to nowhere off the Galatia Tower. A dense penetration of beams of the rising sun challenging to humans' eyes but would lie heavily upon the contaminated sea open to every kind of dirtiness, spits decorated with phlegm occasionally, pads soiled with feces, cycles' dark blood of homeless or mansion owner yet untrained women. Was there any wind that the long swells of the Bosporus were getting hire at times. The streets of the Constantinople around was brilliantly insecure and unreal in its anarchy induced calmness. When looking around in an urban place some figures are to seem familiar to me if they are outlined shadowy against the crowd rushing to and fro. Just so the people around the Galatia Tower influenced me in a way I used-greyly- to observe them. Two are walking close together on the pavement across my vision area, and regretfully one of them might be Mr. Lob-the lad deserved to be taught by me for the tumult he has made around block wherein my family's apartment took place. The other was a girl. Notwithstanding none of their faces can be distinguished. Work time for banks and for other official offices was just about to begin and as the noon nearing the vague silhouettes would be clear features in the bright daylight, and the none sampling Mr. Lob type vagabonds could be observed through the thickness of the crowd.Inasmuch as I briskly cried after that ghostly people namely Mr. Lob and the female he would be escorting then "Hey you! I would have spent all my night wishing daylight should come. I have been smelling from the very beginning abominable impressions regarding to your existence . How about you? Of course you are a prototype garbage having got the ability to accept the all sorts of waste The Female should throw into. And yet you should be the first to throw them away into the garbage you call your love itinerary of yours and The Female-accusing themselves about the reasons regarding their broken hearts-should solely miss you...Naturally I received no answer! Instead of the nasty silence I raised my voice. And because of the loneliness suddenly alive within me, I added a salutation to my hard words: "Hello! I hope you haven’t lost your way have you?"After a while I heard mom's voice-realistic and lucid- asking if I woke up, and having overwhelmed the melancholy I replied her: " I am just getting ready for my breakfast. She obviously not satisfied with my answer: " I thought you might have your morning siesta...! I did a while ago—eyes refused to stay open any longer—couldn’t imagine where I was when I woke up—had forgotten all about the damned wreck. "I'm fortunate to be able to sleep at any time I would prefer. I wish my future spouse could go to sleep because The Female might have got several negative memories to be forgotten immediately."Mom scolded me instantly: "Oh put your philosophy aside and come now! You mustn’t keep thinking about The Lady for there is nobody as The Lady. The Lady as a bare term won’t do any good." And I braced the most short route up to take my place at the dining table of ours! I'm sure everybody should be eager to get a colorful description of that table out of this mess all right. Wait then...I could figure it all out. It's made of darkening oak of Black Sea Forests, and it's ready always to make the loafer pursuing present gathered together at least three times a day to hear cracks even everything is dominated by the silence of ordinary flats. Well, the tables were being used in all the time as known by human, if any people don't remember in Constantinople any apparatus we call table maybe the officers told them not to remember the names of such things and it's so we wouldn't have lots of answers from another ones saying they are ready to help us. (Remember please some of them-I'm sure-might be poking fun of us.)
"Oh your school time shall all go away" she murmured as soon as I took my place at my stool to have breakfast" if you should be lingering any more.. I’ve not had plenty breakfast without any complaints like it. At home everybody should be on alert connected to The female's routine complaints.
On the school way, maybe not as garrulous as our household-the pedestrians were gentle but nearly as ear scratching, and when something unexpected came up they always either fell to silence or disappeared before that-happened suddenly-was over. While thinking on noise I asked myself: "Do you know what cannot be forgotten if it was uttered by The Female under the roof of one's house?" and I replied myself immediately: "The fear linked to the money affairs of which importance are only matter to be explained frankly by the other sex because The Male is to be created directly by the creator to challenge silently those affairs especially money problems but "the other sex" do recreate themselves after reaching maturity so they like to be near to the gold, credit cards, open banks etc. than being near to the home, the home that has got no cashier. I dare say weeping is the most common virtue shared by F. type religious gang's GULEN HODJA and a great majority of statesmen who used to usurp the budget , and innocent people's laugh is a bit troubled. By the way I must have confessed that I too used to hear a very much moaning companion through some windows' pane. I don't know why I don’ look through them there to have even a slight idea if the mournful voices would belong to the nurse and the little Jewish girl I'm sure should be under the official judiciary system-from 1924 up till now-say trial with ordeal. Inevitably the reader have got acquaintance with the nurse and the little Jewish girl over the previous chapters. After a pause a pause during which I was evidently thinking over what to them I-watching the horizon getting brighter every moment behind the ugly mansions having contaminated all horizons-I called Turkey a Soviet type state of no horizon.What did I say? Bank? Well, I might not be scared from the point of missing the ropes of role modeling in the future family of mine If I had got a great credibility in the bank of which credit card could be used by my wife. I have no intention of making my situation depending only on my money in the future. It seems irrational than it really is. Thinking of the girl of neighbors I have every hope that we-the girl I love and Mr. Lob tries to seduce impudently-will eventually be happy over my adoration her and her respect to me! But it goes saying that it’s better not to expect too much. I should not ignore the truth that it may make disappointment more bitter than it seems in the present time. I suppose I'm right pursuing some fancies but I be aware of being too much optimistic about the vague eulogy: "Home, My Sweet Home".Nonsense, rebukes...Let them be forgot who suffered such downcasts I was pushed into last night with that crash on the window's pane made by a vagabond. One must be sure the vagabond son of an important have thrown something indecently to waken up the noble girl midnight when all neighbors couldn't have failed to hear the sounds. Besides there was no shriek from the side of the noble girl angry of Mr. Lob's indecency. I understand now that noble and beautiful girls are bound to be seduced by such guys like Mr. Lob. Then one could foresee the fate of the girl with whom I fell in love: having been to fall the trap-or his bed-and to be thrown into the garbage where she obligatorily would find herself one and only side responsible of reaching to the end-from the point of The Male-and to suffer from an everlasting love, She is bound or liable-I'm sure-to be living the same things with the-anyhow- powerful, indecent even bad and temporary lovers. So let me don’t hope in this case too much although it should be my main task in my life span...
Exhibitions from The Wedding Ceremony of Sonia and Alex in Sofia:
The backward garden opening to the ball-hall of the main building-a rarely found mansion used in the past by Bulgarian Princes- yes, a building made of grisly brunette stones having got a majestic air enlightened by the moon, and near planets if not by the star groups in some seasons after the PM (CET) 11 Hours. The leaves of several fruit trees sea are calm and the shadows on the richly watered are motionless.In the rear the bright outlines of the grand hall port are sharply discerned from the garden adjacent both to the moors and brunette walls. Against the distant horizons towards the Germanic strips of the oldest Europe, pink under the clouds illuminated by slight lights of the night's extraordinarily clear sky. In the hall every corned rigged by flowers, flowers, flowers from the guests, and melodies, melodies, melodies coming from the orchestra present there. In The Europe wedding ceremonies are to be fringed with petals from the point of a rosy nature and echoed musical notes based on the standards of science induced musicology. Of the contrary to such points of European tradition in wedding ceremonies the rumor, backbiting, disputes bound to be coming to fists, golden presents and fecal odors should be assigned to with the nasty occupation of hordes from nowhere!A pompous waltz-a hybrid composition of half Germanic and slightly more than a half Slavic, become both furious and romantic similar to the civilization style living in The USA began to avail over the soft humidity the garden's soil owned for centuries. There was also availing the classical murmur of European wedding ceremonies that consisted of different conversations shared by separate groups as Alex and Sonia went out of the grand hall and directed their route towards the protocol balcony. This would not be anything to be followed by silence over the hall in which the pompous orchestra continued to the waltz that could be heard far from the dark highway in the vicinity of the great mansion.
Behind the thick yet neatly designed brink walls the grand balcony Sonia was the first to speak to her green horn husband:
Sonia-You’re forgetting the fact that The Bride are supposed to embrace the second sex-instead of the second sex should have the same instinct to do it-there is no warmth one could feel over one's body. Nonetheless it is not any kind of obligation while staring at the stars that they can’t last forever upon the Dome of The Europe.
Alex(cheerfully)- Perhaps we could not see the real and too much warm faces of those sun on account of distance. Then let me kiss your lips till those of mine turn into crimson because of your lipstick... (He began to suck even the inner parts of her mouth) Yum!
Sonia(Giggling)-They call the cannibals as yum-yum.
Let's imagine that on either side of the doorway there is another balcony and the girl I love and I are taking a fresh air-as Alex and his wife did- in an interval time of our wedding ceremony and I kiss my sweetheart. The first thing my wife utter would be scratching my ear as she warns me not to do it for one could see us. Now think please a bit about the irrational approach in a place near nowhere and could be seen from nowhere. What might be In the center of irrationalism? Occupying the capital city of the most ancient well civilized Empire, no doubt... Most of the citizens and refugees from Syria, Bosnia Herzegovina, Chechnya, Afghanistan are peremptorily-or natural-suspects in Constantinople. Any of the non Muslims cannot be leaning against their passports, even the inner part of their life could be defined as a new Lawrence-as called by the Turkish PM T. ERDOGAN- who should be detained in a cross questioning room. I know that Mademoiselle N., Mr. Lob and I are sharing our common adventure on the edge of an abyss dangling our legs over an obnoxious height, say, at least of some hundred meters. None of us smokes cigarettes but M . Lob whose soul is made of a lot of addictions including illegal lottery in internet. And yet such vagrants are apt to be seen as good by the majority of good girls living around The Bosporus. These are also some irrationalism induced paradigms of occupied Constantinople.
As for Alex and his wife would be kissing having no shoe in their bare feet for they throw away not only shoes but socks, silk stockings etc. Huh!
After restoring to their feature they started a free talk telling what would come to mind to each other but this free style of chattering shouldn't be apt to slide the venerable-was it the word?-identification of the Sonia's mom viz. VARVARA PAVLOVA madam la director of the state special dormitory:
Alex-(after kissing her on girdle) I’ll admit I cannot be dismayed if I may not find any chance to embrace you before going to bed...Oh forgive me.... What a terrible thing happened... Err...To kiss you before nuptial...
Sonia-I'm not a virgin honey (softly) I mean after the childhood the first thing was to go to the bed with an idiot I know from the schooldays, eh?
Alex-( Not very much gloomily) You? As an aside I used to think that a woman would never confess anything related to hymen. Ugh! It's awful...He imitates as if he cries, and the fog, and not another sound anywhere.
Sonia-O come on boy. You are too much old to cry. Geez... Loosing hymen was not the most horrible thing I have ever lived. I lost my underwear once when the dad took mom and me to a swimming pool. I could never have dreamed anything could be so full of tragedy. ( They lauhg together, Alex carries on with kissing his wife, and Sonia takes a role of The Female-as a prototype-from Comstantinople as if wouldn't liked to go further in a balcony love adventure!)
They just directed towards the doorway that the girls powerful bureaucrat Madam PAVLOVA run into them, hissing "It is enough to give anyone tryst of missing you-the new married who has fascinated all guests supernaturally I'm sure. Besides my throat is dried awfully and I am longing to shout 'PROSIT' over some cup of ales cold and British thoroughly. All in all you can imagine how merry I shall have felt. (Chuckling) Not that I feel my mouth any dryer now but somehow I feel too much thirsty.Seemingly Lady VARVARA wouldn’t come to a halt. “Here, do you see?"... Se pointed to some sort of documents linking to her marriage red tape matters in torn pieces of paper, fastened together with elastic strips. "Do you see these materials made of photos, official permission, identity files of both new spouses? That's the beginning of a new life we all are going into without interesting-as they used to do in the occupied earthly heaven namely Constantinople-the past sexual experiences of The Male or The Female. Marriage is a productive association not any sort of consumption"! Alex scarcely heard her. He looked into her authoritative, productive face, and he was getting more and more respect induced a son in law of hers, and he could not force himself to listen to what his mother in law was telling him about the marriage because on the contrary of the prejudices nourished by untrained-especially from the point of sense and sensation- The Turkish bourgeois (Let’s remember that the villagers are to obey the ethics mandated by The Intelligent. He remembered to German modern proverb saying “If one is to complaint of Turkish illiterate and innumerate villagers one should not meet with the worst-Turkish Bourgeoisie. He saw that this association was a mere truth to save his marriage from self-contempt under the historical negativism insulting the moral values of The European Family!
(Go to the beginning of the novel please)
Instant observations from the Turkish Soviet State's torture room near to Bosporus:
Public Prosecutor- ( Turning to the little Jewish Girl) So you think the if the organ trafficking and in order to that service to make children under surgical operation is a terrible thing?
The Little Jewish Girl-(in astonishment) You should shame while asking such questions beastly! Of course it is. Why? Don’t you think so?
Public Prosecutor- (Impudently) No. Turkish AYATOLLAH F. GULEN did teach us that it's something to be tolerated because his Islamic regime shall be the unique one based on tolerance.
In the case of the nurse who has lead to the path of salvation The Turkish Soviet State considered her protection to save the little Jewish Girl as a plot to usurp the tolerance induced democracy of Turkey, therefore, should take measure completely immoral. The commanding general prosecutor-Z. OZ would not want to reform anything in the classical procedure to get rid of non-Turkish humanists as they should do it to add the slain Armenian journalist to the list of slaughtered names. Inasmuch as protection The Turkish Soviet State should have been being what it had been. There the Mafioso namely the general prosecutor would claim the right of the state not to let the nurse survive, to murder her officially and to free the little Jewish Girl near to the bastions of TOPKAPI Bastions in the night where she, according to the highest possibility, should be raped and killed by anybody as an American woman had been done away with recently while she had been taking amateur photos there.
A captain from The private security forces of security forces took the hand of the little Jewish girl and led her to TOPKAPI Bastions and lied her-as he used to lye every victim to be being gotten rid of-that she should wait there for her family members coming to rescue her from the cloak of intensifying navy blue of the awful night ready to precipice on the ominous region. The Girl tried to start a conversation to gain time:
The little Jewish Girl-Well, no, I can't escape from the daggers of, famous murderer of The American Lady, LAZ ZIYA and the like...of course not!
Captain-If they wouldn't come to help you, The Turkish Republic-he having called The Turkish Soviet State as his commanders tried to beguile her down right-could bring you back to the happy life at your home conditionally you should do so!
The Girl-Why wouldn't you conscientiously drag me away from this dangerous place where some psycho servants of all cabinets of The Turkish-Soviet-State would stab at the Judeo-Christians to death? Is leaving me lonely in the night a joy you would give your second class regime or would you do it for him individually?
The Turkish Captain-(doubtfully) From the point of our tolerance showing to the Judeo-Christians my reply ought to be "no". Looking at the question from that point you shall catch on the meaning of TOLERANCE uttered by both The Green Maoist F. GULEN and Red Maoists viz. the KEMALIST generals of -quasi/the note of the author-Peaceful Turkey.
The Girl-There is no standpoint to prove your peace . As a Judeo-Christian child was diseased at birth, stricken with the fake tolerance of The Turkish-Soviet-State having been hereditary ill with that only the most vital ethnic minorities namely the peaceful Kurds are able to cope.
The Turkish Captain-You mean?
The girl- I mean I will let me myself to sleep on the bare soil and wait for a miracle, you know-the morning's first sun beams to lead me to the train station by which I can find the express bound to go to my city-Kayseri.
So the little Jewish girl fell asleep amongst stones, disposed coca cans, phlegm contaminated chuckles, mini sheet hills belonging to no specimen of the biology etc. In her painful sleep she happened to listen a queer music in an unexpected dream. Here the link of that music played by the Author-I, played of the antic musical instrument called The David's Harp:
The religious books say there is no word unspoken under the sky. And yet writers' lines may show us that there could be "de profundis" senses, unexplored thoughts waiting for The Word to be carried on with saying nothing of the extra paintings and sculptures of which highly most delicate could be presented to The Mankind! Thanks to the almighty no sneak creature visited The Little Jewish Girl except a lizard sliding on the soil shared with her. In the morning she has woken up. In an instant she took to her heels, and begun both to cry in a high loud shriek and to run. By means of some Pro-NATO Turkish and Kurdish Muslims she has provided with money after a good breakfast then lad to the Main Railway Station. Then someone has bought her train ticket and been waiting at the very side of her till the train bound to K...her mother land. In the train her rescuers found a lot of Pro-NATO Turkish and Kurdish people to save her during the journey and to lead her to the flat where her family has been living and waiting hopelessly her coming back. In the compartment she would travel, she foun herself in a warm chattering.
First a little boy younger than her disturb her and spoke(amused)-Oh, that’s a child having got no family, eh? Well,
The mom of the teasing boy startled-Oh no. But there are times when travel without being accompanied by anybody from our families.
The Girl (seeking for a reconciliation between the boy and his mom))-I cannot turn a blind eye towards the torture, abasement, and the badness but at the same time I find the undesirable happenings of the life pretty good from the point of rigging dreary moments with struggles wherein one could find the help of God also....
The boy's mom-Bravo! You have spoken like a successful as those who don't give up their hopes in the days of holocaust to make their butchers happy. I’m sure you are a successful student in your class, you know I mean that of y the primary you attend, are you not?
The Girl (as if feeling to be buttered up) Yes, one might have call me so, before I was abducted.
The boy-I guess you have been abducted and, let me tell you, you managed to escaped anyhow.
The Girl-(musing) Anyhow is not the word but The Father Almighty.
The mom- They said us you were a Jew. Instead you had some advantages, you might not be expected to use that very word-The Father Almighty, should you be not?
The Girl-Education and a lovely home teach that common word of ours, and so forth...
"So forth" is the most convenient couple of words to describe the travel details-over omitting the useless details of course-of the little Jewish girl that has managed to escaped from the Islamist green ideology induced gang branch of the Turkish Soviet State. After some idle days of mine I learned through the internet Mass Media that the girl has arrived her home and embraced by her family members in a lovely atmosphere of happiness... And I have ringed up the mobile number of my teacher whom had been introduced through the beginning lines of the novel. For I have the encouraging voice of his the dialogue over that interesting case could be realized in a way much more interesting than the matter on which we spoke.
I-I go to high school and of course have got some the other things I should do as I've mentioned you in the cafe.
Ex teacher- You're not poor in tasks to finish then.
I- But they are not anything certainly to make a lad rich.
Ex teacher- (very gently) Okay! What do you ask me to do for you?
I-I think you would satisfy me with a light from the point of what to do with life occupied Constantinople full of handicaps like those which that little Jewish Girl would have had to contend with if she should survive in Turkey.
Ex teacher-(impatiently) Oh, I cannot say anything about that matter! What’s the use of talking about what we might not do with? We cannot responsible for the way wherein The Turkish Soviet State.
I-But supposing you are responsible of my marriage plans?
I-Yes I fell in love with a girl whose home neighboring to ours. Instead she is a relative with the girl of Bulgarian VIP Lady-VARVARA PAVLOVA my sweet heart has got-I'm sure-something like hymen obsession though she is opan to the tricks of hymen hunters like Mr. Lob.
Ex Teacher-I mean supposing we-successful citizens of Constantinople-are not responsible for the non-justice state you call The Turkish Soviet.
I-Gosh. May God forgive me. I must do something because of my shameful cowardice in Love Affairs, and I know that The Soviet here taught us how to be a coward lover on the contrary to Soviet Russia had been inoculation of being easy all over the Russia-if not free-while speaking to other sex... But here, err, we see misery in relationship with The Female we can find lovely imitating as if we do not care a bit about them.
Ex Teacher-We can do nothing to give a last touch to it. Are the people not then, in part at least, responsible for every Soviet type regime? You have had to think of that already.
I-( feeling annoyance) No, for I have been obliged then to start in thinking about both of them at the same time: dating and regime matters in my agenda.
Ex teacher-(quietly) I see. It’s a case of what disturbed you showing you The Face of The Female in Constantinople drawn as Balkanized features: smooth and ruthless. Besides after the second sex of Anatolian rich-or beastly keen at richness- people were added to them that should draw you mad!
I-(blankly) Mad? Oh, you ought to mean The Hero . And yet one could not decide what to be in Constantinople: A hero hating the Soviet type regime or the opposition of Soviet stock! You might not accuse me Sire of keeping any hostility here for trying to like any the female is a very hard task while falling in love is a natural reflex in The USA-The Civilization of European and African Stock.
Ex Teacher-I never felt so sorry for you in the school years of yours. All in all I actually understand why I am weeping myself at one time I felt so sorry for my students that-seemingly-gained the virtue of observation of which ulterior output could be detesting every creature observed . By the way, she-the girl you both observed and find lovely hasn’t made a sound...
Since it used to be dusky in the evenings following deep thoughts about The Female shared through phone calls I should remember her face not in its true lines but anything perceived without any shape based element by the lover candidate, shouldn't I? "You’re nearer to her" I mumbled "than you were ever before." and directed to the library where I had met Mr. Lob first.
The air was becoming clearer although the industry and traffic pollution is as thick as ever. The features of the people at the gate of the public library could be distinguished as obligatorily meaningless matching to the social classes as they would be. One shapeless and baselessly jovial because of being coolly clean-shaven; the other round with big, obscure Mongol eyes and a tobacco stained mustache. The Islamic head sampling to be wrapped tightly figure-the nearest one-is clearly that of a woman. Then I asked myself if I was in need of any sort of camouflage- right arm flung over my face concealing it and the left to aid the right, clutched orange clothes and white papers over my head god knows for which purpose. Simultaneously the eyes of a man who is seated on the pavement near to the corner whereof the woman seemed trying to depart towards somewhere but the public library have been turning round and peering in her direction. She looked to go on with standing still. She might be a sleep walking. I hoped so and whistled," poor woman!" Methinks a little awareness will do The Turkish Female a world of good but-crying out loud-they wouldn't like being fully awake. And lemme confess that Mr. Lob is much more successful than the people like me to usurp the sleep of The Sleeping Beauty!
From the moment when the spirit of dating, having accepted the concept of every friendship-with other man- of the sweet heart is not permitted in Turkey and every girl has got the right to say "one or other one" should aim at constructing different lives of love in order to assert the divinity of the house of a man, and from the moment when I caught on the meaning of looking for the most convenient dating that might extend itself from local ethics to social values of a modern society!
I've run into the precious information about the girl with whom Alex have married with recently and the girl whom I put in my dating agenda... Yep, I was planning to date with this extraordinary female who was a relative of Alex's wife. The three fourth of their family were living in the Europe-in Bulgaria, Germany and Russia-and the mom in love of Alex-VARVARA PAVLOVA was the grand great daughter of the famous Russian Count ALEXEY GONCHAROV-what a sheer coincidence they still holds in the name of the youngest bride groom of the family namely our good Alex- and the body of their child close to Alex's young wife's breast were to be placed in the young mother's womb-let The Father Almighty sacrifice it-to the highest probaility I believe in statistics.
Then I returned to my former position-being at seas-facing two relatives as beautiful as each other but each one reflecting her traditional attitude while having been loved. I suppose I cannot exaggerate the difference between them: Seriously one-who lives here-puts tradition before ration the other does vice-versa! My informing you may be too much eloquent but have you noticed how easy it’s to be being understood, sensed, an lived? To live? What and where. Sexual intercourse in the moors or in the bed-no matter-say nothing of the bitter reality that that difference did strike me awfully... Accordingly I am to choose one of them a darling either from poor, occupied Constantinople or the cloned one-actually the sanguinely relative one of the first-from Sofia. One in Bulgaria and the other, here, in Turkey! Ha ha.
Actually absorbed in full philosopy I would have liked to plunge into the dating speculations furthermore... And yet until I turned towards the main reading hall of the public library I just happened to see the headline of some Turkish newspapers on the mass media stand on the right side of its door. I could read there clearly that after the little Jewish girl has been took captive-plainly plainly by Iranian soldiers and Turkish green Islamic or red KEMALIST fundamentalists around a week ago I could tell whether she would be under an surgical operation for one of her kidneys or be killed immediately for both of them.(http://www.milliyet.com.tr/kayip-coc...undem-1964665/) No matter she-as a Kurdish child-should be blond or brunette. Now that she would only carried to the Heathen Children Hospital as called by The Hun she was going to be fed as a lamp then she should give in her organs demanded for to be sold in children organ trafficking that had been started by the most secret and most terrible Islamic terrorist F.GULEN abiding in Pennsylvania for nearly two decades . It was this: to wait and see the fate of the little, non-volunteer donor little girl second to that Jewish child who had managed to escape from The Hun HANE hospital as the reader could remember. In that kind of state based terror one might find my observations to much optimistic. And yet methinks mine is to be justified in a way unbiased.. . Obviously I-the writer, am able to estimate what could make the reader started to expect more details about the incident I have informed them before a while? I, of course, am carrying on with giving actual information that I ought to be supposed not to tell anything that had never seen in through the Turkish mass media organs. So anything more than I've uttered already regarding to the no mercy children organ trade her? No, nothing. I am, too, longing for having got more information about it but I have only one way to get more information: The Turkish Mass Media. I promise everybody that every new news I would obtain-especially through the pages of daily news papers and internet media-should be shared with the reader immediately...
Turning to the main individual problem of mine I am sure the books worth to be read was hidden on the shelves-umpteen in number-of the reading hall playing bridge most of the time. I’m not much of a researcher and don’t care much about the genealogy. I have visited nearly all European capitals from Paris to Moscow because the dating-to be ended with a holy marriage-yes dating obsession insisted without any intervals. I was bored to death of being obliged to invent an excuse to go out of home-no matter in little hours of the morning, midday or midnight-as soon as I could. (As an aside, I've just been informed by the police chief speaking on A TV that the little Kurdish girl namely the new children organ trafficking that kidnapped-I'm sure by-Fundamentalist TURCO Islamic militants, KEMALIST soldiers, and Iranian commanders couldn't be found still 06. 11. 2014 Thursday (Today).
Alas The Turkish Soviet State, can’t teach an old dog new tricks as I'm and besides giving information of State Crimes here to the East and West Europe. I’m a realist novel writer pure and simple and yet well experienced enough in rigging my novel with colorful paraphrases the farther I get away from the World's Classics for much more dissatisfied I am with my and that of-if not the modern-the contemporary pens' realistic platitudes. I’ve built this style up from nothing-for I'm from the Y...MAH/Erzurum where Pushkin had left sufficient power of muse pissing our lane and the like and it’s sort of like to give a soul richly sought to a child like me. It gives me pleasure to confess that watching over my masterpiece here could teach what might be accepted twice miraculous as Arabic Recital Book coping with the rich English of any of Semitic language after a poor tongue taught in Turkish schools as it I would use without feeling uneasy. Even thinking worldwide I don’t like to leave this style in strange hands. As for going on with writing my Infinite Novel, little old Turkish Soviet State should be good enough for me in marching towards the page of THE FIN jovially. I wouldn't pauses slightly or impressively, waiting for some word of approval for its award in money or racist eulogy. I wouldn't be a darkened brain or self imposed silent humanist as those of the Soviet type intellectuals of the Turkish Soviet State-deep and secret-while they should choose the way of life they used to live continuing dishonestly! But if you would have asked me whether I had seen any advantages of being a village-man of Alexander Solzhenitsyn I should have reminded you of the very name-Nikolayev Tolstoy whose name the world have heard after Lev Tolstoy had died. I don’t think I could deign to call myself as Count Comrade so never think it advantageous. I know some of the first class literary detectives did it about what I might be after. Obviously at the first sight my nickname might be seen a s a filthy sort of negativity, isn’t it? Then let it be so...and yet don't forget the European Female's choice in dating. First of all a good Judeo-Christian name which would be used by Muslim intellectuals... For instance Solomon or Suleiman. There are so good Judeo-Christian names from Russia to Aberdeen, Dublin, London, Berlin of the annexes Washington, Sydney and the like to prove that the families of The European Stock are more durable from the point of social Stochastic-at least till managing good educational process for their children-. for which I spent quite a good deal of my time. I call bigotry victim people of The Orient: don't chuckle please, will you...In your queer and self imposed role of moral value measuring you continued to do it impudently, didn't you? YEP! Simply because you found the people in good manners coward, cynical, naive, less interesting till you have been given a good trash from Balkan the Balkan warriors fond of ballet-you describe as immoral-and able to knock down you.
Anything adding to the correlation between the social philosophy and my starting pointless obsession viz. dating! Dating for love or love for dating? No reply at all...To talk on the of the names and brief peculiarities of my darling candidates:
Natalia in Sofia: If I had smile a salute she would have return it with much more smiling without thinking sexuality more than the number of my home.
DAMLA (as in Dam-la in European Esperanto) living in occupied Constantinople. Overt enemy of all smiling males and perceiving The Male -smiling or not-solely within the conception of sex!
Why does one tell this kind of dating tales to the passengers randomly passing by. Is this a reform? Yes we all are the reformers writing in internet medium at least on a non-profit based or non-amateur professionals. Do you mind my ecstasy in particular line you are not concerned in least? No! And yet I am a writer not similar to my idol Pushkin and you are the readers different thoroughly his readers. I thought it-writing and reading a novel over internet- was not anything of any kind of paper induced authors. I knew you wouldn’t too much busy when you should hear those speculations of mine on philosophy and dating not similar those of yours at all. No let me confess condescendingly beautiful findings which might be found as practical but not like a dream. Then we can go on with the new episode concerning more deeply the little girls kidnapped by state terrorists, and two young ladies who I'd like to abduct me...ha ha!
THE END OF THE TOME I
THE INFINITE NOVEL By M. Solzhenitsof
Varvara Pavlova: A VIP lady in Sofia-Bulgaria
The Newly wedded Girl of Varvara Pavlova
Alex: Madam Pavlova's son of law
Nathalie: The beautiful nephew of Lady Pavlova
My Ex-Teacher in Lyceum
The Household of My Family living near to Pera
Damla-The girl living in my family's neighborhood (Also a relative of Nathalie)
Passengers in Pera Street/Constantinople
The Officers and Officials
The Jewish Girl-kidnapped by semi official mafia dealing children organ trade
The Slain Nurse (Rescued the little Jewish girl and was murdered in Turkey
The Iranian and Turkish Islamic clerks dealing with Hun Hane administration (Hun Hane: The Secret Hospital for Children organ trafficking)
The Bureaucrats, The Surgeons, Other Medics etc. of The Ministry of Health
Little Kurdish Girl: Kidnapped and carried to the Hun Hane Hospital
The slain American tourist-A lady killed while photographing TOPKAPI Palace
I’m just a humanist, that is all. So I have never take place in TAKSIM protests. For what particular kind of reminder do I make here? Of course-because of having been the writer of this novel-I do write something a propos some novelties that has elicited recently.
Towards-approximately-ten hours yesterday night somebody has rang me up and said (in a tone indicating that in his mind some sort of NGO based missions and harmless) "Oh I see our association is lucky in calling for good people interested in The Social Medicine observations for I reached to you instantly". I replied him in a form of question and having treated him with regards "Well, there’s not much virtue useful or rather usable in this case, is there?" . Seemingly he got amiss and cried: "No!" You are the lad we had been after from the very beginning, and added the firs request of his, "We'd like to meet with you in flesh". I promised (after a long pause) him that I might visit the HQ of their non- governmental organization as soon as I can then but confessed him that I don’t the address of their center from where he telephoned." He was much more furious then, and reproached me "What? Don't you but I’m beginning to feel embarrassed then. Is the address note-book near you? (I reached in it on the little stool on which it used to be placed with the phone and try and write the name of district where their center were to be known as one of the most important places could be found there.)The voice on the phone spelled every syllables and I wrote. Before going out of home took a handful biscuits to munch on the way to the NGO center. I never thought Turkish biscuits could taste so good. Couldn’t my readers to be going to have any? What could be the answer? No. Alright then I'd rather spell them around for I'm not hungry. The thought of that poor person who has called me has taken all my late evening-two good hours after the dinner-hunger away. I ought to confess that I used to gobble something in the late evening times exceeding the nights' darkness playing with shadows navy blue clouds dead already. Nearing to the bridge over Bosporus I think I have breathed something smelling as jonquils. Besides as I the reader a confident people I ought to accept the truth: I have never seen any jonquil in my life. And yet only when I was a child I ever had this flower's name alongside with those of many like obelisk. Is obelisk a plant, I'm not sure. I also couldn't be sure the names might have taking any significant role in dating. For instance after the first embracing a certain Violet would probably take place in memo as Elisabeth...Huh , the look on The Female's face was to be so wonderfully tender as she bent over your...err what part of yours. May I be losing-God shield us- my reason. What will our lives shared over these lines if I be so then?
Now it's the time to turn back to The Female generally! All females must learn this: only death can rob their overacting to see as a female. Of the only recompense for their ugly times there would be the process I mentioned before a little while: changing names. Eh? It seems such needless tort while talking, for instance, madam Bovary... And yet was she not taken from her throne for being fickle while nearly all females could be crowned in this way instead of the moral boasting available in our occupied Constantinople. May I let the cat out of bag? There can be less chance to create new Bovary prototypes amongst The European Stock people's family. I, who have no wife, and am afraid of being ducked by The Female here in occupied Constantinople. Maybe my mouth full of biscuit chips just I have been eating. But everybody should take things to heart: Loyalty is not anything with which Judeo Christian mothers are to be being proud of because they are making the greatest majority of wives compared with those of The Islamic State-L'EI in the border of Iraq and Syria. The Caliph of L'EI is just like a poet lying in a colorful stanzas which describe Judeo-Christian ladies as impudent to dare wearing very little shorts matching to show based on their inguinal attractiveness if not beauties. While I was pondering in order to reach some findings about the second sex the reader might be reminded of The Sonata for The Female played by me on the David's Harp:
Now that I call you in Russian: VINIMANYE viz. Attention! You’ll never forget all about Semitic-Gulf Arabic, Jewish, and Egyptian soul of the melody. This soul is the mostly high novelty, ye know, giving the dearest souvenir to the masters of story or poem writing and it may be named as Musical Literature as one could see here for many times, and-probably sooner than I will-it will be generalized in the world of writers. Nonetheless one shouldn't forget everything written in all times. What a devil of a last will of my ancestor-Kafka, would be if we didn’t understand that he couldn't be able to insert melodies through the pages of his.
Worn out by philosophy based dating or dating induced philosophy I'd like to take another handful of Petit BEURRE biscuits, to continues munching and to turn to the beginning but to my astonishment after turning the corner of the street of which name was given to me I found the block where the NGO center was placed. The top storey were located for the departments of the headquarter, and several departments of the organization were adjacent to each other. Some rooms there-queer to say-were parted-using thin wooden plaques as wall-into two or three chambers... I had seen many buildings restored like this one already yet I used to think them funny things when you would come to think of them I mean how they happened to come together in a little boat but having got full of cabins as a ship might, and this matter should remain a mystery to me how could a huge organization ever got comical places in here. And then, how is it there’s no meeting hall in this center and still there’s plenty of personnel? Besides the best designed things might be no more sufficient constructions...The World would remember forever that there was no lack of life-boats, and yet there could be no use of them while Titanic sunk!
After some women were teased by my sight in the NGO Center's corridors-some of the opening to the genuine one while the other ones are false-I was asked: "Who are you?" An old man with very peevish dark eyes rigged with abnormally black eyebrows in the contrast to his white hairs was questioning me looking into my eyes-or rather into one of them in order to focus or to conciliate his seeing problems somehow-and I felt that neither he nor I can be rowed away in that kind of ocean like atmosphere in which this center was been being sailed like Titanic...
The damned inquisition of, say, the octogenarian must have gotten smashed anyhow the-obligatorily-mutual friendship between the organization and me for it was sinking in a way one should consider bailing! I considered that my appliance following their ringing me up could make a good material matching to the salvation for bailing before we were soon dumped into the depths of the icy ocean namely communication. But after I heard some more words uttered over the noise of his voice I remembered that this old man was that one who had called me by phone. His voice is younger than his voice as it would be in every old people case.
I speedily drew near him while reminding him his telephone call and tried to make he remember our conversation "mot a mot" without swerving to other points, but I had also to have got him well backed to the mood and plead that he'd rather let me tell him I was pretty invited to the center. It must have been easily explained that he smile me a welcome. "Did you ever become so much disappointment" he asked "and weary of getting communication as here?" I said that I used to confront-is it the word?-generally with disappointment to death in the way to explain the reason of my existence everywhere! He laughed a laughter-younger and energetic than his body: "Your answer appeared to me the only way out in every dilemma of implementation regarding the reason of somebody, eh ?" He went on with an existentialist speculation: "But Tolstoy's question 'What we do' is valid at every you have arrived already. Listen your heart until the end of your youth and try and see the target put before you and having been hindered by the same power who had put it there. That is the best way I felt always if I would not be sick and weary of soul and longing for sleep. "What must we do?" is the one and only question, say, The Mankind arrived at after one thousand years, And here you are my answer: if our ship struck anything we should accept it as providential and usurp it. Here is the solution you had been looking for in our NGO. You would go up to the upper storey instead of going down with the lift and quit the building. We should understand that no death could prevent us while we would carry on with our voyage. Great poet Pushkin's 'LE VOYAGE A ERZURUM' was an accident as big as dodo we call Soviet Revolution and no nation cope with such dirty thing that might elicit every hundred years. From the point of individual way of life one could usurp even such big plagues".
Keeping his words in my mind I rushed the staircases in amazement. One may mean to say I was going to commit with eternal exploitation to usurp all sort of misfortunes in my life. I was going to see my fortune high over the mist of the city. So I hid frustrating the banister lest the organization officers would insist on escorting my ascending in spite of me. Finally when no one had been my visage I went up and began to walk in another corridor.
Then I heard some sound come from a corner rich in voices and I discovered that a woman and her husband-or her male friend have been making love for how many minutes God knows. How that scandal happened under the roof of any NGO I don’t know. Probably she hid her lover because she was afraid the mature people would have them crushed over the avariciousness the horror stricken citizens ruled by an Islamist regime for a good time. At any rate, I ought to confess that there she was being kissed there and I perceived she was so happy in her love for her mating partner. I looked around and found a British horn left there anyhow and hooted it. According to me the voices had been stopped. At the time being I could persuade the woman to climb to the roof to go on with kissing and being kissed aloud there.
All joking aside went up to the roof Instead of them yet before I went up to the penthouse-yes there were a penthouse-I lowered the floor where they were panting using the rest of their energy to finish mating, and asked them: "Who are you? This place is not matching much to any task you'll try to finish , is it? At first there was no reply for both of them were near to coming every minute. One of them slid down to the silhouette of mine and hissed in a horrific tone: "We are the respectful members-the spouses-of a family having got two children. We have been sentence by all Islamist groups of Turkey and Iran to be shot-on head-without having been tried. And we take refuge in this NGO Building which is afraid of Islamist militants-of Islamic State in Iraq and Syria backed by the party in power, Hezbollah butchers, and secret Muslim terrorists of the F. GULEN Gang-for we had refused to work in HUN HANE dealing with children organ trafficking. All in all it might be very useful an information that we are surgeons and as the ropes of all Medics in Turkey we have to obey the medical or non-medical orders of Turkey's Islamic Government and other Islamist powers in Turkey.At the second phase of my unexpected conversation with them I was extremely bewildered that the Islamist Ideology oppresses the medical doctors first. Those pitiful medics under the heart rending torture, relentless oppression added to insult bear all the burden of labor giving service to the people whose-at least 20 %-most radical population would be insane from the beginning of the occupation: occupying Constantinople, Balkan Countries, great parts of Rumania, Hungary, and even Austria!
Towards the penthouse and cutting the dialogue line with her and her outcast husband that to help her dressing, pushing off the matrix like drapery aside with a little kick. There should be classical breeze of the city peculiar to this season which might blow my melancholy slowly away from the strained skin of my face till I was hidden within the web of lights reflected from the far bridges of the Bosporus linking The Asia to our old, beloved Europe. The suspense of waiting for news from the department to go down again was terrible but the worst thing here-left in dark-was the vague situation. Briefly I didn't know even the patronage of the organization would have known that I was here-the penthouse.. As one could discern similarity shared by Titanic and my inutile waiting: one might nearly swamped by the waves when their huge ultimate goal took the final plunge into limitless hopeful dreams. Such big debacles make one to edge away from the practical solution and adopt the life style of The Prophet, firmly believing in some convictions regarding the similarity of poetical soul to be lived forever and to turn into a monument based upon all sorts of baseless fact The Messiah. I hope The Human shall have abandoned suicide probability ad fundum. Actually and absolutely. I had got an abyss before me in the penthouse-over the fifteenth storey of the building thereunto one could think all that happened to me is an omen sent to a crest whereof I cold left to the artifact abyss then. By God's pleasure I was to convince myself to forget my past unhappiness and my fortune woul change for the better. That’s the way to carry on with one's job necessary for one's mission! At that point of my pondering I ask the little waves of the air they used to call wind, and the wind did not answer my question so I learnt that superstition couldn't be a good thing any times. But if I had known how to be successful trying to cope with one's sufferings that every dating hunter was to undergo as a result of our baseless efforts wherein The Female would be involved. . And yet a voice in our hearts whisper that "don’t think about the other sex any longer. You couldn’t help that their cloaks' hands would turn otherwise. Now I wonder what was it that force us to make child amongst several unknown facts should be involved in the relationship between the spouses or darlings free of marriage records? I thought after I remember the incident I have witnessed just before a while.( I'm not a sleep walk, am I? "No never down right" my reply should be...Was I asleep when I heard giggling of the wife of the surgeon-she herself is a surgeon- and moaning with zest while making love on some rags rolling on the cold floor of a well known NGO, say the association of medics, center's second storey. She actually kept moaning one minute and next minute she would have commenced to scream under the unendurable zest of natural orgasm as if they were lying, rocking and rolling in their bed having been provided with all commodities a comfortable bed room they had had if they had been the citizens, say, my beloved countries-The USA or Russia. For I couldn’t forget those screams for the rest of my life, I, under the oppression of my own conscience, I have decided to go down back and to change some words with them.My situation-while desiring to make an observation whereof one could start an indictment whether I had got any written order to observe in a semi official corridor of an NGO location any mating pairs no matter they should be married or not-ought to be accepted as delicate, if not fragile, and I ought to be supposed as shouldering heavy burden from the point of task I have been to be having received over the phone call from this very center. Instead the sophisticated disadvantages I went down the staircase. Alas the people-I was after-were not there and a miraculously change-the exposure of some extra ordinary lamps added to the bulbs used in routine enlightening in such places were combined to bring on some kind of stadium lights-has been apt to affect not only bodies but the shadows too for there could be no shadow around. He-who had rang my home phone-was the only personage there to search me as I understood when I went down to see what was the matter.
Peering upward from the over illuminated floor the fog he was getting almost angry because of my absence. I to worried about the absence of the Turkish husband and his wife-they both are surgeons themselves escaped from The HUN HANE hospital- who were mating, say before a while, on the bare floor-provided with only rags to lie on considerably drowsy materials, huh? It must be about time for the night to turn into late midnight. If we’re not going to hurry up the sun would have risen and all the lights been useless . What a spendthrift organization, god shield us... I, sadly, tried to learn where the Mr. & Mrs. surgeons were. As if was just about the impending time to weep for the inhuman working conditions of Turkish medics he answered me crying: "They cannot sojourn anywhere too much time lest the policemen of F. GULEN Gang or other "Turco Islamist" paramiliters paid by the government or even Iranian guards. Yesterday morning when they captured a poor little fellow-an inexperienced MD who had rejected to work in the HUN HANE Hospital dealing with Judeo Christian children's organ trafficking-he was shot dead, shot head...
While he spoke to me he shake his figure towards the bridges of Bosporus and I looked apprehensively toward his hand. Now that it is lighter what appeared before like a collection of mobilized shadows could be seen in the streets. I sensed then my face sullen, long, and red. My body was rigid, non shielded instead of I dressed well. He wrapped a white shawl covering his scarlet necktie, and the ears of his were apparently open to catch on every sound from my side.. After a pause he whispered the duty they-as an NGO -into right one of mine.
After learning my home-work which shall be paid to my satisfy I went back to the home. As for the mission...err... Let’s not talk any more about it. It might awaken the Turkish Soviet and it could start screaming over its TV stations of the party in power and those belonging to the false ones of The Opposition Parties. though none of them could understand Poetical English of Thomas Hardy-B.Q.-occasionally through the figurative speeches here..
As an aside I confess that I mightn't remember anything regarding to my arrival at home and falling asleep in my old-beloved bed which has been made extraordinarily tidy. She’d know what we were to be talking with the man in charge of the organization. For moms have an instinct to be ready in making the best accommodation-from the point of comfort-when her child would be late in coming back home, especially, in the night. Methinks everybody have seen that proved in their own families more.
When I woke up to go to the school egg, bacon, tea, milk, butter and all sorts of toasted bakery were inviting me to the kitchen to have my breakfast.
Here you are the capacity of the gastrointestinal system of a son so much dear for his mom! Hardly my school depending minutes exhausted when I've finished my breakfast. Then what? Lo to the school class of mine. After the last ting-tongs of the break bell I took a taxi and went to a poor Jewish family that hadn't afford to escape from Constantinople's famous 6-7 September 1955 terror attacks organized by the state in those days and asked the grand daddy-who was still in a healthy posture while welcoming me-and asked him " Have your family lost any of little children, if there was any, recently? He refused to talk on such matters under the holy roof of their home, and yet offered to go somewhere near to The Galatians' Tower to where we can go on step.
Thank God, on the simple and stale way towards the tower he lead me to the most famous synagogue near the place of ours!
"Well-done! You should thank God, even if an ordinary person would lead you to visit such a place, as it is implicitly claimed a while ago. I might not be omitted easily, you know, thanksgiving" said the old man and made remark with inquisitive eyes. "You’re not be married soon, are you?" "No" claimed I in a tone of camouflage claiming that matter would be in my agenda.
"I didn’t think you were" opposed he jocularly "You people over overacting temperaments of youth exhibit more to affinities to The Female than the Female used to do so. Briefly methinks" he added " wives run as if walking and husbands do it vice versa." I supposed he has lots of those in old good days! I didn't carry on with the matter as if I did not hear or will not notice his questions and remarks. When we went into the synagogue he was still staring through his eye-glasses.
During the first steps to give a start talking on a misty matter about the kidnapped children to be send HUN HANE Heathen Children Hospital for organ trafficking by Turkish turbid green Soviet Regime and that of Iran's bloody green Islamic State my voice into an excited tone because just a message came to my mobile phone SMS a propos to show the scientific findings that would make remark about the actual yet positivist truth claiming especially Judeo Christian kids were to be chosen amongst little girls for the organ trade run buy main Islamist Organizations. "Did you hear that?" asked I the old Jewish. After he nodded "no" by shaking his head I showed him the link. (http://m.haberturk.com/gundem/haber/...ri-kaciriliyor)
He startled: "What do I hear?"
I-" You heard what we are talking just now."
The old Jewish man-"I thought I heard the sound of Satan." (We both stood still intently. After a second or so I talked again.)
I- "It's not that of Satan yet the sound of steps of Islamic Terror drawing near every moment."
He was seeming faint and having been drowning in the turbid water of The Bosporus...
The old Jew (hardly elated) "By God, it is an ethnic cleansing!"
I-"It sounds nearer... Alas ethnic cleansing could be coming this way."
The old Jew-"Oh, if only this rotten Anti Christian and Anti Semitic State of Syria and Iraq Islam State would leave the people they used to throttle in the streets!"
I-"Let’s hope it will. The liberal World led by The Europe, The USA and The good Semitic brethren (Israelites and Gulf Arabs run as much risk of being run down as we do not our best to save the victims while these human sacrificing scenes continue in the deserts occupied by Islamists. Couldn’t we see one inch away in this path going to Hell."
The old Jew (nervously)- "Can’t we pronounce some kind of a cry on the TV stations of Golden Horn?"
I- "None could hear us hear our voice through The Mass Media Organs of Turkish Soviet that owns all of them from The Leftist to The Rightist".
The old Jew- " Nevertheless we can try and hold out when the Islamist terror of Syria-Iraq Islamic State gets close to us. (Notwithstanding we're, perceiving some auspicious stimuli in the atmosphere of the synagogue during which we chattering-even whistling at the least threshold of human audio or touching randomly the things around us on and on)
I restarted the talk:
I (rejoiced to the limit of having been consecrated)-"How silky cool the air is here, and the lights soft, friendly! It is not my imagination, is it?
The old Jew-"No, I notice also that it is not making us shuddered least. For few minutes spent in any sacred place the air movements could inspire one as if one feels cold or warm to death."
I-I wish we had some books so we could read and keep the richness regarding this peerless atmosphere."
Suddenly the Old Jew hushed me:
-"Hush! Do you hear that?"
-"What? The sound's echoes I've just made whistling?"
-" Maybe. I... I heard it a moment ago."
(We waited to hear the sound if there would be somehow. And it happened to be heard much more strongly.)
I-"No. This is a sound of a rat as big as a dodo.". There! Don’t you hear it now? (A noise as of a rat over some kind of high and narrow shelves is the color of the books having been read again and again, and trying to descend from there.)
The old Jew," Yes, I hear it. One cannot guess what can it be?"
I- "Isn’t it a fat rat?"
The old Jew-"Yes very tall, and fat with a short tail."
I-"How could it be overfed here while there is not any fodder?"
The old Jew-(Shouting) "Here you are, taking a promenade to prove that he could make a stand up show except the floor under us. (With a shiver) Horrible, but it could cope with the hordes of all hyenas on the old earth!"
I-"That poor he-rat might be get angry with us and we might get frozen when he scolded us."
The old Jew-(He takes off his coat and walking carefully towards shelve like accessories of the hall we are in speaks) -"That mister-he means the he rat-is the most intimate friend of the oldest lady, say the grand great aunt, of my family. After the death of the big aunt he used to visit the her the sleeping under the soil of Jewish cemetery with some wild plants in his mouth."
I-"it sounds both queer and ridiculous for the contemporary people who find visiting Mars queer yet not ridiculous."
Putting a dot at the end of my dialog affinity for the time being I started pondering on the probabilities that every minute I might see anything irrational. Damn this misty mission of mine! (The noise of the descending he rat grows more and more distinct. At regular intervals of his panting blows the walls of empty hall of the sanctuary)
The old Jew,—(still gazing at the wall) "Perhaps it may be something-to some extent-surrealistic but I hardly think we could have consider it comical."
In the time being I sensed that we have already quitted talking in terrified tones. Good God, how nice a good effect that the great he rat composed around us. ( turning quickly around I discerned something huge and black is drawing near through the desks of the foggy scene directly beside towards us.)
The old Jew- "The huge, he rat gave up the drifts to approach us with a slight movement. We ought to shrink away as far along the carpet linking the desks to the niche as we can manage!"
I- (looking at the chamber of The Old Testament towering above everything) "A mere hill his shadow! (turning to the old Jew) Steady there or you could be in his stomach in a minute if you’re not careful. As to me I'm not a Jew from a concentrating camp-for instance during the 6-7 September 1955 incidents in Constantinople under the occupation had been one of them- but I'm ready to escape anyhow."
The old Jew- "There is nothing to be frightened over. Tin-tin-the name of the he rat was that-would come near when he should feel himself obliged to present his consolations over the unforgettable death of grand great aunt of ours."
After the first frustration and a wonton dispute between Alex and his young wife his mother in love our pompous VARVARA PAVLOVA intervened very speedily thus everything would be calm or the inexperienced family should be smashed to pieces. Lady PAVLOVA reassured her son in law-Alex by finding out that what he might take for some horrible crises in his fresh family is an ordinary reality. As it was they would have only divorced the frustrated sides continued to tremble with horror: the bride, bride-groom, and the mom in law of Alex namely Lady PAVLOVA. And yet what was that what the pompous madam mean by that very word" ordinary"?
One, nearly, having lost one's patient and pasting two hands on mouth not to let one's mouth to be written in Guinness's Records over using pornographic hard words is to ask always: What is ordinary and what is not.
Here you are the reply: At the beginning of dating, mating etc. putting aside the marriage between unconscious fiancés everything seem extra ordinary and everything turns into ordinary after the first sexual intercourse. One is to wonder for the time being: Which is bigger amongst the ordinary and extra ordinary. Since The Mankind continue to augment the world's population neither one nor other could be bigger.
Try much as the Iceberg could it is not to be anything visible and such shall be the relations between The Male and Female. Even The Venus would help them in trying to conceal the bottom of the icy thing in the water that very bottom should be well known as everywhere. The eternal matron VARVARA made them push iceberg from TITANIC of which name must had been MARRIEGE. Instead the subject of their actual problem should be marriage they tried to push it away...
Alex-"Ouch! My heart is aching..."
Lady PAVLOVA-"No use wasting effort on your heart. The heart of The Male is too heavy and gentle to carry and my daughter can get no grip on its icy surface.
All in all the instructions of VARVARA PAVLOVA made an effect as blast of the mortar would echo through the ears. It sounds in the depths of their hearts. -"Oh my God, one never think of that" would have been after every genuine friction or unexpected tort that had not been be elicit itself without been being planned because this Bulgarian matron couldn't put up with anything out of her agenda. She sat down pitying opposite them who newly have got marriage viz. green horn spouses and spoke: "Never think..."
Alex- "Never think of what?
Madam PAVLOVA-(gloomily) "Those hard words you both, seemingly, used to use in every dispute!"
There can-of course-be no danger in frictions dyed by brush turned into green screen dotted with dirty gray stamps of new marriages generally, and highly most microscopic frustration having got no danger but probable evils . If great parents' lady spokesperson were not ever to hit this mass of icy probabilities they might have sunk before they could see the bottom of the peril without beguiled by the visible part of the ugly yet controllable fate of The Family.
Alex's young wife carried the stage of that dispute one step afar: "Can’t we do something without being helped by the grandparents discourses?"
Lady PAVLOVA-Shall we yell to each other when any danger get nearer.
On and on Alex should reiterate "God shield us, madam, I understand that we should not do that." This "understanding" ought to be understood that a fussy madam could make a man to be excessively apt for falling into the plague of modern times namely accepting every ach as sickness! This is also to be apt from the point of one of turning into a wrack waiting to be rescued every now and then!And the aftermaths of the non-sickness diseases: Medics come or one go to medics; patients wait for to be salvaged as survivors from both death and resurrection, and if they heard anything about new surgical operations they would even think they are call for a doctor in order to help them in being anatomized and go right in this direction.
There could not be any sound if Alex and his wife have any regard for the lives mixed with dispute and kiss at home Madam PAVLOVA-by means of a good fate-shouldn't have heard it. And yet marriage had been defined as to be ready for hearing harsh, horrific voices alongside with the caressing sound of coo, say from The Male to The Female of vice versa since Adam and Eve.
Lady PAVLOVA couldn't stop herself and ordered Alex to do some rational but useless things including keeping calmness.
Alex-(whimpering) "But madam, if we don’t let our angry reactions to hurl that they’re here they could be showing a liability not to heed our reason and they might never leave it free forever."
Lady PAVLOVA-( too much sternly) "Can we learn your references sufficient to back your claim? Who did dare to teach those nonsense things to us?"
Lady PAVLOVA- "As he died we cannot take the risk lives according to his bad rules...
Alex's young wife-(unexpectedly revolting) But mama...
Lady PAVLOVA-"What mama...?"
Alex- (Treating his mom in law with great respect as ever)-Freud has been talking on not 'bad' but 'bed'!
(Since the respectable lady does not hear the speculations of that kind but a look of earnest fragility comes over her face. And yet there cannot be any chance to permit a long pause because that may feed a sudden laughter rising from any side. So the silence is suddenly crashed by the wheezing voice of the lady who has got enough capacity to continue the dialogue under her absolute control.)
Madam PAVLOVA-" Gosh! That certain Freud must be reigning on top of us. (They both start to observe the survival capacity of the talk on sexuality to some extent. Regretfully at that point their eyes to catch on the meaning of deep thoughts explained are much more active in approaching to the misty chattering.)
Alex-(furiously) He was not a king but a scholar, and I’m not going to be seen as a scientist on account of the perfect way to approach the scientific findings.
ALL THREE TOGETHER-(CHUCKLİNG) Let's put Freud's damn fool ideas. (They embrace each other using Sigmund Freud's both scientific and teasing instructions as a common enemy's soft abdomen!
Regretfully, it would be a common attitude in nonsense embracing to forlorn the scientific upshots all over The Europe still. As for the leader of uncivilized countries-Turkey Freud may be surmised as a prehistoric animal actually that animal have explored the inner animal acting within the true criteria of DE PROFUNDIS that is reigned by wriggling, say, outer identity.
By the way, making remarks on the quality of quarrelsome family members of The European Personage talking on something indoors could prove that slow corrosion might be impending in The European Marriages this novel will not turns in the direction of asking reward. James Joyce as the greatest author of The West Europe had done the same things I would rather do for the sake of The Eastern Europe Family. As for the matters of dating, making love, getting married, and divorcing etc. in the occupied Constantinople one cannot find anything within the humane construction of them worth to be written for the people involved in such matters wouldn't talk till they destroy The Family of theirs.
To my great surprise Alex-one of the characters of this novel- could ask anything concerning the author directly:
Alex- "SOLZHENITSOF the author himself is telling us that he is not asking any reward of Europeans for his service he gives to The European Family" This unexpected deterioration in the mental health of his son in law forced Lady PAVLOVA to call for a doctor. After the medic rang the outer door's bell of their apartment some ridiculous things happened yet they wouldn't be worth to be written here.
In the synagogue again:
We went on to speak about the giant rat-fallen in love with our grand great aunt-whose case couldn't be appreciated as much more queer than Alex who has dared to speak about the author of the novel in which he might only take his part as one of the major characters.
I-(jumping up amongst the desks to force the soul of Aunt's rat-the Casanova to come near and speak) "Hey respectable beast you...you ought to open your heart to us!"
The old Jew-(putting his hand over my mouth in time to stifle my shouting to call him to be more voracious) You green horn! This taciturn rat is not a parrot as you, and you cannot expect him showing himself in a striptease peeled off his way of life based on silence.
The people having got the relics from the heritage of Byzantium used to give struggle against every type of corrosion-corrosion in family making, divorcing, bringing up the new generations, and surviving in history as a people abiding on the bridge between The Asia and The Europe. So, instead of learning smile and exhibition of good manners the hordes that had occupied The Golden Horn have always hated to think free. From this point of view the old Jew was glancing-very frequently- at the main gate lest an average citizen of Turkey might have been spying there to listen to our conversation about a Rat Casanova whom they could imagine such an hero only over cartoons.
I-(laughing) "I’ll run away with you, even if, an creature with no limbs to make speed."
The old Jew-(Paying no attention to my cracking a joke but sits down opposite the shadows on the walls of the synagogue.) Do you see queer silhouettes or hear extraordinary sounds again?"
Actually we feel ourselves no farther away than witnessing much unexpected happenings than before. The old Jew would go on stir uneasily. And suddenly...
Yes! Suddenly The old Jew began to talk, trembling with terror, and I noticed that he was staring at a certain point on the wall:
The Old Jew- "We must have escape from the crazy crowd that would hit us after all."
I-could understand nothing. Who were they that were to hit you? They might have not the average citizens of Turkey after so many a slaughter this soil had seen in the history.
The old Jew-Of course that couldn’t be again after the Great Catastrophe the Armenian had suffered. But we heard shouts, (suddenly smiling with any kind of prophecy-I don't know what he does guess-foreseeing what could happen to me) that we knew what they were.
Then we carried on with talking:
I- (being exited profoundly) "Go on please!"
The old Jew- (sighing)"The fake humanism of The Turkish Soviet State was ready to bust up, to break up, to blow up etc. There was no longer peace around The Bosporus that has been having got bloody ripples fell in the water-from the early hours of 6th September 1955 henceforth until the evening of the next day-after the hurling hordes under the control of Soviet type intelligence agents have attacked to the Jews, Greeks and Armenians living almost in a pre-historic place of which symbol could be The Golden Horn."
Obviously state terror has almost made everything ready to be used in need viz. in slaughtering the Judeo-Christians in occupied Constantinople.(I became panic-stricken at this thought and began to weep aloud.)
I-"I cannot stand this any longer. Let me go sire or we both will be crushed by the remnants of bad memories the terrorists had curved within the crinkles of your brain. If we both had been drawn mad over those memos the stately murderers would take a chance to do away with us without shooting at our heads which shouldn't be left full of horror of those ignoble and yet official terrorists. You can stay here and be killed by your memoirs if you want to but I'll go out of this innocent, insulted, ignored and wounded sanctuary.
Not insane with the fear of having been open to the Islamist terror near to Bosporus but with the newest menace after learning the stories of the little Judeo-Christian or Kurdish little girls I had decided to be ready for a voyage at the end of the first semestre to VAN located in the Southeastern part of Anatolia.
The weeks flew as the rivers, the winter semester, and I've put one foot on the WAGON-LITS of the express train. I was about to throw myself into the snow sea of The Eastern Anatolia. On the platform of the train gar the little yet luxury restaurant was nearly to grab me by the arm and pull me into it) I let myself enter through the door of which gilded miniature pillars glittering in a color scale from grayish green to scarlet have been exhibiting The Ottoman architecture built by The Armenian Foreman who had worked in accordance of The Architect from Vienna and other European capital cities!
I would go to Van first and this would be all right from the point of my questions like those I have asked the old Jew already. You might want to survive over unanswered questions at times, and I should confess that I was in that mood down right then...
While climbing the steps of the train I was feeling myself having been rejoiced by the celestial body. "Do you want to see the peak of The Mount Ararat too" I asked myself, "you thief of mission ?" ( As I was captured by a lonely laughing crisis I've hidden m face in my hands and given my laughter as an autistic child would do in a fit of temper.) "Am I fool that I should omit The Mount Ararat-the symbol of Armenian happy centuries while they were administrated by not humans but by PAX ROMANA! And yet I would prefer not to take the risk of climbing to the peak of peaks-that of The Noah's Ark?" replied myself again. For five minutes in this soliloquy I grew more kindly in this dialogue with me. What? Did any reader offer me to use the word "rebuke" for what I did. Come on my dear; try and be sensible! Act like a reader!
The Express Train has been shook slightly first with a combination of impetus and inertia after the whistle was blew. The whistle has been blew again and we passive goers-the passengers seemed once more to be in the same vicinity for a while. The main building-similar both to a book palace with a earnest, well shaven, bronze face and a grand hotel taking the passersby up with limitless violet signs-were they violet indeed-and raising its attic towards the little "aero planes" used for training pilots since the end of The World War II. The scenery around historic-if not the antic-gar is incongruous could easily get one's nerves. But I took the masterpiece of Henry TROYAT with me. Beginning from its title-The False Light-to the limitless details one might not be fed up even reading it through year after year.
As The Express Train gained speed the horizons-or rather the some shapes belonging to blocks, the high gardens with high fences, the railings of some ateliers belonging nowhere and the like seemed not to be getting near us, and we passengers couldn't discern any more the figures, colors etc. Even the voices were escaping afar. For instance a moment ago I heard something like a crow cawed but in wile it stroke us as something striking the surface of the sea.
Maybe we've been ascending to the crest of perception in express trains... I am speaking the curtain of daily fife used to be suddenly lifted in them. The speed of the machine has just risen over the average acceleration so too much moderately every design and paintings around began to come back their real shape and color.
I decided to go to the wagon restaurant. The surface off black wagons fretted by the streams of air, vapor, mist -if not smoke- from vivid engines, and harsh winds at times below the windows of compartments seeming as The Knight armor's opening. God shield us from the evil of the Satan, at that time I step into the special place all the angels from the heaven helped me and I found an empty chair of the table to which a young Armenian gentleman's orders were being serviced. (After I saluted him he has introduced himself as a certain Mr. ...YAN, say, ARAMYAN.) Then we started a quick chat:
I-(My back having been turned to the wagon's door through which a crowd -obviously hunger, thirsty, and looking at somewhere to sit down and to dine over the restaurant as if they could hardly believe a good fortune to find any.) There’s the express train bound to go to the ancient cities where the KHAZAR Jews, Turks, Kurds, Armenians were living in peace until the ominous year of 1915 when they found themselves in a damned war, and Armenians have been sent-if not slaughtered-in exile. What luck you have survived!
The Armenian- "Chance? What chance monsieur? There had been an amoral and generalized horror you must have heard. Look! They-as some victims and my dad has narrated us-The Turkish State's terror virtuous murderers were breaking into straight towards our family members-no matter their ages one month old or octogenarian-to slaughter them in their homes.. "
I-(Over hum and haw with an expression of having been shocked) "I wonder how they knew where you were."
The Armenian-"Hello, hello....Are there anybody at home? You innocent asker, they had marked with a red "X" every door opening to Greeks, Jews or Armenians' houses."
I-(shaking my head deliriously)" Hello, if it's for poking fun of me? Believe me monsieur, I didn't know that second MEDS YEDGHEM up till now..."
The Armenian-"Where are you living?”
I- "In the same city where they murdered you and pillaged your estates in the year of !955. You know, I mean 6-7 September incidents thereupon all of you Judeo Christians were annihilated."
With the return of his civil holding out he has regained all his self-assured nonbiased courage. He tries and read the rate of cordiality I confessed as an exposure thereof we could carry on with the chat at the dinner table we were to share at least for a while enough to finish the meal. I too scrutinize the face expression of his as something importance induced with a double chin bright by mans of having been well shaven. The Armenian-(turning to with a sarcastic smile) "Not annihilated. And yet we ethnic minorities fled our motherland that is famous for its Bosporus that is told being bridged The Europe to The Asia. Yes, there are two bridges already there not for the sake of any continent or any friendship but for Turkey and the people of Turkish stock."
I- "You see my pessimism was justified after all."
The Armenian-(simply) "We-the victims of the 6/7 September 1955 horrific attacks had forgotten all about it. We still love The Bosporus..."
The voice that call the people having finished their dinner to make a place for them waiting to find any chair to sit down and get something to eat is heard. The sound of the chatting ones as we ceased. We-The young Armenian man and I-wished a good voyage to each other and went out of the restaurant to take a rest in our compartments each one got a little table, a wash ball and a bed.
After a moment later I woke up there were the same sounds to be heard near to the restaurant wagon but because of having breakfast for the time being as the last station was only one hour way as far. Briefly manned-the less distant off one do be from The Eastern Anatolia the Female shall be out of sight-by a full passengers of The Express Train I have travelled aggregated towards the side of the restaurant wagon. The young Armenian gentleman in his dark suit, evidently was in the stern steering.)
I ( shaking his hand)-"Hello! You certainly are feeling yourselves healthy and happy after a good sleep.
The Armenian-(looking out of the corridor windows up at the mountain chain sliding alongside the horizons our express train was changing on and on!)
-"You are like picking a delicious mod out catastrophes as the subject of cheap chats. Regretfully what made you've heard yesterday about the 6-7 September 1955 attacks on minorities living in The Turkish Soviet State couldn't be narrated in one session limited with the time of a dinner! If you could have listened to the rest or rather details of the story you wouldn't find any more gaiety in it. Should we go on from the point we left unfinished yesterday evening?
I-I drifted into the lack of full information because of the time insufficient!
At the breakfast table and having honey, milk, butter, cheese sandwich, tea, and both two color olives of Anatolia could give way to the most cordiality or rather frankness down right. It was about the same time I first heard the very word 'Alas' he hissed as a whistle.
The Armenian-(nodding toward the me) "You cannot estimate what a cruelty happened there!"
I-Some murders the state had committed with?
The Armenian-I wonder where could one have witnessed anything more horrific than murder? When the incidents had broken out my nephew-as a two years old baby-has been In the brace of his mom.
I-"Then the mops has attacked the Armenian baby..."
The Armenian-(wonderingly) "But how do you know?—"
I-"I never have found it myself but made an estimation. Why don’t you tell me it in full details?"
The Armenian(having been too much keen about it) "They-the baby's mother and dad, the relatives escorting them while they were coming back to home from, say, a picnic have been afraid to death but, crying out loud, they were nor lucky enough so they couldn't take to heels..."
I-"But they might have passed by the street in flames of state terror and could turn any corner directly towards the narrow lanes in peace."
The Armenian-(impressively) "The family with a baby pressed on the breast of mom has tried to take that chance." (I felt myself quietly drawing tears at that point.)
The Armenian (going on with his heart rending story)-"Just at that moment I mean just they were to cut it people would attack to-no matter how much queer and dramatic to say it-directly to the baby's mom. As her head was hit by a stick stout than that used in baseball , something similar to the parts of a brain-I mean a scattered brain- fell on the pavement with the kid crying. Surmising the bloody matter a brain's the mop would left the victims on the ground moaning like the oxen The Muslims used to throttle in religious festivals. And yet-thanks to God-the part gouged out her head skin was only a fatty dermal cist. Any question of the family's life after that attack? They are living in France happy and in grand security..."
THE REMINDER OF THE CHAPTER
There were crimes of The Soviet Socialist Republics of Stalin and all them should be based on logic. And yet the crimes of The Turkish Republic could be platonic, nonsense, full logic or smartly planned! The boundary between the crimes of The USSR and the Turkish Soviet could be clearly defined as one would see below:
In the second half of October 2014 The basketball team of Turkish Soviet’s Ayatollah F. GULEN Gang killed a Serbian lad in a basketball match.( Sırp taraftar bıçaklanarak öldürüldü, Galatasaray - Kızılyıldız ...
And the Penal Code of the Turkish Soviet would be unable to make the distinction between premeditation and holy-premeditation in this case for the militants of F. GULEN Gang’s team were shouting The most sacred motto of Islam wiz “ Allahuekber!”. ( Yeni Türkiye'de spor: Kızılyıldız taraftarı katledildi, terörist ...http://www.sendika.org/.../yeni-turk...dildi-te...gün önce - Galatasaray-Kızılyıldız basketbol maçı öncesinde Kızılyıldız ... alanda bekleyen Galatasaray taraftarları da tekbir getirerek saldırıya dahil olunca ...
So the Turkish Soviet decided to conceal the perfect crime namely Islamic Crime ought to be concealed. Especially in Ankara many measures have been taken. One of the great steps of those extraordinary measures was to cut the lines of Turk TELEKOM telephones and internet services over them. (Now the date is 25th November 2014/03 Hours PM and the lines are all cut around The French Embassy to Ankara. So if any new murderer would have planned to stab a French Officer at the back no neighbour of that victim could inform French Embassy in time.)
And yet the criminals of Islamic Terrorism obviously would be no longer helpless young militants who could plead religious love as their excuse. On the contrary, they might be-for instance-a governor loyal to F. GULEN and he might have a perfect philosophy, which can be used for any bloody purposes-even for transforming an anti Semitic fascist into a great leader of humanism. Yesterday-14th November 2014)-The Governor of Adriano-polis (EDİRNE) was awarded for he has shouted that he should never give any permission to any Jew to pray in the synagogue.
So the world must have been taught that The Turkish Soviet’s officially authorized vagabonds could kill everybody on earth in order to possess award from the state, but it would never occur The EU to say that has heard about those murders It is also reasonable or theoretically defensible The Turkish Soviet State to cut the lines of phones of everybody.
As for the cataclysm it has hit at last the Satanic crimes accused of Anti- Semitic crimes against both Gulf Arabs and Innocent Jews above! All those evils of the common enemy of the humanity namely anti Semitic secret Soviet state in Turkey thereof alongside with the different parts of its body namely The ULKE TV. of T.ERDOGAN has completed it. Actually the bridge between the Semitic Brethren could find the chance of being built over the blasphemy of that ULKE TV. that attacked both Jews and Gulf Arabs. That evil political apparatus and theft or corruption gage of ERDOGAN has insulted both The King of Saudi Arabia and Mr. Netanyahu of Israel. That ULKE TV. swore both the king and the other innocent man using the same dirty words: "The beasts, the dogs of The USA, and ULKE TV. of ERDOGAN has added to its insults that Turkey should crash the puppet pillar of states of both Israel and Gulf Arabs as the first step. What is the second step, eh? From the of ULKE TV. Israel and Arabic States had been warned by the Ottoman Empires that Turkish conquerors should occupy The Middle East again. (Sıradşı Tarih Ülke TV-22 Kasım 2014-Prof. Dr. Mehmet Çelik)
About the arrival at Erzurum-The favorite city of Alexander Pushkin, one could not make any significant remark if one wasn't living there. Now come on and imagine a chain of mountains having got a hairy-green-flora on it, and when some misty clouds would touch the mountain's congruous surface one could see the water drops at the top of every green peace there even from the distance of at least ten miles. The Hair should be stood up after the passing of clouds began speed up and yet thereof the bare-lacking woods-would be insisting, I'm sure, in existing the same monotonous scenery. If one were be able to fly over the city everything could take one up with but The Wood. After my arrival I have stopped altogether every now and then to find any orchard yet could see only some lonely elms each standing many meters far from the other. I was during one of these observations when everything was still bared-even-of anything similar to woods, I heard the caw of cows and I asked the first soldier if he has seen any forest around the reply should be: “Soil seems as after a great fire, doesn’t it?” and I thought it does so.
It kept the soldier's reply in mind: how much getting a soil might be woodless there should become a majority of The Female escaping from streets and smile because smiling might be commented as the green light for making love. Erzurum was to have no chance for changing this rule: no forest no identification of sex The Female. Methinks it's too much weird when it sounds that dating should be accepted by The female as a misdemeanor if not a sin or crime.Any soldier in Erzurum Garrison may have replied my question emphasizing same somehow " Don't percept them with the same optimism that everything is so much quiet and clear here where is no tradition of dance in the ball rooms or watching the ballerinas without scrutinizing their anal region before catching the harmony between the music and the figures of dance. The people here couldn't forget the institutions of European civilization, and through the gentle behaviors of The Tsar's they loved another force of the Europe-L'OTAN yet the sexual fog so heavy in the city the people of Erzurum couldn't discern going to bed from inviting any lady to dance.
The important thing in Erzurum, therefore, is not to smile, but, the world being what it is necessary, to learn dating in it. As yet this city is in the age of negation regarding sex, it is of some avail to examine one’s position concerning to find a foreign girl-as they call them who are out of the city out-offer dating.. In a medium of anti-sex way of life we must examine our position in relation to deprave a beautiful one no matter she would be a psycho or not. If getting marriage has rational principles, then we are to behave irrationally in an approach as a consequent of principles. If The Male had nothing to be a part of the foundation namely marriage, then we could be sane forever.
I' rather repeat it again: “If a girl couldn't smile she’s a tomboy sure enough," but having not said it before how the devil could I say it again. Someone should get me out of here because I treat my new sayings as well known proverbs. And then both I and the reader ought to remember them that neither anybody nor I had been uttered before. Then everybody have to keep a lookout for any of the references of the “Tomboy Girl” who hadn’t been observed yet even not by Darwin Adding to that I have met with a soldier who implied: “It’s probably I have not implied anything" and told me to have to be prudent while talking of The Female. I grabbed an admonition and gave up the idea of jumping in The Female of any city generally. And yet I could recognize them over their sullen faces crying all the time under the consciousness of theirs, couldn’t I, boys? Oh...That's enough for a writer in having been dragged out of manners. God shield us-we authors especially when we would turn to the reader who all answer: “Yes sir.” What does yes or sir mean here. That’s how I am able to give such a direct instruction for you. Actually this course belongs to Simone de Beauvoir and she was teaching us that not the man nor the woman would have to have got any special face peculiar to their sex down right!
The instant output:
I stopped thinking of The Female when I go to the hotel very near to the Train Station for I decided to start a work matching to the dating stricken like me. just as the misty atmosphere rose upon my gloomy behaviors writhing in that mug . (During the Soldier’s story I have been looking at him with an expression of happiness of approval. And yet one might observe the deep stupefaction on my face based not on inquiry but on being after the same prejudices to be heard by other people. The I am not any longer being unable to decide. And I decided! I would rather to create-or let's say for the sake of manners make-of a girl face after changing her tomboy's feature.Whether the Tomboy girls of Erzurum would be holding out against my draft or making me a laughing stock or not even turning to my side on purpose-good or bad-but passing by the, say, buffets alongside the boulevard I should get my coke. I thought a good hotel would be useful for me for gaining more power to carry out the mission of the episode for the time being. But the first-that of the main text-after listening to the soldier’s explanation with intense interest I ought to go quickly to the hotel room of mine reserved before semi officially. (Of The Female: removing the tomboy girls' common feature from the existence they share over that notorious earnestness if not sullen face...)
I reinforced my intentions, designs, plans, and inquiry systematization. I have turn to my face towards the hotel surrounded by bazaars and little ateliers of artisans whose chief instructors had been The Armenian before the hottest war days of the year 1915. After a while I was at the gate of the hotel. The valet ran and took my middle size valise. He would guide me to the reception first for noticing if any reservation had been made or not. That’s right way because of the unnamed civil war in the Eastern and Southeastern regions of Turkey. More scrutinizing the institutions would be better than the people in charge of security should be sleeping.
The dinner, Turkish coffee escorted by fresh water of the mountains, tipping the waiter who dared to crack a joke shamefully platitude-saying "I like your type that is written in Turkish tip-concluding the routine jobs of the empty evenings to deal with no matter one would be at one's home or a hotel in the favorite city of our great poet Alexander Pushkin-ERZURUM. Of course the rituals should wait one after all: praying, reading, watching TV 24 both in English or EN FRANCAIS, and at the end of these recitals before sleep of the individual belonging to bourgeois then lo towards the bed.
After taking a good sleep rigged with dreams God knows who has produced them for us frequently in a way flue generally and very lucid occasionally I'd jumped from inside of the layers consisting of warm blanket and tepid the quilt into a briskly cool day promising as if saluting me “Aye, Aye sir.”
At the breakfast table so much richer than that of the express train I have put myself in a self imposed questioning: Coming in ERZURUM or going to stay where I am?
THE INFINITE NOVEL BY SOLZHENITSOF
VARVARA PAVLOVA thought she would observe a dead love as the love between her son of in law and her daughter if she should be involved in the classical family problems of the average European family. "Before a while" she mumbled herself " I was sitting apposite the two tepid figures from the point of biological excitement looking at to each other with masked faces with eyes looking like holes in the ash having got only-in between-sporadic sparkles.
Alex ( while he mutters) was gnawing some considerations..."Senseless meeting of beggars is ours! (He tried to get an image of his mask-maybe a portrait-without using a looking glass, and go on with gnawing more or less the same thing) Let me give up the blown up balloons they call the pillars of an healthy family. (The words take the web of systematization and his revolt glide swiftly away from the problems linking to sex towards the future). "The future" he repeated in silence "is always the main property of the Europe, and European future has got the power to which The Human is the second in the very conception of being important."
His young wife would be in this scenario as the daughter of Lady PAVLOVA The fresh incidents-either disputing or reaching the peace-ripples over the flawing moments shared by the certain spouses ready to be observed by the moms in love-both from the side of bride and bride groom-who should be too much attentive while observing newly wedded pairs.
Alex went on crying in a tone out of the ear's hearing capacity" some words of the people constructing a new family could show that all speeches spoken argumentatively under the holy roof of the home-in another saying 'home sweet home'-might not be perceived as an utterance of anybody to help but of the beggar after being helped. We-the family hold are all cheap beggars all over the world. And yet it turned out-in centuries-we European beggars are not wanting anything for nothing at all as they used to do around the spoiled Bosporus. "The exact truth" according to Alex, as everybody could catch on the explanations of Islamic terror godfathers like those around the Bosporus is that, "if the Taliban's bloody bandits, Syria-Iraq Islamic State butchers kill Judeo Christians babies the world will plea the murderers 'pardon us for being throttled by your militants' so, the New Ottoman politicians could find the chance to remark what we have just lived in WTC attacks might be seen as something almost unbelievable." He continued to murmur silently: Then the butchers might wash their hands and, as a last resource, go on with beseeching Vienna to conquer the heart of the art of The Europe."
The drawing room overlooks the main street before the new block in Alex's flat district. Though it was a fine late afternoon-if it's not a word an afternoon of golden oranges dominated all over The North Pole wherein no Russian inurbane settlements' people know neither, the folk's paving blocks gray in the contrary of the surrounding hued for two millenniums. glistening. What these few people-Madam VARVARA, her son in low and her nice daughter white around girdles to the thumbs putting aside her knees slightly darker than the milky skin before mentioned.
Coming back to the "main street" above, actually the people had been used-after the Bulgarians have been rescued from the Ottoman Torture alongside with other people from all of the other Balkan States to be seemed busy in it in a hurry rational or irrational yet in a mixture of The Female and The Male. But it must-first of all-be remembered that there couldn't be many, say more than a dozen of ladies amongst many hundreds men to be reported filling the streets, except the Muslim women visiting their parents, relatives and the like, and the Christian females outdoors for their Sunday service-they having been in charge of the children had to hold small ones' hands tightly for the boys with short trousers and their sisters in skirts instead of wearing long, large, ridiculous semi pants of Janissaries as Muslim girls would prefer... While the Eastern and Western Europeans have been creating creative artists in all branches of fine arts the Balkan People couldn't manage to show the same skill for the people down to their knees would be able to feel "The Ache" but be not able to name "The Ache"! And let me remind The Reader of the rule of fine arts: No ache unnamed could create the fine arts of which ultimate goal should be happiness of the human especially of their souls!
One might dare to claim that The Balkan People-under the mandate of The Ottomans were unhappy every moment yet rather uneasy in the Sundays. What was that they felt behind them was their fathers' rational discipline. Instead they disgusted being open arbitrarily beheading as a wild punishment of vagrants who might have forgiven only fat women because they loved obesity in the case of The Female. Of course the executioners in dusty brown semi skirt-blood stained-uniforms couldn't be the fatty women lovers authorized to forgive the victims but their commanders whose duty wouldn't be defined definitely viz. those who were to be itching their paunch after nearly every execution-throttling bewildered prisoners who should generally have not been trialled and judged to any sentence but would have got acquaintance with the butchers by sight only a little while before they should give the last breath of theirs for nothing at all. The executioners used not to have a hat nevertheless have a stick to beat the victims. Maybe the hat revolution has been made in their near history for that reason. And yet the administrators around the Bosporus like today to execute the people without any trial-Alex at that point remembered The Nurse's death over unlawful state execution after she has parted from Sofia's Refugee Centre and went back to her motherland namely Turkey- on the contrary they like butterfly ties as worldwide known English gentlemen do. Seeing him beside his wife Alex began to weep, instead of the of his mom in law couldn't have estimated why he should be drawn to tears in a good European family he had got after having been married with a lovely mademoiselle. (Or rather to be called as madam no matter before or after marriage. Now come on and remember that the butchers of Syria-Iraq Islamic State wouldn't accept to marry with an unmarried madam never even if they had known that their rejection might be the cause of serving a hundred year penalty in a jail similar to the dirty, hard smelling undergrounds of Damascus or Baghdad!
Next to Alex's mind, came a group of VIP Questions of three "W"s why, where and who... Those key words should be scrutinized from the point of officially shed “bloods...
The blood of the nurse who was murdered after rescuing a little Jewish girl from The HUN HANE-The hospital of children organ trade- running by two states-the state of The Bosporus Soviet and the state of Ayatollahs! Besides the slain Armenian journalist HRANT DINK* has been-over executing show to beguile that some of racist rascals killed on behalf of pseudo TURCO-ISLAMIC ideology-murdered in the same way! (*see in GOOGLE please.)
The Secret Soviet State of Turkey** after the ridiculous hat revolution prohibiting to wear fez would got caps, hats even melons matching to coats, suits, waists, neck ties, modern shoes instead of amorphous, handmade boots but should stand still at the same point of throttling people without trial. Alex guessed Constantinople*** were going to one of the big white screen in the centre of the World's Cinema based on hocus-pocus. That was why he had started out immediately laughing under his breath and talking to himself at the lowest hertz of the human voice to rename the two main key words of this novel:
Not The Secret Soviet State of Turkey but THE SOVIET BOSPORUS STATE
AND ISTANBUL OF BOSPORUS SOVIET STATE instead of Occupied Constantinople.
In the favourite city of Alexander Pushkin-ERZURUM again:
After they had gone out of the main gate of the hotel, my question network-about the method that I'd have pursue in searching the last ethnic minorities' children kidnapped by the official organ trade gang" members or paramilitary groups-filling the agenda of my work seemed gradually emptied. By that time all routine attempts of mine must have begun. The message which has just come tom my cell phone was advising that I shouldn't ask anything anybody-from taxi drivers to the deserted horses ad hoc the special mission but the Pro-NATO Turkish or Kurdish good Muslims of which the most important personalities could be found in the southern quarter of the city. Near the sacred tombs of the saints bordering the highway the sky-as I have been warned or rather rejoiced-used to be sunshiny even while it would be raining, but be lightened by soft beams.
The saints' tombs on the each sides of the bundle of streets and especially the jewellers could be observed with their antic chairs the pavement in front of their shop giving them the chance to sit astride any basic object but the holy tombs. The streetcar routs which were planned to pass by those sepulchres and to make crowded stops empty almost every ten minutes. In magnificent quarter-the Tabriz Gate, the Shabbat fountain having got three David's stars curved in a line on the monumental face the fountain's facets were classically mounted each one adjacent to each other keeping the five inch intervals. And their waters was murmuring kept within melodic nine comma intervals too.
Beside those holy points there were banks under the lonely elms wherein one cannot manage to catch any female silhouette and perceive the unwritten rule of the Sunni belief availing here: Hereby religion would welcome every sort of relationship humanly except to see The Female taking a rest on the banks of a park.
I didn't turned my direction towards any park and walked towards the city's highway coming from the west and going to the east along touching to the southern-KYBELE-district. I myself like all the directions of salvation, belief, prayer, tolerance, aiding, fasting, briefly making the every good creature that would be surrounding us to carry to minds Good Samaritans. As it was more comfortable to be a good believer or a benign atheist in this way I tried to keep hissing prayers I know and sniff out of the passengers near me. After making some speculations of my interesting obsession to formulate both dating and regime of the country I live in I reached the upshot of the hour around midday: There might be no doubt that the mankind have invented lobe after they had got acquaintance with religion, got the tablet of "Ten orders", and returned to the window of the heart to see it their sweethearts there.
Soon after I reached the southern part of the city , the sky clouded over, and I thought the rain was coming. However, instead the clouds have condensed the sun beams began to tear every shadow and they showed me the Father RASIM namely the last saint's sepulchre. All the same, the huge drops of the sudden rain peculiar to mountainous regions have left in the narrow roads a sort of threat of rain, which made them-gradually-darker in searching the holy place even it used to be bright every moment as I have been told. So it would be unnecessary to stay watching the sky for quite a while, and in some minutes there was a loud religious ballade having been sung by a moderate choir accompanied by the biggest tambourine of the universe. The sounds were coming from behind the door-made of ash tree, sure-opening to the two part entrance-one parted for serving to hook over coats and put out the shoes in summer time and boots, galoshes and the like in the winter. The main access adjacent to that platform were giving way the little waiting room had got two staircases one of them climbing upwards and the people were standing on the steps. Then the carved oak side board with its crystal glass dominated brown showcase. The mirror escorting these parts of classical furniture would be attracting very much deeply the attention of the people brought themselves here inattentively! I knew I was to be the most apt one on alert incessantly and understand that I couldn't introduce my excuses by means of a little suitcase everybody could carry.
The hymn singers were crying not any word belonging to worldly tongues but a syllable universal “Huh” and one of them looked up at me and shouted, “how could you be upstairs without using the staircase and penetrating through the door instead of opening it?” I waved my hand and invited him to accept the things as they were, and added “Good rituals to you!” And yet from then on the problem of how I could go in a hall above the entrance on the level of highway, you know, the basement. There was a steady stream of questions regarding my assenting the hall higher than the entrance I have been and penetrating the ash tree door-at least one hundred years old dyed for many times actually the colours from the fist dying to that of last having been left on it anyhow: white, green, brown and green again but to some extent in metallic tone.
The sky must had changed again; because a scarlet glow was spreading up beyond the windows. I have learned at last: "As dusk set in, the ruined mansion of the Saint RASIM the father grew more alight. Speculations I myself made returning from their flying across somewhere forced me having got tentative, and I stepped down using the staircase that I should confess I have never used before. I noticed also little but awfully enigmatic observation. Regretfully the stairs going down words could not reach anywhere but the same place whereof they were to begin descending . It is this: "Descend much more lower you would ascend to the basement you might start descending." Then I began to consider that if I were a fat man at the very side of a fat wife-I have been being imagine that I had got married with the girl in The Bosporus Soviet State-could I have manage to use the staircases?
After all I tried and went upstairs. To my great surprise what were I face after climbing the staircase of the tomb-God knows the saint, herein, has been alive or dead-the same chanting group and the same man amongst them and shaking his finger asked me how I could went down-from the entrance-not using any steps and penetrating through the oak door which was as same as that of upstairs passing by the sepulchre. Waving my hand as before I warned him of the situation of mine, you know, not passing by but visiting this holy place. Then came some children were-apparently-following me having panted and drawing themselves wearily after me as if I was their parent.
After some minutes the local pious crowds began to flow into the semi tomb semi sepulchre house where I was forced the metamorphosis which would turn my mission of research into that of an ordinary audiences. I noticed that the people there has been divided two groups: those in charge of chanting in the chorus of hymnals and the men approving them with their heads that seemed a little dizzy because of being shaken for a long time. And, strange to say, some younger ones were gesturing more vigorously than the elder brothers of theirs who were to be satisfied with shaking head only. The scenery I try to describe aimlessly was no doubt of the wild-East ritual variety. Those who had been to the semi shrine house in the middle of the southern part of the city would come to its end for it looked more sedate, though a few were still crying the well known motto-huh! Though they were near to finish the ritual there was none-except me-worried and on the whole I seemed exhausted because what I was doing there was not linked to love more or less. There were a crowd not consisting of homogenous personalities because of my rational existence. Remember: rational behaviours do push you in a situation that couldn't be conciliated with that of those carried by enthusiasm of love! So I should keep my mind safe and sound to ponder rationally in order to run away from the place of RASIM the Father whom I should visit for the sake of my mission. No pray, no mission and I would have begrudged of the chance to give a good shape to my fate. Briefly this position has been the fate dictated to me. O the rescuer-The Messiah! (I wished if He should rescue even from the rescuers one might run into everywhere.) After dipping into the thickest philosophy I couldn't remain loitering from one door to the other nor that I had used to enter neither the other ones opening only to each other but exit. Then I have heard the saint RASIM the father ordering me to stand still and to find me in the street under the window of my hotel room where-as I have been illuminated by The Father-a group of postmen have been coming by, walking arm in arm, would carry me a parcel that should be the letter I had not been waiting. The youngest postman just under my hotel room's gave the letter of which envelope has got golden symbols hitched to it.
I must have shouted humorous remarks when I came back to the hotel, the people ascending-or descending-within the glass cabins of the modern lifts of the hotel turned their heads towards the staircases I have rushed upwards and the ladies amongst them giggled. I recognized them as The Female from the pages of my novel my and yet none of them I knew. Instead it seemed to me even that they waved to me. Can it be true? Exactly no... Nevertheless under the oppression of The Bosporus Soviet State the lovely-should they be lovely indeed-faces of The Female would frequently seem to The Male that they would be giggling and even waving their hands. Then I have successfully managed to rush into my room. And I have read-many times or rather over and over again- the letter that has been written to me by my ex teacher from lyceum. Just then the street lamps came on, all together, and they made the stars that were beginning to glimmer in the night sky paler still. I felt my eyes getting tired, what with the lights and all the movement I’d been watching in the street. There were marvellous oceans of hope, motivation, optimism and pools of energizers designed hereby for merely purveying the miracle opened before my agenda namely the great surveillance of mine devoted to dating-generally- to be understood and to be made privately under the trees, within the dark cabins of non-lucid lifts and the like. Then a streetcar passed by my hotel having got the people wrapped by its hustling I could hear behind the windows of my room. I, in my obsession like Female conception, yeah I might be sure it has stirred up some ladies blond hairs. After this consideration I would be happy of finding another great chance to make concrete criticising produce realistic speculations about the Bosporus Soviet State's regime from the point of both dating and its ethnic cleansing that had done away with The Armenian in the very year of 1955 in Istanbul-the real capital city of the Bosporus Soviet State.
As the starless sky turned its silky gray colour into navy blue above the trees and street lamps, I still was reading through the letter but my suspicious faculties of my mind looking-for inquiring the reality in the details-if it had been a joke grew more and more nonsense, almost imperceptibly, until I have came to the outputs in tree points of my ex teacher's letter when there were no strange points above ERZURUM but stars brightly winking. Nothing except those three points could be deducted over his letter claiming clearly that:
-A seminary concerning with the subject of environmental pollution problems would be attended in Istanbul of Bosporus Soviet State immediately,
-DAMLA-representing The Female worth to be my darling by proxy if I might qualified her meaning in my world would be in the seminary hall for four days for introduction amongst the students chosen ad hoc the subject,
-VARVARA PAVLOVA, Alex and his wife-the daughter of lady PAVLOVA would be present there!
Obviously my ex teacher had been writing down only useful things for me so that when I read it thoroughly I should go down, take a taxi to airport, and to buy a one way ticket to Istanbul-the actual capital city of the Bosporus Soviet State, and after coming back to the hotel I should prepare to fly with the first plane! Inasmuch as I bought the ticket for the morning flight to the west. I’d like to spend some quarters at the pavements and to smoke a big PAZAR cigar that produced in Anatolian Eastern Coast of The Black Sea but the night has turned rather chilly enough to decide against it and I went to bed.
As I was coming back to Bosporus Soviet State's capital city-Istanbul, after a good flight I glanced at the Turkish news papers that used to take the role of mirror reflecting the intellectual life of Turkey-as if it is possible to give news about anything that could be existing anyhow while lacking existence-and I looked for the seminar at least squeezed within a short paragraph and thanks to God I got something through the papers of the H...Gazette...Huh!
The next day I had a busy morning at the home of my ex teacher. As in the days of lyceum he was in a good humour. He even poked of me for I didn't seem too tired, and followed it up by asking about the saint-RASIM the father, if he has been alive or not. I thought a bit, then answered, “To some extend he was alive and has been carrying on with sceneries of absurd drama he had started to put on scene when he was about sixty. As for his age now he should be at least one hundred years old if he had not died of old age instead of I didn’t want to make anything negative which might make him made to look bewildered. Then he ask me "why, I can’t imagine, can I ?" so he seemed to think that remark closed the matter.
There was a pile of bills of electricity, heating, phone calls and water spent waiting on his table in the study, and I had to beguile him as if not seeing them all. . Before leaving for lunch I found a chance to ask him how and by whom I would be installed into the name list of the people to participate in the seminary. In all my life I always enjoyed doing critical things at midday for instance to give up offering the first dating time to an girl. Don't laugh at me that I couldn't be anybody to offer anything like that to any mademoiselle. Suppose the subject is of a madam what should make any change in the matter. So you see I was to shot "down with all regimes democratic or dictatorial I'm after dating!"
The next day I had a busy morning at the home of my ex teacher. As in the days of lyceum he was in a good humour. He even poked of me for I didn't seem too tired, and followed it up by asking about the saint-RASIM the father, if he has been alive or not. I thought a bit, then answered, “To some extend he was alive and has been carrying on with sceneries of absurd drama he had started to put on scene when he was about sixty. As for his age now he should be at least one hundred years old if he had not died of old age instead of I didn’t want to make anything negative which might make him made to look bewildered. Then he ask me "why, I can’t imagine, can I ?" so he seemed to think that remark closed the matter.
There was a pile of bills of electricity, heating, phone calls and water spent waiting on his table in the study, and I had to beguile him as if not seeing them all. Before leaving for lunch I found a chance to ask him how and by whom I would be installed into the name list of the people to participate in the seminary. In all my life I always enjoyed doing critical things at midday for instance to give up offering the first dating time to an girl. Don't laugh at me that I couldn't be anybody to offer anything like that to any mademoiselle. Suppose the subject is of a madam what should make any change in the matter. So you see I was to shot "down with all regimes democratic or dictatorial I'm after dating!"
And yet I confess that it was less pleasant, as the client of a retailer would do, being informed about the price after the goods bought should learn the sum to be paid used. Regretfully that kind of fate dictated or supported by "The Female, was turning to be the basic part of the daily life of ours: to learn the total sum of the bill to be footed by The Male after getting in touch with them. I once brought this to my father’s notice. It was ridiculous, he agreed but he preserved it-I mean the framework of our classical Mediterranean Family-with all his power. All jokes aside his mind would be clearly reflecting his abandoning the main subject to deal with mere details. I left the ex teacher's home in a way of hasting than usual, at-Ante Meridian-half-past twelve, with the information that my participation to the seminary had been designed over the collaboration of the NGO which had sent me to the Pushkin's favourite city-Erzurum, and by ex-teacher of mine at Lyceum. By the way it turned out that he was working in the Istanbul-the actual capital city of Bosporus Soviet State-Municipality Cultural Department. The locality-therein the ex teachers house was-was overlooking the sea, and my ex teacher and I paused for a moment on the steps climbing to the gate of the garden in which the flats and his apartment to look at the shipping in Bosporus. Why? For nothing at all, and there should be another question: why is its name BOGAZ ICI instead of Bosporus? The wind from the direction of Russia was scorching icy. Came just then a mini cooper, with a strip from its baggage bulging to the bumper adjacent to the front fires, and all these details has been proving to me that they suggested me to take part in a seminary into which I should jump. After saying "good-by" to the teacher I started to run I couldn't know why I did so. The car was not going away, and I hadn't to chase it. I felt a slight dizziness and I could not decide if it had been with me since my birth up till now. All I was conscious of was my baseless rush along the road amongst the people some of whom ought to be assumed as The Male sharing my heart aches and yet they wouldn't do the same things I did there. Instead of my consciousness I took a flying jump, landed safely, and tried to do the same attractions forever. I was not out of breath instead of all extra ordinary activity, and went on to pant in the ears of the passers-by. “I have pulled it off ” was only the explanation of my baseless deeds there. The I reached the minibus stop I used to use while backing home from the school.
JUMP AND LAND ON THE FUTURE
(Read this annex after the finale please...)
I would be dripping with sweat in my arm chair installed before the TV set which for the most part of channels list full of those I used to name them Turkish TV canalisations. Thirty years or around after I had got married with DAMLA a kind of The Female from the biggest metropolis-if not de facto capital city-of Bosporus Soviet State. DAMLA was at his usual place beside the entrance opening to both the hall and the kitchen, with his apron making her fatty appearance more obese than it should be, her yellow sporadic hairs of geriatric period created -would be-beard. When I saw her wrapped with such negative findings she might be sympathetic and I should be to salute her with a platitude “I would be to feel too happy as you see.”
"No" I said not so, “No,” but I felt extremely hungry both for saying such deep friendly things and heard them. Alas we-spouses of a family living in Istanbul namely the biggest metropolis of Bosporus Soviet State-ate-seemingly very quickly the friendship after the last love induced things and had not got any relationship which one could call friendship. The citizens who are-no doubt being the putrefied remnants of The Ottoman Empire's standard people-the citizens of The Bosporus Soviet State would evaluate the family by means of everything but friendship. So if no ingredients of the family shouldn't be seen any more every steps would be used to finish it up no matter over divorcing or letting the spouses to gnaw each other cynically to death. Then I rescued my body-or rather my ***-from the arm chair and threw myself at the bed in broad daylight to take a good nap, as if I’d drunk a big bottle of Turkish ouzo.
When I woke I went on with pondering the same things before going to and getting off my bed. I was a bit late to go out of home going nowhere but escaping from a certain place. Should it be my own house I sought to live anyhow? The drawing room was psychologically stifling, and I was kept hard at it all the hours before going to bed again. So it might come as a relief when I would go out. The horizon out of the windows was pink, and it would be too much salubrious to be out-of-doors then. However, I stayed at home, as I had to wait fried meat balls and potato chips.Then the hall was first to be growing dark and, when I was starting up to put the lights on, I almost bumped into the old cat that used to be floundering in the same corridors of our house as I. Usually, our old cat had its soft little balls to roll on the dark corners. For eight years our cat had been inseparable from the family but its protest mewing has never been more brutal than the spouses' screams of the family-even if a chronic optimist could call it so- living herein.
THE INFINITE NOVEL OF M. SOLZHENITSOF
(Dating and Regime)
By Prof. Mesolzhenitsy
There was a great day after the seminar has came to end and it's to be spent in a witty and very speedy way. My ex teacher must have been-during the Seminar-afflicted with scrotal itch while trying to find a chance for giving a lunch to mange in time for the great household of VARVARA PAVLOVA were to back Bulgaria before evening.
And an unexpected pretext happened. I suspect; my ex teacher has invited a white lie anyhow that the day after the seminar was his birth day. Methinks he would have lost all his hair if he couldn't reach any solution to make the Turkish girl DAMLA of Bulgarian stock and I to meet, get acquaintance with each other and to start a walk towards our happy marriage. Perhaps through the hunger for dating with DAMLA observed by my ex teacher from Lyceum and he has cooped up with my avarice has come to the moral obligation to solve the dating problem of mine.
His tenderness must have reached at the highest point for having been rejoicing me with good tidings related to the fake birthday planned thoroughly to give way to me to meet with my idol from the point of dating or rather from a baseless point thoroughly. While he was happy on my part he would-with healthy, pink cheeks and a light on his face-be surmised as my rescuer. Adding to it he has developed something of an entrepreneur' s queer hunched-up posture. I remember he always has got his smelling ability stretched far forward and some school friends of mine and I, very odd to explain now, have caught him red handed to listen to the door of the teachers meeting hall. But, much more oddly he was indulging in such misdemeanours for the sake of the students to warn them of the undesirable considerations about the handicapped ones early enough to give chance to them in augmenting the critical points. Having his exaggerated affinity to his obsession in saving his students been known by the rest of the teachers they detest him.
There was, even, a rumour about his over sympathy with us-his students in those good old days-that twice a day, morning and evening, he has taken his measures to eavesdrop and to get more information about both eager beaver teachers' caprices and the mischief of unsuccessful students for making some reconciliations on behalf of us if needed , and for six years of the secondary school and Lyceum those biting backs targeting our ex-teacher's tenderness have never varied. You can see the awful truth of education here: all of the teachers with the exception for him who was after nothing but our success were full of mischief and the naughty students were no less than them. So in the empty corridors of the school during the lesson time one could see only the fugitive shadows of our golden heart ex teacher and the vagrants stealing the hours of routine education behind the mask of a harmless pupil.
I have understood for the time being that my ex teacher had been pulling his students along the boulevard of good pointes in exams as hard as he can, till finally mischief of capricious teachers couldn't take any step against the pupils-good or bad-and nearly should see their malice fall flat. Then he would punish the teachers whose caprice might give harm us. As for the Female in the eternal case of dating there would be big question: Should The Female give up their ultimate goal viz. observing The male having been cowered and lagged behind them? From the point of The Male's debacle, regretfully, The female wouldn't even deign to drag the lagging victims along. Presently ex teacher seems forgetting the bitter experiences he might taste in his marriage as every male spouses.
If he had been caught read handed in spying to get news in order cope with the bad news from the side of teachers' hall or from the administration of the school on behalf of the naughty students to make them passing exams with flying colours he would have behaved as if there were nothing to be ashamed of and got another hiding and another source to use in spying. In helping his pupils he might not be more abused for he should have not halted in a corner crossing his arms and accepted being a mere spectator while any examination turning to show tort from the bad points of any students. Naughty pupil and our ex teacher would make a non-classical pair of teaching and learning ones on the contrary of the classical teacher and learner who should glare at each other; the naughty pupil with terror and the teacher with hatred dominating the eyes, and every time they’re together, this happens: when the pupil wouldn't keep up with the class the master should want him to do so.
Now he drags on towards a girl who will probably have left behind her after we'll have divorced-if having got married- only a trail of abstract faeces as it could happen after the collapsed marriage that would have been devoid of friendship at the very moment of the debut of wedding process. I confess that as more aloud I could praise the friendship should be taken first in priority from the point of The Male used to be showing addiction to The Female. Enough is enough for now...Let we shall see the main subject to be disputed within frame work to be shared with DAMLA-my abstract darling, other people and my inquisitive existence over the invited birth day party of our dear ex-teacher from The Lyceum!
THE BIRTH DAY* PARTY OF EX-TEACHER
(If one knows his real date of birth he may be accused for having made it* up)
Within the frame work of the impending talks in that birth day party I have been well informed of them, and no hidings is needed hereby. Every things have been going on as my ex teacher and I shared in our routine like sporadic conversations for some weeks, and my ex teacher used to say my avarice to choose only dating and-or-regime as my high lights over all sort of topics a “ righteous crying ” adding that "something should be done about it; and really he can be sure of what's needed." When I met him in the café, he usually would be ready to bawl at me, calling me slightly coward, a great lad without a girl to date with, and so forth, and the I was to some extent sighing. I would say, “Good evening,” at the end of our café cessions but the old fellow took no notice and went on pitying me. After I have called by the famous NGO by phone I understood that he’d ask them to offer me a work matching to my qualifications. Altogether instead of my asking about that event I could gain nothing as an answer. Yes he wouldn’t answer, but would go on pitying me...
THE CHARACTERS TAKING PART IN THE PARTY
Varvara Pavlova: A VIP lady in Sofia-Bulgaria
The Newly wedded Girl of Varvara Pavlova
Alex: Madam Pavlova's son of law
Nathalie: The beautiful nephew of Lady Pavlova
My Ex-Teacher in Lyceum, and I
Damla-The girl living in my family's neighborhood (Also a relative of Nathalie)
SCENE-A splendid hall on the top floor of one of the new hatched towers around PERA in the centre of The Bosporus Soviet State's Actual Capital-Istanbul . The wall paper is so much vivid to carry Hawaii, Seychelles, Maldives, and trifling Indian Ocean Isles as a whole.
There are all direction window- in front looking out on the rainbow color producing and purveying them on the orange, cherry, lemon, brownish violet illuminations of Bosporus Bridges' réverbérs on which enlightened area nothing could be seen because of flickering beans drawing both geometric and non-geometric figures swimming in the air as a bottle of whisky on the waves of an angry sea. On the left is a door leading to a French balcony. On the left the lights would be showering the alcoholic beverage service trays with dazzling chandeliers of the corridor leading to waiters army hall and the kitchen adjacent to it and to the rich, complicated articles of the toilet-sets for ladies and gentlemen. Above all there are several crystal mirrors with gilded frames by means of invisible gadgets making their faultless occlusion to the walls of which borders are made of golden. In the middle of the luxury stands a golden rigged, round table in antiquity class made of curved oak and majestic arm chairs around it. In the northern corner near the emergency exit before which a people in charge of safety is standing still.
Several electric ampoules hidden behind some gilded applications or around the baroque furniture's side wings seeming as created in a one and unique entity together with the contents in their buffets having been embraced the mirrors enriching only the lights but all shapes, figures, appearances, all kind of features and the place they would full. Alex, a blue eyed and straw haired young woman looking thirty is sitting on one of the arm-chairs of luxury chair drinking vodka. A Chinese porcelain plate full of fried Turkish nuts, almonds and specialties as pistachio nuts on a little table like accessory beside him. His mother in law-Lady PAVLOVA having been wearing a hat a la mode, is also drinking something near him. Nathalie is dressed in the silky toilet extremely of noble fashion. She has got no piercing but platinum earrings in her ears, gold bracelets, and a quantity of rings-each of them fashionable, high quality and high price. Her face is that of a mademoiselle at the very threshold of adolescence instead she is in an advanced stage of to be a angel like bride.
As her eloquence her attitude is one of the deepest affection inviting first of all friendship. She is ready to heed to all words-including those of hers- to be exchanged during the birth day party-however it might have been made up by our ex teacher- and when she glances over hall, saying not of her great and genuine tenderness, her expression grows maternal. From time to time she smiles a broad smile-a neat, cozy gesture that could influence everybody present there.
The time is in the late afternoon availing later than it should to be because of seasonal time monitoring of the Bosporus Soviet State. The traditional LODOS whining of the malicious southern wind of Istanbul where the Bosporus Soviet State hides is heard incessantly. Under the steering factor of special effects of time and the influence of the outdoors that affects everything the guests of the party gets around the grand table of the hall that majestically takes place in the centre of them that have been described above.
Sonia-(looking directly at my pupils) You goody! Why do you call me Alex's wife or the daughter of VARVARA PAVLOVA?
I-(laughing aloud and very bitterly) What a question I got! Here is my answer: I do so because Alex is you husband and Lady VARVARA is your mother.
Sonia-(Having a sudden fit of chuckling coughing) come on and answer me without using any elements of my question.
I- And you want me not to talk with you. If there cannot be any possibility giving way to Lady VARVARA to be Sonia's mom and prohibit Sonia called as the daughter of VARVARA PAVLOVA...
Sonia-(Turn her face to DAMLA) Keep hold off this lad from the chance of getting acquaintance with you. (Then she sighs and murmurs) What a life! Ought poor kids not to have any proper names! (She leans over to the little plate of pickle and gobbles a little part of green tomato) I know the effect of putting down something, instead of putting forward a worthy thing from the point of a healthy talk is ghastly.
DAMLA-(Having too much opened a pair of blackened eyes-exaggeratedly- made up contrasting enormously her silky brawn hair) Who is he? (And pointing to me with his finger falling out of manners she asks again) Is this it you warned me of?
I-( making a rough innuendo about the dabs of rouge on her cheeks) It's MESOLZHETITSY serving your cheeks to be observed as a finding of a feverish illness.(And adding to my speaking gap open to be accepted as anon-gentle reciprocal)No lady, no, don't take amiss and give me a little chance to say the name of illness I just purveyed to the chattering: La Grippe not Consumption.
As she has just completed her toilet after my cracking joke she didn't help but laughing and has put aside the glass aside and sliding very swiftly her place ran to my ex-teacher and kissed traditionally his hand uttering nice words to appreciate his professional quality in training new generations.
DAMLA-(Still laughing) Gosh! You are a real master. (Pointing me while going on to kiss the hands of teacher) You must be seen as an idealist teacher for you have trained such brilliant lads.
My teacher and I-having been trained so well that should be praised over the words of DAMLA-replied her, say, for being awarded by her with a reverence! front of the mirror, the door is flung open and Steve lurches in and bolts the door after him. He has very evidently been drinking. In appearance he is a typical “cadet,” flashily dressed, rat-eyed, weak of mouth, undersized, and showing on his face the effects of drink and drugs.)
LADY VARVARA PAVLOVA-(Hurriedly pushing her biased attitude towards everybody) Hello, Should we have come together to award a teacher or attending his birth day party?
Nathalie—(Looking around with a sneer) We all are the finest looking mess, Aren't we! (She continues to sip her Coke and sits down in the majestic arm chair serenely.) Maybe I'm the one you who as ugly as a beautiful strenge bird.
Alex-We talk on "birth" not "bird"! If thou wisheth to be genuinely beautiful thou shoulthst put on some paint on thine face and smile although that might give us the Pharaoh's mummy here.
Ex-Teacher-(Rushes over to the side of Alex and plaster a bit of rouge on his face then turns around) Look, people! Ain’t that better?
Everybody begin to shake the hall with enormous laughters.
LADY PAVLOVA-Better? No, but it’ll do. (Catching the silhouette of the empty vodka bottle) Who can gimme a single drop out of it?
Ex Teacher- (Turning to the waiter) Sony bring another bottle of this, really, magnificent drink.
DAMLA-Yuh know there ain’t any traditionel persistence for alcoholic drinks.
I-(With reproaching anger) Yuh ain't lie! And yet there is no traditional model in consuming vodka.
VARVARA PAVLOVA- Don't traditions means any local religion. And yet thay have got no book to be base of the belief, do they! ( Turning to DAMLA) I'll bet ad unguem fuctus that if there were any yuh should have got it burried around here some place.
DAMLA-(Scalding me firts and teaming up the group tending to use much more The Black's English of the USA) I have never been insulted till yuh...err... (pointing me again) that very word...err.. consumption and yuh know it very well ain't you...
I-(Shouting in a fake anger) Don't shake finger t your finger at me! Should thet be all the thanks I deserved to get. (Getting really angry) What’ud yuh do if I would have taken you as stranger or rather E.T as the moving picture hero viz. Extra Terrestrial? If it were to be happen yuh might have been ready to use such a chance to kick me immediately. You've, methinks, felt yourself ready enough to insult me at the debut of knowing each other.
Nathalie- Oh stop this stupid spat. She has the right to behave in a way excess affectation any time she wants to make a stand up show!
I-( Feeling obliged to Nathalie instead of her words superciliously wounding me)And she knows it and sticks to that chance like glue
Alex- Do not say glue, say UHU! Ha-ha...
Ex Teacher-Yuh don’t notice her after every disillusion you have caused while you wouldn’t care.
DAMLA-(Flattering or rather trying to conciliate the atmosphere) Aw, viva teacher! Yuh make me too much happy with those words on behalf of me. You are my savior. (Then vindictively) And yet they are not wise enough to hit me talking garrulously .
Nathalie-Aw, don’t say that! Think a bit: what about being idiot but not over being garrulously?
VARVARA PAVLOVA-Naw; but she oughta be learned a lesson dat’s all. She oughta be on the level with-pointing to me-him.
I-(Feeling my nerves shattered) Exuse moi madame, s'il vous plait Dammit! I am not wiser than her because I would not prefer to be anything as she.
DAMLA-Stop that boasting.
Sonia-(Wiping her finger points-as if getting ready for wrestling-with her handkerchief) I could do but it ain’t no good.
Ex Techer of mine-Then let's get something else. I told you before some hours what we should be after; right?
I- I'm after, first, overwhelming The Bosporus Soviet regime secondly to get acquaintance with the number one girl of our district namely DAMLA!
Nathalie-Well then, don't blame him for qualifying your place in the order. It’s up to you to order him then he should put your name before Soviet.
I- Yep! I'm ready to make change in every ordinal matters.
Everybody laugh or rather roar...
Lady PAVLOVA-(speaking eagerly and almost in tears of laughter) Listen, Mr. Mesolzhenitsy! Let her to think over your marriage offering tonight and let your family visit that of hers as traditions should say so.
Sonia-(in a bewildering amazement) A couple of young people observed from the point of love affairs by parents! What’d’yuh think this paradigm mom-the last vaudevilles being played near The Europe?
DAMLA-But yuh had lots of prejudises about The Orient.
I-The Orient that wouldn't welcome to be called as Orient. The Intelligent of The Bosporus Soviet State couldn't put up with seeming as The People of belly dance of which other name is Oriental! Didn’t I hear yuh all they used to defend themselves irrationally because of living irrationally? As for the belly dance there too cannot be any ration related to the danseuse in exhibiting some drilling like spasms of her belly.
Sonia-(sullenly) Let's get into a game at this very place of birthday party!
Ex-Teacher- First of all clean me in it for I had made it up. I'm an old man an ain’t got any certain date of birth. (with sudden anger) And I wouldn’t tell it to yuh if I had it.
I-D’yuh think, milord, I'm a simpleton to be gittin’ your protection' If you had not made this birthday party up I could find a pretext to be introduced to big family Lady PAVLOVA within which DAMLA would be shinig as a star.
Nathalie-(adding a mere "geez" to my speech)And keepin’ the bulls from running her in when yuh do is to stick at the very side of hers, and play dead. Remember stars are not suitable to live but to be burned If yuh want any flame git out and make it.
ANNA PAVLOVA-Methinks that’s all yuh got to say, pardon me to recite the passage you must have leant by heart.
DAMLA-(furiously) I warn you of growing ridiculous. If that’s all yuh got to say, is it? Well, go on with being ridiculous.
VARVARA PAVLOVA-If anybody amongst you wish to learn which one is generally preferred in the families dictated by the secret Turkish Soviet State between living and dying and ı could hand you a tip right here: Dying in two different meanings, say, to kill or to be killed.
Alex- Oh mom. I’m gittin’ rich in philosophy no matter if I should be of abused at times.
Ex Teacher: (Speaking to Lady PAVLOVA) Milady forgive me but I'll ask a little question: Are half drunk now?
ANNA PAVLOVA- NOP! All jokes aside yuh seem been hitting because of the "No Smoke" indoors eventually. Forgive me you too yet I can tell by the way your eyes look.
Alex- Gosh! I began to think I was going on with talking already with my eyes here.
VARVARA PAVLOVA- It shall be the best for a guy that’s always full of words and words,
Ex-Teacher- While The Female would garrulously spend words The Male keep them for having been drilled to death over a cardiovascular arrest.
Alex-Obviously yuh could notice it! There’s too many cholesterol I've-I kin say-got.
Sonia-(With narrow eyes, aloud and threatening voice.) You chatter on and on, d’yuh hear me? I suspect if you should hear me when I I would chatter!
ANNA PAVLOVAROSE-(in a frenzy) Come on you green horn spouses, will you?
Nathalie-(Jumping up from the arm chair table se shouts) Shut up fur Chris’ sake, shut up! That kind of frictions are as bad as holy wars and to be, from the point of sacredness, matched to the homes-the most sacred places.
I-Sssshhh! There at homes the couples of the world do make mating as well! we woke her up. Keep still, Steve. I’ll go out, yuh needn’t worry. Jest don’t ANNA PAVLOVA-Making so much noise about a biological function. It's legal sexual intercourse, that’s all. (She begins to cough and rising her hands God knows why...)
Ex Teacher- Lady PAVLOVA you are overacting behind the mask of seeming natural in behaviors.
VARVARA PAVLOVA (who has been watching with a slight sneer) Felicitations Monsieur! You’ll have not to muse out of your dreams. You gotta git earnest hearings instead of eavesdrops .
Ex Teacher-But, milady, how could I put up with these people of,,,errr,, new generation that ought to be called as the changed generation?
Nathalie-Changing have not got the privilege to be accepted as new things In the old earth!
Sonia-(applauding) Repeat it Nathalie, repeat it please. Aw please, Nathalie!
Lady PAVLOVA-Come on Sonia, be a good girl!
I-She can't bother us by anything but anything she would wish to be repeated.
DAMLA-She’s too much keen to make Nathalie to repeat it.
Alex-One cannot leave yuh got three-quarters of the party with repeating silly words.
Ex Teacher-Let her to get it as she wishes.
Ex-Teacher-You heard what I said, didn’t you?
DAMLA- (Pointing to Alex and me) That's not your busy, then. Leave her to repeat those nice words.
I- Nice things need not to be repeated.
I-I shouldn’t, eh?
DAMLA-(glancing at my face) I’ve the power enough to defend my opinion.
Alex-(Laughing at her, a bit having pitied however) I know what you can do: defense but not offense!
VARVARA PAVLOVA-Don’t try and bluff us DAMLA, keep silence.
DAMLA-Now that we’re talking not keeping silence.
I-The Female can do everything except shutting up...
Ex Teacher-And of the male one cannot say "vice versa"!
Nathalie-Please, sire for the love of God try and take side of Mr. Mesolzhenitsy!
VARVARA PAVLOVA-Don't be afraid of little jokes. He’s all his teacher got to live for.
Alex-(contemptuously) That‘s what they all say about the teachers of Lyceum like those of his. But I've got some teachers in my school to behave us in a wrong way.
DAMLA-(Laughing) Alex is able to be a number ten player in football.
I- That popular player from Brasilia is Alex DE SOUZA and he claims to put an end to his football career.
SONIA-(coldly) Would yuh please of for the sake of GAWD stop dat blubberin’?
VARVARA PAVLOVA-The Female always mean good!
I-Mean well or mean good?
Lady Pavlova- Hush! Here is not a linguistic school.
Sonia-—(staring towards no directind) The Male jest tryin’ to scare The Female, ain’t they? They shouldn’t do that, should they?
Alex-Don't wory ma chere! Yuh’ll soon that we would not...
DAMLA-But would try and do it, wouldn't yuh?
I-For the time being you shall see that I wouldn’t. Yuh jest wait and see!
DAMLA-The Female from The Bosporus Soviet State couldn't be as patient as a waitress.
Alex-Aw, DAMLA, why couldn't your lady citizens be patint, say a patient wife but a waitress rich in patience.
VARVARA PAVLOVA-(Pointing to Alex) Git dat guy outa here!
Sonia-(Saddened) Forgive him! He is not a bad guy a naughty kid yet!
(There is a hot and harsh dispute during which the table is being emptied by the avaricious guests. Finally Ex Teacher puts himself as a pawn and hits everybody promising to give a more magnificent birth day party. The quests laugh or rather roar again.
At the same instant the atmosphere in the hall is seduced to be open to being lacked of rationality and Alex pushes his way irregularly to invite Nathalie to dance. Although distinctly a non-criminal type his face is he may be partly redeemed by its look of vagrant soccer player as harsh as a warrior his sudden invitation welcomes by the girl in silky black dominated toilet, and has gat the chance to embrace lovely Bulgarian girl-Nathalie. I tries to trace the same procedure to invite DAMLA-The Turkish Girl to dance yet she refused me. Then our ex teacher automatically repeat the same attempt within really the same procedure, and it gives in. So he and DAMLA began to dance without any music. She keeps gazing where my eyes look at.
I-(Pointing to DAMLA, speak to everybody with contempt) None should think that she loves dancing lesser than Nathalie.
Alex-(Slinking toward the average direction all guests) Yuh think European girls were less smart then The old or Ottoman Female.
Ex Teacher-D’yuh think I’m goin’ to let yuh beat DAMLA up jest cause she has got ambivalence feelings about the subject of Tannhäuser?
VARVARA PAVLOVA-(sitting still in her armchair and looking around of all of us) Yuh dropped the tip on me now; but I'll get you!
Sonia-(She laughs and she can be heard murmuring). Take it easy and don't look embarrassed, please...
I-(Making a clumsy attempt at consolation) Essentially there is a show of dance in vain.
(But the existence of The Mankind goes on to breathe behind the curtain)
A FEW INFO ABOUT THE WRITER
THE NICK NAMES
OF THE FAMOUS HONORARY
PRINCE OF DERBENT WRITER
The first "Absurd Tragedy" writer of the East Europe
PROF. DR. MUSTAFA ERDOGAN SURAT
ABBA VITE (HEBREW)
PROF. M. SOLZHENITSOF