Constantinople's Cherry

III - 26. Düğün çanları

Disclaimer : Mentions of violence, rape, murders, ethnic cleansing, graphic description of harm, torture, possible important character death. This is a work of fiction losely based on Historical facts, with its own creative liberties. No insult, blame, or offense is implied toward any real dead or alive figure, nor towards any group of people or nation.

Credit to Yabani for the visuals inspi !

....

Istanbul, Octobre 1945.

"So that didn’t break them, my aunt dying ?" Kiraz asked, a hand to her lips with the gravity of the story she had just listened.

Ceren Başar looked at the young girl, she was adamant to not call Eda mother, but instantly saw someone like Naïri she just heard the evocation of, and that hadn't even known her, as aunt.

"No, their love was strong." Naïri blinked, she had gained more maturity over the years, she could tell this story without shedding a tear, but it didn't mean her heart didn't hurt recalling all this.

Kiraz inhaled, moved by Ceren's words, she could see that at least, she believed her.

"But such loss, your friend, then my aunt..." Kiraz shook her head, imagining her parents pain.

Ceren looked at her. "Didn't you lose people, to the Nazi occupation ?" She asked.

Kiraz looked at her surprised, since she was here, she was enquiering about their lives, she didn't think anybody would be interested and ask about hers.

"I did. Jewish friends, mainly...and very loyal communist comrades." Kiraz sighed, sadly, her eyes sombering recalling the faces of her lost friends.

"So you know, that grief isn't linear kizim. Nor is it logical or full. It's like a net, that's always wrapped around you but that had holes and can break. Eda and Serkan were in great pain, but they didn’t constantly show it..." Ceren inhaled, watching the young girl reflect.

"And the living ? We can't stop existing with the deads. We have to keep living, and life is made of joys and sorrow." Ceren let out in a gentle voice and Kiraz watched her face.

She wondered if Ceren was still talking about her parents and aunt, or if she was speaking perhaps of herself and how she kept living losing everyone, or if, maybe, she was warning her, that if she didn’t find Serkan and Eda, if they were gone, Kiraz had to keep living.

Ceren sniffed and gently reached for her hand. "Their strength was their love. A love like that, it kept them running, it bonded them even closer if possible, ofcourse it marked them and they changed. Each ordeal life throws your way, it makes you more mature, they were resilient." She let out.

"What do you mean, factually ?" Kiraz asked and Ceren stopped herself from rolling her eyes at her use of that last word.

"I think they learnt how precious life was ? Because they definitely seemed closer, they basked in their love. They were kinder, towards each other, me, everyone. There was a bittersweet feel to it, an inner ravaging pain that made them softer on the outside, but maturely softer." Ceren marvelled.

She looked at Kiraz's conflicted eyes and once again felt hard to understand the young girl. She seemed to reflect, and nod, but that was it. If Eda was an open book infront of those that loved her at least, Kiraz was just as guarded, Ceren struggled to figure out what she thought.

"You asked yesterday for pictures, if I had any.." Ceren began, looking into her file.

"Yes, my father's employer, he actually gave me a picture of my father. So that's the only two pictures I have of them. There's none of them together." Kiraz almost said sadly looking at the black and white grainy pictures she held, out on the table.