Constantinople's Cherry

IV - 41. Daha Fazla

I hadn't planned to update this fast but beacause some of my readers have encouraged and pushed me, here's another chapter. Happy reading !

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Kiraz read the address and inhaled, looking at the beige and red bricks building in the outskirts of Paris. How ironic, Arev and Réhane loved the outskirts of Paris, working class, dusty, and communist. The set of towns filled with immigrant workere, refugees, and working class solidarity, all governed by communist mayors and senators.

The red belt, as iconic and beloved by its inhabitants and admirers, as hated by the class of hardline capitalists, in this begining of Cold War. The wall between Europe's communist and capitalist block seemed like a larger replica of the medieval and 19th century wall that separated Paris inner wealthy neighbourhoods and its communist, working class outskirts.

The irony resided in the fact that althought Arev had his communist party card always on him, till his death, he had compromised with the devil and bought an appartement on loan in the inner neighbourhoods, close to the biggest and most prestigious Universities, close to museums and cultural centers, all for Kiraz to have the best of opportunities.

And Kiraz could only measure how much of a sacrifice Arev and Réhane made to raise her too, they never fit in among upper class parisians, they were at home only in their Armenian community, or when they visited the outskirts, among working class communist peers. Yet they had severed friendships and sacrified their own ideals all for her. 

Kiraz realised that be it by giving her up, or giving up things for her, both her set of parents had done immense sacrifices for her, she was so loved, and she felt emotional about it. She was greeted by the Spanish concierge reading some newspapers with capital block letters and a hammer and sickle in front page, she smiled, how stereotypically adorable. 

As she took the stairs, Kiraz's mind wandered to imagine the life of this woman, probably a refugee too, fleeing the fascist violent reppression of Franco's regime from Spain, many men had gone to help the Spanish Republicans from the Parisian red belt, all in vain. All to end in pain. Was that what life was about ? Just a set of tragic events uprooting people from their homes, splitting them from their loved ones, making them apatrides and refugees for lives ? 

She inhaled once she arrived on the indicated floor, she looked at the doors numbers and found the one, taking a deep breath, she knocked. The twenty seconds it took for the door to open passed like an eternity, Kiraz felt her palms become clamy even in this cold. 

And when the door opened, she was faced with the same blond woman from the other day, she felt as if a bucked of cold water had been splashed over her as the woman, in a nightgown gown, closed the buttons of her nightwear. So she lived with her father, there was no trace of Eda Yildiz but ghosts and pictures and he had another woman in his life, great.

"Hello, I am the student from the café, Alizé, I don't know if you remember." Kiraz began, feeling anxious, she felt like she was intruding on strangers life.

"What do you want ?" The blond woman asked rather rudely. 

"Mr. Baltayan agreed for the interviews, I just need to know when we can do them, if he is not free please leave me his disponibilities, I won't be long." Kiraz let out. 

Both heard a soft knock on a wall behind, and Kiraz's eyes filled, there was her father, dressed smartly in pannts, shirt and an elegant polo, Lussine turned to him and he made hands signs, making her sigh and making Kiraz realise, her father was really dumb, disabled, her heart broke.

"Come in." Lussine opened the door wider, fuming at Serkan's kindness, he would let any random nobody get into his place, thank god she was around to take care of his stuff and manage his paperwork and medecines everyday.