on roads squeezed between houses leaning toward one another； I was
forced to rub up against walls and doors to avoid being hit by laden
packhorses。 There were more wealthy people； or so it seemed to me。 I saw an
ornate carriage； a citadel drawn by proud horses； the likes of which couldn’t
be found in Arabia or Persia。 Near the “Burnt Column；” I saw some
bothersome beggars dressed in rags huddling together as the smell of offal
ing from the chicken…sellers market wafted over them。 One of them who
was blind smiled as he watched the falling snow。
Had I been told Istanbul used to be a poorer； smaller and happier city； I
might not have believed it； but that’s what my heart told me。 Though my
beloved’s house was where it’d always been among linden and chestnut trees；
others were now living there； as I learned from inquiring at the door。 I
discovered that my beloved’s mother； my maternal aunt； had died； and that
her husband； my Enishte； and his daughter had moved away。 This is how I
came to learn that father and daughter were the victims of certain
misfortunes； from strangers answering the door； who in such situations are
perfectly forthing； without the least awareness of how mercilessly they’ve
broken your heart and destroyed your dreams。 I won’t describe all of this to
you now； but allow me to say that as I recalled warm； verdant and sunny
summer days in that old garden； I also noticed icicles the size of my little finger
hanging from the branches of the linden tree in a place whose