Now who in the world is ringing the bell after I’d spent the whole week telling people I wouldn’t be in Keskin over the weekend, making sure everyone thought I’d be in Ankara—I thought I had my story down pat. Was it a patient with an emergency? I didn’t open right away, opting to wait in silence. But when the bell rang again I slowly and fearfully opened the door. Opposite me stood the waiter from Split Salih’s place, Samet, who always dressed in shabby clothes and who was always grinning. He was fixed to the spot in that strange thing, something between a jacket and a uniform, that he seemed to have been wearing since the day he was born. He was holding a broad tray covered in thin paper, a bottle of water teetering at the edge, and on his face that same old grin.

Making my displeasure clear, I gave him a look to say, “so what’s the deal?”

“Sinan Abi sent this over. Told me to bring it to the doctor. He says, bon apetit.”

Hmmm… So Sinan Abi has sent me food… We stared at each other for a little longer.

“Fine … Come on in then and leave the food in the kitchen,” I said, helplessly.

Samet breezed in and left the tray in the kitchen and with his head bowed he hurried out of the house, making a point of showing that he wasn’t checking out the scene.

Handan, who had ducked into a room when she heard the knock on the door, slowly came out.

On the tray were two plates of lamb steaks, three or four pieces of pide and in the middle a little bottle of vodka, a bowl of roasted almonds and apple slices sprinkled with coffee on another large plate. Turning to my lover with a look of surprise, I said, as if I were talking about the most ordinary thing:

“Sinan Abi sent this over. He’s a big fan. I guess he spotted you on your way here.”

I went to the living room and parted the curtain. Pulling it back just a touch, I looked out and saw Sinan Abi, who runs the little corner shop directly opposite the house, raising a glass of rakı to me from behind his shop window.