Part 2: Grudges and old friends

Osman was moving along the Jurnal Street which leads the way to the most greenish park at the middle of the village. The plan of the village was actually originated from the masterpiece of Hausmann, city of Paris. Unlike 12 streets of Paris, that village had 8 streets, only intersecting at park, with a 45 degree angle among each one. Luckily, big old trees was protecting Osman from the devil face of the sun. He ended at the famous coffee-shop of those times: Daquille’s. Despite the bitter hot, large number of old men gathered in that place. While all of them were sipping their hot tea, Osman stopped his cart and found a chair to sit down. He grabbed his stetson and started to wave it slowly. Apparently, no one was willing to listen his stories. A child approached to his cart and picked a small cookie inside it. “Mom, look at it, it’s like my yellow birthday balloon, so puffy and yummy!”, the child shouted to the other side of the street. The mother was standing without any motion. She just nod her head and the child paid for the cookie. Everything at that time was stationary and unbound to time. Osman was seeming quite thoughtful while Daquille, the owner of the coffee-shop sat down to the wooden chair next to him. “Youngsters ran away to the Station. They said they ain’t come here again.” Daquille whispered with his sick voice. He did smoke like a chimney for many years. Osman preferred to remain silent. He was not in his mood, seemingly. Daquille knew that Osman got along well with the youngsters. As an old man who followed deeply the way of great leader -founder of the country-, he was a big supporter for the republican party. Youngsters had also same opinion with Osman, but they also believed that there might be more freedom in the country, so that’s why the generals made a successful coup recently. Osman was not so deeply in politics to think in a broaden way. He just had a great admire to the founders of the country. On the other hand, Daquille and his customers were more conservative and pissed of the coup guys because of the unfair game they played. For ten years, this conservative party had governed the country, safe and sound, and those grudging generals wanted to take over the power. It was not acceptable. Apart from the two dismissive belief, there was one truth that no one would deny it. The people started to seperate into two parts: “We” and “the others”. This situation was predictable just a couple of years ago, the last moments of the overthrown government of the country.

Osman was all in a fog while listening to Daquille’s ideas about bringing all these youngsters back to his coffee-shop and reviving the past with its magic and non-frustrative colors. Osman thought that it was all bullshit, so he found a way to escape from the place and was starting to push his cart suddenly. He drove to the park and then to the south via Station Street where the heart beat was felt widely. Altough he liked to hang out with all these guys at Daquille’s, he couldn’t dare the silly opinions of his friends. They all were farmers, very well flattered people by the help of the government. They made quite amount of money by selling oranges, grapefruits, figs, watermelon and so on. The government focused their supplies to agriculture excessively. But the tradesmen always gain their money alone, by the real effort, like pulling out the golds from the deep inside, according to Osman. All these men at Daquille’s also were stationary, always carrying their big belly aimlessly from one place to another. “They knew very well how to eat” he thought with a revengeful sarcasm.