72 Hours till Doomsday by Schweder Melani

Author:Schweder, Melani [Schweder, Melani]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Talent Writers
Published: 2014-03-31T07:00:00+00:00

8. March 8, 2017. 6:29 P.M. Istanbul, Turkey.

Altan and Sule stopped to take a collective breath before approaching their friends’ home. The estate was expansive, with whitewashed walls broken in spots by tall iron gates, twin pairs of palms lining the driveway and walkways, and three jeweled water fountains. There was no amount of riches, though, that could overpower the dense feeling of sorrow that hung in the air. In their arms lay a feast that Sule had immediately started on the moment she’d hung up with her husband earlier that day. Spiced lamb meatballs, cucumber-mint yogurt, hot pita bread, and baklava all lent their scents to the evening breeze. It was the least they could do, when there was nothing else to be done.

The beautiful matriarch opened the front door, draped in black, her eye kohl obviously having been recently touched up. It barely concealed the redness there. Three children hung from her clothes, their faces blank with confusion.

“Lale. Let us come in. We’ve brought you some food.” They bowed slightly, revealing their gifts.

“Oh Sule. Thank you.” Her voice crackled in her throat.

Their footsteps echoed in the roomy entryway, their shoes clicked against the tile. Slowly they were relieved of their baskets as the children deposited them in the kitchen down the hall. Altan bent to kiss the cheek of his best friend’s wife, but it wasn’t until Sule wrapped her in a hug that she resumed her crying.

“Shh, shh. It’s okay, Lale. Come sit.”

They parked themselves on the two silk settees, trying to comfort the new widow.

“Tell us what happened.”

She sniffled and dabbed at her eyes with a white handkerchief.

“It was the bridge. Otoyol 1. Collapsed today. Mehmet was there.”

Altan knew where it was. He’d crossed the bridge many times on his way East to inspect the fields.

“It just collapsed?” asked Sule.

“No, no, no. Bombs!” she wailed into her hand.

It was as he’d predicted after seeing the report on the news. They had refused to place blame on any one group, saying that the bridge simply collapsed early that morning, but he knew differently. It was the rebels, and it meant that they were getting closer to the heart of Istanbul.

“I thought so, Lale. I’m so sorry.” He grasped her free hand, holding it firmly in his own.

“Mehmet! My Mehmet! Why? Now I am all alone!”

“You still have us,” Sule nudged her gently, “We can help. Cook you food. Watch the kids.”

“Thank you for this,” she blotted her eyes again, “since I will have to fire our staff now. No money for these things anymore.”

“Will there be a service?” Altan was trying to find a gentle way to ask.

“We might have something here at the house, but they haven’t pulled all the bodies out yet.”

She confirmed his suspicion. It was impossible to follow traditional rituals if the body hasn’t been recovered. The possibility must have been weighing heavily on Lale, adding stones to her pile of grief. It would be a terrible omen if Mehmet’s remains were never found.

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