Santa

It was August. One day I got up and went to Santa. The sun was fierce, but I had chosen such a day on purpose so I could take beautiful photographs. I set out and headed for Santa. After reaching the village, I circled the perimeter road and climbed the hill. From there I wanted to see the whole village. If something lovely caught my eye, I would go there.

Once I reached the top, I looked down toward Santa. It felt as if it were in my arms. Still, it seemed heavy with longing, as though it were waiting for me to come down so it could embrace me. It was as if those who had left this place long years ago would come with me, we would enter the village together, and the yearning would finally ease. As I stood there, for a moment the village seemed to come alive. I saw the beautiful stone-built houses; the church with a few old grandmothers and grandfathers sitting and chatting in front; the schoolyard where boys and girls played together. I began to hear Romeika being spoken. I heard barefoot children shouting and chasing one another among the flowers. I saw many people coming and going, and a few grandmothers sitting on their thresholds, knitting as they chatted. My eye also fell on a couple of young women returning from the forest, bent under loads of hay.

Then my gaze caught a house with smoke rising from its hearth. I asked myself:
— Who lights a fire in the middle of August?

In an instant I found myself a little way beyond the house. In the yard lay cloths spread with hazelnuts whose husks hadn’t been stripped; in one corner an old woman was cleaning the husks from the nuts. When I approached she noticed me. She fixed her pale eyes on mine and looked carefully. She didn’t recognize me. But before she said a word, her look seemed to say:
— Whoever you are, come; let’s sit a while and talk!

I called out from where I was:
— What are you doing, Grandma?

I smiled, went over, and stood by her. She invited me:
— Come, sit!

Once I sat, she asked:
— Who are you, whose daughter?

— I’ve come from far away, I said. You won’t know me.

She went on:
— Why did you come?

— I don’t know… I came to get to know your village and take a few photos.

Pointing to the cleaned hazelnuts, she added:
— Take some of these and eat!

— I’m full; I’ve eaten a lot, I said.

She cautioned me:
— My child, while you’re young and your teeth are still in your mouth, eat! When you reach my age, even if you want to, you can’t.

We chatted for quite a while about this and that. After some time I said:
— Grandma, I’m going now.

From where she sat, she braced her hands on the ground and slowly stood up. Who knows—perhaps her back was bad. I embraced her. She threw her arms around me with all her strength and kissed me; it was as if I were the child she was parting from. After I walked a little way, I turned and looked back. With tear-filled eyes she was watching me.

— Will you come here again? she called out.

— I don’t know… Maybe next year, I said.

I was about to set off when I found myself back on the hilltop. So what I had seen was nothing but a vision.

I said to myself:
— I’ll go down and have a look; perhaps I’ll run into a grandmother.

I started down. When I reached the village there wasn’t a soul around. Many of the houses’ walls were collapsed, in ruins. A few cows grazed here and there, and birds sang on the branches. I photographed the ruined church and a few houses that were still standing. Then I set out to leave Santa.

It was as if a storm had broken inside me… My eyes filled; I began to weep, to keen. Santa had not heard such a lament in Romeika for many years. Perhaps for this reason, before I had reached halfway back, the sky darkened and fog wrapped everything. I could hardly see a meter ahead. Soon the rain began to fall like cords, and the place turned to flood. Murmuring to myself, I asked:

— Grandma, where could you find so many tears to shed?

I’m not sure, but I think Santa was crying.

Writen by: Ayşe Tursun