Everything changed that summer, all at once, and without warning, like a fire that burns an entire city and changes everything, and people call it destiny. That summer the heat arrived in Edirne with the workers who plowed and shoveled our dirt roads, laid bricks, and poured asphalt over the stone-lined streets of my childhood. They toiled to make a civilized Turkish city out of our ancient town. Walking to school every morning, I saw them working on Istanbul Road, wearing cotton shirts drenched in sweat, their faces darkened with dust.
The summer of 1934 was also when my older brother Rafael left Edirne to study in France. The oldest of my brothers, Albert, had already left for Paris years before with a handsome scholarship and had even married a Frenchwoman of questionable origins—a twist of fate my mother lamented whenever we received letters from Albert. We received a picture of her once, a very pretty woman wearing an elegant hat. Who knows where that photo is now?
All of spring was devoted to preparing for Rafael’s departure. Mama dragged him on countless trips to the tailor to make sure he had just the right clothes for the trip. God forbid, that the Frenchmen she would never meet think her son a simpleton. Then there were the repeated visits to the principal of our school. Rafael was so embarrassed by Mama inquiring about the accommodations in Paris on a weekly basis, that he avoided passing by the teachers’ lounge during breaks lest...
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