I met a very good secret police in his profession.
It was evening. I was sitting at Leyla. An older man with a white earphone in one ear, wearing a sweater and middle-aged, sat at the table across from me.
A few minutes passed.
We made eye contact.
I smiled.
Are you a police ?
'' How did you know? ''
My father was also a policeman. You can tell.
'' Which department? ''
Homicide.
'' I see.''
-Silence-
And you?
''Secret Police.''
-Silence -
''I wish I had never come to Ankara.''
Why?
''I was in Libya. I went there on a volunteer mission. My brother works there in the marble business. I volunteered to protect and look after him.''
And then?
''I stayed there for 5 years.
It had been 3 years since I left. The news came. My mother had died. It’s been two years, and I still haven’t told my brother. He was only 19. How do I tell him?''
-He offered a cigarette. -
'' Three days.
He has a flight in three days. He’s returning from Libya. He calls and asks. I tell him he’s at a neighbor’s or at my aunt’s and avoid the topic. How do I tell him his mother has died? ''
said the secret police.
As I said, he was the best in his profession. He had managed to keep his mother’s death a secret.
(I didn’t make a drawing. It should remain secret.)
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