place of work
and would always see something new to pique his interest. But today, he didn’t
have time to indulge in this passion, he reminded himself, because today they
were unveiling several large mosaics as well as the new face of the Grand Dome.
Today, he had to get ready for the President, the Prime Minister and the
Minister of Culture and Tourism along with their entourages and the world’s
press. He hated these public showcases, but he was astute enough to realise
that they generated the interest necessary to attract the funds from the
country’s coiffeurs to enable him to continue his restoration work. So today he
would press the flesh, smile at the cameras and answer all the questions the
journalists put to him, because tomorrow he could stand here again and marvel
at the exquisite craftsmanship of true artisans from an era long forgotten by
most people.
***
As Hamil Sadik was arriving at his office, Giyas Macar was
already halfway through his working day. He had been woken by his father at 2
am, as he had been every morning since leaving school the previous year. At the
age of 16, and without any qualifications to his name, it was inevitable that
he would be joining his father on the small fishing boat that had been passed
down to him by his father. When his father eventually retired, through ill-health
rather than choice, Giyas would become the proud owner of a rather dilapidated
trawler.
A great deal had changed since his grandfather’s time:
over-fishing, increase in maritime traffic, light pollution from the city,
global warming and water pollution. Whatever the cause, tuna and swordfish were
now extinct from these waters.
Giyas could still remember the stories his grandfather used
to tell him as a boy, about how they’d caught gigantic tuna and swordfish and
how the best restaurants in the city would fight to get the freshest catch, as
soon as they’d docked, to serve to their European clientele. He recalled his
grandfather telling him about the time he’d caught an enormous swordfish in his
nets; so big was this monster of a fish, that the boat nearly capsized when he
started to drag it in and he had to cut it loose. Fishermen’s stories maybe,
but that’s all they had to remind themselves of the prosperous times.
All they could hope to catch these days were lüfer, a
popular fish amongst the locals, but even their numbers were dwindling year by
year. A lot of the other fishermen had given up altogether, turning their boats
into private fishing vessels for the tourists. However, his father had told him
on numerous occasions that it would be a cold day in hell before he hung up his
nets and pampered to the spoilt, rich tourists. He had used a lot more
expletives to convey his views, but the sentiment was the same.
Giyas’s scrawny muscles ached from the sea-sodden weight of
the nets as he threw them over the side, whilst the weather-beaten figure of
his father stooped over the wheel, trying to steer a straight course through
the pounding waves. He was distracted by the sound of a helicopter above him
and looked up just as a wave came crashing over the side, knocking his puny
frame off-balance and showering him in icy water. He regained his foothold and
continued to let out the nets, ignoring the sound of the rotor blades as they
passed by; he had to concentrate on getting the lines out straight, as their
meagre catch so far today wouldn’t even pay for the fuel they had used, let
alone be enough to support the family. He prayed for a bountiful catch.
***
Traffic Dawn’s day had started as unremarkably as any other.
That wasn’t her real name, of course, but it hadn’t stopped some bright spark
in the office giving her a nickname the first day she started her new job as
Airborne Dawn Traffic Correspondent for the only English-speaking radio station
in Istanbul – Radyo KO. The executives picked up on it and created a natty
little jingle which Dawn - or Maria Spencer, which
and would always see something new to pique his interest. But today, he didn’t
have time to indulge in this passion, he reminded himself, because today they
were unveiling several large mosaics as well as the new face of the Grand Dome.
Today, he had to get ready for the President, the Prime Minister and the
Minister of Culture and Tourism along with their entourages and the world’s
press. He hated these public showcases, but he was astute enough to realise
that they generated the interest necessary to attract the funds from the
country’s coiffeurs to enable him to continue his restoration work. So today he
would press the flesh, smile at the cameras and answer all the questions the
journalists put to him, because tomorrow he could stand here again and marvel
at the exquisite craftsmanship of true artisans from an era long forgotten by
most people.
***
As Hamil Sadik was arriving at his office, Giyas Macar was
already halfway through his working day. He had been woken by his father at 2
am, as he had been every morning since leaving school the previous year. At the
age of 16, and without any qualifications to his name, it was inevitable that
he would be joining his father on the small fishing boat that had been passed
down to him by his father. When his father eventually retired, through ill-health
rather than choice, Giyas would become the proud owner of a rather dilapidated
trawler.
A great deal had changed since his grandfather’s time:
over-fishing, increase in maritime traffic, light pollution from the city,
global warming and water pollution. Whatever the cause, tuna and swordfish were
now extinct from these waters.
Giyas could still remember the stories his grandfather used
to tell him as a boy, about how they’d caught gigantic tuna and swordfish and
how the best restaurants in the city would fight to get the freshest catch, as
soon as they’d docked, to serve to their European clientele. He recalled his
grandfather telling him about the time he’d caught an enormous swordfish in his
nets; so big was this monster of a fish, that the boat nearly capsized when he
started to drag it in and he had to cut it loose. Fishermen’s stories maybe,
but that’s all they had to remind themselves of the prosperous times.
All they could hope to catch these days were lüfer, a
popular fish amongst the locals, but even their numbers were dwindling year by
year. A lot of the other fishermen had given up altogether, turning their boats
into private fishing vessels for the tourists. However, his father had told him
on numerous occasions that it would be a cold day in hell before he hung up his
nets and pampered to the spoilt, rich tourists. He had used a lot more
expletives to convey his views, but the sentiment was the same.
Giyas’s scrawny muscles ached from the sea-sodden weight of
the nets as he threw them over the side, whilst the weather-beaten figure of
his father stooped over the wheel, trying to steer a straight course through
the pounding waves. He was distracted by the sound of a helicopter above him
and looked up just as a wave came crashing over the side, knocking his puny
frame off-balance and showering him in icy water. He regained his foothold and
continued to let out the nets, ignoring the sound of the rotor blades as they
passed by; he had to concentrate on getting the lines out straight, as their
meagre catch so far today wouldn’t even pay for the fuel they had used, let
alone be enough to support the family. He prayed for a bountiful catch.
***
Traffic Dawn’s day had started as unremarkably as any other.
That wasn’t her real name, of course, but it hadn’t stopped some bright spark
in the office giving her a nickname the first day she started her new job as
Airborne Dawn Traffic Correspondent for the only English-speaking radio station
in Istanbul – Radyo KO. The executives picked up on it and created a natty
little jingle which Dawn - or Maria Spencer, which
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