Mertha had handed him a loaf of freshly baked bread. “As a neighbour, please take this to your family and wish them well,” she’d replied, “but as a lowly giavour I do not possess the power of forgiveness. Perhaps you should ask the sheep.” And with a smile she’d stepped him away from the kitchen and closed the door in his face.
Despite the big dog sleeping by the door Iskender hated the thought of Khatoun out there. Her and her sisters who still called their geese by pet names. As soon as he deemed it safe to walk the city again, he began trekking out to the eucalyptus groves overlooking the plains of Garmuj. He’d set off at dawn, before anyone could stop him, and sit the whole day watching a finger of smoke curl to the skies – letting him know that life within that precious courtyard con
