What do I do? But in my network had to put 'this thing?
Now I do? I have to decide, before they reach the others.
Elend, I have to leave. Listen, do not cry, I have to leave. I do not want, but I have to leave. Diyar, Hejar Samrend few months and will no longer have anything to eat. Elend, you already do wonders for feeding them. Do not cry. I can not stay here: I heard that Bahoz and Helmet have been sold and nausea and arrogance spread throughout the village. Our parents are protecting us, but soon I will be on those two and I will deliver to the militia. And you know then what value would my life: flesh to torture. No, Elend, I've got evidence.
I tried to bear. I tried to think that everything would be over. I've got evidence, Elend. But I did not succeed. I can not see our children die of hunger, I can not hide forever from corrupt brothers. I can not. I have to leave. Not so much for me, Elend. Here I'd die to defend our freedom. But you condemned to death by starvation and our children, Elend. Stop crying, Elend, and embrace me. Let me smell of your skin, Elend. Kiss me. You're smiling. I am happy to finally start seeing you smile. I'll be back, Elend. I swear. I'll come back with what is enough for a decent life. And meanwhile I'll work and I will send you money. I'll be back. But now, I have to leave. Kiss me again.
But it had to happen to me a thing? What do I do? What do I do with this poor man. But I had to meet 'this guy died trying to live ...
And maybe he died not only for him. Maybe for others, children, wives, parents. Who knows who has left home. But why did you come to me? But why? You must have crossed the sea on board a ship that stinks. Who knows how many people have to wait to hear from home. I have to bring to shore. Will recognize you and your family will experience. Crying. But at least they mourn a body. But you will recognize in these conditions? But because of me? Why me?
I started on board a car, I passed through Iran to Lake Van. Then a little 'walk and a bit' in a truck, I arrived in Istanbul. Then again on foot and in a truck arrived in Thessaloniki. A train took me to Athens. I negotiated with the smugglers a place together with eleven other people on a ship. I found myself with other people thirty-four on a raft. We had removed the documents and then abandoned on the coast. I could not go back. "You have no choice," we say. In thirty-five on a raft. I'm thirsty. We left.
But what do I do with you? eh?! Tell me! What should I do with you?
I am also here in the sea. Also I am trying to live. I am also in the sea not only for me. Also I'm here for my family.
Every night, about eleven o'clock, I start at the pier. There are two sailors waiting for me. Climb on my small fishing boat has sailed. The ship is one that is: I have no money to change it. I have no money to change it, you understand me? I have no money. I walked out into the cold night. Pesco. Little peach. Pesco now very little. And gain a little. Too little. Also I'm trying to live in the sea, my friend. But I have to stay at sea every day. Trying to live. I have to be at sea not only for me but for my family. If I stay at home, is the end. But why did you come to me?
I do it for you. Diyar, Hejar, Samrend, Elend, you believed in me. We sold everything at home to recover the five thousand dollars needed to travel. She was a goat, a little wheat and the goodness of neighbors feed them. Now you wait anxiously for me and my money. I've promised, I'm in Italy, work and send you the money. Presto. Soon. And I will come back. With me on the boat there are four seniors, three women and five children. Their only escape from hunger. All others, like me. Also escape from fear, arrogance and repression. It is night, we leave. I'm hungry.
I have to take to the bank, not only for yourself but for your family. And I have to be at sea, not only for me but for my family. But if I take you to the bank, what will become of me? And if the guard stopped me the ship until they finish the investigation to find out who you are? And if you think I killed him? No, I can take you to shore. I told you, I have to be at sea all day. Every single day that life will allow me, I have to be at sea not only for me but for my family.
You are wrong above. It's cold. I'm thirsty. Babies cry and feel bad. The mothers would like scream but the sailor that checks for closing the mouth with handfuls. I'd kill him, but then who would lead us to the shore? The floor of the boat is warm urine. Two children died. The sailor picked up and thrown them into the sea. The mothers are screaming, the crew pushes them into the sea. We do not hear the cries already over. I would kill him, but then, who would lead us to the shore? Also I'd die here alone in the desert of the sea. And you, my children, would die with me. The elderly do not make it. They complain. Swoon. The sailor embraced them one by one, raises them with his arms above his head and throws them into the sea. None opposed. Nobody complains. Kill him, but then who would lead us to the shore? It's cold. I can not breathe well. Maybe it's the wind.
I can not watch. I feel like dying. I feel I do something against his life. I feel that I offended the sea. I feel my lungs tighten squeezing the heart. I feel the air petrified in my throat. I feel that he could not swallow. I feel nausea tears from his eyes. I hear your children crying without a parent body. I hear your children crying from hunger. I feel your family drown entangled in another boat. And I feel my children waiting at home with his mouth open shouting bread!
I do not feel good. I go through. My forehead is burning. I'm cold. I want to vomit. The knees are bent. For a moment I felt the smell of your skin Elend. I've heard the only ride gust of hot wind of the whole trip. I would smile, Elend, and instead some salty drops are fleeing from my eyes. And they are not sea. The knees do not hold me. I can not control his eyes, Elend. Everything blurs around me. I'm afraid, Elend. I'm afraid. I fear for me. I fear for you. I feel faint. I feel like dying. I'm afraid to die. Someone is embracing.
I ask your forgiveness. I ask you to tell me that I understand. I ask you to say I would do the same if you were in my shoes. My children suffer, do you understand? Do you understand that my family would suffer if I could get thinking about your bank? Eh, do you understand? But I say, but with all the boats that go around this sea ... with all networks sift through this sea ... just had to come from me? No. I've decided. No, I can take you to shore. I just can not. Enough is enough. Now I try to get you. What an effort to relieve hug. I wonder how you had to be first. Certainly you were not so swollen. The sea has given you another face. Yet I understand that you're a good man. It seems to me to imagine beyond this purple swelling around the face are your children. Beyond this swollen face I think I see your features and your wife's hands caress. See I'm crying? I'm crying. I who have emotions encrusted with salt, I'm crying. But why did you come to me? Eh? Why? Enough! Now I embrace you and pull you up.
I are holding up the stars. Diyar. Hejar. Samrend. I could not save you. The grain will end. And there will be the goodness of neighbors exhausted by hunger and survival. Die. I will die. Elend, die. Now I no longer feel the arms of the sailor support me. I feel suspended, Elend. I'm crying, Elend. Elend! I'm going to go into the water and I have the strength to swim. And even if I had, where would I go? Elend! I'm going to touch the water. And die. I tried to live, my children. I tried to make my children live. I love you, my children. I'm crying, Elend. I tried to save you, Elend. But I did not succeed. Farewell my children. Farewell Elend. I feel the cold night air draws us high. I'm falling. The water approached. I feel my body is wrapped in icy water. Farewell Elend. Farewell, my children ...
You made a dull thud when you fell in the water. You are too swollen to sink. You're floating. Have faith, you will find someone else. Now turn the motors and maneuver. Behind me is the rising sun. In front of me I can see the harbor. Now go down and sell the fish. I pay the two sailors. A salute to the guard and go home with the bread. I'm coming. Even today my father is coming. Enjoy your meal for my children today.
There a fisherman on the port. Will more or less 50 years. Always comes when the sun rises. I'm going to talk often. He sold everything he said. He had a boat, old but working. He sold. They bought two sailors who worked for him. Never tells me why he did it. I do not know if it's for the fatigue life as a fisherman needs. I do not want to say. I'll ask her and he tells me about the sea and fishing. It speaks for the maintenance of networks. It tells me to always remember the joy and luck in having no food. The sacredness of food. The misery of having no food. Injustice of hunger. Then he falls silent and the silent contemplation of the rising sun. After half an hour to finish fish in his thoughts, he turns to me and asks, "What do you do?". I tell him that the cook. It gives me a pat on the shoulder with his hand encrusted by salt. And finally smiles. Then it tells me when he said to his father wanted to be the cook. He dreamed of opening an inn. And he saw his wife and children inside to work with him. Because he had always wanted three children. It had three children. But his father, a fisherman, said he would be better to continue the family business and not send to hell bought that boat with a lot of work. We had thought about and decided to continue to make himself a fisherman. But one thing he had done it: the ship of his father, He was always cooking. Rightful. He was free to cook what he wanted. The only requirement was to use all and only the fish that no one would buy because it was too unkind. "Food is sacred. The food is hard work. Food is life. Life and taking life on. It is a sacrilege to the land, air and marine waste it, "said his father every day while the ship left the coast. And he tells me how to do justice to this fish took this into a soup. He did it because he thought it was a dish that requires the preparation of the sanctity of prayer. And prayer, he had been taught, was the means to give thanks to all that is sacred. "And the food is sacred, "he repeated, looking into her eyes. Began to select the fish: mullet, mackerel, turbot, mullet, lobster, spigolette, cod, corn, squid, cuttlefish, sole, dogfish, capon. The meat and separated by size: each had its own different cooking time and became part of the plate at different times. Also for the usual rule, cut the biggest fish in pieces. With the heads and bones of larger fish, prepared a broth simmering on a staggered electric kitchen. The key for him was in fry heads and bones along with some carusella. The carusella, he said, is the flower of the fennel. The carusella, that was his secret. Only when the heads and bones were golden well, then just add water. And other scents depending instinct of the moment. While the simmering fish broth, sliced \u200b\u200bonion and fry in oil was in another pan. Then, having taken care not to burn the onion, add some chopped tomatoes, garlic and parsley and a tablespoon of vinegar diluted with a little 'fish broth. This vinegar had heard from a fisherman from Ancona once came to visit her father. And let go until all the alcohol had not evaporated vinegar. Then start adding the fish pieces with larger and firmer flesh. After a few minutes went on to add all the other fish in descending order of magnitude. It made them taste well. Added all the fish, cover with the broth filtrate with a rag. Allow to cook slowly. His father arrived on time at this point to check with his nose court. It was a movement of his hands and call with all the steam rising from the pot, he offered to his nose. He looked pleased and returned to the networks. The secret of this food was all in density that he could get at the end the broth was determined as the will and smooth as a caress. He took the bread brought from home, and woe to throw! It's bread!, Sacred, not to throw even when old. Not even when it's hard. He took it, cut it into slices with fatigue and rubbed with a clove of garlic. He put the bread in the bowl and when the soup was thick at the right point, the bread bowl on. Denso to the right place, he said, is when he is able to saturate the bread without watery result: strong and delicate. To see the faces of his father and sailors, he said, it seemed that this food, warm and made with long-conscious care, eating their body from fatigue and free from the constraints on their lips that came up in smiles. Even if only for a moment. And, again, like a litany, her father, to thank him, telling him looking towards the sea, "who knows what would happen to your life if you had the cook." They ended up eating and everyone, including himself, went back to work with networks. At the end he always chose to be a fisherman and a cook.
Every time I go and sit beside him on the bench told me exactly this same story. And there is no detail to change. Then, after silence and breathed in the sun that has risen decided on the horizon, he is always telling me: 'You should come here too some morning to greet the rising sun ". "Why?" I say. "Why in the name of Kurdish Elend means the rising sun". Then he walks away saying: "Enjoy your meal for today, my friend."
I never asked for anything. I just always thought that it is not clear enough how much humanity is behind the food.
With flavor,
Biso
Now I do? I have to decide, before they reach the others.
Elend, I have to leave. Listen, do not cry, I have to leave. I do not want, but I have to leave. Diyar, Hejar Samrend few months and will no longer have anything to eat. Elend, you already do wonders for feeding them. Do not cry. I can not stay here: I heard that Bahoz and Helmet have been sold and nausea and arrogance spread throughout the village. Our parents are protecting us, but soon I will be on those two and I will deliver to the militia. And you know then what value would my life: flesh to torture. No, Elend, I've got evidence.
I tried to bear. I tried to think that everything would be over. I've got evidence, Elend. But I did not succeed. I can not see our children die of hunger, I can not hide forever from corrupt brothers. I can not. I have to leave. Not so much for me, Elend. Here I'd die to defend our freedom. But you condemned to death by starvation and our children, Elend. Stop crying, Elend, and embrace me. Let me smell of your skin, Elend. Kiss me. You're smiling. I am happy to finally start seeing you smile. I'll be back, Elend. I swear. I'll come back with what is enough for a decent life. And meanwhile I'll work and I will send you money. I'll be back. But now, I have to leave. Kiss me again.
But it had to happen to me a thing? What do I do? What do I do with this poor man. But I had to meet 'this guy died trying to live ...
And maybe he died not only for him. Maybe for others, children, wives, parents. Who knows who has left home. But why did you come to me? But why? You must have crossed the sea on board a ship that stinks. Who knows how many people have to wait to hear from home. I have to bring to shore. Will recognize you and your family will experience. Crying. But at least they mourn a body. But you will recognize in these conditions? But because of me? Why me?
I started on board a car, I passed through Iran to Lake Van. Then a little 'walk and a bit' in a truck, I arrived in Istanbul. Then again on foot and in a truck arrived in Thessaloniki. A train took me to Athens. I negotiated with the smugglers a place together with eleven other people on a ship. I found myself with other people thirty-four on a raft. We had removed the documents and then abandoned on the coast. I could not go back. "You have no choice," we say. In thirty-five on a raft. I'm thirsty. We left.
But what do I do with you? eh?! Tell me! What should I do with you?
I am also here in the sea. Also I am trying to live. I am also in the sea not only for me. Also I'm here for my family.
Every night, about eleven o'clock, I start at the pier. There are two sailors waiting for me. Climb on my small fishing boat has sailed. The ship is one that is: I have no money to change it. I have no money to change it, you understand me? I have no money. I walked out into the cold night. Pesco. Little peach. Pesco now very little. And gain a little. Too little. Also I'm trying to live in the sea, my friend. But I have to stay at sea every day. Trying to live. I have to be at sea not only for me but for my family. If I stay at home, is the end. But why did you come to me?
I do it for you. Diyar, Hejar, Samrend, Elend, you believed in me. We sold everything at home to recover the five thousand dollars needed to travel. She was a goat, a little wheat and the goodness of neighbors feed them. Now you wait anxiously for me and my money. I've promised, I'm in Italy, work and send you the money. Presto. Soon. And I will come back. With me on the boat there are four seniors, three women and five children. Their only escape from hunger. All others, like me. Also escape from fear, arrogance and repression. It is night, we leave. I'm hungry.
I have to take to the bank, not only for yourself but for your family. And I have to be at sea, not only for me but for my family. But if I take you to the bank, what will become of me? And if the guard stopped me the ship until they finish the investigation to find out who you are? And if you think I killed him? No, I can take you to shore. I told you, I have to be at sea all day. Every single day that life will allow me, I have to be at sea not only for me but for my family.
You are wrong above. It's cold. I'm thirsty. Babies cry and feel bad. The mothers would like scream but the sailor that checks for closing the mouth with handfuls. I'd kill him, but then who would lead us to the shore? The floor of the boat is warm urine. Two children died. The sailor picked up and thrown them into the sea. The mothers are screaming, the crew pushes them into the sea. We do not hear the cries already over. I would kill him, but then, who would lead us to the shore? Also I'd die here alone in the desert of the sea. And you, my children, would die with me. The elderly do not make it. They complain. Swoon. The sailor embraced them one by one, raises them with his arms above his head and throws them into the sea. None opposed. Nobody complains. Kill him, but then who would lead us to the shore? It's cold. I can not breathe well. Maybe it's the wind.
I can not watch. I feel like dying. I feel I do something against his life. I feel that I offended the sea. I feel my lungs tighten squeezing the heart. I feel the air petrified in my throat. I feel that he could not swallow. I feel nausea tears from his eyes. I hear your children crying without a parent body. I hear your children crying from hunger. I feel your family drown entangled in another boat. And I feel my children waiting at home with his mouth open shouting bread!
I do not feel good. I go through. My forehead is burning. I'm cold. I want to vomit. The knees are bent. For a moment I felt the smell of your skin Elend. I've heard the only ride gust of hot wind of the whole trip. I would smile, Elend, and instead some salty drops are fleeing from my eyes. And they are not sea. The knees do not hold me. I can not control his eyes, Elend. Everything blurs around me. I'm afraid, Elend. I'm afraid. I fear for me. I fear for you. I feel faint. I feel like dying. I'm afraid to die. Someone is embracing.
I ask your forgiveness. I ask you to tell me that I understand. I ask you to say I would do the same if you were in my shoes. My children suffer, do you understand? Do you understand that my family would suffer if I could get thinking about your bank? Eh, do you understand? But I say, but with all the boats that go around this sea ... with all networks sift through this sea ... just had to come from me? No. I've decided. No, I can take you to shore. I just can not. Enough is enough. Now I try to get you. What an effort to relieve hug. I wonder how you had to be first. Certainly you were not so swollen. The sea has given you another face. Yet I understand that you're a good man. It seems to me to imagine beyond this purple swelling around the face are your children. Beyond this swollen face I think I see your features and your wife's hands caress. See I'm crying? I'm crying. I who have emotions encrusted with salt, I'm crying. But why did you come to me? Eh? Why? Enough! Now I embrace you and pull you up.
I are holding up the stars. Diyar. Hejar. Samrend. I could not save you. The grain will end. And there will be the goodness of neighbors exhausted by hunger and survival. Die. I will die. Elend, die. Now I no longer feel the arms of the sailor support me. I feel suspended, Elend. I'm crying, Elend. Elend! I'm going to go into the water and I have the strength to swim. And even if I had, where would I go? Elend! I'm going to touch the water. And die. I tried to live, my children. I tried to make my children live. I love you, my children. I'm crying, Elend. I tried to save you, Elend. But I did not succeed. Farewell my children. Farewell Elend. I feel the cold night air draws us high. I'm falling. The water approached. I feel my body is wrapped in icy water. Farewell Elend. Farewell, my children ...
You made a dull thud when you fell in the water. You are too swollen to sink. You're floating. Have faith, you will find someone else. Now turn the motors and maneuver. Behind me is the rising sun. In front of me I can see the harbor. Now go down and sell the fish. I pay the two sailors. A salute to the guard and go home with the bread. I'm coming. Even today my father is coming. Enjoy your meal for my children today.
.
There a fisherman on the port. Will more or less 50 years. Always comes when the sun rises. I'm going to talk often. He sold everything he said. He had a boat, old but working. He sold. They bought two sailors who worked for him. Never tells me why he did it. I do not know if it's for the fatigue life as a fisherman needs. I do not want to say. I'll ask her and he tells me about the sea and fishing. It speaks for the maintenance of networks. It tells me to always remember the joy and luck in having no food. The sacredness of food. The misery of having no food. Injustice of hunger. Then he falls silent and the silent contemplation of the rising sun. After half an hour to finish fish in his thoughts, he turns to me and asks, "What do you do?". I tell him that the cook. It gives me a pat on the shoulder with his hand encrusted by salt. And finally smiles. Then it tells me when he said to his father wanted to be the cook. He dreamed of opening an inn. And he saw his wife and children inside to work with him. Because he had always wanted three children. It had three children. But his father, a fisherman, said he would be better to continue the family business and not send to hell bought that boat with a lot of work. We had thought about and decided to continue to make himself a fisherman. But one thing he had done it: the ship of his father, He was always cooking. Rightful. He was free to cook what he wanted. The only requirement was to use all and only the fish that no one would buy because it was too unkind. "Food is sacred. The food is hard work. Food is life. Life and taking life on. It is a sacrilege to the land, air and marine waste it, "said his father every day while the ship left the coast. And he tells me how to do justice to this fish took this into a soup. He did it because he thought it was a dish that requires the preparation of the sanctity of prayer. And prayer, he had been taught, was the means to give thanks to all that is sacred. "And the food is sacred, "he repeated, looking into her eyes. Began to select the fish: mullet, mackerel, turbot, mullet, lobster, spigolette, cod, corn, squid, cuttlefish, sole, dogfish, capon. The meat and separated by size: each had its own different cooking time and became part of the plate at different times. Also for the usual rule, cut the biggest fish in pieces. With the heads and bones of larger fish, prepared a broth simmering on a staggered electric kitchen. The key for him was in fry heads and bones along with some carusella. The carusella, he said, is the flower of the fennel. The carusella, that was his secret. Only when the heads and bones were golden well, then just add water. And other scents depending instinct of the moment. While the simmering fish broth, sliced \u200b\u200bonion and fry in oil was in another pan. Then, having taken care not to burn the onion, add some chopped tomatoes, garlic and parsley and a tablespoon of vinegar diluted with a little 'fish broth. This vinegar had heard from a fisherman from Ancona once came to visit her father. And let go until all the alcohol had not evaporated vinegar. Then start adding the fish pieces with larger and firmer flesh. After a few minutes went on to add all the other fish in descending order of magnitude. It made them taste well. Added all the fish, cover with the broth filtrate with a rag. Allow to cook slowly. His father arrived on time at this point to check with his nose court. It was a movement of his hands and call with all the steam rising from the pot, he offered to his nose. He looked pleased and returned to the networks. The secret of this food was all in density that he could get at the end the broth was determined as the will and smooth as a caress. He took the bread brought from home, and woe to throw! It's bread!, Sacred, not to throw even when old. Not even when it's hard. He took it, cut it into slices with fatigue and rubbed with a clove of garlic. He put the bread in the bowl and when the soup was thick at the right point, the bread bowl on. Denso to the right place, he said, is when he is able to saturate the bread without watery result: strong and delicate. To see the faces of his father and sailors, he said, it seemed that this food, warm and made with long-conscious care, eating their body from fatigue and free from the constraints on their lips that came up in smiles. Even if only for a moment. And, again, like a litany, her father, to thank him, telling him looking towards the sea, "who knows what would happen to your life if you had the cook." They ended up eating and everyone, including himself, went back to work with networks. At the end he always chose to be a fisherman and a cook.
Every time I go and sit beside him on the bench told me exactly this same story. And there is no detail to change. Then, after silence and breathed in the sun that has risen decided on the horizon, he is always telling me: 'You should come here too some morning to greet the rising sun ". "Why?" I say. "Why in the name of Kurdish Elend means the rising sun". Then he walks away saying: "Enjoy your meal for today, my friend."
I never asked for anything. I just always thought that it is not clear enough how much humanity is behind the food.
With flavor,
Biso
