"On the maroon cloth, there were two crimson glasses. One with blood, one with wine. My nets caught black fish, one a carp, one a black cormorant. The mother fish cried, beating her knees, 'Hüsrev, don't sacrifice my baby. Let your mother weep, I'll drink wine, and you take the bloody fuel.'
He put two empty glasses on the table and poured water from a green bottle. The water hit the glass that served as a dam and splashed.
He looked at his bound and bowed head victim. His brown eyes sparkled. He laughed; he had succeeded again, he had escaped once more.
He ignored the voice asking, 'Are you sure, guard?'
The victim groaned, and the guard smiled.
'How did you fall into my trap, how did you come on your own?'
His eyes gently opened, looking at the wrinkled face of his prey.
'Surprised, aren't you?' he said, right before laughing.
'Guard?'
'It's me, officer. Guard.'
He laughed; he was always laughing. He enjoyed playing with his prey, just like a cat plays with a mouse.
'None of you understood me, none of you found me, none of you saw me. Neither you, nor your chief, nor Süleyman. Only he saw, he found me; and he paid the price.'
'Why, why did you do all this?' Ömer's words forced their way out of his sore throat. His face changed color, his fair skin turned yellow.
'Red fish swims in the lake, wriggling, fisherman Hasan comes, casting his line...'
He bent down and pulled out a blue blanket from under the table. He hugged it and knelt on the ground. He continued singing.
'Don't eat the bait...'
Ömer watched him like a three-year-old child. The man hugging the blanket was playing with it like it was his baby.
'Red fish, run away...' he giggled.
'I'm asking you, why did you do it, why did you kill Muhsin?'
He fell silent, the loving look in his eyes darkened. His gaze turned sharp like daggers aimed at Ömer.
'That bastard deserved it, he, Sinan, Şakire, and the little brats... I killed them, and I'd do it again. They understood in their last moments, I saw their helplessness in their eyes. Ah! How they writhed, how they begged...'
Without parting his lips, he grinned by clenching his teeth together. Ömer stared back without blinking at the eyes of a madman.
'You're insane!'
His face paled, the grin disappeared. His eyes filled with tears, the brown irises reddened.
Sobbing, 'Don't be mad at me, please don't be mad! I promise I won't do it again.'
He slid back, sitting on the ground, crawling. Ömer's mind was spinning.
'What are you saying, madman?'
'I want my mom, let my mom come.'
He cried hysterically.
Ömer didn't know what to say. Was this the murderer, the man who tortured children? If the man who roared with rage earlier was the guard, then who was this?
'Who are you?' he asked.
The crying stopped, he thought. Indeed, who was he?
One corner of his mouth lifted. 'Hehehe...' he laughed.
'I'm Fatih, Fatih Fatih. Hehehee.'
'Don't lie, you're Hüsrev!'
He fell silent, his expression changed. His hairless eyebrows furrowed.
'You can't put me in the same boat as that bastard, Ömer!'
Ömer was about to lose his mind. He opened his mouth, closed it without saying a word. He swallowed, 'Okay, who is Hüsrev, Fatih?'
His face calmed, he looked at Ömer in confusion. He was clearly thinking.
'Fatih, he's the yellow fish. I'm Hüsrev. My mom's red fish. And I have a brother, Muhsin, my mom's black fish.'
'Are you mocking me?' Ömer shouted, pulling his bound hands, straining his feet.
'No, Fatih is the yellow fish. But he's dead, the guard killed him.'
Like an innocent child, he bowed his head. 'I used to play with my brother, we'd go to the lake. Then the lake took him. It didn't give back our fish.'
He curled up gently on the floor. His scarred skin from the fire wrinkled his sad face. A few tufts of red hair glistened on his white skin. He tucked his hands between his knees. He closed his eyes and stayed like that. Ömer thought he had fallen asleep when his eyes opened.
'Are you hungry? You must be hungry,' he said, standing up.
His speech took on a dialect.
'I tell my kids many times, when a guest comes to the house, be respectful, ask if they're hungry or full, if they're from foreign lands they're tired. Ask, show respect. But no, they don't listen to me or show up when a guest comes. Oh, what am I to do with my brave lads.'
Ömer bit his lips not to say, 'Enough, shoot me in the head.' He had called this man mad, mad wasn't enough! This man was... If his hands weren't tied, he'd pull his hair out. He couldn't even find a metaphor to describe him.
'Don't worry, uncle, forget it,' he said, playing along. Maybe if he played along, this state of mind would stay.
He brought two plates to the table and placed them. Ömer hadn't seen where he got the plates from. For the first time, he examined the room. A small room with metal walls. A ticking clock hanging on the wall. A wooden door opening into the room, a table, a couch, and a chair; the one Ömer was sitting on. He disappeared again through the door and returned with a small steel pot. He placed the pot on the table and opened the lid. Using the wooden spoon inside, he scooped pasta onto the plates. He pushed one plate towards Ömer.
'Go ahead, eat, my brave lad,' he said, pulling his plate closer and stabbing his fork into his food.
'How? My hands are tied,' Ömer said.
He looked at Ömer in surprise.
'Oh dear, so this too had to happen to me. Those ungrateful ones even tie up a guest's hands.'
He stood up quickly and untied Ömer's hands.
'I'm sorry, son, don't mind them. Go ahead, eat your meal...'"