"Allahu akbar Allahu akbar..."
He opened his eyes to the sound of the call to prayer. He was cold and needed to pee. He quickly got out of bed and headed to the bathroom. Since it was still not fully light outside, he turned on the light. After he was done, he washed his hands and then went to his brother's room. He tucked the quilt between his legs and smiled at Tarik, who was still sleeping. They used to sleep together on the floor during winter. At night, if his brother kicked off the covers, he would pull the quilt back up to cover them. Tarik's sleep was so deep that sometimes he had to wake their mom and say, "Brother has uncovered us again."
Remembering those days, he tiptoed to the bed and managed to cover his brother with the quilt again. Just as he was about to go back to his own room, he turned back and slipped into Tarik's bed. Tarik murmured something and opened his eyes. Seeing Buğra trying to snuggle next to him, he moved over and wrapped his arms around him.
Tarik fell back asleep but was woken up by his phone ringing. He climbed over Buğra without waking him and got out of bed. He reached for his phone on the table and managed to answer Figen’s last call.
"Hello, my love."
"Are you still sleeping?"
"You woke me up, darling, it's..." He was about to check the time when he looked at his phone and saw it was 8:40.
"It's pretty late, huh," he said.
"Why would I call you at the crack of dawn?"
"Right, I must have crashed early yesterday. Plus, I had a weird thing happen last night."
"Like what?" Figen sounded both worried and curious.
"Never mind, I think it’s just the new place getting to me. I thought someone broke in, but there was no one."
Tarik bit his lip. Why had he even mentioned such a silly incident to Figen?
"How could a burglar get in, love?"
"They didn’t, honey, I just thought so. Probably just imagined it."
"You're okay now, right?"
Figen was clearly more worried now.
"I'm fine, we're fine, don't worry," he said in a soothing, reassuring tone.
"So, what are you guys doing today?"
Tarik was heading to the kitchen while talking to Figen. He filled the teapot and put it on the stove.
"First, we need to make breakfast, of course," he said with a laugh and set the teapot on top of the kettle. He turned on the stove.
"You can do it, babe, making breakfast is no big deal."
"Of course, I can. I've even started the tea."
"Way to go, my hardworking love, kissing your cheeks. I need to go now."
Tarik squeezed the phone between his shoulder and ear, pulling out cheese from the fridge. With a chuckle, he said, "How about a kiss on the lips for once?" and laughed out loud at Figen’s reply, "Tarik, you’re such a tease," as he pictured her blushing face. He was still laughing when he heard the beep of the phone hanging up. He had just closed the phone when the water boiled.
He opened the tea packet, poured it into the teapot, and poured the boiling water over it. He placed the teapot back on the kettle to let the tea brew while he prepared cheese, olives, tomatoes, and cucumbers in dishes. Guessing the tea was brewed, he turned off the stove. There was no bread, so he turned to Buğra, who was still asleep. "Buğra, wake up, let’s have breakfast," he said as he approached the bed. When he took the quilt off, Buğra blinked awake.
"Go wash your face, I'll get some bread," Tarik said as he was already heading out the door. He took the keys from the lock and left the house. As he put on his shoes, a voice greeted him, "Good morning, young man." A man in his fifties, dressed in a navy blue pants and a blue striped gray shirt, well-groomed hair and beard, was standing by him.
"Good morning, uncle," Tarik replied.
"You must be new here, haven’t seen you before."
The man’s voice was deep and husky, Tarik thought to himself that he could have been a voice actor. "Yes, uncle, just moved in yesterday."
The man rested his hands on the railing and looked around, then turned his gaze back to Tarik.
"My name is Muhsin, I’ve been here for years. If you need anything, I’m on the eighth floor, apartment seventy-three, we’re neighbors now. We should help each other out."
Tarik smiled, glad to have met a decent person so soon.
"Thanks, Muhsin Uncle, I’m Tarik. If you ever need anything, feel free to come over. Neighbors rely on each other."
Muhsin laughed, pleased with Tarik’s response.
"Alright, Tarik my boy, I will. Take care, God bless," he said and started down the stairs briskly. Tarik watched him go, admiring his energy, then he too started down the stairs.
Once outside, he turned right at the junction of three roads. The road opposite led to the bus stop to the bazaar, the left road to the campus, and the right road to shops like markets, bakeries, and stationery stores. He quickly bought two loaves of bread from the bakery on the corner and returned home. The streets were quiet in the early hours. When he reached his building, two young men stepped aside to let him pass. One was in jeans and a t-shirt, the other still in his tracksuit. Tarik hurried up the stairs and found Buğra talking on the phone as he entered. Seeing Tarik, Buğra said,
"He just got back, uncle, here he is," and handed him the phone Tarik had left at home. Tarik took the phone and brought it to his ear, hearing the wheezy voice that always made him uneasy.
"Peace be upon you, nephew."
"And upon you, uncle, what’s up, any news?"
He placed the bread on the table, his tension rising. If Uncle Süleyman had called, it meant there was news.
"There’s a trial today. In the afternoon at three."
"Okay, do we know what might happen?"
He took the kettle off the stove and pulled out the milk from the fridge. Pouring the milk into a pot,
"The lawyer says they’re pushing for life, but the other side’s lawyer will claim he was mentally unstable. The judge will probably want a report from a mental hospital," he said.
Tarik slammed the pot on the counter, causing the milk to splash. Buğra jumped in his seat.
"What do you mean he was mentally unstable, uncle? That monster killed my parents. He left us orphaned. Does such a beast deserve to be in a hospital?"
His voice cracked towards the end. He looked back at Buğra, who was sunk deep in his chair, his eyes shimmering with tears. Tarik clenched his fist tighter. His knuckles whitened as his nails dug into his palm. He added more milk to the pot and turned the stove back on, letting the milk warm.
"That’s what the lawyer said, nephew. There’s nothing we can do. That disgrace has a lawyer too, claiming there was severe provocation and that he was mentally disturbed."
Tarik grew redder with each sentence, furious but trying to contain it for Buğra’s sake. He felt somewhat responsible.
"Severe provocation, he stormed into our house, murdered my mother. When my father tried to stop him, he killed him too, and you talk of severe provocation! What about home invasion, uncle?"
"Nephew, you know your mother..." The voice then cut off.
"Uncle... Uncle," Tarik called out several times.
"I’ve got something to do, nephew, I’ll call you back," the man said, and hung up as the milk began to boil over.