Çayce

Yesterday afternoon Csaba visited for a farewell/goodluck/hope-to-see-you-very-soon-cup of Turkish tea, or çay. He had learned the sacred art of çaybrewing from Fasih at our housewarmingparty the night before, and was now pouring Gefion and me a fine drop of the darkbrown, too-strong-to-drink-without-sugar Turkish delight. 'Csaba çayce', we called him, our very own çay maker. We enjoyed our drinks on the balcony, Csaba lighting "at least one" cigarette with each cup.

After leaving our house at six that morning Csaba'd stayed at Steffen's place, and was now headed for Sakarya, about three hours from Istanbul. We asked him not to leave. We asked him to stay with us, and to 'be our pet' like Steffen when he was still homeless in Istanbul. We asked him to at least visit very often, and have dinner, and drink çay, ever more çay. But he downed his blue cup, hoisted up his backpack and lingered in front of the door, while we tried to delay our friend from leaving by fussing over the cups and teapot. Finally he walked down the stairs, waved, and was gone. It was Gefion and me again. It was alright.