To be loved

Abstract

Emma's new apartment was in the heart of the Balik Pazari which meant ‘fish market’ in Turkish, but really was just another of the many dark passages that you found everywhere in Taksim. She thought it was one of the most romantic places she had ever seen - you could buy old books and maps thick with dust, silk scarves and glass lamps, green birds screeching their heads off, spices the colour of gold, dark olives with crinkled skins, white cheese, and fish, of course, shining on their beds of ice under light globes that dangled on thick black cables. Dim light filtered down through the dirty plastic roof, the air was full of the sing song of the salespeople - Findik - lar! Doma - tes! Midye Dol - ma! and cats darted from one stall to another, sleek cats, some pregnant, bellies swaying, slinking and begging scraps from the fishmongers - big men with thick fingers and soft hearts. Overlaying all the smells - the rank drains, the smoking cooking oil, the fragrant spices, was the sweetish smell of old dust, the kind of dust that has built up in a place over thousands of years.