Good Morning, Ester (Morning, Day 3)

The strange thing is I woke up quite early today, even though it was nearly midnight when I finally went to sleep last night. What's more, I had weird dreams the whole night. In one, I was on a boat with Resneli Niyazi going to France. We were supposed to be going there to shoot an English general but it turned out the person we were really going to shoot was our own Enver Paşa and it was not actually Niyazi Bey I was with but our movement's own intrepid marksman, Yakup Cemil, somebody with whom I have never really got on, to tell the truth. But that was the dream, anyway, and that is when I woke up. Not in a film of cold sweat but with an inexplicable sense of delight, despite the bizarreness of my nocturnal visions. I used to feel the same joy during my high school years when getting on the train at Sirkeci that would take me to Salonika and straight to you. It was surprising, as it had been some time since I had felt such happiness. After relentless despondency, one begins to fear hope, but life, even if one does not lift a finger, has a way of filling a man's heart with joy.

I took a bath first, then got dressed and went downstairs to breakfast. Even bumping into the swarm of tourists that had arrived on the Orient Express yesterday could not dampen my spirits. With his usual swiftness and foresight, Ihsan, the hotel restaurant's head waiter, had the corner table set aside for me, granting me some reprieve from that group of noisy tourists. I may have put on some weight of late but this morning I was ravenous and I feasted on a sumptuous breakfast of eggs, honey and milk. As I was chewing on the last bite, the fat man that was fumbling around outside my door yesterday evening entered the dining area. He was looking for an empty table, and when he saw me, he was startled but quickly pulled himself together and bowed his head lightly in acknowledgement. I accepted his greeting and even smiled in response, but when Ihsan approached my table, I had to ask.