Good Morning, Ester (Morning, Day 13)

I woke up in a terrible state this morning. I had a strange feeling in my mouth, a painful pressure on my palate, most probably from grinding my teeth while I slept. I'd had so many dreams… So many colours, sounds and silhouettes… So many streets, squares and faces… A random, fragmented sequence of events… I couldn't remember any of them. I was exhausted, both mentally and physically, and so fed up that I could barely drag myself out of bed. If I could have just stayed under that warm blanket, just stayed in the room and let nobody touch me without the need to be protected from anybody, well away from all kinds of trouble… They were all hopeless fantasies, of course. I knew they were not going to leave me in peace and so, resigned to my fate, I dragged myself out of bed.

The breakfast lounge was quieter than usual. For the sake of conversation, I asked the waiter what was going on.

‘What's happened, Ihsan? The hotel looks like it has been emptied out.’

‘The Orient Express passengers have left, Şehsuvar Bey’, he replied gravely. ‘But they'll be back soon’. He didn't seem to mind, despite the seeming seriousness of his tone. He had a quick glance around and then said, ‘At least this way we'll have a little breathing space.’ He then realised his remark could be misconstrued and so hastily added, ‘I don't mean you, of course. You're one of us, sir.’ He glanced down at the half loaf of bread still on my table and the cheese that was just sitting there. ‘You've hardly eaten a thing. How about I get the chef to make you a lovely omelette, sir? And some freshly squeezed orange juice to go with it perhaps?’

Any other day and I would have gladly accepted his generous offer but this morning I really wasn't in the mood.

‘Thanks, but I think a coffee will be enough. And a glass of water to go with it. Cold water, though. I think I overdid the rakı again last night.’