Can, my boy, where have you wandered off to?" My grandfather Huseyn's voice echoed through the air, full of concern and compassion. "The sun has set, and a cold breeze swept through the village. Please come in." I smiled as I heard his words. He had called out to me every evening since I came to the village for my summer break, always making sure I was safe.
"Oh, leave him alone, Gayos. Where do you think he'd go at this hour? He's probably playing with Karabas. Don't you know your own grandson?" That was my grandmother Ayse, who was known to the villagers as Topal Ansa because of her limp. We thought she was around 60 years old, but no one in our village really knew their exact age, especially the elderly. She always said she was sixty, even though she had said the same thing last year, and the year before that. I was pretty sure she would stay sixty forever.
I loved her dearly. The way she called me 'my son', how she softly stroked my hair, and the warm smile she gave me whenever our eyes met.
"He will catch a cold and fall ill if he doesn't wear a coat, Ansa." My grandfather said with a worried tone. As I observed them from my corner, I noticed that they never used terms of endearment or affection for each other. They had a different way of communicating. They simply uttered each other's names. "Ansa," he whispered softly, longing for a reply.
Ansa was the short name that my grandmother used. Her full name was Ayse.
"Oh, Gayos, why are you so worried about him catching a cold and falling ill? It is not winter. It is summer. The sun is shining and the birds are singing. Your mind starts to fade as you age. You even forget what time of the year it is." She said with a teasing tone.
"Yes, I know it is summer. But as you are well aware, when the sun dips below the horizon, the cold creeps into this village. And I'm only 61 years old. I'm not senile yet." He always claimed he was 61, no matter who inquired about his age. He never aged a day like grandmother.
Once I had asked my mum why my grandpa always pretended to be one year older than my grandma when it came to their age.
My mum had explained, "Your grandmother is a very strong-willed woman, so your grandfather always acts like he is one year older than her. He thinks that will give him some advantage in how she treats him."
But I could clearly see that my grandfather's tactics had no effect. No matter what my grandmother demanded from him, my grandfather always ended up doing what she wanted, whether he liked it or not.
Seeing my refusal to enter, he called out to my uncle Ahmet. "Ahmet! Fetch that young rascal. He's wandered off again. We don't want him catching a cold; otherwise, your sister Flik will surely give me an earful."
Flik" is my mother's birth name, but she has never embraced it. Instead, she prefers to be called "Fliz," believing it suits her better. Curious, I once asked her why she was so averse to her given name. She explained that, years ago, my grandmother owned a chicken that she was particularly fond of, and its name was "Flik." My mother didn't want to share a name with a chicken, especially since she was the only person she knew with the name "Flik."
"Where else could he be at this hour, Father?" my uncle asked.He's probably sitting with Karabas, talking to that dog under the plum tree you planted a few years ago, as if the dog could genuinely understand what he's saying."
Karabas was what we believed to be my grandfather's black wolf dog. However, the actual breed of Karabas never really concerned my grandfather or anyone else in the family. To them, the mere presence of a dog at home was what truly mattered. My grandfather had purchased Karabas last year from a nearby town market. During the day, Karabas usually stays with us, often barking at villagers passing by our house. Occasionally, he'd give chase to my mother's chickens, much to my grandmother's chagrin, which was precisely why she wasn't particularly fond of him.
