Sometimes I wonder how we all got here.

To a state in the world where the very air we breathe is toxic. I pull my mask back up over my mouth and push on through the abandoned aisles of the local convenience store. Any more than a few moments in this air without a mask, and my lungs will collapse.

Since the Third World War, sickness has been running rampant throughout countries. For a while, it seemed like we may have been able to flatten the curve of those infected and stop the spread. But the sickness just worsened and spread further throughout the Earth. The air became contaminated, and those who didn’t wear some form of filtration fell ill and died in large numbers.

Now here we are. A few stragglers among dilapidated cities, struggling to find enough necessities to survive.

I rummage through the near-empty shelves in hopes of finding something to eat that isn’t from the forest and that I must skin alive to cook. My prayers are answered as I pull out a can of bready noodles in indistinguishable red sauce. But I can’t eat it here. If I inhale any more poison, I may not make it back to base camp.

So instead of digging into it ravenously, like I want to, I shove the can into my satchel and begin skirting my way back towards the front door. I blink away the dark spots flitting across my vision as I fail to breathe in enough suitable oxygen and grip the door handle to keep from falling.

The feeling of suffocating fades after a few moments, and I am back on my way. I cross the street, glancing up at the abandoned buildings with a nostalgic tug on my heart. Everything is so different now. It’s crazy to think that nothing will ever be the same after this. It hasn’t been for nearly four years, anyway, so I don’t know why I’m complaining.

Maybe because I’m about ready to give up entirely. The world isn’t what it used to be, and I see no signs of anything getting any better, so why try?

I shake my head, trying to dislodge the thoughts that weigh so heavily on me, and turn to soak in the remaining shafts of sunlight falling through the clouds.

That night, in my plywood lean-to with plastic sheets draped overhead, I light a candle and pull the can of noodles out of my leather satchel.

I mumble a prayer under my breath and then crack open the lid, grimacing as the smell seeps through my cotton mask and into my nose. Being careful not to cut my fingers on the edge of the metal can, I snatch a scoop of noodles from inside and carefully slip my mask down just long enough to toss the food into my mouth and then yank it back up. The noodles are cold and slimy as I swallow, and my mask quickly fills with hot air as I try to breathe and chew at the same time.

I repeat the process until the can is empty, and I promptly dunk it in the tub of dirty water sitting outside of my lean-to shelter. I reread the same novel I’ve had since society collapsed: Les Misérables by Victor Hugo. I’m almost able to speak French from reading it so many times, and by the time I finish two chapters, my stomach is cramping so bad I must lie down.

Maybe it was stupid to eat something from a dented can that expired two years ago.

I toss and turn for the rest of the night, stopping only to vomit into the dead bushes behind my camp multiple times. By morning, my head is throbbing, and my face is blotchy. I wander down to the river and swish some brown water in my mouth in an attempt to get the bitter taste of old food out.

It doesn’t work, and I smell the rancid odour within my mask for the rest of the day until I find some wild strawberries and devour them.

It isn’t until the next night that I realise the sickness I’m feeling must not be from the canned noodles at all.

It’s the sickness in the air. I took my mask off more than usual that day anyways, and I must have wandered closer to a heavily infected area. My head swims as I make the realization, and I decide to head for the next town over. I’ve heard rumors of small communities within the remains of old towns or farms. Maybe they would let me in.

And maybe one of them can help me get rid of the sickness.

I am going to leave today. I have lived here for the past six months, and I was all alone for the three years before that, so I don’t know how to feel about going out in search of other people that I don’t want to see. I’d have a higher risk of getting contaminated with others around anyways, and as these thoughts fly through my head, I start to think that maybe I should just call the whole thing off right now.

But I won’t, no matter how much my hands are shaking or how fast my heart is beating. Because I can’t go on like this. I need to be free. I need a fresh start. And this is the only way I know how to get that.

I focus myself as I walk by listing off all the symptoms of the airborne sickness one by one. Weak muscles, swollen joints, red face, dry mouth, loss of voice, brittle fingernail-

My thoughts drop away suddenly as I hear a shriek come from the sky. A kettle of hawks rushes up and out of the dying trees towering above me, swooping in a huge arch, only to dip and dive to the North.

Almost as if they want me to follow them.

I shake my head. Now I’m just making things up. A group of hawks isn’t going to be communicating to me while I search for a group of survivors.

I want desperately to rip the cloth from my face, to take a deep breath like I haven’t gotten to in years, but then my mind fills with the horror stories I was told of the sickness taking unassuming people who wouldn’t wear masks, conspiracy theorists that believed there was no sickness at all. There were ones that coughed up blood or suffocated to death, others that just collapsed and died on the spot, and still others that experienced such debilitating nerve pain that they didn’t even want to live anymore.

These thoughts are the only things keeping my twitching fingers from my mask, and calmly at my sides. The only things keeping me breathing.

The sun begins setting seemingly seconds later, and I hurry to set up a makeshift tent beneath a dead tree and start a fire nearby. The crunching sounds that echo constantly throughout the night keep me awake and tense, unable to think about anything besides the horror that may lie past the orange glow of the fire.

When morning finally comes, I’m shocked by two things. First, that I managed to fall asleep at all during the subtle chorus of bugs and dancing shadows that raged through the night. And second, that it seems my mask fell off at some point during my slumber. For a short moment, I revel in the feeling of cool air against my lips as I blink my eyes open. Then the panic sets in as I realise why I am feeling anything at all. I shoot up from my cramped position beneath the tattered cloth tent held up by mouldy wooden rods and begin scrambling to find my mask. With one hand rummaging among the dead, decaying leaves below me, and the other clamped against my mouth and nose, I search for it in a panicked frenzy.

Finally, there, I see the crusted, dirt-smeared rag in front of me and grab it, pulling the loops up and over my ears to hold it in place. I take huge gulps of dank air as soon as it’s back on my face and try to force my racing pulse to slow.

I’m going far too slow if I want to arrive in any survivor camp before the sickness takes me. It may be too late already. I pull on my mismatched, tight leather shoes and kick at the embers of my fire until all traces of me are long gone. Then I set out once more to find safety.

I say one more prayer under my breath, that I will find a camp before I’m gone forever. No more than a smudge in the world’s dark, sick history.

By the next evening, my feet are throbbing like I walked a mile with nails in my shoes and my eyes are watering like Niagara Falls. Which ironically, was bombed in the war, and is now no more than a pile of rubble in a pit of stagnant water.

I collapse on top of a hill overlooking a darkened field that stretches out for almost three miles. In the quickly dimming evening, I can’t see anything but a small speck that I assume is a bonfire.

My throat feels raw, and I imagine myself passing away quietly as I sleep. Or waking up in a mad panic and trying to claw at the air while my lungs disintegrate.

I blink away the mental image and decide to push on. I can go one more night without sleep if it means I can find a cure.

But the hope that was so palpable three days ago is waning, and I’d rather jump off this hill than take another step. I feel that my journey, my very life itself, is coming to a close, and even my eyes don’t want to stay open to see the next sunrise.

I know if I don’t get down to that community now, I’m going to die. So, I push myself up off the ground, letting my satchel slip from my shoulder and come to rest in the cold grass beneath me. I drag my feet forward, the uneven terrain drawing sharp gasps and cries of pain from me as my legs weaken.

My lungs are beginning to make a high-pitched wheezing sound each time I inhale, and my eyes feel like a thousand pounds of pressure are behind them. The sickness has its hooks in me, and I can’t see any way out now. Even my muttered prayers are too painful to croak out.

It looks like this is the end, for me. All this way, all these years: For nothing. There is no cure, there is no rest, and there are no survivors. These words spiral in my head over and over again as I make my way down the hill and closer to what looks like an arched gate.

No one will be there to greet me, no one will be able to cure me. I take shallow, bitter smelling breaths through my dirty mask as I limp closer to what seemed like a good idea so long ago.

I finally come to a halt at the abandoned gate, falling heavily on my knees, my palms raking across the dirt path below me. I can almost taste the blood in my mouth as my vision fades. All I want is to breathe.

I open my eyes to find two people above me, arms crossed, heads tilted down, sharing whispers. They don’t notice me until I move, and I notice why I feel terror pounding through my veins at an insane rate.

They aren’t wearing masks.

My hand flies up to my uncovered mouth with a gasp. The two people stare at me, eyes wide, and one leans forward, hands outstretched innocently.

“I need a mask,” I say, my hand muffling my panicked words. The woman behind the first tries to hide a smirk, and the other shoots her a stern look.

She turns back to me with a gentle smile.

“You’re alright, now,” she says. I shake my head, sure that I’m inhaling the sickness every second that I sit here.

“No, please-” I start, ready to begin rambling like mad, when she stops me.

“Listen,” she snaps. “The sickness is gone.” For a moment, the world falls away. She nods and continues. “It ended almost three years ago. It just…died out.” She punctuates her sentence with a shrug, and I blink away nervous tears, hand still clasped against my face.

“No, no,” I mumble, shaking my head. “That’s not- I’m infected, I’ve been sick for three days…” The woman shakes her head.

“We did tests with the equipment we have, and you’re perfectly fine,” she assures me. “Could it have been… Have you ever heard of the placebo effect?” I shake my head again, and I’m sure that by now, I look like a plastic bobble head figure. The woman sighs.

“It’s not that- I know I was sick-” I stammer, struggling to breathe past my hand. The woman seems fed up with my rambling and the other intervenes.

“We have a community here,” she explains. “We have livestock, and homes, and gardens where we harvest our own food. It’s amazing.” She blinks a few times. “And there is no more sickness.”

My heart lifts as I picture the possibilities. No more masks and dirty water. I can breathe and sing and laugh and be free. For the first time in years.

But what if it doesn’t last? I can’t go back to hopelessness after being offered a one-way ticket to freedom and family.

As if she read my mind, the woman adds, “If you don’t try, how will you ever know if anything is safe?”

It’s my turn to shrug, and I plead with my eyes for her to give me a mask. They retreat outside the spacious tent, leaving me on a small, padded cot. One of them stops before pushing out the tent flap and says over her shoulder, “Come outside when you’re ready to embrace the revival of our society.” Then she’s gone, and I’m all alone again. I hear laughter and cries of joy outside the tent, and I wonder if it’s true. If the sickness really is gone.

I stand up, keeping my mouth covered for now. But the woman was right, I’m perfectly fine. My legs feel strong, and my eyes are clear. Even my chest feels light.

I push my way out into the light and am shocked to see the beauty of a recovering community. So shocked that my hand falls away from my mouth and I take a deep breath. Everything is bright, and alive. No death sullies the image of greenery and joy before me.

I’ve found it, this beautiful place where I can start over and feel alive once more. I feel brand new, now that I’ve found what I needed so desperately.

A breath of fresh air. My revival.

Every one of our five senses is unique in their own way. The miraculous sense of smell is pointed to in the famous story of Prophet Joseph when his father Prophet Jacob said, “I sense the fragrance of Joseph” from afar, and when he rubbed his shirt to his sightless eyes, he regained his sight (Qur’an 12: 94, 96). This suggests that smell, or sweat, may be a guide for researchers regarding the diagnosis and treatment of diseases.

Some of the novel characteristics of the sense of smell have recently been explored. Studies jointly conducted in three emerging disciplines, namely artificial intelligence (AI), nanotechnology, and molecular chemistry, have suggested that it may be possible to diagnose one’s diseases using the smells of his or her sweat, urine, and breath.

Imagine that Parkinson’s disease, multiple sclerosis, kidney failure, Crohn’s disease, pulmonary hypertension, chronic kidney disease, or any type of cancer could be diagnosed through a simple assessment of the smell of your breath without any painful procedure including having to insert a probe, syringe, or any other apparatus into the body. It would be so convenient, wouldn’t it? We know that breathalyzers are being used for many decades to detect drunk driving by analyzing the sample breath from a driver. Scientists have been curious as to why such an approach could not be utilized to detect other diseases in this manner and have thus engaged in an interesting research.

A team of researchers from universities in Israel, France, Latvia, China, and the United States have recently managed to diagnose 17 diseases with an accuracy rate of 86 percent using an analyzer that determines the molecules in breath samples with the help of AI software.

The scents that emanate from human bodies are as unique as fingerprints in that they are determined by genetics and metabolic differences among human beings. Human babies know their mothers from their scents, and they would not accept being nursed by a woman other than their mother unless they are extremely hungry. Every household has its unique smell. Couples know each other from the scents of their loved ones. The wise purposes for why such an abundance of smells exist in our lives include their whetting our appetite for eating food, feeling spiritual gratifications, and knowing and avoiding spoiled food and other potentially harmful substances. Evidently, when human health deteriorates, foul byproducts – such as the defective molecules that are the result of fermentation, death, decaying, or wrong synthesis due to faults in cells, tissues, or organs – start to move around the body through blood circulation. Some of these consequential defects are removed from the body via perspiration through the skin, urination through the kidneys, or exhalation through the lungs.

Molecular composition of breath

To better grasp this process, we need to have a closer look into the molecular composition of breath. When we exhale, we release nitrogen, oxygen, carbon dioxide, argon, and water vapor. Human breath also contains organic volatile chemical molecules in gas form that can readily blend into air due to having a high vapor pressure at a normal temperature. US biochemist Linus Pauling, one of the founders of modern quantum chemistry and molecular biology who won the Nobel prize in chemistry in 1954 and the Nobel peace prize, examined volatile substances in 250 samples of human breath using gas-liquid chromatography in 1971. Pauling is commonly regarded as a pioneer in the field of modern breath analysis. According to a study conducted 40 years later, exhaled breath contains more than 3,500 chemical compositions mostly consisting of trace amounts of volatile molecules [1].

Most of these compositions are metabolic products synthesized or decomposed based upon the functioning of the organism as a whole and some of them are called biomarkers. For instance, lung biomarkers are related to the processes that occur in the respiratory system, especially in one’s airways. Assessments of these biomarkers is useful in the diagnosis of inflammatory diseases of the respiratory system. Some examples of these biomarkers include hydrogen peroxide and isoprostans, nitric oxide derivatives, metabolites, inflammatory markers such as arachidonic acid (for instance, prostanoids, leukotrienes and epoxides), and adenosines. Breath temperature is also considered to be an important factor in prototypes of an “electronic nose” which takes all of these factors into consideration and in which new analytical and computer technologies integrate them together to produce unique results have started to be manufactured. In regards to diagnosing diseases through odor detection by animals, it is known that dogs are capable of diagnosing Mycobacterium tuberculosis, which causes tuberculosis, by smelling breath while rats can do it by smelling the sputum [2].

In a study, a blood sample taken from a patient with colon cancer was tested against blood samples from healthy subjects and a dog was able to diagnose the sample from the patient with cancer at every run. This study demonstrated that there is such a thing like the scent of a specific cancer and chemical compounds that are unique to cancers may be circulating in our body.

A research team led by professor Hossam Haick from the Israel Institute of Technology collected breath samples from 1,404 healthy people (control) and people suffering from 17 different diseases. These diseases included lung cancer, colorectal cancer, head and neck cancer, ovarian cancer, bladder cancer, prostate cancer, kidney cancer, gastric cancer, Crohn’s disease, ulcerative colitis, irritable bowel syndrome, idiopathic Parkinson’s disease, atypical Parkinson’s disease, multiple sclerosis, pulmonary hypertension, preeclampsia toxemia, and chronic kidney disease.

The wet mucosa layer covering the insides of our nose typically attracts volatile chemical molecules. When odorant molecules come into contact with receptor cells located inside this mucosa epithelium, they become bound to these receptors and send electric signals to some 2,000 glomeruli, which are spherical structures consisting of nerves that can receive smells and encode them as electric signals in the olfactory bulb in the front and base of the brain. There are approximately 2,000 glomeruli around the surface of the center of the sense of smell. Smelling consists of interpretation of the patterns encoded based on the odorant molecules in these glomeruli. The human nose is capable of detecting one trillion smells. In Haick’s study, nanotechnology and machine learning replace the biological brain in the process of smelling.

Haick-led scientists used an organic carbon detection layer that controls the electrical resistance of layers made up of nanotubes through which nanotechnological molecules pass through in order to identify volatile organic compounds associated with specific diseases. The electrical resistance varies based on the type of volatile organic chemical molecules. AI software analyzes these changes in a machine learning system to determine which molecule occurs differently in ill people than healthy people in any specific disease. So far, gastric cancer was detected with an accuracy rate of 92-94 percent in the measurements made on more than 8,000 patients in clinics. Thus, researchers were able to discover that every disease has its own unique breath print [3].

As the diagnosis of diseases with the help of smell makes progress, the number of cases in which odor patterns in breath or sweat are determined increases. This raises the hope for detecting many diseases at an early stage even before their symptoms are manifest. An accuracy rate of 90 percent has been achieved in early diagnosis of preeclampsia, a disease associated with high blood pressure during pregnancy [4].

Dr. Hirsch says that the device that can diagnose lung cancer with an accuracy rate of 90 percent is able to detect a special “odor” coming from cancerous cells. The oily sebum secreted from the skin before any symptom of Parkinson’s disease has a musk-like scent which is not bad, but different from the normal. When physicians use the same technology to detect Parkinson’s disease, other cancers, kidney failure, multiple sclerosis, and Crohn’s disease, the accuracy rate is 86 percent. Ammonia in one’s breath is a sign of kidney failure. Researchers from the University of Illinois have developed a single-use device that can detect the breath print of kidney failure at a very early stage. There are even cases where doctors can diagnose certain diseases just utilizing their nose sensitivity without the need for special equipment. For instance, when a person’s liver starts to deteriorate and fails to decompose certain toxins these pollutants will accumulate in one’s urine, sweat, and even breath, and the odor of raw fish will be sensed.

If you have an infection in your gingiva, bacteria will secrete waste products that smells like rotten eggs due to hydrogen sulfide. This odor tells us that the person in question has gingivitis, a dental abscess, or poor oral hygiene. Diabetic patients have a fruit-like breath odor. This may indicate diabetic ketoacidosis as the body uses fats for energy due to a lack of sufficient insulin or lack of proper use of existing insulin. Sour breath is one of the early symptoms of infectious mononucleosis, caused by Epstein-Barr virus. In some rare metabolic diseases such as trimethylaminuria, foods such as fish, liver, eggs, and some vegetables cannot be digested in the intestines, and as they decay, they give off a strong “fishy” odor. In maple-syrup-urine disease, caused by a genetic disorder, infants are unable to decompose certain portions of proteins, and as a result, their urine, earwax, and other body liquids smells like maple syrup.

References

1. Popov, A. T. (2011): Human exhaled breath analysis. Annals of Allergy, Asthma & Immunology, Volume 106, Issue 6, p. 457.
2. Bijland, L.R., M K Bomers, M.K., Smulders, Y.M. (2013): Smelling the diagnosis: a review on the use of scent in diagnosing disease. Neth. J. Med.Jul-Aug. 71 (6): 300-307.
3. Nakhleh, M.K., Haick, H. et al. (2017): Diagnosis and Classification of 17 Diseases from 1404 Subjects via Pattern Analysis of Exhaled Molecules. ACS Nano 2017, 11, 1, 112–125.
4. Nakhleh, M.K., Baram, S., Zaher, R.J. et al. (2016): Artificially Intelligent Nanoarray for the Detection of Preeclampsia under Real-World Clinical Conditions. Advanced Materials Technologies 1 (9): 1600132

Life is over, only its silent voice remains,
Entrusted to the next, its breath remains;
I know not what I will be in the beyond,
Only a broken plectrum’s melody remains.

From the memories of the days now past,
From the silent whom I thought were friends,
From the words repeated at every breath,
Only its rank-struck, dry lyric remains.

Yesterdays yellowed as if fall has hit;
Sorrow rests now on faces once lit;
Past now scattered with a blown wind,
What is done is done, its lament remains.

Birds we were, chirping, “It will appear”
Flew we did, seeking a lofty ideal;
And now it is time to fly beyond there,
From this worldly lie, only a tune remains.

Translated from Turkish by Lina Cakmak

The dispersal of scent takes place via the thermal and light-like behavior of the fragrant particles in the air. Thousands of points, letters, and words are positioned in each and every air particle. Each molecule is created in a form to carry sounds, sights, and odor. Millions of sound waves, scents and images are being transported and translocated into each of the trillions of air particles without deforming or mixing. As our knowledge pertaining to this transport grows, new technological products that will enable the transport of odors will be offered to the service of mankind.

Our sense of smell occurs in the brain. The chemical molecules exiting a lemon peel stimulate the odor receptors in the nose, which are then transmitted to brain to be interpreted as electric signals. Our olfactory system can easily distinguish more than ten thousand scents. This has inspired scientists to design similar devices. These models are called “electronic noses.”

A series of chemical receptors are utilized in the electronic nose instead of the receptor proteins of the human nose. Each of these is designed to sense various scents. These devices are difficult to produce, as the cost grows for a more sensitive device. The signals that sensors collect from the environment are converted into binary codes via electronic systems and then sent to a computer. The role of human nerve cells in charge of sensing odor is replaced by the electronic systems of a computer.

Mostly in their early phases, electronic noses are beginning to be used in various sectors, primarily those involving foods and perfumes, as well as the medical and chemical industries.

How does odor transportation take place?

As I already mentioned, the aromatic molecules transported via air particles in their gaseous state are detected by the smell sensor system and converted into electric signals. Quite a few different materials are used as conductors: conductive polymers, semi-conductive metal oxides, a quartz-crystal micro-balance (QMB), surface acoustic wave (SAW) sensors, pellistors, and infrared sensors.

Once the electric signals are converted into binary, the odor information is determined via a software program in which algorithms such as artificial nerve networks and support vector machines are employed. This information is then transmitted to a remote medium via lines of communication, such as a computer network, the internet, or another form of mobile communication. The odor type is received in the target computer. This detection stage can be completed in the target PC when necessary.

Today’s technology can only permit the transmission of odor data. In order to perceive the transmitted information at the target location as smell, the scents must be present as stored in containers and must be triggered via received odor data to be dispersed. The research in this field is limited, with ongoing pilot studies.

How can diseases be diagnosed with odors?

The natural functions of the human body, such as sweat, blood, urine, and feces, can be used to help diagnose diseases. The odor of the gases in human breath holds significant information regarding body health. There are between two hundred and four hundred different gases found in human breath. Furthermore, the number of gas types detected and described in the breath can exceed three thousand. While blood gets cleaned in the lungs, the gases of the used blood pass to the breath via the alveoli. Therefore, many critical pieces of bodily information are present in the breath.

The gases exhaled through our breath are composed of various alkaline and aromatic compounds. Each of these is a potential indicator that provides information about a disease. The gases and their ratio in the breath of a healthy person are well established. Since the ratio of the gases in the breath gets altered depending on the cause of an illness – such as diabetes (Type I and II), cancer of the ear-nose-throat, tuberculosis, and women’s reproductive diseases – can be diagnosed by utilizing the electronic nose.

There are other uses for the technology, too. NASA is developing a highly sensitive artificial nose for space research. This device will almost be able to distinguish every type of chemical compound, making more sensitive measurements than a human nose. With this device, the detection of harmful substances in the space station will be possible.

Google has announced that significant progress has been made regarding the “Google nose” which helped revolutionize searching for aromas. The Google Aroma database (http://www.google.com.tr/intl/tr/landing/nose/) stores more than 15 million kinds of scent. The days when we will be able to smell the scent of any product through our internet based devices do not seem to be too distant. To make this possible, sound waves would be converted into odor signals. There is a partially-imaginary video prepared to show how this can feel.

New technologies will change our relationship with smell, which has always been deeply important to humanity. Reference is made of this in the Qur’an, especially when the Prophet Jacob of Canaan sensed the fragrance of his son, Joseph, who was hundreds of miles away. The verse, from the chapter of Joseph, reads, “Surely, I sense the fragrance of Joseph, unless you would consider me a dotard. “It shows how valuable scent is to us, as anyone who has had a long lost memory triggered by an unexpected smell understands. As the verse suggests, losing our sense of smell is akin to losing our minds. Research has borne this out, as one of the first symptoms of Alzheimer’s disease is the loss of smell. In fact, monitoring loss of scent has helped with the early detection and prevention of Alzheimer’s. This is yet another way that our body has been perfectly calibrated to cue us in to its messages. In this regard, as with many, technology is still trying to catch up to nature.

I’m calling you friend, oh friend.

Thousand pieces torn apart

I’m calling you friend, oh friend.

I’m filled with the love of thee

Mistaken my piety,

Lost my mind in ecstasy

I’m calling you friend, oh friend.

On the road and on the lane,

In the sacred or profane

Among pious with the vain

I’m calling you friend, oh friend

In the river, I’m a haze

Through mountains, I will gaze

For all the world, to amaze

I’m calling you friend, oh friend.

A bird in deserted land

Found comfort at roses’ hand.

So my bleeding heart will stand

I’m calling you friend, oh friend

Passing the world of worry

Flapping wings in the empty.

Your love and joy lifted me

I’m calling you friend, oh friend

Timeless feelings unspeakable

A condition incurable

On a canyon unbridgeable.

I’m calling you friend, oh friend

All I see is my friend’s face.

Towards you I have to pace.

Hope has never lost a case,

I’m calling you friend, oh friend

Seas and Oceans become breath.

Lungs shatter calling your path.

Till the day this voice be death,

I’m calling you friend, oh friend

I’m not sick or healthy,

Not heavenly or earthly.

But everywhere, constantly,

I’m calling you friend, oh friend

Walking behind my friend’s ways,

Smelling rosebud through the hays,

Saying what Niyazi’s says,

I’m calling you friend, oh friend.

Translated by Mustafa Tabanli

She might as well save her breath. After carrying water in pails and plastic bins from the first to the fourth floor of the building where we live, I know better than to waste a drop of it.

Moms love to warn though, so there she goes again: “We have so little left. Use it sparingly. Make it last until evening.”

In the evening my sister and I will start our summer ritual-water carrying-like the rest of our neighbors who don’t live on the first floor. The town’s water reserve level drops so low in the summer that the water pushes itself up the pipes to the first floor, but no further. On the first floor the water flows from the taps while in the higher floors it carries only growling sounds, like a monster in a bad mood.

So we use it sparingly, only when strictly necessary.

In winter the water runs through the taps of the whole building, not discriminating on the terms of the floors, three times a day for an hour and a half. Every household is busy filling every useable container in their possession during that time.

In the summer our survival grimly depends on the mercy of our first floor neighbors. Twelve families, three for each floor, carry their water up four flights of stairs, utilizing pails, bins, bottles, even cauldrons for this vital cause. Children are the most diligent carriers.

The clock on the wall reminds me that I need to get ready for the water’s evening course. The water won’t come for fifteen more minutes, but I must get in line at my first floor neighbor’s door to be ready.

I grab a pail and two bottles in a plastic bag. I run down the worn smooth stairs.

Soon, other neighbors join the march.

I am third in line.

The first is our next door neighbor, Auntie Jazja. She handles the ordeal quite normally. “I have seen worse,” tell her eyes.

Lina comes second. She lives in the fifth floor, above us. Three years older than me, but not much stronger, she holds an aluminum pail with a blackened bottom. Who knows how many times it has been used to heat water on the stove?

Behind me, fourth in line, is my best friend, Dita. She is restlessly switching hands with her glass bottles clinking noisily. She will break them sooner than she fills them with water. The line grows longer each minute.

Everybody talks with those nearby. Lina and Dita are chatterboxes. I am caught in the crossfire of their words.

I worry that our buzz will annoy our gracious first floor neighbor and she will shoo us away.

When the water starts gushing in we fall silent, listening in reverie. It is proper to wait ten to fifteen minutes for the household to fill their share of water, before the first in line is urged to knock.

I am glad Auntie Jazja is to do that today. A senior lady is always hard to turn down.

Soon enough she goes inside, greeting and blessing the benevolence of the neighbor who seems unpleased opening the door to a bunch of thirsty people. As we hear the water fill Aunties Jazja’s glass bottle, we let out a breath of relief.

Meanwhile the chatting resumes. We talk of anything but water.

Lina runs inside with her pail when Auntie Jazja calls her name, letting her know that she is almost done.

Auntie Jazja comes out carrying four one-liter glass bottles, two in each hand. A thin layer of condensation has formed on them. I think that is the picture of perfection. Those drops forming and dripping on the transparent glass refresh my soul.

Lina, shouts my name. It’s my turn. My heart beats in panic for fear that the moment I place my bottle under the tap, the water will stop flowing. Instead, I will hear that horrible whistle which I dread so much.

I enter, greet the lady of the house and head toward the bathroom. Lina is filling her pail, keeping a short hose in it. The water is forming turbulence, increasing in level, making me feel dizzy a bit with impatience.

When she withdraws her pail, I very quickly put my own under the hose, not wasting a drop of water or a second of time. We have to race with time as well, you see. There are people in line waiting.

I fill my container and call my best friend who appears in a second by my side.

I thank my neighbor, although I will return for more water in a few minutes. She knows that a pail and a few bottles of water are not enough for a family of six. I will make two more rounds if the time permits.

As I go up the stairs, I see a trail of water drops. Lina’s pail must be leaking. How silly! By the time she reaches home, half of the water will be gone. I look behind me to see if my pail is leaking, too. I am glad it is not.

At the second floor I feel my arm tighten. Warm numbness creeps up to my shoulders. The pail is heavy; my limbs stretch while my back complains. I put down my burden and I notice a fine red line forming in my palm by the handle of the pail.

I feel hot, and sweat is roller coasting down the bones of my spine. I will drink half a bottle of water to quench my thirst.

I take a deep breath, grab the pail and the bottle and step up the stairs. A frightful thought invades my mind. I had heard from Lina that carrying heavy weight was extremely harmful to young girls. It could badly damage the back, and also be disabling in childbearing. Although nine times out of ten I don’t believe what Lina tells me, this time I worry. Could it be true? My breathing becomes heavier and my muscles tenser. Tears swell around my eyes. I decide not to worry. Why have children anyway? To send them downstairs to carry water until they break their backs?

As I approach the third floor, I come across my little sister hurrying down the steps with one-liter plastic bottles under each arm. She smiles. I remember once when I was her age, I fell on the last steps of the fourth floor. I hurt my knee and my bottles rolled down, mercilessly spilling the water. I couldn’t stop crying, pretending that it was my knee that made me cry so much when it was the waste of water that broke my heart.

I leave the pail and the bottles in front of my door and as I catch my breath, I listen to Lina’s mother scold her daughter for carelessly spilling half of the pail on the stairs. It’s not her fault. The pail is leaking. But I would rather not interfere.

I ring the bell. Mom appears with a worried look. A shade of pity lingers on her face as she takes the full containers inside, and with an air of apology hands me the empty ones. “My poor girl” her eyes lament. I have noticed that the more I go up and down to make Mom happier with the abundance of water she could use, the sadder she gets. That’s when I feel most miserable.

As she closes the door, I overhear her curse the incompetent government, blaming the infrastructure for our misery. I know the government blames the lack of rain. When the rain vindicates itself in fall showers the government will blame it again, this time for the flood. You see how hopeless it is?

I go down the stairs, this time with two plastic pails. I feel so light that I wish I would never reach the first floor, but I do. Lina is again in front of me. The chatting continues as intensely as the flow of water.

Lina produces a photo from her dress pocket. A young man poses in front of greenest garden I have ever seen. The blue of the sky and the whiteness of his teeth contrast attractively, but I can’t take my eyes off the vast lawn behind him.

“This is my cousin, Alban,” Lina says. “You remember? He immigrated to France four years ago. He is doing quite well. He works in the Luxembourg Gardens in Paris,” she says proudly, as if her cousin had become the mayor of the city.

I am busy sorting out something confusing though. Isn’t Luxembourg a country in Europe? Then what business do Luxembourg Gardens have in Paris, the capital of France? I doubt Lina has any idea where France or Luxembourg is, so I keep my peace.

“Do you know they water the grass in this humongous garden with sprinklers that turn on automatically?” she asks.

And before I express my admiration, she goes on about her cousin’s high salary, the car he drives, his clothes and the gifts he sent to them last year.

“I envy him, you know,” she concludes. Her eyes are daydreaming.

“I envy the grass,” I think to myself, but I don’t say it aloud. I would break into tears if I pronounced how worthless I felt, and then I would have the whole line asking what was wrong. What is it like to lie under the sun and be sprinkled with thousands of silvery droplets that replenish every cell of your being? What makes the grass of Luxembourg luckier than me? A surge of envy fills my heart.

Lina counts with delight all the things her cousin has, unaware that she is counting all the things we lack as well. She gets on my nerves. I am saved only when her name is called. She goes in, leaving me with pails full of despair.

I did five rounds of water carrying today. Some neighbors had gone out of town leaving the line, ever so graciously, to us. After dinner I fell asleep listening to the news anchor woman explaining that this year’s drought was the worst ever.

With her drought-warning words echoing in my head, I dived into the world of sleep, and I dreamed. I saw my town was flooded. Angry rivers of water carried furniture, cars, and trees floating in the streets. Among them I saw a body floating, undisturbed. Then I recognized that it was my body. My eyes were closed peacefully. I looked like I was sleeping. In dreams you can do anything, even sleep on a flood’s current. A radiant smile of intact elation lingered on my face. I remember thinking out loud, “I don’t know whether I am dead or not. Yet, no doubt I am happy. So happy that I don’t envy the grass of Luxembourg anymore.”

Mirkena Ozer is pursuing MA in women studies at the University of Georgia, Atlanta. 

pure as rain, cool as the shade of clouds;

its colour and design address all the worlds,

unstained white like the river of milk in Paradise…

Not a transient hope, but peace everlasting,

from which begin all roads leading souls to heaven.

A source of strength for whoever affirms it,

a source of light for whoever takes refuge in it.

It unveils its wonders one after the other

To whoever enters its clime.

It draws the attention of all because of its message,

never worn out, written in the moisture of gabriel’s speech.

Its ever-green hills are pavilions where

the created meet with the Creator.

Satan is always defeated in its climate.

The greatest mystery between the Creator and existence.

Its voice is the most vigorous and enlivening;

Souls thirsty for that mystery stand before it

in utmost respect and ready to follow its way,

enveloped with the fragrant scent of afterlife.

The days it promises approach in blooms of spring;

it points to eternal existence and leads to

eternity, and along all the paths it clears

welcoming breezes blow from gardens of friends…

Through all the succeeding years, time

overflows with the pleasures it brings.

It came with the most profound of messages

and its breath holds the cure for incurable diseases.

The spirit is never heard to wail in its climate,

those burning in love are cooled with the hope of union

Though winter visits every year, those who enter it

gain immortality, suffering no autumn fall.

They advance to eternity with documents

showing their absolution from punishment..

meet with god and seek intimacy with Him

flying on wings of light that cannot tire

they pass impenetrable veils one after the other.

***

The nightingale sings in gardens secluded.

Each of its tunes sounds like the whistling wind

To those seen as foreigners in their native land.

It cries, like my ceaseless wails and laments,

Each resonates, high and low through the slopes

It bemoans all night until the sun rises,

Each breath comes out as a burning sigh.

On virgin trees untouched by man’s hand

It groans unceasingly for a lifetime,

And shed tears, full of grief; but who is there

To appreciate it, to sympathize with its pains?