"Olacakla öleceğe çare bulunmaz" - There is no remedy for what will be and who will die

Altan whimpered. He'd woken up again - it was 4 am. He never found Ms. Evans... Edith... yesterday. His first idea had been to go to the library of course. That proved impossible - there were people, so many people, blocking the way, and the crowd grew thicker and thicker the closer to the library he got. He saw flames over their heads and sobbed. What was happening? Where was she? Where did the fire come from? So was the library on fire too? Ah, the mosque was on fire! Where should he go? What should he do now?

Altan tried to push through the mass of people, but he was too old and weak to do so. No one even noticed him and his pleading to pass through. Altan felt powerless and empty, especially without his cart. It was back in his apartment because it would have been foolish to bring it out with him, like he was going to try to sell coffee in the midst of this crisis. But with it he felt important and purposeful, and it would have made a decent battering ram. For hours Altan yelled, pushed, pinched, and tried to squeeze through the crowd with little success. He got just close enough to see that the library itself wasn't on fire, but was that a bonfire of books in the street? Where was Edith? How could this happen? Who'd done this?

Back in his bed, Altan slowly fell back asleep, determined that he would see Edith today. As soon as the sun rose, he'd call upon her in her apartment. He'd have to hurry though, she left early for work... if she even made it back to her apartment.

At 9 am, Altan woke with a start and then jumped out of bed. He was late! The sun had just peeked through the overhanging clouds for a minute, and the brightness had woken the old man. He was so tired from the day before, but he had felt sure his strong will and desire to see Edith face to face would have woken him with such energy and adrenaline that he could have done anything. But it was already 9 am and she'd frown upon his tardiness.

Altan rushed through his apartment getting ready then hobbled down the stairs. Dejá vu he thought. Out on the street, he hurried past Jedediah, still chanting the hymn that had filled the town the day before. Police cars and an ambulance rushed by Altan and he wished he could move that fast. He had to see Edith, talk to her, relieve his guilt.

Upon arriving to the library, Altan noticed the restless, noisy crowd - had they stayed the night? What did they want with Edith and her books? A library was a place of peace and knowledge, not of ignorance and harassment. Altan joined them, again attempting to push through.

"-dead!"

"What?"

"They said she's dead!"

"Who's dead?"

"Some old lady."

"The librarian."

"The librarian?"

"The librarian."

"Dead?"

"Yes!"

"Shame."

Dead? Dead? Altan seemed to sag, weighted down with bitterness and grief, more so than normal for a 70-year-old man. He fell away and drifted back into the cruel landscape of the city. The mosque was gone - was Allah gone? Edith was gone - was his dignity gone? Was his heart? His kahve cart was still around - he could continue to sell his coffee, make money, spend money, provide for himself...

Battered and maimed, as one is when one experiences a great loss, Altan shuffled back to the tower with this knowledge. The simple idea of materialism was the only thing that tied him to humanity now.