Weather of İstanbul always changes. When it's cold snap, you feel like to be frozen. It's sometimes sleeting. It's sometimes sunny. Anyway, stoves are always lighted because houses are desolation. When it's jack frost at nights, people sleep early. They use more than one quilts.
It was a cold night that way. It was sleeting. We couldn't send our children to even grocer. Children whose hands got frozen was hugging stove lighting, they were sometimes crying. I weared a jacket and went to the grocer to buy bread. My face became as red as beetroot in three minutes because of cold. Wind and snow was hitting my face... I bought breads and turned to home. I hugged stove. "How a great cold. God help people who live outside." i said. And i remembered mother of streets at that time. "Oh my god, what did poor woman do? I hope she could find a good place to stay..." i considered. "I am so scapegrace. I forgot the mom".
I weared my boots and went to my bogie. I turned the car key. Nothing happened. It wasn't working. The radiator was frozen. It wasn't possible to go on foot. I had no money to take a taxi. Incurability and poverty make people hopeless. I turned to the home. "I hope she is ok. I will go to her tomorrow morning." She was living in a harbour maden by bazaar stands. "Maybe her son found her and take her near him. There are good people in that neighbourhood. It is possible that they placed the mom to a home. Humanity isn't dead yet!"
I couldn't sleep that night. I always thought the mom. It was getting colder in the night. It was four o'clock. Someone knocked the door. It asked "could you open the door please". "Police" he said. I was surprised. I had nothing to do with police. I opened the door. It was less cold. Everywhere was white. "What happened?". He showed me a paper on which my phone number was written. This was the paper i gave the mom 3 months ago. "Yes" i said. "This is my phone number." "We call you but the phone can not be reached." "Yes it is out of charge." "We found this paper in the bag of an old woman. There was no address or identification card." "Is she ok?" "I am sorry. She got frozen to death near a wall. Sorry for your trouble. Did she have any relative? son, daughter..." he continued to count...
I deplored at that time. My wife and children was cursing to the mom's son. "Yes sir, she has a son. But he left his mom a few months ago." "He left her in streets. We don't know where he is now." "Could you come tomorrow to identify the body. You have to be there at 9.30." "Yes i will be". They went... Tea was a great solution of cold in nights. We prepared tea. It wasn't possible to sleep. Residents waked up. They were also cursing to the mom's son. We made a big fire. People gathered aroun the fire. Almost 150 people were there. Osman Abi, who help poor people for burial services, came there from upper neighbourhood. "We will go together tomorrow morning" he said. Sun was rising. Everybody was around the fire. People were discussing if the death one was not the mom. Osman Abi said "Its ok. We will see tomorrow..."
It was 9.30. We were in the police station. "Let's do it" the officer said. We went to the morgue. It was cold. But the morgue was colder. The officer asked someone who knew the mom to enter the morgue. I entered. We lead down to the morgue. It was room full of death bodies. There were white cover on them. I understood that some of the bodies were operated. There were medical tools near them. The officer opened cover of one of death bodies. I couldn't identify her. The mom was black. She had a dark skin. But the death was completely white. "No, this is not mother of streets." I felt better. The officer asked me "Are you sure? There was your phone number in her bag." I suspected. I wanted to look her face again. I looked at more carefully. Those were her eyes. Her eyewinkers were frozen. I wanted to look at her hands. Yes, it was the mom. Her hands were callous like a man hand. Her hands became callous while she was collecting brick to build her house. I identified her. I looked at her face again. She was like rebuking. She was saying "You didn't look after me" with her eyes. Her eyes were full of hatred.
The mom, who was denigrated because of her skin colour throughout her life, became snowy when she died. Her eyes were saying "I borned alone i died alone." I started to cry when i saw her like this. My tears dropped to her callous hands and i felt like if her hands moved... The officer consoled me. I got out. I sit down near a wall and started to cry. "Why mom, you looked at me that way. I tried to come near you. Damn poverty. Damn people who invented money. Forgive me mom." An officer came and asked: "She is not your relative. If you don't want take her, we can bury her to paupers' cemetery." And what would happen to the mom? Would she be forgotten in paupers' cemetery? Osman Abi said "No, we will bury our mom. We are responsible for everything." I felt better. I asked "How could we done? She has no identification card?" "It's ok" Osman Abi said. "I will prepare everything."
I said officer that we would burry the mom when we prepared legal documents. We turned to the neigbourhood. The fire was still light. They started to ask us about the incident. They asked if she was the mom or not. Osman Abi was a jocular man. "Yes, it was the mom. She said hello to everybody." The atmosphere softened. "I will go to take documents now. Someone have to come with me." Osman Abi said. Residents were making common decision about problems of each other in our neighbourhood. Residents were helping each other. Osman Abi asked residents to give some money for funeral expenses. Each resident gave some money to him. He took a taxi and went. 3 hours later, he came back. He had prepared all documents needed for funeral services. Then he started to order people...
"You, you and you. Go to cemetery and prepare the place. You ten people, go to the morgues and take the mom. Bring her to the mosque." He turned to women of the neighbourhood. "You, prepare helva. And you prepare mekik ( a kind of food maden as a ritual for funeral )." Her turned to men. "You stay here. We wait in the mosque." They brought the mom to the mosque. We burried the mom after funeral prayer. All residents were there. We turned to the neighbourhood together after funeral. Mother of streets was death. A small tree came into leaf between bricks of her demolished house.
We slept peacefully at that night. I was happy that i kept my promise. I didn't let the mom to be buried in paupers' cemetery. We waked up next morning yells and curses. It was the drunken son of the mom. He was cursing. "Why you buried my mom without informing me." He was cursing everybody". He wasn't alone. There were 4 other bums with him. They were also cursing to the residents. Then the fight started. After the incident, son of the mom was full of blood. He and his friends ran away. We have never seen them again. I saw the mom in my dream at that night. She was lying on clean bed in her new house. She said: "Thank you son. You kept your promise. I said you before i would have a nice house after i died. Look, it's nice. There are two room and even a kitchen." She was smiling.
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