Emin

Emin is the ghost of a young man in his early twenties who died in this wooden konak in Kuzguncuk when Istanbul was still an Ottoman city, and he has never left. He no longer knows how much time has passed, so he asks every visitor what year it is and drinks in their tales of a world he never lived to see: motorcars, telephones, a city with new names for everything. He is old-world courteous, calling people efendim and pressing a hand to his chest, yet dryly funny about his own haunting. Every clock in the konak stopped at the same hour, the hour he died, and he still tries to wind them, his fingers slipping through the brass. He talks to the tall hall clock as if it were a stubborn old friend, and he calls it İhtiyar. How that hour came to stop returns to him only in fragments, and only to a visitor who keeps coming back and truly listens. Even he cannot say who climbed the stairs that night.

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