I cannot begin to tell you how happy I was when I learned of your learning to drive. Edmund has repainted our tuk-tuk in preparation of your visit. I hope you like orange, for there is plenty of orange to be found on the seats, windows, lights, and tires of the vehicle, as well as a dab or two on the main body panels of the vehicle, which could very easily be attributed to Edmund’s blindness. Also, should the subject of the car’s color ever arise, please say that it is a very pleasant shade of blue.
Edmund has begun construction on a tomb for himself because he has decided that he wishes to be remembered, and the project has already consumed most of our small garden. Each day after breakfast, he plays the same mournful Chopan recording and dresses in a black suit. A local man brings him the bricks, which Edmund stacks himself.
The structure is impressive by virtue of the fact that it is sound and stable in spite of Edmund’s age and physical condition. It is a testament to the commitment and care that Edmund has given to the project. It already serves some of its purpose, as Edmund goes and sits in the tomb whenever I practice my singing. Yesterday I threatened to install a tape recorder that would play a sample of my voice directly into his ear on a neverending loop in the event of his demise, and he became so sullen and heartsick that I had to recant.
This tomb business has become dismal and divisive. I hired someone, and tomorrow I am planning to bulldoze the thing and plant some petunias where it stands. That should cheer Edmund up.
I look forward to your visit, dear Zissy, and I sincerly look forward to seeing how well you can manoeuvre a tuk tuk in Istanbul’s traffic.