Afternoon Stroll

The sun is shinning. A miracle for this raining, miserable, grey summer. It takes exactly one morning of sunshine to put smiles back on the faces of people. I wander around town, from one place to another doing chores: pick up a DVD (Hot Fuzz), a quick stop at the cash automat, drop off a book at a friend’s place, and buy vegetables for this evening’s dinner.

Buying vegetables is always last on my list. I know the owner, N., of the shop. Actually, I’m not sure she’s the owner: she runs the shop. Her father does the product purchasing at the distribution centre at Hamburg’s harbour. Her mother makes and bakes Turkish specialities, which N. sells along with fruits, vegetables and a selection of Turkish and Arabic dry goods.

If N. is not busy, we sit in the corner of a storage room across the hall from the shop and drink a glass of tea or some “drink yoghurt” together. The storage room’s door is always open, so when someone comes into the shop, N. can wander over, serve the customer, and then come back and sits at the table with me without the slightest blip in our conversation.

Her sister, husband and young children live in one apartment above the shop. Her parents and N.’s younger siblings on the floor above that. N. and her teenage daughter on the top floor.

While N. and I sit and drink a cup of tea, her father comes in, and I am formally introduced to him in Turkish. I answer back formally in German. I must pass some test; for ten minutes later, N. younger brother comes down and mans the shop for a half-an-hour. N. and I luxuriate in some uninterrupted conversation.

After a half-an-hour, the brother quietly, wordlessly goes back up to his apartment. N. and I quietly, wordlessly get up and go over to the shop. I buy my vegetables, thank her for the tea, and stroll on back home under the late afternoon sun.