At last, he found an advertisement of a cheap hotel in Earls Court, in a magazine that is published only for certain travelers. Australian and New Zealanders. Others read it as well. It had different sections to cater for almost any need of a traveler in London. What subjects it had in it was related to his present situation. He had been going in and out of jobs hostels houses. Sometimes he slept under the staircases. Just because he wanted to or many times he just had to. Those cold nights long, he prayed he would not be seen by any passers by. He feared to be seen sleeping on the streets...embaressed...like street kids...
Some called it "the low life" a typical aristocratic expression. To him this was not low this was out and right "the pits”. How was one supposed to survive when one was "down”?
He had been staying at a cheap hotel for the last couple of weeks. Sometimes on the couch in the dining room. He had to wake up at a certain time. Under the discretion of the “night manager”, a tall slim but fit men with fuzzy brown hair. His favorite topic was the law studies he had left back in Scheilles Islands. He was expelled from his country. He described himself as a political prisoner, whilst pushing his thick glasses up towards the bridge of his shapely nose. He would wave his left index finger in the air as though speaking to a crowd trying to emphasize his every word. At the end of each sentence, he would let out a questioning “yeah" waiting for you to approve. In addition, the functioning of ones consciousness. In addition, subconscious ness. He wanted to take control of his subconscious. The way to do it was through complete relaxation of ones body and soul. That is exactly what Mehmet did. Often nodding, already hypnotized by the managers hand movements.
The night manager loved to talk about black magic too.
Mehmet had to listen to the night manager as long as he talked. Those precious times spent listening to the manager just to get cheap and sometimes free accommodation.
The stairways of the hotel were so old that every time you walked they squeaked. Manager was there to warn you to walk slowly...
These warnings just infuriated Mehmet. Who would hear you walking at 3 am? Even so, who cares...?
However, the manager accepted whatever you paid him so long as you had left the hotel before 7 am. Just before the boss arrives. Still sleeping.
One early morning Mehmet, after leaving the hotel before seven, came back to the hotel. So to get a cup of free coffee. He had not even a penny in his pocket. He selfishly thought that the manager would let him a free cup of coffee. Walked in to the hotel. No one in the office. Paperwork from previous night strewn over the table. Walked downstairs where the kitchen was. The manager was busy with preparing breakfast for the guests. Filling tiny bowls with jam out of an industrial size tin.
Hey...what are you doing here man, didnt I tell you not to come in the hotel in the morning the boss will be here in a minute... he shouted at Mehmet.
Mehmet was stunned " I ...I just came in to have a cup of coffee with you" he just muttered. He had not slept at the hotel that night. He was under a staircase opposite the theater, dreaming of becoming a rich man as he gazed through the billboards announcing the premier of AIDA opera...
doğan şahin- Londra-1988