Turquoise Trail

I never knew how turn of events would change my life. For who am I? A coffee maker, son of another coffee maker and so generations of my family have performed such a low ranking job, that we consider the occupational epithet akin to what “İngiliz” men would call a surname. My father treated his epithet as if he were a Paşa. Our ancestors told generations after generations that they served the great Sultans with the golden drink.
Probably, the only thing that I could do other than making the brown meşrubat was the knowledge of letters, a very uncommon thing for a member of the coffee makers. However, I have proudly never gone to a Medrese, having learnt the knowledge from my father’s master who was kind enough to have me taught, as his attempts to have his own son taught met fatigue; his son was a brat. The Bey was keen enough to teach me Osmanlıca and the unpoetical Fransızca and totally unwanted İngilizce. Other than this however nothing about me deserves any attention.
The man who indeed deserves great attention is the man behind the magnifying glass: Gümrülü Hasan Bey. I met Hasan Bey through pure coincidence. He wanted a Kahveci for services and I wanted a few liras.