Merhaba is polite Turkish “hello!”.
Hanim is lady or madam.
One thing I really like about Zeynel’s character is that juggling between his massive social anxiety and his ability to connect and entertain people by putting on a ‘mask’. It’s a position I relate to now that I’m placed in his position, as an introverted artist who struggles with social anxiety but whose job requires in-person interaction with an audience.
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Zeynel is freakishly tall for his time (6’ 4”) so it’s a delight to draw him interacting with doorways and people.
↓ Transcript
He leans back, addressing the lady who is still seated at the table. He says to her, with well-practised polite charm, “Excuse me for a moment.”
Once the lady has her back towards him, he quickly shuffles to the hallway and nearly bangs his head against the doorframe. He lowers himself quite a bit to pass through, letting the curtain brush against the top of his hair.
Seeing this giant of a boy shed every ounce of poise that he had moments ago is simultaneously hilarious and pitiful.
In a shaking voice, he says, “Ayşe! I’m so sorry b-but I had to distract her until I could get you somehow but she kept talking and I was so lost and…”
Ayşe shushes him loudly, which produces the strange, almost instantaneous effect of silencing him into a quivering mouse. “Zeynel! Why are you panicking? You did great there! Let me handle her now.”
He replies with some incoherent mumbling, until his tongue remembers how to grasp proper syllables. He is that nervous. “B-b-but are you sure?”
Ayşe huffs and hustles impatiently into the parlour. “Yes I am! Now, shoo!”
Zeynel sighs in relief. He wonders whether he should follow her. After all, this is her territory, and she doesn't seem like she needs his help. But he recalls what being a carpet merchant means to her – the commemoration of a moment, the delight in people's eyes when they find the carpet they were looking for – and he wants to see the magic for himself.
He recollects his poise, counting from one till five, then turns around to follow her.
Ayşe bows down, and kisses the hand of the client. She says respectfully, “Merhaba, Hanim Fatihah. It’s an honour.”
Hanim Fatihah smiles. “You must be the girl mechant. I’m here, as the angels prophesied.”
Ayşe snorts a little at the joke, and with a fanciful gesture, asks, “Would you like to get started? Baba and I prepared a catalogue earlier.”
Hanim Fatihah gives her assent.
And the show begins.
Hanim Fatihah is seated on the sofa, with Zeynel cross-legged on the floor some distance from her. In front of them is Ayse. Brimming with confidence, she dramatically unfurls the first carpet of the catalogue.
Once the lady has her back towards him, he quickly shuffles to the hallway and nearly bangs his head against the doorframe. He lowers himself quite a bit to pass through, letting the curtain brush against the top of his hair.
Seeing this giant of a boy shed every ounce of poise that he had moments ago is simultaneously hilarious and pitiful.
In a shaking voice, he says, “Ayşe! I’m so sorry b-but I had to distract her until I could get you somehow but she kept talking and I was so lost and…”
Ayşe shushes him loudly, which produces the strange, almost instantaneous effect of silencing him into a quivering mouse. “Zeynel! Why are you panicking? You did great there! Let me handle her now.”
He replies with some incoherent mumbling, until his tongue remembers how to grasp proper syllables. He is that nervous. “B-b-but are you sure?”
Ayşe huffs and hustles impatiently into the parlour. “Yes I am! Now, shoo!”
Zeynel sighs in relief. He wonders whether he should follow her. After all, this is her territory, and she doesn't seem like she needs his help. But he recalls what being a carpet merchant means to her – the commemoration of a moment, the delight in people's eyes when they find the carpet they were looking for – and he wants to see the magic for himself.
He recollects his poise, counting from one till five, then turns around to follow her.
Ayşe bows down, and kisses the hand of the client. She says respectfully, “Merhaba, Hanim Fatihah. It’s an honour.”
Hanim Fatihah smiles. “You must be the girl mechant. I’m here, as the angels prophesied.”
Ayşe snorts a little at the joke, and with a fanciful gesture, asks, “Would you like to get started? Baba and I prepared a catalogue earlier.”
Hanim Fatihah gives her assent.
And the show begins.
Hanim Fatihah is seated on the sofa, with Zeynel cross-legged on the floor some distance from her. In front of them is Ayse. Brimming with confidence, she dramatically unfurls the first carpet of the catalogue.
