Ve Aleyküm Selam (And peace upon you, too) is the response to the previous page’s Selam Aleyküm.
This conversation acts as the bridge between Ayse’s passion for sharing her family’s craft/legacy and Zeynel’s interest in storytelling. Carpets as a vehicle of storytelling is a theme that will be echoed through Volume One and expanded upon later in Volume Two, particularly in the conversations between Mora and Zeynel.
↓ Transcript
The banter doesn’t cease. But Ayse’s voice is clear, reciprocating his greeting.
“Ve aleykum Selam, come in.”
Only then does he dare to lift the curtain.
Zeynel is amazed at the warmth of this room. The atmosphere is incredibly jovial and busy. Cousins, uncles and aunties are occupied by all sorts of tasks. The walls and the floors are covered with layers of carpets, dazzling with colour and patterns, prime examples of the family’s heritage. Seated right by the entrance is Ayse.
Zeynel nervously asks, “Wh… what is this? Am I allowed to be in here?” He takes in again this countryside environment, carefree and unrestrained and so unlike the more formal customs of Istanbul.
Ayse replies, “Does your Islam forbid it?”
Zeynel places his forefingers together, letting the curtain fall across his head and shoulders. “Well, no? Does yours?”
Ayse snorts. “No! So get in!”
Zeynel meekly enters the room, and sits a few inches from the entrance. After he has gotten used to the visual bedazzlement, he could appreciate the artistry happening in front of him. Busy hands have made these intricate patterns on the wall, with each woven thread representing a night and day of someone’s lifetime.
He turns to look at Ayse.
“Amazing, isn’t it?” She smiles, in a way only someone who belongs in this world would. “This is the magic I want to bring to Istanbul.”
He blinks in delight. He understands completely now.
She continues. “Each carpet owes its becoming to a woman of my family, penning our heritage and legacies onto dyed wool, like ink and paper. We weave of the lives we've lived, the people we've loved, the hopes we dream, and wishes for life to come. Almost as if we are...”
Zeynel gasps, his voice shaking with excitement. “Telling a story.”
Ayse asks him, “Exactly."
His dark brown eyes sparkle in delight.
“Interested? You can start by helping me with this.”
She offers him a spindle with thread.
“Ve aleykum Selam, come in.”
Only then does he dare to lift the curtain.
Zeynel is amazed at the warmth of this room. The atmosphere is incredibly jovial and busy. Cousins, uncles and aunties are occupied by all sorts of tasks. The walls and the floors are covered with layers of carpets, dazzling with colour and patterns, prime examples of the family’s heritage. Seated right by the entrance is Ayse.
Zeynel nervously asks, “Wh… what is this? Am I allowed to be in here?” He takes in again this countryside environment, carefree and unrestrained and so unlike the more formal customs of Istanbul.
Ayse replies, “Does your Islam forbid it?”
Zeynel places his forefingers together, letting the curtain fall across his head and shoulders. “Well, no? Does yours?”
Ayse snorts. “No! So get in!”
Zeynel meekly enters the room, and sits a few inches from the entrance. After he has gotten used to the visual bedazzlement, he could appreciate the artistry happening in front of him. Busy hands have made these intricate patterns on the wall, with each woven thread representing a night and day of someone’s lifetime.
He turns to look at Ayse.
“Amazing, isn’t it?” She smiles, in a way only someone who belongs in this world would. “This is the magic I want to bring to Istanbul.”
He blinks in delight. He understands completely now.
She continues. “Each carpet owes its becoming to a woman of my family, penning our heritage and legacies onto dyed wool, like ink and paper. We weave of the lives we've lived, the people we've loved, the hopes we dream, and wishes for life to come. Almost as if we are...”
Zeynel gasps, his voice shaking with excitement. “Telling a story.”
Ayse asks him, “Exactly."
His dark brown eyes sparkle in delight.
“Interested? You can start by helping me with this.”
She offers him a spindle with thread.
