Only it wasn’t a town now but just some mounds and ruins, in which a donkey was grazing, pulling at the weeds growing in the broken walls. Its owner was hoeing a patch between the mounds and he told them that the nearest village, the one from which the small boys had come to vex Mohammed, was further inland, about a couple of miles away but nearer the beach where Cunningham had landed. As they drew nearer to it, the stony ground became stony fields, recognizable not by their green or by things growing but by the neatly hoed patches where things might grow. Beyond the fields they could see the houses. They were built out of stone but plastered with mud and had flat roofs on which there were piles of brushwood and onions drying in the sun. Dogs were lying in the shade of the walls, their tongues lolling out. In the middle of the village there was a well, around which some women were chatting, while one of them lowered a bucket. Further along the street was a café, where men were playing backgammon on marble-topped tables.
What do You think about A Dead Man In Istanbul (2009)?
