Ah aman aman, my beloved aman,
my sweet Memo, my beautiful Memo…*
This passionate, love-filled song comes to my mind as the sharpened blade cuts my neck. I feel my skin burning at the touch of the knife and my blood dripping from the wound. A single pull is enough for it to slip all the way through and slaughter me like a goat. Perhaps it is the greasy, dark hand of the bandit holding the sharp blade that brings the Turkish words to my lips. Perhaps it is his scent that smells of garlic, raki, and opium. Perhaps it is the curses against the infidels that I hear all around me from the armed bandits. Or maybe it is simply the chilling stench of the raging Turkey that has soaked my tender soul.