It was many years ago: As I was returning home one evening, I found an old suitcase left beside a waste can. I picked it up to check its weight, and realized it was full. I carried my spoils home. I opened the suitcase with great curiosity. There were three things in the surprise suitcase: A lot of Aziz Nesin books, many of them first editions. An aura that belonged to pre-80 Turkey, stuck inside the thought of the books. And finally, an emptiness. I caringly placed the books on a bookshelf in my library. I took the emptiness in my palm, and swallowed it with a glass of water. As for the aura, I didn’t know what to do with it.