They walked for a while quietly. Something Nicole said was bothering Nir, and he was trying to work it out.
Did it really all come down to money? Sure, money was a major part of it. Turkey was nearing financial ruin and would need to be bailed out by Russia or China or someone if something didn’t change. But it seemed so much of it came down to Erdoğan himself. He was paranoid of overthrow, which made sense after the failed coup back in 2016. But was that even real, or was it actually a created opportunity for the man to get rid of some troublesome or threatening enemies?
They rounded a corner and began to move north.
Erdoğan had to know that Turkey didn’t have the firepower to go against Israel alone. If they collected some alliances, maybe they could. Russia and Iran were probably ready to go. Turkey already had Libya in its pocket, and they had major inroads into Somalia. But still, the timing doesn’t make sense. It’s almost like it’s an ego thing with him. Like he’s a little sick in the head.
That’s when all the pieces fell into place. Foreign pundits around the world would likely argue with him, but to Nir, this was what made sense. He was about to share his brilliance with Nicole, but she beat him to the punch.
“Let’s sit,” she said, directing him to a bench that faced the beautiful, winter-bare Stadspark across the road. Nir sat and set the pink box down next to him. After Nicole sat, she unzipped her handbag and pulled out two foil-wrapped bundles. “These looked so good in the hot case at the bakery, and since we didn’t get a chance to eat at the bar, I figured I’d get us a little dinner.”
Nir took his, then paused a moment to let Nicole say an internal prayer. The package he held was warm and smelled delicious. “Okay, open it up,” she said when her green eyes were back on him.
He pulled back the corners, then let the package unroll. Inside was a croissant, split in two, with he didn’t know what kinds of cheeses melted between the halves.
“Just smell it,” said Nicole with a grin. “It’s downright decadent.”
Nir inhaled deeply, then took a bite. Somehow the cheeses inside were still hot, scalding the roof of his mouth. The flavor matched the scent perfectly. It was like eating a cheese festival. “Oh, that is so good,” he said, his mouth still full.
Nicole looked like she wanted to reply, but instead was waving air into her mouth to cool it down. When she could finally speak, she asked, “Is that some sort of kosher magic getting food to stay that hot for that long?”
“Ve haf our veys, yaldah,” Nir said, taking on the voice of a Yiddish mother. Changing back to his regular voice, he said, “Amazing call on dinner, motek. The only thing that could have made it better was a little ham in the mix.”
Nicole snorted with a mouthful of food and put a napkin to her mouth. “Nice try. You’re the one who decided to walk me through the Jewish quarter.”
They finished their sandwiches. Nicole gathered up their trash and stuffed it back into her bag, then leaned up against Nir. He pulled her tight, letting their combined body heat ward off the night chill.
Remembering his earlier revelation, he said, “Hey, I was about to say something before our incredible dinner. Back in the mid-nineteenth century, Tsar Nicolas I first called the Ottoman Empire a ‘sick man.’ Later, some newspaper picked up the phrase, calling Turkey ‘the sick man of Europe.’ That title has stuck ever since. Imagine Erdoğan, who is an egomaniac as it is, knowing that the world views his once-mighty country that way. I mean, at one time that area was considered the center of the civilized world. It was the link between East and West, between Asia and Europe. If you wanted to trade goods, you went through Constantinople.”
“Or Byzantium before and Istanbul after,” Nicole agreed. “But then shipping became more popular and merchants weren’t confined to the coastlines anymore. Who wants to walk thousands of miles when you can sail?”
“But the reverse is true too. The only way to the Black Sea from the rest of the world is through what’s now Istanbul. But if Turkey is going to be a pain, then we’d rather walk to avoid the water and travel by caravan up to Black Sea ports and sail from there.”
Nicole pulled a little tighter against Nir and began fingering a button on his jacket as she spoke. “It’s geography as destiny. It’s like how the railroad killed so many towns in Europe and in the United States. For a long time, you’re needed. Then they build the railroad two towns over from you, and—boom—you’re nothing.”
“Exactly. So, now picture Erdoğan. He’s the president of the country that has what was once known as the Queen of Cities, as Nova Roma—the New Rome. And how does everyone picture you? As the sick man of Europe. No wonder he’s so angry. But now he has a chance to make it right. Maybe the Bosphorus Strait is no longer the link between Asia and Europe, but the Turkish waters—the mavi vatan—can be the link between the energy suppliers of the eastern Mediterranean and the desperate consumers of Europe.”
“True, until one man, the Israeli prime minister, says, ‘Sorry, Jack, but you’re out of luck.’ All his hopes come crashing down, and the sick just keeps getting sicker. No wonder he’s being such a turd.”
Nir sat there, enjoying the moment. His Mediterranean blood was turning to ice in the chill of the air, but dealing with icy veins was worth it. Using his best Texas accent, he said, “You know, you’re kinda smart for being so purdy.”
She lightly punched his gut. “You ain’t so bad yerself, pardner.”
They enjoyed the warmth and the closeness for a few more minutes before getting up to finish the trek to Nir’s office.