- May 22, 2020
- 2,290
Jagiellonian University, Krakow, Poland - August, 2006
Cicadas sang their dry tune in the cobblestoned courtyard of Jagiellonian University, their cadence filling the silence during lectures while the humans that inhabited the historic buildings were stuck inside. Above that the faint hum of bees drifted through the ivy-covered cloisters. drawn to the flowers that stubbornly bloomed in the summer heat. At a nearby café across the street the the sound of steam from an espresso machine filtered in with the soft jazz playing from a iPod HiFI placed on the counter as a group of teenage girls playing hooky from their studies giggled amongst each other as they ogled the newest teen heartthrob on their phones.
The sound of gentle conversation filtered through the air as a group of university students lounged on benches underneath the ancient chestnut trees the dotted the courtyard. Their conversations shifted between politics, philosophy, and the cheapest place to get beer. Crickets even chirped beyond stone gates, just on the edge of Planty Park. It all felt timeless. An eternal Krakow where crown and cathedral watched generations come and go. But behind this gentle hum of summer life, something moved between the surface.
Among a group of linguistic students was a young woman with a borrowed name and a forged past. He laughed at the right moments, asked harmless questions, and carried a small book of Turkish poetry. Officially she was a graduate assistant. Unofficially, she answered to the Office of State Protection. The Kingdom of Poland, a modern monarchist state, had long played a game of diplomacy and quiet resistance. Far across the Black Sea, the People's Republic of Turkiye cracked down on students who spoke out against the regime and had even gone as far as to demand that the Kingdom break its own constitutional laws and persecute those students. Dared to asked the nation known to harbor Dissidents of the old soviet union to crack down on those who dared to speak of reform, freedom, and truth. Crack down on those who despite the iron fist that ruled them that still carried a dream within their chests and had the courage to vocalize that for the world to hear despite the consequences. Most had not been fortunate enough to make it out of Turkiye. A very precious few had made it to safety however under the guise of a cultural exchange. And they were being watched.
A young man she recognized as a Political Science student from one of the lectures she had attended. She also recognized him from the dossier she had been given before assuming her position here within the University. Upon spotting him roughly fifty meters away, she said her goodbyes to her group of friends as she began walking in the young man's direction. She began digging into her large bag on her shoulder absent-mindedly as if looking for something within the black hole.
Her path was carefully chosen to intercept him from the side and cause a collision. The collision of the two bodies through the smaller woman to the ground, scattering her belongings on the ground, including the small red book of Turkish poetry.
"Kurwa mać!"
Jay
Cicadas sang their dry tune in the cobblestoned courtyard of Jagiellonian University, their cadence filling the silence during lectures while the humans that inhabited the historic buildings were stuck inside. Above that the faint hum of bees drifted through the ivy-covered cloisters. drawn to the flowers that stubbornly bloomed in the summer heat. At a nearby café across the street the the sound of steam from an espresso machine filtered in with the soft jazz playing from a iPod HiFI placed on the counter as a group of teenage girls playing hooky from their studies giggled amongst each other as they ogled the newest teen heartthrob on their phones.
The sound of gentle conversation filtered through the air as a group of university students lounged on benches underneath the ancient chestnut trees the dotted the courtyard. Their conversations shifted between politics, philosophy, and the cheapest place to get beer. Crickets even chirped beyond stone gates, just on the edge of Planty Park. It all felt timeless. An eternal Krakow where crown and cathedral watched generations come and go. But behind this gentle hum of summer life, something moved between the surface.
Among a group of linguistic students was a young woman with a borrowed name and a forged past. He laughed at the right moments, asked harmless questions, and carried a small book of Turkish poetry. Officially she was a graduate assistant. Unofficially, she answered to the Office of State Protection. The Kingdom of Poland, a modern monarchist state, had long played a game of diplomacy and quiet resistance. Far across the Black Sea, the People's Republic of Turkiye cracked down on students who spoke out against the regime and had even gone as far as to demand that the Kingdom break its own constitutional laws and persecute those students. Dared to asked the nation known to harbor Dissidents of the old soviet union to crack down on those who dared to speak of reform, freedom, and truth. Crack down on those who despite the iron fist that ruled them that still carried a dream within their chests and had the courage to vocalize that for the world to hear despite the consequences. Most had not been fortunate enough to make it out of Turkiye. A very precious few had made it to safety however under the guise of a cultural exchange. And they were being watched.
A young man she recognized as a Political Science student from one of the lectures she had attended. She also recognized him from the dossier she had been given before assuming her position here within the University. Upon spotting him roughly fifty meters away, she said her goodbyes to her group of friends as she began walking in the young man's direction. She began digging into her large bag on her shoulder absent-mindedly as if looking for something within the black hole.
Her path was carefully chosen to intercept him from the side and cause a collision. The collision of the two bodies through the smaller woman to the ground, scattering her belongings on the ground, including the small red book of Turkish poetry.
"Kurwa mać!"
Jay
