Saath Maarif Takvimi

The Saath Maarif Takvimi is a prayer-time calendar whose practical daily pages acquire a second life at the Keskin dinner table. Kemal brings it as a tombala prize, and its place on the wall between the television and kitchen makes it a quiet instrument of the household’s routine: a calendar meant to mark each day, but also a prompt for shared reading, talk, and memory. When Kemal secretly pockets one of its pages, the everyday object becomes part of the collection through which he preserves his time with Füsun and her family.

A calendar made into a family prize

For some years, Kemal buys a Saath Maarif Takvimi from Alaaddin’s shop to give as a tombala prize at Nesibe’s home. On New Year’s Eve in 1981, Füsun wins it. At Kemal’s insistence, she hangs it on the wall between the television and the kitchen. The calendar thus enters the room not as a private possession but as a household object, placed where family life unfolds.

Its contents combine several kinds of daily guidance and information. Alongside prayer times, the pages offer a poem of the day, a note about a historical anniversary, recipes, anecdotes, and a saying. A picture of a clock face helps people who cannot read or write identify the prayer times. The calendar joins the practical to the literary and historical: it can tell the time for prayer, suggest what to cook, or turn an evening toward a poem or a fragment of the past.

Yet its presence does not automatically make it part of the family’s daily attention. The Keskins leave its pages unturned on days when Kemal is absent. The calendar’s usefulness is therefore distinct from the role it comes to play in his visits: its printed sequence supplies the occasion, but the shared ritual depends on his presence.

The evening page ritual

At the end of an evening, often after the family has been drinking raki and the television has shown soldiers saluting the flag, Kemal points out that Nesibe has forgotten to tear off the day’s page. He has noticed the unturned page when he arrives, but deliberately waits until he is about to leave before mentioning it. He wants to hear Tarık’s response as the evening winds down: “Another day is over,” Tarık says, giving thanks that the family is not hungry or without shelter and is sitting together in a warm house.

Nesibe adds that the most important thing is being together with loved ones. She may lean over to kiss Füsun, call her to her lap, or ask for a kiss if Füsun is elsewhere. Their affectionate exchange takes different forms: Füsun sometimes lets her mother caress and kiss her, sometimes lavishes attention on a neighbor’s child, and sometimes resists because she and her mother have argued. Whatever the mood between them, the mother-and-daughter ritual continues through the years. The calendar page is embedded in that larger pattern of family contact, rather than standing apart as a mere household schedule.

The page also offers a way back into conversation after a strained moment. When Nesibe asks Füsun to come over and Füsun protests, she may suddenly brighten, rise to tear off the page, and read its poem and recipe in a loud, semi-theatrical voice. Nesibe responds to the recipe with suggestions, such as making quince and raisin compote or discussing artichokes. A question about whether Kemal would eat spinach pastry can expose his uncertain place at the table: Füsun watches to see whether he will claim the standing of a full family member by answering. He sidesteps the test by recommending a dish he knows Füsun likes—savory pastries.

History, humor, and the turned page

Sometimes Tarık asks Füsun to read one of the historical anniversaries printed on the page. She recites dates such as the beginning of the Ottoman siege of Doppio Castle in 1658 or the Battle of Malazgirt in 1071. Tarık catches a misspelling in “Doppio” and asks her to read the saying instead. These exchanges give the calendar’s printed miscellany a social life: historical notes invite correction and comment, while the day’s saying can alter the tone of the room.

On one occasion Füsun reads, “Home is where the heart is, and where we fill our stomachs,” in a mocking voice. When her eyes meet Kemal’s, she turns serious; the group falls silent, as though considering the words more deeply. The line connects domestic security with affection, and its sudden gravity makes the ordinary meal and the family’s togetherness newly conspicuous. Kemal then picks up the detached page as if to read it himself and, when no one is watching, puts it in his pocket.

From daily record to private keepsake

Kemal’s theft of the calendar leaf belongs to his wider habit of taking small objects from the Keskin household. He does not announce the taking; instead, he converts an ephemeral part of the family’s daily life into something he can keep. The calendar page has already marked a day through its prayer times, historical note, recipe, poem, and saying. Once removed, it also carries the memory of Füsun reading aloud, the family’s silence, and the shared room in which Kemal watched her.

That transformation captures the calendar’s particular importance. Its daily pages are designed to be turned and discarded as time advances, but Kemal’s collecting resists that disappearance. The household may overlook the page on days he is away; in his presence, its removal becomes a cue for gratitude, affection, teasing, and conversation. By pocketing the leaf, he preserves not simply printed information but a moment when a domestic routine briefly brought the family’s words and his longing into the same frame.