The image that I remember most of all is of the Fenerbahçe players storming into the stadium before kickoff. They were called the canaries because of their yellow jerseys. It was as if they, like canaries, were fluttering into the stadium out of a hole. I loved it. It was poetry.

Ka found it very soothing: for the first time in years, he felt part of a family. In spite of the trials and responsibilities of what was called 'family', he saw now the joys of its unyielding togetherness, and was sorry not to have known more of it in his life.

Yet does illustrating in a new way signify a new way of seeing?

No one drives me into exile, not even the nationalists.

Ka knew very well that life was a meaningless string of random incidents

When another writer in another house is not free, no writer is free.

Whatever anybody says, the most important thing in life is to be happy.