There were no witness anyway. As there was nobody besides the two of them, the murderer’s statement was assumed to be true; until years and years after his death, Serkan Bilgi who is an author from Ankara, shed light onto the murder with the testimony of the tree that he was leaning on while reading a book while Sabahattin Ali was being murdered. The witness tree was finding its tongue and telling us that the bitterness of murder in terms of human, forest, time and date:
“A visitor is somewhere in between sleep and literature. It was like he was intoxicated with an elixir which was a mixture of Gorki’s novel and the scent of a juniper. And suddenly... suddenly pine trees shook up all the starlings, the barring device of the filthy one started working, the sky closed, Thales bit even its freshly grown leaves, a rustle blew up, the huge plane tree was shrieking.
The huge plane tree is shaking the surface with its roots. A scream which covers the sounds of the Stones which are chipped by the river Meric. Everything is making a sound; plane or bush, wolf or dog, the moon slightly appearing is making a sound, the sprout underneath the plane tree is making a sound. However, the executioner; silent as death, invisible as the devil with its freaky shadow, patted the branch of the hornbeam; was approaching by bellowing inside. Through the neighbour pines, from behind in other words, towards the visitor. Forest mist in the eyes of the visitor... lost himself in Gorki and thousands of feelings, with a smiling face and on his own. I started shaking because of my rush. Our nature, as beech tree family, is tough, but you human! What can I say! You made me witness to your all sins. I was shaken but didn’t fall! The juniper couldn’t find a Balkan breeze to cover us! Thales couldn’t fall down. It tried to fall down on top of the murderer but couldn’t. It would’ve crushed what human’s did to life like a mosquito if it could. When the murderer rose his bad-whetted, alder whittled bat like an axe, Thales was begging a piece of tree for the first time in seven hundred years. Mighty Thales was bending like a weak Gipsy horse’s rib before the skinny Sazara Alder. The echo which was shaking the world of our triangle begged. “Don’t go down! Don’t be a part of human’s sin! Oh, Alder branch, stop! Dried scaffolds still can’t get in between us!”
Thales who knew Bedrettin executioner cracked because of the pain. It wanted to be destroyed, but couldn’t. First strike which was amateur, painful and undemolished, but with a never understood anger, blew in his left temporal bone. The forest mist glasses of the visitor had been smashed. Blood flew like the river Meric to my roots. The bard wasn’t surprised. He didn’t look at the murderer but at Thales. With his not yet blistered right eye. Thales bawled with a loud sound that would shame, frighten the whole Thales, Istranca, Skopje, Sazara, all the trees in the world, all creatures, humanity. Noise was coming from the rocks of Meric, noise was coming from the witness trees, noise was coming from the sleeps of Bursa prison, noise was coming from the baby starling falling from the pines; however, from the murderer and the victim there were no noise or sound. The murderer didn’t lose any time. When he striked the second blow; we, as the whole forest, could burn down and be quiet now. It was like a forest fire occured. Ants were running around, they were as plenty as humans and trees. The forest was biting itself due to witness. Meric was the tears of Istranca now, as if it was about to suddenly flow and empty itself... the visitor fell onto his right. Blood, seemed like it was coming out of Thales’s stem, and flowing through to touch the sprout that was grabbing its own soil. If it didn’t stroll our leaves and grass on the surface, it would reach Meric the river.
Thales yelled out. “Don’t mind, Sabahattin.” It said. “Wake up”it said, “don’t upset the sprout!” “give voice to Nazım and all the plane trees.” This requiem of Thales could be heard from Moscow, Africa, Gulhane Park. The visitor who fell and laid down on our triange land was Sabahattin Ali. Thales would read the poems by clinking the leaves... However, he read one of the poems that was written like someone who saw his end by clinking leafless branches to one another.
MY SOUL WOULD FALL AND CRUSH LIKE A SCULPTURE,
THOSE WHO HEARD THESE SOUNDS WOULD THINK I WAS LAUGHING...