“Who are you?’ The gentleman had demanded abruptly. He appeared as though he could have been framed forever with one hand in his suit pocket, a pipe balanced between his lips. Not having expected to be addressed so directly, Kaya looked around, assuming it was a case of a mistaken identity. Looking at him again he asked, “You! Boy! Who are you?” Stumbling on his words he blurted, “I’m Kaya. Who are you?” “I’m the train manager.” He calmly replied. “Why are you sitting in third class then?” “Don’t you know it is rude to ask questions like that! But since you ask, I am hiding from my wife. She wouldn’t dare step foot in a 3rd class carriage, so she’ll never think to look in here. Perhaps she will even assume that I’ve alighted the train at an earlier stop and try to pursue me, or someone like me, through the streets of Kayseri!” He chuckled at the thought. “What do you mean, someone like me?” he gently inquired. “Ah well, aren’t we all …