Missing Rose (9781101603864) by Serdar Ozkan Read Free Book Online Page A

symptoms of psychosis, what are they? They are nothing but hallucinations. Trust me, Mom, I’ve studied enough psychology to know that.
    â€œIn any case, the things she says in her first letter, the things she claims she realized as a child, are in themselves enough for us to decide she isn’t normal. Can a child of that age have such a perception of life?
    â€œAnd what about the dream she describes in her second letter? Supposedly, in her dream you tell her to go to some garden, meet with some person and talk with some rose. And many years later, off she goes and does just what you told her to. Finds the person you spoke of and, what’s more, learns from her how to talk with roses! Could all this be for real?
    â€œAnyway, don’t worry about Mary, Mom. Maybe life is easier if you’re not quite right in the head. Don’t worry about me, either. Perhaps I’m suffering because I’m still sane, perhaps I can’t be convinced that I haven’t lost you and perhaps I can’t help thinking that you no longer exist . . . But in spite of all this, I will not go crazy, Mom. I will not try to escape from reality and I will not create a fantasy world for myself. Because I am a big girl and I always will be!”
    Diana got to her feet. “And one day,” she added, “I am going to conquer all this pain and succeed in being your daughter.”

11
    A FTER RETURNING FROM the cemetery, Diana spent most of the day sleeping. Although she had many things to do—bank payments to make, graduation preparations, e-mails to answer, etc.—she kept putting it all off for another day.
    She just didn’t feel like doing anything, but to sit and do nothing only increased the emptiness inside her. Eventually, she decided to go for a walk along the shore.

    T HE PARK WAS more crowded than it had been the previous day, but she found a secluded corner where she could sit and watch the children throwing bread to the seagulls. After a short stroll, she sat down again, this time to watch the sun sink slowly into the ocean.
    On her way home, she again took the shortcut; she wanted to go past the beggar in the hope that he might give her a clue as to what he’d meant by his words the previous day.
    As she approached the spot where the beggar was sitting, she saw he was examining his surroundings in the same way. Pausing in front of him, she stared him directly in the eye. To her surprise, he took no notice of her. Instead, he went on turning his head this way and that, watching the other passersby as if the girl who now stood in front of him wasn’t the same girl he’d spoken to a day earlier.
    â€œHi, won’t you tell my fortune today?”
    The beggar appeared to have no idea what she was talking about. “Do I know you?”
    â€œDon’t you remember? It’s me.”
    â€œI know it’s you. But who are you?”
    Diana, now quite certain he was just fooling with her, turned on her heel and marched away.
    A few paces further on, she noticed the artist busy painting. He was wearing the same old shirt and blue jeans. She couldn’t see much that was different in the painting he was working on, apart from a greater mass of foam from the breaking wave.
    â€œYou look better today,” the artist said.
    Well, what a polite way to start a conversation, thought Diana. But she still couldn’t help wondering how bad she must have looked the day before.
    â€œWon’t you look at the paintings?”
    â€œAs far as I can see, not much has changed in the painting you’re working on.”
    â€œDoesn’t the increase in the wave’s rage count as a change?”
    â€œOf course, it counts,” Diana said. “Yesterday, the painting was totally different! It’s as if I’m looking at another painting now! Wow, it’s completely amazing! With only a few more brushstrokes, you’ve managed to create a storm that