He invited us, and we went to his home. A typical Mardin house. We took our seats on the wooden armchairs of the room with a marble ceiling. Coffee was served. He rose and sat in front of the rug on the other side bearing the design of a deer... On the wall above was a photo-graph, slightly awry." My prime", he observed slowly tasting his coffee... He turned and looking at his awry photograph and sighed. His eyes wandered about the walls of the room. For him the walls were like a movie stage... How had all those years rolled by? Behind, the deer with their sizeable horns were seen partaking in the image. He sipped a trifle from his coffee, and instantly began to talk of his father without further ado. The present house had passed to him from his father as" a trophy".It was a trophy just like any other house in Mardin. He had kept it, tended it and that was how the house was standing in its present form. Oh, what things had transpired throughout these years? The grandchildren were obedient.His voice was roaming the marble walls of the room. Just think of the numerousness of voices embodied on the marble walls. Phrase upon phrase has been heaped on top of each other on the wall. Time has stowed and piled them up. If only the voices were to remain intact, allowing us to listen those that we find to our liking. When you try to lend an ear to the houses from outside you are unable to hear any sound. Sounds are embedded in numerous layers of marble walls. First, the house was enclosed in solid walls in armour-like fashion and was separated from the side-lane. One steps into a house from the courtyard. Once again the rooms are protected by a set of solid marble walls. Thick walls surround the house. The rooms as well as the anterooms hide themselves in the courtyard.Following the meals concocted with sour flavours and spices the coffee becomes a component of the dialogue. His coffee before him and the photograph hanging on the wall in his room surrounded in solid walls, the past comes and passes throughout the filter of the tongue. The deer are the traces of the past on the walls. They are the friends of spaces. They perch on the silk and look at the rooms unperturbed. Why they hang on to walls in this manner, nobody knows.