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APPENDIX 2 
YAKUP KADRI’S ATEŞTEN GÖMLEK – ENGLISH TRANSLATION 
FRAGMENT C
322 
Meanwhile the doctor who came to our side leaned towards me: “I think he fell 
asleep” he said. “You talked too much.” Also, his left lung was completely gone. For 
a long while, I held Kerim Bey’s hand hanging from the bed in my hand and 
squeezed it with sorrow. He looked at me with a sadness I had never seen anywhere 
before. This face already had the veil of death. Underneath his pale white skin, a 
skeleton could be detected. His cheeks were hollow and his eyes had dark circles 
around them. I quietly told the doctor if he had no chance of recovery. He gave a half 
smile and without responding to me he retired and left. Kerim Bey was delirious. I 
tried to understand what he was saying but there was no coherence in his words. It 
seemed to me that a few times he called out that woman’s name. But we hear what 
we want to hear. I slowly released his hand from mine. This light movement made 
him open his eyes. He said: “Are you leaving?” He looked at me absentmindedly as 
if he had forgotten who I was. Then suddenly he regained his composure and said: “I 
have a favour to ask. Take all my belongings and burn them in an appropriate place. 
We should tell this to the doctor as well. Call the doctor, call the doctor.” The next 
day, I went back to see Kerim Bey. He no longer opened his eyes. There was a 
strange wheeze coming from his chest. I will never forget this noise. To me it was 
the sound of death and it was getting closer to Kerim Bey by the minute.

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APPENDIX 3 
ERGENEKON PREFACE AND EPILOGUE 
323 
Preface
To my readers:
As a preface to Ergenekon’s first publication thirty five years ago I had written the 
following lines: 
“There are seven or eight years separating us from the writings in this book. From 
that day to this day my literary tastes and views have changed a lot. But that old 
excessive sweet fire which was burning my heart still preserves the same rigour; in 
this respect I regard none of the writings in this book strange and I find all of them 
fresh and seasonal as if they were written only yesterday. Seven years ago when I 
was writing the editorials for İkdam I was like in sleepwalking. I felt that a power 
above my will was pushing me from an unknown hill down a steep slope and that I 
was feverishly talking of things whose taste I still long for; here, these writings are 
that delirious talk. It is for this reason that you will find a part of them as 
meaningless as the hoarse cries of a dervish hold in ecstasy; another part will look 
mysterious and affecting as the words of the soothsayer who sees the future; yet 

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