The First Winter — İlk Kış

Murat grew up in Antalya, where snow is something you only see on television. So when he was offered a job as a software developer in Winnipeg, Canada, his mother was worried. "They say it's minus forty there in winter," she said on the phone. "Don't worry, Mum," Murat laughed. "I'll buy a good coat."

He arrived in August, when the city was green and sunny. He rented a small house on a quiet street with tall trees. His neighbour was an old lady called Mrs Kowalski, who lived alone with a fat grey cat. In the autumn Murat often saw her coming back from the supermarket with heavy bags. Every time, he ran across the street and carried them to her door. "You are a good boy," she always said, although he was thirty-two.

The first snow fell at the end of October. Murat woke up, looked out of the window and couldn't believe his eyes. Everything was white: the street, the cars, the roofs, even the cat. He ran outside in his slippers and immediately regretted it. By December it was so cold that his eyelashes froze when he walked to the bus stop. He learned that a scarf must cover your nose and that metal should never be touched without gloves.

But there was one thing he didn't learn: how to clear snow. In Winnipeg, people are expected to clear the path in front of their house. Murat bought a snow shovel, but he always left for work in a hurry. "I'll do it tonight," he told himself every morning. And every evening, when he came home, the path had already been cleared. Someone had even put salt on the steps so that he wouldn't slip.

At first Murat thought it was the city. Then he noticed that the other houses on the street were not so lucky. "It must be Mrs Kowalski," he said to himself. The idea made him feel terrible. An eighty-year-old woman was shovelling snow for him while he sat in a warm office! That Saturday he baked a tray of baklava, following his mother's instructions on a video call. It took him five hours, and the kitchen looked as if a hurricane had passed through it.

He knocked on Mrs Kowalski's door with the tray in his hands. "Thank you for clearing my snow," he said. "But please don't do it any more. It's dangerous for you." Mrs Kowalski looked at him and burst out laughing. "Me? With my back? Oh no, my dear. Come inside." In the kitchen a tall teenage boy was eating cereal. "This is my grandson, Jakub," she said. "He clears my snow, and I pay him ten dollars a week." "In November I told him to do your path too, and I pay him another five." "But why?" Murat asked, surprised. "Because you carried my bags all autumn and never asked for anything," she said simply.

Murat didn't know what to say, so he offered them the baklava. Jakub ate four pieces, one after another, and then looked at Murat seriously. "Forget the five dollars," he said. "I'll clear your snow all winter if you teach me how to make this." So every Sunday until spring, Murat's tiny kitchen was full of flour, walnuts and laughter. And for the first time since he arrived in Canada, the winter did not feel cold at all.