Kuzu - Eprner !!link!!
It was the strangest headline the small town of Marash had ever seen:
The prize was for “the repair of collective grief.”
Meanwhile, in a forgotten valley behind the abandoned textile factory, a small, dusty sign read:
They wanted him to fly to Stockholm. Kuzu declined. “The geese,” he said, “don’t travel well.”
Inside, Kuzu Eprner, aged 83, sat on a wobbly stool. He wore a vest with no shirt, slippers, and a magnifying loupe strapped to his forehead. His "sons" were three elderly geese named Socrates, Diogenes, and Gödel.