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“The Last Judgment! The Last Judgment!” my grandmother would shout when there was suddenly a lot of noise in the house or on the street. Before the Last Judgment, Isrāfīl blows his horn: the first time to make us fall asleep, the second time to make us come to life.
Since funeral processions accompanied by music and military bands used to pass by our house from the Teşvikiye Mosque, the thought of the horn of the Last Judgment and Judgement Day is not foreign to me.

From the novel „ Nights of Plague “:

In truth there was only one thing left to say now to this household and to everyone on the entire island: “Get out of here!” Bonkowski Pasha wanted to shout. “Run!” He had heard stories from European doctors of how this disease had killed tens of thousands of people in China, how in some places entire families, villages, and tribes had been completely wiped out before they had even had time to comprehend what was hap¬pening to them. That same devastation and those same horrors would soon, he feared, destroy this calm and charming island.