章节目录 I AM CALLED BLACK-2

(88106 www.88106.info)    WhenIfirstlaideyesonherchild,IknewatoncewhatI’dlongandmistakenlyrecalledaboutShekure’sface.LikeOrhan’sface,herswasthin,thoughherchinwaslongerthanwhatIremembered.So,thenthemouthofmybelovedwassurelysmallerandnarrowerthanIimaginedittobe.Foradozenyears,asIventuredfromcitytocity,I’dwidenedShekure’smouthoutofdesireandhadimaginedherlipstobemorepert,fleshyandirresistible,likealarge,shinycherry.

    HadItakenShekure’sportraitwithme,renderedinthestyleoftheVianmasters,Iwouldn’thavefeltsuchlossduringmylongtravelswhenIcouldscarcelyremembermybeloved,whosefaceI’dleftsomewherebehindme.Forifalover’sfacesurvivesemblazonedonyourheart,theworldisstillyourhome.

    MeetingShekure’syoungestsonandspeakingwithhim,seeinghisfaceupcloseandkissinghim,arousedinmearestlessnesspeculiartotheluckless,tomurderersandtosinners.Aninnervoiceurgedmeon,“Bequicknow,goandseeher.”

    Forawhile,IconsideredsilentlyquittingmyEnishte’spresenceandopeningeachofthedoorsalongthewidehallway—I’dcountedthemoutofthecornerofmyeye,fivedarkdoors,oneofwhich,naturally,openedontothestaircase—untilIfoundShekure.But,I’dbeenseparatedfrommybelovedfortwelveyearsbecauseIrecklesslyrevealedwhatlayinmyheart.Idecidedtowaitdiscreetly,listeningtomyEnishtewhileadmiringtheobjectsthatShekurehadtouchedandthelargepillowuponwhichshe’dreclinedwhoknowshowmanytimes.

    HerecountedtomethattheSultanwantedtohavethebookcompletedintimeforthethousandth-yearanniversaryoftheHegira.OurSultan,RefugeoftheWorld,wantedtodemonstratethatinthethousandthyearoftheMuslimcalendarHeandHisstatecouldmakeuseofthestylesoftheFranksaswellastheFranksthemselves.BecauseHewasalsohavingaBookofFestivitiesmade,theSultangrantedthatthemasterminiaturists,whomHeknewwerequitebusy,bepermittedtosequesterthemselvesathometoworkinpeaceinsteadofamongthecrowdsattheworkshop.Hewas,ofcourse,alsoawarethattheyallregularlypaidclandestinevisitstomyEnishte.

    “YoushallvisitHeadIlluminatorMasterOsman,”saidmyEnishte.“Somesayhe’sgoneblind,othersthathe’slosthissenses.Ithinkhe’sblindandsenileboth.”

    DespitethefactthatmyEnishtedidn’thavethestandingofamasterillustratorandthatthiswasn’thisfieldofartisticexpertiseatall,hedidhavecontroloveranillustratedmanuscript.This,infact,waswiththepermissionandencouragementoftheSultan,asituationthat,ofcourse,strainedhisrelationshipwiththeelderlyMasterOsman.

    Thinkingofmychildhood,Iallowedmyattentiontobeabsorbedbythefurnitureandobjectswithinthehouse.Fromtwelveyearsago,IstillrememberedthebluekilimfromKulacoveringthefloor,thecopperewer,thecoffeesetandtray,thecopperpailandthedelicatecoffeecupsthathadcomeallthewayfromChinabywayofPortugal,asmylateaunthadboastednumeroustimes.Theseeffects,likethelowX-shapedreadingdeskinlaidwithmother-of-pearl,thestandforaturbannailedtothewall,theredvelvetpillowwhosesmoothnessIrecalledassoonasItouchedit,werefromthehouseinAksaraywhereI’dpassedmychildhoodwithShekure,andtheystillcarriedsomethingoftheblissofmydaysofpaintinginthathouse.

    Paintingandhappiness.Iwouldlikemydearreaderswhohavegivencloseattentiontomystoryandmyfatetobearthesetwothingsinmind,astheyarethegenesisofmyworld.Atime,Iwascontentedhere,amongthesebooks,calligraphybrushesandpaintings.Then,IfellinloveandwasbanishedfromthisParadise.IntheyearsIenduredmyamorousexile,IoftenthoughthowIwasinfactdeeplyindebtedtoShekureandmyloveforher,becausetheyhadenabledmetoadaptoptimisticallytolifeandtheworld.SinceIhad,inmychildlikena?veté,nodoubtthatmylovewouldbereciprocated,Igrewexceedinglyassuredandcametoregardtheworldasagoodplace.Yousee,itwaswiththissameearnestnessthatIinvolvedmyselfwithbooksandcametolovethem,tolovethereadingmyEnishterequiredofmebackthen,myreligiousschoollessonsandmyillustratingandpainting.ButasmuchasIowedthesunny,festiveandmorefertilefirsthalfofmyeducationtotheloveIfeltforShekure,Iowedthedarkknowledgethatpoisonedthelattertimetobeingrejected;mydesireonicynightstosputteroutandvanishlikethedyingflamesintheironstovesofacaravansary,repeatedlydreamingafteranightoflovethatIwasplungingintoadesolateabyssalongwithwhicheverwomanlaybesideme,andthenotionthatIwassimplyworthless—allofitwasfurnishedbyShekure.

    “Wereyouaware,”myEnishtesaidmuchlater,“thatafterdeathoursoulswillbeabletomeetwiththespiritsofmenandwomeninthisworldwhoarepeacefullyasleepintheirbeds?”

    “No,Iwasnot.”

    “Wetakealongjourneyafterdeath,soI’mnotafraidofdying.WhatIfearisdyingbeforeIfinishOurSultan’sbook.”

    PartofmefeltIwasstronger,morereasonableandmorereliablethanmyEnishte,andpartofmewasdwellingonthecostofthecaftanthatI’dpurchasedonmywayheretomeetwiththismanwho’ddeniedmehisdaughter’shandandonthesilverbridleandhand-workedsaddleofthehorsewhich,soonaftergoingdownstairs,I’dtakeoutofthestableandrideaway.

    ItoldhimI’dapprisehimofeverythingIlearnedduringmyvisitstothevariousminiaturists.Ikissedhishandandbroughtittomyforehead.Iwalkeddownthestairs,enteredthecourtyard,andsensingthesnowycolduponme,acceptedthatIwasneitherachildnoranoldman:Ijoyouslyfelttheworlduponmyskin.AsIshutthestabledoor,abreezebegantostir.Iledmywhitehorsebythebridleoverthestonewalkwaytotheearthenpartofthecourtyard,andwebothshuddered:Ifeltasifhisstrong,large-veinedlegs,hisimpatienceandhisstubbornnessweremyown.Assoonasweenteredthestreet,Iwasabouttoswiftlymountmysteedanddisappeardownthenarrowwaylikeafabledhorseman,nevertoreturnagain,whenanenormouswoman,aJewessdressedallinpinkandcarryingabundle,appearedoutofnowhereandaccostedme.Shewasaslargeandwideasanarmoire.Yetshewasboisterous,livelyandevencoquettish.

    “Mybraveman,myyounghero,Iseeyou’retrulyashandsomeastheysayyouare,”shesaid.“Mightyoubemarried?Ormightyoubeabachelor?

    WouldyoudeigntobuyasilkhandkerchiefforyoursecretloverfromEsther,Istanbul’spremierpeddleroffinecloth?”

    “Nay.”

    “AredsashofAtlassilk?”

    “Nay.”

    “Don’tgoonpiping”nay‘atmelikethat!Howcouldabraveheartlikeyounothaveafiancéeorasecretlover?Whoknowshowmanyteary-eyedmaidensareburningwithdesireforyou?“Herbodylengthenedliketheslenderformofanacrobatandsheleanedtowardmewithanelegantgesture.Atthesametime,withtheskillofa

    magicianwhoplucksobjectsoutofthinair,shecausedalettertoappearinherhand.Istealthilygrabbedit,andasifI’dbeentrainingforthismomentforyears,Ihastilyandartfullyplaceditintomysash.Itwasathickletterandfeltlikefireagainsttheicyskinofmyside,betweenmybellyandback.

    “Rideatanamble,”saidEsthertheclothespeddler.“Turnrightatthecorner,followingthecurveofthewallwithoutbreakingstride,butwhenyougettothepomegranatetreeturnandlookatthehouseyou’vejustleft,atthewindowtoyourright.”

    Shewentonherwayandvanishedinaninstant.

    Imountedthehorse,butlikeanovicedoingsoforthefirsttime.Myheartwasracing,mymindwasovercomebyexcitement,myhandshadforgottenhowtocontrolthereins,butwhenmylegstightlygrippedthehorse’sbody,soundreasonandskilltookcontrolofmyhorseandme,andasEstherhadinstructed,mywisehorseambledsteadilyand,howlovely,weturnedrightontothesidestreet!

    ItwasthenthatIfeltImightintruthbehandsome.Asinfairytales,frombehindeveryshutterandeverylatticedwindow,acoywomanwaswatchingmeandIfeltImightburnonceagainwiththatsamefirethathadonceconsumedme.IsthiswhatIdesired?WasIsuccumbinganewtotheillnessfromwhichI’dsufferedforsomanyyears?Thesunsuddenlybrokethroughtheclouds,startlingme.

    Wherewasthepomegranatetree?Wasitthisthin,melancholytreehere?

    Yes!Iturnedslightlytotherightinmysaddle.Isawawindowbehindthetree,buttherewasnobodythere.I’dbeendupedbythatwenchEsther!

    JustasIwasthinkingsuchthoughts,thewindow’siced-overshuttersopenedwithaloudburst,asifthey’dexploded,andaftertwelveyears,Isawmybeloved’sstunningfaceamongsnowybranches,framedbythewindowwhoseicytrimshonebrightlyinthesunlight.

    Wasmydark-eyedbelovedlookingatmeoratanotherlifebeyondme?Icouldn’ttellwhethershewassadorsmilingorsmilingsadly.Foolishhorse,heednotmyheart,slowdown!Icalmlytwistedinmysaddleagain,fixingmydesirousstareforaslongaspossible,untilhergaunt,elegantandmysteriousfacedisappearedbehindthebranches.

    Muchlater,afteropeningherletterandseeingtheillustrationwithin,Ithoughthowmyvisittoheratthewindowonhorsebackcloselyresembledthatmoment,picturedathousandtimes,inwhichHüsrevvisitsShirinbeneathherwindow—onlyinourcase,therewasthatmelancholytree

    betweenus.WhenIrecognizedthissimilarity,ohhowIburnedwithalovesuchastheydescribeinthosebookswesocherishandadore.

    IAMESTHERAllofyou,Iknow,arewonderingwhatShekurepennedinthatletterIpresentedtoBlack.Asthiswasalsoacuriosityofmine,Ilearnedeverythingtherewastoknow.Ifyouwould,then,pretendyou’reflippingbackthroughthepagesofthestoryandletmetellyouwhatoccurredbeforeIdeliveredthatletter.

    Now,it’sgettingontowardevening,I’veretiredtoourhouseinthequaintlittleJewishquarteratthemouthoftheGoldenHornwithmyhusbandNesim,twooldpeoplehuffingandpuffing,tryingtokeepwarmbyfeedinglogsintothestove.Paynomindtomycallingmyself“old.”WhenIloadmywares—itemscheapandpreciousalike,certaintoluretheladies,rings,earrings,necklacesandbaubles—intothefoldsofsilkhandkerchiefs,gloves,sheetsandthecolorfulshirtclothsentoverinPortugueseships,whenIshoulderthatbundle,Esther’saladleandIstanbul’sakettle,andthere’snaryastreetIdon’tvisit.Thereisn’tawordofgossiporletterthatIhaven’tcarriedfromonedoortothenext,andI’veplayedmatchmakertohalfthemaidensofIstanbul,butIdidn’tbeginthisrecitaltobrag.AsIwassaying,weweretakingoureaseintheevening,and“rap,rap”someonewasatthedoor.IwentandopenedittodiscoverHayriye,thatidiotslavegirl,standingbeforeme.Sheheldaletterinherhand.Icouldn’ttellwhetheritwasfromthecoldorfromexcitement,butshewastremblingassheexplainedShekure’swishes.

    Atfirst,IassumedthisletterwastobetakentoHasan,that’swhyIwassoastonished.YouknowaboutprettyShekure’shusband,theonewhoneverreturnedfromthewar—ifyouaskme,he’slongsincehadhishidepierced.

    Wellyousee,thatnever-to-returnsoldier-husbandalsohasaneager,lovesickbrotherbythenameofHasan.SoimaginemysurprisewhenIsawthatShekure’sletterwasn’tmeantforHasan,butforsomeoneelse.Whatdidthelettersay?Estherwasmadwithcuriosity,andintheend,Ididsucceedinreadingit.

    Butalas,wedon’tknoweachotherthatwell,dowe?Tobehonest,Iwasovercomewithembarrassmentandworry.HowIreadtheletteryou’llneverknow.Maybeyou’llshameandbelittlemeformymeddling—asifyouyourselvesaren’tasnosyasbarbers.I’lljustrelatetoyouwhatIlearnedfromreadingtheletter.ThisiswhatsweetShekurehadwritten:

    BlackEffendi,you’reavisitortomyhousethankstoyourcloserelationswithmyfather.Butdon’texpectanodfromme.Muchhashappenedsinceyouleft.Iwaswed,andhavetwostrongandspiritedsons.OneofthemisOrhan,he’stheonewhomyousawjustnowcometotheworkshop.WhileI’vebeenawatingthereturnofmyhusbandthesefouryears,littleelsehasenteredmythoughts.Imightfeellonely,hopelessandweaklivingwithmytwochildrenandanelderlyfather.Imissthestrengthandprotectionofaman,butletnooneassumehemighttakeadvantageofmysituation.Therefore,itwouldpleasemeifyouceasedcallingonus.Youdidembarrassmeoncebefore,andafterward,Ihadtoenduremuchsufferingtoregainmyhonorinmyfather’seyes!Alongwiththisletter,I’malsoreturningthepictureyoupaintedandsenttomewhenyouwereanimpulsiveyouthwithhiswitsnotyetabouthim.Idothissoyouwon’tharboranyfalsehopesormisreadanysigns.It’samistaketobelievethatonecouldfallinlovegazingatapicture.It’dbebestifyoustoppedcomingtoourhousecompletely.

    MypoorShekure,you’reneitheranoblemannorapashawithafancysealtostampyourletter!Atthebottomofthepage,shesignedthefirstletterofhername,whichlookedlikeasmall,frightenedbird.Nothingmore.

    Isaid“seal.”You’reprobablywonderinghowIopenandclosethesewax-sealedletters.Butinfactthelettersaren’tsealedatall.“ThatEstherisanilliterateJew,”mydearShekurehadassumed.“She’llneverunderstandmywriting.”True,Ican’treadwhat’swritten,butIcanalwayshavesomeoneelsereadit.Andasforwhat’snotwritten,Icanquitereadily“read”thatmyself.

    Confused,areyou?

    Letmeputitthisway,soeventhemostthick-headedofyouwillunderstand:

    Aletterdoesn’tcommunicatebywordsalone.Aletter,justlikeabook,canbereadbysmellingit,touchingitandfondlingit.Thereby,intelligentfolkwillsay,“Goonthen,readwhatthelettertellsyou!”whereasthedull-wittedwillsay,“Goonthen,readwhathe’swritten!”Listen,now,towhatelseShekuresaid:.

    ThoughI’vesentthisletterinsecret,byrelyingonEsther,who’smadeletter-deliveryamatterofcommerceandcustom,I’msignifyingthatIdon’tintendtoconcealthatmuchatall

    ThatI’vefoldedituplikeaFrenchpastryimpliessecrecyandmystery,true.Buttheletterisn’tsealedandthere’sahugepictureenclosed.Theapparentimplicationis,“Pray,keepoursecretatallcosts,”whichmorebefitsaninvitationtolovethanaletterofrebuke

    Furthermore,thesmelloftheletterconfirmsthisinterpretation.Thefragrancewasfaintenoughtobeambiguous—didsheintentionallyperfumetheletter?—yetalluringenoughtofirereaders’curiosity—isthisthearomaofattarorthesmellofherhand?Andafragrance,whichwasenoughtoenrapturethepoormanwhoreadthelettertome,willsurelyhavethesameeffectonBlack

    IamEsther,whoknowsneitherhowtoreadnorwrite,butthisIdoknow:Althoughtheflowofthescriptandthehandwritingseemstosay“Alas,Iamrushed,Iamwritingcarelesslyandwithoutpayingseriousattention,”

    theselettersthattwitterelegantlyasifcaughtinagentlebreezeconveytheexactoppositemessage.Evenherphrase“justnowcome”whenreferringtoOrhan,implyingthattheletterwaswrittenatthatverymoment,betraysaploynolessobviousthancaretakenineachline

    ThepicturesentalongwiththeletterdepictsprettyShiringazingathandsomeHüsrev’simageandfallinginlove,astoldinthestorythatevenI,EsthertheJewess,knowwell.AllthelovelornladiesofIstanbuladorethisstory,butneverhaveIknownsomeosendanillustrationrelatingtoit.

    Ithappensallthetimetoyoufortunateliteratepeople:Amaidenwhocan’treadbegsyoutoreadalovelettershe’sreceived.Theletterissosurprising,excitinganddisturbingthatitsowner,thoughembarrassedatyourbecomingprivytohermostintimateaffairs,ashamedanddistraught,asksyouallthesametoreaditoncemore.Youreaditagain.Intheend,you’vereadthelettersomanytimesthatbothofyouhavememorizedit.Beforelong,she’lltaketheletterinherhandsandask,“Didhemakethatstatementthere?”and“Didhesaythathere?”Asyoupointtotheappropriateplaces,she’llporeoverthosepassages,stillunabletomakesenseofthewordsthere.Asshestaresatthecurvylettersofthewords,sometimesIamsomovedIforgetthatImyselfcan’treadorwriteandfeeltheurgetoembracethoseilliteratemaidenswhosetearsfalltothepage.

    Thentherearethosetrulyaccursedletter-readers;pray,don’tyouturnouttobelikeoneofthem:Whenthemaidentakestheletterinherownhandstotouchitagain,desiringtolookatitwithoutunderstandingwhichwordswere

    spokenwhere,thesebeastswillsaytoher,“Whatareyoutryingtodo?Youcan’tread,whatmoredoyouwanttolookat?”Someofthemwon’tevenreturntheletter,treatingithenceforthasifitbelongedtothem.Attimes,thetaskofaccostingthemandretrievingtheletterfallstome,Esther.That’sthekindofgoodwomanIam.IfEstherlikesyou,she’llcometoyouraidaswell.

    I,SHEKUREOh,whywasIthereatthewindowjustwhenBlackrodebyonhiswhitesteed?WhydidIopentheshuttersintuitivelyatthatexactmomentandstareathimsolongfrombehindthesnowybranchesofthepomegranatetree?Ican’ttellyouforsure.I’dsentwordtoEstherbywayofHayriye.Iwas,ofcourse,wellawarethatBlackwouldtakethatroute.Meanwhile,I’dgoneupalotheroomwiththebuilt-inclosetandthewindowfacingthepomegranatetreetoinspectthesheetsinthechest.Onawhim,andatjusttherightmoment,Ipushedtheshuttersopenwithallmystrengthandsunlightfloodedtheroom:Standingatthewindow,Icameface-to-facewithBlack,who,likethesun,dazzledme.Oh,itwasquitelovely.

    He’dgrownandmaturedand,havinglosthisawkwardyouthfullankiness,heturnedouttobeacomelyman.ListenShekure,myheartdidtellme,he’snotonlyhandsome,lookintohiseyes,hepossessestheheartofachild,sopure,soalone:Marryhim.I,however,senthimaletterwhereinI’dgivenhimquitetheoppositemessage.

    Thoughhewastwelveyearsmyelder,whenIwastwelve,Iwasmorematurethanhe.Backthen,insteadofstandingstraightandtallbeforemeinafashionbefittingamanandannouncingthathewasgoingtodothisorthat,jumpfromthisspotorclimbontothatthing,he’djustburyhisfaceinsomebookorpicture,hidingasifeverythingembarrassedhim.Intime,healsofellinlovewithme.Hemadeapaintingdeclaringhislove.We’dbothmaturedbythen.

    WhenIturnedtwelve,IsensedthatBlackcouldnolongerlookintomyeyes,asifhewereafraidI’ddiscoverhelovedme.“Handmethativory-handledknife,”he’dsay,forexample,lookingattheknifebutunabletolookatme.IfIaskedhim,forinstance,“Isthecherrysherbettoyourliking?”hecouldn’tsimplyindicatesowithadelicatesmileornod,aswedowhenourmouthsarefull,yousee.Instead,he’dscream“Yes”atthetopofhislungs,asiftryingtocommunicatewithadeafman.Hefearedlookingmeintheface.Iwasamaidenofstrikingbeautythen.Anymanwhocaughtsightofmeevenonce,fromafar,orfrombetweenpartedcurtainsoryawningdoors,oreventhroughthelayersofmymodestheadcoverings,immediatelybecameenamoredofme.

    I’mnotbeingabraggart,I’mexplainingthissoyou’llunderstandmystoryandbebetterabletoshareinmygrief.

    Inthewell-knowntaleofHüsrevandShirin,there’samomentthatBlackandIhaddiscussedatlength.Hüsrev’sfriend,Shapur,intendstomakeHüsrevandShirinfallinlove.OnedayShirinembarksonacountrysideoutingwith

    herladiesofthecourt,whensheseesapictureofHüsrevthatShapurhassecretlyhungfromthebranchofoneofthetreesbeneathwhichtheoutingpartyhasstoppedtorest.BeholdingthispictureofthehandsomeHüsrevinthatbeautifulgarden,Shirinisstrickenbylove.Manypaintingsdepictthismoment—or“scene”astheminiaturistswouldhaveit—consistingofShirin’slookofadorationandbewildermentasshegazesupontheimageofHüsrev.

    WhileBlackwasworkingwithmyfather,he’dseenthispicturemanytimesandhadtwicemadeexactcopiesbyeyeingtheoriginalashepainted.Afterfallinginlovewithme,hemadeacopyforhimself.ButthistimeinplaceofHüsrevandShirin,heportrayedhimselfandme,BlackandShekure.Ifitweren’tforthecaptionsbeneaththefigures,onlyIwould’veknownwhothemanandmaideninthepicturewere,becausesometimeswhenwewerejokingaround,he’ddepictusinthesamemannerandcolor:Iallinblue,heallinred.Andifthisweren’tindicationenough,he’dalsowrittenournamesbeneaththefigures.He’dleftthepaintingwhereIwouldfinditandrunoff.

    Hewatchedmetoseewhatmyreactiontohiscompositionwouldbe.

    IwaswellawarethatIwouldn’tbeabletolovehimlikeaShirin,soIfeignedignorance.Ontheeveningofthatsummer’sdaywhenBlackgavemehispainting,duringwhichwe’dtriedtocoolourselveswithsour-cherrysherbetsmadewithicesaidtohavebeenbroughtallthewayfromsnow-cappedMountUlu,Itoldmyfatherthathe’dmadeadeclarationoflove.Atthattime,Blackhadjustgraduatedfromthereligiousschool.Hetaughtinremoteneighborhoodsand,moreoutofmyfather’sinsistencethanhisowndesire,BlackwasattemptingtoobtainthepatronageofthepowerfulandesteemedNaimPasha.Butaccordingtomyfather,Blackdidn’tyethavehiswitsabouthim.Myfather,who’dtakengreatpainstowinBlackaplaceinNaimPasha’scircle,atleastasaclerktobegin,complainedthathewasn’tdoingmuchtofurtherhisowncause;inotherwords,Blackwasbeinganignoramus.AndthatverynightinreferencetoBlackandme,myfatherdeclared,“Ithinkhe’ssethissightsveryhigh,thisimpoverishednephew,”andwithoutregardformymother’spresence,headded,“he’ssmarterthanwe’dsupposed.”

    Irememberwithmiserywhatmyfatherdidinthefollowingdays,howIkeptmydistancefromBlackandhowheceasedtovisitourhouse,butIwon’texplainallofthisforfearthatyou’lldislikemyfatherandme.Isweartoyou,wehadnootherchoice.Youknowhowinsuchsituationsreasonablepeopleimmediatelysensethatlovewithouthopeissimplyhopeless,andunderstandingthelimitsoftheillogicalrealmoftheheart,makeaquickend

    ofitbypolitelydeclaring,“Theydidn’tfindussuitablymatched.That’sjustthewayitis.”But,I’llhaveyouknowthatmymothersaidseveraltimes,“Atleastdon’tbreaktheboy’sheart.”Black,whommymotherreferredtoasa“boy,”wastwenty-four,andIwashalfhisage.BecausemyfatherconsideredBlack’sdeclarationofloveanactofinsolence,hewouldn’thumormymother’swishes.

    Thoughwehadn’tforgottenhimaltogetherbythetimewereceivednewsthathe’dleftIstanbul,we’dlethimslipcompletelyoutofouraffections.

    Becausewehadn’treceivednewsabouthimfromanycityforyears,Ideemeditappropriatetosavethepicturehe’dmadeandshownme,asatokenofourchildhoodmemoriesandfriendship.Topreventmyfather,andlatermysoldier-husband,fromdiscoveringthepictureandgettingupsetorjealous,Iexpertlyconcealedthenames“Shekure”and“Black”beneaththefiguresbymakingitappearasifsomeonehaddribbledmyfather’sHasanPashainkontothem,inanaccidentlatertobedisguisedasflowers.SinceI’vereturnedthatpicturetohimtoday,maybethoseamongyouinclinedtotakeadimviewofhowIrevealedmyselftohimatthewindowwillfeelashamedandreconsideryourprejudicessomewhat.

    Havingexposedmyfacetohim,Iremainedforawhilethereatthewindow,showeredinthecrimsonhueoftheeveningsun,andgazedinaweatthegardenbathedinreddish-orangelight,untilIfeltthechilloftheeveningair.

    Therewasnobreeze.Ididn’tcarewhatsomeonepassinginthestreetwould’vesaiduponseeingmeattheopenwindow.OneofZiverPasha’sdaughters,Mesrure,whoalwayslaughedandenjoyedherselfsayingthemostsurprisingthingsatthemostinopportimeswhenwewentmerrilyandplayfullytothepublicbathseachweek,oncetoldmethatapersonneverknowsexactlywhatsheherselfisthinking.ThisiswhatIknow:SometimesI’llsaysomethingandrealizeuponutteringitthatitisofmyownthinking;butnosoonerdoIarriveatthatrealizationthanI’mconvincedtheveryoppositeistrue.

    IwassorrywhenpoorElegantEffendi,oneoftheminiaturistsmyfatherofteninvitedtothehouse—andIwon’tpretendIhaven’tspiedoneachofthem—wentmissing,muchlikemyunfortunatehusband.“Elegant”wastheugliestamongthemandthemostimpoverishedofspirit.

    Iclosedtheshutters,lefttheroomandwentdowntothekitchen.

    “Mother,Shevketdidn’tlistentoyou,”Orhansaid.“WhileBlackwastakinghishorseoutofthestable,Shevketleftthekitchenandspiedonhimfromthepeephole.”

    “Whatofit!”Shevketsaid,wavinghishandintheair.“Motherspiedonhimfromtheholeinthecloset.”

    “Hayriye,”Isaid.“Frysomebreadinalittlebutterandserveittothemwithmarzipanandsugar.”

    OrhanjumpedupanddownwithjoythoughShevketwassilent.ButasIwalkedbackupstairs,theybothcaughtuptome,screaming,pushingandshovingbymeexcitedly.“Beslow,slowdown,”Isaidwithalaugh.“Yourascals.”Ipattedthemontheirdelicatebacks.

    Howwonderfulitistobehomewithchildrenaseveningapproaches!Myfatherhadquietlygivenhimselfovertoabook.

    “Yourguesthasdeparted,”Isaid.“Ihopehedidn’ttroubleyoumuch?”

    “Onthecontrary,”hesaid.“Heentertainedme.He’sasrespectfulaseverofhisEnishte.”

    “Good.”

    “Butnowhe’salsomeasuredandcalculating.”

    He’dsaidthatlesstoobservemyreactionthantoclosethesubjectinamannerthatmadelightofBlack.Onanyotheroccasion,Iwould’veansweredhimwithasharptongue,asIamwonttodo.Thistime,though,IjustthoughtofBlackmakinggroundonhiswhitehorse,andIshuddered.

    I’mnotsurehowithappened,butlaterintheroomwiththecloset,OrhanandIfoundourselveshuggingeachother.Shevketjoinedus;therewasabriefskirmishbetweenthem.Astheytussledweallrolledoverontothefloor.Ikissedthemonthebacksoftheirnecksandtheirhair,Ipressedthemtomybosomandfelttheirweightonmybreasts.

    “Ahhh,”Isaid.“Yourhairstinks.I’mgoingtosendyoutothebathstomorrowwithHayriye.”

    “Idon’twanttogotothebathswithHayriyeanymore,”Shevketsaid.

    “Why?Areyoutoogrown-up?”Isaid.

    “Mother,whydidyouwearyourfinepurpleblouse?”Shevketsaid.

    Iwentintotheotherroomandremovedmypurpleblouse.IpulledonthefadedgreenhatIusuallywear.AsIwaschanging,Ifeltcoldandshivered,butIcouldsensethatmyskinwasaflame,mybodyvibrantandalive.I’drubbedabitofrougeontomycheeks,whichprobablysmudgedwhileIwasrollingaroundwiththechildren,butIeveneditoutbylickingmypalmandrubbingmycheeks.Areyouawarethatmyrelatives,thewomenwhomImeet

    atthebathsandeveryonewhoseesme,swearthatIlookmorelikeasixteen-year-oldmaidenthanatwenty-four-year-oldmotheroftwopastherprime?

    Believethem,trulybelievethem,orIshan’ttellyouanymore.

    Don’tbesurprisedthatI’mtalkingtoyou.ForyearsI’vecombedthroughthepicturesinmyfather’sbookslookingforimagesofwomenandgreatbeauties.Theydoexist,iffewandfarbetween,andalwayslookshy,embarrassed,gazingonlyatoneanother,asifapologetically.Neverdotheyraisetheirheads,standstraightandfacethepeopleoftheworldassoldiersandsultanswould.Onlyincheap,hastilyillustratedbooksbycarelessartistsaretheeyesofsomewomentrainednotonthegroundoronsomethingintheillustration—oh,Idon’tknow,let’ssayaloveroragoblet—butdirectlyatthereader.I’velongwonderedaboutthatreader.

    IshudderindelightwhenIthinkoftwo-hundred-year-oldbooks,datingbacktothetimeofTamerlane,volumesforwhichacquisitivegiaoursgleefullyrelinquishgoldpiecesandwhichtheycarryallthewaybacktotheirowncountries:Perhapsonedaysomeonefromadistantlandwilllistentothisstoryofmine.Isn’tthiswhatliesbehindthedesiretobeinscribedinthepagesofabook?Isn’titjustforthesakeofthisdelightthatsultansandviziersprofferbagsofgoldtohavetheirhistorieswritten?WhenIfeelthisdelight,justlikethosebeautifulwomenwithoneeyeonthelifewithinthebookandoneeyeonthelifeoutside,I,too,longtospeakwithyouwhoareobservingmefromwhoknowswhichdistanttimeandplace.I’manattractiveandintelligentwoman,anditpleasesmethatI’mbeingwatched.AndifIhappentotellalieortwofromtimetotime,it’ssoyoudon’tcometoanyfalseconclusionsaboutme.

    Maybeyou’venoticedthatmyfatheradoresme.Hehadthreesonsbeforeme,butGodtookthemonebyoneandleftme,hisdaughter.Myfatherdotesonme,thoughImarriedamannotofhischoosing.IwenttoaspahicavalrysoldierwhomI’dnoticedandfancied.Ifitwerelefttomyfather,myhusbandwouldnotonlybethegreatestofscholars,he’dalsohaveanappreciationforpaintingandart,bepossessedofpowerandauthority,andbeasrichasKarun,thewealthiestofmenintheKoran.Theinklingofsuchamancouldn’tevenbefoundinthepagesofmyfather’sbooks,andsoIwould’vebeenforcedtopineawayathomeforever.

    Myhusband’shandsomenesswaslegendary,andIgavehimthenodthroughintermediates.HefoundtheopportunitytoappearbeforemeasIwasreturningfromthepublicbaths.Hiseyeswereasbrilliantasfire,andIimmediatelyfellinlove.Hewasadark-haired,fair-skinned,green-eyedman

    withstrongarms;butatheart,hewasinnocentandquietlikeasleepychild.

    Nevertheless,itseemed,tomeatleast,thathealsohadthetangofbloodabouthim,perhapsbecauseheexpendedallhisstrengthslayingmeninbattleandamassingbooty,eventhoughathomehewasasgentleandquietasalady.

    Thisman—whommyfatherlookeduponasapennilesssoldier,andhence,disapprovedof—waslaterallowedtomarrymebecauseIthreatenedtokillmyselfotherwise.Andaftertheygavehimamilitaryfiefworthtenthousandsilvercoins,arewardforhisheroisminbattleafterbattlewhereinheperformedthegreatestactsofbravery,truly,everyoneenviedus.

    FouryearsagowhenhefailedtoreturnwiththerestofthearmyfromwarringagainsttheSafavidsIwasn’tworriedatfirst.Forthemoreexperiencehehadonthebattlefield,themoreadeptandcleverhebecameincreatingopportunitiesforhimself,inbringinghomegreaterspoils,inwinninglargerfiefs,andinenlistingmoresoldiersofhisown.Therewerewitnesseswhosaidhefledtothemountainswithhisownmenafterhebecameseparatedfromadivisionofthearmy.Inthebeginning,Isuspectedaschemeandhopedhe’dreturn,butaftertwoyears,Islowlygrewaccustomedtohisabsence;andwhenIrealizedhowmanylonelywomenlikemewithmissingsoldier-husbandstherewereinIstanbul,Iresignedmyselftomyfate.

    Atnight,inourbeds,we’dhugourchildrenandmopeandcry.Toquiettheirtears,I’dtellthemhopefullies;forexample,thatso-and-sohadprooftheirfatherwouldreturnbeforespring.Afterward,whenmyliewouldcirculate,changingandspreadinguntilitfounditswaybacktome,I’dbethefirsttobelievethegoodnews.

    Whenthemainsupportofthehouseholdvanished,wefelluponhardtimes.WewerelivinginarentedhouseinCharsh?kap?withmyhusband’sgentlemanlyAbkhazianfather,who’dneverlivedaneasylife,andhisbrother,whohadgreeneyesaswell.Myfather-in-law,wholefthismirror-makingbusinessafterhisoldestsonmadehisfortunesoldiering,returnedtotakeuphistradeatalateage.Hasan,myhusband’sbachelorbrother,workedincustoms,andasheprosperedhemadeplanstoassumetheroleof“manofthehouse.”Onewinter,fearingtheywouldn’tbeabletopayrent,theyhastilytooktheslavewhosawtothehouseholdchorestotheslavemarketandsoldher,afterwhichtheywantedmetodothekitchenwork,washtheclothesandevengoouttothebazaarstodotheshoppinginherstead.Ididn’tprotestbysaying,“AmIthetypeofwomantotakeonsuchdrudgery?”Iswallowedmyprideandwenttowork.Butwhenthatbrother-in-lawofmineHasan,now

    withouthisslavegirltotakeintohisroomatnight,beganforcingmydoor,Ididn’tknowwhattodo.

    Ofcourse,Icould’veimmediatelycomebackheretothehomeofmyfather,butaccordingtothekadijudgemyhusbandwaslegallyalive,andwereItoangermyin-laws,theymightnotstopatforcingmychildrenandmebacktomyhusband’shome,buthumiliateusfurtherbyhavingmeandmyfather,whohad“detained”me,punished.Totellthetruth,Icould’velovedHasan,whomIfoundtobemorehumaneandreasonablethanmyhusband,andwhowasobviouslyverymuchinlovewithme.ButifIweretodothiswithoutcarefulthought,Imightfindmyself,Godforbid,hisslaveinsteadofhiswife.

    Inanyevent,becausetheywereafraidthatIwoulddemandmyportionoftheinheritanceandthenabandonthemandreturntomyfatherwiththechildren,they,too,weren’teagerforajudge’sdecisionproclaimingmyhusband’sdeath.If,intheeyesofthejudge,myhusbandwasn’tdead,Inaturallycouldn’twedHasan,norcouldImarryanyoneelse.Becausethisdilemmaboundmetothathouseandthatmarriage,myin-lawspreferredmyhavinga“missing”husband,andthecontinuationofthisvaguesituation.Forlestyouforget,Isawtoalltheirhouseholdchores,Idideverythingfromtheircookingtotheirlaundry,andfurthermore,oneofthemwasmadlyinlovewithme.

    Whenmyfather-in-lawandHasangrewdissatisfiedwiththisarrangementanddecideditwastimeformetomarryHasan,itwasnecessaryfirsttoarrangeforthewitnessestoconvincethejudgeofmyhusband’sdeath.Thus,ifmymissinghusband’sclosestkin,hisfatherandbrother,acceptedhisdeath,iftherewasnolongeranyonewhoobjectedtodeclaringmyhusbanddead,andif,forthepriceofafewsilvercoins,witnesseswouldtestifythatthey’dseentheman’scorpseinthefieldofbattle,thejudgewouldalsooblige.ItwouldbemostdifficulttoconvinceHasanonceIwasdeclaredawidowthatIwouldn’tleavethehousehold,demandmyinheritancerightsoraskformoneytomarryhim;andmoreover,thatI’dmarryhimofmyownfreewill.

    Naturally,Iknewthattogainhistrustinthisregard,I’dhavetosleepwithhiminaveryconvincingmannersohe’dbecompletelyassuredIwasgivingmyselftohim,nottogethispermissiontodivorcemyhusband,butbecauseIwassincerelyinlovewithhim.

    Withsomeeffort,Icould’vefalleninlovewithHasan.Hewaseightyearsyoungerthanmymissinghusband,andwhenmyhusbandwasathome,Hasanwaslikemylittlebrother,andthissentimentendearedhimtome.Ilikedhishumbleandpassionatedemeanor,hispleasureinplayingwithmy

    childrenandeventhewayhedesirouslylookedatmeasthoughheweredyingofthirstandIwereaglassofcoldsour-cherrysherbet.Ontheotherhand,IalsoknewI’dreallyhavetoforcemyselftofallinlovewithamanwhomademewashclothesanddidn’tmindmyhavingtowanderthroughmarketsandbazaarslikeacommonslave.DuringthosedayswhenI’dgotomyfather’shouseandcryendlesslyasIstaredatthepots,pans,bowlsandcups,duringthosenightswhenthechildrenandIwouldsleepcuddleduptogetherinsolidarity,Hasannevergavemecauseforachangeofheart.HehadnofaiththatIcouldlovehimorthatthisessentialandmandatorypreconditionforourmarriagewouldmanifestitself;andbecausehehadnoconfidenceinhimself,heactedinappropriately.Hetriedtocornerme,kissmeandfondleme.Hedeclaredthatmyhusbandwouldneverreturn,thathewouldkillme.

    Hethreatenedme,criedlikeababyandinhishasteandfluster,neverallowedtimeforatrueandnoblelovetobeborn.IknewIcouldneverwedhim.

    Onenight,whenhetriedtoforcethedooroftheroomwhereIsleptwiththechildren,Iroseimmediately,andwithoutathoughtthatImightfrightenthem,screamedatthetopofmylungsthateviljinnshadenteredthehouse.

    Thisfitofjinn-panicandscreamingawakenedmyfather-in-lawandtherebyexposedHasan,whoseexcitedviolencewasstillvisible,tohisfather.Amidmyridiculoushowlsandinanerantingsaboutjinns,thestaidoldmantohisembarrassmentacknowledgedtheawfultruth:Hissonwasbesottedandhadinappropriatelyapproachedhisbrother’swife,amotheroftwo.Myfather-in-lawmadenoreplywhenIsaidIwouldn’tsleepawinktillmorning,keepingwatchatthedoortoprotectmychildrenagainst“thejinns.”Thefollowingday,IannouncedthatI’dbereturningtomyfather’shomewithmychildrenforanextendedstaytocareforhiminhistimeofillness;thusdidHasanaccepthisdefeat.Ireturnedtomyfather’shouse,takingwithmeasmementosofmymarriedlifetheclockwithbellsplunderedfromHungarianlandsbymyhusband(who’dneversuccumbedtothetemptationtosellit),thewhipmadefromthesinewsofthemostexplosiveofArabsteeds,theTabriz-madeivorychesssetwhosepiecesthechildrenusedtoplaywarandthesilvercandlesticks(bootyfromtheBattleofNahjivan),whichI’dfoughtsodesperatelytokeepwhenmoneywasshort.

    AsIexpected,quittingmyabsenthusband’shouseturnedHasan’sobsessiveanddisrespectfulloveintoahopelessinferno.Knowingfullwellthathisfatherwouldn’tstandbehindhim,insteadofthreateningme,hesoughtmypitybysendingmelovelettersinwhosecornershedrewforlornbirds,teary-eyedlionsandsadgazelles.Iwon’thidefromyouthefactthatI’ve

    recentlybeguntoreadthemanew,thoselettersthatrevealHasan’srichimagination,ofwhichIwasn’tawarewhenwelivedtogetherunderthesameroof—assuminghedidn’tenlistoneofhismoreartisticorpoeticfriendstowriteandembellishthem.Inhislastletter,HasanpledgedthatIwouldnolongerbeaslavetohousework,andthathe’dmadealotofmoney.Thisdisclosureinhissweet,respectfulandhumoroustone,compoundedbytheendlessfightsanddemandsofthechildren,andmyfather’scomplaints,turnedmyheadintoaveritablekettledrum.Indeed,itwasinordertoheaveasighofrelieftotheworldthatI’dopenedtheshuttersofthatwindow.

    BeforeHayriyesetthedinnertable,IpreparedadraughtofbittersfromthebestArabiandatepalmflower;Imixedinaspoonfulofhoneyandalittlelemonjuice,thenquietlyenteredmyfather’scompanyashewasreadingtheBookoftheSoul,andlikeaspiritmyself,placeditbeforehimwithoutmakingmypresenceknown,ashepreferred.

    “Isitsnowing?”heaskedinsuchafaintandmelancholyvoicethatIunderstoodatoncethiswouldbethelastsnowfallmypoorfatherwouldeversee.

    IAMATREEIamatreeandIamquitelonely.Iweepintherain.ForthesakeofAllah,listentowhatIhavetosay.Drinkdownyourcoffeesoyoursleepabandonsyouandyoureyesopenwide.StareatmeasyouwouldatjinnsandletmeexplaintoyouwhyI’msoalone

    TheyallegethatI’vebeenhastilysketchedontononsized,roughpapersothepictureofatreemighthangbehindthemasterstoryteller.Trueenough.Atthismoment,therearenootherslendertreesbesideme,noseven-leafsteppeplants,nodarkbillowingrockformationswhichattimesresembleSatanoramanandnocoilingChineseclouds.Justtheground,thesky,myselfandthehorizon.Butmystoryismuchmorecomplicated

    Asatree,Ineednotbepartofabook.Asthepictureofatree,however,I’mdisturbedthatI’mnotapagewithinsomemanuscript.SinceI’mnotrepresentingsomethinginabook,whatcomestomindisthatmypicturewillbenailedtoawallandthelikesofpagansandinfidelswillprostratethemselvesbeforemeinworship.MaythefollowersofErzurumiHojanothearthatIsecretlytakeprideinthisthought—butthenI’movercomewiththeutmostfearandembarrassment

    TheessentialreasonformylonelinessisthatIdon’tevenknowwhereIbelong.Iwassupposedtobepartofastory,butIfellfromtherelikealeafinautumn.Letmetellyouaboutit:

    FallingfromMyStoryLikeaLeafFallsinFallFortyyearsago,thePersianShahTahmasp,whowasthearchenemyoftheOttomansaswellastheworld’sgreatestpatron-kingoftheartofpainting,begantogrowsenileandlosthisenthusiasmforwine,music,poetryandpainting;furthermore,hequitdrinkingcoffee,andnaturally,hisbrainstoppedworking.Fullofthesuspicionsofalong-faced,dark-spiritedoldgeezer,hetransferredhiscapitalfromTabriz,whichwasthenPersianterritory,toKazvinsoitwouldbefartherfromtheOttomanarmies.Onedaywhenhehadgrownevenolder,hewaspossessedbyajinn,hadanervousfit,andbeggingGod’sforgiveness,completelysworeoffwine,handsomeyoungboys

    andpainting,whichisproofenoughthatafterthisgreatshahlosthistasteforcoffee,healsolosthismind.

    Thiswaswhythedivinelyinspiredbookbinders,calligraphers,gildersandminiaturists,whocreatedthegreatestmasterpiecesintheworldoveratwenty-yearperiodinTabriz,scatteredlikeacoveyofpartridgestoothercities.

    ShahTahmasp’snephewandson-in-law,SultanIbrahimMirza,invitedthemostgiftedamongthemtoMashhad,whereheservedasprovincialgovernor,andsettledtheminhisminiaturists’workshoptocopyoutamarvelousilluminatedandillustratedmanuscriptofallsevenfablesoftheSevenThronesofJami—thegreatestpoetinHeratduringthereignofTamerlane.ShahTahmasp,whobothadmiredandenviedhisintelligentandhandsomenephew,andregrettedhavinggivenhisdaughtertohim,wasconsumedbyjealousywhenheheardaboutthismagnificentbookandangrilyoustedhisnephewfromthepostofGovernorofMashhad,banishinghimtothecityofKain,beforesendinghimofftothesmallertownofSebzivarinarenewedfitofanger.ThecalligraphersandilluminatorsofMashhadthereupondispersedtoothercitiesandregions,tothebook-artsworkshopsofothersultansandprinces.

    Miraculously,however,SultanIbrahimMirza’smarvelousvolumedidnotremainunfinished,forinhisservicehehadadevotedlibrarian.ThismanwouldtravelonhorsebackallthewaytoShirazwherethebestmastergilderslived;thenhe’dtakeacouplepagestoIsfahanseekingthemostelegantcalligraphersofNestalikscript;afterwardhe’dcrossgreatmountainstillhe’dmadeitallthewaytoBukharawherehe’darrangethepicture’scompositionandhavethefiguresdrawnbythegreatmasterpainterwhoworkedundertheUzbekKhan;nexthe’dgodowntoHerattocommissiononeofitshalf-blindoldmasterstopaintfrommemorythesinuouscurvesofplantsandleaves;visitinganothercalligrapherinHerat,he’ddirecthimtoinscribe,ingoldRikascript,thesignaboveadoorwithinthepicture;finally,he’dbeoffagaintothesouth,toKain,wheredisplayingthehalf-pagehehadfinishedduringhissixmonthsoftraveling,he’dreceivethepraisesofSultanIbrahimMirza.

    Atthispace,itwasclearthatthebookwouldneverbecompleted,somountedTatarcourierswerehired.Inadditiontothemanuscriptleaf,whichwastoreceiveartworkandscriptedtext,eachhorsemanwasgivenaletterdescribingthedesiredworkinquestiontotheartist.Thus,messengerscarryingmanuscriptpagespassedovertheroadsofPersia,Khorasan,theUzbekterritoryandTransoxania.Thecreationofthebookspedupwiththefleetmessengers.Attimes,onasnowynight,Chapterand,forexample,

    wouldcrosspathsinacaravansarywhereinthehowlingsofwolvescouldbeheard,andastheystruckupafriendlyconversation,they’ddiscoverthattheywereworkingonthesamebookprojectandwouldtrytodeterminebetweenthemselveswhereandinwhichfabletheprospectivepages,retrievedfromtheirroomsforthispurpose,actuallybelonged.

    IwasmeanttobeamongthepagesofthisillustratedmanuscriptthatIsadlyheardwascompletedtoday.Unfortunately,onacoldwinter’sday,theTatarcourierwhowascarryingmeashecrossedarockymountainpasswasambushedbythieves.FirsttheybeatthepoorTatar,thentheyrobbedhimandrapedhiminamannerbefittingthievesbeforemercilesslykillinghim.Asaresult,IknownothingaboutthepageI’vefallenfrom.Myrequestisthatyoulookatmeandask:“WereyouperhapsmeanttoprovideshadeforMejnundisguisedasashepherdashevisitedLeylainhertent?”or“Wereyoumeanttofadeintothenight,representingthedarknessinthesoulofawretchedandhopelessman?”HowIwould’vewantedtocomplementthehappinessoftwoloverswhofledfromthewholeworld,traversingoceanstofindsolaceonanislandrichwithbirdsandfruit!Iwould’vewantedtoshadeAlexanderduringthefinalmomentsofhislifeonhiscampaigntoconquerHindustanashediedfromapersistentnosebleedbroughtonbysunstroke.OrwasImeanttosymbolizethestrengthandwisdomofafatherofferingadviceonloveandlifetohisson?Ah,towhichstorywasImeanttoaddmeaningandgrace?

    Amongthebrigandswho’dkilledthemessengerandtakenmewiththem,draggingmeheadlongfrommountaintomountainandcitytocity,therewasathiefwhooccasionallyunderstoodmyworth,andhadtherefinementtorealizethatlookingatthedrawingofatreeismorepleasantthanlookingatatree;butbecausehedidn’tknowtowhichstoryIbelonged,hequicklytiredofme.Afterdraggingmefromcitytocity,thisroguedidn’ttearmeapartanddisposeofmeasI’dfearedhemight,butsoldmetoacultivatedmaninacaravansaryforajugofwine.Sometimesatnightthisunfortunatedelicate-spiritedmanwouldstareatmebycandlelightandcry.Intime,hediedofgriefandtheysoldhisbelongings.Thankstothemasterstorytellerwhopurchasedme,I’vecomeallthewaytoIstanbul.Now,I’mmosthappy,andhonoredtobeheretonightamongyou,theOttomanSultan’smiraculouslyinspired,eagle-eyed,iron-willed,elegant-wristed,sensitive-spiritedminiaturistsandcalligraphers—andforHeaven’ssake,IbegofyounottobelievethosewhoclaimI’vebeenhastilysketchedontocoarsepaperbysomemasterminiaturistasawallprop.

    Buthearyetwhatotherlies,slanderandbrazenuntruthsarebeingspread!

    Youmightrememberhowlastnightmymasternailedthepictureofadoghereonthewallandrecountedtheadventuresofthiscrassbeast;andhowatthesametimehetoldoftheadventuresofHusretHojaofErzurum!Wellnow,theadmirersofHisExcellencyNusretHojahavecompletelymisunderstoodthisstory;theythinkhewasthetargetofouraccount.Couldwehavepossiblysaidthatthegreatpreacher,HisEsteemedExcellency,wasofuncertainbirth?

    Godforbid!Wouldithaveevencrossedourminds?Whatmischief,whatacrudelie!Clearly,HusretofErzurumisbeingconfusedwithNusretofErzurum,soletmeproceedtotellyouthestoryofCross-EyedNedretHojaofSivasandtheTree.

    Besidesdenouncingthewooingofprettyboysandtheartofpainting,thisCross-EyedNedretHojaofSivasmaintainedthatcoffeewastheDevil’sworkandthatcoffeedrinkerswouldgotoHell.Hey,youfromSivas,haveyouforgottenhowthisenormousbranchofminewasbent?Letmetellyouaboutit,then,butswearyouwon’ttellanyone,andmayAllahprotectyoufrombaselessslander.Onemorning,Iawoketofindthatagiantofaman—Godprotecthim,hewasastallasaminaretwithhandslikealion’sclaws—hadclimbedupontothisbranchofmineandhiddenbeneathmylushleavestogetherwiththeaforementionedHojaand,excusetheexpression,theyweregoingatitlikedogsinheat.Whilethegiant,whomIlaterrealizedwastheDevil,attendedtohisbusinesswithourhero,hewascompassionatelykissinghislovelyearandwhisperingintoit,“Coffeeisasin,coffeeisavice…”

    Accordingly,thosewhobelieveintheharmfuleffectsofcoffee,believenotinthecommandmentsofourgoodreligion,butintheDevilhimself.

    Andfinally,IshallmakementionofFrankpainters,soiftherearedegeneratesamongyouwhohavepretensionstobelikethem,mayyouheedmywarningandbedeterred.Now,theseFrankpaintersdepictthefacesofkings,priests,noblemenandevenwomeninsuchamannerthataftergazingupontheportrait,you’dbeabletoidentifythatpersononthestreet.Theirwivesroamfreelyonthestreetsanyway—now,justimagherest.Asifthisweren’tenough,they’vetakenmattersevenfurther.Idon’tmeaninregardtopimping,butinregardtopainting.

    AgreatEuropeanmasterminiaturistandanothergreatmasterartistarewalkingthroughaFrankmeadowdiscussingvirtuosityandart.Astheystroll,aforestcomesintoviewbeforethem.Themoreexpertofthetwosaystotheother:“Paintinginthenewstyledemandssuchtalentthatifyoudepictedone

    ofthetreesinthisforest,amanwholookeduponthatpaintingcouldcomehere,andifhesodesired,correctlyselectthattreefromamongtheothers.”

    IthankAllahthatI,thehumbletreebeforeyou,havenotbeendrawnwithsuchintent.AndnotbecauseIfearthatifI’dbeenthusdepictedallthedogsinIstanbulwouldassumeIwasarealtreeandpissonme:Idon’twanttobeatree,Iwanttobeitsmeaning.

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