章节目录 I AM CALLED BLACK-3

(88106 www.88106.info)    Thesnowbegantofallatalatehourandcontinuedtilldawn.IspentthenightreadingShekure’sletteragainandagain.Ipacedintheemptyroomoftheemptyhouse,occasionallyleaningtowardthecandlestick;intheflickeringlightofthedimcandle,Iwatchedthetensequiveringofmybeloved’sangryletters,thesomersaultstheyturnedtryingtodeceivemeandtheirhip-swingingright-to-leftprogression.Abruptly,thoseshutterswouldopenbeforemyeyes,andmybeloved’sfaceandhersorrowfulsmilewouldappear.AndwhenIsawherrealface,Iforgotallofthoseotherfaceswhosesour-cherrymouthshadincreasinglymaturedandripenedinmyimagination.

    InthemiddleofthenightIlostmyselfindreamsofmarriage:Ihadnodoubtsaboutmyloveorthatitwasreciprocated—weweremarriedinastateofgreatcontentment—but,myimaginaryhappiness,setinahousewithastaircase,wasdashedwhenIcouldn’tfindappropriateworkandbeganarguingwithmywife,unabletomakeherheedmywords.

    IknewI’dappropriatedtheseominousimagesfromthesectionontheillsofmarriageinGazzali’sTheRevivalofReligiousScience,whichI’dreadduringmynightsasabachelorinArabia;atthesametime,Irecalledthattherewasactuallyadviceonthebenefitsofmarriageinthatsamesection,thoughnowIcouldrememberonlytwoofthesebenefits:first,havingmyhouseholdkeptinorder(therewasnosuchorderinmyimaginedhouse);second,beingsparedtheguiltofself-abuseandofdraggingmyself—anevendeepersenseofguilt—behindpimpsleadingmethroughdarkalleywaystothelairsofprostitutes.

    Thethoughtofsalvationatthislatehourbroughtmasturbationtomind.

    Withasimple-mindeddesire,andtoridmymindofthisirrepressibleurge,Iretiredtoacorneroftheroom,aswasmywont,butafterawhileIrealizedIcouldn’tjackoff—proofwellenoughthatI’dfalleninloveagainaftertwelveyears!

    ThisstrucksuchexcitementandfearintomyheartthatIwalkedaroundtheroomnearlyatrembleliketheflameofthecandle.IfShekuremeanttopresentherselfatthewindow,thenwhythisletter,whichputtheoppositebeliefintoplay?Whydidherfathercallforme?AsIpaced,Isensedthatthedoor,wallandsqueakyfloor,stutteringasImyselfdid,weretryingtocreaktheirresponsestomyeveryquestion.

    IlookedatthepictureI’dmadeyearsago,whichdepictedShirinstrickenwithloveupongazingatHüsrev’simagehangingfromabranch.Itdidn’t

    embarrassmeasitwouldeachtimeitcametomindinsubsequentyears,nordiditbringbackmyhappychildhoodmemories.Towardmorning,mymindhadmasteredthesituation:Byreturningthepicture,Shekurehadmadeamoveinanamatorychessgameshewasmasterfullyluringmeinto.Isatinthecandlelightandwroteheraletterofresponse.

    Inthemorning,aftersleepingforaspell,Iwentoutandwalkedalongwaythroughthestreets,carryingtheletteruponmybreastandmylightpen-and-inkholder,aswasmycustom,inmysash.ThesnowwidenedIstanbul’snarrowstreetsandfreedthecityofitscrowds.Allwasquieterandslower,asit’dbeeninmychildhood.CrowsseemedtohavebesetIstanbul’sroofs,domesandgardensjustastheyhadonthesnowywinterdaysofmyyouth.Iwalkedswiftly,listeningtomystepsinthesnowandwatchingthefogofmybreath.Igrewexcited,expectingthepalaceworkshopthatmyEnishtewantedmetovisittobeassilentasthestreets.BeforeIenteredtheJewishquarter,IsentwordbywayofalittlestreeturchintoEsther,who’dbeabletodelivermylettertoShekure,tellingherwheretomeetmebeforethenoontimeprayers.

    Iarrivedearlyattheroyalartisans’workshoplocatedbehindtheHagiaSophia.Exceptfortheicicleshangingfromtheeaves,therewasnochangeinthebuildingwhereI’doftenvisitedmyEnishteandforatimeworkedasachildapprentice.

    Followingahandsomeyoungapprentice,Iwalkedpastelderlymasterbindersdazedfromthesmellofglueandbookbinder’spaste,masterminiaturistswhosebackshadhunchedatanearlyageandyouthswhomixedpaintswithoutevenlookingintothebowlsperchedontheirknees,sosorrowfullyweretheyabsorbedbytheflamesofthestove.Inacorner,Isawanoldmanmeticulouslypaintinganostricheggonhislap,anotherelderenthusiasticallyembellishingadrawerandayoungapprenticegraciouslywatchingthemboth.Throughanopendoor,Iwitnessedyoungstudentsbeingreprimandedastheyleanedforward,theirnosesalmosttouchingthepagesspreadbeforetheirreddenedfaces,astheytriedtounderstandthemistakesthey’dmade.Inanotherroom,amournfulandmelancholyapprentice,havingforgottenmomentarilyaboutcolors,papersandpainting,staredintothestreetI’djustnoweagerlywalkeddown.

    Weclimbedtheicystaircase.Wewalkedthroughtheportico,whichwrappedaroundtheinnersecondfloorofthebuilding.Below,intheinnercourtyardcoveredwithsnow,twoyoungstudents,obviouslytremblingfromthecolddespitetheirthickcapesofcoarsewool,werewaiting—perhapsforanimminentbeating.Irecalledmyearlyyouthandthebeatingsgiventostudents

    whowerelazyorwhowastedexpensivepaints,andtheblowsofthebastinado,whichlandedonthesolesoftheirfeetuntiltheybled.

    Weenteredawarmroom.Isawtwonoviceswho’drecentlyfinishedtheirapprenticeships.Sincethegreatmasters,whomMasterOsmanhadgivenworkshopnames,nowworkedathome,thisroom,whichoncearousedexcessivereverenceanddelightinme,nolongerseemedliketheworkshopofagreatandwealthysultanbutmerelyalargishroominsomesecludedcaravansaryintheremotemountainsoftheEast.

    Immediatelyofftotheside,beforealongcounter,IsawtheHeadIlluminator,MasterOsman,forthefirsttimeinfifteenyears;heseemedlikeanapparition.WheneverIcontemplatedillustratingandpaintingduringmytravels,thegreatmasterwouldappearinmymind’seyeasifhewereBihzadhimself;now,inhiswhiteoutfitandinthesnow-whitelightfallingthroughthewindowfacingtheHagiaSophia,helookedasthoughhe’dlongbecomeoneofthespiritsoftheOtherworld.Ikissedhishand,whichInoticedwasmottled,andIintroducedmyself.IexplainedhowmyEnishtehadenrolledmehereasayouth,butthatI’dpreferredabureaucraticpostandleft.Irecountedmyyearsontheroad,mytimespentinEasterncitiesintheserviceofpashasasaclerkortreasurer’ssecretary.Itoldhimhow,workingwithSerhatPashaandothers,I’dmetcalligraphersandilluminatorsinTabrizandproducedbooks;howI’dspenttimeinBaghdadandAleppo,inVanandTiflis,andhowI’dseenmanybattles.

    “Ah,Tiflis!”thegreatmastersaid,ashegazedatthelightfromthesnow-coveredgardenfilteringthroughtheoilskincoveringthewindow.“Isitsnowingtherenow?”

    HisdemeanorbefittedthoseoldPersianmasterswhogrewblindperfectingtheirartistry;who,afteracertainage,livedhalf-saintly,half-senilelives,andaboutwhomendlesslegendsweretold.IstraightawaysawinhisjinnlikeeyesthathedespisedmyEnishtevehementlyandthathewasfurthermoresuspiciousofme.Evenso,IexplainedhowintheArabiandesertssnowdidn’tsimplyfalltotheEarth,asitwasnowfallingontotheHagiaSophia,butontomemoriesaswell.Ispunayarn:WhenitsnowedonthefortressofTiflis,thewasherwomensangsongsthecolorofflowersandchildrenhidicecreamundertheirpillowsforsummer.

    “Dotellmewhatthoseilluminatorsandpaintersillustrateinthecountriesyou’vevisited,”hesaid.“Whatdotheydepict?”

    Adreamy-eyedyoungpainterwhowasrulingoutpagesinthecorner,lostinrevery,raisedhisheadfromhisfoldingworkdeskalongwiththeothersintheroomandgavemealookthatsaid,“Letthisbeyourmosthonestanswer.”

    Manyofthesecraftsmendidn’tknowthecornergrocerintheirownneighborhood,orhowmuchanoke’sworthofbreadcost,buttheywereverycuriousaboutthelatestgossipEastofPersia,wherearmiesclashed,princesstrangledoneanotherandplunderedcitiesbeforeburningthemtotheground,wherewarandpeacewerecontestedeachday,wherethebestverseswerewrittenandthebestillustrationsandpaintingsweremadeforcenturies.

    “ShahTahmaspreignedforfifty-twoyears.Inthelastyearsofhislife,asyouknow,heabandonedhisloveofbooks,illustratingandpainting,turnedhisbackonpoets,illustratorsandcalligraphers,andresigninghimselftoworship,passedaway,whereuponhisson,Ismail,ascendedtothethrone,”Isaid.“ShahTahmasphadbeenwellawareofhisson’sdisagreeableandantagonisticnature,sohekepthim,theshah-to-be,behindlockeddoorsfortwentyyears.

    AssoonasIsmailassumedthethrone,inamadfrenzy,hehadhisyoungerbrothersstrangled—someofwhomhe’dblindedbeforehand.Intheend,however,Ismail’senemiessucceededinplyinghimwithopiumandpoisoninghim,andafterbeingliberatedfromhisworldlypresence,theyplacedhishalf-wittedolderbrotherMuhammadKhodabandehonthethrone.Duringhisreign,alltheprinces,brothers,provincialgovernorsandUzbeks,inshorteveryone,startedtorevolt.TheywentaftereachotherandourSerhatPashawithsuchmartialferocitythatallofPersiaturnedtosmokeanddustandwasleftindisarray.Indeed,thepresentshah,bereftofmoneyandintelligenceandhalf-blind,isnotfittosponsorthewritingandillustrationofilluminatedmanuscripts.Thus,theselegendaryillustratorsofKazvinandHerat,alltheseelderlymasters,alongwiththeirapprentices,theseartisanswhomademasterpiecesinShahTahmasp’sworkshops,paintersandcoloristswhosebrushesmadehorsesgallopatfullspeedandwhosebutterfliesflutteredoffthepage,allofthesemasterbindersandcalligraphers,everylastonewasleftwithoutwork,pennilessanddestitute,homelessandbereft.SomemigratedtotheNorthamongtheUzbeks,someWesttoIndia.Otherstookupdifferenttypesofwork,wastingthemselvesandtheirhonor,andstillothersenteredtheserviceofinsignificantprincesandprovincialgovernors,allswornenemiesofeachother,tobeginworkingonpalm-sizebookscontainingatmostafewleavesofillustration.Rapidlytranscribed,hastilypainted,cheapbooksappearedeverywhere,matchingthetastesofcommonsoldiers,boorishpashasandspoiledprinces.”

    “Howmuchwouldtheygofor?”askedMasterOsman.

    “IhearthatthegreatSadikiBeyillustratedacopyofStrangeCreatures,commissionedbyanUzbekspahicavalryman,foronlyfortygoldpieces.InthetentofavulgarpashawhowasreturningfromhisEasterncampaigntoErzurum,IbeheldanalbumconsistingoflewdpicturesincludingpaintingsbythevirtuosoSiyavush.Afewgreatmasterswhohadn’tabandonedillustratingweremakingandsellingindividualpieces,whichweren’tpartofanystoryatall.Byexaminingsuchsingleleaves,youcouldn’ttellwhichsceneorwhichstoryitrepresented;rather,youwouldadmireitforitsownsake,forthepleasureofbeholdingalone.Forexample,youmightcomment,”Thisistheexactlikenessofahorse,howbeautiful,“andyou’dpaytheartistonthisbasis.

    Scenesofcombator**ingarequitecommon.Thepriceforabustlingbattlehasfallentothreehundredsilvercoins,andtherearehardlyanyinterestedclients.Tosellpiecesonthecheapandtobetterlureabuyer,somesimplydrawinblackinkonnonsized,unfinishedpaperwithnaryabrushstrokeofcolor.”

    “Therewasagilderofminewhowascontentascontentcouldbeandtalentedastalentwouldallow,”saidMasterOsman.“Hesawtohisworkwithsuchelegancethatwereferredtohimas”ElegantEffendi.“Buthehasabandonedus.It’sbeensixdays,andhe’snottobefoundanywhere.He’splaindisappeared.”

    “Howcouldanyonequitsuchaworkshopasthis,suchajoyoushearth?”Isaid.

    “Butterfly,Olive,StorkandElegant,thefouryoungmasterswhomI’vetrainedsincetheywereapprentices,nowworkathomeatOurSultan’sbehest,”saidMasterOsman.

    ThisapparentlycameaboutsotheycouldworkmorecomfortablyontheBookofFestivitieswithwhichtheentireworkshopwasinvolved.Thistime,theSultanhadn’tarrangedforaspecialworkspaceforHismasterminiaturistsinthepalacecourtyard;rather,Hedecreedthattheyworkonthisspecialbookathome.WhenitoccurredtomethatthisorderwasprobablyissuedforthesakeofmyEnishte’sbook,Ifellsilent.TowhatdegreewasMasterOsmanmakinginsinuations?

    “NuriEffendi,”hecalledtoapaleandhunchedpainter,“presentOurMasterBlackwitha”survey‘oftheworkshop!“The“survey”wasaregularritualofOurSultan’sbimonthlyvisitstotheminiaturists’atelierduringthatexcitingtimewhenHisExcellencyhadintentlyfollowedwhattranspiredattheworkshop.UndertheauspicesofHaz?m,the

    HeadTreasurer;Lokman,theHeadPoeticChroniclerandMasterOsman,theHeadIlluminator,OurSultanwouldbeapprisedofwhichpagesinwhichbooksthemasterswereworkingonatanygivenmoment:whodidwhichgilding,whocoloredwhichpicture,andonebyone,howthecolorists,thepagerulers,thegildersandthemasterminiaturists,whosetalentallowedthemtoaccomplishmiracles,wereengaged.ItsaddenedmethattheywereholdingafakeceremonyinplaceofthehatwasnolongerperformedbecauseageandillhealthboundtheHeadPoeticChroniclerLokmanEffendi,whowrotemostofthebookswhichwereillustrated,tohishome;becauseMasterOsmanoftendisappearedinacloudofindignationandwrath;becausethefourmastersknownasButterfly,Olive,StorkandElegantworkedathome;andbecauseOurSultannolongerwaxedenthusiasticlikeachildintheworkshop.Ashappenedtomanyminiaturists,NuriEffendihadgrownoldinvain,withouthavingfullyexperiencedlifeorbecomeamasterofhisart.Notinvain,however,didhespendthoseyearsoverhisworktablebecominghunchbacked:Healwayspaidcloseattentiontowhathappenedintheworkshop,towhomadewhichexquisitepage.

    AndsoIeagerlybeheldforthefirsttimethelegendarypagesoftheBookofFestivities,whichrecountedthecircumcisionceremoniesofOurSultan’sprince.WhenIwasstillinPersia,Iheardstoriesaboutthisfifty-two-daycircumcisionceremonywhereinpeoplefromalloccupationsandallguilds,allofIstanbul,hadparticipated,indeedatatimewhenthebookthatmemorializedthegreateventwasyetbeingprepared.

    Inthefirstpictureplacedbeforeme,fixedintheroyalenclosureoflateIbrahimPasha’spalace,OurSultan,theRefugeoftheWorld,gazeduponthefestivitiesintheHippodromebelowwithalookthatbespokeHissatisfaction.

    Hisface,eventhoughnotsodetailedastopermitodistinguishHimfromothersbyfeaturesalone,wasdrawnadeptlyandwithreverence.Asfortherightsideofthedouble-leafpictureshowingOurSultanontheleft,therewereviziers,pashas,Persian,Tatar,FrankishandVianambassadorsstandinginthearchedcolonnadesandwindows.Becausetheywerenotsultans,theireyesweredrawnhastilyandcarelesslyandfocusedonnothinginparticularbesidesthegeneralcommotioninthesquare.Later,Inoticedinotherpicturesthatthesamearrangementandpagecompositionrepeated—eventhoughthewallornamentation,thetreesandterra-cottashinglesweredepictedindifferentstylesandcolors.Oncethetextwaswrittenoutbyscribes,theillustrationscompletedandthebookbound;thereader,turningpages,wouldeachtimeseecompletelydifferentactivitiesincompletelydifferentcolorsintheHippodromewhichremainedunderthesamewatchfulgazesoftheSultanand

    Hiscrowdofguests—whoalwaysstoodidentically,forevergazingatthesameareabelow.

    TherebeforemeIsawpeoplescramblingforhundredsofbowlsofpilafthatwereplacedintheHippodrome;Isawtheliverabbitsandbirdsemergeoutoftheroastoxandstartlethecrowdthathaddescendeduponit.Isawthemastercoppersmiths’guildridinginawheeledcartbeforeOurSultan,itsmembershammeringawayatcopperbutneverstrikingtheoneamongthemlyinginthecartwiththeanvilbalancedonhisbarechest.IsawglaziersembellishingglasswithcarnationsandcypressesastheyparadedbeforeOurSultaninawagon;confectionersrecitingsweetpoemsastheydrovecamelsladenwithsacksofsugaranddisplayedcagesholdingsugar-parrots;andagedlocksmithswhoshowedoffavarietyofhanginglocks,padlocks,deadboltsandgearlocksastheycomplainedoftheevilsofnewtimesandnewdoors.

    Butterfly,StorkandOlivehadworkedonthepicturethatdepictedthemagicians:Oneofthemwascausingeggstomarchdownapolewithoutdroppingthem—asifonabroadslabofmarble—tothebeatofatambourineplayedbyanother.InonewagonIsawpreciselyhowSea-CaptainK?l??AliPashahadforcedtheinfidelshe’dcapturedatseatomakean“infidels’mountain”outofclay;he’dthenloadedalltheslavesintothecart,andwhenhewasrightbeforetheSultan,heexplodedthepowderwithinthe“mountain”todemonstratehowhe’dmadeinfidellandswailandmoanwithcannonfire.Isawclean-shavenbutcherswieldingcleavers,wearingrose-andpurple-coloreduniformsandsmilingatthepinkcarcassesofskinnedsheephangingfromhooks.Thespectatorsapplaudedliontamerswho’dbroughtachainedlionbeforeOurSultan,provokingandenragingituntilitseyesshonebloodredwithrage;andonthenextpage,Isawthelion,representingIslam,chaseawayagray-and-pinkpig,symbolizingthecunningChristianinfidel.Iindulgedmyeyesatlengthonapictureofabarbersuspendedupsidedownfromtheceilingofashopbuiltontoacart,asheshavedacustomerwhilehisassistant,dressedinred,heldamirrorandasilverbowlcontainingfragrantsoap,waitingforbaksheesh;Iinquiredaftertheidentityofthemagnificentminiaturistresponsibleforthepiece.

    “Itisindeedimportantthatapainting,throughitsbeauty,summonustowardlife’sabundance,towardcompassion,towardrespectforthecolorsoftherealmwhichGodcreated,andtowardreflectionandfaith.Theidentityoftheminiaturistisnotimportant.”

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