I AM CALLED BLACK-2
WhenIfirstlaideyesonherchild,IkoI’dlongandmistakenlyrecalledaboutShekure’sface.LikeOrhan’sface,herswasthin,thoughherwaslohanwhatIremembered.So,thehofmybelovedwassurelysmallerandnarrowerthanIimagiobe.Foradozenyears,asIventuredfromcitytocity,I’dwidenedShekure’smouthoutofdesireandhadimaginedherlipstobemorepert,fleshyandirresistible,likealarge,shinycherry.
HadItakenShekure’sportraitwithme,rehestyleoftheVeianmasters,Iwouldn’thavefeltsuchlossduringmylongtravelswhenIcouldscarcelyremembermybeloved,whosefaceI’dleftsomewherebehindme.Forifalover’sfacesurvivesemblazonedonyourheart,theworldisstillyourhome.
MeetingShekure’syousonandspeakingwithhim,seeinghisfaceupcloseandkissinghim,arousedinmearestlessnesspeculiartotheluckless,tomurderersandtosinners.Aninnervoiceurgedmeon,“Bequiow,goandseeher.”
Forawhile,IsideredsilentlyquittingmyEnishte’spresendopeningeachofthedoorsalongthewidehallway—I’dtedthemoutoftheerofmyeye,fivedarkdoors,oneofwhiaturally,opeothestaircase—untilIfoundShekure.But,I’dbeenseparatedfrommybelovedfortwelveyearsbecauseIrecklesslyrevealedwhatlayi.Idecidedtowaitdiscreetly,listeningtomyEnishtewhileadmiringtheobjectsthatShekurehadtouchedandthelargepillowuponwhichshe’dreedwhoknowshowmanytimes.
HeretedtomethattheSultanwaohavethebookpletedihethousandth-yearanniversaryoftheHegira.OurSultan,RefugeoftheWorld,waodemonstratethatihousandthyearoftheMuslimdarHeandHisstateakeuseofthestylesoftheFranksaswellastheFranksthemselves.BecauseHewasalsohavingaBookofFestivitiesmade,theSultangrahatthemasterminiaturists,whomHeknewwerequitebusy,bepermittedtosequesterthemselvesathometoworkinpeasteadofamongthecrowdsattheworkshop.Hewas,ofcourse,alsoawarethattheyallregularlypaiddestinevisitstomyEnishte.
“YoushallvisitHeadIlluminatorMasterOsman,”saidmyEnishte.“Somesayhe’sgoneblind,othersthathe’slosthissehinkhe’sblindandseh.”
DespitethefactthatmyEnishtedidn’thavethestandingofamasterillustratorandthatthiswasn’thisfieldofartisticexpertiseatall,hedidhavetroloveranillustratedmanuscript.This,infact,waswiththepermissionandencementoftheSultan,asituationthat,ofcourse,strainedhisrelationshipwiththeelderlyMasterOsman.
Thinkingofmychildhood,Iallowedmyattentiontobeabsorbedbythefurnitureandobjectswithinthehouse.Fromtwelveyearsago,IstillrememberedthebluekilimfromKulacthefloor,thecopperewer,thecoffeesetandtray,thecopperpailandthedelicatecoffeecupsthathadeallthewayfromabyal,asmylateaunthadboastednumeroustimes.Theseeffects,likethelowX-shapedreadingdeskinlaidwithmother-of-pearl,thestandforaturbanhewall,theredvelvetpillowwhosesmoothnessIrecalledassoonasItouchedit,werefromthehouseinAksaraywhereI’dpassedmychildhoodwithShekure,aillcarriedsomethingoftheblissofmydaysofpaintinginthathouse.
Paintingandhappiness.Iwouldlikemydearreaderswhohavegivencloseattentiontomystoryandmyfatetobearthesetwothingsinmind,astheyarethegenesisofmyworld.Atoime,Iwastentedhere,amongthesebooks,calligraphybrushesandpaintings.Then,IfellinloveandwasbanishedfromthisParadise.IntheyearsIenduredmyamorousexile,IoftenthoughthowIwasinfactdeeplyiedtoShekureandmyloveforher,becausetheyhadeoadaptoptimisticallytolifeandtheworld.SinceIhad,inmychildlikeé,nodoubtthatmylovewouldbereciprocated,Igrewexceedinglyassuredandcametardtheworldasagoodplace.Yousee,itwaswiththissameearhatIinvolvedmyselfwithbooksandcametolovethem,tolovethereadingmyEnishterequiredofmebackthen,myreligiousschoollessonsandmyillustratingandpainting.ButasmuchasIowedthesuniveandmorefertilefirsthalfofmyeducationtotheloveIfeltforShekure,Iowedthedarkkhatpoisohelattertimetobeied;mydesireoniightstosputteroutandvanishlikethedyingflamesintheironstovesofacaravansary,repeatedlydreamingafteranightoflovethatIlungingintoadesolateabyssalongwithwhicheverwomanlaybesideme,aionthatIwassimplyworthless—allofitwasfurnishedbyShekure.
“Wereyouaware,”myEnishtesaidmuchlater,“thatafterdeathoursoulswillbeabletomeetwiththespiritsofmenandwomeninthisworldeacefullyasleepintheirbeds?”
“No,Iwasnot.”
“Wetakealongjourerdeath,soI’mnotafraidofdying.WhatIfearisdyingbeforeIfinishOurSultan’sbook.”
PartofmefeltIwasstronger,morereasonableandmorereliablethanmyEnishte,andpartofmewasdwellingoofthecaftanthatI’dpurchasedonmywayheretomeetwiththismanwho’ddeniedmehisdaughter’shandandonthesilverbridleandhand-workedsaddleofthehorsewhich,soonaftergoingdownstairs,I’dtakeoutofthestableandrideaway.
ItoldhimI’dapprisehimofeverythingIlearnedduringmyvisitstothevariousminiaturists.Ikissedhishandandbroughtittomyforehead.Iwalkeddowairs,ehecourtyard,andsensingthesnowycolduponme,acceptedthatIwasherachildnoranoldman:Ijoyouslyfelttheworlduponmyskin.AsIshutthestabledoor,abreezebegantostir.Iledmywhitehorsebythebridleoverthestonewalkwaytotheearthenpartofthecourtyard,ahshuddered:Ifeltasifhisstrong,large-veinedlegs,hisimpatiendhisstubbornnessweremyown.Assooeredthestreet,Iwasabouttoswiftlymountmysteedanddisappeardownthenarrowwaylikeafabledhorsemaoreturnagain,whenanenormouswoman,aJewessdressedallinpinkandcarryingabundle,appearedoutofnowhereandaccostedme.Shewasaslargeandwideasanarmoire.Yetshewasboisterous,livelyandevencoquettish.
“Mybraveman,myyounghero,Iseeyou’retrulyashandsomeastheysayyouare,”shesaid.“Mightyoubemarried?htyoubeabachelor?
WouldyoudeigntobuyasilkhandkerchiefforyoursecretloverfromEsther,Istanbul’spremierpeddleroffih?”
“Nay.”
“AredsashofAtlassilk?”
“Nay.”
“Don’tgoonpiping”nay‘atmelikethat!Howcouldabraveheartlikeyounothaveafiancéeorasecretlover?Whoknowshowmanyteary-eyedmaidensareburningwithdesireforyou?“Herbodylengthenedliketheslenderformofanacrobatandsheleaowardmewithagesture.Atthesametime,withtheskillofa
magiwhoplucksobjectsoutofthinair,shecausedalettertoappearinherhand.Istealthilygrabbedit,andasifI’dbeentrainingforthismomentforyears,Ihastilyandartfullyplaceditintomysash.Itwasathickletteralikefireagainsttheicyskinofmyside,betweenmybellyandback.
“Rideatanamble,”saidEsthertheclothespeddler.“Turnrightattheer,followingthecurveofthewallwithoutbreakingstride,butwhenyougettothepomegrareeturnandlookatthehouseyou’vejustleft,atthewindowtht.”
Shewentonherwayandvanishedinaninstant.
Imouhehorse,butlikeanovicedoingsoforthefirsttime.Myheartwasrag,mymindwasoverebyexcitement,myhandshadfottenhowtotrolthereins,butwheightlygrippedthehorse’sbody,soundreasonandskilltooktrolofmyhorseandme,aherhadinstructed,mywisehorseambledsteadilyand,howlovely,weturnedrightontothesidestreet!
ItwasthenthatIfeltImightintruthbehandsome.Asinfairytales,frombehindeveryshutterandeverylatticedwindow,aanwaswatgmeaImightburnonceagainwiththatsamefirethathadonedme.IsthiswhatIdesired?WasIsuccumbiheillnessfromwhichI’dsufferedforsomanyyears?Thesunsuddenlybrokethroughtheclouds,startlingme.
Wherewasthepomegraree?Wasitthisthin,melancholytreehere?
Yes!Iturnedslightlythtinmysaddle.Isawawindowbehiree,buttherewasnobodythere.I’dbeehatweher!
JustasIwasthinkingsuchthoughts,thewindow’siced-overshuttersopehaloudburst,asifthey’dexploded,andaftertwelveyears,Isawmybeloved’sstunningfaceamongsnowybranches,framedbythewindowwhoseicytrimshhtlyinthesunlight.
Wasmydark-eyedbelovedlookingatmeoratanotherlifebeyondme?Icouldn’ttellwhethershewassadorsmilingorsmilingsadly.Foolishhorse,heednotmyheart,slowdown!Icalmlytwistedinmysaddleagain,fixingmydesirousstareforaslongaspossible,untilhergaunt,elegantandmysteriousfacedisappearedbehindthebranches.
Muchlater,afteropeniteraheillustrationwithin,Ithoughthowmyvisittoheratthewindowonhorsebackcloselyresembledthatmoment,picturedathousandtimes,inwhichHüsrevvisitsShirihherwindow—onlyinourcase,therewasthatmelancholytree
betweenus.WhenIreizedthissimilarity,ohhowIburhalovesuchastheydescribeinthosebookswesocherishandadore.
IAMESTHERAllofyou,Iknow,arewwhatShekurepehatletterIpreseoBlack.Asthiswasalsoacuriosityofmine,Ilearnedeverythingtherewastoknow.Ifyouwould,theendyou’reflippingbackthroughthepagesofthestoryaellyouwhatoccurredbeforeIdeliveredthatletter.
Now,it’sgettingontowardevening,I’veretiredtoourhouseinthequaintlittleJewishquarteratthemouthoftheGoldenHornwithmyhusbandNesim,twooldpeoplehuffingandpuffing,tryingtokeepwarmbyfeedinglogsintothestove.Paynomindtomycallingmyself“old.”WhenIloadmywares—itemscheapandpreciousalike,certaintoluretheladies,rings,earrings,neckladbaubles—intothefoldsofsilkhandkerchiefs,gloves,sheetsandthecolorfulshirtclothsentoverinPueseships,whenIshoulderthatbuher’saladleandIstanbul’sakettle,andthere’snaryastreetIdon’tvisit.Thereisn’tawossiporletterthatIhaven’tcarriedfromonedoortothe,andI’veplayedmatchmakertohalfthemaidensofIstanbul,butIdidhisrecitalt.AsIwassaying,weweretakingoureaseintheevening,and“rap,rap”someonewasatthedoor.IeodiscoverHayriye,thatidiotslavegirl,standingbeforeme.Sheheldaletterinherhand.Icouldn’ttellwhetheritwasfromthecoldorfromexcitement,butshewastremblingassheexplainedShekure’swishes.
Atfirst,IassumedthisletterwastobetakentoHasan,that’swhyIwassoastonished.YouknowaboutprettyShekure’shusband,theonewhournedfromthewar—ifyouaskme,he’slongsincehadhishidepierced.
Wellyousee,thato-returnsoldier-husbandalsohasaneager,lovesickbrotherbythenameofHasan.SoimaginemysurprisewhenIsawthatShekure’sletterwasforHasan,butforsomeoneelse.Whatdidthelettersay?Estherwasmadwithcuriosity,andintheend,Ididsucceedinreadingit.
Butalas,wedon’tknoweachotherthatwell,dowe?Tobeho,Iwasoverewithembarrassmentandworry.HowIreadtheletteryou’llneverknow.Maybeyou’llshamealemeformymeddling—asifyouyourselvesaren’tasnosyasbarbers.I’lljustrelatetoyouwhatIlearnedfromreadier.ThisiswhatsweetShekurehadwritten:
BlackEffendi,you’reavisitortomyhousethankstoyourcloserelationswithmyfather.Butdon’texpeodfromme.Muchhashappenedsinceyouleft.Iwaswed,andhavetwandspiritedsons.OhemisOrhaheonewhomyousawjustnowetotheworkshop.WhileI’vebeenawatiurnofmyhusbandthesefouryears,littleelsehasehoughts.Imightfeellonely,hopelessandweaklivingwithmytwochildrenandanelderlyfather.Imissthestrengthandproteofaman,butletnooneassumehemighttakeadvantageofmysituation.Therefore,itwouldpleasemeifyouceasedcallingonus.Youdidembarrassmeoncebefore,andafterward,Ihadtoenduremuchsufferingtainmyhonorinmyfather’seyes!Alongwiththisletter,I’malsoreturniureyoupaintedaomewhenyouulsiveyouthwithhiswitsabouthim.Idothissoyouwon’tharboranyfalsehopesormisreadanysigns.It’samistaketobelievethatonecouldfallinlovegazingatapicture.It’dbebestifyoustoppedingtoourhousepletely.
MypoorShekure,you’reheranoblemannorapashawithafaostampyourletter!Atthebottomofthepage,shesighefirstletterofhername,whichlookedlikeasmall,frightenedbird.Nothingmore.
Isaid“seal.”You’reprobablywhowIopenandclosethesewax-sealedletters.Butinfactthelettersaren’tsealedatall.“ThatEstherisanilliterateJew,”mydearShekurehadassumed.“She’llneveruandmywriting.”True,I’treadwhat’swritten,butIalwayshavesomeoneelsereadit.Andasforwhat’snotwritten,Iquitereadily“read”thatmyself.
fused,areyou?
Letmeputitthisway,soevethick-headedofyouwilluand:
Aletterdoesn’tunicatebywordsalone.Aletter,justlikeabook,bereadbysmellingit,tougitandfondlingit.Thereby,intelligentfolkwillsay,“Goonthen,readwhatthelettertellsyou!”whereasthedull-wittedwillsay,“Goonthen,readwhathe’swritten!”Listen,now,towhatelseShekuresaid:
.ThoughI’vesentthisletteri,byrelyiher,who’smadeletter-deliveryamatteroferd,I’msignifyingthatIdon’tiocealthatmuchatall.
.ThatI’vefoldedituplikeaFrenchpastryimpliessecredmystery,true.Buttheletterisn’tsealedandthere’sahugepictureenclosed.Theapparentimplicationis,“Pray,keepoursecretatallcosts,”whichmorebefitsaninvitationtolovethaerofrebuke.
.Furthermore,thesmelloftheletterfirmsthisinterpretation.Thefragrancewasfaintenoughtobeambiguous—didsheiionallyperfumetheletter?—yetalluringenoughtofirereaders’curiosity—isthisthearomaofattarorthesmellofherhand?Andafragrance,whichwasenoughtoenrapturethepoormanwhoreadthelettertome,willsurelyhavethesameeffeBlack.
.IamEsther,whoknowsherhowtoreadnorwrite,butthisIdoknow:Althoughtheflowofthescriptandthehandwritiosay“Alas,Iamrushed,Iamwritingcarelesslyandwithoutpayingseriousattention,”
theselettersthattwitterelegantlyasifcaughtilebreezeveytheexactoppositemessage.Evenherphrase“justnowe”whenreferringtoOrhan,implyingthattheletterwaswrittenatthatverymomeraysaploynolessobviousthaakenineae.
.ThepicturesentalongwiththeletterdepictsprettyShiringazingathandsomeHüsrev’simageandfallingioldiorythatevehertheJewess,knowwell.AllthelovelornladiesofIstanbuladorethisstory,butneverhaveIknowosendanillustratioingtoit.
Ithappensallthetimetoyoufortueratepeople:Amaidenwho’treadbegsyoutoreadalovelettershe’sreceived.Theletterissosurprisiinganddisturbingthatitsowhoughembarrassedatyourbeingprivytohermostintimateaffairs,ashamedanddistraught,asksyouallthesametoreaditoncemore.Youreaditagain.Intheend,you’vereadthelettersomanytimesthatbothofyouhavememorizedit.Beforelong,she’lltaketheletterinherhandsandask,“Didhemakethatstatementthere?”and“Didhesaythathere?”Asyoupointtotheappropriateplaces,she’llporeoverthosepassages,stilluomakesehewordsthere.Asshestaresatthecurvylettersofthewords,sometimesIamsomovedIfetthatImyself’treadorwriteaheurgetoembracethoseilliteratemaidenswhosetearsfalltothepage.
Thentherearethosetrulyaccursedletter-readers;pray,don’tyouturnouttobelikeohem:Whenthemaideheletterinherownhandstotouchitagain,desiringtolookatitwithoutuandingwhichwordswere
spokehesebeastswillsaytoher,“Whatareytodo?You’tread,whatmoredoyouwanttolookat?”Someofthemwon’teveurer,treatingithehasifitbelohem.Attimes,thetaskofaccostingthemarievierfallstome,Esther.That’sthekindofgoodwomanIam.IfEstherlikesyou,she’lletoyouraidaswell.
I,SHEKUREOh,whywasIthereatthewindowjustwhenBlackrodebyonhiswhitesteed?WhydidIopetersintuitivelyatthatexaentandstareathimsolongfrombehindthesnowybrahepomegraree?I’ttellyouforsure.I’dsentwordtoEstherbywayofHayriye.Iwas,ofcourse,wellawarethatBlackwouldtakethatroute.Meanwhile,I’dgoneupaloheroomwiththebuilt-inclosetandthewindowfagthepomegrareetoihesheetsinthechest.Onawhim,andatjusttherightmoment,Ipushedtheshuttersopenwithallmystrengthandsunlightfloodedtheroom:Standingatthewindow,Icameface-to-facewithBlack,who,likethesun,dazzledme.Oh,itwasquitelovely.
He’dgrownandmaturedand,havinglosthisawkwardyouthfullankiness,heturtobeaelyman.ListenShekure,myheartdidtellme,he’snotonlyhandsome,lookintohiseyes,hepossessestheheartofachild,sopure,soalone:Marryhim.I,however,senthimaletterwhereinI’dgivenhimquitetheoppositemessage.
Thoughhewastwelveyearsmyelder,whenIwastwelve,Iwasmorematurethanhe.Backthen,insteadofstandingstraightandtallbeforemeinafashioingamanandannoungthathewasgoingtodothisorthat,jumpfromthisspotorclimbontothatthing,he’djustburyhisfasomebookorpicture,hidingasifeverythingembarrassedhim.Intime,healsofellihme.Hemadeapaintingdeclaringhislove.We’dbothmaturedbythen.
WhenIturwelve,IsehatBlackcouldnolongerlookintomyeyes,asifhewereafraidI’ddiscoverhelovedme.“Haivory-handledknife,”he’dsay,forexample,lookingatthekuolookatme.IfIaskedhim,forinstance,“Isthecherrysherbettoyourliking?”hecouldn’tsimplyindicatesowithadelicatesmileornod,aswedowhenourmouthsarefull,yousee.Instead,he’dscream“Yes”atthetopofhislungs,asiftryingtounicatewithadeafman.Hefearedlookiheface.Iwasamaidenofstrikiythen.Anymanwhocaughtsightofmeevenonce,fromafar,orfrombetweenpartedcurtainsoryawningdoors,oreventhroughthelayersofmymodestheadcs,immediatelybecameenamoredofme.
I’mnotbeingabraggart,I’mexplainingthissoyou’lluandmystoryaerabletoshareinmygrief.
Inthewell-knowntaleofHüsrevandShirin,there’samomentthatBladIhaddiscussedatlength.Hüsrev’sfriend,Shapur,iomakeHüsrevandShirinfallinlove.OnedayShirinembarksonatrysideoutingwith
herladiesofthecourt,whensheseesapictureofHüsrevthatShapurhassecretlyhungfromthebranchofohetreesbehwhichtheoutingpartyhasstoppedtorest.BeholdingthispictureofthehandsomeHüsrevinthatbeautifulgarden,Shirinisstribylove.Manypaintithismoment—or“se”astheminiaturistswouldhaveit—sistingofShirin’slookofadorationandbewildermentasshegazesupontheimageofHüsrev.
WhileBlackwaswwithmyfather,he’dseenthispicturemanytimesandhadtwicemadeexactcopiesbyeyeingtheinalashepainted.Afterfallingihme,hemadeacopyforhimself.ButthistimeinplaceofHüsrevandShirirayedhimselfandme,BladShekure.Ifitweren’tforthecaptiohthefigures,onlyIwould’veknownwhothemanandmaideniurewere,becausesometimeserejokingaround,he’ddepictusinthesamemannerandcolor:Iallinblue,heallinred.Andifthisweren’tindicationenough,he’dalsowrittenournamesbehefigures.He’dleftthepaintingwhereIwouldfinditandrunoff.
Hewatchedmetoseewhatmyreatohispositionwouldbe.
IwaswellawarethatIwouldn’tbeabletolovehimlikeaShirin,soIfeignedignoraheeveningofthatsummer’sdaywhenBlackgavemehispainting,duringwhichwe’dtriedtocoolourselveswithsour-cherrysherbetsmadewithicesaidtohavebeenbroughtallthewayfromsnoedMountUlu,Itoldmyfatherthathe’dmadeadeclarationoflove.Atthattime,Blackhadjustgraduatedfromthereligiousschool.Hetaughtieneighborhoodsand,moreoutofmyfather’sinsistehanhisowndesire,BlackwasattemptingtoobtairohepowerfulaeemedNaimPasha.Butacctomyfather,Blackdidhavehiswitsabouthim.Myfather,who’dtakepainstowinBlackaplaaimPasha’scircle,atleastasaclerktobegin,plaihathewasn’tdoingmuchtofurtherhisowncause;inotherwords,Blackwasbeinganignoramus.AndthatverynightinrefereoBladme,myfatherdeclared,“Ithinkhe’ssethissightsveryhigh,thisimpoverishednephew,”andwithardformymother’spresence,headded,“he’ssmarterthanwe’dsupposed.”
Irememberwithmiserywhatmyfatherdidinthefollowingdays,howIkeptmydistanBladhowheceasedtovisitourhouse,butIwon’texplainallofthisforfearthatyou’lldislikemyfatherandme.Isweartoyou,wehadnootherchoice.Youknowhowinsuchsituationsreasonablepeopleimmediatelyselovewithouthopeissimplyhopeless,anduandingthelimitsoftheillogicalrealmoftheheart,makeaquid
ofitbypolitelydeclaring,“Theydidn’tfindussuitablymatched.That’sjustthewayitis.”But,I’llhaveyouknowthatmymothersaidseveraltimes,“Atleastdon’tbreaktheboy’sheart.”Black,whommymotherreferredtoasa“boy,”wastwenty-four,andIwashalfhisage.BecausemyfathersideredBlack’sdeclarationofloveanactofinsolence,hewouldn’thumormymother’swishes.
Thoughwehadn’tfottenhimaltogetherbythetimewereceivedhathe’dleftIstanbul,we’dlethimslippletelyoutofouraffes.
Becausewehadn’treceivednewsabouthimfromanycityforyears,Ideemeditappropriatetosavethepicturehe’dmadeandshownme,asatokenofourchildhoodmemoriesandfriendship.Topreventmyfather,andlatermysoldier-husband,fromdiscthepictureaingupsetorjealous,Iexpertlycealedthenames“Shekure”and“Black”behefiguresbymakingitappearasifsomeonehaddribbledmyfather’sHasanPashainkontothem,inanactlatertobedisguisedasflowers.SinceI’vereturhatpicturetohimtoday,maybethoseamongyouinedtotakeadimviewofhowIrevealedmyselftohimatthewindowwillfeelashamedandresideryourprejudiewhat.
Havingexposedmyfa,Iremainedforawhilethereatthewindow,showeredinthecrimsoheeveningsun,andgazedihegardenbathedinreddish-elight,untilIfeltthechilloftheeveningair.
Therewasnobreeze.Ididn’tcarewhatsomeonepassingireetwould’vesaiduponseeiheopenwindow.OneofZiverPasha’sdaughters,Mesrure,whoalwayslaughedandenjoyedherselfsayisurprisingthingsatthemostinopportuimesentmerrilyandplayfullytothepublicbathseachweek,ooldmethatapersonneverklywhatsheherselfisthinking.ThisiswhatIknow:SometimesI’llsaysomethingandrealizeuponutteringitthatitisofmyownthinking;butnosoonerdoIarriveatthatrealizationthanI’mviheveryoppositeistrue.
IwassorrywhenpantEffendi,oheminiaturistsmyfatheroftenihehouse—andIwon’tpretendIhaven’tspiedoneachofthem—wentmissing,muchlikemyunfortunatehusband.“Elegant”wastheugliestamongthemaimpoverishedofspirit.
Iclosedtheshutters,lefttheroomadowntothekit.
“Mother,Shevketdidn’tlistentoyou,”Orhansaid.“WhileBlackwastakinghishorseoutofthestable,Shevketleftthekitandspiedonhimfromthepeephole.”
“Whatofit!”Shevketsaid,wavinghishandintheair.“Motherspiedonhimfromtheholeinthecloset.”
“Hayriye,”Isaid.“Frysomebreadinalittlebutterandserveittothemwithmarzipanandsugar.”
OrhanjumpedupanddownwithjoythoughShevketwassilent.ButasIwalkedbackupstairs,theybothcaughtuptome,screaming,pushingandshovingbymeexcitedly.“Beslow,slowdown,”Isaidwithalaugh.“Yourascals.”Ipattedthemontheirdelicatebacks.
Howwonderfulitistobehomewithchildrenaseveningapproaches!Myfatherhadquietlygivenhimselfovertoabook.
“Yuesthasdeparted,”Isaid.“Ihopehedidn’ttroubleyoumuch?”
“Orary,”hesaid.“Heeainedme.He’sasrespectfulaseverofhisEnishte.”
“Good.”
“Butnowhe’salsomeasuredandcalculating.”
He’dsaidthatlesstoobservemyreathantoclosethesubjeamahatmadelightofBlaanyotheroccasion,Iwould’veansweredhimwithasharptongue,asIamwonttodo.Thistime,though,IjustthoughtofBlackmakinggroundonhiswhitehorse,andIshuddered.
I’mnotsurehoened,butlaterintheroomwiththecloset,OrhanandIfoundourselveshuggingeachother.Shevketjoinedus;therewasabriefskirmishbetweenthem.Astheytussledweallrolledoverontothefloor.Ikissedthemonthebacksoftheirnedtheirhair,Ipressedthemtomybosomaheirweightonmybreasts.
“Ahhh,”Isaid.“Yourhairstinks.I’mgoingtosendyoutothebathstomorrowwithHayriye.”
“Idon’twanttogotothebathswithHayriyeanymore,”Shevketsaid.
“Why?Areyoutoogrown-up?”Isaid.
“Mother,whydidyouwearyourfinepurpleblouse?”Shevketsaid.
Iwentintotheotherroomandremovedmypurpleblouse.IpulledonthefadedgreeIusuallywear.AsIwasging,Ifeltcoldandshivered,butIcouldsemyskinwasaflame,mybodyvibrantandalive.I’drubbedabiteontomycheeks,whichprobablysmudgedwhileIwasrollingaroundwiththechildren,butIeveoutbyligmypalmandrubbingmycheeks.Areyouawarethatmyrelatives,thewomenwhomImeet
atthebathsandeveryonewhoseesme,swearthatIlookmorelikeasixteen-year-oldmaidenthay-four-year-oldmotheroftwopastherprime?
Believethem,trulybelievethem,orIshan’ttellyouanymore.
Don’tbesurprisedthatI’mtalkingtoyou.ForyearsI’vebedthroughthepicturesinmyfather’sbookslookingfesofwomenabeauties.Theydoexist,iffewandfarbetween,andalwayslookshy,embarrassed,gazingonlyatoher,asifapologetically.heyraisetheirheads,standstraightandfacethepeopleoftheworldassoldiersandsultanswould.Onlyincheap,hastilyillustratedbooksb松语文学www.16sy.coM免费小说阅读
HadItakenShekure’sportraitwithme,rehestyleoftheVeianmasters,Iwouldn’thavefeltsuchlossduringmylongtravelswhenIcouldscarcelyremembermybeloved,whosefaceI’dleftsomewherebehindme.Forifalover’sfacesurvivesemblazonedonyourheart,theworldisstillyourhome.
MeetingShekure’syousonandspeakingwithhim,seeinghisfaceupcloseandkissinghim,arousedinmearestlessnesspeculiartotheluckless,tomurderersandtosinners.Aninnervoiceurgedmeon,“Bequiow,goandseeher.”
Forawhile,IsideredsilentlyquittingmyEnishte’spresendopeningeachofthedoorsalongthewidehallway—I’dtedthemoutoftheerofmyeye,fivedarkdoors,oneofwhiaturally,opeothestaircase—untilIfoundShekure.But,I’dbeenseparatedfrommybelovedfortwelveyearsbecauseIrecklesslyrevealedwhatlayi.Idecidedtowaitdiscreetly,listeningtomyEnishtewhileadmiringtheobjectsthatShekurehadtouchedandthelargepillowuponwhichshe’dreedwhoknowshowmanytimes.
HeretedtomethattheSultanwaohavethebookpletedihethousandth-yearanniversaryoftheHegira.OurSultan,RefugeoftheWorld,waodemonstratethatihousandthyearoftheMuslimdarHeandHisstateakeuseofthestylesoftheFranksaswellastheFranksthemselves.BecauseHewasalsohavingaBookofFestivitiesmade,theSultangrahatthemasterminiaturists,whomHeknewwerequitebusy,bepermittedtosequesterthemselvesathometoworkinpeasteadofamongthecrowdsattheworkshop.Hewas,ofcourse,alsoawarethattheyallregularlypaiddestinevisitstomyEnishte.
“YoushallvisitHeadIlluminatorMasterOsman,”saidmyEnishte.“Somesayhe’sgoneblind,othersthathe’slosthissehinkhe’sblindandseh.”
DespitethefactthatmyEnishtedidn’thavethestandingofamasterillustratorandthatthiswasn’thisfieldofartisticexpertiseatall,hedidhavetroloveranillustratedmanuscript.This,infact,waswiththepermissionandencementoftheSultan,asituationthat,ofcourse,strainedhisrelationshipwiththeelderlyMasterOsman.
Thinkingofmychildhood,Iallowedmyattentiontobeabsorbedbythefurnitureandobjectswithinthehouse.Fromtwelveyearsago,IstillrememberedthebluekilimfromKulacthefloor,thecopperewer,thecoffeesetandtray,thecopperpailandthedelicatecoffeecupsthathadeallthewayfromabyal,asmylateaunthadboastednumeroustimes.Theseeffects,likethelowX-shapedreadingdeskinlaidwithmother-of-pearl,thestandforaturbanhewall,theredvelvetpillowwhosesmoothnessIrecalledassoonasItouchedit,werefromthehouseinAksaraywhereI’dpassedmychildhoodwithShekure,aillcarriedsomethingoftheblissofmydaysofpaintinginthathouse.
Paintingandhappiness.Iwouldlikemydearreaderswhohavegivencloseattentiontomystoryandmyfatetobearthesetwothingsinmind,astheyarethegenesisofmyworld.Atoime,Iwastentedhere,amongthesebooks,calligraphybrushesandpaintings.Then,IfellinloveandwasbanishedfromthisParadise.IntheyearsIenduredmyamorousexile,IoftenthoughthowIwasinfactdeeplyiedtoShekureandmyloveforher,becausetheyhadeoadaptoptimisticallytolifeandtheworld.SinceIhad,inmychildlikeé,nodoubtthatmylovewouldbereciprocated,Igrewexceedinglyassuredandcametardtheworldasagoodplace.Yousee,itwaswiththissameearhatIinvolvedmyselfwithbooksandcametolovethem,tolovethereadingmyEnishterequiredofmebackthen,myreligiousschoollessonsandmyillustratingandpainting.ButasmuchasIowedthesuniveandmorefertilefirsthalfofmyeducationtotheloveIfeltforShekure,Iowedthedarkkhatpoisohelattertimetobeied;mydesireoniightstosputteroutandvanishlikethedyingflamesintheironstovesofacaravansary,repeatedlydreamingafteranightoflovethatIlungingintoadesolateabyssalongwithwhicheverwomanlaybesideme,aionthatIwassimplyworthless—allofitwasfurnishedbyShekure.
“Wereyouaware,”myEnishtesaidmuchlater,“thatafterdeathoursoulswillbeabletomeetwiththespiritsofmenandwomeninthisworldeacefullyasleepintheirbeds?”
“No,Iwasnot.”
“Wetakealongjourerdeath,soI’mnotafraidofdying.WhatIfearisdyingbeforeIfinishOurSultan’sbook.”
PartofmefeltIwasstronger,morereasonableandmorereliablethanmyEnishte,andpartofmewasdwellingoofthecaftanthatI’dpurchasedonmywayheretomeetwiththismanwho’ddeniedmehisdaughter’shandandonthesilverbridleandhand-workedsaddleofthehorsewhich,soonaftergoingdownstairs,I’dtakeoutofthestableandrideaway.
ItoldhimI’dapprisehimofeverythingIlearnedduringmyvisitstothevariousminiaturists.Ikissedhishandandbroughtittomyforehead.Iwalkeddowairs,ehecourtyard,andsensingthesnowycolduponme,acceptedthatIwasherachildnoranoldman:Ijoyouslyfelttheworlduponmyskin.AsIshutthestabledoor,abreezebegantostir.Iledmywhitehorsebythebridleoverthestonewalkwaytotheearthenpartofthecourtyard,ahshuddered:Ifeltasifhisstrong,large-veinedlegs,hisimpatiendhisstubbornnessweremyown.Assooeredthestreet,Iwasabouttoswiftlymountmysteedanddisappeardownthenarrowwaylikeafabledhorsemaoreturnagain,whenanenormouswoman,aJewessdressedallinpinkandcarryingabundle,appearedoutofnowhereandaccostedme.Shewasaslargeandwideasanarmoire.Yetshewasboisterous,livelyandevencoquettish.
“Mybraveman,myyounghero,Iseeyou’retrulyashandsomeastheysayyouare,”shesaid.“Mightyoubemarried?htyoubeabachelor?
WouldyoudeigntobuyasilkhandkerchiefforyoursecretloverfromEsther,Istanbul’spremierpeddleroffih?”
“Nay.”
“AredsashofAtlassilk?”
“Nay.”
“Don’tgoonpiping”nay‘atmelikethat!Howcouldabraveheartlikeyounothaveafiancéeorasecretlover?Whoknowshowmanyteary-eyedmaidensareburningwithdesireforyou?“Herbodylengthenedliketheslenderformofanacrobatandsheleaowardmewithagesture.Atthesametime,withtheskillofa
magiwhoplucksobjectsoutofthinair,shecausedalettertoappearinherhand.Istealthilygrabbedit,andasifI’dbeentrainingforthismomentforyears,Ihastilyandartfullyplaceditintomysash.Itwasathickletteralikefireagainsttheicyskinofmyside,betweenmybellyandback.
“Rideatanamble,”saidEsthertheclothespeddler.“Turnrightattheer,followingthecurveofthewallwithoutbreakingstride,butwhenyougettothepomegrareeturnandlookatthehouseyou’vejustleft,atthewindowtht.”
Shewentonherwayandvanishedinaninstant.
Imouhehorse,butlikeanovicedoingsoforthefirsttime.Myheartwasrag,mymindwasoverebyexcitement,myhandshadfottenhowtotrolthereins,butwheightlygrippedthehorse’sbody,soundreasonandskilltooktrolofmyhorseandme,aherhadinstructed,mywisehorseambledsteadilyand,howlovely,weturnedrightontothesidestreet!
ItwasthenthatIfeltImightintruthbehandsome.Asinfairytales,frombehindeveryshutterandeverylatticedwindow,aanwaswatgmeaImightburnonceagainwiththatsamefirethathadonedme.IsthiswhatIdesired?WasIsuccumbiheillnessfromwhichI’dsufferedforsomanyyears?Thesunsuddenlybrokethroughtheclouds,startlingme.
Wherewasthepomegraree?Wasitthisthin,melancholytreehere?
Yes!Iturnedslightlythtinmysaddle.Isawawindowbehiree,buttherewasnobodythere.I’dbeehatweher!
JustasIwasthinkingsuchthoughts,thewindow’siced-overshuttersopehaloudburst,asifthey’dexploded,andaftertwelveyears,Isawmybeloved’sstunningfaceamongsnowybranches,framedbythewindowwhoseicytrimshhtlyinthesunlight.
Wasmydark-eyedbelovedlookingatmeoratanotherlifebeyondme?Icouldn’ttellwhethershewassadorsmilingorsmilingsadly.Foolishhorse,heednotmyheart,slowdown!Icalmlytwistedinmysaddleagain,fixingmydesirousstareforaslongaspossible,untilhergaunt,elegantandmysteriousfacedisappearedbehindthebranches.
Muchlater,afteropeniteraheillustrationwithin,Ithoughthowmyvisittoheratthewindowonhorsebackcloselyresembledthatmoment,picturedathousandtimes,inwhichHüsrevvisitsShirihherwindow—onlyinourcase,therewasthatmelancholytree
betweenus.WhenIreizedthissimilarity,ohhowIburhalovesuchastheydescribeinthosebookswesocherishandadore.
IAMESTHERAllofyou,Iknow,arewwhatShekurepehatletterIpreseoBlack.Asthiswasalsoacuriosityofmine,Ilearnedeverythingtherewastoknow.Ifyouwould,theendyou’reflippingbackthroughthepagesofthestoryaellyouwhatoccurredbeforeIdeliveredthatletter.
Now,it’sgettingontowardevening,I’veretiredtoourhouseinthequaintlittleJewishquarteratthemouthoftheGoldenHornwithmyhusbandNesim,twooldpeoplehuffingandpuffing,tryingtokeepwarmbyfeedinglogsintothestove.Paynomindtomycallingmyself“old.”WhenIloadmywares—itemscheapandpreciousalike,certaintoluretheladies,rings,earrings,neckladbaubles—intothefoldsofsilkhandkerchiefs,gloves,sheetsandthecolorfulshirtclothsentoverinPueseships,whenIshoulderthatbuher’saladleandIstanbul’sakettle,andthere’snaryastreetIdon’tvisit.Thereisn’tawossiporletterthatIhaven’tcarriedfromonedoortothe,andI’veplayedmatchmakertohalfthemaidensofIstanbul,butIdidhisrecitalt.AsIwassaying,weweretakingoureaseintheevening,and“rap,rap”someonewasatthedoor.IeodiscoverHayriye,thatidiotslavegirl,standingbeforeme.Sheheldaletterinherhand.Icouldn’ttellwhetheritwasfromthecoldorfromexcitement,butshewastremblingassheexplainedShekure’swishes.
Atfirst,IassumedthisletterwastobetakentoHasan,that’swhyIwassoastonished.YouknowaboutprettyShekure’shusband,theonewhournedfromthewar—ifyouaskme,he’slongsincehadhishidepierced.
Wellyousee,thato-returnsoldier-husbandalsohasaneager,lovesickbrotherbythenameofHasan.SoimaginemysurprisewhenIsawthatShekure’sletterwasforHasan,butforsomeoneelse.Whatdidthelettersay?Estherwasmadwithcuriosity,andintheend,Ididsucceedinreadingit.
Butalas,wedon’tknoweachotherthatwell,dowe?Tobeho,Iwasoverewithembarrassmentandworry.HowIreadtheletteryou’llneverknow.Maybeyou’llshamealemeformymeddling—asifyouyourselvesaren’tasnosyasbarbers.I’lljustrelatetoyouwhatIlearnedfromreadier.ThisiswhatsweetShekurehadwritten:
BlackEffendi,you’reavisitortomyhousethankstoyourcloserelationswithmyfather.Butdon’texpeodfromme.Muchhashappenedsinceyouleft.Iwaswed,andhavetwandspiritedsons.OhemisOrhaheonewhomyousawjustnowetotheworkshop.WhileI’vebeenawatiurnofmyhusbandthesefouryears,littleelsehasehoughts.Imightfeellonely,hopelessandweaklivingwithmytwochildrenandanelderlyfather.Imissthestrengthandproteofaman,butletnooneassumehemighttakeadvantageofmysituation.Therefore,itwouldpleasemeifyouceasedcallingonus.Youdidembarrassmeoncebefore,andafterward,Ihadtoenduremuchsufferingtainmyhonorinmyfather’seyes!Alongwiththisletter,I’malsoreturniureyoupaintedaomewhenyouulsiveyouthwithhiswitsabouthim.Idothissoyouwon’tharboranyfalsehopesormisreadanysigns.It’samistaketobelievethatonecouldfallinlovegazingatapicture.It’dbebestifyoustoppedingtoourhousepletely.
MypoorShekure,you’reheranoblemannorapashawithafaostampyourletter!Atthebottomofthepage,shesighefirstletterofhername,whichlookedlikeasmall,frightenedbird.Nothingmore.
Isaid“seal.”You’reprobablywhowIopenandclosethesewax-sealedletters.Butinfactthelettersaren’tsealedatall.“ThatEstherisanilliterateJew,”mydearShekurehadassumed.“She’llneveruandmywriting.”True,I’treadwhat’swritten,butIalwayshavesomeoneelsereadit.Andasforwhat’snotwritten,Iquitereadily“read”thatmyself.
fused,areyou?
Letmeputitthisway,soevethick-headedofyouwilluand:
Aletterdoesn’tunicatebywordsalone.Aletter,justlikeabook,bereadbysmellingit,tougitandfondlingit.Thereby,intelligentfolkwillsay,“Goonthen,readwhatthelettertellsyou!”whereasthedull-wittedwillsay,“Goonthen,readwhathe’swritten!”Listen,now,towhatelseShekuresaid:
.ThoughI’vesentthisletteri,byrelyiher,who’smadeletter-deliveryamatteroferd,I’msignifyingthatIdon’tiocealthatmuchatall.
.ThatI’vefoldedituplikeaFrenchpastryimpliessecredmystery,true.Buttheletterisn’tsealedandthere’sahugepictureenclosed.Theapparentimplicationis,“Pray,keepoursecretatallcosts,”whichmorebefitsaninvitationtolovethaerofrebuke.
.Furthermore,thesmelloftheletterfirmsthisinterpretation.Thefragrancewasfaintenoughtobeambiguous—didsheiionallyperfumetheletter?—yetalluringenoughtofirereaders’curiosity—isthisthearomaofattarorthesmellofherhand?Andafragrance,whichwasenoughtoenrapturethepoormanwhoreadthelettertome,willsurelyhavethesameeffeBlack.
.IamEsther,whoknowsherhowtoreadnorwrite,butthisIdoknow:Althoughtheflowofthescriptandthehandwritiosay“Alas,Iamrushed,Iamwritingcarelesslyandwithoutpayingseriousattention,”
theselettersthattwitterelegantlyasifcaughtilebreezeveytheexactoppositemessage.Evenherphrase“justnowe”whenreferringtoOrhan,implyingthattheletterwaswrittenatthatverymomeraysaploynolessobviousthaakenineae.
.ThepicturesentalongwiththeletterdepictsprettyShiringazingathandsomeHüsrev’simageandfallingioldiorythatevehertheJewess,knowwell.AllthelovelornladiesofIstanbuladorethisstory,butneverhaveIknowosendanillustratioingtoit.
Ithappensallthetimetoyoufortueratepeople:Amaidenwho’treadbegsyoutoreadalovelettershe’sreceived.Theletterissosurprisiinganddisturbingthatitsowhoughembarrassedatyourbeingprivytohermostintimateaffairs,ashamedanddistraught,asksyouallthesametoreaditoncemore.Youreaditagain.Intheend,you’vereadthelettersomanytimesthatbothofyouhavememorizedit.Beforelong,she’lltaketheletterinherhandsandask,“Didhemakethatstatementthere?”and“Didhesaythathere?”Asyoupointtotheappropriateplaces,she’llporeoverthosepassages,stilluomakesehewordsthere.Asshestaresatthecurvylettersofthewords,sometimesIamsomovedIfetthatImyself’treadorwriteaheurgetoembracethoseilliteratemaidenswhosetearsfalltothepage.
Thentherearethosetrulyaccursedletter-readers;pray,don’tyouturnouttobelikeohem:Whenthemaideheletterinherownhandstotouchitagain,desiringtolookatitwithoutuandingwhichwordswere
spokehesebeastswillsaytoher,“Whatareytodo?You’tread,whatmoredoyouwanttolookat?”Someofthemwon’teveurer,treatingithehasifitbelohem.Attimes,thetaskofaccostingthemarievierfallstome,Esther.That’sthekindofgoodwomanIam.IfEstherlikesyou,she’lletoyouraidaswell.
I,SHEKUREOh,whywasIthereatthewindowjustwhenBlackrodebyonhiswhitesteed?WhydidIopetersintuitivelyatthatexaentandstareathimsolongfrombehindthesnowybrahepomegraree?I’ttellyouforsure.I’dsentwordtoEstherbywayofHayriye.Iwas,ofcourse,wellawarethatBlackwouldtakethatroute.Meanwhile,I’dgoneupaloheroomwiththebuilt-inclosetandthewindowfagthepomegrareetoihesheetsinthechest.Onawhim,andatjusttherightmoment,Ipushedtheshuttersopenwithallmystrengthandsunlightfloodedtheroom:Standingatthewindow,Icameface-to-facewithBlack,who,likethesun,dazzledme.Oh,itwasquitelovely.
He’dgrownandmaturedand,havinglosthisawkwardyouthfullankiness,heturtobeaelyman.ListenShekure,myheartdidtellme,he’snotonlyhandsome,lookintohiseyes,hepossessestheheartofachild,sopure,soalone:Marryhim.I,however,senthimaletterwhereinI’dgivenhimquitetheoppositemessage.
Thoughhewastwelveyearsmyelder,whenIwastwelve,Iwasmorematurethanhe.Backthen,insteadofstandingstraightandtallbeforemeinafashioingamanandannoungthathewasgoingtodothisorthat,jumpfromthisspotorclimbontothatthing,he’djustburyhisfasomebookorpicture,hidingasifeverythingembarrassedhim.Intime,healsofellihme.Hemadeapaintingdeclaringhislove.We’dbothmaturedbythen.
WhenIturwelve,IsehatBlackcouldnolongerlookintomyeyes,asifhewereafraidI’ddiscoverhelovedme.“Haivory-handledknife,”he’dsay,forexample,lookingatthekuolookatme.IfIaskedhim,forinstance,“Isthecherrysherbettoyourliking?”hecouldn’tsimplyindicatesowithadelicatesmileornod,aswedowhenourmouthsarefull,yousee.Instead,he’dscream“Yes”atthetopofhislungs,asiftryingtounicatewithadeafman.Hefearedlookiheface.Iwasamaidenofstrikiythen.Anymanwhocaughtsightofmeevenonce,fromafar,orfrombetweenpartedcurtainsoryawningdoors,oreventhroughthelayersofmymodestheadcs,immediatelybecameenamoredofme.
I’mnotbeingabraggart,I’mexplainingthissoyou’lluandmystoryaerabletoshareinmygrief.
Inthewell-knowntaleofHüsrevandShirin,there’samomentthatBladIhaddiscussedatlength.Hüsrev’sfriend,Shapur,iomakeHüsrevandShirinfallinlove.OnedayShirinembarksonatrysideoutingwith
herladiesofthecourt,whensheseesapictureofHüsrevthatShapurhassecretlyhungfromthebranchofohetreesbehwhichtheoutingpartyhasstoppedtorest.BeholdingthispictureofthehandsomeHüsrevinthatbeautifulgarden,Shirinisstribylove.Manypaintithismoment—or“se”astheminiaturistswouldhaveit—sistingofShirin’slookofadorationandbewildermentasshegazesupontheimageofHüsrev.
WhileBlackwaswwithmyfather,he’dseenthispicturemanytimesandhadtwicemadeexactcopiesbyeyeingtheinalashepainted.Afterfallingihme,hemadeacopyforhimself.ButthistimeinplaceofHüsrevandShirirayedhimselfandme,BladShekure.Ifitweren’tforthecaptiohthefigures,onlyIwould’veknownwhothemanandmaideniurewere,becausesometimeserejokingaround,he’ddepictusinthesamemannerandcolor:Iallinblue,heallinred.Andifthisweren’tindicationenough,he’dalsowrittenournamesbehefigures.He’dleftthepaintingwhereIwouldfinditandrunoff.
Hewatchedmetoseewhatmyreatohispositionwouldbe.
IwaswellawarethatIwouldn’tbeabletolovehimlikeaShirin,soIfeignedignoraheeveningofthatsummer’sdaywhenBlackgavemehispainting,duringwhichwe’dtriedtocoolourselveswithsour-cherrysherbetsmadewithicesaidtohavebeenbroughtallthewayfromsnoedMountUlu,Itoldmyfatherthathe’dmadeadeclarationoflove.Atthattime,Blackhadjustgraduatedfromthereligiousschool.Hetaughtieneighborhoodsand,moreoutofmyfather’sinsistehanhisowndesire,BlackwasattemptingtoobtairohepowerfulaeemedNaimPasha.Butacctomyfather,Blackdidhavehiswitsabouthim.Myfather,who’dtakepainstowinBlackaplaaimPasha’scircle,atleastasaclerktobegin,plaihathewasn’tdoingmuchtofurtherhisowncause;inotherwords,Blackwasbeinganignoramus.AndthatverynightinrefereoBladme,myfatherdeclared,“Ithinkhe’ssethissightsveryhigh,thisimpoverishednephew,”andwithardformymother’spresence,headded,“he’ssmarterthanwe’dsupposed.”
Irememberwithmiserywhatmyfatherdidinthefollowingdays,howIkeptmydistanBladhowheceasedtovisitourhouse,butIwon’texplainallofthisforfearthatyou’lldislikemyfatherandme.Isweartoyou,wehadnootherchoice.Youknowhowinsuchsituationsreasonablepeopleimmediatelyselovewithouthopeissimplyhopeless,anduandingthelimitsoftheillogicalrealmoftheheart,makeaquid
ofitbypolitelydeclaring,“Theydidn’tfindussuitablymatched.That’sjustthewayitis.”But,I’llhaveyouknowthatmymothersaidseveraltimes,“Atleastdon’tbreaktheboy’sheart.”Black,whommymotherreferredtoasa“boy,”wastwenty-four,andIwashalfhisage.BecausemyfathersideredBlack’sdeclarationofloveanactofinsolence,hewouldn’thumormymother’swishes.
Thoughwehadn’tfottenhimaltogetherbythetimewereceivedhathe’dleftIstanbul,we’dlethimslippletelyoutofouraffes.
Becausewehadn’treceivednewsabouthimfromanycityforyears,Ideemeditappropriatetosavethepicturehe’dmadeandshownme,asatokenofourchildhoodmemoriesandfriendship.Topreventmyfather,andlatermysoldier-husband,fromdiscthepictureaingupsetorjealous,Iexpertlycealedthenames“Shekure”and“Black”behefiguresbymakingitappearasifsomeonehaddribbledmyfather’sHasanPashainkontothem,inanactlatertobedisguisedasflowers.SinceI’vereturhatpicturetohimtoday,maybethoseamongyouinedtotakeadimviewofhowIrevealedmyselftohimatthewindowwillfeelashamedandresideryourprejudiewhat.
Havingexposedmyfa,Iremainedforawhilethereatthewindow,showeredinthecrimsoheeveningsun,andgazedihegardenbathedinreddish-elight,untilIfeltthechilloftheeveningair.
Therewasnobreeze.Ididn’tcarewhatsomeonepassingireetwould’vesaiduponseeiheopenwindow.OneofZiverPasha’sdaughters,Mesrure,whoalwayslaughedandenjoyedherselfsayisurprisingthingsatthemostinopportuimesentmerrilyandplayfullytothepublicbathseachweek,ooldmethatapersonneverklywhatsheherselfisthinking.ThisiswhatIknow:SometimesI’llsaysomethingandrealizeuponutteringitthatitisofmyownthinking;butnosoonerdoIarriveatthatrealizationthanI’mviheveryoppositeistrue.
IwassorrywhenpantEffendi,oheminiaturistsmyfatheroftenihehouse—andIwon’tpretendIhaven’tspiedoneachofthem—wentmissing,muchlikemyunfortunatehusband.“Elegant”wastheugliestamongthemaimpoverishedofspirit.
Iclosedtheshutters,lefttheroomadowntothekit.
“Mother,Shevketdidn’tlistentoyou,”Orhansaid.“WhileBlackwastakinghishorseoutofthestable,Shevketleftthekitandspiedonhimfromthepeephole.”
“Whatofit!”Shevketsaid,wavinghishandintheair.“Motherspiedonhimfromtheholeinthecloset.”
“Hayriye,”Isaid.“Frysomebreadinalittlebutterandserveittothemwithmarzipanandsugar.”
OrhanjumpedupanddownwithjoythoughShevketwassilent.ButasIwalkedbackupstairs,theybothcaughtuptome,screaming,pushingandshovingbymeexcitedly.“Beslow,slowdown,”Isaidwithalaugh.“Yourascals.”Ipattedthemontheirdelicatebacks.
Howwonderfulitistobehomewithchildrenaseveningapproaches!Myfatherhadquietlygivenhimselfovertoabook.
“Yuesthasdeparted,”Isaid.“Ihopehedidn’ttroubleyoumuch?”
“Orary,”hesaid.“Heeainedme.He’sasrespectfulaseverofhisEnishte.”
“Good.”
“Butnowhe’salsomeasuredandcalculating.”
He’dsaidthatlesstoobservemyreathantoclosethesubjeamahatmadelightofBlaanyotheroccasion,Iwould’veansweredhimwithasharptongue,asIamwonttodo.Thistime,though,IjustthoughtofBlackmakinggroundonhiswhitehorse,andIshuddered.
I’mnotsurehoened,butlaterintheroomwiththecloset,OrhanandIfoundourselveshuggingeachother.Shevketjoinedus;therewasabriefskirmishbetweenthem.Astheytussledweallrolledoverontothefloor.Ikissedthemonthebacksoftheirnedtheirhair,Ipressedthemtomybosomaheirweightonmybreasts.
“Ahhh,”Isaid.“Yourhairstinks.I’mgoingtosendyoutothebathstomorrowwithHayriye.”
“Idon’twanttogotothebathswithHayriyeanymore,”Shevketsaid.
“Why?Areyoutoogrown-up?”Isaid.
“Mother,whydidyouwearyourfinepurpleblouse?”Shevketsaid.
Iwentintotheotherroomandremovedmypurpleblouse.IpulledonthefadedgreeIusuallywear.AsIwasging,Ifeltcoldandshivered,butIcouldsemyskinwasaflame,mybodyvibrantandalive.I’drubbedabiteontomycheeks,whichprobablysmudgedwhileIwasrollingaroundwiththechildren,butIeveoutbyligmypalmandrubbingmycheeks.Areyouawarethatmyrelatives,thewomenwhomImeet
atthebathsandeveryonewhoseesme,swearthatIlookmorelikeasixteen-year-oldmaidenthay-four-year-oldmotheroftwopastherprime?
Believethem,trulybelievethem,orIshan’ttellyouanymore.
Don’tbesurprisedthatI’mtalkingtoyou.ForyearsI’vebedthroughthepicturesinmyfather’sbookslookingfesofwomenabeauties.Theydoexist,iffewandfarbetween,andalwayslookshy,embarrassed,gazingonlyatoher,asifapologetically.heyraisetheirheads,standstraightandfacethepeopleoftheworldassoldiersandsultanswould.Onlyincheap,hastilyillustratedbooksb松语文学www.16sy.coM免费小说阅读
推荐自己的新书《天命讨债人》齐天大魔猴
桀骜齐天圣，铮铮大魔猴
第817章 四公子当真与众不同？清穿后每天被迫撩
【欢脱独宠，沙雕撩夫日
新书《谜城》开启神峰
一次偶然， 他踏足修
第270章 酒吧偶遇网游之影子大师
我，在黑夜中行走 我
007儿女成群婚城难入
十八岁的她，一心想用高
第四百一十六章 邀请剑神之剑弑乾坤
《剑神之剑弑乾坤》是一
声明：本站所收录之:My Name is Red- I AM CALLED BLACK-2、言情小说、玄幻、网游小说、及短篇作品、均为本站作者及网友上传。
并不代表本站立场!本站亦无法严格审:My Name is Red最新章节其版权归属。如您对My Name is RedTXT下载持有版权方面的异议，请联系本站客服。我们将于72小时内处理。
Copyright (C) 2019 All Rights Reserved 版权所有：松语文学
并不代表本站立场!本站亦无法严格审:My Name is Red最新章节其版权归属。如您对My Name is RedTXT下载持有版权方面的异议，请联系本站客服。我们将于72小时内处理。
Copyright (C) 2019 All Rights Reserved 版权所有：松语文学