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my name is red-我的名字叫红-第9章

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through which you could see my grandfather’s workshop; and if its door were 
open; the wide hallway and my grandfather’s bedroom across the hall by the 
staircase—if; of course; his bedroom door were open。 
“I was with grandfather;” I said。 “Mother; what are you doing in here?” 
“Didn’t I tell you that your grandfather had a guest and that you weren’t to 
bother them?” She scolded me; but not very loud; because she didn’t want the 
guest to hear。 “What were they doing?” she asked afterward; in a sweet voice。 
“They  were  seated。  Not  with  the  paints  though。  Grandfather  spoke;  the 
other listened。” 
“In what manner was he seated?” 
I  dropped  to  the  floor  and  imitated  the  guest:  “I’m  a  very  serious  man 
now; Mother; look。 I’m listening to my grandfather with knit eyebrows; as if I 
were  listening  to  the  birth  epic  being  recited。  I’m  nodding  my  head  in  time 
now; very seriously like that guest。” 
“Go downstairs;” my mother said; “call for Hayriye at once。” 
32 
 
She sat down and began writing on a small piece of paper on the writing 
board she’d taken up。 
“Mother; what are you writing?” 
“Be quick; now。 Didn’t I tell you to go downstairs and call for Hayriye?” 
I went down to the kitchen。 My brother; Shevket; was back。 Hayriye had put 
before him a plate of the pilaf meant for the guest。 
“Traitor;” my brother said。 “You just went off and left me with the Master。 I 
did all the folding for the bindings myself。 My fingers are bruised purple。” 
“Hayriye; my mother wants to see you。” 
“When I’m done here; I’m going to give you such a beating;” my brother 
said。 “You’ll pay for your laziness and treachery。” 
When Hayriye left; my brother stood and came after me threateningly; even 
before he’d finished his pilaf。 I couldn’t get away in time。 He grabbed my arm 
at the wrist and began twisting it。 
“Stop; Shevket; don’t; you’re hurting me。” 
“Are you ever going to shirk your duties again and leave?” 
“No; I won’t ever leave。” 
“Swear to it。” 
“I swear。” 
“Swear on the Koran。” 
“…on the Koran。” 
He didn’t let go of my arm。 He dragged me to the large copper tray that we 
used as a table for eating and forced me to my knees。 He was strong enough to 
eat his pilaf as he continued to twist my arm。 
“Quit torturing your brother; tyrant;” said Hayriye。 She covered herself and 
was heading outside。 “Leave him be。” 
“Mind your own affairs; slave girl;” my brother said。 He was still twisting 
my arm。 “Where are you off to?” 
“To buy lemons;” Hayriye said。 
“You’re a liar;” my brother said。 “The cupboard is full of lemons。” 
As he had eased up on my arm; I was suddenly able to free myself。 I kicked 
him  and  grabbed  a  candleholder  by  its  base;  but  he  pounced  on  me; 
33 
 
smothering  me。  He  knocked  the  candleholder  away;  and  the  copper  tray  fell 
over。 
“You two scourges of God!” my mother said。 She kept her voice lowered so 
the  guest  wouldn’t  hear。  How  had  she  passed  before  the  open  door  of  the 
workshop; through the hallway; and e downstairs without being seen by 
Black? 
She separated us。 “You two just continue to disgrace me; don’t you?” 
“Orhan lied to the master binder;” Shevket said。 “He left me there to do all 
the work。” 
“Hush!” my mother said; slapping him。 
She’d  hit  him  softly。  My  brother  didn’t  cry。  “I  want  my  father;”  he  said。 
“When he returns he’s going to take up Uncle Hasan’s ruby…handled sword; 
and we’re going to move back with Uncle Hasan。” 
“Shut  up!”  said  my  mother。  She  suddenly  became  so  angry  that  she 
grabbed Shevket by the arm and dragged him through the kitchen; passed the 
stairs  to  the  room  that  faced  the  far  shady  side  of  the  courtyard。  I  followed 
them。 My mother opened the door。 When she saw me; she said; “Inside; the 
both of you。” 
“But I haven’t done anything;” I said。 I entered anyway。 Mother closed the 
door behind us。 Though it wasn’t pitch…black inside—a faint light fell through 
the space between the shutters facing the pomegranate tree in the courtyard—
I was scared。 
“Open the door; Mother;” I said。 “I’m cold。” 
“Quit  whimpering;  you  coward;”  Shevket  said。  “She’ll  open  it  soon 
enough。” 
Mother opened the door。 “Are you going to behave until the visitor leaves?” 
she said。 “All right then; you’ll sit in the kitchen by the stove until Black takes 
his leave; and you’re not to go upstairs; do you understand?” 
“We’ll get bored in there;” Shevket said。 “Where has Hayriye gone?” 
“Quit butting into everyone’s affairs;” my mother said。 
We heard a soft whinnying from one of the horses in the stable。 The horse 
whinnied  again。  It  wasn’t  our  grandfather’s  horse;  but  Black’s。  We  were 
overe  with  mirth;  as  if  it  were  a  fair  day。  Mother  smiled;  wanting  us  to 
smile as well。 Taking two steps forward; she opened the stable door that faced 
us off the stairwell outside the kitchen。 
34 
 
“Drrsss;” she said into the stable。 
She turned around and guided us into Hayriye’s greasy…smelling and mice…
ridden kitchen。 She forced us to sit down。 “Don’t even consider standing until 
our  guest  leaves。  And  don’t  fight  with  each  other  or  else  people  will  think 
you’re spoiled。” 
“Mother;” I said to her before she closed the kitchen door。 “I want to say 
something; Mother: They’ve done our grandfather’s gilder in。” 
 
 
   
35 
 
I AM CALLED BLACK 
 
When  I  first  laid  eyes  on  her  child;  I  knew  at  once  what  I’d  long  and 
mistakenly  recalled  about  Shekure’s  face。  Like  Orhan’s  face;  hers  was  thin; 
though her chin was longer than what I remembered。 So; then the mouth of 
my  beloved  was  surely  smaller  and  narrower  than  I  imagined  it  to  be。  For  a 
dozen years; as I ventured from city to city; I’d widened Shekure’s mouth out 
of desire and had imagined her lips to be more pert; fleshy and irresistible; like 
a large; shiny cherry。 
Had  I  taken  Shekure’s  portrait  with  me;  rendered  in  the  style  of  the 
Veian masters; I wouldn’t have felt such loss during my long travels when I 
could  scarcely  remember  my  beloved;  whose  face  I’d  left  somewhere  behind 
me。 For if a lover’s face survives emblazoned on your heart; the world is still 
your home。 
Meeting Shekure’s youngest son and speaking with him; seeing his face up 
close and kissing him; aroused in me a restlessness peculiar to the luckless; to 
murderers and to sinners。 An inner voice urged me on; “Be quick now; go and 
see her。” 
For  a  while;  I  considered  silently  quitting  my  Enishte’s  presence  and 
opening each of the doors along the wide hallway—I’d counted them out of 
the corner of my eye; five dark doors; one of which; naturally; opened onto the 
staircase—until I found Shekure。 But; I’d been separated from my beloved for 
twelve  years  because  I  recklessly  revealed  what  lay  in  my  heart。  I  decided  to 
wait  discreetly;  listening  to  my  Enishte  while  admiring  the  objects  that 
Shekure  had  touched  and  the  large  pillow  upon  which  she’d  reclined  who 
knows how many times。 
He recounted to me that the Sultan wanted to have the book pleted in 
time for the thousandth…year anniversary of the Hegira。 Our Sultan; Refuge of 
the World; wanted to demonstrate that in the thousandth year of the Muslim 
calendar He and His state could make use of the styles of the Franks as well as 
the Franks themselves。 Because He was also having a Book of Festivities made; 
the  Sultan  granted  that  the  master  miniaturists;  whom  He  knew  were  quite 
busy; be permitted to sequester themselves at home to work in peace instead 
of among the crowds at the workshop。 He was; of course; also aware that they 
all regularly paid clandestine visits to my Enishte。 
36 
 
“You shall visit Head Illuminator Master Osman;” said my Enishte。 “Some 
say  he’s  gone  blind;  others  that  he’s  lost  his  senses。  I  think  he’s  blind  and 
senile both。” 
Despite  the  fact  that  my  Enishte  didn’t  have  the  standing  of  a  master 
illustrator and that this wasn’t his field of artistic expertise at all; he did have 
control over an illustrated manuscript。 This; in fact; was with the permission 
and  encouragement  of  the  Sultan;  a  situation  that;  of  course;  strained  his 
relationship with the elderly Master Osman。 
Thinking  of  my  childhood;  I  allowed  my  attention  to  be  absorbed  by  the 
furniture  and  objects  within  the  house。  From  twelve  years  ago;  I  still 
remembered the blue kilim from Kula covering the floor; the copper ewer; the 
coffee set and tray; the copper pail and the delicate coffee cups that had e 
all  the  way  from  China  by  way  of  Portugal;  as  my  late  aunt  had  boasted 
numerous times。 These effects; like the low X…shaped reading desk inlaid with 
mother…of…pearl; the stand for a turban nailed to the wall; the red velvet pillow 
whose smoothness I recalled as soon as I touched it; were from
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