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 the house in
Aksaray where I’d passed my childhood with Shekure； and they still carried
something of the bliss of my days of painting in that house。
Painting and happiness。 I would like my dear readers who have given close
attention to my story and my fate to bear these two things in mind； as they
are the genesis of my world。 At one time； I was contented here； among these
books； calligraphy brushes and paintings。 Then； I fell in love and was banished
from this Paradise。 In the years I endured my amorous exile； I often thought
how I was in fact deeply indebted to Shekure and my love for her； because they
had enabled me to adapt optimistically to life and the world。 Since I had； in
my childlike na？veté； no doubt that my love would be reciprocated； I grew
exceedingly assured and came to regard the world as a good place。 You see； it
was with this same earnestness that I involved myself with books and came to
love them； to love the reading my Enishte required of me back then； my
religious school lessons and my illustrating and painting。 But as much as I
owed the sunny； festive and more fertile first half of my education to the love I
felt for Shekure； I owed the dark knowledge that poisoned the latter time to
being rejected； my desire on icy nights to sputter out and vanish like the dying
flames in the iron stoves of a caravansary； repeatedly dreaming after a night of
love that I was plunging into a desolate abyss along with whichever woman lay
beside me； and the notion that I was simply worthless—all of it was furnished
by Shekure。
37
“Were you aware；” my Enishte said much later； “that after death our souls
will be able to meet with the spirits of men and women in this world who are
peacefully asleep in their beds？”
“No； I was not。”
“We take a long journey after death； so I’m not afraid of dying。 What I fear
is dying before I finish Our Sultan’s book。”
Part of me felt I was stronger； more reasonable and more reliable than my
Enishte； and part of me was dwelling on the cost of the caftan that I’d
purchased on my way here to meet with this man who’d denied me his
daughter’s hand and on the silver bridle and hand…worked saddle of the horse
which； soon after going downstairs； I’d take out of the stable and ride away。
I told him I’d apprise him of everything I learned during my visits to the
various miniaturists。 I kissed his hand and brought it to my forehead。 I walked
down the stairs； entered the courtyard； and sensing the snowy cold upon me；
accepted that I was neither a child nor an old man： I joyously felt the world
upon my skin。 As I shut the stable door； a breeze began to stir。 I led my white
horse by the bridle over the stone walkway to the earthen part of the
courtyard； and we both shuddered： I felt as if his strong； large…veined legs； his
impatience and his stubbornness were my own。 As soon as we entered