When I first laid eyes on her child, I k once what I』d long and mistakenly recalled about Shekure』s face. Like Orhan』s face, hers was thin, though her was lohan what I remembered. So, then the mouth of my beloved was surely smaller and narrower than I imagi 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 iyle 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 you 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 quiow, go and see her.」
For a while, I sidered silently quitting my Enishte』s presend opening each of the doors along the wide hallway—I』d ted them out of the er of my eye, five dark doors, one of whiaturally, 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 reed who knows how many times.
He reted to me that the Sultan wao have the book pleted in time for the thousandth-year anniversary of the Hegira. Our Sultan, Refuge of the World, wao demonstrate that ihousandth year of the Muslim dar 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 grahat the master miniaturists, whom He knew were quite busy, be permitted to sequester themselves at home to work in peastead of among the crowds at the workshop. He was, of course, also aware that they all regularly paid destine visits to my Enishte.
「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 seh.」
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 trol over an illustrated manuscript. This, in fact, was with the permission and encement 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 c 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 a by way of Pal, 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 o 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 t