Widowed, abandoned and aggrieved, my beloved Shekure fled with featherlike steps, and I stood as if stunned iillness of the house of the Hanged Jew, amid the aroma of almonds and dreams of marriage she』d left in her wake. I was bewildered, but my mind was ing so fast it almost hurt. Without even a ce to grieve properly over my Enishte』s death, I swiftly returned home. On the one hand, a worm of doubt was gnawing at me: Was Shekure using me as a pawn in a grand scheme, was she duping me? Oher hand, fantasies of a blissful marriage stubbornly played before my eyes.
After making versation with my landlady who interrogated me at the front door as to where I』d gone and whence I was ing at this m hour, I went to my room and removed the twenty-two Veian gold pieces from the lining of the sash I』d hidden in my mattress, plag them in my money purse with trembling fingers. When I returo the street, I knew immediately I』d see Shekure』s dark, teary, troubled eyes for the rest of the day.
I ged five of the Veian Lions at a perpetually smiling Jewish money ger. , deep in
thought, I ehe neighborhood whose name I』ve yet to mention because I』m not fond of it: Yakutlar, where my deceased Enishte and Shekure, along with her children, awaited me at their house. As I made my way along the streets almost running, a tall plaree seemed to reproach me for being overjoyed by dreams and plans of marriage on the very day my Enishte had passed away. , as the ice had melted, a street fountain hissed into my ear: 「Don』t take matters too seriously, see to your own affairs and your oiness.」 「That』s all fine and good,」 objected an ill-omened black cat lig himself on the er, 「but everybody, yourself included, suspects you had a hand in your uncle』s murder.」
The cat left off lig himself as I suddenly caught sight of its bewitg eyes. I don』t have to tell you how brazen these Istanbul cats get when the locals spoil them.
I found the Imam Effendi, whose droopy eyelids and large black eyes gave him a perpetually sleepy look, not at his house, but in the courtyard of the neighborhood mosque, and there I asked him quite a trivial legal question: 「When is one obligated to testify in court?」 I raised my eyebrows as I listeo his haughty answer as if I were hearing this information for the first time. 「Bearing witness is optional if other witnesses are present,」 explaihe Imam Effendi, 「but, in situations where there was only oness, it is the will of God that one bear witness.」
「That』s just the predit I find myself in now,」 I said, taking up the versation. 「In a situation everyone knows about, all the witnesses have shirked their responsibilities and avoided going to court with the excuse that 」it』s only voluntary,「 and as a result the pressing s of those I』m trying to help are being pletely disregarded.」
「Well,」 said the Imam Effendi, 「why don』t you loosen your purse-strings a little more?」
I took out my poud showed him the Veian gold pieces huddled within: The broad space of the mosque courtyard, the face of the preacher, everything was suddenly illuminated by the glimmer of gold. He asked me what my dilemma was all about.
I explained who I was. 「Enishte Effendi is ill,」 I fided. 「Before he dies, he wants his daughter』s widowhood certified and an alimony to be instituted.」
I didn』t even have to mention the proxy of the üsküdar judge. The Imam Effendi uood at ond said the entire neighborhood had loroubled over the fate