I am not a corpse no ttom of a    breat opped beating, no one, apart from t vile murderer, kno y pulse and listened for my breato be sure I o tone, broke apart; my face, my foretered, and my mouth blood.

        For nearly four days I    be searcer, spent fr, must be staring fretfully at tyard gate. Yes, I kno turn.

        But, are truly ing? I ’t even be sure of t. Maybe tteo my abse one’s former life persists. Before my birte time, and after my deatible time. I    of it before: I’d been living luminously beternities of darkness.

        I ions in Our Sultan’s ely, I earned nine urally, only makes all of to bear.

        I ing and embellised t lifelike designs of leaves, branced scalloped Cyle clouds, clusters of overlapping vines and forests of color t ans, trees, palaces, ers. In my youte a plate, or t, or at times, ter years,    pages because Our Sultan paid    say it seems insignifit nohe value of money even when you’re dead.

        After    t you earned er death?

        about ’s deat, tremely curious about terlife.

        Maybe you’ve ory of ty t tlefields.    a man o life amid truggling for tell    ts of t one of tamerlane’s aking troke of ar, causing o clude t in ter mas split in two.

        Nonsense! Quite te, I’d even say t souls divided in life merge in ter. trary to t I’m speaking to you from    as you    plainly tell, I    ceased to be. Granted, I must fess, I    entered trees bearing plump fruit and tiful virgiioned in ten aically I made pictures of ter “t race of ter and    in t by visionary dreamers like Ibn Arabi. But I ention of tempting tfully t me declare t all I’ve seees specifically to my oances. Any believer tle knoer deat a maltent in my state he rivers of heaven.

        In s, I,    Effendi, am dead, but I    been buried, and t pletely left my body. traordinary situation, alturally my case isn’t t, ed al part of me. t feel my crusially submerged in ice-cold er, I do feel torment of my soul struggling desperately to escape its mortal coil. It’s as if trag into a bolus of anguish.

        I    only pare tra to t during t of my deatantly uood t tced to kill me ruck me one and cracked my skull, but I didn’t believe    been aware of wween worksely

        to life eeto    bore you ails of t blows I received.

        t of departure; my arrival to t ticed. I closed my eyes as if I o sleep, and I gently passed over.

        My present plaint isn’t t my teets into my bloody mout my face ion, or t I’ve been abandoned in t’s t everyone assumes I’m still alive. My troubled soul is anguis my family and intimates, rivial dealings some delay, pray for me and have me buried. Above all, find my murderer!

        For even if you bury me in t magnifit of tombs, so long as t clessly in my grave, ing and iing you all    son-of-a-ail just erlife—but knoer ,    be tortured by sl eigen of ask by torturers and plug out ing, oily rand by strand, so ime.

        ters. You say t, per one?

        In t case let me caution you: My deat ion, our traditions and troyed me. Learn o you. One by one, everyted by t preac o ened, is ing to pass. Let me say also t if tuation into    of miniaturists could never o illustrate it. As ood—taggering pos beied. I doubt you’ve fully pre.

        Listen to me. ice, I too feared and trut sucters. But

        I’ve ended up in t could o you, be    to do but rag my stenco do but orture t some benevolent man    upon t beastly murderer once .
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