reasurer and tal    ceremony my eyes omed to ty red aura of treasury rooms t ter sunligering in from tyard of te Quarters of terrifying. I stood dead still, as did Master Osman    seemed, t in ty and tangible air of treasury might escape.

        it, as if seeing some magnifit object for t time, Master Osman stared at t casg toreasury cal.

        t before, I ed ticed tonis pass over    upon trembled faintly, oorted delicately, as if preparing to reveal a pleasa, t illustration.

        After tal iently betless; I t nervously t    ime to cull enougion from treasury. I se Master Osman couldn’t focus adequately on ask, and I fessed my misgivings to him.

        Like a genuine master groomed to caressing ices,    to try to see tn ourselves to ice,” ures and possessions, I roion t to verge: As roacice approacer Bih…”

        Master Osman callously told tory of tiremely s of t be better see; a pinkiss tip.

        “ters,” Master Osman said, “ t, colors a diso see tern s, as a estern ruler did—ists of our day do.”

        rained on mine nor upon t of    seemed as t a distant unattainable uranian armies clas so sered one anotival, t or cloven in trehe field.

        “ masters of old o adopt tyles of victors and imitate turists, to    ting ime. Yes, before tare at a masterpiece ceaselessly for ubbornly stared out of boted ake tration I’d    to stare at till I’d attaihe blind?”

        Like a man trying to recall a co ses expanded, on a distant place beyond treasury.

        “tyle of ters of ,    of Ss!”

        Pero describe t picture as if reg a melancers. “My great master, my dear sire,” on a strange impulse, I interrupted    I    to stare at for all eternity is my beloved’s delicate face. It’s been t of er seeing ure reminds me of han her.”

        ter Osman’s face, curiosity per it o do ory nor tle se before o be expeg good ne.    looking at me, I abruptly grabbed the plume needle and walked away.

        In a dark part of treasury rooms, tting ttered range clocks sent as presents from Frankisopped    time, t aside o ti Master Osman claimed Bio blind himself.

        By t filtering inside, refleg off tal faces and diamonds of ty and broken clocks, tip of ted er Biually blinded ? er Osman doerrible to ed, attaco to say “Yes!” Evidently, urban    of t it, and    of Our Sultan and the women of his harem.

        I looked te a fes of pasies and belongings ed after ted t t number. itiless joy, t any pasoxicated by et    of tan and to ed o be executed and ed. Even in ted manuscripts or illustrated colles of poetry, opped and stared.

        ture ure, t is, ture of ered during ryside outing, ail, not because miniaturists couldn’t adequately depieterity and fio paint upon fingernails, grains of rice or even strands of    tures of    of Sail so t    be reized? Sometime in ternoon, peret my    I’d broas to Master Osman, I ruck by ture of a bridal procession painted on clot skipped a beat.

        trils carrying a coquettis    me out of ture. It    to me. As if in a dream, I ed to s, but my voice .

        In one tinuous movement, I collected up ts and aster Osman, laying the page open before him.

        ture.

        ion appeared o. “trils of tly like te’s book,” I exclaimed.

        doure, t ouche page.

        I couldn’t stand t a yle ae’s book,” I said, “but tist attempted to see t. “It’s a    resembles a Cure, but t Chey’re our people.”

        ter’s lens seemed to be flat against t against to see,    only    . Silence.

        “trils of t open,” er, breathless.

        I leaned my    o cared at trils for a long long time. I sadly realized t not only rils cut, but Master Osman hem.

        “You do see it, don’t you?”

        “Only very little,” ure.”

        “If you ask me, ted on a gray s nostrils cut open, so be    of guards o imidating black beards, furroactle-axes and scimitars indicate t to tesurkmen of transoxiana. Perty bride—o judge by t sraveling    nig of oil lamps and torches—is a melancholy ese princess.”

        “Or perurist, to empy, er Osman.

        “ be, my    acy, traveling teppe in t apanied by grim-faced fn guards, o a strange land and a ely added, “ermine    is from trils of the horse she rides?”

        “turn tell me er Osman.

        Just tting on t as I    to Master Osman; t together.

        e sarikingly beautiful Ced in tyle of our melae. e saw ese houses, morose-looking caravans

        on long journeys, vistas of teppes as beautiful as old memories. e sarees rendered in tyle, tiipsy ion percyle seated is ry, acular gardens; and    fals clutg bolt uprigride te    o t trations    often reason itself. urist added an ironic touco tions of tice? ed at ty of tunate peasants expeg fort from t? as it more pleasurable for o dray eyes of dogs locked in coitus or to apply a deviliso t ts? turist’s devils tures resembled ts ters of    and tists of tly; yet talent of turist made ter, aggressive and cerrifying devils, t ails. As I tured teeto beat eacle, to steal a great    to to leap and play, to cut dorees, to spirit aiful princesses in to capture dragons and sack treasuries. I mentio in touc brusurist knoer Osman    ties, listening closely to w I said.

        “Cutting open trils of    breatravel farturies-old Mongol ,” er. “ered Bag its inants to t and tossed all its books into tigris, as er, illuminator Ibn Sy and ter, ead of sout t time, no one made illustrations because ters    taken seriously. e oest secrets of our noble occupation to Ibn Sron saint and master of all miniaturists: t, tence of a ion of all to is timistic colors. I’ve    udied trils of o keep    legendary journey into tland of ter a year’s travel on foot undaunted by snorils. For    dream    turdy, poorious    o knoe’s boo miom to Khorasan and Samarkand.”

        As er Osman looked no t us, as if hings he jured in his mind’s eye.

        “Besides ing, t o Persia and to Istanbul. You’ve probably atcever o tree, object, dog or book, has a soul and speaks.”

        “Quite so,” said tness, some nig only ts of tes and tal bo tly any ts of all ts groless and begin to verse in suc treasury bees tic battle.”

        “tures er all to Istanbul,” said Master Osman. “As Sultan Selim ter defeating S of tamerlarayed Soget stituted tomans. In train of tan Selim, as urer cold and snoo Istanbul,    Ce skin and slanting almond eyes, and    by ters of tabriz, taken as plunder by ted simurids. I sare at til Our Sultan and treasurer remove me from here.”

        Yet by no one sees in t of    to see. e fell silent. Master Osman requested t teo ire at as to some bitter tale, once again locate and bring ail. Oer:“So tration in my Enishte’s book?”

        “Botion rils,”    ransoxiana, tyle. As for tiful e’s book, t yle like ters of . Indeed, it is a illustration o find anyry, not a Mongol horse.”

        “But its nostrils are cut open like a genuine Mongol horse,” I whispered.

        “It’s apparent t ted and tamerlane and

        s began, one of ters in    dree rils    open—influenced eit urist ain on    I’m sure t ture ly admired and praised—e in t time! I’m also vi for turists, muttering enviously to tated tiplied its image. In ts nostrils gradually became a model of form ingrained in tists ied in battle, ters, like somber o ries, and carried orils ly cut opeyles and different masters in different s never made use of aually fot t only dre clipped-nosed augty appreo do t t ”ters used to do it.“ So ter treated from turies after neers tinued draandard form. I’m also sure t otill, pletely unaeeds, dra too is ”a standard form.““

        “My dear master,” I said, overruly did produ ans seems t eacist also bears ure.”

        “Not eacist, but eac even ea miserable    voice for years    ao    as a matter of course, ers try to illustrate like turkmen and some like ting for years on end, taining a ented husband and wife.”

        I sa pride quite definitely ruled ed to be all po I’d seen him wear for so long.

        “My dear master,” I said, “over a period of ty years anbul, you’ve united various artists from tures and temperaments, in suc you’ve ended up creating and defining ttoman style.”

        I’d felt ime ago give o alent and mastery genuinely astounds us, to be sincere, must    of y and influend bee sligic?

        “No dwarf hiding?” he said.

        tery and praise but recollect vaguely t t not be o c.

        “Despite being a great master of Persian legends and styles, you’ve created a distinct ration toman glory and strengt to art ttoman simistic colors of Ottoman victory, terest in and attention to objects and implements, and table lifestyle. My dear master, it’s bee o look at terpieces by ters h you…”

        For a long time I reasury, tlefield, our bodies    my wimacy.

        Later, as ain blind men rol ter Osman’s eyes assumed t in pleasure. I praised ter at le emotion, noohe blind.

        to pass to me. I, again, t of Sed me at home.

        Standing still t ime, pages opened before us, it y igued us t ing. e’d bee embarrassed of eacher.

        “ do?” he asked again.

        I ain t tc, I turned my s a, but kept my eyes traitentively on Master Osman. as ruly blind or o vi    some ued and inpetent old masters from So curry resped to prevent otioning their failures.

        “I o die here,” he said.

        “My great master, my dear sir,” I fa on painting but on t, not on ters but on imitators of tand    it brings tears to my eyes. Yet it is also your duty to proteaster illustrators from tell me, urist    horse?”

        “Olive.”

        I o be surprised.

        .

        “But I’m also certain t Olive    te or unfortunate Elegant Effendi,”    Olive dre bound to ters, imately tyles of    and ice genealogy stretarkand. No ask me, ” ered trils in t Olive dreioimes a detail—ttaco a tree— be preserved in memory feions, passing from master to apprentice, a mig ma on to ter or on at of ticular tastes and    dear Olive, in ly from ters    ever being able tet it. t t te’s book is a cruel trick of Alla all of us taken ters of    as our models? Just like turkmen illustrators for    one ures, didn’t erpieces of    ed pictures? e are all ted admirers. Nouris art is t of Biing t are to t, murder poor Elegant Effendi, o thods?”

        “terfly?”

        “Stork!”    I knoed en, in all probability ed Frankis Effendi came to believe t ture mig to listen early to t foolisunately, masters of gilding, to God ters, are als and stupid—and moreover, because e’s book ant project of tan, s clasan or in time tunate e about a dilemma t ing a    even    t of gilding for your Enis mimic of ted to a betrayal of me and uild; and so    anot. ious Stork and made take of letting elled morality of a man    impressed y of times ork manipulated Elegant Effendi by taking advantage of tion. ever argument took place bet resulted i Effendi’s murder at Stork’s o t of vengeand to demonstrate t on to kill your Frankope, whe

        deat say t I’m all t sorry about tter. Years ago, your Enisan into ian painter—iano—make a portrait of yle as if    satisfied , in a disgraceful affront to my dignity, o me as a model to be copied; and out of dire fear of Our Sultan, I dis picture o do t, pere, and today    my    is not for your Enis’s for my er miniaturists—ing attention for ty-five years—betrayed me and our eistic tradition; o blame for tic imitation of European masters ification t ”it is tan.“ Eacers deserves not torture! If y of miniaturists, learn to serve foremost our oalent and art instead of Our Sultan es of o study this book alone.”

        Master Osman uttered t statement like t    and o beo turn to ted. itory tone, antly became tor ire workshop was familiar.

        I o a er among cusy-barreled rifles udded butts and ets, and began eyeing Master Osman. t gna me spread t my entire being: If o stop tion of Our Sultan’s book, it made perfect se Master Osman migrated t Effendi and, afterrain myself from feeling profound respect for t master ure before    it closely as if looking less    to preserve tyle and turists’ o bee again tan’s only favorite, er miniaturists, and me as o torturers of to t bouo    two days.

        Mucer, I ill pletely fused. I stared randomly at ted pages of tracted from cs solely to appease t o distract my jinns of indecision.

        ure of surprise in all to Bag time ty of S as she once glimmering lake whose silver

        leaf arnis even more time carefully examining tood be tle toejav, defeated by to lose tlefield, Espinuy, a beauty of beauties and e, c to abandon o ted under Züleyion t aken to ared from iful mout rat. As    somber lovers    spied on th.

        Despite its being a standard image recorded in tebooks and memories of all miniaturists, to a beautiful    elegance eacime.

        rations e? As dusk fell, I    to Master Osman and said ter,    treasury.”

        “ill    and one m. est illustrations the world has ever known!”

        As    turhe paleness in his pupils firmed he was indeed gradually going blind.

        “e’ve lear of trils,” I said fidently.

        “ is up to Our Sultan and treasurer. Perhey will pardon us all.”

        ould ork as t even ask out of fear, for I o leave. Even     accuse me.

        “to blind himself is missing,” he said.

        “In all probability t it ba its place,” I said. “t!”

        up like a cs astride ,” yle of ters of .”

        ture as if , but    even taken to his hand.

        “ you see trees in ttime darkness, appearing one by one as if illuminated from ars or spring floience implied by tation, t in te balan tire painting’s position?    as a    t ’s as if to remain ernally    emanating from ting’s texture, skin and subtle colors . You    see urned ever so sligouroing and to us. t try to resemble exactly te to trary, t time opped for t picture. No matter    tory tell in ture, ternity te, s making any suddeures    bodies or even eyes. For t is frozen: tars, tering like ts of t time, remains fixed for all eternity as if o tc. ters of ,    blaess ain, also kne if t blind ionless at sucration for days and    last mingle ernity of ture.”

        At time of tal of treasury er Osman ill staring ily at t t floated motionless in t if you noticed t ared at te oddly, as blind men sometimes incorrectly orient to them.

        treasury detail, learning t Master Osman ay inside and t Jezmi Ag ted to searc. o treets of Istanbul from tyard, I slipped into a passageerrifying object,    uck it into my sasically ras.

        treasury crated my bo it seemed as tle tled over ty streets. As I passed t, fruit aable sting do, I slos, carrots and jars in t by oil lamps.

        My E (I still couldn’t say “Sreet” let alone “my street”) appeared even stranger

        and more distant after my t ted safe and sound    t I’d be able to enter my beloved’s bed tonig—made me feel so intimate    upon seeiree and tters, I o restrain myself from sing like a farmer o someone across a stream. ed t    of my mouto be, “e know wched murderer is!”

        I opeyard gate. I’m not sure if it e, ter from t, or t ood at o nobody erly realizing t one’s beeo ill open and close all of ts and even lift ts, and t’s just s.

        In t. Like an old man tom of t out of t. It ake for solation, only add depto our sorrow.

        I    doo tyard. t to the silence of an impending darkness.

        My , no, told me to run and find t I sloyards icipating some kind of amusement.
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