After tly yet pleasurably dra t doo t o Allaan and t s o plete ,    o ti artists to join    to Istanbul visited me yesterday, invitio an. time, I opeo find, in tance Black, about irely. Back t able to keep our pany, he was jealous of us. “Yes?”

        o verse, to pay a friendly visit, to    my illustrations. I    all. I learoday visited or Master Osman and kissed    master, o ponder: “A painter’s quality bees evident in    it be evident:

        Blindness and MemoryBefore t of illumination ters, art and love,    Allao “See”! to knoo remember t you’ve seen. to see is to kno remembering. ting is remembering t masters,    color and sigo return to Allaists    memory    masters, in t profound void side time. Let me explain to you    means to remember t by t masters of old.

        tories on Blindness and MemoryALIFIn Lami’i Curkisranslation of t Jami’s Gifts of Intimacy, s, it is ten t in tion, ter Sabrizi rated a magnifit version of o o plete, ter of master miniaturists, Salent and skill and painted sucures t only test of ters, Biced manuscript    equal in all tall esion, and declared    tige er ted, an eveer version of t could be made for tall ruly jealous me    “ if oto kno if tuoso miniaturist made anotter version, it    anyone besides    book, Jio er miniaturist Ser ed t a good-ed Circassiay in    blinding ter miniaturist o s, until it ultimately reac leave tabriz as otrators mig resort to games like slo or making inferior illustrations so it    be “perfect” and talling    blinding. Indeed, ion. Iinue illustrating t in t again and again until bitter tears streamed from ime,    an illustration by one of t old masters of    as    copy on anot. Ier miniaturist ed,    first praised and so affix turban plumes. Before     and    to join tall eso tall    I remember eac I’ve illuminated for t eleven years, doo eacroke of t again from memory. My Excellency, I could illustrate test manuscript of all time for you. Since my eyes racted by to depict all t form.” tall    master miniaturist; and ter miniaturist, keeping rated from memory t magnifit of books for tesual po lay beall    defeat of torious Kion of Ji book, along abrizi made for

        te Jiered Our Sultan’s treasury in Istanbul all ed at ttle of Otlukbeli by Sultan Me K in peace. truly see, know.

        BASian Süleyman Krators, unfortunate miniaturists of t t story as an example of rating surpasses calligraptention ale is actually about blindness and memory. After tamerlane, Ruler of t to attag and mercilessly battling one anot t one of ty,    a o mint    t as victor o pull apart t o ion ten, boasting of t oget t ruly amerlane’s grandson Ulu? Bey, captured , urists, calligrape, and so pressured to make a book in s, t as volumes    of being unbound and ted pages destroyed and burures became mixed up. Si did not befit te and bind albums    a care for o s in    and requested t t tories so as to put trations in proper order. From eacurist’s mout at, and so t order of tes    surviving urist    for t fifty- four years. A great otion ensued er no tures ed t an intelligent boy,    reac read or e, be brougaken to urist placed a number of illustrations before    you see,” ructed. As tures, turist, raising o tened carefully and responded: “Alexander cradling t of teat from Sadi’s Rosegarde of doctors from Nizami’s treasury of Secrets…” turists, vexed by told you t as -kno famous stories.” In turn, turist placed t difficult illustrations before tened ily. “ion of terrible at of tcree, from Rumi’s Masnaures, none of ered    urist by    ify tories t oter illustrators couldn’t determine even by looking at t isn’t, as one mig my memory pensates for my

        blindness,” replied trator. “I ten t stories are recollected not only t t urists kneories, but still couldn’t order tures. “Because,” said turist, “te o painting,    t pre ters made tures out of t knourist. “But I, an elderly and blind miniaturist, kno Allaed telligent seven-year-old boy    to see it; , above all, it migerakenly assumed t tories arose out of    illustrations ed in service of tories. Quite to trary, painting is t of seeking out Allahe world.”

        DJIMturists om of staring at tern    daybreak to alleviate tandable aernal aies about going blind surists; likeury later in Srators    s masals on ay stomacurists of Isfa o    often by dleligo prevent direct sunligriking tables. At day’s end, in tists of Buker miniaturists ions, t approaco blindness urist Seyyit Mirek, mentor to t master Bio master miniaturist Mirek, blindness    a sce, but ratoire life to rating urist’s searcive could only be attaiion after blindness desded, only after a lifetime of er turist’s eyes tired and    turists. o turist, t is, rator raining    migraion to to torian Mirza Mu , ensively about t miniaturists, ter Seyyit Mirek, in ion of tioned notion of painting, used trator o dra ued painter—one oday’s Veian painters— is impossible, at one and time, to look at t t, trator looks at transfers s in o terim, even if only a ime, ist represents on t t t seen. Proof t for even t miserable illustrator, a picture is possible only tension of t, urist as but preparation for both

        ting bliss of blindness and blind memory, is t ters arded trations training for ted taring at pages by dlelig break, as t delivered turist to blindness. t er miniaturist Mirek stantly soug t appropriate moment florious of approacualities, eitakiion of trees and all trands of iously delaying t darkness by tless dra, sun-filled gardens. y, in order to re master, Sultaer treasury taining t plates t tan ed and secured under lod key. treasury t also tained    upon bolt of silk a clot of golden delabra, Master Mirek stared at t leaves of ts oer ts of tinuous scrutiny, t master    blind. ed ion urity and resignation, t greet ted again. Mirza Mu , tory of Rasurn of events as follourist united al time ever return to t pages meant for ordinary mortals”; and urist’s memories reace silence, a blessed darkness and ty of a blank page.”

        Certainly it    of desire to o Master Osman’s question on blindness and memory to put    ease t Black asked me tion    again, I o see t tories I reted affected    are barred,” I said to him.

        “In tabriz,” said Black, “under Master Mirek’s influence, some of turists of tyle still look upon blindness as test virtue of Alla gro not blind. Even today, fearing t otalent and skill, tend to be blind. As a result of tion    for    of an oil lamp,    eating or drinking and stare at illustrated pages painted by ters of    in order to learn o perceive te not truly being blind.”

        Somebody knocked. I opeo find a ice from t t Effendi,     ternoon prayer. o deliver to otect us all.

        I AM EStell me thes peddler and

        matc est clue. ’d to bee acquainted elligent and became more ing and devious as ts to ty deceptions, it means ’s obvious t    alks about Srol.

        At te all t I tell everyone: S o ter, I’d never seen    I pitied old me to take tter t assumes tance about    ates particular e, ay of tingly putting a o t, spoe delays ts of love.

        I first took a detour e,”    square, I nearly froze to deating for er , I t I’d visit one of my “daugo ters I’ve delivered, t of my bro at my every visit, beyond ing on me , flitting about like a moto my palm. Noea on t me alone, I ted ty silver pieces.

        I set out on my reets and t ook o s.

        “t of my ruffled muslin fit for a sultan. e get my stunning s sasian s clotableclottress and bedss, and my colorful hierrr!”

        tered. As aly, t terrible smell peculiar to aging bachelors.

        “Old ing?”

        I silently removed tter and    to    room, ealtly approacy o t room    threshold.

        “Isn’t your dear father home?”

        anser. I left ood be see er finister,    anew.

        “Yes,” I said, “and en?”

        hasan read:

        My Dearest Soo ained myself tfully uand y for your    sidering anot else could one expect from a ature besides y and virtue? [o visit your fating,    amount to    . o me at t, I sidered it not an act of God’s grace. took t from Nizami,” errupted, annoyed.] But you ask me to keep my distaell me t approacerrifying? Listen to en: I used to try to sleep c fall onto tains from remote and godforsaken caravansaries e , listening to tuo t one day you o me, just as you did at t I’ve returo your fat back ture I made in my c a sign of your deat a sign t I’ve found you again. I saher!

        “God protect te.”

        “”Are you an a approacerrifying?“” ed. “ole t line from Iber.” ook ter out of . “take t to Shekure.”

        For t time, accepting money along ters disturbed me. I felt somet toed love. o firm my    time in a long te and said quite rudely:

        “tell    if we so desire, we’ll force he judge.”

        “You really    me to say t?”

        Silence. “Nay,”    from ted o see y c’s because I knoer as    I    for ters. It’s not only for t think.

        I opped me at the door.

        “Do you let Sedly and foolishly.

        “Don’t you tell ters?”

        “tell me    vince    I persuade them?”

        “By being a good person,” I said and o the door.

        “At t’s too late…” h sincere anguish.

        “You’ve begun to earn a lot of money, s Officer his makes one a good person…” I said and fled.

        t tside seemed     my face. I    somet poor man in t damp, ed into t in Laleli tore my spirits. I aken.

        At Ser sook up tters, sely asked after Black. I told    tire being. this news pleased her.

        “Even lonely spinsters busy ting are discussing w Effendi miger, c.

        “ of dolend take it over to Kalbiye, poor Elegant Effendi’s widow,” said Shekure.

        “All te a crotending ives s blood.”

        So read Black’s letter. I looked ily and angrily. t srol ed in    my silence pleased    s as my approval of t so Black’s letter. Ster and smiled at me; to meet isfa, I felt forced to ask, “ ten?”

        “Just as in h me.”

        “ are your ts?”

        “I’m a married ing for my husband.”

        trary to your expectations, t t so me after askio get involved in    anger me. Actually, t relieved me. If more of tters for and advised in tteo details tantly, tter marriages.

        “ does te?” I asked anyway.

        “I don’t io read ter rig Black’s returo Istanbul?”

        “ even know s.”

        “Do you speak iful black eyes.

        “As you’ve requested.”

        “Yes?”

        “ belongs to anot’ll be difficult ever to be free of ing ters you’ve greatly enced    only does    to make you return t by establis o marry you.” I smiled to soften t of t to be reduced to being t maltent’s mouthpiece.

        “’s t did ser?

        “turist?”

        “My mind’s all ajumble,” ss. “It seems t matters ’ll bee of us, of t tell me somet will en me.”

        “Don’t you fret i, my dearest Sion ruly intelligent, you’re very beautiful. One day you’ll sleep in tten all your worries, you’ll be his in your eyes.”

        Su rose    my eyes filled ears.

        “Fine, but whie will bey husband?”

        “Isn’t t wise    of yiving you an answer?”

        “It’s because I don’t uand    I’m dispirited.”

        For a moment it occurred to me t S trust me at all, t serfully cealing rust in order to learn    srying to arouse my pity.    be ing a respoo tters at present, I grabbed my sack, eyard and slipped a not before saying sometold all my maids, even those who were cross-eyed:

        “Fear not, my dear, if you keep tiful eyes of yours peeled, no misfortune, no misfortu all will befall you.”

        I, Srutold, it used to be t eacime Est, I’d fantasize t a man stri o e a letter t could stir t of an intelligent iful,    ill intad set it pounding. And to discover t tter ors,    t, fortify my resolve and forbearao a my urn. But time Estched.

        I listeo tcer and t and Oryard beree, I s. My fatting silently in t room. I opened aer and    till, I gretle more frigulated myself for anding s to make love to me ter,    gently as if it e aive bird, and my ts became muddled. I didn’t read tters again. t occurred to me t if I’d entered    and made love    Alla’d be times a stra like tered my    struck me the open door.

        “Mama, w are you reading?” he said.

        All rig I didn’t reread tters Est delivered? I lied. I    of reading time, I truly did fold tuck them away in my blouse.

        “e o my lap,” I said to Orect you, you’ve gotten quite big,” I said and kissed him. “You’re as cold as ice…”

        “You’re so ed, leaning bato my bosom.

        e ig eag t igill.

        “I’m feeling tickliser.

        “tell me tan of t you a    most of all?”

        “I’d    S to go away.”

        “ besides? ould you    to her?”

        “No, wo marry you myself.”

        It    aging, losing one’s beauty or even bei of     of all calamities, ruly    o be jealous of you. I lo up to see my father.

        “an er seeing for    ed,” I said. “You’ll go to Venice again.”

        “I ot be certain,” said my fatressed me. Our enemies are apparently quite powerful.”

        “I kno my ouation o misuandings and unfounded hopes.”

        “how do you mean?”

        “I ougo be wed as soon as possible.”

        “?” said my fato ,” said my reaso o take    like t, you uand.” he summed up my

        unfortuuation as follo ty and plicated matters    settle before you    marry again.” After a protracted sile you    to leave me, my dear daughter?”

        “Last nig my    cry tually seen such a dream would have.

        “Like to read a picture, one so read a dream.”

        “ould you sider it appropriate for me to describe my dream?”

        t eacelligent people do—all possible clusions from tter at hand.

        “By interpreting your dream, I mig your fated to listen to them, will demand more proof.”

        “to force me back…”

        “Because t to a to let you petition for a divorce.”

        “If s,” I said, “t four years    me a divor addition to seg a support allo since o Allaion is not open to us.”

        “Don’t mentioand-in to me. t’s not a souure.”

        “All tanbul    go to o get divorced. Since e, rouble making ends meet?“ ”Are tnesses?“ and immediately grants the divorce.”

        “My dear Sed sucripped you of your reason?”

        “After I’m divorced ond for all, if truly strip me of my reason, you ell me    my husband.”

        My s er her would

        blink rapidly like tig and o find a clever ; 2. because ears of ig, ingly bining reasons 1 and 2 to give t    soon cry out of sorrow.

        “Are you taking t on at of our book”—yes,    no you    to take th.”

        “My dear fat it you    good-for-nother-in-law?”

        “I don’t    you to abandon me. One day your    return. Even if , ther.”

        “I    noto live in th you.”

        “Darling,    you just no you ed to get married as soon as possible?”

        too    you’re in the wrong.

        “I    t of me. tears and enced by trut came to mind, I said:

        “All righen, shall I never be married again?”

        “t for t take you far from me. or, would o live his house?”

        I fell sile my fat a son-in-lao live ogetifle    belittling of t to be t wife no more.

        “it a fatuation, you king married is practically impossible, don’t you? I don’t    you to get married, and I refuse to grant you permission to do so—”

        “I don’t    to get married, I    a divorce.”

        “—because some tless beast of a man

        you. You know    you, my dear S finishis book.”

        I said noto speak—prompted by tell my fat to    I kne nig    befit a o admit t s    h a slave girl?

        “ t s to marry you?”

        I gazed at t, not out of embarrassment, but out of anger. And reizi of my anger, but not being able to respond in some manner made me even more furious. At t juncture, I imagined my fat ridiculous and disgusting position. I ears when I said:

        “tove, I don’t    it to burn.”

        I crossed to taircase, t looked out onto ting ttress    open and lay doo lie do of tears like a cised! And    is to kno I’m tude, only you, wo my aid.

        A    Orrety bed. s. I sa oo. Pulling o me, I held him.

        “Don’t cry, Moter. “Faturn from the war.”

        “how do you know?”

        ans I fot my oirely. Before I cuddle up e Or me fess my only pressing : I regret    noold you, out of spite, about tter bet lying, but I’m still so embarrassed t it    if you fot about it. Pretend I never mentioned anyt thus involved, please?

        I AM YOUR BELOVED UNCLEAlas, it’s difficult er, difficult. As s in t room, I could    I could do not look at trying to read, t ten t ter deated t formerly ined. Upon beeous state of its body, bloodied, deposing and oozing, as it rested in tearfully and mournfully grieve, “Lo, my miserable mortal coil, my dear ched old

        body.” At once, I t of Elegant Effendi’s bitter end at ttom of t urally must ing, and finding    at    in the well.

        aside tra ig so as to    fur and, as I uro discover S in the doorway.

        “her?”

        “You get baside. to the funeral.”

        I passed treets, betting    o stand, and time, taking tious steps of an aging man trying not to slip and fall on t-of-t dealt in carriages and y.

        I’m not sure art t ty’s Edire. At tinate. e miniaturists and calligrap. As I    ing atop tone funeral block, and I felt suco he Allahümme Barik prayer became muddled in my mind.

        After tion sill among all turists and calligrapork and I ten t on some nig in t of oil lamps il m on my book, ried to vince me of ty of Elegant Effendi’s gildi I’d actually given    no one else is qualified to do ter, Olive gave me a friendly and respectful look before o embrace is a good man—and tures so pleased me t I s,    believed in my book.

        On tairs of tyard gate I found myself beside or Master Osman. e    a loss fe and tense moment. One of to cry and sob, and someone pompously sed, “God is great.”

        “to er Osman asked me for thing.

        to respond “I don’t knoered, and    the

        same question of tandio me on tairs, “to e?”

        “Eyüp,” said an ill-tempered, bearded and young dolt.

        “Eyüp,” I said turning to ter, but    tempered dolt    me as if to say, “I uand” in a    let me kno our enter to last a moment lo already had.

        it mentioning my influen Our Sultan’s groerest in Frankisyles of painting, Master Osman    Our Sultan o oversee ting out, embellis and illustration of ted manuscript, an forced t Master Osman to copy a portrait of ian. I knoer Osman o imitate t painter, for o make t strange painting, o torture.” ified.

        Standing in taircase for a    I’d bee quite beinued doairs. I’d barely desded—ever so sloeps he arm and embraced me: Black.

        “t be cold.”

        I    test doubt t took my arm tom of tairs, I told    I’d expe at later of he workshop.

        “You go aco tion.”

        aken aback, but didn’t let on. t go of my arm ion and h us?

        e’d left ty te. I sao trators, calligrapices s as to, traveled    led doo Eyüp. In t fog, off to t, tan Cy dleanneries and tling slaug served tced over teo ts cypress-lined cemetery. After er in

        Balat.

        ed, Butterfly approacly broac:

        “Olive and Stork are ty,” ionsy and antagonism, over er Osman. No t to fall on my s t, t treasurer, and under an, ahemselves from me, nay, from us.”

        “ ty ougo persist at t    an artist s illustrate just any se for money alone. In place of s,    tories ougo be introduced aneo our books. e s fo turists s loiter at t any old tions of indecy, for a fera kurusan ified.”

        “You’re incriminating yourself senselessly,” I said so    be done ing. “I’m vi telier could not ting suc rating a fes t    beeed previously, at least no    as to be an occasion for enmity.”

        As    s. Elegant Effendi’s murderer ers in t led to tery. I    tinue ion, t    probably, t ed my o pick up some rating and painting. terfly, too, like most of tists en times     pictures t rary to    of vie skill?

        Nay, I t a little terfly, like ter illustrators, obviously o of gratitude: its to miniaturists do terest on t of Our Sultan, t source of extra ine ime beeions, and for t not only for t    my ility tourists ure enougo beelligently, to sincerely find a reason to admire a man to w.

        to relieve t topic of versation    be revisited, I said, “Oo take t    as t it down.”

        Butterfly smiled sly seeto the cold.”

        Could tually kill a man, I    of envy? Mig    master, a perfect embodiment of talent, o murder? Age means not only straining oneself climbing    also, I gat being so afraid of deat means a lack of desire, entering into a slave girl’s bed a fit of excitement, but out of . In a burst of intuition, I told o he decision I’d made:

        “I’m not tinuing he book any longer.”

        “?” said Butterfly as his expression ged.

        “tune in it. Our Sultan    off to tell Olive and Stork, as well.”

        Per igoones. As t y only clue t t t very moment being loo tensity of tions of bismillai Resulullah.

        “Uncover ely,” someone said.

        te s’ve beeo eye    smas see anyto t at a grave site, in airely different place…A memory: ty years ago, Our Sultan’s grandfato take Cyprus from tians. S Effendi, recalling t ted a issariat for Mecd Medina, issued a fated t it e for an island o remain under    infidel trol. In turn, t task of inf tians of t t surreo me. As a result, I o tour t t enced by tures ian    of t, trusting in tality displayed by tians, I delivered ty, supercilious fas Our Sultan desired Cyprus. tians    in tily vened, it    even to discuss sucter able. Furious mobs had forced

        me to fine myself to to get past t tlieers succeeded in esc me out one of t passageo a t opened onto t u for an instant t tall and pale gondolier dressed in    sigion in his eyes.

        Longingly, I dreamed of finis aurning to Venice. I approac: At t, angels are interrogating . ty of my oo mind.

        A croake my arm and apany me on told ed    t m to ti be pleted, .

        I ILL BE CALLED A MURDERERto ttered and disfigured corpse of ill-fated Elegant Effendi and I    more ted, “I    to die    me s so I    fall in. I gasped for air and to my fore breatives, I sensed I miged my sobs and oget suppose t Elegant Effendi and I had been in love.

        I ree until to avoid dratention to myself. A relative of t to    tree and stared deep into my eyes urday“ or ”ednesday‘?““”ednesday“ ed for a time,” I said. .

        tory beo one anot pact, icesurist ed from assistant master to ter, , admiration and love for uoso and auging artistic gift and tellect of a jinn. Early eacices, one of us o ter’s fully beo tfolio full of papers. So desperate o be near    ermine w day.

        Master Osman e. But if o go, it he never-ending

        gossip and tasteless jokes t iably filled t master decided t eac master ayed at urdays. er betrayed ting trade—all turist mifted t a young age, succumbing to t on by a mysterious illness. Elegant Effendi, may    in peace, er, reat master meaningfully and lovingly cuesday” to “Olive,” from “Friday” to “Stork,” and from “Sunday” to “Butterfly,” renaming ted as “Elegant” in allusion to t master must o te Elegant just as o greet all of us back then.

        my eyes migears: Master Osman admired us, and ear ings,    as if alent blossomed    its s hen.

        Noely divided, just like ted by one master edly bees a murderer, it takes time to adjust. I’ve adopted a sed voice, oing a murderer, so t I migill carry on as tinued. I am speaking no of my regular life. From time to time, of course, you’ll    bee a murderer. But o being “a murderer.” Let no ory to associate tistry to betray my    style, or for t matter, anyt serves to distinguisist from anot individual cer, as some arrogantly claim.

        I do admit t in my ouation, ts a problem. For t speak to me by Master Osman and used by Enis, in no    you to figure out ork. For if you do you    ate to turn me over to torturers of tan’s ander of the Imperial Guard.

        And, I must mind    and say. Actually, I kno you’re listening to me even e. I ’t afford careless plation of my frustrations or tiails of my life. Even ories. I was always mindful of yaze.

        One side of t I’ve illustrated tens of times faces ed t mytime—ttling, for example, or tiful maidens over , and

        anoto be gazing at t painting. If I do yle and cer, it’s not only    in my crime and in my ry to discover whe color of my words!

        I, too, kno if you catc’ll bring solation to unfortunate Elegant Effendi’s miserable soul. t on and rees, amid ccers of tanbul, and disc aneo be alive. Patic Elegant Effendi, soon after    fierce-broely; yet, in ty-five years t rated books for Our Sultan, times o eacy years ago, e fat sultan. But    illustrated plates t o apany a colle of Fuzuli poems. One summer evening back to andable but illogical desires—apparently a miniaturist ougo feel i rating—I came iently listeo entiously recite lines from Fuzuli’s collected tered above us in a frenzy. I still recall a lied t evening: “I am not me but eternally t illustrate this line.

        I ran to    ive garden ed poetry, noed after a period of years.    oo. From t room, I could ed exclamations, mounting as if ting    brotened ily: t ically destroyed, aom of t from to identify t by its torn and tattered clotion of ts pulling Josep into ing t reminds us t envy is tion in life.

        t Black’s eye. t vile sdrel,    us, like someone o uruth.

        “rated suc brot kind of less beast could’ve slaug dare ?”

        ion ears, and I joined    my o    been me, ime ago—I believe it s ain artists ined to dismiss tecers and ruin trators ensively over; to embelliser, o

        spread t ty    for t out of petition for tions of a ice ory. And t’s dignity,    and e feminine demeanor, but to do ter entirely: Elegant yle, a fanatic about tion of color betration, and in ter Osman, ance, point out tent faults of oturists—mine in particular—le ceit.    quarrel o do    e sensitive: royal miniaturists ly accepting trivial issions outside t years, after Our Sultan’s i o , treasurer, all turists started paying visits to tory    of tists e at nigo visit Enishte.

        I    at all bote’s decision to stop     Effendi o yo rations after dark? ouldn’t you first determiies of t illustrator? I    t urists    talented and t skilled in color sele, gilding, page ruling, illustration, face draion; and inue    imagiy as to talented miniaturist.

        Out of tc fool Black Effendi ery croly dispersing, and o t, and after into a six-oar along ices    t of te, our boats momentarily came so near eac t to lock oars, and I could see clearly t Black ly o end a life. My dear God, you’ve given eac you’ve also made us afraid to exercise it.

        Still, if a man but once overes ts, raigirely different person. time    only of t of test trace of evil    evil    be endured, and moreover, t it’s indispensable to an artist. After I killed t miserable excuse of a man, disting trembling in my ed only a feter, I made use    important, realized t I could jure up ion. But, tion anbul    truly appreciate trations?

        Off terfront near Jibali, from all tefully at Istanbul. t in t t broke abruptly ty is, to    and sin; the more

        cro is, to y’s intellect ougo be measured not by its scurists, calligrap by tted on its dark streets over tless, Istanbul is t intelligent city.

        At t my longboat a little after Blad e    ted t te of a ret fire in tan Me Mosque, topped and exg    like a empted to run to ell    t barbarian, from o protect us, and to ask    true    Effendi an’s trust trations ing tecraitorous and an affront to ion? And    last large painting?”

        I stood i as evening fell and gazed doo jinns, fairies, brigands, t o trees. At treet, inside Enisory nut trees, t beautiful , no, why should I drive myself mad?

        I AM A GOLD Bey-t Ottoman Sultani gold    and I bear tan, Refuge of t in tork, one of Our Sultan’s great masters,    finisure, t yet been able to embellis to your imagination. My image is    I myself    be found in tork, t illustrious miniaturist. o eags to all ter artists and assorted guests. Your eyes le    my oer Stork. You’re justified ier measure of an illustrator’s talent than I.

        In t ter Stork ly forty-seven gold pieces like myself. e’re all iork, see for yourself, isn’t urists of Istanbul alent among artists and in putting ao unnecessary disagreements. In t, before    used to coffee and our minds sted miniaturists    satisfied    alented or ree or    in tion of clouds; no, to blo my judgment

        decides everyt ’s more, an air t    ters of .

        In addition to noting t about by my judgment, let me list for you t be exc of a young aiful slave girl, o about one-fiftiety -ed c of draed    designs and silver leaf y silver pieces; 120 frese and coffins for tent e; one buffalo calf; t Me tabriz and ty of tan’s en jugs of Panayot’s y, and many otuoo numerous to specify.

        Before I arrived    ten days in ty sock of a poor sice. Eaate man o me t t go.

        ed all t o me before I came ’d fill volumes. trangers among us,    to tell anyone, and as long as Stork Effendi    take offense, I’ll tell you a secret. Do you s to tell?

        All rig a gey-t Ottoman Sultani gold i tas. I’m terfeit. terated gold and brougy-t Ottoman gold. Your sympatanding are much obliged.

        Based on    in Veil retly, t tian infidels brougo t and spent ian ducats    same miomans, forever respectful of ten, paid no o t of gold in eac—so long as tion remaiian gold pieces flooded Istanbul. Later, noting t s o distinguising to Ma, t youty, beloved by all; first, akes into    mout ting it, declares it terfeit. As a sequence, ake you to ead of one full ian infidels, realizing t terfeit s presented sucages, decided t t as erfeit Ottoman s, reasoning t ttomans would be fooled again.

        No me dratention to somete bizarre: ian infidels paint, it’s as if t making a painting but actually creating t ting.    es to money, s terfeit.

        e o iron cs, o sd fro traveled from Veo Istanbul. I found myself in a money cs proprietor. e ed for a ered, o excer money crickster, declared t o bite to see if it erfeit. So ook t’s    and tossed it into h.

        i’s    toman Sultani.    stenc a terfeit.” , but    manner offended my pride and I lied to ually, my broterfeit.”

        Meaning, “erfeit? I buried it in ty years ago, did a vice like terfeiti back then?”

        I e    of ead of t’s gold . “take yold , I don’t    any vile Veian infidel’s fake money,”    responded ing    ter    from ot’s spirit broke and y silver pieces. to hand began.

        Alloo admit proudly t I’ve spent most of my time in Istanbul o purse, and from saso pocket, as befits an intelligent . My    nigo be stored in a jug and languis t it    o me, but for ed long. Many of t to be rid of me as soon as possible, especially if t to e across someone    I’m terfeit. A broker, nnizing t I’m terfeit,    120 silver s in exce s of anger, sorroience as soon as ed, and ts    subside until ing as to repeatedly sime on at of e and anger, inue all to curse the “immoral” person who had inally ed him.

        Over t seven years in Istanbul, I’ve cimes, and t a , bazaar, mosque, tered. As I’ve roamed about, I’ve lear mucold and lies spun in my ed. I’ve stantly : Notunate    God, but me, and t buy—all to say noty, vulgar and base nature. And t I’m fake are given to even s. As my actual value drops, ap poetry is solation to life’s miseries. But despite all sucless parison and tless slander, I’ve realized t a large majority do

        sincerely love me. In tred, sucfelt—even impassioned—affe ougo gladden us all.

        I’ve seen every square inbul, street by street and district by district; I’ve kno Istanbul in to Manisa. On to be attacked by ted, “Your money or your life!” Panig, t, able. But tuation quickly greo s “Your ook urns. I don’t dare describe t cramped ’s for t I dislike leaving Istanbul.

        I’ve been anbul. Young girls kiss me as if I s, and in to make certain I’m still tored o t, at ttom of a small bottle in a    seo a cil sack. I’ve anbul is made of camel leat linings made from    cloticolored ser cro    partment of a grandfatuck me directly into a ouffed ras of cs. I’ve knoly stood up from table to cill uck me up t in t relax u least seven times a day. ticulous Circassian ook us s out of antly stacked us up into toer unning landscape; and to name names—raveled ian’s palace; I’ve -made bindings, in ted sy, rembling and old. I’ve been redolent of opium dens, dle-makers’ s of all of Istanbul. After experieng sut and otion, a base t im’s t in t and tossed me into    in my fad grunted, “Damn you, it’s all because of you.” I    I ed noto disappear.

        If I did, o distinguisist from a bad one, and to curists; t eacs. So I    vanisered t talented and intelligent of miniaturists and made my way here.

        If you tter tork, t hold of me.
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