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　my　death；　inexhaustible　time。　I　never　thought　of　it　before：　I’d

been　living　luminously　between　two　eternities　of　darkness。

I　was　happy；　I　know　now　that　I’d　been　happy。　I　made　the　best　illuminations

in　Our　Sultan’s　workshop；　no　one　could　rival　my　mastery。　Through　the　work　I

did privately； I earned nine hundred silver coins a month； which； naturally；

only　makes　all　of　this　even　harder　to　bear。

I was responsible for painting and embellishing books。 I illuminated the

edges　of　pages；　coloring　their　borders　with　the　most　lifelike　designs　of　leaves；

branches； roses； flowers and birds。 I painted scalloped Chinese…style clouds；

clusters of overlapping vines and forests of color that hid gazelles； galleys；

sultans； trees； palaces； horses and hunters。 In my youth； I would decorate a

plate；　or　the　back　of　a　mirror；　or　a　chest；　or　at　times；　the　ceiling　of　a　mansion

or　of　a　Bosphorus　manor；　or　even；　a　wooden　spoon。　In　later　years；　however；　I

only worked on manuscript pages because Our Sultan paid well for them。 I

can’t　say　it　seems　insignificant　now。　You　know　the　value　of　money　even　when

you’re　dead。

After　hearing　the　miracle　of　my　voice；　you　might　think；　“Who　cares　what

you　earned　when　you　were　alive？　Tell　us　what　you　see。　Is　there　life　after　death？

Where’s　your　soul？　What　about　Heaven　and　Hell？　What’s　death　like？　Are　you

in pain？” You’re right； the living are extremely curious about the Afterlife。

Maybe　you’ve　heard　the　story　of　the　man　who　was　so　driven　by　this　curiosity

that　he　roamed　among　soldiers　in　battlefields。　He　sought　a　man　who’d　died

and retur