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nd　I　gently　passed　over。

My present plaint isn’t that my teeth have fallen like nuts into my

bloody　mouth；　or　even　that　my　face　has　been　maimed　beyond　recognition；　or

that　I’ve　been　abandoned　in　the　depths　of　a　well—it’s　that　everyone　assumes

I’m still alive。 My troubled soul is anguished that my family and intimates；

who；　yes；　think　of　me　often；　imagine　me　engaged　in　trivial　dealings　somewhere

in Istanbul； or even chasing after another woman。 Enough！ Find my body

without　delay；　pray　for　me　and　have　me　buried。　Above　all；　find　my　murderer！

For even if you bury me in the most magnificent of tombs； so long as that

wretch remains free； I’ll writhe restlessly in my grave； waiting and infecting

you　all　with　faithlessness。　Find　that　son…of…a…whore　murderer　and　I’ll　tell　you

in　detail　just　what　I　see　in　the　Afterlife—but　know　this；　after　he’s　caught；　he

must　be　tortured　by　slowly　splintering　eight　or　ten　of　his　bones；　preferably　his

ribs；　with　a　vise　before　piercing　his　scalp　with　skewers　made　especially　for　the

task　by　torturers　and　plucking　out　his　disgusting；　oily　hair；　strand　by　strand；　so

he　shrieks　each　time。

Who is this murderer who vexes me so？ Why has he killed me in such a

surprising　way？　Be　curious　and　mindful　of　these　matters。　You　say　the　world　is

full　of　base　and　worthless　criminals？　Perhaps　this　one　did　it；　perhaps　that　one？

In that case let me caution you： My death conceals an appalling conspiracy

against　our　religion；　our　traditions　and　the　way　we　see　the　world。　Open　your

eyes； discover why the enemies of the life in which