第45部分(第3/7 頁)

ubled；　I　recounted　the　tale　not

from　memory；　but　improvising　according　to　how　I　felt　at　that　time。　And　since　I

colored　it　using　a　palette　of　my　own　memories　and　worries；　what　I　recounted

became　a　kind　of　melancholy　illustration　to　acpany　all　that　had　happened

to　me。

After both children fell asleep； I left the warm bed and； together with

Hayriye；　cleaned　up　what　that　vile　demon　had　scattered　about。　We　picked　up

ruined　chests；　books；　cloth；　ceramic　cups；　earthenware　pots；　plates　and　inkpots

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that had been thrown about and shattered； we cleared away a demolished

folding　worktable；　paint　boxes　and　papers　that　had　been　torn　up　with　furious

hatred；　and　while　doing　so　one　of　us；　periodically；　would　stop　and　break　down

crying。 It was as though we were more distraught over the wreckage of the

rooms　and　their　furnishings　and　the　savage　violation　of　our　privacy；　than　we

were over my father’s death。 I can tell you from experience； unfortunates

who’ve　lost　loved　ones　are　forted　by　the　unchanged　presence　of　objects　in

the house； they’re lulled by the sameness of the curtains； blankets and

daylight； which； in turn； allows them occasionally to forget that Azrael has

carried　away　their　beloved　or　kin。　The　house　that　my　father　looked　after　with

patience and love； whose nooks and doors he had meticulously embellished；

had　been　mercilessly　vandalized；　thus；　we　were　not　only　devoid　of　fort　and

pleasant　memories　but；　reminded　of　the　pitilessness　of　the　culprit’s　damned

soul；　we　were　terrified　as　well。

When；　for　example；　at　my　insistence　we　went　downstai