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ugly maiden of mine was so thankful and beholden to me that at my every

visit；　beyond　waiting　on　me　hand　and　foot；　flitting　about　like　a　moth；　she’d

press a few silver coins into my palm。 Now she was pregnant and in good

humor。　She　put　linden　tea　on　the　boil。　I　savored　each　sip。　When　she　left　me

alone；　I　counted　the　coins　Black　Effendi　had　given　me。　Twenty　silver　pieces。

I set out on my way again。 I passed through side streets and through

ominous alleyways that were frozen； muddy and nearly impassable。 As I was

knocking　on　the　door；　mirth　took　hold　of　me　and　I　began　to　shout。

“The clothier is here！ Clothierrr！” I said。 “e and see the best of my

ruffled muslin fit for a sultan。 e get my stunning shawls from Kashmir；

my Bursa velvet sash cloth； my superb silk…edged Egyptian shirt cloth； my

embroidered　muslin　tablecloths；　my　mattress　and　bedsheets；　and　my　colorful

handkerchiefs。　Clothierrr！”

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The　door　opened。　I　entered。　As　always；　the　house　smelled　of　bedding；　sleep；

frying　oil　and　humidity；　that　terrible　smell　peculiar　to　aging　bachelors。

“Old　hag；”　he　said。　“Why　are　you　shouting？”

I　silently　removed　the　letter　and　handed　it　to　him。　In　the　half…lit　room；　he

stealthily and quietly approached me and snatched it from my hand。 He

passed　into　the　next　room　where　an　oil　lamp　always　burned。　I　waited　at　the

threshold。

“Isn’t　your　dear　father　home？”

He didn’t answer。 He’d lost himself in the letter。 I left him alone so he

could read。 He stood behind the lamp； and I couldn’t see his face。 After