第23部分(第6/7 頁)

Nay；　I　thought　a　little　while　later；　he　couldn’t　be　needling　me。　Butterfly；　like

the other master illustrators； obviously owed me a debt of gratitude： With

money and gifts to miniaturists dwindling； due to the wars and lack of

interest　on　the　part　of　Our　Sultan；　the　sole　significant　source　of　extra　ine

had　for　some　time　been　what　they　earned　working　for　me。　I　knew　they　were

jealous　of　one　another　over　my　attentions；　and　for　this　reason—but　not　only

for　this　reason—I　met　with　them　individually　at　my　house；　hardly　a　basis　for

hostility toward me。 All of my miniaturists were mature enough to behave

intelligently； to sincerely find a reason to admire a man to whom they were

obliged　for　their　own　profit。

To relieve the silence and ensure that the previous topic of conversation

wouldn’t　be　revisited；　I　said；　“Oh；　will　His　wonders　never　cease！　They’re　able

to　take　the　coffin　up　that　hill　as　fast　as　they　brought　it　down。”

Butterfly　smiled　sweetly　showing　all　his　teeth：　“Due　to　the　cold。”

Could this one actually kill a man； I wondered； for example； out of envy？

Might he kill me？ He had the following excuse： This man was debasing my

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religion。 Nay； but he’s a great master； a perfect embodiment of talent； why

should he resort to murder？ Age means not only straining oneself climbing

hills；　but　also；　I　gather；　not　being　so　afraid　of　death。　It　means　a　lack　of　desire；

entering　into　a　slave　girl’s　bedchamber；　not　in　a　fit　of　excitement；　but　out　of

custom。　In　a　burst　of　intuition；　I　told　him　to　his　face　the　decision　I’d　made：