第26部分(第4/7 頁)

f　money；　the　unfortunate　world　revolves　around；　not　God；　but　me；

and　there’s　nothing　I　can’t　buy—all　this　is　to　say　nothing　of　my　dirty；　vulgar

and　base　nature。　And　those　who　know　that　I’m　fake　are　given　to　even　harsher

judgments。 As my actual value drops； however； my metaphorical value

increases—proof that poetry is consolation to life’s miseries。 But despite all

such heartless parison and thoughtless slander； I’ve realized that a large

majority do sincerely love me。 In this age of hatred； such heartfelt—even

impassioned—affection　ought　to　gladden　us　all。

I’ve seen every square inch of Istanbul； street by street and district by

district； I’ve known all hands from Jews to Abkhazians and from Arabs to

Mingerians。 I once left Istanbul in the purse of a preacher from Edirne who

was　going　to　Manisa。　On　the　way；　we　happened　to　be　attacked　by　thieves。　One

of　them　shouted；　“Your　money　or　your　life！”　Panicking；　the　miserable　preacher

hid us in his asshole。 This spot； which he assumed was the safest； smelled

worse　than　the　mouth　of　the　garlic　lover　and　was　much　less　fortable。　But

the　situation　quickly　grew　worse　when　instead　of　“Your　money　or　your　life！”

the　thieves　began　to　shout　“Your　honor　or　your　life！”　Lining　up；　they　took　him

by　turns。　I　don’t　dare　describe　the　agony　we　suffered　in　that　cramped　hole。　It’s

for　this　reason　that　I　dislike　leaving　Istanbul。

I’ve been well received in Istanbul。 Young girls kiss me as if I were the

husband of their dreams； they hide me beneath their pillows； between their

huge breasts；