第38部分(第3/7 頁)

with　a　very　light　door。　While　I　thought　the　delicate　almond　scent　in

the　room　must　be　the　scent　of　Shekure’s　skin；　a　pillow；　which　had　been　stuffed

into　the　cabi；　fell　onto　my　dim…witted　head　and　then　onto　a　copper　pitcher

and cups。 You hear a noise and suddenly realize the room is dark； well； I

realized　it　was　cold。

“Hayriye？” Enishte Effendi called from within another room； “Shekure？

Which　of　you　is　it？”

I swiftly exited the room； walking diagonally across the wide hall； and

entered　the　room　with　the　blue　door　where　I　had　labored　with　Enishte　Effendi

on　his　book　this　past　winter。

“It’s　me；　Enishte　Effendi；”　I　said。　“Me。”

“Who　might　you　be？”

At　that　instant；　I　understood　that　the　workshop　names　Enishte　Effendi　had

selected　had　less　to　do　with　secrecy　then　with　his　subtle　mockery　of　us。　As　a

haughty　scribe　might　write　in　the　colophon　on　the　last　leaf　of　a　magnificently

illustrated manuscript； I slowly pronounced the syllables of my full name；

which included my father’s name； my place of birth and the phrase “your

poor　sinful　servant。”

“Hah？”　he　said　at　first；　then　added；　“Hah！”

Just like the old man who meets Death in the Assyrian fable I heard as a

child；　Enishte　Effendi　sank　into　a　very　brief　silence　that　lasted　forever。　If　there

are　those　among　you　who　believe；　since　I’ve　just　now　mentioned　“Death；”　that

I’ve e here to involve myself in such an affair； you’ve pletely

misunderstood the book you’re holding。 Would someone with such designs

knock　on　the　gate？　Take　off　his　shoes？　e　without　a　knife？

“So；　you’ve　e