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　my　nose　into　this　affair？　Two　years　ago　in　the　Edirne　Gate

neighborhood they’d killed a clothes peddlar—after cutting off her ears—

because the maiden she’d promised to one man married another。 My

grandmother　used　to　tell　me　that　Turks　would　often　kill　a　man　for　no　reason。　I

longed　to　be　with　my　dearest　Nesim；　at　home　having　lentil　soup。　Even　though

my　feet　resisted；　I　thought　about　how　Shekure　would　be　there；　and　walked　to

the　house。　Curiosity　was　eating　at　me。

“Clothierrr！　I　have　new　Chinese　silks　for　holiday　outfits。”

I sensed the orangish light filtering out between the shutters move。 The

door opened。 Hasan’s polite father invited me inside。 The house was warm；

like the houses of the rich。 When Shekure； who was seated at a low dining

table　with　her　boys　saw　me；　she　rose　to　her　feet。

“Shekure；”　I　said；　“your　husband’s　here。”

“Which　one？”

“The newer；” I said。 “He’s surrounded the house with his band of armed

men。　They’re　prepared　to　fight　Hasan。”

“Hasan　isn’t　here；”　said　the　polit