第102部分(第2/7 頁)

today；　in　my　old　age—which　I　live　out　through　the　fort　of　my　children—if

I　had　a　youthful　portrait　of　myself！

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2。　A　picture　of　bliss：　What　the　poet　Blond　Naz？m　of　Ran　had　pondered　in

one of his verses。 I know quite well how this painting ought to be made。

Imagine the picture of a mother with her two children； the younger one；

whom　she　cradles　in　her　arms；　nursing　him　as　she　smiles；　suckles　happily　at

her bountiful breast； smiling as well。 The eyes of the slightly jealous older

brother　and　those　of　the　mother　should　be　locked。　I’d　like　to　be　the　mother　in

that　picture。　I’d　want　the　bird　in　the　sky　to　be　depicted　as　if　flying；　and　at　the

same time； happily and eternally suspended there； in the style of the old

masters　of　Herat　who　were　able　to　stop　time。　I　know　it’s　not　easy。

My　son　Orhan；　who’s　foolish　enough　to　be　logical　in　all　matters；　reminds

me　on　the　one　hand　that　the　time…halting　masters　of　Herat　could　never　depict

me　as　I　am；　and　on　the　other　hand；　that　the　Frankish　masters　who　perpetually

painted　mother…with…child　portraits　could　never　stop　time。　He’s　been　insisting

for　years　that　my　picture　of　bliss　could　never　be　painted　anyhow。

Perhaps　he’s　right。　In　actuality；　we　don’t　look　for　smiles　in　pictures　of　bliss；

but rather； for the happiness in life itself。 Painters know this； but this is

precisely　what　they　cannot　depict。　That’s　why　they　substitute　the　joy　of　seeing

for　the　joy　of　life。

In　the　hopes　that　he　might　pen　this　story；　which　is　beyond　depiction；　I’ve

told　it　to　my　son　Orhan。　Without　hesitation　I　gave　him　the　letters　Hasan　and

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