第99部分(第2/7 頁)

　of　Islam　will　not　be　prepared

here　in　Istanbul；　but　in　the　workshops　of　Agra。”

“Must　an　artist　first　bee　a　murderer　to　be　as　high　and　mighty　as　you？”

asked　Stork。

“Nay； it’s enough to be the most gifted and the most talented；” I said

heedlessly。

A　proud　cockerel　crowed　twice　in　the　distance。　I　gathered　my　bundle　and

my gold pieces； my notebook of forms； and put my illustrations into my

portfolio。 I considered how I might kill each of them one by one with the

dagger；　whose　point　I　held　at　Black’s　throat；　but　I　felt　nothing　but　affection　for

my　boyhood　friends—including　Stork；　who’d　stuck　the　plume　needle　into　my

eyes。

I　screamed　at　Butterfly；　who　had　stood　up；　and　thus　scared　him　into　sitting

back　down。　Now；　confident　I’d　be　able　to　escape　the　lodge　safely；　I　hastened

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toward　the　door；　and　at　the　threshold；　I　impatiently　uttered　the　momentous

words　I’d　been　planning　to　say：

“My flight from Istanbul shall resemble Ibn Shakir’s flight from Baghdad

under　Mongol　occupation。”

“In　that　case；　you　must　head　West　instead　of　East；”　said　jealous　Stork。

“To　God　belongs　the　East　and　the　West；”　I　said　in　Arabic　like　the　late　Enishte。

“But　East　is　east　and　West　is　west；”　said　Black。

“An　artist　should　never　succumb　to　hubris　of　any　kind；”　said　Butterfly；　“he

should simply paint the way he sees fit rather than troubling over East or

West。”

“So　very　true；”　I　said　to　beloved　Butterfly。　“Accept　my　kiss。”

I’d　hardly　taken　two　steps　toward　him　when　Black　dutifully　pounced　upon

me。　In　one　hand　I　held　my　satchel　containing　my　clothes　and　gold　c