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master　meant。　But　the　close　attention　my　master　had　shown　to　the　thousands

of　pictures　made　over　the　last　two　hundred　years　from　Bukhara　to　Herat；　from

Tabriz　to　Baghdad　and　all　the　way　to　Istanbul；　had　far　exceeded　the　search　for　a

clue　in　the　depiction　of　some　horse’s　nostrils。　We’d　participated　in　a　kind　of

melancholy elegy to the inspiration； talent and patience of all the masters

who’d　painted　and　illuminated　in　these　lands　over　the　years。

For　this　reason；　when　the　doors　of　the　Treasury　were　opened　at　the　time　of

the　evening　prayer　and　Master　Osman　explained　to　me　that　he　had　no　desire

whatsoever to leave； and that furthermore； only by remaining here until

morning examining pictures by the light of oil lamps and candles could he

execute properly Our Sultan’s charge； my first response； as I informed him；

was　to　remain　here　with　him　and　the　dwarf。

However；　when　the　door　was　opened　and　my　master　conveyed　our　wish　to

the waiting chiefs and asked permission of the Head Treasurer； immediately

regretted　my　decision。　I　longed　for　Shekure　and　our　house。　I　grew　increasingly

restless　as　I　wondered　how　she　would　manage；　spending　the　night　alone　with

the　children　and　how　she　would　batten　down　the　now…repaired　shutters　of　the

windows。

Through the opened half of the Treasury portal； I was beckoned to the

magnificence　of　life　outside　by　the　large　damp　plane　trees　in　the　courtyard　of

the Enderun—now under a hint of fog—and by the gestures of two royal

pages；　speaking　to　each　other　in　a　sign　language　so　as　not　to　disturb　the　peace

of　Our　Sultan；　bu