第93部分(第2/7 頁)

raw　the　horse　that　had　lain　within　you　all　those　years。”

“My　mother；　may　she　rest　in　peace；　was　more　intelligent　than　my　father；”　I

said。　“One　night　I　was　at　home；　in　tears；　determined　never　again　to　return　to

the workshop because I was daunted not only by Master Osman’s beatings；

but by those of the other harsh and irritable masters and by those of the

division head who always intimidated us with a ruler。 In consolation； my

dearly　departed　mother　advised　me　that　there　were　two　types　of　people　in　the

world：　those　who　were　cowed　and　crushed　by　their　childhood　beatings；　forever

downtrodden；　she　said；　because　the　beatings　had　the　desired　effect　of　killing

the　inner　devils；　and　those　fortunate　ones　for　whom　the　beatings　frightened

and　tamed　the　devil　within　without　killing　him　off。　Though　the　latter　group

would　never　forget　these　painful　childhood　memories—she’d　warned　me　not

to　tell　this　to　anybody—the　beatings　would　in　time　enable　them　to　develop

cunning； to fathom the unknown； to make friends； to identify enemies； to

sense plots being hatched behind their backs and； let me hasten to add； to

paint　better　than　anyone　else。　Because　I　wasn’t　able　to　draw　the　branches　of　a

tree harmoniously； Master Osman would slap me so hard that； amid bitter

tears；　forests　would　burgeon　before　me。　After　angrily　striking　me　in　the　head

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because　I　couldn’t　see　the　errors　at　the　bottoms　of　pages；　he　lovingly　took　up　a

mirror　and　placed　it　before　the　page　so　I　could　see　the　work　as　if　for　the　first

time。　Then　pressing　his　cheek　to　mine；　he　so　lovingly　identified　the　mistakes