第80部分(第1/7 頁)

after　days；　sometimes　after　months；　as　with　old　men　who　go　blind　naturally。

I’d　caught　sight　of　it　while　passing　into　the　next　room；　I　stood　and　looked；

yes；　there　it　was：　an　ivory　mirror　with　a　twisted　handle　and　thick　ebony　frame；

its length nicely embellished with script。 I sat down again and gazed at my

own eyes。 How beautifully the flame of the candle danced in my pupils—

which　had　witnessed　my　hand　paint　for　sixty　years。

“How　had　Master　Bihzad　done　it？”　I　asked　myself　once　more。

Never　once　taking　my　eyes　off　the　mirror；　with　the　practiced　movements　of

a　woman　applying　kohl　to　her　eyelids；　my　hand　found　the　needle　on　its　own。

Without　hesitation；　as　if　making　a　hole　at　the　end　of　an　ostrich　egg　soon　to　be

embellished；　I　bravely；　calmly　and　firmly　pressed　the　needle　into　the　pupil　of

my　right　eye。　My　innards　sank；　not　because　I　felt　what　I　was　doing；　but　because

I saw what I was doing。 I pushed the needle into my eye to the depth of a

quarter　the　length　of　a　finger；　then　removed　it。

In the couplet worked into the frame of the mirror； the poet had wished

the　observer　eternal　beauty　and　wisdom—and　eternal　life　to　the　mirror　itself。

Smiling；　I　did　the　same　to　my　other　eye。

For　a　long　while　I　didn’t　move。　I　stared　at　the　world—at　everything。

As I’d surmised； the colors of the world did not darken； but seemed to

bleed　ever　so　gently　into　one　another。　I　could　still　more　or　less　see。

The　pale　light　of　the　sun　fell　over　the　red　and　oxblood　cloth　of　the　Treasury。

In　the　accustomed　ceremony；　the　Head　Treasurer　and　his　men　broke　the　seal

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and op