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rattling　ing　from　the　stone…paved　area　near

the well； but it didn’t last。 Later； my attention was caught by a squawking

seagull that had alighted on the roof。 Then it； too； fell silent along with

everything else。 Afterward； I heard a low moan from the other side of the

hallway：　Hayriye　was　crying　in　her　sleep。　Her　moans　dissolved　into　coughing

which　ended　as　suddenly　as　it　had　begun；　giving　way　once　again　to　that　deep；

dreadful silence。 A while later； I imagined that an intruder was roaming

around　the　room　where　my　dead　Enishte　lay；　and　I　froze　pletely。

During each span of silence； I examined the pictures before me；

contemplating how the passionate Olive； the beautiful Butterfly and the

deceased gilder had dabbed paint onto the page。 I had the urge to confront

each　of　the　images　by　shouting　“Satan！”　or　“Death！”　as　my　Enishte　used　to　do

some　nights；　but　fear　restrained　me。　Besides；　these　illustrations　had　vexed　me

plenty because I couldn’t write an appropriate story to acpany them

despite my Enishte’s insistence。 Since I was slowly growing certain that his

death was linked to these images； I felt fretful and impatient。 I’d already

scrutinized　the　illustrations　endlessly　while　listening　to　Enishte’s　stories；　all　for

a　chance　to　be　near　Shekure。　Now　that　she　was　my　lawfully　wedded　wife；　why

should I preoccupy myself with them？ A merciless inner voice answered：

“Because　even　after　her　children　have　fallen　asleep；　Shekure　refuses　to　leave　her

bed and join you。” I waited for a long while gazing