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my name is red-我的名字叫红-第33部分

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much。 
“Hayriye;  take  the  boys  to  Galleon  Harbor  and  buy  some  gray  mullet 
suitable  for  soup  from  Kosta’s  place。  Take  these  silver  coins  and  with  the 
change from the fish; buy Orhan some dried yellow figs and cherries on the 
way back。 Buy Shevket roasted chickpeas and sweetmeat sausage with walnuts。 
160 
 
Walk them around to wherever they want to go until the evening prayers are 
called; but be careful they don’t catch cold。” 
After they’d bundled up and left; the quiet in the house pleased me。 I went 
upstairs and took out the little mirror that my father…in…law had made and my 
husband had given me as a gift。 I kept it hidden away between pillowcases that 
smelled  of  lavender。  I  hung  it  up。  If  I  looked  at  myself  in  the  mirror  from  a 
distance; and moved oh so delicately; I could see my whole body。 My vest of 
red  broadcloth  suited  me;  but  I  also  wanted  to  don  my  mother’s  purple 
blouse  which  had  been  part  of  her  trousseau。  I  took  out  the  long  pistachio…
colored robe my grandmother had embroidered with flowers; and tried it on; 
but it didn’t please me。 As I was trying it on under the purple blouse; I felt a 
chill;  I  shuddered;  and  the  candle  flame  trembled  with  me。  Over  it  all;  of 
course; I was going to wear my fox fur–lined street robe; but at the last minute 
I changed my mind; and silently crossing the hall; I removed the very long and 
loose azure…colored woolen robe that my mother had given me and put it on。 
Just then I heard a noise at the door and fell into a panic: Black was leaving! I 
quickly  removed  my  mother’s  old  robe  and  put  on  the  fur…lined  red  one:  It 
was  tight  around  the  bustline;  but  I  liked  it。  I  then  donned  the  softest  and 
whitest veil; lowering it over my face。 
Black Effendi hadn’t left yet; of course; I’d let my apprehension deceive me。 
If I go out now; I can tell my father that I went to buy fish with the children。 I 
padded down the stairs like a cat。 
I  closed  the  door—click—like  a  ghost。  I  quietly  passed  through  the 
courtyard and when I was out on the street; momentarily turned and looked 
back at the house。 From behind my veil it seemed as if it wasn’t our house at 
all。 
There was no one in the street; not even any cats。 Flakes of snow danced in 
the air。 With a shudder; I entered the abandoned garden where sunlight never 
fell。 It smelled of rotten leaves; dampness and death; yet; when I entered the 
house of the Hanged Jew; I felt as though I were in my own home。 They say 
that jinns meet here at night; light the stove and make merry。 I was startled to 
hear my footsteps in the empty house。 I waited; stock…still。 I heard a sound in 
the garden; but then everything was overe by silence。 I heard a dog bark 
nearby。  I  recognize  all  the  dogs  in  our  neighborhood  from  their  barks;  but  I 
couldn’t place this one。 
During the next silence I sensed that there was somebody else in the house 
and  I  stood  dead  still  so  he  wouldn’t  hear  my  footsteps。  Strangers  talked  as 
they  passed  on  the  street。  I  thought  of  Hayriye  and  the  children。  I  hoped  to 
161 
 
God that they wouldn’t catch cold。 In the silence that followed; I was gradually 
overe by regret。 Black wasn’t ing。 I’d made a mistake; and I ought to 
return home before my pride was damaged even further。 Terrified; I imagined 
that Hasan was watching me; and then I heard movement in the garden。 The 
door opened。 
I  abruptly  changed  my  position。  I  didn’t  know  why  I  did  so;  but  when  I 
stood to the left of the window through which a faint light from the garden 
was filtering; I realized that Black would be able to see me; to borrow a phrase 
from my father; “within the mysteries of shadow。” I covered my face with my 
veil and waited; listening to his footsteps。 
Black passed through the doorway and saw me; then took a few more steps 
and  stopped。  We  stood  five  paces  apart  and  beheld  each  other。  He  looked 
healthier and stronger than he’d appeared through the peephole。 There was a 
silence。 
“Remove your veil;” he said in a whisper。 “Please。” 
“I’m married。 I’m awaiting my husband’s return。” 
“Remove  your  veil;”  he  said  in  the  same  tone。  “Your  husband  won’t  ever 
e back。” 
“Have you arranged to meet me here to tell me this?” 
“Nay; I’ve done so to be able to see you。 I’ve been thinking of you for twelve 
years。 Remove your veil; my darling; let me look at you just once。” 
I  removed  it。  I  was  pleased  as  he  silently  studied  my  face  and  stared  at 
length into the depths of my eyes。 
“Marriage and motherhood have made you even more beautiful。 And your 
face has bee entirely different than what I remembered。” 
“How had you remembered me?” 
“With agony; because when I thought of you; I couldn’t help but think that 
what  I  was  remembering  wasn’t  you  but  a  fantasy。  In  our  childhood;  you 
remember  how  we  used  to  discuss  Hüsrev  and  Shirin;  who  fell  in  love  after 
seeing images of each other; don’t you? Why was it that Shirin hadn’t fallen in 
love with handsome Hüsrev when first she saw his picture hanging from a tree 
branch but had to see that image three times before falling in love? You used 
to  say  that  in  fairy  tales  everything  happens  thrice。  I  would  argue  that  love 
ought to have blossomed when she first saw the picture。 But who could have 
depicted  Hüsrev  realistically  enough  for  her  to  fall  in  love  with  him;  and 
162 
 
precisely  enough  that  she  would  recognize  him?  We  never  talked  about  this。 
Over these last twelve years; if I had such a realistic portrait of your matchless 
face; perhaps I wouldn’t have suffered so。” 
He  said  some  quite  lovely  things  in  this  vein;  stories  of  looking  at  an 
illustration and falling in love and of how he’d suffered desperately for me。 I 
noticed the way he slowly approached; and his every word flitted through my 
conscious mind and alighted somewhere in my memory。 Later; I would muse 
over these words one by one。 But at the time my appreciation of the magic of 
what  he  said  was  purely  visceral  and  it  bound  me  to  him。  I  felt  guilty  for 
having  caused  him  such  pain  for  twelve  years。  What  a  honey…tongued  man! 
What a good person this Black was! Like an innocent child! I could read all of 
this from his eyes。 The fact that he loved me so much made me trust him。 
We embraced。 This so pleased me that I felt no guilt。 I let myself be borne 
away by sweet emotion。 I hugged him tighter。 I let him kiss me; and I kissed 
him back。 And as we kissed; it was as if the entire world had entered a gentle 
twilight。 I wished everybody could embrace each other the way we did。 I faintly 
recalled  that  love  was  supposed  to  be  like  this。  He  put  his  tongue  into  my 
mouth。 I was so content with what I was doing; it was as if the whole world 
were engulfed in blissful light; I could think of nothing bad。 
Let  me  describe  for  you  how  our  embrace  might’ve  been  depicted  by  the 
master miniaturists of Herat; if this tragic story of mine were one day recorded 
in a book。 There are certain amazing illustrations that my father has shown me 
wherein the thrill of the script’s flow matches the swaying of the leaves; the 
wall ornamentation is echoed in the design of the border gilding and the joy 
of  the  swallow’s  matchless  wings  piercing  the  picture’s  border  suggests  the 
elation of the lovers。 Exchanging glances from afar and tormenting each other 
with  suggestive  phrases;  the  lovers  would  be  depicted  so  small;  so  far  in  the 
distance; that for a moment it’d seem like the story wasn’t about them at all; 
but had to do with the starry night; the dark trees; the exquisite palace where 
they met; its courtyard and its wonderful garden whose every leaf was lovingly 
and  particularly  rendered。  If;  however;  one  paid  very  close  attention  to  the 
secret symmetry of the colors; which the miniaturist could only convey with 
total  resignation  to  his  art;  and  to  the  mysterious  light  infusing  the  entire 
painting;  the  careful  observer  would  immediately  see  that  the  secret  behind 
these  illustrations  is  that  they’re  created  by  love  itself。  It’s  as  if  a  light  were 
emanating from the lovers; from the very depths of the illustration。 And when 
Black and I embraced; well…being flooded the world in the very same manner。 
163 
 
Thank God I’ve seen enough of life to know that such well…being never lasts 
for long。 Black sweetly took my large breasts into his hands。 This felt good and; 
forgetting all; I longed for him to suck on my nipples。 But he couldn’t quite 
manage it; because he wasn’t all that sure of what he was doing; though his 
uncertainty  didn’t  prevent  him  from  wanting  more。  Gradually;  fear  and 
embarrassment  came  between  us  the  longer  we  embraced。  But  when  he 
grabbed  my  thighs  to  pull  me  close;  pressing  his  large  hardened  manliness 
against my stomach; I liked it at first; I was curious。 I wasn’t embarrassed。 I 
told myself that an embrace such as we’d had would naturally lead to another 
such as this。 And though I turned my head away; I couldn’t take my widening 
eyes off its size。 
Later  still;  when  he  abruptly  tried  to  force  me  to  perform  that  vulgar  act 
that even Kipchak women and concubines who tell stories at the public baths 
wouldn’t do; I froze in astonishment and indecision。 
“Don’t furrow your brow; my dear;” he begged。 
I  stood  up;  pushed  him  away  and  began  shouting  at  him  without  paying 
the slightest mind to his disappointment。 
 
 
   
164 
 
I AM CALLED BLACK 
 
Within  the  darkness  of  the  house  of  the  Hanged  Jew;  Shekure  furrowed  her 
brow and began raving that I might easily stick the monstrosity I held in my 
hands  into  the  mouths  of  Circassian  girls  I’d  met  in  Tiflis;  Kipchak  harlots; 
poor  brides  sold  at  inns;  Turkmen  and  Persian  widows;  mon  prostitutes 
whose numbers were increasing in Istanbul; lecherous Mingerians; coquettish 
Abkhazians; Armenian shrews; Genoese and Syrian hags; thespians passing as 
women and insatiable boys; but it would not go into hers。 She angrily accused 
me  of  having  lost  all  sense  of  decorum  and  self…control  by  sleeping  with  all 
manner  of  cheap;  pathetic  riffraff—from  Persia  to  Baghdad  and  from  the 
alleyways  of  small  hot  Arabian  towns  to  the  shores  of  the  Caspian—and  of 
having  forgotten  that  some  women  still  took  pains  to  maintain  their  honor。 
All my words of love; she charged; were insincere。 
I  respectfully  listened  to  my  beloved’s  outburst;  which  caused  the  guilty 
member in my hand to fade; and though I was thoroughly embarrassed by the 
situation  and  the  rejection  I  was  suffering;  two  things  pleased  me:  1。  that  I 
refrained from lowering myself to match Shekure’s wrath with a response of 
similar  hue;  as  I  often  had  reacted  viciously  to  other  women  in  similar 
situations;  and  2。  that  I  discovered  Shekure’s  particular  awareness  of  my 
travels; proof that she’d thought of me much more than I’d assumed。 
Seeing how downcast I’d bee at being unable to carry out my desires; 
she’d already begun to pity me。 
“If you truly loved me; passionately and obsessively;” she said as if trying to 
excuse herself; “you’d try to control yourself like a gentleman。 You wouldn’t 
try to offend the honor of the woman toward whom you entertained serious 
intentions。 You’re not the only man who’s making motions to marry me。 Did 
anyone see you on your way here?” 
“Nay。” 
As if she heard someone walking in the dark and snow…covered garden; she 
turned  her  sweet  face;  which  for  twelve  years  I  hadn’t  been  able  to  recall; 
toward  the  door  and  gave  me  the  pleasure  of  seeing  her  profile。  When  we 
heard a momentary clattering; we both waited in silence; but nobody entered。 
I 
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