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faceup on the floor beneath the three of them。
One of them sat on my knees。 Another on my right arm。
Black pressed a knee into each of my shoulders； he firmly situated his
weight between my stomach and chest； and sat on me。 I was pletely
immobilized。 All of us were stunned and breathing hard。 This is what I
remembered：
My late uncle had a rogue son two years older than me—I hope he’s been
caught in the act of raiding caravans and has long since been beheaded。 This
jealous beast； realizing I knew more than he and was also more intelligent and
refined； would find any excuse to pick a fight； or else he’d insist that we
e； he’d hold me down with his knees on
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my shoulders in this same way； he’d stare into my eyes； the way Black was
now doing； and let a string of saliva hang down； slowly directing it toward my
eyes as it gained mass； and he’d be greatly entertained as I tried to avoid it by
turning my head to the right and to the left。
Black told me not to hide anything。 Where was the last picture？ Confess！
I felt suffocating regret and anger for two reasons： First； I’d said everything I
had for naught； unaware that they’d e to an agreement beforehand；
secondly； I hadn’t fled； unable to imagine that their envy would reach this
level。
Black threatened to cut my throat if I didn’t produce the last picture。
How very ridiculous。 I firmly closed my lips； as if the truth would escape if I
opened my mouth。 Part of me also thought that there was nothing left for me
to do。 If they came to an agreement among themselves and turned me over to
the Head Treasurer as the murderer； they’d end up saving their own hides。 My
only hope lay with Master Osman； who might point out another suspect or
another clue； but then； could I be certain what Black said about him was
correct？ He could kill me here and now； and later place the onus on me；
couldn’t he？
They rested the dagger against my throat； and I saw at once how this gave
Black a pleasure that he could not conceal。 They slapped me。 Was the dagger
cutting my skin？ They slapped me again。
I was able to work through the following logic： If I held my peace； nothing
would happen！ This gave me strength。 They could no longer hide the fact that
since the days of our apprenticeships they’d been jealous of me； I； who quite
evidently applied paint in the best manner； drew the steadiest line and made
the best illuminations。 I loved them for their extreme envy。 I smiled upon my
beloved brethren。
One of them； I don’t want you to know which of them was responsible for
this disgrace； passionately kissed me as if he were kissing the beloved he’d long
desired。 The others watched by the light of the oil lamp that they brought near
to us。 I could not but respond in kind to this kiss from my beloved brother。 If
we’re nearing the end of everything； let it be known that I do the best
illuminating。 Find my pages and see for yourselves。
He began to beat me angrily； as if I’d enraged him by answering his kiss
with a kiss。 But the others restrained him。 They experienced a moment of
indecision。 Black was upset that there was a scuffle among them。 It was as if
they weren’t angry with me； but with the direction in which their lives were
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headed； and as a result； they wanted to take their revenge against the entire
world。
Black removed an object from his sash： a needle with a sharpened point。 In
an instant； he brought it to my face and made a gesture as if to plunge it into
my eyes。
“Eighty years ago； the great Bihzad； master of masters； understood that
everything was ing to an end with the fall of Herat； and honorably blinded
himself so nobody would force him to paint in another way；” he said。 “A short
while after he deliberately inserted this plume needle into his own eye and
removed it； God’s exquisite darkness slowly descended over His beloved
servant； this artist with the miraculous hand。 This needle which came from
Herat to Tabriz with the now drunk and blind Bihzad； was sent as a present by
Shah Tahmasp to Our Sultan’s father； along with that legendary Book of Kings。
At first； Master Osman was unable to determine why this object was sent。 But
today； he was able to see the ill will and just logic behind this cruel present。
After Master Osman understood that Our Sultan wanted to have His own
portrait made in the style of the European masters and that you all； whom he
loved more than his own children； had betrayed him； he stuck this needle into
each of his eyes last night in the Treasury—in imitation of Bihzad。 Now； if I
were to blind you； the accursed man responsible for bringing to ruin the
workshop Master Osman established at the expense of his entire life； what of
it？”
“Whether or not you blind me； in the end； we’ll no longer be able to find a
place for ourselves here；” I said。 “If Master Osman truly goes blind； or passes
away； and we paint the way we feel like painting； embracing our faults and
individuality under the influence of the Franks so we might possess a style； we
might resemble ourselves； but we won’t be ourselves。 No； even if we were to
agree to paint like the old masters； reasoning that only in this way could we be
ourselves； Our Sultan； who’s turned His back even on Master Osman； will find
others to replace us。 No one will look at us anymore； we shall only incur pity。
The raiding of the coffeehouse merely rubs salt into our wounds； because half
the blame for this incident will fall to us miniaturists； who’ve slandered the
respected preacher。”
Although I tried at length to persuade them that it would work quite
against us to quarrel； it was to no avail。 They had no intention of listening to
me。 They were panicked。 If they could only decide quickly； before morning；
right or wrong； which of their lot was guilty； they were convinced they could
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save themselves； be delivered from torture and that everything having to do
with the workshop would persist for years to e as it always had。
Nevertheless； what Black threatened to do didn’t please the other two。
What if it became evident that somebody else was guilty and Our Sultan
learned they blinded me for no reason whatsoever？ They were terrified both of
Black’s closeness to Master Osman and his insolence toward him。 They tried
to pull back the needle which Black； in blind rage； persisted in holding before
my eyes。
Black fell into a panic； as if they were taking the plume needle from his
hand； as if we’d taken sides against him。 There was another scuffle。 All I could
do was tilt my head upward to escape the struggle over the needle； which was
happening perilously close to my eyes。
Everything occurred so fast that I couldn’t make out what happened at
first。 I felt a sharp but limited pain in my right eye； a passing numbness seized
my forehead。 Then everything was as it had been； yet a horror had already
taken root within me。 The oil lamp had been withdrawn； but I could still
clearly see the figure before me decisively thrust the needle； this time into my
left eye。 He’d taken the needle from Black only moments before； and was more
careful and meticulous now。 When I understood that the needle effortlessly
perated my eye； I lay dead still； though I felt the same burning sensation。
The numbness in my forehead seemed to spread over my entire head； but
ceased when the needle was removed。 They were looking at the needle and
then at my eyes in turn。 It was as if they weren’t certain what had transpired。
When everybody fully understood the misfortune that had befallen me； the
motion stopped and the weight upon my arms eased。
I began to scream； nearly howling。 Not from the pain； but from the terror
of prehending fully what had been done to me。
At first； I sensed that my wailing put not only me at ease； but them as well。
My voice brought us together。
Even so； as my screaming persisted； their nervousness increased。 I could no
longer feel any pain。 All I could think was that my eyes had been pierced with a
needle。
I was not yet blind。 Thank goodness I could still see them watching me in
terror and sorrow； I could still see their shadows moving aimlessly on the
ceiling of the lodge。 This at once pleased and alarmed me。 “Unhand me；” I
screamed。 “Unhand me so I can see everything once more； I implore you。”
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“Quickly； tell us；” said Black。 “How did you meet up with Elegant Effendi
that night？ Then we’ll unhand you。”
“I was returning home from the coffeehouse。 Poor Elegant Effendi accosted
me。 He was frenzied and very agitated。 I pitied him at first。 But leave me be
now and I shall later recount it all。 My eyes are fading。”
“They won’t fade right away；” said Black with determination。 “Believe me；
Master Osman could still identify the horses with cut…open nostrils after his
eyes had been pierced。”
“Hapless Elegant Effendi said he wanted to talk to me and that I was the
only person he could trust。”
Yet it wasn’t him I pitied； but myself now。
“If you tell us before the blood clots in your eyes； in the morning you can
look upon the world to your heart’s content one last time；” said Black。 “See；
the rain has eased。”
“”Let’s go back to the coffeehouse；“ I said to Elegant； but sensed at once
that he didn’t like it there； and even that it frightened him。 This was how I
first knew Elegant Effendi had broken from us pletely and had gone his
separate way after painting with us for twenty…five years。 In the last eight or
ten years； after he married； I’d see him at the workshop； but I didn’t even
know what he was occupied with…He told me he saw the last picture； how it
contained a sin so grave we’d never live it down。 As a consequence； he
maintained； we’d all burn in Hell。 He was agitated and possessed by fear；
overe with the sense of devastation felt by a man who’d unwittingly
mitted heresy。”
“What heresy？”
“When I asked him this very question； he opened his eyes wide in surprise
as if to say； You mean you don’t know？ It was then I thought how our friend
had aged； as have we all。 He said unfortunate Enishte had brazenly used the
perspectival method in the last picture。 In this picture； objects weren’t
depicted according to their importance in Allah’s mind； but as they appeared
to the naked eye—the way the Franks painted。 This was the first transgression。
The second was depicting Our Sultan； the Caliph of Islam； the same size as a
dog。 The third transgression also involved rendering Satan the same size； and
in an endearing light。 But what surpassed them all—a natural result of
introducing this Frankish understanding into our painting—was drawing Our
Sultan’s picture as large as life and his face in all its detail！ Just like the
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idolators do…Or just like the ”portraits’ that Christians； who couldn’t save
themselves from their inherent idolatrous tendencies； painted upon their
church walls and worshiped。 Elegant Effendi； who learned of portraits from
your Enishte； knew this quite well； and believed correctly that portraiture was
the greatest of sins； and would be the downfall of Muslim painting。 As we
hadn’t gone to the coffeehouse； where； he claimed； our exalted Preacher
Effendi and our religion were being maligned； he explained all this to me while
we walked down the street。 Occasionally； he’d stop； as though seeking help；
ask me whether all of this was indeed correct； whether there wasn’t any
recourse and whether we’d truly burn in