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ask me whether all of this was indeed correct； whether there wasn’t any
recourse and whether we’d truly burn in Hell。 He suffered fits of regret and
beat his breast in remorse； but I was unpersuaded。 He was an imposter who
feigned regret。“
“How did you know this？”
“We’ve known Elegant Effendi since childhood。 He’s very orderly； quiet；
ordinary and colorless； like his gilding。 It was as if the man standing before me
then was dumber； more naive； more devout； yet more superficial than the
Elegant we knew。”
“I hear he’d also bee quite close to the Erzurumis；” said Black。
“No Muslim would ever feel such torment and regret for inadvertently
mitting a sin；” I said。 “A good Muslim knows God is just and reasonable
enough to consider the intent of His servants。 Only pea…brained ignoramuses
believe they’ll go to Hell for eating pork unawares。 Anyway； a genuine Muslim
knows the fear of damnation serves to frighten others； not himself。 This is
what Elegant Effendi was doing； you see； he wanted to scare me。 It was your
Enishte who taught him that he might do such a thing； and it was then I knew
that this was indeed the case。 Now； tell me in plete honesty； my dear
illuminator brethren； has the blood begun to clot in my eyes； have my eyes lost
their color？”
They brought the lamp toward my face and gazed at it； displaying the care
and passion of surgeons。
“Nothing seems to have changed。”
Were these three； staring into my eyes； the last sight I’d see in this world？ I
knew I’d never forget these moments until the end of my life； and I related
what follows； because despite my regret； I also felt hope：
“Your Enishte taught Elegant Effendi that he was involved in some
forbidden project by covering up the final picture； by revealing only a specific
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spot to each of us and having us draw something there—by giving the picture
an air of mystery and secrecy； it was Enishte himself who instilled the fear of
heresy。 He； not the Erzurumis who’ve never seen an illuminated manuscript in
their lives； was the first to spread the frenzy and panic about sin that infected
us。 Meanwhile； what would an artist with a clear conscience have to fear？”
“There’s much that an artist with a clear conscience has to fear in our day；”
said Black smugly。 “Indeed； no one has anything to say against decoration； but
pictures are forbidden by our faith。 Because the illustrations of the Persian
masters and even the masterpieces of the greatest masters of Herat are
ultimately seen as an extension of border ornamentation； no one would take
issue with them； reasoning that they enhanced the beauty of writing and the
magnificence of calligraphy。 And who sees our painting anyway？ However； as
we make use of the methods of the Franks； our painting is being less
focused on ornamentation and intricate design and more on straightforward
representation。 This is what the Glorious Koran forbids and what displeased
Our Prophet。 Both Our Sultan and my Enishte knew this quite well。 This was
the reason for my Enishte’s murder。”
“Your Enishte was murdered because he was afraid；” I said。 “Just like you；
he’d begun to claim that illustration； which he was doing himself； wasn’t
contrary to the religion or the sacred book…This was exactly the pretext
sought by the Erzurumis； who were desperate to find an aspect contrary to the
religion。 Elegant Effendi and your Enishte were a perfect match for each
other。”
“And you’re the one who killed them both； isn’t that so？” said Black。
I thought for a moment that he would hit me； and in that instant； I also
knew beautiful Shekure’s new husband really had nothing to plain about
in the murder of his Enishte。 He wouldn’t strike me； and even if he did； it
made no difference to me any longer。
“In actuality； as much as Our Sultan wanted to have a book prepared under
the influence of the Frankish artists；” I continued stubbornly； “your Enishte
wanted to prepare a provocative book whose taint of illicitness would feed his
own pride。 He felt a slavish awe toward the pictures of the Frankish masters
he’d seen during his travels； and he’d fallen pletely for the artistry that he
regaled us about for days on end—you too must have heard that nonsense
about perspective and portraiture。 If you ask me； there was nothing damaging
or sacrilegious in the book we were preparing…Since he was well aware of
this； he pretended that he was preparing a forbidden book and this gave him
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great satisfaction…Being involved in such a dangerous venture with the
Sultan’s personal permission was as important to him as the pictures of the
Frankish masters。 True； if we’d made a painting with the intent of exhibiting
it； that would’ve been sacrilege。 Yet in none of those pieces could I sense
anything contrary to religion； any faithlessness； impiety or even the vaguest
illicitness。 Did you sense anything of the sort？”
My eyes had almost imperceptibly lost strength； but thank God； I could see
enough to kno pause。
“You cannot be certain； can you？” I said； gloating。 “Even if you secretly
believe that the blemish of blasphemy or the shadow of sacrilege exists in the
pictures we’ve made； you could never accept this belief and express it； because
this would be equivalent to giving credence to the zealots and Erzurumis who
oppose and accuse you。 On the other hand； you cannot claim with any
conviction that you’re as innocent as freshly fallen snow； because this would
mean giving up both the dizzying pride and refined self…congratulation of
engaging in a secretive； mysterious and forbidden act。 Do you know how I
became aware that I was behaving pretentiously in this way？ By bringing poor
Elegant Effendi to this dervish lodge in the middle of the night！ I brought him
here with the excuse that we’d nearly frozen walking the streets so long。 In
actuality； it pleased me to show him I was a free…thinking Kalenderi throwback；
or worse yet； that I aspired to be a Kalenderi。 When Elegant understood I was
the last of the followers of a dervish order based on pederasty； hashish
consumption； vagrancy and all manner of aberrant behavior； I thought he’d
fear and respect me even more； and in turn； be intimidated into silence。 As
fate would have it； the exact opposite happened。 Our dim…witted boyhood
friend disliked it here； and he quickly decided the accusations of blasphemy
he’d learned from your Enishte ark。 So； our beloved
apprenticeship panion； who’d at first implored； ”Help me； convince me
that we won’t go to Hell so I might sleep in peace tonight；“ in a newfound；
threatening tone； began to insist that ”this will end in nothing but evil。“ He
was convinced the preacher hoja from Erzurum would hear the rumors that in
the final picture we’d veered from the orders of Our Sultan； who’d never
forgive this transgression。 Convincing him everything was clear skies and
sunshine was nearly impossible。 He’d tell all to the preacher’s dull
congregation； exaggerating Enishte’s absurdities； the anxieties about affronts
to the religion and rendering the Devil in a favorable light； and they’d
naturally believe every slanderous word。 I don’t have to tell you how； not only
the artisans； but the entire society of craftsmen have grown jealous of us since
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we’ve bee the intense focus of Our Sultan’s attention。 Now all of them
will gleefully declare in unison ”the miniaturists are mired in heresy。“
Furthermore； the cooperation between Enishte and Elegant Effendi would
prove this slander true。 I say ”slander‘ because I don’t believe in what my
brother Elegant said about the book and the last picture。 Even then； I would
hear nothing against your late Enishte。 I found it quite appropriate that Our
Sultan turn his favors from Master Osman to Enishte Effendi； and I even
believed； if not to the same degree； what Enishte described to me at length
about the Frankish masters and their artistry。 I used to believe quite sincerely
that we Ottoman artists could fortably take from this or that aspect of the
Frankish methods as much as our hearts desired or as much as could be seen
during a visit abroad—without bartering with the Devil or bringing any great
harm upon us。 Life was easy； your Enishte； may he rest in peace； had succeeded
Master Osman； and was a new father to me in this new life。“
“Let’s not discuss that point yet；” said Black。 “First describe how you
murdered Elegant。”
“This deed；” I said； recognizing that I couldn’t use the word “murder；” “I
mitted this deed not only for us； to save us； but for the salvation of the
entire workshop。 Elegant Effendi knew he posed a powerful threat。 I prayed to
Almighty God； begging him to give me a sign showing me how despicable this
scoundrel really was。 My prayers were answered when I offered Elegant money。
God had shown me how wretched he really was。 These gold pieces came to
mind； but by divine inspiration； I lied。 I said the gold pieces weren’t here in
the lodge； but I’d hidden them elsewhere。 We went out。 I walked him through
empty streets and out…of…the…way neighborhoods without any consideration
for where we were going。 I had no idea what I would do； and in short； I was
afraid。 At the end of our wandering； after we’d e to a street we’d passed
earlier； our brother Elegant Effendi the gilder； who devoted his entire life to
form and repetition； grew suspicious。 But God provided me with an empty lot
ravaged by fire； and nearby； a dry well。”
At this point I knew I couldn’t go on and I told them so。 “If you were in my
shoes； you would’ve considered the salvation of your artist brethren and done
the same thing；” I said confidently。
When I heard them agree with me； I felt like crying。 I was going to say it
was because their passion； which I hardly deserved； softened my heart； but
no。 I was going to say it was because I again heard the thud of his body hitting
the bottom of the well wherein I dropped him after killing him； but no。 I was
going to say it was because I remembered how happy I was before being a
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murderer； how I’d been like everybody else； but no。 The blind man who used
to pass through our neighborhood in my childhood appeared in my mind’s
eye： He’d take a dirty metal water dipper out of his even dirtier clothes； and
would call out to us neighborhood kids who watched him from a distance；
there by the local water fountain； “My children； which of you will fill this
blind old man’s drinking cup with water from the fountain？” When no one
went to his aid； he’d say； “It’d be a good turn； my children； a pious deed！” The
color of his irises had faded and they were nearly the same color as the whites
of his eyes。
Agitated by the thought of resembling that blind old man； I confessed how
I did away with Enishte Effendi hurriedly； without savoring any of it。 I was
neither too honest nor too insincere with them： I found a medium
consistency； such that the story wouldn’t trouble my heart too much； and
they’d be assured I hadn’t gone to Enishte’s house to murder him。 I wanted
to make clear that it wasn’t a premeditated murder； which intent they
gathered when I reminded them of the following while trying to absolve
myself： “Without harboring bad intentions； one never goes to Hell。”
“After surrendering Elegant Effendi to the Angels of Allah；” I said
thoughtfully； “what the dearly depart