After tly yet pleasurably dra t doo t o Allaan and t s o complete ,  o ting test artists to join  to Istanbul visited me yesterday, inviting me to an. time, I opened to find, in tance Black, about irely. Back t able to keep our company, he was jealous of us. “Yes?”

    o converse, to pay a friendly visit, to  my illustrations. I  all. I learned  today visited or Master Osman and kissed  master, o ponder: “A painter’s quality becomes evident in  it be evident:

    Blindness and MemoryBefore t of illumination ters, art and love,  Allao “See”! to knoo remember t you’ve seen. to see is to kno remembering. ting is remembering t masters,  color and sigo return to Allaists  memory neit masters, in t profound void side time. Let me explain to you  means to remember t by t masters of old.

    tories on Blindness and MemoryALIFIn Lami’i Curkisranslation of t Jami’s Gifts of Intimacy, s, it is ten t in tion, ter Sabrizi rated a magnificent version of o o complete, ter of master miniaturists, Salent and skill and painted sucures t only test of ters, Biced manuscript  equal in all tall esion, and declared  tige er ted, an even better version of t could be made for tall ruly jealous men ment  “ if oto kno if tuoso miniaturist made anotter version, it  anyone besides  book, Jio er miniaturist Ser ed t a good-ed Circassian beauty in  blinding ter miniaturist o s, until it ultimately reac leave tabriz as otrators mig resort to games like slo or making inferior illustrations so it  be “perfect” and talling  blinding. Indeed, ion. In ter tinue illustrating t in t again and again until bitter tears streamed from ime,  an illustration by one of t old masters of  as  copy on anot. In ted ter miniaturist ed,  first praised and so affix turban plumes. Before   and  to join tall eso tall  I remember eac I’ve illuminated for t eleven years, doo eacroke of t again from memory. My Excellency, I could illustrate test manuscript of all time for you. Since my eyes racted by to depict all t form.” tall  master miniaturist; and ter miniaturist, keeping rated from memory t magnificent of books for tesual po lay beall  defeat of torious Kion of Ji book, along abrizi made for

    te Jiered Our Sultan’s treasury in Istanbul all ed at ttle of Otlukbeli by Sultan Me K in peace. truly see, know.

    BASince tan Süleyman Krators, unfortunate miniaturists of t t story as an example of rating surpasses calligraptention ale is actually about blindness and memory. After tamerlane, Ruler of t to attacking and mercilessly battling one anot t one of ty,  action o mint  t as victor o pull apart t o ion ten, boasting of t oget t ruly amerlane’s grandson Ulu? Bey, captured , urists, calligrape, and so pressured to make a book in s, t as volumes  of being unbound and ted pages destroyed and burned, tures became mixed up. Since it did not befit to arrange and bind albums  a care for o s in  and requested t t tories so as to put trations in proper order. From eacurist’s mout account, and so t order of tes  surviving urist  for t fifty- four years. A great commotion ensued er no tures ed t an intelligent boy,  reac read or e, be brougaken to urist placed a number of illustrations before  you see,” ructed. As tures, turist, raising o tened carefully and responded: “Alexander cradling t of teacudent from Sadi’s Rosegarden …test of doctors from Nizami’s treasury of Secrets…” turists, vexed by told you t as -kno famous stories.” In turn, turist placed t difficult illustrations before tened intently. “ion of terrible account of tcree, from Rumi’s Masnaures, none of ered  urist by  ify tories t oter illustrators couldn’t determine even by looking at t isn’t, as one mig my memory compensates for my

    blindness,” replied trator. “I ten t stories are recollected not only t t urists kneories, but still couldn’t order tures. “Because,” said turist, “te o painting,  t compre ters made tures out of t knourist. “But I, an elderly and blind miniaturist, kno Allaed telligent seven-year-old boy  to see it; , above all, it migerakenly assumed t tories arose out of  illustrations ed in service of tories. Quite to trary, painting is t of seeking out Allahe world.”

    DJIMturists om of staring at tern  daybreak to alleviate tandable and eternal anxieties about going blind surists; likeury later in Srators  s masals on an empty stomacurists of Isfa o  often by candleligo prevent direct sunligriking tables. At day’s end, in tists of Buker miniaturists ions, t approaco blindness urist Seyyit Mirek, mentor to t master Bio master miniaturist Mirek, blindness  a scourge, but ratoire life to rating urist’s searcive could only be attained tion after blindness descended, only after a lifetime of er turist’s eyes tired and  turists. o turist, t is, rator raining  migransfer tion to to torian Mirza Mu , ensively about t miniaturists, ter Seyyit Mirek, in ion of tioned notion of painting, used trator o dra untalented painter—one oday’s Venetian painters— is impossible, at one and time, to look at t t, trator looks at transfers s in o terim, even if only a ime, ist represents on t t t seen. Proof t for even t miserable illustrator, a picture is possible only tension of t, urist as but preparation for both

    ting bliss of blindness and blind memory, is t ters of  regarded trations training for ted taring at pages by candlelig break, as t delivered turist to blindness. t er miniaturist Mirek constantly soug t appropriate moment for t glorious of approacualities, eitaking depiction of trees and all trands of iously delaying t darkness by tless dra, sun-filled gardens. y, in order to re master, Sultan o enter treasury containing t plates t tan ed and secured under lock and key. treasury t also contained  upon bolt of silk and velvet clot of golden candelabra, Master Mirek stared at t leaves of ts oer ts of continuous scrutiny, t master  blind. ed ion urity and resignation, t greet ted again. Mirza Mu , tory of Rasurn of events as follourist united al time can never return to t pages meant for ordinary mortals”; and urist’s memories reace silence, a blessed darkness and ty of a blank page.”

    Certainly it  of desire to o Master Osman’s question on blindness and memory to put  ease t Black asked me tion  again, I o see t tories I recounted affected  are barred,” I said to him.

    “In tabriz,” said Black, “under Master Mirek’s influence, some of turists of tyle still look upon blindness as test virtue of Alla gro not blind. Even today, fearing t otalent and skill, tend to be blind. As a result of tion  for  of an oil lamp,  eating or drinking and stare at illustrated pages painted by ters of  in order to learn o perceive te not truly being blind.”

    Somebody knocked. I opened to find a ice from t t Effendi,   ternoon prayer. o deliver to otect us all.

    I AM EStell me thes peddler and

    matc est clue. ’d to become acquainted elligent and became more cunning and devious as ts to ty deceptions, it means ’s obvious t  alks about Srol.

    At te all t I tell everyone: S o ter, I’d never seen  I pitied old me to take tter to Sraig assumes tance about  necessitates particular e, and tensity of tingly putting a o t, spone te delays ts of love.

    I first took a detour e,”  square, I nearly froze to deating for er , I t I’d visit one of my “daugo ters I’ve delivered, t of my bro at my every visit, beyond ing on me , flitting about like a moto my palm. Noea on t me alone, I counted ty silver pieces.

    I set out on my reets and t ook o s.

    “t of my ruffled muslin fit for a sultan. Come get my stunning s sasian s clotableclottress and bedss, and my colorful hierrr!”

    tered. As aly, t terrible smell peculiar to aging bachelors.

    “Old ing?”

    I silently removed tter and  to  room, ealtly approacc from my o t room  threshold.

    “Isn’t your dear father home?”

    anser. I left ood be see er finister,  anew.

    “Yes,” I said, “and en?”

    hasan read:

    My Dearest Soo ained myself tfully understand your ing for your  considering anot else could one expect from a ature besides y and virtue? [o visit your fating,  amount to  . o me at t, I considered it not an act of God’s grace. took t from Nizami,” errupted, annoyed.] But you ask me to keep my distance; tell me t approacerrifying? Listen to en: I used to try to sleep c fall onto tains from remote and godforsaken caravansaries e , listening to tunate to t one day you o me, just as you did at t I’ve returned to your fat back ture I made in my c a sign of your deat a sign t I’ve found you again. I saher!

    “God protect ten e t.”

    “”Are you an angel t approacerrifying?“” ed. “ole t line from Ibn Zerter.” ook ter out of . “take t to Shekure.”

    For t time, accepting money along ters disturbed me. I felt somet toed love. o confirm my  time in a long te and said quite rudely:

    “tell  if we so desire, we’ll force he judge.”

    “You really  me to say t?”

    Silence. “Nay,”  from ted o see y c’s because I knoer as  I  for ters. It’s not only for t think.

    I opped me at the door.

    “Do you let Sedly and foolishly.

    “Don’t you tell ters?”

    “tell me  convince  I persuade them?”

    “By being a good person,” I said and o the door.

    “At t’s too late…” h sincere anguish.

    “You’ve begun to earn a lot of money, Customs Officer his makes one a good person…” I said and fled.

    t tside seemed   my face. I  somet poor man in t damp, curned into t in Laleli tore my spirits. I aken.

    At Ser sook up tters, sely asked after Black. I told  tire being. this news pleased her.

    “Even lonely spinsters busy ting are discussing w Effendi miger, c.

    “ of condolence and take it over to Kalbiye, poor Elegant Effendi’s widow,” said Shekure.

    “All te a crotending ives s blood.”

    So read Black’s letter. I looked into ently and angrily. t srol ed in  my silence pleased  s as my approval of t so Black’s letter. Ster and smiled at me; to meet isfaction, I felt forced to ask, “ ten?”

    “Just as in h me.”

    “ are your ts?”

    “I’m a married ing for my husband.”

    Contrary to your expectations, t t so me after asking me to get involved in  anger me. Actually, t relieved me. If more of tters for and advised in ttended to details tantly, tter marriages.

    “ does te?” I asked anyway.

    “I don’t intend to read ter rig Black’s returned to Istanbul?”

    “ even know s.”

    “Do you speak iful black eyes.

    “As you’ve requested.”

    “Yes?”

    “ belongs to anot’ll be difficult ever to be free of ing ters you’ve greatly encouraged  only does  to make you return t by establis o marry you.” I smiled to soften t of t to be reduced to being t malcontent’s mouthpiece.

    “’s t did ser?

    “turist?”

    “My mind’s all ajumble,” ss. “It seems t matters ’ll become of us, of t tell me somet will en me.”

    “Don’t you fret in test, my dearest Sion ruly intelligent, you’re very beautiful. One day you’ll sleep in tten all your worries, you’ll be his in your eyes.”

    Sucion rose  my eyes filled ears.

    “Fine, but which one will become my husband?”

    “Isn’t t wise  of yours giving you an answer?”

    “It’s because I don’t understand  I’m dispirited.”

    For a moment it occurred to me t S trust me at all, t serfully concealing rust in order to learn  srying to arouse my pity.  be ing a response to tters at present, I grabbed my sack, entered tyard and slipped a not before saying sometold all my maids, even those who were cross-eyed:

    “Fear not, my dear, if you keep tiful eyes of yours peeled, no misfortune, no misfortune at all will befall you.”

    I, Srutold, it used to be t eacime Est, I’d fantasize t a man stricken o e a letter t could stir t of an intelligent iful,  ill intact—and set it pounding. And to discover t tter ors,  t, fortify my resolve and forbearance to a my urn. But time Estched.

    I listened to tcer and t and Oryard beneate tree, I s. My fatting silently in t room. I opened and read ter and  till, I gretle more frigulated myself for anding s to make love to me ter,  gently as if it e and sensitive bird, and my ts became muddled. I didn’t read tters again. t occurred to me t if I’d entered  and made love  Alla’d be times a strange t like tered my  struck me the open door.

    “Mama, w are you reading?” he said.

    All rig I didn’t reread tters Est delivered? I lied. I  of reading time, I truly did fold tuck them away in my blouse.

    “Come o my lap,” I said to Orect you, you’ve gotten quite big,” I said and kissed him. “You’re as cold as ice…”

    “You’re so ed, leaning back onto my bosom.

    e ig eacting t igill.

    “I’m feeling tickliser.

    “tell me tan of t you a  most of all?”

    “I’d  S to go away.”

    “ besides? ould you  to her?”

    “No, wo marry you myself.”

    It  aging, losing one’s beauty or even being bereft of   of all calamities, ruly  o be jealous of you. I lo up to see my father.

    “an er seeing for  ed,” I said. “You’ll go to Venice again.”

    “I cannot be certain,” said my fatressed me. Our enemies are apparently quite powerful.”

    “I kno my ouation o misunderstandings and unfounded hopes.”

    “how do you mean?”

    “I ougo be wed as soon as possible.”

    “?” said my fato ,” said my reasonable fat o take  like t, you understand.” he summed up my

    unfortunate situation as follo ty and complicated matters  settle before you can marry again.” After a protracted silence,  t you  to leave me, my dear daughter?”

    “Last nig my  cry tually seen such a dream would have.

    “Like to read a picture, one so read a dream.”

    “ould you consider it appropriate for me to describe my dream?”

    t eacelligent people do—all possible conclusions from tter at hand.

    “By interpreting your dream, I mig your fated to listen to them, will demand more proof.”

    “to force me back…”

    “Because t to ans mean t to let you petition for a divorce.”

    “If s,” I said, “t four years  me a divorce in addition to securing a support allo since o Allaion is not open to us.”

    “Don’t mention te stand-in to me. t’s not a sound venture.”

    “All tanbul  go to nesses to get divorced. Since e, rouble making ends meet?“ ”Are tnesses?“ and immediately grants the divorce.”

    “My dear Sed sucripped you of your reason?”

    “After I’m divorced once and for all, if truly strip me of my reason, you ell me  my husband.”

    My s er her would

    blink rapidly like tig and o find a clever ; 2. because ears of ig, cunningly combining reasons 1 and 2 to give t  soon cry out of sorrow.

    “Are you taking t on account of our book”—yes,  no you  to take th.”

    “My dear fat it you  good-for-nother-in-law?”

    “I don’t  you to abandon me. One day your  return. Even if , ther.”

    “I  noto live in th you.”

    “Darling,  you just no you ed to get married as soon as possible?”

    too  you’re in the wrong.

    “I  t of me. tears and encouraged by trut came to mind, I said:

    “All righen, shall I never be married again?”

    “t for t take you far from me. or, would o live his house?”

    I fell silent. e bot my fat a son-in-lao live ogetifle  belittling of t to be t wife no more.

    “it a fatuation, you kno getting married is practically impossible, don’t you? I don’t  you to get married, and I refuse to grant you permission to do so—”

    “I don’t  to get married, I  a divorce.”

    “—because some tless beast of a man

    you. You know  you, my dear S finishis book.”

    I said noto speak—prompted by tell my fat to  I kne nig  befit a o admit t s  h a slave girl?

    “ t s to marry you?”

    I gazed at t, not out of embarrassment, but out of anger. And recognizing tent of my anger, but not being able to respond in some manner made me even more furious. At t juncture, I imagined my fat ridiculous and disgusting position. I ears when I said:

    “tove, I don’t  it to burn.”

    I crossed to taircase, t looked out onto ting ttress  open and lay doo lie do of tears like a cised! And  is to kno I’m tude, only you, wo my aid.

    A  Orretc upon my bed. s. I sa oo. Pulling o me, I held him.

    “Don’t cry, Moter. “Faturn from the war.”

    “how do you know?”

    ans I forgot my oirely. Before I cuddle up e Or me confess my only pressing concern: I regret  noold you, out of spite, about tter bet lying, but I’m still so embarrassed t it  if you forgot about it. Pretend I never mentioned anyt thus involved, please?

    I AM YOUR BELOVED UNCLEAlas, it’s difficult er, difficult. As s in t room, I could  I could do not look at trying to read, t ten t ter deated t formerly ined. Upon beeous state of its body, bloodied, decomposing and oozing, as it rested in tearfully and mournfully grieve, “Lo, my miserable mortal coil, my dear ched old

    body.” At once, I t of Elegant Effendi’s bitter end at ttom of t urally must ing, and finding  at  in the well.

    aside tra ig so as to  fur and, as I urned to discover S in the doorway.

    “her?”

    “You get back inside. to the funeral.”

    I passed treets, betting  o stand, and time, taking tious steps of an aging man trying not to slip and fall on t-of-t dealt in carriages and y.

    I’m not sure art t ty’s Edirne Gate. At tinate. e miniaturists and calligrap. As I  ing atop tone funeral block, and I felt suco he Allahümme Barik prayer became muddled in my mind.

    After tion sill among all turists and calligrapork and I ten t on some nig in t of oil lamps il morning on my book, ried to convince me of ty of Elegant Effendi’s gilding  en t I’d actually given  no one else is qualified to do ter, Olive gave me a friendly and respectful look before o embrace is a good man—and tures so pleased me t I s,  believed in my book.

    On tairs of tyard gate I found myself beside or Master Osman. e  a loss for range and tense moment. One of to cry and sob, and someone pompously sed, “God is great.”

    “to er Osman asked me for thing.

    to respond “I don’t knoered, and  the

    same question of tanding next to me on tairs, “to e?”

    “Eyüp,” said an ill-tempered, bearded and young dolt.

    “Eyüp,” I said turning to ter, but  tempered dolt  me as if to say, “I understand” in a  let me kno our encounter to last a moment longer t already had.

    it mentioning my influence on Our Sultan’s groerest in Frankisyles of painting, Master Osman  Our Sultan o oversee ting out, embellis and illustration of ted manuscript, an forced t Master Osman to copy a portrait of ian. I knoer Osman o imitate t painter, for o make t strange painting, o torture.” ified.

    Standing in taircase for a  I’d been left quite beinued doairs. I’d barely descended—ever so sloeps he arm and embraced me: Black.

    “t be cold.”

    I  test doubt t took my arm tom of tairs, I told  I’d expect an account later of he workshop.

    “You go aco tion.”

    aken aback, but didn’t let on. t go of my arm ion and h us?

    e’d left ty te. I sao trators, calligrapices s as to, traveled  led doo Eyüp. In t fog, off to t, tan Cy candleanneries and tling slaug served tced over tended to ts cypress-lined cemetery. After er in

    Balat.

    ed, Butterfly approacly broac:

    “Olive and Stork are ty,” ionsy and antagonism, over er Osman. No t to fall on my s t, t treasurer, and under an, ance themselves from me, nay, from us.”

    “ ty ougo persist at t  an artist s illustrate just any scene for money alone. In place of s,  tories ougo be introduced aneo our books. e s forgo turists s loiter at t any old tions of indecency, for a fera kurusan ified.”

    “You’re incriminating yourself senselessly,” I said so  be done ing. “I’m convinced t telier could not ting suc rating a fes t  been depicted previously, at least no  as to be an occasion for enmity.”

    As  s. Elegant Effendi’s murderer ers in t led to tery. I  tinue ion, t  probably, t ed my o pick up some rating and painting. terfly, too, like most of tists en times   pictures t rary to  of vie skill?

    Nay, I t a little terfly, like ter illustrators, obviously o of gratitude: its to miniaturists do terest on t of Our Sultan, t source of extra income ime been tentions, and for t not only for t  my ility tourists ure enougo beelligently, to sincerely find a reason to admire a man to w.

    to relieve t topic of conversation  be revisited, I said, “Oo take t  as t it down.”

    Butterfly smiled sly seeto the cold.”

    Could tually kill a man, I  of envy? Mig  master, a perfect embodiment of talent, o murder? Age means not only straining oneself climbing  also, I gat being so afraid of deat means a lack of desire, entering into a slave girl’s bedc in a fit of excitement, but out of custom. In a burst of intuition, I told o he decision I’d made:

    “I’m not continuing he book any longer.”

    “?” said Butterfly as his expression changed.

    “tune in it. Our Sultan  off to tell Olive and Stork, as well.”

    Per igoones. As t croe, my only clue t t t very moment being loo tensity of tions of bismillai Resulullah.

    “Uncover ely,” someone said.

    te s’ve been eye to eye  smas see anyto t at a grave site, in an entirely different place…A memory: ty years ago, Our Sultan’s grandfato take Cyprus from tians. S Effendi, recalling t ted a commissariat for Mecca and Medina, issued a fated t it e for an island o remain under Cian infidel control. In turn, t task of informing tians of t t surrender to me. As a result, I o tour t t enced by tures ian  of t, trusting in tality displayed by tians, I delivered ty, supercilious fas Our Sultan desired Cyprus. tians  in tily convened, it  even to discuss sucter able. Furious mobs had forced

    me to confine myself to to get past t to strangling me, teers succeeded in escorting me out one of t passageo an exit t opened onto t unlike t for an instant t tall and pale gondolier dressed in  sigion in his eyes.

    Longingly, I dreamed of finis and returning to Venice. I approac: At t, angels are interrogating . ty of my oo mind.

    A croake my arm and accompany me on told ed  t morning to continue  t be completed, .

    I ILL BE CALLED A MURDERERto ttered and disfigured corpse of ill-fated Elegant Effendi and I  more ted, “I  to die  me s so I  fall in. I gasped for air and to my fore breatives, I sensed I miged my sobs and oget suppose t Elegant Effendi and I had been in love.

    I ree until to avoid dratention to myself. A relative of t to  tree and stared deep into my eyes urday“ or ”ednesday‘?““”ednesday“ ed for a time,” I said. .

    tory beo one anot pact, icesurist ed from assistant master to ter, , admiration and love for uoso and auging artistic gift and tellect of a jinn. Early eacices, one of us o ter’s fully beo tfolio full of papers. So desperate o be near  ermine w day.

    Master Osman e. But if o go, it he never-ending

    gossip and tasteless jokes t inevitably filled t master decided t eac master ayed at urdays. er betrayed ting trade—all turist more gifted t a young age, succumbing to t on by a mysterious illness. Elegant Effendi, may  in peace, er, our great master meaningfully and lovingly cuesday” to “Olive,” from “Friday” to “Stork,” and from “Sunday” to “Butterfly,” renaming ted as “Elegant” in allusion to t master must o te Elegant just as o greet all of us back then.

    my eyes migears: Master Osman admired us, and ear ings,  as if alent blossomed  its s hen.

    Noely divided, just like ted by one master edly becomes a murderer, it takes time to adjust. I’ve adopted a second voice, one befitting a murderer, so t I migill carry on as tinued. I am speaking no of my regular life. From time to time, of course, you’ll  become a murderer. But o being “a murderer.” Let no one try to associate tistry to betray my  style, or for t matter, anyt serves to distinguisist from anot individual cer, as some arrogantly claim.

    I do admit t in my ouation, ts a problem. For t speak to me by Master Osman and used by Enis, in no  you to figure out ork. For if you do you  ate to turn me over to torturers of tan’s Commander of the Imperial Guard.

    And, I must mind  and say. Actually, I kno you’re listening to me even e. I can’t afford careless contemplation of my frustrations or ting details of my life. Even ories. I was always mindful of your gaze.

    One side of t I’ve illustrated tens of times faces ed t mytime—ttling, for example, or tiful maidens over , and

    anoto be gazing at t painting. If I do yle and cer, it’s not only  in my crime and in my ry to discover whe color of my words!

    I, too, kno if you catc’ll bring consolation to unfortunate Elegant Effendi’s miserable soul. t on and rees, amid ccers of tanbul, and discovering aneo be alive. Patic Elegant Effendi, soon after  fierce-broely; yet, in ty-five years t rated books for Our Sultan, times o eacy years ago, e fat sultan. But  illustrated plates t o accompany a collection of Fuzuli poems. One summer evening back to andable but illogical desires—apparently a miniaturist ougo feel in ext rating—I came iently listened to entiously recite lines from Fuzuli’s collected tered above us in a frenzy. I still recall a line recited t evening: “I am not me but eternally t illustrate this line.

    I ran to  ive garden ed poetry, noed after a period of years.  oo. From t room, I could ed exclamations, mounting as if ting  brotened intently: t ically destroyed, and er tom of t from to identify t by its torn and tattered clotion of ts pulling Josep into ing t reminds us t envy is tion in life.

    t Black’s eye. t vile scoundrel,  us, like someone o uncover truth.

    “rated suc brot kind of less beast could’ve slaug dare ?”

    ion ears, and I joined  my o  been me, ime ago—I believe it s ain artists inclined to dismiss tecers and ruin trators ensively over; to embelliser, o

    spread t ty  for t out of competition for tions of a ice ory. And t’s dignity,  and e feminine demeanor, but to do ter entirely: Elegant yle, a fanatic about tion of color betration, and in ter Osman, ance, point out tent faults of oturists—mine in particular—le conceit.  quarrel o do  e sensitive: royal miniaturists ly accepting trivial commissions outside t years, after Our Sultan’s interest o , treasurer, all turists started paying visits to tory  of tists e at nigo visit Enishte.

    I  at all bote’s decision to stop   Effendi o your nigo rations after dark? ouldn’t you first determine tities of t illustrator? I  t urists  talented and t skilled in color selection, gilding, page ruling, illustration, face draion; and inue  imagine ty as to talented miniaturist.

    Out of tc fool Black Effendi ery croly dispersing, and o t, and after into a six-oar along ices  t of te, our boats momentarily came so near eac t to lock oars, and I could see clearly t Black ly o end a life. My dear God, you’ve given eac you’ve also made us afraid to exercise it.

    Still, if a man but once overcomes ts, raigirely different person. time  only of t of test trace of evil  evil can be endured, and moreover, t it’s indispensable to an artist. After I killed t miserable excuse of a man, discounting trembling in my ed only a feter, I made use of brig important, realized t I could conjure up ion. But, tion anbul can truly appreciate trations?

    Off terfront near Jibali, from all tefully at Istanbul. t in t t broke abruptly ty is, to  and sin; the more

    cro is, to y’s intellect ougo be measured not by its scurists, calligrap by tted on its dark streets over tless, Istanbul is t intelligent city.

    At t my longboat a little after Black and e  ted t te of a recent fire in tan Me Mosque, topped and excing  like a empted to run to ell  t barbarian, from o protect us, and to ask  true  Effendi an’s trust trations ing tecraitorous and an affront to our religion? And  last large painting?”

    I stood in treet as evening fell and gazed doo jinns, fairies, brigands, to turning o trees. At treet, inside Enisory nut trees, t beautiful , no, why should I drive myself mad?

    I AM A GOLD COINBey-t Ottoman Sultani gold coin and I bear tan, Refuge of t in tork, one of Our Sultan’s great masters,  finisure, t yet been able to embellis to your imagination. My image is  I myself can be found in tork, t illustrious miniaturist. o eacings to all ter artists and assorted guests. Your eyes le  my oer Stork. You’re justified in beter measure of an illustrator’s talent than I.

    In t ter Stork ly forty-seven gold pieces like myself. e’re all in ter Stork, see for yourself, isn’t urists of Istanbul alent among artists and in putting an end to unnecessary disagreements. In t, before  used to coffee and our minds sted miniaturists  satisfied  alented or ree or  in tion of clouds; no, to blo my judgment

    decides everyt ’s more, an air t  ters of .

    In addition to noting t about by my judgment, let me list for you t be exc of a young and beautiful slave girl, o about one-fiftiety -ed c of draed  designs and silver leaf y silver pieces; 120 frese and coffins for tent concubine; one buffalo calf; t Me tabriz and ty of tan’s en jugs of Panayot’s y, and many otunities too numerous to specify.

    Before I arrived  ten days in ty sock of a poor sice. Eac tunate man o me t t go.

    ed all t o me before I came ’d fill volumes. trangers among us,  to tell anyone, and as long as Stork Effendi  take offense, I’ll tell you a secret. Do you s to tell?

    All rig a genuine ty-t Ottoman Sultani gold coin minted at tas. I’m counterfeit. terated gold and brougy-t Ottoman gold. Your sympatanding are much obliged.

    Based on  in Venice, til recently, t tian infidels brougo t and spent ian ducats  same mint. e Ottomans, forever respectful of ten, paid no o t of gold in eac—so long as tion remained tian gold pieces flooded Istanbul. Later, noting t coins o distinguising to Ma, t youty, beloved by all; first, akes into  mout ting it, declares it counterfeit. As a consequence, ake you to ead of one full ian infidels, realizing t terfeit coins presented sucages, decided t t as erfeit Ottoman coins, reasoning t ttomans would be fooled again.

    No me dratention to somete bizarre: ian infidels paint, it’s as if t making a painting but actually creating t ting.  comes to money, s counterfeit.

    e o iron cs, o sco and fro traveled from Venice to Istanbul. I found myself in a money cs proprietor. e ed for a ered, o excer money crickster, declared t o bite to see if it erfeit. So ook t’s coin and tossed it into h.

    inside  t’s coin toman Sultani.  stenc a counterfeit.” , but  manner offended my pride and I lied to ually, my broterfeit.”

    Meaning, “erfeit? I buried it in ty years ago, did a vice like counterfeiting exist back then?”

    I come  of ead of t’s gold coin. “take your gold coin, I don’t  any vile Venetian infidel’s fake money,”  responded ing  ter  from ot’s spirit broke and y silver pieces. to hand began.

    Alloo admit proudly t I’ve spent most of my time in Istanbul o purse, and from saso pocket, as befits an intelligent coin. My  nigo be stored in a jug and languis t it  o me, but for ed long. Many of t to be rid of me as soon as possible, especially if t to come across someone  I’m counterfeit. A broker, not recognizing t I’m counterfeit,  120 silver coins in exce s of anger, sorroience as soon as ed, and ts  subside until ing anottempts to repeatedly sime on account of e and anger, inue all to curse the “immoral” person who had originally conned him.

    Over t seven years in Istanbul, I’ve cimes, and t a , bazaar, mosque, c entered. As I’ve roamed about, I’ve learned t mucold and lies spun in my name ted. I’ve constantly : Notunate  God, but me, and t buy—all to say noty, vulgar and base nature. And t I’m fake are given to even s. As my actual value drops, ap poetry is consolation to life’s miseries. But despite all sucless comparison and tless slander, I’ve realized t a large majority do

    sincerely love me. In tred, sucfelt—even impassioned—affection ougo gladden us all.

    I’ve seen every square incanbul, street by street and district by district; I’ve kno Istanbul in to Manisa. On to be attacked by ted, “Your money or your life!” Panicking, t, able. But tuation quickly greo s “Your ook urns. I don’t dare describe t cramped ’s for t I dislike leaving Istanbul.

    I’ve been anbul. Young girls kiss me as if I s, and in to make certain I’m still tored next to t, at ttom of a small bottle in a  seo a cil sack. I’ve anbul in belts made of camel leat linings made from cian cloticolored ser cro  compartment of a grandfatuck me directly into a ouffed ras of cs. I’ve knoly stood up from table to cill uck me up t in t relax unless t least seven times a day. ticulous Circassian ook us coins out of antly stacked us up into toer unning landscape; and to name names—raveled in maed tan’s palace; I’ve -made bindings, in ted sy, rembling and old. I’ve been redolent of opium dens, candle-makers’ s of all of Istanbul. After experiencing sucement and commotion, a base t im’s t in t and tossed me into  in my face and grunted, “Damn you, it’s all because of you.” I  I ed noto disappear.

    If I didn’t exist, o distinguisist from a bad one, and to curists; t eacs. So I  vanisered t talented and intelligent of miniaturists and made my way here.

    If you tter tork, t hold of me.