I ers e afraid of o conclude t not a single  me , I sensed t t ting appearance at te sent me to rators and o come t made me quite uneasy.

    In te asked me to sit before o describe traits an, Refuge of ted quite a number of palazzos, cood before traits. ed on stretced directly onto . tinctive, unique oxicated by ty, tness—even severity—of t lig seemed to fall on ting from their eyes.

    “As if a virulent plague ruck, everyone  made,” ial men ed traits painted as a symbol, a memento of t alanding before us, announcing tence, nay, ty and distinction.”

    tling, as if  of jealousy, ambition or greed. t times, as alked about traits ly liged.

    Portraiture agion among affluent men, princes and great families  t even  tance, in a painting of t. Step among tearful graveside mourners, tour—in a state of pure ention and conceit—of tings , in ting St. Peter curing t t tunate one , trong-as-an-ox brote . time in a piece depicting tion of t wuffed  lunch.

    “Some  to be included in a painting,” said my Enisalking about temptations of Satan, “t to be portrayed as a servant filling goblets in toning an adulteress, or a murderer, his hands drenched in blood.”

    Pretending not to understand, I said, “Exactly trated books t recount ancient Persian legends. Or amerlane, erory of hüsrev and Shirin.”

    as the house?

    “It’s as if tian paintings o frige later. “And it isn’t enoug y and money of t us to kno simply existing in terious event. ttempting to terrify us tempting to terrify us by being creatures of mystery.”

    ten lost in te portrait gallery of a lunatic collector ate raits of all t personages in Frankisory from kings to cardinals, and from soldiers to poets: “able  left me alone to roam as I  tant infidels—most of ained tance in t of raits made. tinguis for a moment among tings I felt flaent. ed in t seemed, I’d better understand his world.”

    ened because ood—and per Islamic artistry, perfected and securely establisers of ,  its end on account of traiture. “ oo ed to feel extraordinary, different and unique,”  rongly drao ’s as if t before God, like considering oneself of utmost importance, like situating oneself at ter of the world.”

    ter, tists made use of as if playing a prideful ced ed Sultan—but could in fact become a force meant to serve our religion, bringing under its sway all w.

    I learned t ted manuscript e, o Istanbul from Venice, suggested it  indeed for Our Sultan to be t of a portrait in tyle. But after ook exception, a book containing pictures of Our Sultan and ts t represented him was agreed upon.

    “It is tory t’s essential,” our  and most Glorious Sultan iful illustration elegantly completes tory. An illustration t does not complement a story, in t a false idol. Since  possibly believe in an absent story, urally begin believing in ture itself. t t  on before

    Our Prop, peace and blessings be upon royed t as part of a story, o depict tion, for example, or t insolent dhere?”

    “By exposing tion’s beauty and uniqueness.”

    “In t of your scene, tuate t ter of the page?”

    “I s aking me.”

    filled my Enision of situating at ter of t God ended.

    “ter,” Our Sultan  to ex a picture in uated a d ure could never be displayed: after a ions. If I believed,  t Jesus  God could be observed in t  in  I accept tion of mankind in full detail and ex sucand t, eventually, ure t is  you?”

    My Enisood it quite hinking.”

    “For tan remarked, “I could never allorait to be displayed.”

    “tly itter.

    It urn to be frightened now.

    “Nonet is my desire t my portrait be made in tyle of ters,” Our Sultan  on. “Sucrait ever t book migo tell me.”

    “In an instant of surprise and aement,” said my Eniso become someone else.

    “an ordered me to start  ougo be prepared as a present for tian Doge,  once again. Once ted, it ed Sultan, in ted t I prepare the

    illuminated manuscript in utmost secrecy, primarily to conceal its purpose as an olive brancended to tians, but also to avoid aggravating e of great elation and so secrecy, I embarked upon ture.”

    I AM YOUR BELOVED UNCLEAnd so it  Friday morning, I began to describe t ain Our Sultan’s portrait painted in tian style. I broacopic to Black by recounting  it up an and o fund to e tories—  to accompany trations.

    I told ed most of trations and t t picture  clever of miniaturists, Stork, illustrate tree representing tan’s ure of Satan and a  to spirit us far far aer miniaturists depict ty,” I told Black, “t if you sa once, you’d knoraig text ougo be. Poetry and painting, o eacher, as you well know.”

    For a old myself not to be taken in by  attention and o elope ill, I could rely on nobody else to finish my book.

    Returning togetest of innovations manifest in tings of tian masters. “If,” I said, “end to make our paintings from tive of pedestrians excries and regarding t is, if end to illustrate from treet,  for—as t is, in fact, most prevalent there: shadows.”

    “ shadow?” asked Black.

    From time to time, as my nepened, I perceived impatience in o fiddle  . At times, ake up toke tove. No ed to lo poker onto my o move t of illustrating aray ters of  and tire tradition of painting; because I’d duped Our Sultan into already doing so. Occasionally, Black  dead still for long stretco mine. I could imagine o tried to explain to , about trees, about t falling onto t ting snoake: It proved only t our former

    filial relationsient sufferance of tings of a demented old man aken ty and passion for kno an old man  of Black’s love. tries and cities t my nepraveled tired of me, and I pitied  only because I  alloer all, t because I dreamed of paintings ransgressed ts of ters of . Furt tion, I imagined my deat his hands.

    I , rary, I tried to frig fear e to ting I’d requested of ures,” I said, “one ougo be able to situate oneself at ter of trators brilliantly depicted Death for me. Behold.”

    to sings I’d secretly commissioned from ter miniaturists over t year. At first, ad sened. ood t tion of Deat could be found in many Book of Kings volumes—from tation of Siyavusem’s murder of Su realizing terested in t. Among tures t depicted te Sultan Süleyman  sad colors, combining a compositional sensibility inspired by ttempt at ser. I pointed out terplay of cloud and  Deat like traits of infidels I ian palazzos; all of tely yearned to be rendered distinctly. “t to be so distinct and different, and t t,” I said, “look, look into t fear Deat rat in to be one-of-a-kind, unique and exceptional. Look at tration and e an account of it. Give voice to Deat you e to traightaway.”

    ared at ture in silence. “ed ter.

    “Butterfly.  talented of t. Master Osman h and awed by him for years.”

    “I’ve seen rougion of a dog at toryteller performs,” Black said.

    “My illustrators, most of o Master Osman and take a dim vie nigrations  time Our Sultan ian artist,  my be, paint rait. ter, er Osman make a copy of t

    oil painting. Forced to imitate tian painter, Master Osman rait t came of it. ified.”

    All day long, I sure—except tration t I cannot, for e. I discussed temperaments of turists, and I enumerated ted out to tive” and s in tian pictures alked about ty t unfortunate Elegant Effendi ion and out of jealousy over h.

    As Black returned  nig  morning as promised and t en to me recount tories t itute my book. I listened to steps fading beyond te; to t t seemed to make my sleepless and troubled murderer stronger and more devilishan me and my book.

    I closed tyard gate tiger basin t I used as a basil planter bee as I did eac. Before I reduced tove to smoldering as to bed, I glanced up to see Se gohe blackness.

    “Are you absolutely certain t you  to marry him?” I asked.

    “No, dear Fatten about marriage. Besides, I am married.”

    “If you still  to marry o give you my blessing now.”

    “I o be o him.”

    “hy?”

    “Because it’s against your y, I desire nobody t you do not .”

    I noticed, momentarily, tove reflected in  out of un anger; yet trace of offense in her voice.

    “Black is in love .

    “I know.”

    “ened to all I o say today not out of ing, but out of his love for you.”

    “e your book, t matters.”

    “Your  return one day,” I said.

    “I’m not certain  tonig my urn.  I’ve dreamt seems to be trut’ve killed urned to dust.” S statement lest t inge of anger.

    “If to kill me,” I said, “I  you to finiso  you will.”

    “I give my e your book?”

    “Black! You can ensure t he does so.”

    “You are already ensuring t her,” she said. “You have no need for me.”

    “Agreed, but o me because of you. If t be afraid to continue on.”

    “In t case,  be able to marry me,” said my clever daughter, smiling.

    ail about ire conversation, I noticed not an occasional glimmer in anding tensely facing one anothe room.

    “Do you communicate o contain myself.

    “hing?”

    A long agonizing silence passed. A dog barked in tance. I . So cry, and said t sroked o  o bed next to ted back over t tain t Sh Black.