按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页,按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页,按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部!
————未阅读完?加入书签已便下次继续阅读!
beautiful horse。 Naturally; by “the world’s most beautiful horse;” I knew that
Our Sultan meant the most splendid of the horses that had been depicted
thousands of times in Persia; in keeping with all of the formulas; models and
poses of yore。 But why?
Of course; there were those who didn’t want me to win the purse of gold。 If
they’d told me to draw your average horse; it’s mon knowledge that
nobody’s picture could pete with mine。 Who was it that had duped Our
Sultan? Our Sovereign; despite the endless gossip of all of those jealous artists;
knows full well that I am the most talented of His miniaturists。 He admires my
illustrations。
My hand abruptly and angrily sprang to action as if wanting to rise above
all of these vexing considerations; and in one concentrated effort; I drew a true
horse beginning from the tip of its hoof。 You might see one like this on the
street or in battle。 Weary; but controlled…Next; in the same fit of anger; I
dashed off a spahi cavalryman’s horse; and this one was even better。 None of
the miniaturists of the book arts workshop could draw such beautiful animals。
I was about to draw another from memory when the boy from the palace said;
“One is enough。”
He was about to grab the sheet and leave; but I restrained him because I
knew full well; as I know my own name; that these scoundrels would be giving
up a purse of gold coins for these horses。
If I illustrate the way I want to; they won’t give me the gold! If I can’t win
the gold; my name will be tarnished forever。 I stopped to think。 “Just wait;” I
said to the boy。 I went inside and returned with two incredibly shiny
302
counterfeit Veian gold pieces; which I proceeded to give to the boy: He was
afraid; his eyes widened。 “You’re as brave as a lion;” I said。
I removed one of the notebooks of forms that I kept hidden from the eyes
of the world。 This is where I secretly made copies of the most beautiful
illustrations that I’d seen over the years。 Not to mention the copies that the
chief of the dwarfs; Jafer; in the treasury would make of the best trees;
dragons; birds; hunters and warriors from the pages of volumes locked away;
that is; if you gave him ten gold pieces; the rogue。 My notebook is excellent;
not for those who want to see the actual world in which they live through
pictures and decoration; but for those who want to recall the fables of old。
Flipping through the pages while showing the images to the pageboy; I
selected the best of the horses。 I briskly poked holes over the lines of that
picture with a needle。 Next; I placed a clean sheet of paper under the stencil。 I
gradually sprinkled a liberal amount of coal dust on top; then shook it so the
dust would pass through the holes。 I lifted the stencil。 The coal dust; dot by
dot; had transferred the beautiful horse’s entire shape to the sheet below。 It
was a pleasure to behold。
I grabbed my pen。 With an inspiration that suddenly welled up within me; I
elegantly connected the dots with quick and decisive strokes; such that as I was
drawing the horse’s belly; graceful neck; nose and rump; I lovingly felt the
horse within me。 “There it is;” I said。 “The world’s most beautiful horse。 Not
one of those fools could draw this。”
So the boy from the palace would believe this as well; and so he wouldn’t
explain to Our Sultan how I’d been inspired to draw this picture; I gave him
three more counterfeit coins。 I implied that I would give him even more if I
ended up winning the gold。 Furthermore; he also imagined; I believe; that he
might soon be able to catch sight of my wife once again; whom he’d leered at
open…mouthed。 There are many who believe you can tell a good miniaturist by
the horse he draws; however; to be the best miniaturist; it’s not enough to
make the best horse; you must also convince Our Sultan and His circle of
sycophants that you are indeed the best miniaturist。
When I draw a magnificent horse; I am who I am; nothing more。
303
I WILL BE CALLED A MURDERER
Were you able to determine who I am from the way I sketched a horse?
As soon as I heard I was invited to make a horse; I knew this was no
petition: They wanted to catch me through my illustration。 I’m perfectly
aware that the horse sketches I’d drawn on rough paper were found on poor
Elegant Effendi’s body。 But I have no fault or style by which they might
discover me through the horses I’ve made。 Though I was as certain of this as I
could be; I was in a panic while rendering the horse。 Had I done something
incriminating when I made the horse for Enishte? I had to depict a new horse
this time。 I thought of pletely different things。 I “restrained” myself and
became another。
But who am I? Am I an artist who would suppress the masterpieces I was
capable of in order to fit the style of the workshop or an artist who would one
day triumphantly depict the horse deep within himself?
Suddenly and with terror; I felt the existence of that triumphant miniaturist
within me。 It was as if I were being watched by another soul; and; in short; I
was ashamed。
I quickly knew that I wouldn’t be able to remain at home; and bolting
outside; I walked briskly down the darkened streets。 As Sheikh Osman Baba
wrote in his Lives of the Saints; in order for a genuine wandering dervish to
escape the devil within; he must roam his entire life without remaining
anywhere too long。 After roaming from city to city for sixty…seven years; he
tired of running and surrendered to the Devil。 This is the age when master
miniaturists attain blindness; or the darkness of Allah; the age when they
involuntarily achieve a style; while freeing themselves of all intimations of
style。
I wandered through the Chicken…Sellers Market in Bayazid; through the
empty square of the slave market; amid the pleasant aromas of soup and
pudding shops; as if searching。 I passed the closed doors of barbershops;
clothes pressers; an old bread baker who was counting his money and looking
at me in surprise; I passed a grocer’s shop smelling of pickles and salted fish;
and since my eyes were taken only by colors; I walked into a herbs and notions
shop where something was being weighed; and in the light of a lamp; stared
passionately; the way one looks at one’s beloved; at the sacks of coffee; ginger;
saffron and cinnamon; the colorful cans of gum mastic; the aniseed whose
scent wafted from the counter; and at mounds of brown and black cumin。
304
Sometimes I want to put everything into my mouth; sometimes I want to fill a
page with a picture of all creation。
I walked into the place where I’d filled my stomach twice before in the last
week; which I’d personally named the