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my name is red-我的名字叫红-第112章

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which  we  should  prostrate  ourselves。  Is  man  important  enough  to  warrant 
being  drawn  in  every  detail;  including  his  shadow?  If  the  houses  on  a  street 
were  rendered  according  to  man’s  false  perception  that  they  gradually 
diminish  in  size  as  they  recede  into  the  distance;  wouldn’t  man  then 
effectively  be  usurping  Allah’s  place  at  the  center  of  the  world?  Well;  Allah; 
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almighty and omnipotent; would know better than I。 But surely it’s absurd on 
the  face  of  it  to  credit  me  with  the  idea  of  these  portraits;  I;  who  having 
refused to prostrate myself before man suffered untold pain and isolation; I; 
who fell from God’s grace to bee the subject of curses。 It would be more 
reasonable to hold me responsible; as some mullahs and preachers do; for all 
the children who play with themselves and everyone who farts。 
I have one last ment on this subject; but my words aren’t for men who 
can’t  think  beyond  their  eagerness  to  show  off;  their  carnal  desires;  lust  for 
money  or  other  absurd  passions!  Only  God;  in  His  infinite  wisdom;  will 
understand me: Was it not You who instilled man with pride by making the 
angels bow before him? Now they regard themselves as Your angels were made 
to  regard  them;  men  are  worshiping  themselves;  placing  themselves  at  the 
center of the world。 Even your most devoted servants want to be depicted in 
the style of the Frankish masters。 I know it as well as I know my own name 
that this narcissism will end in their forgetting You entirely。 And I’m the one 
who’ll be blamed。 
How might I convince you that I don’t take all of this to heart? Naturally; 
by standing firmly on my own two feet despite centuries of merciless stonings; 
curses; damnings and denouncements。 If only my angry and shallow enemies; 
who never tire of condemning me; would remember that it was the Almighty 
Himself  who  granted  me  life  until  Judgment  Day;  while  allotting  them  no 
more  than  sixty  or  seventy  years。  If  I  were  to  advise  them  that  they  could 
extend this period by drinking coffee; I knoe; because it 
was Satan speaking; would do the exact opposite and refuse coffee entirely; or 
worse yet; stand on their heads and try pouring it into their asses。 
Don’t laugh。 It’s not the content; but the form of thought that counts。 It’s 
not what a miniaturist paints; but his style。 Yet these things should be subtle。 I 
was going to conclude with a love story; but it’s gotten quite late。 The honey…
tongued master storyteller who’s given me voice tonight promises to tell this 
story  of  love  when  he  hangs  up  the  picture  of  a  woman  the  day  after 
tomorrow; on Wednesday night。 
 
 
   
316 
 
I; SHEKURE 
 
I dreamed that my father was telling me inprehensible things; and it was 
so terrifying that I woke up。 Shevket and Orhan were clinging tightly to me on 
either  side;  and  their  warmth  made  me  sweat。  Shevket  had  his  hand  on  my 
stomach。 Orhan was resting his sweaty head on my bosom。 Somehow; I was 
able to get out of bed and leave the room without waking them。 
I crossed the wide hallway and silently opened Black’s door。 In the light cast 
by my candle; I couldn’t see him; only the edge of his white mattress which lay 
like  a  shrouded  body  in  the  middle  of  the  dark;  cold  room。  The  candlelight 
seemed unable to reach the mattress。 
When I brought my hand even closer; the reddish…orange light of the candle 
struck Black’s weary; unshaven face and naked shoulders。 I drew near to him。 
Just as Orhan did; he slept curled up like a pill bug; and he wore the expression 
of a sleeping maiden。 
“This  is  my  husband;”  I  said  to  myself。  He  seemed  so  distant;  so  much  a 
stranger; that I was filled with sorrow。 If I’d had a dagger with me; I would’ve 
murdered  him—no;  I  didn’t  actually  want  to  do  such  a  thing;  I  was  only 
wondering;  the  way  children  do;  how  it’d  be  if  I  killed  him。  I  didn’t  believe 
he’d lived for years through thoughts of me; neither in his innocent childlike 
expression。 
Prodding his shoulder with the edge of my bare foot; I woke him。 When he 
saw  me;  he  was  startled  more  than  enchanted  and  excited;  if  only  for  a 
moment; just as I’d hoped。 Before he’d pletely e to his senses; I said: 
“I  dreamed  I  saw  my  father。  He  confided  something  horrible  to  me:  You 
were the one who killed him…” 
“Weren’t we together when your father was murdered?” 
“I’m aware of this;” I said。 “But you knew that my father would be at home 
all alone。” 
“I did not。 You were the one who sent the children out with Hayriye。 Only 
Hayriye; and perhaps Esther; knew about it。 And as for whoever else might’ve 
known; you’d have a better idea than I。” 
“There are times I feel an inner voice is about to tell me why everything has 
gone  so  badly;  the  secret  of  all  of  our  misfortune。  I  open  my  mouth  so  that 
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voice might speak; but as in a dream; I make no sound。 You’re no longer the 
good and naive Black of my childhood。” 
“That naive Black was driven away by you and your father。” 
“If you’ve married me to take revenge on my father; you’ve acplished 
your goal。 Maybe this is why the children don’t like you。” 
“I  know;”  he  said  without  sorrow。  “Before  going  to  bed  you  were 
downstairs for a while。 They were chanting ”Black; Black; my ass’s crack;“ loud 
enough so I could hear。” 
“You should’ve given them a beating;” I said; at first half…wishing he’d done 
so。 Then I added in a panic; “If you raise a hand against them; I’ll kill you。” 
“Get into bed;” he said。 “Or you’ll freeze to death。” 
“Maybe  I’ll  never  get  into  your  bed。  Maybe  we’ve  made  a  mistake  by 
getting married。 They say our ceremony has no legitimacy before the law。 Do 
you  know  I  heard  Hasan’s  footsteps  before  I  fell  asleep?  It’s  not  surprising; 
when I was living in the house of my late husband; I heard Hasan’s footsteps 
for  years。  The  children  like  him。  And  he’s  merciless;  that  one。  He  has  a  red 
sword; take care to guard yourself against it。” 
I  saw  something  so  weary  and  so  stern  in  Black’s  eyes  that  I  knew  I 
wouldn’t be able to scare him。 
“Of the two of us; you’re the one with more hope and the one with more 
sadness;”  I  said。  “I’m  just  struggling  not  to  be  unhappy  and  to  protect  my 
children; whereas you’re stubbornly trying to prove yourself。 It’s not because 
you love me。” 
He went on at length about how much he loved me; how he always thought 
only of me in desolate caravansaries; on barren mountains and during snowy 
nights。  If  he  hadn’t  said  these  things;  I  would’ve  awakened  the  children  and 
returned  to  my  former  husband’s  house。  Because  I  had  the  urge;  I  said  the 
following: 
“Sometimes it seems that my former husband might return at any time。 It’s 
not  that  I  fear  being  caught  in  the  middle  of  the  night  with  you  or  being 
caught 
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