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me an ”Erzurumi；“ I’ve been going to that den of vile unbelievers so others
might discount this rumor。”
“Master Osman said you often acted as if apologizing for your talent and
proficiency。”
“What else did he say about me？”
“That you’d paint absurd； minute pictures on grains of rice and fingernails
so that others would be convinced you’d forsaken life for art。 He said you were
always trying to please others because you were embarrassed by the great gifts
Allah had bestowed upon you。”
389
“Master Osman is on Bihzad’s level；” I said with sincerity。 “What else？”
“He listed your faults without the slightest hesitation；” said the wretch。
“Let’s hear my faults then。”
“He said that despite your prodigious talent； you painted not for the love of
art but to ingratiate yourself。 Supposedly； what most motivated you while
painting was imagining the pleasure an observer would feel； whereas； you
should’ve painted for the pleasure of painting itself。”
It singed my heart that Master Osman so brazenly revealed what he
thought about me to a man of such diminished spirit； one who devoted his
life； not to art； but to being a clerk； writing letters and hollow flattery。 Black
continued：
“The great masters of old； Master Osman claimed； would never renounce
the styles and methods they cultivated through self…sacrifice to art just for the
sake of a new shah’s authority； the whims of a new prince or the tastes of a
new age； thus； to avoid being forced to alter their styles and methods； they’d
heroically blind themselves。 Meanwhile； you’ve enthusiastically and
dishonorably imitated the European masters for the pages of my Enishte’s
book； with the excuse that it’s the will of Our Sultan。”
“The great Head Illuminator Master Osman most certainly meant no evil by
this；” I said。 “Allow me to put some linden tea on the boil for you； my dear
guest。”
I passed into the adjoining room。 My beloved tossed over my head the
nightgown of Chinese silk she was wearing； which she’d purchased from
Esther the clothier； then mockingly parroted me； “Allow me to put some
linden tea on the boil for you； my dear guest；” and placed her hand on my
cock。
I took out the agate…handled sword hidden among rose…scented sheets at
the bottom of the chest on the floor nearest our roll…up mattress； which she’d
hopefully spread out； and drew the weapon from its sheath。 Its edge was so
sharp that if you tossed a silk handkerchief over it； the sword would easily cut
through it； if you placed a sheet of gold leaf upon it； the edges of the resulting
pieces would be as straight as any cut with a ruler。
Concealing the sword as best I could； I returned to my atelier。 Black Effendi
was so pleased with his interrogation of me that he was still circling the red
cushion； dagger in hand。 I placed a half…finished illustration upon the cushion。
390
“Take a look at this；” I said。 He knelt out of curiosity； trying to understand the
picture。
I stepped behind him； drew my sword and in one motion lowered him to
the ground； pinning him with my weight。 His dagger fell away。 Grabbing him
by the hair； I pushed his head against the ground and pressed my sword to his
neck from below。 I flattened out Black’s delicate body and pressed him
facedown beneath my heavy body； using my chin and one free hand to push
his head so it nearly touched the sharp point of the sword。 My one hand was
full of his dirty hair； the other held the sword to the delicate skin of his throat。
Wisely； he didn’t move at all； because I could have finished him then and
there。 Being this close to his curly hair； to the nape of his neck—which
might’ve invited an insulting slap at another time—and to his ugly ears
enraged me all the more。 “I’m using all my restraint to keep from doing away
with you this instant；” I whispered into his ear as if divulging a secret。
That he listened to me like an obedient child without making a peep
pleased me： “You’ll recognize this legend from the Book of Kings；” I whispered。
“Feridun Shah； in error； bequeaths the worst of his lands to his two older sons
and the best； Persia； to Iraj； the youngest。 Tur； bent on revenge； dupes his
younger brother； Iraj； of whom he is jealous； before he cuts Iraj’s throat； he
grabs his hair just as I am doing now and lies on top of him with all his
weight。 Do you feel the weight of my body？”
He gave no answer； but from his eyes； which stared blankly like those of a
sacrificial lamb； I could tell that he was listening； and I was struck with
inspiration： “I’m not only faithful to Persian styles and methods in painting；
but also in beheadings。 I’ve also seen another version of this much loved scene
that describes Shah Siyavush’s death。”
I explained to Black； who listened silently； how Siyavush made preparations
for avenging his brothers； how he burned down his entire palace； all his
belongings and property； how he forgivingly parted from his wife； mounted
his steed and went to war； how he lost the battle and was dragged by his hair
along the ground before being laid out facedown “just as you are now；” and
how a knife was pressed against his throat； how there erupted an argument
between his friends and enemies over whether they should kill him or let him
free and how the defeated king； his face in the dirt； listened to his captors。
Then I asked him； “Are you fond of that illustration？ Geruy es up behind
Siyavush； as I have to you； gets on top of him； rests his sword against his neck；
grabs a fistful of hair and cuts his throat。 Your red blood； soon to flow； makes
black dust rise from the dry earth； where later still； a flower will bloom。”
391
I fell quiet and from distant streets we could hear the Erzurumis screaming
as they ran。 The terror outside at once brought the two of us； lying one on top
of the other； closer。
“But in all those pictures；” I added； pulling harder on Black’s hair； “one can
sense the difficulty of elegantly drawing two men who despise each other yet
whose bodies； like ours； have bee as one。 It’s as if the chaos of treachery；
envy and battle that es just before the magical and magnificent moment
of beheading has too fully permeated those pictures。 Even the greatest masters
of Kazvin would have difficulty drawing two men on top of each other； they’d
confuse everything。 Whereas you and I； see for yourself； we’re much more tidy
and elegant。”
“The blade is cutting；” he whimpered。
“I’m much obliged for your polite words； my dear man； but it’s doing no
such thing。 I’m being quite careful。 I wouldn’t do anything to ruin the beauty
of our pose。 In the scenes of love； death and war； wherein the great masters of
old rendered intertwined bodies as if they were one； they were able