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while set aside his good etiquette and said quite rudely：
“Tell her that if we so desire； we’ll force her back here under pressure of the
judge。”
“You really want me to say that？”
Silence。 “Nay；” he said。 The light from the oil lamp illuminated his face；
allowing me to see him lower his head like a guilty child。 It’s because I know
this side of Hasan’s character as well that I have some respect for his feelings
and deliver his letters。 It’s not only for the money； as you might think。
I was leaving the house； and he stopped me at the door。
“Do you let Shekure know how much I love her？” he asked me excitedly and
foolishly。
“Don’t you tell her so in your letters？”
“Tell me how I might convince her and her father？ How might I persuade
them？”
“By being a good person；” I said and walked to the door。
“At this age； it’s too late…” he said with sincere anguish。
“You’ve begun to earn a lot of money； Customs Officer Hasan。 This makes
one a good person…” I said and fled。
The house was so dark and melancholy that the air outside seemed warmer。
The sunlight hit my face。 I wished for Shekure’s happiness。 But I also felt
something for that poor man in that damp； chilly and dark house。 On a whim；
I turned into the Spice Market in Laleli thinking the smells of cinnamon；
saffron and pepper would restore my spirits。 I was mistaken。
At Shekure’s house； after she took up the letters； she immediately asked
after Black。 I told her that the fire of love had mercilessly engulfed his entire
being。 This news pleased her。
94
“Even lonely spinsters busy with their knitting are discussing why Elegant
Effendi might’ve been killed；” I said later； changing the subject。
“Hayriye； make some halva as a present of condolence and take it over to
Kalbiye； poor Elegant Effendi’s widow；” said Shekure。
“All the Erzurumis and quite a crowd of others will be attending his funeral
service；” I said。 “His relatives swear they’ll avenge his spilt blood。”
Shekure had already begun to read Black’s letter。 I looked into her face
intently and angrily。 This woman was probably such a fox that she could
control how her passions were reflected in her face。 As she read I sensed that
my silence pleased her； that she regarded it as my approval of the special
import she gave to Black’s letter。 Shekure finished the letter and smiled at me；
to meet with her satisfaction； I felt forced to ask； “What has he written？”
“Just as in his childhood…He’s in love with me。”
“What are your thoughts？”
“I’m a married woman。 I’m waiting for my husband。”
Contrary to your expectations； the fact that she’d lie to me after asking me
to get involved in her affairs didn’t anger me。 Actually； this ment relieved
me。 If more of the young maidens and women I’ve carried letters for and
advised in the ways of the world attended to details the way Shekure did； they
would’ve lessened the work for us both by half。 More importantly； they
would’ve ended up in better marriages。
“What does the other one write？” I asked anyway。
“I don’t intend to read Hasan’s letter right now；” she answered。 “Does
Hasan know that Black’s returned to Istanbul？”
“He doesn’t even know he exists。”
“Do you speak with Hasan？” she asked； opening wide her beautiful black
eyes。
“As you’ve requested。”
“Yes？”
“He’s in agony。 He’s deeply in love with you。 Even if your heart belongs to
another； it’ll be difficult ever to be free of him now。 By accepting his letters
you’ve greatly encouraged him。 Be wary of him； however。 For not only does he
want to make you return there； but by establishing that his older brother has
95
died； he’s preparing to marry you。” I smiled to soften the weight of these
words and so as not to be reduced to being that malcontent’s mouthpiece。
“What’s the other one say； then？” she asked； but did she herself know
whom she was inquiring after？
“The miniaturist？”
“My mind’s all ajumble；” she said suddenly； perhaps afraid of her own
thoughts。 “It seems that matters will bee even more confused。 My father’s
growing older。 What’ll bee of us； of these fatherless children？ I sense an
evil approaching； that the Devil is preparing some mischief for us。 Esther； tell
me something that will hearten me。”
“Don’t you fret in the slightest； my dearest Shekure；” I said as emotion
welled up within me。 “You’re truly intelligent； you’re very beautiful。 One day
you’ll sleep in the same bed with your handsome husband； you’ll cuddle with
him； and having forgotten all your worries； you’ll be happy。 I can read this in
your eyes。”
Such affection rose within me that my eyes filled with tears。
“Fine； but which one will bee my husband？”
“Isn’t that wise heart of yours giving you an answer？”
“It’s because I don’t understand what my heart is saying that I’m
dispirited。”
For a moment it occurred to me that Shekure didn’t trust me at all； that
she was masterfully concealing her distrust in order to learn what I knew； that
she was trying to arouse my pity。 When I saw she wouldn’t be writing a
response to the letters at present； I grabbed my sack； entered the courtyard
and slipped away—but not before saying something I told all my maids； even
those who were cross…eyed：
“Fear not； my dear； if you keep those beautiful eyes of yours peeled； no
misfortune； no misfortune at all will befall you。”
96
I； SHEKURE
If truth be told； it used to be that each time Esther the clothier paid a visit； I’d
fantasize that a man stricken with love would finally be roused to write a
letter that could stir the heart of an intelligent woman like myself—beautiful；
well…bred and widowed； yet with her honor still intact—and set it pounding。
And to discover that the letter was from one of the usual suitors； would； at the
very least； fortify my resolve and forbearance to await my husband’s return。
But these days； every time Esther leaves； I bee confused and feel all the
more wretched。
I listened to the sounds of my world。 From the kitchen came the bubbling
sound of boiling water and the smell of lemons and onions。 Hayriye was
boiling zucchini。 Shevket and Orhan were frolicking and playing “swordsman”
in the courtyard beneath the pomegranate tree； I heard their shouts。 My father
was sitting silently in the next room。 I opened and read Hasan’s letter and was
reassured that there was no cause for alarm。 Still； I grew a little more
frightened of him； and congratulated myself for withstanding his efforts to
make love to me when we shared the same house。 Next； I read Black’s letter；
holding it gently as if it were some delicate and sensitive bird； and my
thoughts became muddled。 I didn’t read the letters