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my name is red-我的名字叫红-第39章

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royal  miniaturists  who  moonlighted;  secretly  accepting  trivial  missions 
outside the auspices of the palace。 In recent years; after Our Sultan’s interest 
had  begun  to  wane  and;  along  with  it;  the  money  ing  from  the  Head 
Treasurer; all the miniaturists started paying visits to the two…story houses of 
the crass young pashas—and the best of the artists would go late at night to 
visit Enishte。 
I wasn’t at all bothered by Enishte’s decision to stop working on his—on 
our—book  or  his  excuse  that  it  was  ill…omened。  He  had;  of  course;  guessed 
that the murderer who did away with brainless Elegant Effendi was one of us 
who were embellishing his book。 Put yourself in his shoes: Would you invite a 
111 
 
murderer  to  your  house  each  fortnight  to  work  on  illustrations  after  dark? 
Wouldn’t  you  first  determine  the  identities  of  the  murderer  and  the  best 
illustrator? I have no doubt that he’ll quickly deduce which of the miniaturists 
was  the  most  talented  and  the  most  skilled  in  color  selection;  gilding;  page 
ruling;  illustration;  face  drawing  and  page  position;  and  having  done  so; 
he’ll continue working with me alone。 I can’t imagine he’ll be so petty as to 
think  of  me  as  a  mon  murderer  rather  than  a  genuinely  talented 
miniaturist。 
Out of the corner of my eye I am watching that fool Black Effendi whom 
Enishte  brought  with  him。  When  these  two  broke  away  from  the  cemetery 
crowd  presently  dispersing;  and  walked  down  to  the  Eyüp  quay;  I  followed 
them。 They boarded a four…oared longboat; and afterward; I got into a six…oar 
along with a few young apprentices who’d forgotten about the deceased and 
the  funeral  and  were  making  merry。  Within  sight  of  the  Phanar  Gate;  our 
boats momentarily came so near each other that they were about to lock oars; 
and  I  could  see  clearly  that  Black  was  earnestly  whispering  to  Enishte。  I 
thereupon thought how easy it was to end a life。 My dear God; you’ve given 
each of us this unbelievable power; but you’ve also made us afraid to exercise 
it。 
Still;  if  a  man  but  once  overes  this  fear  and  acts;  he  straightaway 
bees  an  entirely  different  person。  There  was  a  time  when  I  was  terrified 
not  only  of  the  Devil;  but  of  the  slightest  trace  of  evil  within  me。  Now; 
however;  I  have  the  sense  that  evil  can  be  endured;  and  moreover;  that  it’s 
indispensable  to  an  artist。  After  I  killed  that  miserable  excuse  of  a  man; 
discounting the trembling in my hands which lasted only a few days; I drew 
better; I made use of brighter and bolder colors; and most important; realized 
that  I  could  conjure  up  wonders  in  my  imagination。  But;  this  begs  the 
question how many men in Istanbul can truly appreciate the magnificence of 
my illustrations? 
Off the waterfront near Jibali; from all the way in the middle of the Golden 
Horn; I gazed spitefully at Istanbul。 The snow…capped domes shone bright in 
the  sunlight  that  broke  abruptly  through  the  clouds。  The  larger  and  more 
colorful  a  city  is;  the  more  places  there  are  to  hide  one’s  guilt  and  sin;  the 
more crowded it is; the more people there are to hide behind。 A city’s intellect 
ought to be measured not by its scholars; libraries; miniaturists; calligraphers 
and schools; but by the number of crimes insidiously mitted on its dark 
streets over thousands of years。 By this logic; doubtless; Istanbul is the world’s 
most intelligent city。 
112 
 
At the Unkapan? quay; I left my longboat a little after Black and his Enishte 
had left theirs。 I was behind them as they leaned on one another and mounted 
the  hill。  At  the  site  of  a  recent  fire  in  the  shadow  of  the  Sultan  Mehmet 
Mosque;  they  stopped  and  exchanged  parting  words。  Enishte  Effendi  was 
alone; and he appeared for an instant like a helpless old man。 I was tempted to 
run  to  him  and  tell  him  what  that  barbarian;  from  whose  funeral  we  were 
returning;  had  slanderously  confided  in  me;  I  was  going  to  confess  what  I’d 
done  to  protect  us;  and  to  ask  him:  “Is  it  true  what  Elegant  Effendi  had 
claimed?  Are  we  abusing  Our  Sultan’s  trust  through  the  illustrations  we’ve 
made? Are our painting techniques traitorous and an affront to our religion? 
And have you finished that last large painting?” 
I stood in the middle of the snowy street as evening fell and gazed down the 
dark road which had been abandoned along with me to jinns; fairies; brigands; 
thieves; to the grief of fathers and children returning home and to the sorrow 
of  snow…covered  trees。  At  the  end  of  the  street;  inside  Enishte  Effendi’s 
grandiose two…story house; beneath the roof; which I can now see through the 
bare branches of the chestnut trees; there lives the most beautiful woman in 
the world。 But; no; why should I drive myself mad? 
 
 
   
113 
 
I AM A GOLD COIN 
 
Behold!  I  am  a  twenty…two…carat  Ottoman  Sultani  gold  coin  and  I  bear  the 
glorious insignia of His Excellency Our Sultan; Refuge of the World。 Here; in 
the  middle  of  the  night  in  this  fine  coffeehouse  overe  with  funereal 
melancholy;  Stork;  one  of  Our  Sultan’s  great  masters;  has  just  finished 
drawing my picture; though he hasn’t yet been able to embellish me with gold 
wash—I’ll leave that to your imagination。 My image is here before you; yet I 
myself  can  be  found  in  the  money  purse  of  your  dear  brother;  Stork;  that 
illustrious  miniaturist。  He’s  rising  now;  removing  me  from  his  purse  and 
showing me off to each of you。 Hello; hello; greetings to all the master artists 
and assorted guests。 Your eyes widen as you behold my glimmer; you thrill as I 
shimmer in the light of the oil lamp; and finally; you bristle with envy at my 
owner;  Master  Stork。  You’re  justified  in  behaving  so;  for  there’s  no  better 
measure of an illustrator’s talent than I。 
In the past three months; Master Stork has earned exactly forty…seven gold 
pieces  like  myself。  We’re  all  in  this  money…purse  and  Master  Stork;  see  for 
yourself;  isn’t  hiding  us  from  anyone;  he  knows  there’s  none  among  the 
miniaturists  of  Istanbul  who  earns  more  than  he  does。  I  take  pride  in  being 
recognized  as  a  measure  of  talent  among  artists  and  in  putting  an  end  to 
unnecessary disagreements。 In the past; before we got used to coffee and our 
minds   sharpened;   these   dim…witted   miniaturists   weren’t   satisfied   with 
spending their evenings arguing about who was the most talented or who had 
the best sense of color; who could draw the best tree or who was most expert 
in  the  depiction  of  clouds;  no;  they’d  also  e  to  blows  over  such  issues; 
knocking out each other’s teeth in the process。 Now that my judgment decides 
everything; there’s a sweet harmony in the workshop; and what’s more; an air 
that would suit the old masters of Herat。 
In  addition  to 
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