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my name is red-我的名字叫红-第74章

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“Yes;” said Black with good humor and somewhat childishly。 “Yes。 I agree to 
make you mine。” 
You  remember  how  only  recently  I  declared  I  didn’t  know  why  I  was 
speaking to Black in such a high…handed and insincere manner。 Now I know: 
I’ve  e  to  realize  that  only  by  assuming  such  a  tone  might  I  convince 
Black—who has yet to outgrow his childhood muddle…headedness—to believe 
in the possibility of events that even I have a hard time believing will e to 
pass。 
211 
 
“We have a lot to do in fighting our enemies; those who would obstruct the 
pletion of my father’s book and those who could contest my divorce and 
our marriage ceremony—which will be performed tonight; God willing。 But I 
suppose  I  shouldn’t  further  confuse  you;  since  you  are  already  even  more 
confused than I。” 
“You aren’t confused at all;” said Black。 
“Perhaps; but only because these aren’t my own ideas; I learned them from 
my  father  over  the  years。”  I  said  this  so  he  wouldn’t  dismiss  what  I  said; 
assuming that these plans had sprung from my feminine mind。 
Next; Black said what I’d heard from every man who wasn’t afraid to admit 
he found me very intelligent: 
“You’re very beautiful。” 
“Yes;” I said; “it pleases me to be praised for my intelligence。 When I was a 
child; my father would often do so。” 
I was about to add that once I’d grown up my father ceased to praise my 
intelligence; but I began to weep。 As I cried; it was as if I’d left myself and was 
being  another;  entirely  separate  woman。  Like  some  reader  troubled  by  a 
sad picture in the pages of a book; I saw my life from the outside and pitied 
what  I  saw。  There’s  something  so  innocent  in  crying  over  one’s  troubles;  as 
though  they  were  another’s;  that  when  Black  embraced  me;  a  sense  of  well…
being spread over us both。 Yet; this time; as we hugged; this sense of fort 
remained there between us; unable to affect the adversaries circling us。 
 
 
   
212 
 
I AM CALLED BLACK 
 
Widowed; abandoned and aggrieved; my beloved Shekure fled with featherlike 
steps; and I stood as if stunned in the stillness of the house of the Hanged Jew; 
amid the aroma of almonds and dreams of marriage she’d left in her wake。 I 
was  bewildered;  but  my  mind  was  churning  so  fast  it  almost  hurt。  Without 
even  a  chance  to  grieve  properly  over  my  Enishte’s  death;  I  swiftly  returned 
home。 On the one hand; a worm of doubt was gnawing at me: Was Shekure 
using  me  as  a  pawn  in  a  grand  scheme;  was  she  duping  me?  On  the  other 
hand; fantasies of a blissful marriage stubbornly played before my eyes。 
After  making  conversation  with  my  landlady  who  interrogated  me  at  the 
front  door  as  to  where  I’d  gone  and  whence  I  was  ing  at  this  morning 
hour;  I  went  to  my  room  and  removed  the  twenty…two  Veian  gold  pieces 
from  the  lining  of  the  sash  I’d  hidden  in  my  mattress;  placing  them  in  my 
money  purse  with  trembling  fingers。  When  I  returned  to  the  street;  I  knew 
immediately I’d see Shekure’s dark; teary; troubled eyes for the rest of the day。 
I changed five of the Veian Lions at a perpetually smiling Jewish money 
changer。 Next; deep in thought; I entered the neighborhood whose name I’ve 
yet  to  mention  because  I’m  not  fond  of  it:  Yakutlar;  where  my  deceased 
Enishte and Shekure; along with her children; awaited me at their house。 As I 
made  my  way  along  the  streets  almost  running;  a  tall  plane  tree  seemed  to 
reproach me for being overjoyed by dreams and plans of marriage on the very 
day my Enishte had passed away。 Next; as the ice had melted; a street fountain 
hissed into my ear: “Don’t take matters too seriously; see to your own affairs 
and your own happiness。” “That’s all fine and good;” objected an ill…omened 
black  cat  licking  himself  on  the  corner;  “but  everybody;  yourself  included; 
suspects you had a hand in your uncle’s murder。” 
The cat left off licking himself as I suddenly caught sight of its bewitching 
eyes。  I  don’t  have  to  tell  you  how  brazen  these  Istanbul  cats  get  when  the 
locals spoil them。 
I found the Imam Effendi; whose droopy eyelids and large black eyes gave 
him  a  perpetually  sleepy  look;  not  at  his  house;  but  in  the  courtyard  of  the 
neighborhood  mosque;  and  there  I  asked  him  quite  a  trivial  legal  question: 
“When is one obligated to testify in court?” I raised my eyebrows as I listened 
to his haughty answer as if I were hearing this information for the first time。 
“Bearing  witness  is  optional  if  other  witnesses  are  present;”  explained  the 
213 
 
Imam Effendi; “but; in situations where there was only one witness; it is the 
will of God that one bear witness。” 
“That’s  just  the  predicament  I  find  myself  in  now;”  I  said;  taking  up  the 
conversation。  “In  a  situation  everyone  knows  about;  all  the  witnesses  have 
shirked their responsibilities and avoided going to court with the excuse that 
”it’s only voluntary;“ and as a result the pressing concerns of those I’m trying 
to help are being pletely disregarded。” 
“Well;” said the Imam Effendi; “why don’t you loosen your purse…strings a 
little more?” 
I  took  out  my  pouch  and  showed  him  the  Veian  gold  pieces  huddled 
within:  The  broad  space  of  the  mosque  courtyard;  the  face  of  the  preacher; 
everything  was  suddenly  illuminated  by  the  glimmer  of  gold。  He  asked  me 
what my dilemma was all about。 
I explained who I was。 “Enishte Effendi is ill;” I confided。 “Before he dies; he 
wants his daughter’s widowhood certified and an alimony to be instituted。” 
I didn’t even have to mention the proxy of the üsküdar judge。 The Imam 
Effendi understood at once and said the entire neighborhood had long been 
troubled over the fate of hapless Shekure; adding that the situation had already 
persisted  too  long。  Instead  of  searching  for  a  second  witness  required  for  a 
legal separation at the door of the üsküdar judge; the Imam Effendi suggested 
his brother。 Now; if I were to offer an additional gold piece to the brother; who 
lived in the neighborhood and was familiar with the predicament of Shekure 
and her darling children; I’d be doing a good pious turn。 After all; for only two 
gold coins the Imam Effendi was giving me a deal on the second witness。 We 
immediately agreed。 The Imam Effendi went to fetch his brother。 
The rest of our day rather resembled the “cat…and…mouse” stories that I’d 
watched  storytellers  in  Aleppo  coffeehouses  act  out。  Because  of  all  the 
adventure and trickery; such stories written up as narrative poems and bound 
were  never  taken  seriously  even  if  presented  in  fine  calligraphy;  that  is;  they 
were  never  illustrated。  I;  on  the  other  hand;  was  quite  pleased  to  divide  our 
daylong adventure into four scenes; imagining each in the illustrated pages of 
my mind。 
In the first scene; the miniaturist ough
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