After an absence of tered Istanbul like a sleepo to die, and in my case, it dreo ty where I’d been born and raised.
returned, I t ter, I er love. Love, ant and forgotten ty. It anbul, t I fell h my young cousin.
Four years after I first left Istanbul, eppes, snoains and melancies of Persia, carrying letters and collecting taxes, I admitted to myself t I ting t beried desperately to remember o realize t despite love, a face long not seen finally fades. During t in t, traveling or ary in t t of my beloved. Later, in t akenly called to mind in tely different countenance. In turned to my city at ty-six, I my beloved’s face had long since escaped me.
Many of my friends and relatives ed tery overlooking tcever reason, gazing at to cry. as I crying for trangely, still only at ter all t because I’d come to t snoranced by t in t I didn’t notice taring at me from a dark corner of tery.
My tears subsided. I s tail in friends tery. Sometime later, I settled into our neiging one of tive on my fat seems I reminded t t and so so clean the house and cook for me.
I set out on long and satisfying reets as if I’d settled not in Istanbul, but temporarily in one of ties at treets seemed to me. In certain areas, on roads squeezed beto rub up against o avoid being by laden pack seemed to me. I sae carriage, a citadel dra Column,” I saoget ed over tche falling snow.
old Istanbul used to be a poorer, smaller and y, I mig , but t’s old me. t’d al trees, ot t my beloved’s moternal aunt, e, and er o learn t fater ims of certain misfortunes, from strangers ansuations are perfectly fort t aroyed your dreams. I describe all of to you no alloo say t as I recalled and sunny summer days in t old garden, I also noticed icicles ttle finger ree in a place death.
I’d already learned about some of ter my Enis to me in tabriz. In t letter, ed me back to Istanbul, explaining t book for Our Sultan and t ed my for a period toman pasanbulites. I did to use ts anbul to locate miniaturists and calligraprated by ttoman soldiers, but yet left for Kazvin or anoty, and it ers—complaining of poverty and neglect—rate and bind ts I o Istanbul. If it for trating and fine books t my Enisilled in me during my youts.
At t end of treet, ime my Eniser by trade, in raigcer and soap brus I’m not sure deligo see t till traced t er.
Some of treets I’d frequented in my yout ruins ed and s frig , and I onisravagance, by expensive Venetian stained glass, and by lavisory residences h bay windows suspended above high walls.
As in many oties, money no longer anbul. At time I returned from t, bakeries t once sold large one-asted te moto spend t to leave before t on us instead of t I kne Flemisian merc ss of counterfeit coin. At t, ed from t. tually floated in t fell from table-sellers pier, ted, besieging Our Sultan’s palace as if it ress.
A cleric by t, o be descended from Our Glorious Prop Muy, inflation, crime and t.
totributed tastrop anbul in t ten years—including trict fires, t claimed tens of t a cost of countless lives, as toman fortresses in t to Cians in revolt—to our rayed from t, to disregard for
trictures of to tolerance too to truments in dervish houses.
tely informed me about t terfeit coins—ts, tamped toman coins ent—t flooded ts and bazaars, just like treets, oe degradation from to escape. I old t scoundrels and rebels izing until da destitute men of dubious cer, opium-addicted madmen and follolao be on Allas in derviso music, piercing ty, before brutally fucking eachey could find.
I didn’t knoe t compelled me to follo pickle seller, and seized upon t of tion. I do, y and frequently on foot, your body, not to mention your soul, gets to knoreets so er a number of years t in a fit of melancirred by a ligoe promontories.
to leave t and ended up c fell into t beside to accumulate on tops facing nortions of to terly breeze.
An approaced me ter of canvas. ts sails matcrees, tops, tacyards mingled in my ically t, er, I be able to live anyy. I ion t my beloved’s face, o me.
I began to o ter tomac a liver sy
sened carefully to tc eace as if . taking ions, I found myself turning do—er treets ed the coffeehouse.
Inside, it oryteller, tabriz and in Persian cities and ain-caller,” ove. ure, tily but ain elegance. o ting, from time to time, at the drawing.
I AM A DOG As you can doubtless tell, dear friends, my canines are so long and pointed t into my mout it pleases me. Noticing teetco say, “My God, t’s no dog at all, it’s a wild boar!”
I bit my canines sank rigty fleso tisfying as sinking eeto of instinctual unity presents itself, t is, ten, stupidly and unknoeetion, my even meaning to, I emit a hair-raising growl.
I’m a dog, and because you ional beasts telling yourselves, “Dogs don’t talk.” Neverto believe a story in possibly know.
Dogs do speak, but only to to listen.
Once upon a time, long, long ago, in a fara one of t mosques in a capital city; all rig’s call it t’d be appropriate to ’s refer to whing more:
ty of ellect ongue, God bless it. Eaced ion, so moved to tears t some il ted or dried up and get me of preac rary, a blink as if to cise tion. In all probability, tongue laser all, no sir, o be o err—and before t intimidating to tears. ood t to be made in ture, over top and o say the following:
“tary defeat lies in our forgetting time of our Glorious Prop and falling so
false’s birtiets like o ed melodically, like a song? ere tily and pompously to so an Arab’s?
as ting to prayer coyly, ating a oday, people plead before gravesites, begging for amends. tervention of t tombs of saints and one.
tie votive pieces of cloturn for atonement. ere tarians ellectual mentor of tarians, became a sinner by s the infidel Pharaoh had died a believer.
tis, to musical accompaniment or justify dancing oget?“ are all kaffirs. Dervis to be destroyed, tions excavated to a depted eart into t ritual prayers be performed there again.”
I ell t t aking matters even furttle flying from ed believers! te sin! Our Glorious Prop did not partake of coffee because dulled tellect, caused ulcers, erility; ood t coffee ts sit knee-to-knee, involving ts of vulgar be, even before t to be banned. Do to drink coffee? Men frequent tted rol of tal faculties to t t tually listen to and believe t is true mongrels.”
ito respond to t comment by teemed cleric. Of course, it is common kno ter concerns our revered Prop Mu off a piece of lay sleeping rat. By pointing out tion so t, o us dogs, and due to our eternal feud , of men recognizes as an ingrate, people ried to
intimate t t ual ablutions, and t of t uries and ings in tyards from broomstick-akers.
Alloo remind you of “t beautiful of ters. I’m reminding you not because I suspect t because I to refreser recounts tory of tired of living among pagans and take refuge in a cave ly t er one of ters ty of men and tries to spend an outdated silver coin. All of tunned to learn ly describes man’s attac to Allaransitory nature of time and t’s not my place, alloo remind you of teention of a dog resting at to appear in take pride in ter, and t I intend to bring to ty mongrels, to their senses.
So t’s tual reason for ty to dogs are impure, and cleaning and purifying your op to bottom if a dog o enter? toucions? If your caftan brus our damp fur, an seven times like a frenzied insmit a pot licked by a dog must be tinned. Or pers… tary life of ty, s’s before t of Islam, t to burden you o ory and ponder its moral—to be , my anger arises out of teemed cleric’s attacks upon our coffeehouses.
t of Erzurum t kind of dog do you think you are?
You’re attacking ter is a picture-oryteller ales at a coffee to protect !” God forbid, I’m not denigrating anyone. But I’m a great admirer of our coffee t my portrait , but I do regret t I can’t sit doer is pouring coffee for me from a small coffeepot. A picture can’t drink coffee, you say?
Please! See for yourselves, this dog is happily lapping away.
A t, it’s s. Noen to ell you: Besides bolts of Ctery adorned did tian Doge send to Nur Sultan, teemed dauged Sultan? A soft and cuddly Venetian s of silk and sable. I tcually fucked ’s even engage in t Frankisfits like t any over t and ian sure—anyway, sed dead away.
In treets tered like t miserable of slaves and dragged around in isolation. ts into to t permitted to alone sniff and frolic toget despicable state, in c gaze forlornly at eacance . Dogs s of Istanbul freely in packs and communities, ten people if necessary, c in t e ’s not t I t t t be reets of Istanbul in excablis of cies t perform sucend both
to treat us as enemies and make infidels of us, let me remind t being an enemy to dogs and being an infidel are one and t t too distant executions of tioner friends invite us to take a bite, as times do to set a deterring example.
Before I finis me say ter man.
out at nigo te: I’d begin to bark, and t of our victim urn for my up ty men t o me. I don’t like ra. God ioner of t cleric from Erzurum ake to account so I upset my stomac scoundrel’s raw flesh.
I ILL BE CALLED A MURDERER Nay, I ake anyone’s life, even if I’d been told so moments before I murdered t fool; and t times recedes from me like a foreign galleon disappearing on t committed any crime at all. Four days o do a, ent, accepted my situation.
I o resolve ted and a o do a I kneter ty. I couldn’t let tions of one foolire society of miniaturists.
Nevertakes some getting used to. I can’t stand being at to treet. I can’t stand my street, so I o anotare at people’s faces, I realize t many of t because t yet unity to snuff out a life. It’s o believe t most men are more moral or better t of some minor t of fate. At most, t stupider expressions because t yet killed, and like all fools, to entions. After I took care of t patic man, reets of Istanbul for four days everyone across .
tonigeaming coffee at ted in treets of t, gazing at tcting my plig of t everyted. tion t one of t toryteller as I uition ed near mine or by tlessly rapped sure I suddenly turned and looked ly in tart and orted. As tance of ook his place.”
Raising an eyebroed me. No one trusted anyone, everyone expected to be done in at any moment by t to him.
It ed on street corners and at t, I could find my reets only by groping times, t of an oil lamp still burning some from beters, reflecting on t mostly, I could see notening for tcicks on stones, for t times treets of ty seemed to be lit up by a rees, I t I spotted one of ts t anbul suchousands of years.
From s or snorting or in ts of ried to strangle eac t.
For a couple of nigo to relive t before becoming a murderer, to raise my spirits and to listen to toryteller. Most of my miniaturist friends, t my entire life, came . Since I’d silenced t lout rations since c to see any of them.
Muc t do gossiping, and about tmospy in tcures for toryteller so t accuse me of conceit, but t failed to put an end to their envy.
tified in being jealous. Not one of ting and embellising subjects, draling ing beasts, sultans, s one could approacery in imbuing illustrations ry of t even in gilding. I’m not bragging, but explaining to you so you migand me. Over time, jealousy becomes an element as indispensable as paint in ter artist.
During my lessness, I come face-to-face occasionally pure and innocent religious countrymen, and a strange notion suddenly enters my hink
about t t I’m a murderer, t on my face.
to t t as I forced myself, , to baniss of unlike ts t of copulation out of my ts, no t I’ve committed.
You realize, in fact, t I’m explaining all te to my predicament. But if I o divulge even one detail related to tself, you’d figure it all out and tion and relegate me to tatus of an ordinary, confessed criminal o dail, alloo keep some clues to myself: try to discover ive people like yourselves migprints to catcurn, brings us to tyle,” : Does a miniaturist, ougurist, yle? A use of color, a voice all his own?
Let’s consider a piece by Bier of masters, patron saint of all miniaturists. I erpiece, o my situation because it’s a depiction of murder, among ty-year-old book of t sc emerged from ttle of succession and recounts tory of e of o Nizami’s version, not Firdusi’s:
ter a of trials and tribulations; give t only also es, “enco t, entering tabs ill dawn and iful Shirin, who remains sleeping peacefully beside him.
ture by t master Biale itself, addresses a grave fear I’ve carried to realize tranger making faint sounds as
t truder ail, t ation, t scream emanating from your clamped t and t quilt upon eps as ails serve ting ty of ting, t e are ting’s beauty and of to your deat of your being totally alone in deate t strikes you.
“ter said ty years ago as rembling ed not by t by tion itself. “t ture.”
Bi t ure anyo ter, t and a feeling of srue art and genuine virtuosity tist can paint an incomparable masterpiece leaving even a trace of ity.
Fearing for my life, I murdered my unfortunate victim in an ordinary and crude manner. As I returned to t after nigo ascertain migray me, questions of style increasingly arose in my ed as style ion or fla revealed ty hand.
I could’ve located t t, razed by fire, y-five years. No migerpreted as signature, proving t Allayle and signature. If ually committed an unpardonable sin by illustrating t book—as t ained four days ago—even if urists.
t nig Effendi and I came yet begun to fall. e could ance.
“Pray, for e one had asked.
“ do you plan to s te hour?”
“Just a, Enis you are happily rewarded.”
“Am I to understand t you admit you kneation.
“I admit it,” I lied obligingly.
“You acknoure you’ve made is in fact a desecration, don’t you?” ly. “It’s no decent man . You’re going to burn in ts of hell. Your suffering and pain will never diminish—and you’ve made me an accomplice.”
As I listened to rengty t, , people rue about miserable creatures ot Eniso fly due to to pay—and because Master Osman, tor, despised occurred to me t per, ent used ts to buttress ions. to w degree was ?
I t pitted us against eac mince o be provoking me to cover up a mistake, as during our apprentice years, ing by Master Osman. Back ty convincing. As an apprentice, back t yet dimmed from t finally I ; o confess everyto everyone.
“Do listen to me,” I said ion. “e make illuminations, create border designs, drao pages, er page ones of gold, est of paintings, is our calling.
tings from us, ordering us to arrange a selope or a sultan icular frame, demanding a certain style of bird, a certain type of figure, take ticular scene from tory, forget about sucever it is t. ”Listen,“ Eniso me, ” artists of old, I sketc
come to knoly om my of Samarkand paper.“ I took tc and so Elegant. terest and, leaning close to to study te moonligers of S,” I said, “claimed t a miniaturist cy years to be able to truly depict t Alla t picture of a rue miniaturist fifty-year period, but in the horse.”
t expression on old me t ely absorbed in my horses.
“try to make t mysterious, t unattainable as ters did. to it. It’s unjust of to ration.”
“I’m not sure t’s correct,” oo, ies and our o Alla was we miginguish Good from Evil.”
It e response.
“Alla you and I, being a Enis you a bes tan?”
Silence.
I wondered wing of a sincere fear of Allah.
e stopped at t sig ied it oo late for t. I prayed to God to give me one more sign t tanding before me only a dim-ted co an unredeemable disgrace.
“Count off teps and dig,” I said.
“t will you do?”
“I’ll explain it all to Enisures. ot ion,
nots ain you inform on us.”
“ is tained in?”
“ty-five Venetian gold pieces inside an old ceramic pickle jar.”
tian ducats made good sense, but God ice, ed excitedly counting off teps in tion I indicated.
t t moment. First of all, tian coins or anyt buried t come up roy us. I suddenly felt like embracing times did t o dig. it templation, if you could call it t, lasted only a ime.
Panicking, I grabbed a stone t lay beside till on tep, I caugo ruck rengtruck ly and brutally t I arily startled, as if t his pain.
Instead of anguis I’d done, I ed to finishe job quickly.
on ther.
Long after I’d dropped o templated in t befit turist.
I AM YOUR BELOVED UNCLE I am Black’s maternal uncle, e, but ote.”
time only Black, but everyone began referring to me t y years ago, after o treet snut and linden trees beyond trict, Black began to make frequent visits to our Pasurn in tumn to discover t Black and aken refuge in our home.
Black’s mot in peace, er of my dearly departed imes on er evenings I’d come o find my te little religious scaugempered, angry and time; doh apprehension.
It pleases me to see ermined, mature and respectful nep to ed me as a gift, and e and demure of sitting before me oget only announces t o be, but it reminds me t I am indeed to be.
ly nervous yet becoming gestures om of placing aring deeply and intently into my eyes as if to say, “I understand, I’m listening to you ell , or tle rce appropriate. No I’ve reac true respect arises not from t, but from discrete rules and deference.
During t ly to our ense because sicipated a future for ood t books pleased us togeto put it, ice.” I explained to
urists in Sed a neyle by raising to top of t cate in t, crazed master Biter able to convey Mejnun’s loneliness by portraying tempting to ignite logs by bloents. I remarked most of trators a miniaturist o read text rating ivated by nothan greed.
I’m deligo see t Black ial virtue:
to avoid disappointment in art, one mustn’t treat it as a career. Despite artistic sense and talent a man mig to seek money and poion for s and efforts.
Black recounted one by one all of ter illustrators and calligrapabriz by making books for pasanbulites and patrons in tists, I learned, y of t. Not only in tabriz, but in Masurists ures—curiosities t ravelers—even obscene dra ted manuscript Sed to Our Sultan during tabriz peace treaty aken apart so its pages could be used for another book.
Supposedly, tan, Akbar, t gifted illustrators of tabriz and Kazvin quit o his palace.
As old me all of tly interjected otories as aining story of a Me erupted among t prince sent to tage to peace fell feverisell from t fell across to to be resolved.
Naturally, Black, like every young man o say about us, or iful daug consider it
dangerous enougo my attention back t everyone—including many belle of belles. Black’s affliction ed youto our ed and y actually to see S bury made take of revealing reme passion to my daughter.
As a result, o quit our ely.
I assumed t Black noanbul, my daug t of t still bereft of any common sense, o return again. No one only because suc in Istanbul, but because during t passed bet ory long ago, judging by to my eyes. Even at t, as s an eye at tands open on tand, I kno my daugurned o wo sons.
I’ve neglected to mention t in Black’s absence.
Most likely, Black, like any young felloige, considered it quite discourteous to broac. Still, old aircase t t moving upstairs o ease ts. oddly embarrassed, but let me tell you: Men iny military fiefs, o build tory houses.
e I used as ting Black once disclosed to ter t inspired tter I’d sent to tabriz, inviting o Istanbul.
“Just as you did in concert urists of tabriz, I, too, rated manuscript,” I said. “My client is, in fact, an, tion of t, Our Sultan to me under cover of the
reasurer. And I o an understanding talented and accomplisists of Our Sultan’s atelier. I o illustrate a dog, anotree, a t anoted ted to represent Our Sultan’s entire as in tings of tian masters. But unlike tians, my merely depict material objects, but naturally tan rules. If I ended up including ture of a gold coin, it o belittle money; I included Deatan because kno. I ed tality of a tree, ty of a dog to represent an and ed my cadre of illustrators, nicknamed ”Stork,“ ”Olive,“ ”Elegant‘ and “Butterfly,” to select subjects of t, most forbidding er evenings, one of my Sultan’s illustrators ly visit to s he book.
“ kind of pictures ing t really ans present. Not because I’m from you, and not because I eventually tell you. It’s as t quite knoures mean. I do, kind of paintings t to be.”
Four monter I sent my letter, I ed on treet Black urned to Istanbul, and, in turn, I invited o our my story bore a promise of bot ogether.
“Every picture serves to tell a story,” I said. “turist, in order to beautify t s t vital scenes: t time lovers lay eyes on eacem cutting off ter; Rüstem’s grief ranger e and ure among lions, tigers, stags and jackals; to t before a battle to divine its outcome from tnesses a great falcon tear apart igued from reading tales, rest upon tures. If text t our intellect and imagination are at pains to conjure, tration comes at once to our aid. tory’s blossoming in color. But painting its accompanying story is an impossibility.
“Or so I used to tfully. “But te possible. traveled once again to Venice as tan’s ambassador. I observed at lengtraits t tian masters knoo ures belonged, and I struggled to extract tory from ting hanging on a palazzo wall and was dumbfounded.
“More t one of us. As I stared at as if I resembled resemble me at all. seemed to lack crace of my marvelous c look anyture, for some reason, my fluttered as if it rait.
“I learned from tian gentleman trait in rait: In tic-looking forest. Resting on table before time, Evil, Life, a calligrapaining gold coins, bric-a-brac, odds and ends, inscrutable yet distinguis ures, sure of tunningly beautiful daugood beside her.
“ ive t tation to embellise? As I regarded t tale ure itself. ting tension of a story at all, it s o.
“I never forgot ting t be turned to taying as a guest and pondered ture tire nigoo, ed to be portrayed in t, no, t appropriate, it an o be trayed! Our Sultan ougo be rendered along represented and constituted tled on tion t a manuscript could be illustrated according to this idea.
“tian virtuoso ure in suc you ely kno man, if told you to pick of a croo select t man portrait.
tian masters ing techey
could distinguis relying on fit or medals, just by tinctive sraiture.“ “If your face ed in to forget you, and if you ually nearby. ter your deato-face anding before them.”
e remained silent for a long time. A c tside filtered t of treet; tters h dipped in beeswax.
“turist,” I said. “ like tists for tan’s secret book, and ogetill da unfortunate Elegant Effendi, never to arrive at poor master gilder of mine.”
I AM ORhey indeed killed him?”
tall, skinny and a little frigo talking in t sig are you doing here?”
me in suc I climbed onto ans me back do away.
“Kiss Black’s hand,” he said.
I kissed touc to my fore had no smell.
“e charming,” Black said and kissed me on my cheek. “One day he’ll be a brave young man.”
“t, who’s seven.
t one’s quite a stubborn little child.”
“I back to treet in Aksaray,” said Black. “It it all.”
“Alas! Everytly o me. “her?”
“or, ter binder.”
“So, w are you doing here?”
“ter said, ”Fine o me.“ “You made your o o Black: “ter tices, learning t of binding.”
“Do you like to make illustrations like your grandfather?” asked Black.
I gave him no answer.
“All righer. “Leave us be, now.”
t from t I didn’t to leave. Smelling t and glue, I stood still for a moment. I could also smell coffee.
“Yet does illustrating in a ne poor gilder despite t t yle. I’m not even certain rating a commemorative story in verse, a Book of Festivities, for Our Sultan by order of tor Master Osman. Eacurists er Osman, ts you to go t t is, turists, or Master Osman gave tterfly,“ ”Olive,“ ”Stork‘…You’re also to go and observe tead of airs, I spun around. t room -in closet in.
Inside t my moto see me.
Sood .
“here have you been?” she asked.
But s ts door aircase—if, of course, his bedroom door were open.
“I are you doing in here?”
“Didn’t I tell you t your grandfat and t you to bot not very loud, because s t to er voice.
“ted. Not s tened.”
“In w manner was ed?”
I dropped to tated t: “I’m a very serious man noening to my grandfat eyebroening to ted. I’m nodding my ime no guest.”
“Go doairs,” my mot once.”
S doing on a small piece of paper on ting board saken up.
“Mot are you ing?”
“Be quick, no I tell you to go doairs and call for hayriye?”
I doo tc, for t.
“traitor,” my brot off and left me er. I did all the bindings myself. My fingers are bruised purple.”
“s to see you.”
“o give you sucing,” my brotreachery.”
, my brotood and came after me teningly, even before get aime. t and began ting it.
“Stop, S, don’t, you’re ing me.”
“Are you ever going to sies again and leave?”
“No, I ever leave.”
“So it.”
“I swear.”
“She Koran.”
“…on the Koran.”
let go of my arm. o tray t able for eating and forced me to my knees. rong enougo eat inued to t my arm.
“Quit torturing your brotyrant,” said side. “Leave him be.”
“Mind your oill ting my arm. “o?”
“to buy lemons,” hayriye said.
“You’re a liar,” my brothe cupboard is full of lemons.”
As o free myself. I kicked s base, but he pounced on me,
smotray fell over.
“You t airs being seen by Black?
Sed us. “You t continue to disgrace me, don’t you?”
“Oro ter binder,” S said. “ me to do all the work.”
“her said, slapping him.
S ly. My brot cry. “I my father,” he said.
“urns o take up Uncle o move back h Uncle hasan.”
“S up!” said my mot s by tcairs to t faced tyard. I folloh of you.”
“But I done anytered any pitc ligters facing te tree in tyard—I was scared.
“Open ther,” I said. “I’m cold.”
“Quit w said. “S soon enough.”
Moto beil tor leaves?”
s t in tcove until Black takes to go upstairs, do you understand?”
“e’ll get bored in t said. “here has hayriye gone?”
“Quit butting into everyone’s affairs,” my mother said.
e
our grandfat Black’s. e ing us to smile as aking teps for faced us off tairside tchen.
“Drrsss,” so table.
Surned around and guided us into co sit do even consider standing until our guest leaves. And don’t fighink you’re spoiled.”
“Moto c to say somether’s gilder in.”